Imogen
After Parker leaves, I cry until my face aches.
It’s a mistake, I realize quickly. With my wrists bound, I can’t even wipe the tears away.
They collect and itch and sting, and I have to awkwardly press my knees to my eyes to blot them, the gesture humiliating in its clumsiness. The denim rubs my skin raw.
Eventually, I stop. I go numb.
The last few weeks have been a ruin, and I can feel that ruin trying to claim me. I shove the thoughts back, knowing they’ll only lead me to a pit of despair. And if I reach the bottom of that pit, I’ll stop caring what Parker does to me. I might even welcome it.
Then I think of Amelia. My twin, who is apparently somewhere inside this house, and I wonder if she’s hurt. If she’s scared. If she’s crying out for me while I’m in here, powerless. I can’t even figure out how she got in, why her car is outside, why her phone is abandoned.
The room around me has gone black, since Parker left without turning on a light—whether out of thoughtlessness or cruelty. I’m not even afraid of it tonight.
What terrifies me is what’s outside this darkness.
What Parker is doing out there. What he’s planning…
My wrists are chafed from all the tugging, my shoulders sore from their warped positioning. My head is pounding from the thrashing, the countless crying sessions of the afternoon. It’s all bringing on a savage migraine as I rub my tongue against the roof of my mouth, in need of water.
I salivate when I smell butter searing on a skillet, tomatoes simmering low and sweet. My arms are shivering from the chill in the room, or maybe my nerves, or both. What I wouldn’t do for a warm meal and some fresh clothes.
And home.
Is he really cooking dinner? How can he be hungry when I’m sitting here like this?
The smells become less pungent as time passes, my own appetite leaving with it. I imagine him and Meredith sitting at the table, silverware clacking like this is any ordinary Monday in their house of horrors.
Then… footsteps.
My body goes rigid. Pulses of anticipation and dread collide in my body. Part of me wants to try something new this time, to coax him, to play along. Maybe I can get him to loosen the ties. Maybe I can make him believe I’m willing, then crush him the moment he lets his guard down.
As though it will be that easy.
The door creaks open and Parker peers in, silhouetted by the hallway light.
He flips on the switch, the sudden beam harsh at first. When my eyes adjust, I lift my gaze and soften it, though a smile won’t come.
“Hey, Parker,” I try.
“Hey, beautiful.” He smiles.
My skin crawls, but he can’t tell.
“I’m glad to see you’ve calmed down. I brought you some food that my mother made. I’ll feed it to you.” He crosses the room with a tray of tomato soup, grilled cheese, and a glass of water.
“You’ve been crying,” he observes, studying me with sorrow.
“I… you were gone so long,” I murmur. “And I don’t like being alone.”
“With me, you’ll never have to be alone again,” he promises.
I nod, privately sickened, looking down at the tray. I clench my jaw in lieu of rolling my eyes.
He pulls a cloth napkin off the tray and gently stuffs it into the collar of my sweater, his knuckles grazing against my collarbone as he does. He licks his lips nervously, seemingly excited by the contact.
Anger overcomes me so intensely I want to snap my jaws at him like a rabid wolf. I tamp the feeling down the best I can.
“I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier,” I say.
“I’m feeling confused. I didn’t know you’d come back to Blair.
Or that you’d ever want to see me again after what I did to you.
” I eye his healed wound. “Your poor face. I can’t believe I did that,” I huff, hoping my performance is even the slightest bit convincing.
I don’t want to lay it on too thick quite yet. This needs to be believable.
He places his hand on my thigh. “If anything, it helped me remember what we had,” he says. His face makes a slight grimace I can’t explain, but he keeps talking. “I haven’t ever met anyone like you.”
He says that as though my seven-year-old self was particularly impressive.
“There were no other girls?” I ask.
“A few… none like you,” he says. Then suddenly he grips his stomach, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth. “You made me feel seen. No one else did that back then.” It comes out strained.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He swallows, grabbing at the water glass I have yet to drink from. He takes a big swig and immediately spits it out into my lap.
I gasp as he chokes on it.
“Something’s wrong,” he says, water dribbling from his mouth. Then he violently vomits on the floor by my feet. The sour stench hits instantly, and I clamp my lips together against the gag climbing up my throat.
There’s a large pool of red in the pile, and I can’t tell if it’s tomato soup or blood. It’s a deeper crimson than the bisque in my bowl, telling me it’s the latter.
“Parker? What’s happening?” I ask, feigning concern. “Can I help you?” I ask, the words Untie me, you idiot coming to mind.
Meredith emerges in the cracked doorway. I assume she’s here to help him, but her eyes dart to me first, wild.
I look up at her. “I… I don’t know what happened!” The last thing I need is for her to somehow blame me.
Parker collapses on the floor, clutching his stomach in the fetal position.
“Did you eat it?” she snaps.
It takes me a beat to realize she’s talking to me.
“The soup! Did you eat the soup?” she asks again.
“No!” I shout. The tray sits untouched beside me.
“Good.”
I recoil as she pulls a pair of shears from behind her back.
I brace for the cold bite of metal carving into me, for her to gut me where I sit.
I flinch, eyes squeezing shut. But instead of pain, I feel the sudden slack of my wrists being freed.
The fabric binding them loosens, then falls away.
