It’s been a weird few days.
He’s never helped us before, but things are different now. Girls are dead now. Maybe he didn’t know that Frank was killing all the other alchemists. Maybe he thought they just left. He’s a doctor. He took an oath, didn’t he? He’ll help us when our lives are in danger.
I throw open the closet doors. Dr. Sam looks up at me, wary at first, and then wide-eyed as he sees Winnie’s blood still on my face. I kneel beside him. “Please don’t yell,” I say. “Things are going really bad.”
He doesn’t agree, but I remove the vine-gag. When he remains silent, I start working on the vines that bind him. They’re too strong for me to tear by hand, and my magic is sluggish. It takes time to release him, but I do.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I couldn’t let you tell Frank we were in his office.”
“You’ve always been impulsive,” Dr. Sam says. His voice cracks. I stand up and grab a glass of water from my nightstand. I come back with it.
“Sorry again,” I say, back on my knees. “It’s old and I did drink from it a little, but—”
His hands are released and he takes the cup, drinking greedily.
“Please, listen,” I say. “You know things have been wrong in this house for a long time, don’t you?” His red-rimmed eyes turn to me. He swallows hard. “How long have you worked for him?”
“A little over twenty years,” he says.
“So you know. You know about the other girls. Did you help him kill them?”
Dr. Sam coughs, and thumps on his chest. “Kill? No, they just left when they were of age.” He won’t make eye contact with me. “That’s what Frank told me, at least.”
“But you knew,” I say flatly. Why did I get my hopes up for even a second? Of course he knew, just like he knew that Frank was manipulating and emotionally abusing me and my siblings until we were completely dependent on him.
“I . . . wondered, I suppose.”
I sigh, and go back to the vines around his ankles. “They’re all dead,” I say. And you knew that. “All the girls from before. And now Elle and Winnie.” I pause, swallowing, my fingers moving feather-light to the drying blood on my face. “He killed them both, and now we’re all locked in our rooms.” The vines finally disintegrate. “For once, please . . . could you try to be useful?” Dr. Sam can’t be trusted. That’s obvious. I don’t have a better choice, though. I need his help.
“For once? Derry, come now, I’ve taken care of you for years—”
“You’ve turned your back on me for years,” I snap. “Don’t pretend otherwise. So, yes, for once in your goddamn life, be useful to one of Frank’s victims instead of to him.”
He glares, still defiant. I smile. “That’s fine. If you help me or not, I can still tell Frank you did. Imagine it. He comes to check on me. And you’re here!” I gasp for dramatic effect. “You’re helping one of his precious alchemists escape!”
“He’d never believe that,” Dr. Sam scoffs.
“Oh, I think he would. You haven’t seen him. All those girls going missing, and then killing Elle—he’s unhinged. Paranoid. Now, I know that two decades of watching children die wasn’t enough for you to grow a spine and stop him, but he doesn’t.” I lean in too close for comfort, the smile still plastered on my face. “And if he’ll kill his most loyal alchemist without even getting to take the magic keeping him immortal, do you think he’ll spare you?”
I shouldn’t be excited by the fear in his eyes, but I am.
“Fine,” he says. “How can I help?”
23
“We need a distraction,” I say. “All I need is enough time to get my siblings out of here. So, here’s what you’re going to do.” I stand up, brushing myself off. “You’re going to pound on that door and scream until he gets here.”
“. . . Pardon?”
“Yeah. You’re going to tell him some of the truth. That I drugged you and trapped you in my closet, yes, definitely that. You’re going to insist on talking to him alone.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, you make that part up. Just distract him. Get him away from here. And don’t let him lock the door again. Clear?”
“Not really—”
I don’t let Dr. Sam argue. I start pounding on the door with my fists, hard and loud as I can. Dr. Sam pulls me away and I scream “NO!” the way I would scream if Dr. Sam were trying to escape and expose me.
When footsteps start pounding up the stairs I retreat back to the window. I mess up my hair a little, like I’ve been struggling, and school my face to appear shaken and scared.
It’s not far from the truth.
The lock clicks and the door flies open.
“What—Sam?” Frank asks. “When did you get here?”
Dr. Sam glances back at me. From behind mussed hair, I give him a hard look.
“I was drugged.” He points at me. “I came for the counseling we talked about and found several of the girls in your office. Derry gave me drugged tea. I can’t say how long I was in that closet.”
Something I can’t identify flickers across Frank’s face when he looks at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost call it fear.
Oh, I’d love to see fear on his face like I saw on Dr. Sam’s.
“How did you get out?”
“She got desperate when you locked her in. She let me go and tried to convince me to help her escape.” Dr. Sam smiles at me, then at Frank. “You’ll find this hilarious, Frank. She tried to threaten me.” Okay, that’s more of the truth than I thought he’d tell him.
“Threaten you?”
“She thought that if you found me here, you’d assume I was trying to help her and kill me.” You can stop telling the truth at any moment now! “So she tried to threaten me into distracting you so that she could free everyone else.”
