She must have been right above Mara now. Or at least she hoped she was as she whaled away at the roof fabric with her trusty shoe. When she had half a dozen holes, she could see down to the pavilion below.
Mara was almost directly beneath her on top of the wall, hunched over with the tunic still pressed to her face.
Dee wasted no time. She threaded her fingers into the holes she’d made and, leaning back, used gravity to tear a gap in the roof. She took a deep breath of fresh air, then thrust her head through the hole into the gas-filled pavilion.
“Mara! Grab my hand!”
Hopefully, the tautness of the roof would hold their combined weight.
Mara glanced up. Her eyes were red and puffy, which meant the gas had reached her hiding place on top of the wall. But she was still conscious, still had fight left in her. Mara balanced precariously on top of the fake bedroom wall as she pushed herself to her feet.
“Don’t look down,” Dee said. She stretched her arm as far as she could, wedging her shoulder against the fabric roof. She could feel the structure sagging beneath her. If it collapsed, she and Mara would both be dead.
“Dee, be careful.” Nyles’s voice was closer now.
Dee craned her neck around and saw his head pop up over the peak of the roof. Great. He was coming to “rescue” her. The last thing she needed right now.
Mara let the tunic fall to the ground and stood on her tiptoes, reaching up to Dee.
Their fingertips grazed, but Mara wasn’t tall enough to reach Dee’s hand.
“Your time is running out,” the electronic voice chimed in.
As if Dee needed reminding.
“Jump!” Dee cried. “You’ll have to jump for my hand!” She squeezed more of her body through the widening hold in the tensile roof, feeling it droop farther into the pavilion. They were so close. Dee could almost reach her.
But not close enough. Mara suddenly began to convulse, her body shaking violently from head to toe. Her jaw slackened, and white foam oozed from the corner of her mouth. As Dee watched in horror, Mara reeled, lost her balance, and fell off the wall.
“No!”
Mara tumbled onto the bed, landing smack in the middle of the mattress. The convulsions were more violent now, her body clenched up into a ball as the poisonous gas took effect. Mara flopped onto her side, head raised toward the roof, and Dee could see the terror and pain in her eyes.
Then Mara collapsed facedown onto the bed.
DEE GAZED DOWN AT Mara’s body. Dressed like Monica, in Monica’s bedroom.
Rage ignited inside her. A burning, fiery anger like she’d never felt in her entire life. Fuck crying. What good would that do?
She turned away from the bedroom scene below and let go of her grip on the tented roof. She slid down to the edge, stopping her momentum on the hard corner of glass.
“Careful!” Nyles cried for the millionth time. He stood on top of the lawn-chair tower about twenty feet away. “Edge your way over to me and I’ll help you down.”
Like a crab skirting the side of a cliff, Dee inched across the bottom of the roof, bare heels digging into the sharp corners of the glass wall beneath. But the pain didn’t bother her. It only stoked the angry fire within.
“I’ve got you,” Nyles said, taking her hand in his own. “Slowly now. Take my hand and I’ll—”
But Dee wasn’t doing anything slowly ever again. She dropped right on top of Nyles. The lawn chairs toppled over, and they collapsed onto the pile of chair cushions that Dee had discarded earlier. Griselda leaped out of the way just in time.
Nyles grunted beneath Dee’s weight, but she didn’t even stop to ask if he was okay. She bolted to her feet and spun around to face the camera.
“I know it’s you, Kimmi!” she yelled, pointing her finger at the camera.
“Who’s Kimmi?” Griselda asked, helping Nyles to his feet.
Dee ignored her. “But you and The Postman won’t win, do you hear me? We’re going to shut you down.” The tears had started, hot and angry, pouring down her cheeks. But Dee didn’t even pause to wipe them away. “Listen up, America: The Postman’s killed everyone else on the island. Guards. Inmates. None of it was on camera.”
“It’s a conspiracy,” Nyles added. He stood at her shoulder, facing the camera. “All of us were falsely convicted.”