I pull my arms forward, blinking down at my wrists in disbelief.
Meredith is staring at me, jaw tight. “I should have done this a long time ago,” she says. Then louder, more urgent, “Go. I’ll hold him off. If he even gets up.” With the final words, she begins to blubber, perhaps the weight of what she’s done crashing down on her.
Shock covers my face. I don’t move.
“Go!” she shouts again. “Your sister is in the fruit cellar.”
Parker remains curled on the floor, a heap of heaving breaths and groans.
I rip the napkin from my chest and lurch to my feet. I sprint down the hallway, every nerve shrieking, looking for the fruit cellar.
The house is small enough that I should be able to find it, but panic scrambles my sense of direction.
My still-wet shoes slap against the floor as I whirl into the kitchen, and that’s when I see a narrow side hallway.
In the center of it sits a weather-warped door with a tarnished brass handle and a padlock dangling uselessly through the latch, unclicked.
I feel relief, then suspicion.
Is this a trick? A ploy to funnel me where they want me, to herd me straight into a cage? If Meredith sent me here instead of out the front door, maybe that was the point.
I spin, half expecting to find them at the end of the hallway, smiling like possessed dummies.
You’re wasting time, I hiss at myself, and yank the padlock free.
A wooden staircase stretches down in front of me, lit from below. I take the steps two at a time.
“Oh my god,” I breathe.
Sitting on the floor is Amelia and another girl. It takes me no time to realize that the other girl is Madison Tory.
“What is happening?” I shout, confused. But there’s no time to explain. Not when Parker could get up and come for us. Or Meredith could change her mind. “We have to go. Now.”
They’re just as surprised to see me as I am them, but they follow my command with haste.
“How did you find us?” Amelia cries, charging up the stairs, pulling Madison with her.
“I’ll explain later,” I whisper, flattening myself against the hallway wall to listen for footsteps. “We have to hurry. His mom’s holding him off.”
From the end of the hallway, Parker’s voice suddenly ruptures the silence. There’s a strangled groan, then an ugly, heavy crash. Parker screams something god-awful, guttural. “Take that, you traitor!”
He’s hurting her. I know he is. But something tells me it’s already too late.
“Go,” I urge. “Go!”
We spill out the front door into the rain. The downpour is so heavy I can barely see their shapes behind me as our feet slap through puddles. The sound is devoured by the storm.
Instead of cutting straight to Mom’s house, I steer us left—toward the Holloways’, their porch light still flowing through the trees. It’s closer, safer. It hasn’t been dark for long, but Rory and Mara may be home.
I turn around to find Madison limping against Amelia, so I grab her other side and she hangs off our shoulders, her weight fully supported between us.
Amelia’s car is gone; the street is empty, swallowed by the murky night.
It’s almost impossible to see, no streetlamps to guide our way. Even the moon is obstructed in the sky.
When we reach the Holloways’ driveway, exhausted, drenched, my breath hitches. The cars are gone. The house is dark; all the windows are black.
Amelia pounds on the door anyway, frantic, her fists leaving wet crescents. “Rory! Mara! Emmett!”
Nothing. No movement.
“They must still be at the office,” I groan. I lift the mat, plants, anything by the door that could hide a key. But I don’t find one.
Emmett must be out with Harrison, gossiping about our conversations, I’d bet, none the wiser to the terrible danger we’ve found ourselves in.
I crane my neck but can’t see Harrison’s house from the street. Like it matters anyway.
“We can’t stay out here,” Madison rasps. She’s draped over Amelia’s shoulder, barely upright, her feet curling. She’s trembling, too weak to walk on her own. “If he finds us out here, we’re dead.”
I press my shaking hands to my hair, trying to think. None of us have our phones. We could try the other neighbors’ houses, but it all feels like a risk. He could be out here, hunting us, at this moment.
We need help now.
Then it hits me. The alarm system at Mom’s house.
“Mom’s security panel,” I whisper. “If I can get to it, I can set it off. It’ll alert the police.”
I think…
For once this week, keeping the door unlocked may actually help me.
“Then we’re all going,” Amelia says, already shifting Madison to her other arm.
“No.” My voice is firm enough to make them both freeze. “You need to stay here. Stay with her.”
“I’m not letting you go off alone. Not if he’s on his feet,” Amelia shoots back.
“You have to,” I hiss, lowering my voice, scanning the trees behind us. “Look at her. She can’t run. If something happens on the way, if he’s out here and catches us—” I stop. “You need to get her to safety. Her family is waiting for her. She deserves to make it to them.”
She’s crying, shaking her head violently.
“Let me do something for once,” I demand.
“You’ve always taken care of everything.
You’ve always been the bigger, smarter, more responsible one.
But this is my battle. Parker wants me.” I peer around into the blackness again, running out of time.
“I’m going. I’ll set off the alarm, and I’ll be right back. ”
Amelia grabs my arm. “I love you,” she says, the words strangled. “Be careful.”
“Love you.” I give them a final, hard look. “Now hide.”
The storm ingests me as I cut across the slick street toward Mom’s house, terrified Parker is hiding somewhere. I don’t know if he’s still in his house, if he’s out here, if he’s even still alive.
I tell myself he’s down, that he won’t be able to follow me after what Meredith did. But as I push through the rain, sprinting up the hill, everything in my body warns me that he’s coming.