WHEN THE DOOR shuts, the sounds of Lab Coat shouting and Beckett’s retreating footsteps are cut off abruptly. I’m left at the base of the stairs, facing the other door in absolute silence. No keypad on this one. The knob turns easily, but the thick door is hard to push open.
I rush through so quickly I almost plunge headfirst over a metal railing. I catch myself, just in time, but I can’t look away from the void in front of me. The darkness has depth; it seems deeper the more I look at it. And there’s the rising thrum of animal fear, the fear of falling, the fear of oblivion, the fear of death.
My breath is shallow as I step back, dizzy with the close call and the rising sense of danger.
I call for my sister, overwhelmed by the vastness of the space, and my voice echoes again and again as though the world is crying out Ava’s name.
And then I see something, a figure standing on the walkway across the open expanse from me. No, not standing. Hanging out over the void with its arms stretched out to either side and head raised. At the chorus of her name repeating, the head struggles, bound in a fixed position. And it’s all I can do not to vault over the space between us.
Ava.
“I’m coming,” I shout, and take off running to the left. My footsteps fill the missile silo with sound. Ava is saying something, but her voice is weak, and I’m moving too quickly to hear her. I am running faster than I can control, all my fear and guilt and love making my feet race so fast that when something trips me, I go flying.
I skid along the metal walkway on my belly. One arm ends up underneath the railing, my hand clutching at empty space.
Then a woman’s voice cuts through the dark. “Ava, this must be your little sister.”
Scrambling to my feet, I scan the silo. There by the door, backlit against it, is a slim figure. She pushes the door closed, and then with a clack that reverberates like a shot, she locks it.
Cristina.
She flips a switch and around the edge of the walkway a few bulbs turn on, driving back small patches of the darkness but intensifying the shadows in the center. Now I can see a woman with short dark hair and a slight, wiry build, holding a stick or something in her hand. She doesn’t look like a monster. Just like her accomplice, she looks ordinary, except for the way she’s paired silky black trousers with hiking books. She could be a high school science teacher, a financial analyst, an optometrist, a neighbor who signs for your mail. But she is none of those things.
Cristina is the woman who took and tortured my sister.
I have to stall her long enough to get to Ava. “Cristina,” I say. “Cristina Spiegler. Steven told us everything. The police are outside.”
“Bull-fucking-shit.” She strides closer, the heels of her hiking boots booming. “You are such a screw-up, just like my brother. What exactly do you think you can accomplish?”
I match her pace by backing up, a little closer to where Ava is perched, helpless and bound, over the space in the center of the missile silo. Only about six feet more … but Cristina is also only six feet away from me, and I’ve seen how quickly she moves.
She says, “Why are you even here?”
All I can say is, “She’s my sister.”
“What does that mean?” she scoffs. I could swear her eyes are glowing. “This study was based on relationships, and I knew torturing her ex-husband would get better results than torturing you.”
“What did you do to her?”
Cristina ignores my question. “We only needed you to take the fall. But here you are on some kind of rescue mission. Maybe I misread your relationship after all.”
“It’s over now. You have to let us go.”
“What makes you think it’s over?” She sounds chillingly indulgent, like she thinks I’m stupid but she’s willing to hear my explanation. My mother uses this trick, and it always makes me shrink inside.
“I’m not alone.” But my voice doesn’t sound convincing. “The police are coming.”
And she laughs, a sound pure, clarion, and cruel. “Do you really think this was my end game? A sample group of only two subjects? Your mother hasn’t even seen my results. And this was just the warm-up.”
Then Cristina lunges forward like a fencer, the stick in her outstretched hand.
Instinctively I scramble backward, and it hits the metal railing, sending a shower of sparks into the darkness. I hear Ava’s scream, so weak it’s mostly air.
Cristina takes a slow, deliberate step closer, her eyes drilling into mine. I think she missed on purpose, because it’s more fun now that I know what she’s holding. And if I turn to run, she will definitely skewer me with that shock stick.
