Rafael slides back into a smile. “You know my number. And I know yours.” He leaves and I do not move, will not move, not ever. Right, right, right. I will make this feel right.
“Sorry about him,” James mutters.
“It’s fine.” I smile and close my eyes. It’s better than fine.
I put my hair up. I take it down. I have no sense of how I should get ready tonight. Sometimes I get a feeling—one pair of shoes over another, one way of doing my hair—that for whatever reason is right. Tonight I can’t get a read on those feelings. Everything is scattered and shattered and put back together.
Tonight I am going to dance with James.
I laugh, giddy, and leave my hair long and waving down my back. Simple. I’ll keep it simple, because James has seen me through so much and I don’t need to change, not for him, never for him. We understand each other. I can read the lines of his shoulders, catalog the lies of his smiles; he can touch my hands and not care.
I’m his. It’s such a relief to be someone’s, to not have to be my own (to not have to be Annie’s—don’t think about Annie, not tonight, especially not tonight).
It’s still early, we aren’t leaving yet, but I hold my shoes and dance and twirl barefoot out of my room and into the hallway of the cool white house we’re staying in. It is all stone and tile and brilliant splashes of color. I dance past the hallway, past the kitchen. I am going to dance into pieces, I am ready to go, I am ready for tonight.
Laughter and hushed voices from the kitchen. Something is off, my stomach isn’t giddy with butterflies so much as sick with them now, and I don’t want to but I have to, I have to see.
I am a ghost, I am a whisper of feet on the tile. The arched entry to the kitchen shields me and I peer past the edge and there is Eden.
And she is wrapped around—wrapped around—wrapped around James, my James, and she is laughing and her hands (not my hands, not my horrible hands) are in his hair and she is whispering in his ear.
“I promised her dancing,” he says, and she frowns.
“But I’m so tired of dancing. I’m lonely. I want to stay in tonight. With you.”
“Another time, love,” he says.
Love, love, love.
Love.
My dancing heart has danced itself apart and I was wrong, of course I was wrong, I am always wrong, everything is always wrong.
I am James’s but he is not mine.
“Fia?” he calls, pulling away from Eden (soft Eden, untrained Eden, Eden with all her soft parts that I could hurt, hurt, hurt—no, don’t think about it, get away from Eden, don’t let her feel it). “You ready?”
I back into the other room. My feet are ghosts and my heart is a ghost and my dreams? I have no dreams.
I am an idiot.
“I’m ready,” I say. I wipe it clean, push it away, I am nothing, I feel nothing, there is nothing here.
Eden squirms when we get in the car. “She’s doing that thing again.”
“What thing?” James asks. He is smiling and driving, and I wish I were driving. I would drive us off a cliff. No I wouldn’t. (Maybe I would. I am so stupid, I am sick with the stupidness of me.)
“That thing where she feels totally empty. It gives me the creeps. She hasn’t done it in a long time.”
“She is sitting right here.” My voice is bright. My voice is a lie. I can lie better than you can, James.
“You’re happy, right?”
“The happiest.” I smile at him. I am going to dance tonight. I am going to dance tonight and I am not going to dance with James. I will never dance with James.
The club is the same as every other club we go into anywhere else in the whole world. Music and lights and bodies. I leave James and Eden without a word and go to the center of the floor and dance out my rage and my sorrow and dance out everything I am not.
I am not a girl who thought she was in love with James. I am not a girl who has failed and betrayed her sister at every possible turn. I am not a girl whose hands have ended lives. I am not a girl. I am just a body in motion.
“Emilia?”
I do not turn around until the hand comes down on my shoulder and I remember that today I was Emilia. I twist out from under the hand and turn to see Rafael. He is beautiful and he thinks I am beautiful and everything about him is slick and predatory—and he wants me.
He is wrong and I should not encourage him, I should leave right now and find James. This is not safe. (There are too many bodies, several of the tall, broad guys around us are obviously with him. I am outnumbered; it is dark; he thinks I am very young and very helpless and only one of those is true.)
