by Sara Shepard
That doesn’t matter, her mother urged. Bigger isn’t always better.
Then something on the coffee table caught her eye. The corkscrew’s sharp, shining tip was pointed straight at her. She lurched for it. Brett noticed, and his eyes popped wide. He grabbed at her leg again and tried to take her down, but she kicked him in the stomach and he retreated, a strange, gurgling sound emanated from his throat. Brett tried to scramble backward, and Seneca saw as his gaze whipped around the room, probably trying to find his own weapon. But Seneca marched over to him and stood on his chest hard, pressing her weight into his sternum. That same superhuman strength filled her. She felt buoyed, powered by her mom. She could do this. She was doing this.
The corkscrew shook in her hand as she raised it over her head like a knife. Tears streamed from her eyes. The pale, vulnerable strip of skin on Brett’s neck shone in the pale light. He stared at her imploringly, his lips trembling, and then shut his eyes and grimaced.
“Do it,” he said. “I know you want to. Though if you do, we really will be the same.”
Seneca’s palms were so sweaty, it was getting tough to hold on to the corkscrew. Sobs rose in her chest. She didn’t want to kill him. She didn’t want to be be anything like him. His death wouldn’t solve anything. It would probably make everything worse.
Suddenly, there was a loud crack, startling both of them. Brett rolled over. Seneca jerked back against the wall. Four figures burst into the house and surrounded them, guns raised, voices shouting things her garbled brain couldn’t quite process. But as her vision cleared, Seneca could make out HALCYON POLICE printed in large block letters across their jackets.
“Stay down!” they screamed at Brett. “Hands where we can see them!”
Brett stared at the police, then at Seneca, his mouth twisted in fury. Abruptly, he pushed to his feet, turned, and tried to make a run for it, banging sloppily against the coffee table and shattering the wine bottle. He disappeared through another darkened hallway that led to a different part of the house.
The officers stormed after him. “Stop or we’ll shoot!” they bellowed.
Seneca peered into the darkness, her teeth chattering, her lungs burning. Loud bangs rang out down the hall. She heard bodies knocking into walls and heavy grunts. “No!” a voice that sounded a lot like Brett’s screamed out, and then there was a loud thud. She heard the click of handcuffs snapping together; footsteps rang out down the hall once more. The officers burst into the room again, this time flanking Brett, forcing him to walk. Brett’s head snapped up when he saw Seneca still standing where he’d left her. His bottom lip curled, and his eyes narrowed to slits. He looked plaintively at the police. “Arrest her. She’s the one who broke in here and attacked me.”
The cop just snorted. “And she had good reason to, kid.”
They continued to drag him out. Brett snarled at Seneca just before he passed through the door. “They weren’t supposed to follow you. They weren’t supposed to believe you.”
Seneca’s lips parted. She didn’t understand what he meant. Follow her? Believe her? Who?
As if in answer, the officers parted to shove Brett through the door, and Seneca saw two figures hanging back, half in shadows, half dazzled by the morning light. Madison’s hands were in her pockets. Maddox was staring at her with his mouth wide open, blinking and blinking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Seneca felt a jolt. “What are you guys doing here?”
Maddox and Madison took a few tentative steps toward her. At first, Seneca was too stunned to do anything, but then she ran to them and dove into their arms.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, hugging them tightly. She could feel their shuddering sobs matching hers. “How did you …? What made you …?”
“I was going crazy not talking to you,” he moaned into her neck at the same time. “And when I heard you scream, I thought …” But then he looked at the front door, where the cops had just taken Brett. “Except I was wrong.” He stared at her, impressed. “You were doing just fine all on your own.”
“But what are you doing here?” she cried. “How did you know to come?”
“Don’t be mad,” Madison said. “We were both really worried. I helped Maddox keep tabs on you, and when we saw you were on the move, we had to follow. Once we were sure this was Brett’s place, we called the cops.”
Everything was moving too fast. Seneca’s mind was unable to grasp all the swirling pieces. “S-so you’ve been stalking me, then?”
