Amelia
Parker is waiting for a response, but the cartoon stars keep circling my head as I drop against the floor in anguish. The hit only makes the pain bloom wider.
His voice muffles, like I’m falling down a rabbit hole. Two hands clamp around my ankles. My body jerks, and suddenly I’m sliding across the floor, hair splaying behind me in a copper-colored trail.
Where are you taking me? I try to say. It comes out in my head, echoing and dancing around my thoughts, accompanied only by the rasping of my clothes dragging across the floor.
Arms hook beneath my body, and I’m lifted onto a shoulder with effortless strength. My head dangles over his back, the world tilting upside down. His forearm locks across the back of my thighs with disturbing ease, and despite the pounding behind my eyes, I know it must be Parker.
Through the static in my ears, I hear their conversation. But I can’t be sure if it’s real, or if I’m imagining it.
“What was the point of taking Cale’s name if you’re not going to use it?” the woman—Meredith, surely—asks in a brittle whisper.
“Like Amelia’s going to tell anyone,” he scoffs, his words buzzing against my side. “She’ll never get the chance.”
Her shoes clack behind us as Parker carries me deeper into the house.
She’s following like his minion. Or his puppy.
My half-lidded eyes flutter open as the floor beneath us changes—hardwood, carpet, hardwood—like a warped funhouse ride.
I try to place where we are in the house, as if childhood memory could save me.
But it’s been ages since Imogen and I would make jam with Mrs. Turner, when they owned this house. It’s useless to even try to remember.
What are you going to do to me? my mind asks.
My lips don’t work.
Parker stops abruptly. A key ring jingles as he fishes in his pocket, bicep flexing against my ribs.
“Ugh,” he groans, shaking the keys. “I keep forgetting.”
“You can’t keep two girls here, my love,” Meredith nervously giggles. She’s trying to lay down house rules but is clearly scared to upset him.
Two?
My head nearly clips a wall when Parker spins on his heel to face her, and I brace for the impact, but it never comes. I’m too limp to flinch anyway. Even imagining fighting back makes the pain in my skull radiate.
“I can do whatever I want,” Parker says, voice slick with dominance, even amusement. “Because you know you’re one call away from prison… after what you did to your pathetic, drunk boyfriend.”
He is darkly conniving. If I could comfortably roll my eyes, I would.
“You helped me kill Cale,” Meredith blurts, voice wobbling. “You showed me what to do with the pills. From your… experience.”
Parker laughs low in his throat, unthreatened. “You still gave them to him. Because you didn’t want to leave him, did you? You wanted him to die.”
A tear spills down my temple, fuzzing my vision again as I stare at Parker’s back. I feel like a rag doll, boneless, floating above my own body.
“I was trying to protect you,” she says. “After he found out what you did to Madison—”
“Don’t,” Parker demands, cutting her off. “Don’t you blame me for your stupidity.” He growls under his breath, turning around. “Now help me with this damned door before she wakes up. I can’t have Amelia crawling back to Imogen and blowing up my plan.”
I hear Meredith fumble with a latch, Parker’s keys returning to his pocket.
“Didn’t you order a new padlock for this door?” she asks, gentle now.
“I did. It never showed up,” he says. “I’ll pick one up myself—since you’re too useless to do it.”
“You told me to stay hidden. I don’t have a new identity like you do, Cale.” The false name trembles on her tongue.
Parker exhales through his nose. “I make the money. I run the errands. I keep this place from collapsing. You? You’d be nothing without me.”
“And who rented us this house?” Meredith quips back. “Me. My money. So, please. Show me some respect.”
“Your money was Dad’s money. And it’s running out. So I’ll keep going to work while you rot in this house,” he says angrily, Meredith still fiddling with the door.
A metal hinge groans. A door swings open behind my back.
“Before I forget,” Parker says, maybe to himself. Then his left hand slithers into my pocket.
It’s not hurried, his fingers pushing into the cotton lining of my corduroy pants, lagging along the curve of my hip. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and I’m sickened despite the barrier of fabric. He hums quietly through his teeth, seemingly at my lack of fight.
His mouth clicks in satisfaction when he finds my car keys.
“She won’t be needing these anymore,” he whispers, letting his fingers graze my thigh as he pulls away. “Move her car off the street tonight.”
My ribs slam with each step Parker takes down a cement staircase, his shoulder bouncing into my gut with each drop.
I count eight punches, eight steps. There is a clear shift in ambiance as we enter a basement, the air damp and stuffy.
There’s a chill. The energy shift is bizarre.
The lighting is dim, but I can’t yet see the source, still dizzily staring at the dirty cement ground. Then, carpet.
Parker puts me down, propping my back against a cold wall. My eyes remain locked shut, afraid of what he’ll do if he knows I’m conscious.
Footsteps fade up the staircase, the door hitches closed, and I open my eyes and grab my head, rubbing the sore spot as if it’ll help.
Scanning the room, I see something. Another person.
My right hand flies to my mouth, muffling the scream that scurries out of my throat. I forget about my throbbing head altogether when I identify the person lying in the cellar.
She’s perfectly still, draped across an olive-green velvet sofa like a discarded doll.
Her brown hair has been brushed smooth, and she’s dressed in an elegant pair of pajamas, the kind you’d wear to feel lovely, not to be left to decay in a basement. One long strand of hair falls across her face. Even so, I know exactly who she is.
I watch her movements, unsure if she’s dead or alive.
But one thing I am confident in…
The girl on the couch is Madison Tory.