Griselda joined. “Robin’s Hood’s last victim? She was the expert witness that testified against us. The Postman is knocking off anyone who can prove the trials were rigged.”
“And if we could end up sentenced here,” Dee added, “so could you. So could any of you.”
The Postman needed to be exposed, and Alcatraz 2.0 had to be shut down so no more innocent people would die. None of the deaths would be in vain.
“Alcatraz two-point-oh is a sham,” Dee said. “There’s no justice here, no eye for an eye. The only one guilty of murder is The Postman.”
Then, as they stared up at the camera, the red light blipped out.
The Postman had cut the feed.
“We did it,” Nyles breathed. “I can’t believe it.” He grabbed Dee around the waist and hugged her tightly.
She let her body relax into his. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted. “We did it.”
“Do you think it worked?” Griselda asked.
Nyles released Dee. “We have to get to a monitor.”
He was right. They just needed to confirm that their message had gotten out. The comments feed would be flooded with people calling for an investigation. She followed Nyles and Griselda out of the courtyard, but before she passed beyond the metal door, she turned and took one last look at Mara, at her stiff dead body sprawled on Monica’s bed.
“I’m so sorry,” Dee whispered, rounding the back side of the pavilion, trying to get a look at Mara’s face. “I should never have gotten you involved.”
That’s when she saw it. Something she wouldn’t have noticed standing directly in front of the bedroom scene. Behind the fake walls of Monica’s room, there was a hand.
Dee blinked. Was she seeing things? She approached slowly, and discovered that the hand was attached to an arm, the arm to a body. A massive, overweight body.
It was clad all in black, including a hood that covered the entire head, with two rounds cut out for the eyes. An executioner’s cowl. But not professionally made. The eyeholes were jagged and looked as if they’d been hand cut with a pair of scissors, and the fabric was flimsy and worn.
He lay on his side, head resting on his arm, as if he’d just curled up for a disco nap, but the massive blade protruding from his sternum suggested that this nap would be slightly more permanent.
She stared at the body. The front of the executioner’s robe didn’t appear shiny in the overhead light. It wasn’t wet. The blood had long dried.
And just like that, a cloud lifted.
Kimmi, Monica, the weirdness on Alcatraz 2.0—it all made sense. Dee couldn’t believe it—how had she not realized this earlier? It was all so simple, and as Dee stared into the pavilion, she started to laugh.
“Dee?” There was panic in Nyles’s voice. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Dee calmed herself. She needed a plan, something that would end this nightmare once and for all. She needed time to think.
“You see something funny in there?” Griselda asked, eyebrow arched, as Dee emerged through the metal doorway.
You have no idea. “I’m fine.”
There was a question on Nyles’s face, but he didn’t ask it. “We should get back to the Barracks.”
“Totally.” As she led them into the dark night, her mind raced. Not the Barracks. I have to get back to the shop. “Um, let’s go to I Scream instead.”
“The Barracks are closer,” Griselda said. “Why go all the way back to Main Street?”
Dee’s eyes darted to the nearest camera mounted atop a dim streetlamp. “I’m starving.”
Griselda arched an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
> Nyles glanced at the camera, then back to Dee. “You’re starving,” he said slowly, understanding her code. “Right.” Then he cleared his throat and spoke quickly. “I’m sure we could all use something to eat.”
They entered I Scream through the back door, which was still unlocked, just as they had found it that morning. The lights flooded the pink-and-white shop with an unnervingly cheerful glow as Dee’s eyes darted around the interior, searching. She found what she was looking for almost immediately. On the counter beside the blenders. A red ax.
“Okay, Postmantics,” Nyles said, rubbing his hands together as he took a seat in front of the TV monitor. “Tell us what’s being done to get us out of here.”
Griselda stood beside him, her hand on the back of his chair. They both read the scrolling comments in silence as Dee slipped behind the counter and silently lifted the ax off the Formica surface, tucking it behind her back.
“What in bloody hell is going on?” Nyles asked after a few moments. His eyes were fixed on the screen, which showed Mara falling onto the bed in the pavilion, convulsing. “‘Death Row Breakfast Club is played out,’” he read. “‘Can’t The Postman give us something else?’”