Maddox wiped his eyes and laughed self-consciously. “No. I mean, we were just … well, watching your movements really carefully. But from a totally loving, totally concerned place.” Seneca felt a rush of defensiveness, but he put up a hand to stop her from protesting. “I understand why you had to find him. As best I can, anyway.”
Seneca shuther eyes. “That’s good, because I’m not sure I do anymore.” She looked up at Maddox, then Madison. It was still hard to believe they was actually here. They loved her this much. They cared even when she pushed them away. There were no words for that kind of devotion.
Maddox held her arms tightly and looked deeply into her eyes. “Actually, let’s not talk about that right now, okay? How about you explain how you basically single-handedly took down a mastermind criminal with your bare hands?”
Seneca ducked her head. “Well, my hands weren’t bare, exactly.” She held up the corkscrew. And some other help, too, she added in her head. Of the supernatural kind.
The vision of her mom rushed back to her. Had it really happened? She didn’t see her mom’s image anymore, but all the same, she still felt her presence nestled inside her, filling her with strength. She swore she heard her mom whispering something new into her ear, too: Honey, stop pushing Maddox away. He’s a good one.
Who knew if it was really her mom or just the lack of oxygen to her brain? But in that moment, Seneca believed. Her mom’s voice was like a bell, loving and kind and utterly right. Choking back a sob, she gave Madison a tight squeeze, then turned to Maddox, feeling a little nervous. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“For what?” Maddox asked, astonished.
Instead of answering, she leaned forward and kissed his lips. As he kissed back, she closed her eyes and sank into the kiss, relishing the fact that she was okay, and that Maddox was with her, and maybe, just maybe, a door in her life had finally closed.
And another door had opened, too. From now on, Seneca would take her mom’s advice. She would let Maddox in.
THIRTY-SEVEN
TWO DAYS LATER, Aerin and a recovering Thomas sat in a booth at the Dexby Pizza Trattoria. It was probably the least fancy restaurant in all of the upscale Connecticut town where she lived, though that wasn’t saying much—the bartender wore a sleek dark suit, appetizers started at fifteen bucks, and the gourmet pizza offered toppings ranging from truffles to pancetta to beluga caviar, which Aerin thought sounded extremely gross.
The waiter, a pimply kid named Ross she had almost hooked up with two years ago, delivered them a margarita pie, and Aerin and Thomas dug in. “Oh my God,” she murmured, letting the oozy cheese melt in her mouth. “I dreamed about this when I was stuck in that room. I thought I’d never get to taste real food again.” Thomas’s face clouded over, and she petted his arm. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” Thomas set down his slice with his good arm, the one that wasn’t in the sling. “I just want to make sure you’re processing what happened … and that you’re okay.”
Aerin shrugged. Part of her hadn’t wanted to talk about the kidnapping around family and friends. Her story to Brett about Mallorca wasn’t a lie: Her whole MO was to escape when shit got hard. It seemed so much easier just to act like it never happened.
But there was no way she could do that, not with Brett still on the loose. So she’d mustered up her courage and took charge in that interrogation session in Breezy Sea, explaining exactly what Brett had done to her and who she was. She showed the detective the bru
ises on her neck from where Brett had hurt her. Kind women on the forensic team had gently combed over her body, asked her a zillion questions. She unearthed the hair from the contact lens case. She told them about hiding her fingernails under the bed. She told them about Brett holding her at knifepoint, even though it still sent spasms through her body.
It had been a godsend when that security guard had rounded the corner at the fun house. Well, terrifying at first—Aerin had really though Brett was going to kill her—but when he released her, her heart had exploded with relief. From what Aerin could gather, it was completely random that the guard was in there in the first place, though she had to wonder if it was somehow Helena’s guiding hand at work, keeping her safe. Combined with his report of Brett’s crazed actions with the knife and the Reeds Hotel’s surveillance footage they were able to obtain that showed Aerin getting into Brett’s vehicle, then struggling to get out, and then Brett locking the doors, the detectives believed her story. It made the rush to find Brett even more of a priority.
