Chapter 61
61
I rest the axe near the door and creep into the room. The women are fast asleep, mumbling sweet nothings under bitter breaths. Slipping past them, I push my weight against the french doors to check that the patio furniture is securely barricading the rear exit. The hinges don’t shift an inch with all my strength. I upright myself and take a nervous breath.
No going back now.
I work quickly, dousing the room with lighter fluid. My hands are so sweaty from nerves that I almost drop the bottles twice. I soak everything thoroughly. The walls, the couches, the fancy rug. The blinds, the closet, between dresser drawers. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m literally about to murder seven people. What the fuck? Yet I don’t stop. Instead, I try to think of what happens next, what I’ll do when everything catches aflame, how I’ll return to the outside world and somehow justify my crimes.
By the time I’m finished, the room is pungent with the dizzying smell of butane. My clothes are damp with perspiration and lighter fluid. I’m a walking combustion engine with a lighter in my pocket. The only place I don’t soak is the bed, wary that if I get too close, one of the sleeping devils will wake and accost me.
With the last bottle emptied, I creep toward the closet. When I open it, the automatic light inside flickers on, illuminating a small pocket of the otherwise dark room. I take the padlock off my carry-on so I can use it to barricade the Belladonnas inside.
The sound of rustling sheets. A groan. One of the girls is stirring.
My heart patters against my chest. I stay still. Madly still. A cornered mouse waiting for the big bad wolf.
“Ugh.” Bella Marie. “What is that smell?”
I glance at the door. Should I start the fire now? Light the flames and run out?
But Bella Marie’s awake. What if she manages to rouse everyone before the fire takes? The seven of them slamming against the door would overpower a shitty luggage lock. I need most of them asleep when the fire starts, so by the time they are awake, their lungs are filled with smoke, carbon monoxide clogging their tracheas, a floor of ripping flames beneath them, no method of escape.
I hear her climb off the bed. “Julie?”
Shit. She’s noticed I’m not there.
But her voice is that of a worried mother hen. She doesn’t know what’s going on yet.
Against my better judgment, I step back into the room. “Hey,” I whisper, hoping the darkness hides my panic, the sweat glistening across my temple.
“Darling, do you smell that?” She wipes the sleep from her eyes.
I take a big whiff that slaps me in the back of my head. Stars spin in my eyes from the sharp butane. “Nope! No smell. We should get back to bed.”
She doesn’t move, staring. The blue of her eyes glows at me. “Why are you creeping around, Julie?”
I swallow. “No reason. Just needed to stretch my legs because… I had a nightmare.”
“A nightmare?”
“Yes. Very bad nightmare. Cancellations and everything. Why are you awake?” The SLEEPY BEARS should have put her in a coma.
Her white teeth shine in the dark. “Darling, I only pretended to take the bears for your mental support. I spat them out when you weren’t looking. You know I’m strictly against the medical-industrial complex. Sorry to disappoint.” She steps toward me. Jolts. Peers down. Her feet have landed in a puddle of lighter fluid.
Fuck.
The shadows of her face contort as her brows arch, lips curling into a frown. She lifts her foot, swipes a dainty finger across her arch, and sniffs. Her body snaps straight and she stares at me with wild eyes, stalking closer. The closet light illuminates her sharp profile. “Julie, what were you doing with the lighter fluid?”
“Nothing.” I back away, remembering the axe by the door. I yearn to lunge for it but I fear that if I move too quickly, she’ll tackle me with her spindly limbs before I get to the weapon.
I gulp and move slowly. My muscles creak and my bones pop as I inch through the entranceway. The whole time, I can’t tear my eyes away from Bella Marie’s blues.
“Don’t lie.” Her eyes are inhumanly wide. Like a Cheshire cat. She comes so close my stomach roils with fear. I can somehow smell her honeyed skin through the butane. “We’re family, remember? Family doesn’t lie to each other.”
“But we keep each other tied to beds?”
She freezes. Tips her head to the side with a mild smile. “You found Isla?” Her voice is disturbingly light, almost playful. The tone you’d use to congratulate a toddler for performing a simple math equation. “You must understand, what we do is for the good of the family. Out of love. After a few days, Isla will come to her senses. Everyone does.”
“It’s inhumane.”