He does not like James. He hates him. I noticed on the beach, but I was distracted by James claiming me. Not claiming me. Using me. Keeping me away from Rafael.
I smile and raise my arms over my head, dance closer to Rafael. He hates James. He is dangerous. I let him put his hands on my hips and twist my body against his. Because he is not James.
And James does not want me this way.
“You are beautiful,” he whispers in my ear and he is not lying. I turn my back to him, trace my arm behind myself, onto his neck. We are dancing and dancing and then before I realize it he is kissing me.
It is my first kiss.
I want to cry. I want to sink into the ground and disappear. I want to be the nothing that I thought I was. His mouth is everywhere, his hands are everywhere, suffocating me, and I cannot breathe and I want to go home, but there is no home. I want Annie.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” he says, taking my hand in his and pulling me through the crowds. It is wrong, and I have counted the men with him and there are too many, and if James does not like him, then he must be a truly horrible person.
We walk out of the club into the dark night and the air is sharp with a humid, cold bite. I shiver and Rafael turns, wraps his arms around me, puts his mouth to mine again, pushes me up against the wall of the building. He is all tongue and hands and he disgusts me, but I disgust me, too.
Too wrong. I don’t want this. I push him back, off me. “I’m going inside,” I say.
“Come on, baby.” He tries to come in close and I push him again. “Don’t be like that.” His voice isn’t sweet like honey anymore. It is low and dark like tar. “Let’s have some fun. We’ll go to my boat and have some fun. And then we’ll talk about my friend James.”
“Thanks but no.” I try to walk past, but the men with him (five and they move quickly and, unlike Rafael, they have muscles for a reason other than looking pretty, and I have no weapons) close the gaps, blocking me in.
“You are one of them. One of his girls. I’ve heard the rumors. And James has unfinished business with me. He’s very bad at keeping promises, but maybe his girl is better.” He has me back against the wall; he traces one of his fingers down my neck, down, down, down.
I knee him in the groin. “I’m nobody’s girl.”
He calls me a nasty name, and that annoys me because he has no right, and then one of the men grabs for my hair (I should have put it up). I duck, get low, kick at knees and elbow at noses. I want a knife. I have two down, three left, and now they are careful, wary. I have shown my hand.
I laugh. This is fun. This is what I wanted all along, I realize. This is better than the dancing. This is getting lost while doing something. I duck a rush, push the man so he careens forward and his head connects with the wall with a dull thud.
Someone grabs me around the waist and I slam my head back into his nose, hear it crack. He lets me go and I drop to the ground, sweep the feet of the only man left, propel myself to standing, and kick him in the face.
Rafael pushes himself up against the wall, and he does not think I’m beautiful anymore.
“You’re crazy,” he hisses.
“Too true.”
“Fia!”
I turn and there is James, and he’s furious. I’ve never seen him so angry. “What are you doing?”
“I was dancing
.” I shrug.
“James, you owe—” Rafael starts, but James hits him in the stomach so hard Rafael collapses.
“We’re done here,” James says to him.
I walk past them down the dark, empty street. I think I’ll walk back to our house. It’s only a few miles and I like the night air.
James grabs my arm and I know I don’t have to elbow or kick, but I know where I need to if I want to. Want and need. Such a fine difference.
“What were you thinking?” he shouts.
“I wanted someone to dance with. He was a great dancer. Terrible kisser, though. And an even worse fighter.”
“Fia!” He yanks my arm so hard I twist to face him. “You can’t just—you have no idea who he is! He’s dangerous—he could have hurt you. You of all people should have known that! Why would you take that risk?”
I glare at his face, his face that I have wanted for so long. “Sometimes I pick things that aren’t good for me.”
“What if something had happened?”
“I’m sure Eden would have comforted you.”