But when it really did some good was after Brett was caught. With his kidnapping charge already in place, Brett went straight to jail. Even better, after the cops took his prints, they matched an unidentified print they’d found on Seneca’s mom’s vehicle years before and a print the cops had recently pulled from the Dakota when investigating Helena’s death. Together with Brett’s confession to Seneca, the police were able to charge him with both murders.
So many dominos tumbled after that: Marissa and Harris Ingram, the husband and wife previously accused of Helena’s murder, were freed from jail. The police re-interviewed Chelsea Dawson, showing her a lineup of potential men who could have kidnapped her—she chose Brett out of the group immediately. Brett’s prints were also located on the balcony railing at the Ocean Sands condos, where he’d shoved Jeff Cohen over. The coroner had even exhumed the body of the guy they thought was Gabriel Wilton, Brett’s alias, who everyone presumed had died in a car crash up the coast. Obviously, it wasn’t Gabriel but a young Danish tourist who looked a lot like him.
So many bodies. So much destruction. And as Aerin glanced at Thomas again, it chilled her that he could have been hurt much worse. Finally, Brett was getting what he deserved … and Aerin had helped make that happen. So maybe there was usefulness in telling your story after all.
Aerin took another bite of her pizza. The only teensy problem was that it had been hard to sleep since she’d returned. She kept waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, certain she was back in that room with Brett, unable to move, unable to scream. On the fourth day of insomnia, she’d finally confessed to her mom that maybe, just maybe, she needed a shrink.
Aerin wasn’t sure if she liked Dr. Cindy Fowler yet—the woman had a thing for cats, and she wore way too many ugly jangling charm bracelets—but she swore like a sailor and didn’t look at Aerin like she was an idiot screwup. And, okay, it was actually helping to talk. A little, here and there, at her own pace. She kept getting the urge to hide, to suppress those memories of being locked in that car trunk, and that woozy feeling she’d had the moment she’d woken up and realized Brett had taken her, and the fear that any moment, Brett could burst into her room and kill her, but when she did tell someone something, she felt a little lighter and freer. Not that she was suddenly the poster child for therapy or anything. But right now, it was doing some good.
Of course, she had Thomas, too. Besides his broken arm and healing bruises on his face, he was doing fine. The burns on his body had healed. He’d cracked a rib, so it still hurt to inhale, but that would heal in time, too. She reached across the table and took his hand. “I think we’re both going to make it,” she said with a wink.
“I think so, too.” He gave her a look of love that made Aerin’s heart do a triple flip. She desperately wanted to tell him how she’d pined for him while in Brett’s clutches, how the only thing that kept her going those nights was knowing that she needed to get to him, make him better. It scared her to say it, though—she hadn’t really trusted anyone since Helena went missing. Though maybe, after enough sessions with Dr. Fowler, she could work up the guts.
Thomas’s attention moved to the TV over the bar. A news report had come on, and an image of Candace Lord flashed on the screen. Though the sound was off, Aerin knew what the reporter was saying: Candace’s pretrial hearing was today, and because she’d pleaded not guilty—lunatic—the case was moving to trial and she was being held without bail.
Aerin watched as the camera panned across a haggard-looking woman in a baggy orange prison jumpsuit being led out of the courthouse in handcuffs. That’s the woman who made Brett who he is, she thought with a shiver. The memory of sitting on the bed in Brett’s house, listening to him talk about what Candace did to him, slid through her like water, filling her with an unexpected rush of empathy.
She swallowed another bite of pizza. “Is it weird I feel bad for Brett for having gone through that with her?” On the screen, the cops were shoving Candace into a squad car. Candace didn’t look repentant for what she did. Maybe she didn’t even know it was wrong. “Is it also weird that I feel bad that she lost her kids?” She laughed self-consciously. “Maybe I’m losing it, right? I’m supposed to hate these people.”
“I think it makes you human,” Thomas said. “And, I mean, it is awful. That’s the tragic thing about all of this.”
The news switched to a weather update. Aerin turned back to the pizza and Thomas, suddenly feeling a bolt of contentment. It was so good to be here with him, not even doing anything special, but getting to live and eat and enjoy. The feeling had struck her a bunch of times since Brett had been arrested and she knew she was truly safe. Was it weird that it took her being kidnapped to appreciate all she had?