Griselda also read posts out loud. “‘I loved the way Ally Sheedy foamed at the mouth while she bit it.’ ‘I’m betting the house that hashtag- CinderellaSurvivor dies last.’” She turned back to Dee. “Didn’t they listen to anything we said?”
Dee shook her head calmly. “No. Because they never heard a word.”
Nyles rocketed to his feet. “What?”
“Look,” Dee said, pointing at the screen with her free hand. It showed the three of them shoulder to shoulder shouting at the camera, but without any sound. Beneath it, a caption read #DRBC THREATENS THE POSTMAN.
“That son of a bitch!” Griselda yelled.
“He was never going to let us expose him,” Dee said. “He’s been a step ahead of us all along, remember?”
Griselda tilted her head. “Sounds like you knew this was going to happen.”
Dee edged her way around the counter, heading for the back door. “I had an idea.”
“Are you going to share it with us?”
Dee gripped the ax tightly behind her. She was about to put all her cards on the table, and she really, really hoped she was right.
“I need to tell you a story…” Dee began.
THE POSTMAN STARED AT the screen. I can’t believe she told them about Kimmi.
Nyles and Griselda gaped. They were totally stunned. Unsurprisingly, it was Griselda who came to her senses first, storming up to Dee.
“Are you fucking kidding me? How could you keep something like this from us?”
“I was trying to protect you,” Dee said.
“Bullshit!”
“Everyone I tell turns up dead.” Dee was calm. Too calm. The Postman smiled. Maybe she’d finally gone over the edge? The Postman had hoped that losing Mara would be like losing Monica all over again. Looks like it worked.
“But you endangered us anyway,” Nyles said.
Instead of answering, Dee burst out laughing. “You were never in danger.”
Nyles and Griselda exchanged a glance. “Um,” he said, slowly, “there was a tank. Some water. We practically drowned.”
Dee shook her head slowly. “The Postman would never let his own children die.”
“Pardon?”
“She’s lost her fucking mind,” Griselda said.
Dee took a deep breath, centering herself. “I am not crazy. Kimmi was fourteen when she kidnapped me, and since I’m seventeen now, that would make her twenty. Same age as you, Griselda. She was also blond, with blue eyes.”
“She kept you in a fucking room for a week,” Griselda said, rolling her eyes. “If I was her, I’m pretty sure you’d have known the minute you met me.”
“Maybe.” Dee smiled wickedly. “Plastic surgery? That nose is too perfect to be real.”
“As if,” Griselda said.
“Or maybe the trauma affected my memory. PTSD can do that.”
Griselda pointed at her chest. “I am not Kimmi.”
“Plus,” Dee continued without acknowledging her, “Kimmi had a brother.”
Now it was Nyles’s turn to laugh. “You think Gris and I—”
“Ever since I got here, I thought you two looked like brother and sister.” Dee spoke faster, her crazy meter rising. “How convenient that you had diplomatic immunity, and that Gris, despite being on the island for months, had never been kidnapped.”
“But—” Nyles began.
“The Postman wanted Ethan and Mara and me to kill the Hardy Girls. He’s replacing his Painiacs, so why not let us kill a couple off and increase his ratings? I’m sure if we hadn’t gotten there in time, one of the Hardy Girls would have released you.”
“I wish it had been you in that tank,” Griselda scowled, “instead of us.”
The Postman smiled.
“You tried to throw me off your trail,” Dee said, whirling on her. “Up at the guard station, by suggesting that Mara was a traitor. You just didn’t want me to realize it was one of you.”
The soft lines of Griselda’s face hardened. “You think I killed Ethan.”
“I think you handed him over to Cecil,” Dee said. “When you went to go check on the network cable.” She turned to Nyles. “Or your brother could have done it when he was searching for a phone.”
Griselda looked as if she wanted to rip Dee’s face off, her brow lowered, her eyes smoldering with rage. “I fucking hate you.”