Frank laughs as my heart sinks. “They always think they can use you.” He claps Dr. Sam on the shoulder. “At least I can count on you, Sam. Everything else has been going to shit. Derry!” I jump. “Looks like Jane’s time-out is done early and yours is about to begin. Come with me. Sam? Can you see yourself out? I’m afraid I can’t play host at the moment.”
“No need to explain, Frank. You’ll call if you need me?”
“Of course.”
Dr. Sam goes down the stairs ahead of us and I can’t stop the angry tears from slipping down my cheeks. Frank grips my arm too hard. He turns me down the hallway toward the time-out room. I look back at Dr. Sam, allowing myself one final hope that maybe he will grow a conscience.
But he looks at me, and I know that he’s not getting the others out. He smiles at me sadly, as if this is something that can be forgiven with a shrug and an apology.
He walks out the front door, closes it, and he’s gone.
We are well and truly on our own.
Frank opens the door to the time-out room. It’s dark. That’s what it is for Jane. Dark, and quiet—but not completely quiet. Little sounds will come through occasionally. She can never fully relax.
The light from the hallway spills in and illuminates her on the stool. She’s not crying. She’s staring straight at Frank as if she’s been waiting for him.
Maybe you can’t be intimidated by the dark anymore once you’ve experienced whatever she did when the forest took her.
“Good news, Jane, you’ve earned a reprieve,” Frank says.
Jane looks between him and me. “What will you do with her?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I need time to decide if she’s made herself too disposable, and I think she needs to spend it in here.”
She slips off the stool. She stumbles, and catches herself. We pass each other as we trade places in the time-out room. Her hand brushes mine. Briefly, our pinkies entwine.
Then she’s in the hallway, and I’m in the room. Frank flips a switch, and the fluorescents come on.
“Well?” Frank asks. “On the stool.”
“I did what I had to do,” I say. �
��I’ll do anything to protect them.” I need another plan, but so far, I’m not having any brilliant epiphanies. I’m lost and scared and stalling.
“And just how long do you think you’ll be around to protect them if you keep pulling stunts like that?”
My eyes meet Jane’s in panic, and he closes the door, severing our connection.
I’m left in the too-bright. It’s not long before the noises come.
I close my eyes tight, trying to block out the light. I have to concentrate. I need a new plan.
I need to keep stalling. I need to keep Frank’s attention off my siblings. As long as he’s hurting me, he can’t hurt them.
So I start pounding on the door. Smaller fists pound inches below mine. I stumble back.
A girl no older than nine, her face streaked with tears under round-rimmed glasses, pounds on the door. Panic-flowers are growing out of the floor around her. Please let me out! she cries. I’ll be good!
She vanishes. Just a memory.
I slam back into the door. “Let me out!” I yell. I don’t promise to be good.
There’s no answer. Either he’s gone, or he’s ignoring me.
This is such a delicate balance. I want to be difficult enough that he has to use all of his energy to control me, but not so difficult that he snaps and shoots me. I won’t be much use to anyone if I’m dead.
No matter how loud I am, he doesn’t open the door. My hand rests on the knob. I know it’s unlocked, and yet . . .
I press my forehead to the door. I don’t know a lot about praying. Winnie, Brooke, London, and Olivia came from religious families, and all upheld their nightly prayers. Even Winnie, at her angriest, would pray. Sometimes with Jane and her candles, other times alone in their room.
They all tried to teach me, and I listened, but it was like I couldn’t connect to what they were saying. Believing in something bigger sounded so good. I wanted to be folded in with them and pray to God. It seemed to give them real peace, and I longed to feel the same way.
But I couldn’t. Something blocked me. I wanted to believe so badly, and couldn’t.
Brooke is probably praying right now. London and Olivia might be praying. Winnie . . .
I squeeze my eyes shut. I squeeze them so tight I see bright spots and, with the noise, my head starts to hurt. I can’t tell how much time is passing. I slap my hand on the door. I whisper, “Please.”
Something answers.
It’s not a word. It’s a feeling. An image. I see Violet and Irene, trapped in their room. Irene sits on her bed, concentrating—concentrating on contacting me.
At the last test she couldn’t get anything to Olivia from rooms away. Is it because her room is right above the time-out room? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s working, and we can communicate at least a little.
I picture the things she needs to know. Dr. Sam in my closet. Dr. Sam leaving us. Me, in the time-out room. Jane, in the hallway with Frank. I don’t know if the images are going through. I was her guinea pig a few times, but only when we were feet apart.
But she does respond, and when she does, I realize she’s communicating with the others, too. She’s relaying information between all of us.
She shows me Jane in our room. There’s something about the feel and lighting of the image that lets me know this came from Jane. I see her watching Frank slam and lock the door, and hear how she heard his muffled steps down the stairs.
He could be back in the hallway, right outside this door. He could be in his rooms. He could be in the front yard, having a last conversation with Dr. Sam. He could be anywhere.
The images shift, and they become crisp—too crisp. Memories aren’t like this, they’re all vague and kinda squiggly. This isn’t something that’s happened; it’s an idea.
It shows Jane in our bedroom, with her hands over the place where the door meets the wall. She pulls her hand away, and where once there was a door and a wall and a lock holding them together, there’s a hole.