“Honey?”
Mrs. Kelly stood over her, offering a sheepish smile. “Do you mind if I sit with you guys?”
Aerin curled her toes. The last thing she wanted was her mom staring nosily at her new boyfriend. They’d talked about a lot of things they’d avoided before—Helena’s freaky affair with Harris Ingram, what Aerin knew about Brett, and even about Thomas. It felt good, because how long had it been since Aerin actually had a real mom? But it was also a little weird … especially explaining the Brett stuff. Sometimes, all Aerin wanted to do was zone out on the couch and watch Dancing with the Stars.
But then she let out a breath. Her mom looked so hopeful, like all she wanted was to be a small part of Aerin’s life. One of the things they’d talked about was how broken Mrs. Kelly had been after Helena’s death, too—she just handled it differently than Aerin had, throwing herself into work, trying to forget, and accidentally ghosting Aerin in the process. But she’d made a renewed promise—a real, solid, genuine promise—to change her ways now for the better. They were going to talk, they were going to have each other’s backs, they were going to try—because life was short, wasn’t it? One day, you were on a private plane; the next, you were a kidnapping victim imprisoned in a small room. Aerin supposed you really didn’t know what you had until it was gone.
She let her shoulders relax, then smiled and wriggled over a little to give her mom room. And with a smile, Mrs. Kelly plunked down and signaled the waiter. Ross hurried over with three glasses filled with white wine. At first, Aerin figured her mom was going to drink them all herself, but then she passed the other glasses to Aerin and Thomas.
“That’s for us?” Aerin asked.
Mrs. Kelly nodded. “I thought we needed to have a toast.”
She raised her glass, but then seemed at a loss at what to say. Aerin watched delicate emotions cross her features, and the reality smacked her all over again—everything they’d just gone through, it was brutal. But now they were seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Now they could heal.
“To family,” she said, raising her glass.
Mrs. Kelly’s smile wavered, then grew broader. “To family,” she answered, clinking it with Aerin and Thomas. And then all of them dr
ank. It was the best wine Aerin had ever tasted.
THIRTY-EIGHT
WHEN MADDOX WALKED back into Seneca’s pretty living room in Annapolis, she was grinning at him, her laptop on the table. “I have a very, very important question for you,” she said.
“Shoot,” Maddox said. Though when he moved to look at the screen, she turned it away, a mischievous smile on her face.
“What would you say your dorm room style is?” she asked. “Rustic adventurer? Preppy chic? Oh wait, this is totally you—casual and athletic.” She finally turned the laptop around. IKEA’s website was on the screen. She was looking at dorm décor.
Maddox groaned. “I’m going to lose my mind if I look at anymore pillows and comforters.”
“You only have a week left before you’re going to Oregon. You have to choose something, and you might as well have some style.” The mouse hovered over a hamper in an optical-illusion print. “This is a cool laundry bag, right? It’s called the Snajda.” She giggled. “How do you even say that? SNODz-da? IKEA is so weird.”
Her pink lips parted, and her bright blue eyes shone. Would Maddox ever get sick of seeing her beautiful eyes looking at him with such affection? He was psyched he’d come down here for a few days before leaving for school. Madison, Thomas, and Aerin were taking Amtrak here this afternoon, and they were all going to take Seneca out for her birthday. Actually, they were going to celebrate all their birthdays—not just because the school year was starting soon and they were going to be separated in the months to come, but because the saga with Brett had taught them that life was fleeting, and they should party it up while they had the chance.
He closed the laptop and put it on the coffee table. “I have to admit, I’m not as excited about college as I used to be.”
Seneca stared at him. “Because of this summer?”
He nodded. “I just feel so … different now. I’m not sure it’s going to be enough for me to be on a track team, go to classes. I’ll always be thinking about what we went through. Chelsea. Damien and Huntley. Helena. Even Brett’s messed-up story.” He brushed a hand through his hair. “I mean, even Madison’s different from all this. She quit cheerleading. I never thought I’d see the day. She said the girls seem sort of … vapid.” He chuckled. “You must be rubbing off on her. She would have never used that word before.”