This is working out even better than I’d planned. They turned on each other faster than I thought they would.
“I should have realized it sooner, that Kimmi’s dad and The Postman were the same person. You two have been feeding information to him all along.” She glared at Griselda. “Trying to finish what you started, Kimmi.”
Nyles looked distraught. “Dee, surely you don’t believe this.”
“Slycer spoke,” Dee said, eyeing him closely. “Right before I killed him. And he had a British accent. Just like yours.”
“But, Dee,” Nyles pleaded, “you and I…we…”
“You had me going.” Dee swallowed. “I thought you really liked me.”
Nyles took a deep breath. “I think you need to calm down. I know Mara’s death was quite a shock, but right now we have to stick together and figure out a way off this island.” He stepped toward her, then stopped cold as Dee whipped her hand out from behind her back, revealing the ax.
“Stay away from me!” Dee screamed. Her face was red, her eyes wild.
“Whoa.” Griselda held up her hands before her. “Crazy goes to eleven.”
“Always a joke,” Dee said. “Never any emotion. Just like a sociopath. Just like Kimmi.”
Nyles remained calm, approaching Dee like he was attempting to dissuade a lion in the savanna from pouncing. “Dee, put down the ax.”
“I think The Postman is on the island,” Dee said.
“That’s insane.” Griselda laughed. “Why would he be here?”
“That’s the only way you two have been able to communicate with him. In person. So I’m going to find him, I’m going to kill him, and I’m going to shut this island down.”
“Okay…” Nyles said slowly. “How?”
“The Postman must have an Internet connection to post the videos. If I can get to it, I can expose all of you.”
“We’ve already been to the guard station,” Nyles said. “No Internet. Where could he possibly be hiding it?”
Dee narrowed her eyes. “The only place I’d never think to visit.”
“Fine.” Griselda shrugged as if she didn’t give a shit. “Your funeral.”
For a moment, Dee’s confidence faltered. The Postman could see the confusion in her eyes. She’s wondering why they aren’t trying to stop her. Dee glanced at the door, her only means of escape.
The instant she broke eye contact, Nyles sprang into action. He flew across t
he room, his movements nimbler than expected, and threw his arms around Dee’s body.
It’s as if I scripted this myself.
“Let go of me!” she screamed, trying to lift the ax. But Nyles held her firm, pinning her arms to her side. She kicked. Her bare feet planted against the wall, and she was able to push off, sending them both careening across the shop. They crashed into a table—Nyles, Dee, and the ax—and all sprawled across the slick tile floor in opposite directions. Griselda stopped the ax with her foot, stomping on it with her combat boot, then bent down and picked it up.
“Look who’s got the ax now,” she said, smiling at Dee.
But Dee was back on her feet. “You can’t have me, Kimmi. I’ll die first.”
Before Griselda or Nyles could answer, Dee fled the shop.
Perfect.
The Postman checked the feed, cycling through the camera banks that covered the alley behind Main Street. Dee, barefoot and still in that ridiculous Cinderella outfit, sprinted down the dark gravelly path, stumbling occasionally on the chewed-up asphalt. When she reached Ninth Street, she didn’t even hesitate. She turned left and headed east.
Toward me.
The Postman leaned back. Dee had taken the bait, but was she smart enough to know what awaited her?
I really, really hope so.
DEE WASN’T BLUFFING WHEN she said she knew exactly where The Postman was hiding. The place where it all began: Slycer’s maze.
And if she’d had any doubts, they vanished as she approached the hulking warehouse. The crows that lined the roofs of every building on the block—the ones that Dee had so naively assumed were just birds that first afternoon on the island—were alive. The cameras rotated in synchronized motion as she trudged down the street, each tracking her with a single red dot of light. The Postman was live, and Dee was the main attraction.
The exterior of the warehouse looked strange. Perhaps it was the darkness of the night, the slivered moon long since disappeared below the horizon, or perhaps it was because she was coming instead of going this time, standing before its weathered wooden door instead of fleeing through it.
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