“Your sister was the basis of my preliminary study. From here I’ll go to countries where no law can touch me, places with funding and disposable human subjects.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask, not really caring, determined to creep another step closer to Ava.
Something shifts in Cristina’s face, an idea coming to life, and she says, “Now that you’re here, it might be fun to run the experiment again. Especially since you do seem to care about her.”
I can’t help looking at Ava, and the minute I take my eyes off Cristina, she strikes. I catch a glimpse of motion and throw myself forward, closer to Ava, landing on my stomach on the metal railing, but I’m pinned like an insect with Cristina’s boot on my back.
“Poor little sister,” she croons. The grating of the walkway is icy against my face.
And then I hear Ava’s voice again, calling my name.
My love for Andrew and my loyalty to Ava give me strength. I’m not alone, not truly.
Grabbing the railing for extra leverage, I twist out from under the foot holding me down, but it kicks, catching me under the ribs. I’m on my back looking up, so I see the clinical interest she takes as I gasp at the stabbing pain.
“If I let you go, would you leave Ava behind?” She sounds only mildly interested, like this isn’t a life-or-death offer.
This question is clearly theoretical, and that’s the insult. “Fuck you.”
I kick hard at her legs, and when she flinches, I scramble to my feet. Now that I’m standing, she’s no taller than I am. Maybe I could take her in a fair fight, but there’s no fairness here. Only survival.
For me and for Ava.
Cristina is stalking me now with deliberate steps. Then she lunges again, and I backpedal, staying just out of reach of the electric stick. I need to slow Cristina down, but how? I say, “Scientists are supposed to help people. What’s the matter with you?”
She smiles, thin and mean. “I am helping people. People who want information.”
I’m right beside my sister now. The platform she’s standing on is slightly lower than the walkway, so her head is about shoulder height, and she’s facing the abyss. I can’t go any farther around the walkway. I won’t leave my sister exposed to this vicious woman. Ava is straining to move her head, trying to see what’s happening. She’s helpless, like I always wanted, but am I strong enough to save her? I think of that stone, throwing it through the window. This is my chance for redemption.
My insides are shredded with terror. I fumble in my pocket for the multi-tool, but there isn’t enough time.
Before my fingers find it, Cristina pounces again, the stick buzzing with power.
My back is against the railing; I can’t retreat, so I throw myself forward. The edge of the stick grazes me, searing my side, but through some miracle my hands grab right below its handle and yank it forward.
Cristina’s momentum from her lunge sends her past me, right up against the railing.
She catches herself and spins to face me, her arm extending so the shock stick is pressed against Ava’s neck.
I pull up short. The voltage could hurt Ava, maybe kill her that close to her head. Panic rises like bile in my throat. My sister is so pale that the circles under her eyes turn them into hollows. And for the first time I realize that she and Cristina are wearing the same clothes.
Cristina’s panting, but her lips are curving into a smirk. She says, “Back up. Right now.”
“Don’t hurt her.” I draw back, just a little. My big sister, who protected me from the dark and told me bedtime stories, looks like she’s already dead.
Then Ava’s ashen lips part, and she whispers, “Run, Zoe.”
“That’s right, Zoe. Run.” Cristina raises the shock stick for a second and electrifies it, a blue light sparking at its end.
“Take me. Let her go.” I don’t know where the words come from, but I’ve said them.
Cristina looks puzzled for a moment. Then she laughs again. “You’d give me your life, but all I want is data. And you don’t have any worth knowing.”
Then the smile leaves her lips, and she says, “Climb over the railing.”
“What?”
“You want to save your sister? Climb over the railing, or I’ll finish her now.” Her flinty eyes narrow as she holds the shock stick against Ava’s throat.
Behind her on the other side of the missile shaft, the lab door is bolted shut. “Glenn!” I shout, but I don’t know if he can even hear me.
Cristina smiles, and her hand on the shock stick is steady. “If you really want to save your sister, climb over the railing.”