“Inhumane? Me? Inhumane? You’re the one who stole your sister’s life.” I flinch. Didn’t she proclaim it to be a brave act? “Don’t you see what I’ve done for you girls? I’m uplifting you. Welcoming you into the family. I’m generous. I’m kind. I’m beautiful and loving. Things usually work better than this. We normally introduce one new member at a time so as not to overwhelm. But it’s all because of my dear cousin’s tweets and you that we’ve had to improvise.” She opens her arms for a hug. “But it’s not too late. We all make mistakes. If you repent, we can take you back.”
Only a day ago, her open arms filled my heart with warmth. But now my blood runs cold as I take another step back. “F-fuck you,” I spit.
She’s in front of the light now, her skin sallow. She drops her arms and sighs. “I should have known that Chloe’s twin would cause problems.” She steeples her temple. “After all I did to take care of her.”
My teeth chatter. “Take care?”
She tips her head, makes a small aw sound. “Darling, are you slow? Chloe would never die from something as blasé as a drug overdose .”
“Y-you—” The words catch in my throat. “You killed her.”
“Don’t be so crass. Killed is a very dramatic word. I simply eased her into eternal sleep by lacing her water with some drugs that interacted poorly with her anti-depressants.”
I’m breathless at how easily she says this. Like she’s gotten away with this before. “Do the girls know what you did?”
“Everyone but Angelique. She’s still a fledgling, has only just fulfilled her promise, so she’s not privy to it all.”
I’m grateful that Angelique doesn’t know. Maybe her words from s’mores night were genuine. But I can’t believe the rest were pretending the whole time. I guess I wasn’t the only one wearing a mask.
“And anyway,” Bella Marie continues, “I think your twin must have felt guilty for what Eto took. The Van Huusens’ car crash was the start of her mutiny. It was a shame, really. But I think you’ll be pleased to hear that until the last second, your sister was an affable person—well, except for the brief period where she threatened us. Silly girl thought she could expose us by going to a journalist.”
“Jessica Peters,” I whisper to myself. This was the story Chloe had wanted to tell.
“ The New Yorker has been a compatriot of ours for a while. It was a simple catch-and-kill.” She grimaces. “I really don’t like how that sounds. Catch-and- kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. It’s so ugly. We should think about rebranding that.”
“You killed Chloe!”
“I told you not to use that word! After going against me—against the family like that, putting a gun to my head—she knew how it would end for her. You must snuff out the sound before anyone can let out a scream. It’s a doctrine of our family, which you would have learned tomorrow morning if you’d been more obedient.” She sighs. “Though, I will admit, it was my fault for not staying through her demise. I felt her pulse slow, so I thought it was finished. I never liked the face of death. It’s very violent, not pretty at all, I don’t recommend it. I also had a Vogue photo shoot to prep for later that evening. And when Anna Wintour tells you to come at six, you come at six. Not a minute late.”
I’m reeling. How can she be so casual about all of this? As if mixing murder and Vogue in the same breath is as natural as syrup on pancakes.
“Of course, I also hadn’t accounted for you,” she continues. “But I figured you were a gift from Eto, given your past. The loneliness, the guilt, the need for community and validation. It made sense.”
I’m so close to the axe, its gravity pulls on my fingertips. The presence of the weapon empowers me to speak. “What? So I’m more susceptible to your fucked-up cult? To your fake god?”
Bella Marie gasps, palm slapping her mouth. The bungalow groans under the wind, wooden slats creaking. “Fake?” She shakes her head slowly. “How can you be that dense? Don’t you see the miracles happening around us? Look at us, our influence. The bonfire and your aunt. You feel the change, don’t you?”
I hate that I do. But there must be another explanation for everything that’s been happening. “These girls are all beautiful and talented—is it so unbelievable that they’d attract fans? That maybe being in your orbit, having access to your connections and wealth, would boost their influence? There are thousands of rational and grounded explanations. It’s not like every influencer swears fealty to some god.”
“Angelique,” she says, stepping a hair too close. “You saw her. You saw how Eto took her baby.” Her breath is sour, acidic.
“She was drinking the entire trip, taking weird-ass drugs you gave her—which, by the way, is not very anti-medical-industrial complex of you—”
“It’s holistic!”
“She ate a fucking mouse ! And even if it’s not for any of those fucked-up reasons, miscarriages happen all the time. It could all be some horrific coincidence. And of course she gained followers after posting such a heart-wrenching video. People thirst for sob stories!”
