Chapter 72
WELCOME HOME
I’m drowning in a sea of cerulean. Plummeting through a sky of suffocating white. Crashing through a wall that bleeds red.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
I’m in a child’s bedroom.
There’s no sky above, no ocean underfoot.
I’m lying on a bed draped in a sweeping pink canopy that ripples with the frigid air.
Stuffed animals are piled precariously in the corner, glass eyes the only witness to my unraveling.
Stacks of well-kept books line white shelves.
A line of scrawled drawings is stuck to the left wall, hung in a neat row, held by golden stars.
Everything’s pristine, as if the room’s occupant tidied up just this morning.
The wall across from me bears nothing but a painted mural.
A childish depiction of some surreal landscape: The sky swirls in shades of blue, blending into hazy pinks that span the horizon line.
Silhouetted butterflies of all colors flitter throughout, suspended at various stages of flight, surrounded by towering trees, lush in their foliage.
At the center of it all is a golden sun with a looping ’E’ threaded through the lines.
It’s beautiful.
It’s familiar.
Where am I?
Memories surge without permission, lapping in paralyzing waves.
A golden uniform blazer, adorned with a sun.
A little boy with hazel eyes and a malicious grin.
A gilded ballroom with a swaying chandelier.
Sparks explode behind my eyes. The reel burns at the edges, growing bright and angry before collapsing, throwing me back into my skin.
Only this time, I’m not alone.
A woman blurs into focus. Golden brown hair falls around her shoulders in waves, framing the lines of her angular face.
She’s seated on the edge of the low-set bed, soft hand laid over mine.
Real sunlight filters through the window, casting an outline around her frame that makes it look as if she’s glowing.
Her glossy lips press into a smile almost warm enough to melt my apprehensions.
Behind her, a tall man looms in the doorway, posture made rigid with pride. His hair is darker, with tendrils of gray streaking near his temples. Burnished brown eyes survey me, intoxicating in their depth.
My chest seizes, but I don’t move.
I have his eyes. Her smile. Their pallor.
No—
No, no, no.
I try to sit up, but it sends my head reeling. The woman presses a hand to my shoulder with a sympathetic smile, eyes glassy. “Easy now, darling. The doctor said you should avoid overexertion for a few days.”
The man steps forward. “But you’re safe now. The Ashford boy made sure of that.”
She nods eagerly at him, golden-brown strands catching the light the way mine do. “He’s been such a blessing.”
“Ah,” comes a voice behind them, bright and terribly familiar. “You give me too much credit, Mrs. Ellington.”
Maverick steps into view. Fitted in a crisp suit with a silk tie the color of spilled wine and a smirk sharp enough to draw blood. He crosses to the bed, hands clasped behind his back. “You can stop pretending to be afraid,” he says. “It’s over now.”
My mouth opens, but words don’t form. “Wh—”
“The program’s finished, Estelle. You’re living proof it works.” He leans down, smoothing my hair in a motion I can’t fight with my hands still held beneath hers. He laughs softly. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
Flashes pop from a camera I hadn’t noticed, echoing so loud it doesn’t even feel real. The room tilts violently on its axis until the world’s swimming around me. With a final tug, I lose what little footing I had left on reality.
Sounds garble together, dragged through water pooling somewhere beyond my periphery. Yet when Maverick’s lips part, every word rings clean.
“Smile for us, little star. You’re finally home.”
Vincent was wrong. There is something outside the walls of the advancement program.
And somehow, it’s worse.