As slowly as I dare, I inch closer to Cristina, angling my body so I appear to be headed toward the railing. I could swear the abyss is growing darker, opening wider to swallow me up.
When I reach it, the entire missile silo above and below us is silent. If I plunge into the depths, my own screams will be the last thing I ever hear, and my sister, hanging there, will be the last thing I ever see. I put my hands on the top bar.
Cristina watches me, her tongue flicking over her lips in anticipation.
I swing a leg over, holding tightly with my hands, and then I’m standing on the wrong side of the barrier. One foot is still on the catwalk, the other hooked firmly through the railing like that of a child on a climbing frame.
“Go on,” Cristina urges.
I turn to face my death. The darkness is velvet, soft shadows that grow thicker, inviting me to look closer, closer. Ava and I are almost in the same position, our arms spread wide, on the edge of oblivion. But I still have one leg painfully twisted through the railing.
And then I let go with one hand and swing out, throwing myself to the side as hard as I can. For a single heartbeat my body is out, over the pit below. Then I’m slamming against the railing. Even instinct says to grab tight, to hold on, to save myself.
Instead I reach for Cristina.
She loses her footing, and my weight tips her over headfirst. Her hands clutch at my face, my legs, even my foot as she goes down, falling with a scream that sounds like a thousand screams. A scream is ripping through me too, vibrating through my entire body.
Then silence.
I’m hanging by one leg, hooked through the railing, cramping with pain. My breath comes in gasps and the darkness looks hungry, ready for me. I feel like I’m falling.
“Zoe,” Ava chokes out.
With a sob, I manage to get my hands back around the railing. Struggling, I heave myself over. Then I can’t resist. Leaning over the cold railing with a chill draft taking my breath, I look, but I can’t see the bottom. Cristina is gone.
I’m shaking as I pull out the pocketknife and kneel to saw through the duct tape around Ava’s neck.
“You came,” she whispers, like she still can’t believe it.
The tape comes loose, and I help her step up and back onto the walkway, but she’s still on the wrong side of the railing. Then I start working on the zip ties that link each wrist around a metal pole.
I can’t saw through the restraints and hold on to Ava at the same time, and she is weak. I can feel her muscles spasming. What if I free her and she slips and falls?
Then there’s an explosive clang and the door bangs open.
Glenn has smashed the handle off. Gasping, he runs around the walkway, reaching us just as the last of the plastic restraints give way. He puts his good arm around Ava, and together we heave her up and over the railing until she’s standing beside us.
Then he pulls her close, whispering into her hair, “You’re safe.”
She is looking over his shoulder at me when she whispers back, “You came for me.”
* * *
When I step out of the Houston airport, the steamy air envelops me like the warmest hug. I make my way to the car I ordered and slip into the back seat. We enter the swooping overpass, and I lean my head against the window.
I can’t begin to process everything that happened to Ava, but the experience changed her. When we sat at the police station, going over the events, her hand found mine. And it felt like it did when we were little, how she used to hold my hand before we crossed the street. But now I was the one giving her safety and strength. It’s too early to tell yet, what this means for us. But she’s safe with Glenn in her own home.
Now it’s time to discover what finding Ava means for me and Andrew.
I’ve been texting him, just once a day, with updates. And he replied, which filled me with hope. I almost expected an offer to fly back to Virginia until the police wrapped up the part of the investigation that involved me. But he didn’t offer. And I didn’t ask.
Instead, once all the interviews were over and I wasn’t needed anymore, I booked a ticket back home. My mother drove me to the airport, and even hugged me good-bye. It was only marginally awkward.
The car slows, then speeds up, and I open my eyes. We’re on I-59, headed for Sugar Land. The buildings on either side have become such a familiar landscape to me, taller than DC, spreading out to the visible horizon. There’s the exit for the roller-skating rink where I took Emma for a birthday party, and there’s the one for the restaurant where Andrew and I celebrated our six-month anniversary. Being this close makes it real, the scope of my love for my family and the devastation I face if they won’t take me back.