Idea-Jane leaves the room, and does the same to the other bedrooms, freeing everyone. Then she comes to me—
I interrupt that, and send back as forceful a message as I can. I show Irene—and by extension, if she sends it, Jane—the image of all of them escaping out through the tunnel.
I keep Winnie’s body out of it, leaving the imaginary floor bare.
I don’t relay the rest of the plan. They don’t need to know that I’m not going through the tunnel with them. I have to distract Frank so that my siblings can get away safely. I have to do what needs doing.
Jane’s response is muted, all washed-out colors and muffled feelings, like Irene is running out of power, but I think it’s an agreement. I hope it is. I hope we’re on the same page.
But for now, I’m back with my hand on the doorknob of an unlocked room, feeling for all the world as if it is so securely locked that no magic could bypass it.
In the guise of being cautious rather than scared, I press my ear to the door and listen. Frank could be out there, after all. I listen for breathing.
I don’t hear it.
It’s just me in an unlocked room with an empty hallway on the other side, and I’m still unable to open the door.
“I hate this,” I whisper.
I want to go home, someone whimpers.
I don’t need to turn around to know she’s back.
It’s me, a long time ago. It’s just a memory, I know that, but it plays out before me like a movie.
I turn. She’s not alone. She’s curled up in a corner, and Frank kneels in front of her.
I know, he says. But this is your home.
Where are my mom and dad?
They left you, Derry. They were scared of your power, so they left you with me.
She looks up at him through wet lashes. Are you scared of me?
I watch the corner of Frank’s mouth tug up into that familiar fatherly smile. I think that was the first time he’d shone it on me full force. I remember how it felt. I remember being confused and sad, but feeling a little bit safer with that smile directed at me.
I could never be scared of you, he says, and he and the little me disappear.
“I can fix that,” I say.
That little girl really was in a locked room. My first few time-outs came with a locked door, until I could be trusted to not escape.
She didn’t have a choice in the matter. I do.
I open the door.
Outside the room, I pause, listening. If Frank’s anywhere nearby, he’s being very quiet about it. Still, I walk as delicately as I can until I’m at the little twins’ room. The door is closed and locked. Shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t think any of us will be allowed back into that room until he figures out how to block the tunnel.
My siblings start trickling down, Brooke and the little twins first, and the rest a few moments later. Jane nudges her way to the front. She covers the whole doorknob and lock with her hands, closing her eyes.
When she draws back, the lock is gone. It dissolved under her ministrations.
Ministrations. Good word.
Before anyone can enter, I sign ‘wait’ and slip inside. I approach Winnie, pulling a blanket off London’s bed as I go.
It’s worse, somehow, that he shot her in the face, and that it didn’t make a neat little hole in the forehead like in some of the crime shows my parents didn’t want me watching but I saw anyway. It left her near unrecognizable. Near. I think I’d have known she was Winnie even if I hadn’t seen it happen. If I was taken to identify the body, like in those shows? I’d have seen her intact mouth that I learned the shape of through touch as well as sight, the way her ears point a little, the little scar on her collarbone. I would have known.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should have saved you.”
I drape the blanket over her body. It doesn’t obscure her shape and there’s still blood splatter, but it’s better. It’s enough.
Only then do I let the rest of my siblings i
n. I stand back as Brooke opens the wall and they start down the path. Just as Jane brings up the rear, I say, “I’ll be right there. I need to grab something.”
I don’t have a better explanation if she questions me, so I don’t give her a chance. I just leave, intending to begin my search for Frank.
Jane catches up with me in the living room. She glares at me. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Someone has to distract him.’
‘No, they don’t. You and I could be out already. We’d all be long gone before he even realized we weren’t in our rooms. What are you really doing?’
No one was ever supposed to know, but if I can tell anyone . . . well. It’s Jane. She already knows what I am.
‘Stopping him.’
Her expression flashes into something like half a dozen emotions—confusion, realization, sadness, a little anger, and finally, grim determination.
‘You don’t have to do it alone.’
I do, because I can’t let anyone else shoulder this particular burden, but I nod. We can work out the details of who kills who when we’ve found Frank.
‘But before we go look for him . . .’ Jane sighs, and points toward the shelf of flowers. “We have to destroy them,” she whispers.
There’s a sadness in her voice, and I don’t know why. She’s right, though. I didn’t even think of it. Sloppy. If he’d escaped and managed to grab my flower, he could have killed me. Worse, he could have killed one of my siblings.
I pick up my poppy and turn it over in my hands. For years, I’ve used the color in this glass flower to measure my worth. If it was bright and bold, it meant I was strong.
Seeing it so pale opens a pit in my stomach.
I don’t think there’s a quiet way to do this, but, well, aren’t we trying to find him? If he comes to us, he’s found. I take several deep, fortifying breaths, then smash my poppy on the floor.
It doesn’t shatter into a million pieces. It breaks into several large chunks. At first I’m not sure if that will do it, but then the red leeches out of it onto the floor . . . and disappears.
I hadn’t let myself hope that breaking the flower would give me my magic back. It wasn’t in there, not really. It was only a representation of what magic remained in me. Frank has the rest.
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