“Then what about me?” She’s shouting now, desperate and ugly. “What about me?”
“People have fertility problems without sacrificing their womb to the devil!” My fingertips make contact with the wooden handle.
Bella Marie shakes. “Eto is not the devil!”
“Fine! People have fertility problems without sacrificing their fucking womb to Eto!”
She bares her canines, expression crumpled with fury. “Not. To. People. Like. ME!” She lunges. Before I know it, my hands are around the axe handle and I swing blindly for her right as she wraps her fingers around my neck, squeezing. I feel resistance against the weapon as it hacks into something firm. Warm fluid splashes onto my cheek, into my eye, stinging. Bella Marie’s grip weakens, drops from my neck. I pull the axe out with a grunt, my sight impaired.
The air is iron, metallic.
I wipe the gloop out of my eye, pulse racing. Blood, I realize, as I take in my scarlet fingers. Red gushes down Bella Marie’s shoulders, her bony clavicles, drizzling onto the floor, from a giant, horizontal gash in her neck. In my panic, I didn’t hit her hard enough, and the axe didn’t go all the way through.
There’s a beat as the world slows. My mind is empty. Our breaths are heavy, out of sync. My legs tremble, weak from the sight of the gore. Her figure sways slightly, and she stumbles from shock as she palms her neck, violent crimson pulsing between her fingers. Her eyes meet mine, pupils dilated like a wild animal’s. She opens her mouth to scream. But before any sound leaves her lips, I brace my core and swing the axe toward her neck again—toward the woman who killed my twin. Soft skin, tense muscles, vertebrae. The bloodied axe clears through to the other side, splashing the wall with gore. Her body thuds hard on the floor, shaking the entire bungalow. Breath struggles into my lungs as something brushes the tip of my toes. I glance down. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Her head. Bella Marie’s mouth is suspended mid-scream, face frozen with horror as her empty blue eyes, barren of soul, stare at the ceiling.
My pulse is on fire, my heart beating so fast I can’t move, can’t think. My eyes are fastened to Bella Marie. The axe slips from my fingers. The sharp clatter of the blade hitting tile flips a switch in my head. My mind churns.
Bella Marie.
I did that. I killed her. I am a killer.
Every part of me is wet with sweat, my brain high and dizzy from the butane that swims through my nose. My limbs are jelly, and I want to puke, but I need to get a grip. There’s no going back now. Not after I’ve bloodied my hands, murdered Bella Marie. I need to finish this. Now.
Fueled by pure adrenaline, I stumble past the body, feet slapping through warm, sticky blood, and check the bed.
The rest of the Belladonnas are still asleep. But their bodies twitch, fighting for awareness.
With all my remaining willpower, I fumble the lighter from my pocket with one hand, the padlock with my other, and stagger to the door, avoiding Bella Marie’s decapitated head. I flick open Iz’s golden lighter, the metal cool to the touch, grounding. I roll my thumb against the jagged spark wheel. A thin blue-and-orange flame appears. I toss it to the line of lighter fluid I had drizzled earlier. It catches, a monstrous display erupting in a blink, engulfing Bella Marie. I back away, slam the door, shut and lock it. Smoke billows out from the gaps near the hinges.
By the time I let go of the padlock, my body is so weak I fall to the ground. I crawl on all fours away from the burning bungalow, my dress stained with Bella Marie, leaving a crimson trail behind me. The thatched roof catches like kindling. Wisps of black smoke curl into the dark sky, highlighted by yellow flames. The window becomes a night-light, an orange portal into the bright, burning insides. I think I hear a scream, something guttural. Bang. Bang. Bang. It might be a human. It might be the foundation collapsing. It might all be in my head. The thatched roof caves in, clearing way for a large cloud of smoke. The fire crackles, a dancing figure, a bonfire for the gods. The suffocating miasma of a sacrifice. Heat sears the tips of my toes, but I don’t move. I watch as the entire bungalow is engulfed in golden orange, roaring as the staff rushes over. They helplessly throw buckets of water on the blaze, but soon, they simply stand and watch, soot staining their pale faces.
My vision clouds with smoke. A cry cracks up my throat, or maybe it’s a laugh. A scream? I can’t quite tell.
As I take in the beautiful bellowing creature of my creation, an evil monster that has swallowed up seven lives with ease, I pray.
I pray that Eto is real. I need to believe this wasn’t all for nothing.
Then, darkness.