I pull my phone out and type I’m 15 minutes away, hesitating only a moment before sending it. It’s not the clothes in my closet or the whirlpool tub or cooking dinner in the kitchen that makes Texas my home. If Andrew doesn’t want me, there’s no point in this journey.
But he doesn’t answer, not as we exit the highway, not entering the manicured neighborhood, not on the final approach down my very own street. As the car pulls up in front of the house, I drop the phone into my bag, barely registering the buzz of an incoming text.
Our front walk is short, but my heavy feet move so slowly, crushing the fallen blossoms of our crepe myrtles. The front curtains hang undisturbed, and for a panicky moment I wonder if anyone, anything is behind them. What if Andrew packed up and moved, if the house is abandoned and I am too?
Then I’m standing in front of the door, stretching my shaking hand to try the knob. I have barely touched it when it flies open. Andrew is standing there, love and relief on his face. He takes me in his arms, and in the fierceness of his hug I can feel how afraid he was for me, how much he still loves me. Tears fill my eyes as he kisses my head and then pulls back to kiss me for real.
“Lizzie!” Emma squeezes in between us, her arms around my knees.
And I’m home at last.
EPILOGUE
AVA SITS BESIDE me in the studio of America’s biggest morning talk show. If it feels like a million eyes are watching us now, I can only imagine what it will be like when the interview actually starts.
“Just breathe,” Ava whispers, and I realize she’s talking to herself. Her eyes are closed and her hands are clenched on her knees. All these years I thought she enjoyed the spotlight, but instead it’s just the price you pay for being famous.
A best seller. I’m a best-selling author. That’s something I never imagined.
The PA adjusts a tiny microphone clipped to my collar. As she moves away, I smile at her in thanks. She smiles back and whispers, “I loved the book, but it’s so scary. That woman was insane.” As the PA
heads off to get her next round of instructions from the talk-show host, Ava catches my eye and winces. I put my hand on her arm. It still feels awkward, but my sister seems to relax a little.
I know we’re both thinking about Cristina.
She had been obsessed with her father’s research, and then with my mother’s role in it. As a research assistant she was helpful, creative, the perfect replacement daughter. But she clearly didn’t realize that my mother has serious attachment issues. When the project was over, no matter how fond she may have been of Cristina, my mother fired her.
But when you’ve built your entire world on a delusion, there’s nowhere else to go. Cristina found a weak-willed guy who would follow her orders without question and set off to finish the research. What was the bedrock of her life’s work? She believed relationships are torture. That a person who believes they are seeing and hearing a loved one in torment will tell you things no amount of personal pain could ever elicit. And the intel will be more accurate. After all, as my mother helpfully pointed out, information extracted by torture is notoriously unreliable.
So Cristina drugged and kidnapped Ava and Beckett, made sure they were stressed and disoriented physically and mentally, and then started her pseudo-experiments. She and her accomplice starred in the “torture videos,” Phil playing Beckett and Cristina playing Ava. No control groups, no consistency. Cristina believed she was coldly rational, but she was driven by her desperate longing for my mother’s approval. If I hadn’t ditched my past and started over, would my anger at Ava and my frustration with my parents have made me crazy too?
After Cristina’s death, Steven Spiegler fled the country. I hear there are numerous internet blogs devoted to tracking him down. I’m not giving him any more mental space. He was an enabler, but not the mastermind, and I have better things to think about now.
Poor stupid Phil is the only one left to stand trial, but he pleaded guilty right away.
And finally, I’m arguably as famous as my sister. I just wish I were back inside the four walls of my own home, now that I have it.
Andrew is waiting just off-camera. Beside him, Emma is watching Ava, her new favorite storyteller, with shining eyes. Whenever my sister and I find ourselves at a conversational dead end, Emma bridges the gap. Even in the makeup chair a few minutes ago, I heard Ava whispering, “Once upon a time,” and I thrilled just like I had when I was Emma’s age.
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