Chapter 13
thirteen
brIAR
“Rosie? Can you hear me?”
The phone feels hot in my hand. Its glass screen stings my ice-cold ear and nips at my chilled fingers, but I clutch it harder, glancing around the gray alleyway.
My heart slams into my ribs, thumping unevenly as the hairs on my neck prickle. I whip my head around, making sure no one followed me out of the ballet theater. The staff must be suspicious. No one should have any way to contact me here—this is only my audition.
Father insisted on bringing me. According to him, it didn’t matter that I was sixteen and virtually untrained. It’s time I made myself useful; and getting into the prestigious ballet academy will afford him opportunities to rub elbows with wealthy investors.
I was shocked when he told me to get ready to leave our house. It had been months since my last outing—and this one came with a steady stream of threats.
Before he dropped me off, Father made it very clear what would happen if I tried to speak to anyone at the theater about my circumstances. He told me he would lock me up, send me away like he did with Violet, or make sure whoever had her would punish her in my stead…
If she were still alive.
I believed him. Any doubts I had about how deranged the man who made us may be went out the window when he disappeared my sister. Without a trace. In the dead of night.
“Parents” aren’t permitted to attend auditions, so I’ve settled for keeping my mouth shut and haven’t so much as made a peep outside of polite small talk with the director.
When an assistant came scurrying in holding a phone and announced that I had a call…
every conditioned alarm bell went off, begging me not to take it.
Who on earth would be calling me—and why? What if someone mentions it to my father when he picks me up?
So what if they do, a despondent voice in my mind asks. The one that’s been appearing more and more.
After two weeks alone, with no word on what became of the one person I love, I’ve started wondering how much I truly care about Father’s threats.
Am I honestly going to come here every day and not tell someone how heinous he is? Or try to run? So what if he hurts me or locks me up or ships me off? Do I really care what happens to me anymore? Does anyone?
“Rosie,” the voice hisses again. “I don’t know how much time I have.”
My lips move, but I can’t make words. All the questions I want to ask—is it really you, where are you, are you going to live—trip over each other.
In the end, I only manage to croak, “Violet?”
“It’s me,” she whispers, and the words are so soft and reassuring, I know it must be her. No one else has ever spoken to me like that.
I start stammering half questions. “Oh my God—where—who—what happened, Vi?!”
My sister’s voice quiets and sharpens all at once. “Listen to me, Rosie—you have to listen, okay? I don’t have time to explain. But just—trust me. You trust me, right?”
I think of all the other ballerinas—their vicious glares and pinched sneers. How they seem torn between hating me and looking for holes to use for sabotage. The director, with his predatory smile. And my father. His laboratory. His “health shakes” and padlocks and cool detachment.
Violet is literally the only person I’ve ever trusted.
“Yes,” I rush to reply. “Of course, Vi, but where—”
“I can’t talk,” she snaps, more fervent than I’ve ever heard her. “But listen, Rosie.”
It’s almost impossible, but I seal my lips together. Violet rushes on. “You have to do everything he says, Rosie,” she begs, her voice low and urgent. “Every. Thing. Don’t question him. Don’t try to make plans. Don’t go near his lab or look into his research. Just… do whatever he wants you to do.”
My mouth falls open in shock. Of the two of us, Violet was always the one hell-bent on figuring out what our father was up to so we could stop him. Or at least get away.
“B-but, Violet, I can get out now. He left me here alone and—”
“No,” she interrupts. “It does not matter how safe you think you are or how well you plan—promise me you won’t disobey him. Promise me you won’t try to run or hurt yourself.”
Her words end on a quiet sob. When she continues, she sounds even more intense. “Promise me, Rosie. Please.”
Cold air rips through the alley. But it feels warm compared to the dread crystallizing in my lungs. “I—Violet, what did he do to you? Where are you?”
I hear a whimper. My sister repeats her command, speaking faster. “Promise, Rosie. Anything he says, you do it. Please.”
My gut wrenches, nauseous tingles enveloping my middle. The deepest, most visceral form of fear wraps its talons around my heart. “I—Okay. I promise.”
I hear the relief in her voice, even as she rushes to hang up. “Good. I love you, Rosie. Whatever else happens, just remember that, okay?”
I feel her slipping away. Panic rears up in my chest and I blurt, “Violet, wait! Where are you? What are they going to do to you?”
The line goes dead for so long, I think she must have hung up. But then I hear her whisper, the last words she’ll ever say to me.
“Nothing good.”
A frozen stab of fear impales my middle. Static rings in my ears and I bolt upright, wailing. The horrified sound echoes off the too-large, too-empty suite and barrels back into me. I scramble into the oversized bed’s headboard, clutching my head in both hands.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
My breathing stutters as I sob. Wishing I could pacify myself with lame platitudes like “it was just a dream.”
It wasn’t a dream, though.
It was a memory that likes to haunt my sleep.
Really, it shouldn’t bother. That one phone call already stalks my every waking hour, dragging all sorts of unanswered questions around with it.
Why did she want me to obey the evil man who created us? What did she think would happen if I didn’t? And how could it be any worse than surrendering?
I pant into my palms, trying to remember how to breathe. But a new wave of terror crashes over my head when I suddenly feel someone watching me. My head snaps up, vision blurring behind my tears.
The room is empty.
Everything looks the same, down to the French doors on the right side. The wall of not-quite-budding roses shivers against a gust of wind. Casting sinister, thorn-filled shadows over the empty stone floor.