His face freezes, then falls. “It’s not like that. She—I have to keep her happy. That’s all it is. I don’t feel anything for her. The feelings she picks up off me aren’t for her. Never for her. Let me explain.”
“No, let me explain. You’re right. I did know better than to go with Rafael. But I knew better about you, too. From the moment we met, you were wrong. You were always wrong. And I ignored it, and I pretended it wasn’t true. I’d like to go back to Chicago now. You don’t have to manipulate me, pretend to care, pretend to be my friend to get me to do what you want; I don’t have any other choices. But I’m done playing make-believe.”
He looks hurt. He looks like he wants to say something. He is a liar, liar, liar.
I will go home, and I will see Annie when they let me, and I will do whatever they say because I am not a person. Not anymore. James was my one hope for something more, but he was always, always a Keane.
Still, I will protect Annie. She is the only person in the world who loves me. She is the only person in the world who would never use me. She is my anchor, the chain around my ankle, the thing that means it doesn’t matter what James does or who he is—I will still be his because I will always be Annie’s.
“WHO WAS THAT?” I ASK, POUNDING ON THE DOOR to my bedroom. How dare James lock me out of my own room to talk on the phone. I lean my ear close, trying to hear. “Was it Fia? Is she okay?”
He opens the door and I almost fall forward. He catches me, then leaves me standing there. I hear him opening and slamming drawers.
“What are you doing? Get out of my stuff!”
“You’re coming with us to get Fia.”
“She’s okay.” I slump against the doorframe with relief.
“For now. Either she already got away or she can at any time. Which you cannot tell anyone. The story is she’s escaping tomorrow and coming right back. No one can know she thought about leaving forever. If they think they can’t control her anymore through you, they have other plans. I won’t let them do those things to her. We have to make them think she never even considered not coming back.” He stops, swears. “You’re useless around Readers. I’ll have to leave Doris here and bring Eden. I’ll tell them I’m taking you in case you have any more visions.”
She’s okay. She’s okay. Then . . . why bring her back? “If she’s okay, can’t we—can’t we just not find her? Please.”
“That isn’t an option. She knows it. You should, too.”
Every part of me is heavy and tired. All the times I’ve tried to help Fia, protect her, I’ve failed. And the one time I went further than that, tried to protect more than us, all it did was backfire and push Fia further away. Adam is still alive and those women will still be found and destroyed. I thought I was doing something important for once, changing something for the better.
Maybe I can help in St. Louis. Maybe I’ll see something and be able to use it. Maybe this will finally be our chance, being together far from here.
“Why are you bringing me?” I ask, suddenly suspicious. “Am I some sort of bait to force Fia back? I won’t do it. If you take me in public, I’ll scream bloody murder. I will not ruin her chance to be free.”
“It wasn’t my idea.” He zips up a bag, then pushes past me. “I don’t want to bring you any more than you want to come. But Fia said she would only meet me if she could see you with us.”
“Then I’m not coming.” I stand straighter, triumphant. If the only way I can be there for my sister is by not being there, then that’s what I’ll do. I don’t care what they do to me. I’ll figure out how to get away on my own, if I know that Fia is free.
“I don’t have time for this,” he snaps. “I need to be in St. Louis in case she calls again.” My front door opens, and he shouts for Darren. I run into my room, lock it, then barricade myself in my closet. I won’t. I won’t go.
The pounding starts on the bedroom door, and I brace my feet against the closet. Then it’s light, and I’m outside.
The air is heavy with humidity, the spring day almost oppressively warm. Everything has a sleepy, thick feel to it; even the buzz of a lawn mower nearby is muffled. I look and see two girls, the same height, their hair the same color. One is beautiful, her face haunted and innocent at the same time. The other is me.
I am seeing myself again.
We’re next to some strange building, the narrow wall brilliant silver and going straight up into the sky. Green grass surrounds it and people who aren’t in focus pass around us, not connected to us, not noticing us. I can’t see anyone I recognize, but I know—I can feel—that we are being watched. Fia puts her hands out and takes mine. She’s holding my hands!
She looks awful. She’s in a black shirt that’s too big for her, there’s a bruise forming on one cheek, and she has nasty cuts on her arms. I look absolutely terrified.
“Fia,” I say. My voice sounds strange, foreign. Like I am barely squeezing it out. “I’m so sorry. For everything. But it’s okay. I understand.” I smile and, though tears are streaming down my face, I keep smiling.
“Annie,” she whispers. “It’s the only way. I can’t protect you anymore, and we can never be free. Not together. I’m so sorry, but it’s the only way.” She lets go of my hands; I keep them in fists at my side. Then Fia leans forward and kisses my forehead. She pulls out a knife that gleams as brilliant silver as the building. It glints in the sun as she holds it at her side. “I love you. I love you, but I need you to be dead. You have to be dead.”
She brings the knife between us, and all I can see is our bodies, the knife somewhere in the middle, and her other arm behind me like she is hugging me. Then she steps back and the knife is red, so red, and I drop to the ground, my hands on my stomach.
I don’t move.
I’m not moving.
Fia holds out the silver-red knife, looks down at it. “Goodbye, Annie. I love you.” Then she turns and walks away.
And I am on the ground, and I am not moving, and I will never move again.
The door back in the darkness crashes open and someone grabs me roughly by the arms and yanks me out of the closet.
“Don’t do this, Annie,” James says. “We can make you come.”
“Be careful with her!” Eden shouts. “Annie, what’s wrong? She’s freaking out.”
“Of course she’s freaking out, that’s what she does.”
I barely listen to James and Eden bickering about me. I can’t go. If I go, Fia will kill me. Why would she do that? Why? Why after all this time? She kills me! She kills me! She . . .
She needs me to be dead. I’ve said it myself so many times: Fia can never be free because she will always have to protect me. As long as I’m alive, there will be a way to control Fia, to force her to do things she never would otherwise.
As long as I’m alive.
Fia needs me to be dead. I swallow hard, more scared than I have ever been my entire life.
Except that night, the night Fia took the pills and I thought I’d lose her forever. Keane has made it clear that if Fia doesn’t come back, I am as good as dead. I have no doubt his method will be far more horrifying and painful than hers. If this is the only thing I can ever do for her, if this is the only way I can protect her, like she’s always tried to protect me, how can I not do it? She’d give up her future for me. She already did.
“It’s okay, guys,” I say, surprised by how clear and calm my voice comes out. Maybe I can lie, after all. “I’ll come with you. It’s fine.”
It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. I will do this for Fia. It’s finally my turn to take care of her.
I SHOULD WEAR A BLACK SHIRT TODAY. I PULL ONE out of the small pile of clothes the Lerner group provided. Jeans. Shoes I can move in.
My hands tremble.
I finish lacing the sneakers when there’s a soft knock. “Come in,” I say, because I have never had rooms that keep people out anyway.
Adam opens the door and smiles shyly at me. “Hey. How are you?”
I stand and stretch my arms over my head, my stitches pulling and itching in my arm. I want to get them out. “I’ll be good.”
“I was wondering if I could . . . well.” He reaches up and runs his long fingers through his hair. “This is more awkward than I thought it would be. But I was wondering if I could get an MRI of your brain and also draw some blood.”
No. No no no. Never let them do that. Never let them find anyone else like you, not ever, not ever. I smile and shake my head. “I never let a boy see my brain until the third date.”
His eyes go wide and then he laughs. “Sorry. I guess that was too forward.”
“You at least owe me dinner and a movie first.”
His smile hits me straight through, breaks my heart. “I’d like that.”
Oh, I wish. I wish I were a girl for this boy to take to dinner and a movie. I could be, still. I could have that life. I could earn the way he looks at me. I glance at the clock. Almost time. Can’t think. I pull out the tiny, pay-as-you-go phone I asked Sarah to buy for me. “Do you have a phone?”
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