Chapter 43. Jade
Jade
The footsteps echo louder as they ascend the stairwell. Fear surges through me. I don’t have Big Sally from Baby Jail to bail me out this time. I’ve got no place to go, nowhere to run.
Spinning in a circle, I foolishly search for an escape route, thinking one will magically appear.
This tower has only one way in and one way out.
At least I see something useful: The bed is raised high enough for me to crawl under, and the bedding goes all the way to the floor, so I’ll be well-concealed.
I slither on my belly across the cold stone floor until I’m hidden beneath the bed. It’s like being in a cave. I’m sure no one can see me, but even so, the slightest sound could give me away. The noise of the party preparations helps to conceal me, along with the eerie piano melody.
In the dark, every sound becomes sharper. The footsteps are heavy—it can’t be Maeve. It’s someone bigger, but whoever has arrived isn’t breathing hard, so I doubt it’s Old Sid. It must be Conrad.
“You’ve heard enough of this song for today, Elizabeth,” Conrad says, confirming my suspicion. Above me, Elizabeth groans in displeasure.
“More,” she begs, her voice weak and croaking.
“Let’s try something other than ‘Clair de Lune.’”
Ah, so that’s the song! The dreamy piano piece, which evokes the soft glow of moonlight, suddenly comes to an end. Conrad then switches to a different classical composition, this time with violins.
“Noooo,” Elizabeth moans. “The moon … I want the moon. Please…”
The ache in her voice crimps my heart. Her words come back to me: “I don’t matter anymore.” But this song, for whatever reason, does.
Conrad sighs. A moment later, the music begins again, the first lonely notes calling out like a whisper of solitude.
Outside, it’s anything but quiet. Landscapers are busy mowing the lawn and trimming the hedges before the party.
For a moment, the persistent thrum of a loud gas lawn mower almost drowns out the music.
I hear Maeve’s sharp voice issuing orders to the rental company responsible for setting up the tent.
I’m sure they can’t get out of this crazy place fast enough.
I can relate.
My breath catches when Conrad approaches the bed.
His proximity sucks the air right out of my lungs.
A sudden rush of panic grips me. My phone might betray me—even a vibration from a text, Holly replying to my inquiry about Elizabeth, could do me in.
I want to shut it off, but I hesitate to move a muscle.
The song gets louder, and Elizabeth hums along like she and the melody are one. The bed creaks above me as Conrad likely takes a seat on the mattress. He shushes her tenderly.
“You can’t see well. Your hair is in your eyes,” he says.
I imagine him brushing the strands away from her face.
Is he looking at her lovingly, with care in his eyes, like when he wheeled her to the edge of the cliff to watch the sunset?
What kind of guy is this? Does her incapacitation turn him on?
She might not be tied up, but all those drugs she’s taking could be just as debilitating.
All I know is that I’m living a nightmare.
I close my eyes, praying that it’ll all be over soon.
“I’m so tired,” says Elizabeth, who indeed sounds world-weary. “I don’t care about my hair. I’ve done terrible things.”
The mattress sags above me as Conrad repositions himself. “We’ve all done terrible things, Elizabeth.”
“But I have blood on my hands,” she says.
“We both have blood on our hands. You need to forgive yourself.”
I bite my knuckles to suppress a gasp. Anna? Has Conrad all but admitted he killed her? Or did he and Elizabeth plan it together? They could have set the house on fire to cover their tracks.
“She’s here,” Elizabeth says.
My body turns cold and clammy. No. Don’t you dare …
“Who is here?” says Conrad. “Are you talking about Rose? She moved on. She quit. I told you that, remember?”
“Not Rose,” Elizabeth says slowly.
I offer a silent prayer to the universe. Please, please, don’t say my name.
“Jade,” she finishes as my stomach clenches.
Conrad inhales sharply. “What did you say?” The anger in his voice shrouds me.
“Jade … she came to see me.”
“No. You’re imagining things.” His rumble deepens.
“She’s … here.”
My throat closes. Fear swallows my breath.
The bed shifts as a heavy weight lifts. He’s up and moving.
I hear his footsteps. I close my eyes. A silent prayer loops in my head.
The steps move toward the stairs. From the sound of it, he might be leaving.
At last the tightness in my chest eases.
He’s going to look for me. But he won’t find me—I’ll sneak downstairs, run from this house, and never return.
Maeve can have her party without me. But I’ll make sure the police show up with a search warrant instead of an invitation.
I wait, listening. There’s background noise outside, but what I don’t hear offers relief. No more footsteps. Still, I need to wait a little longer. I start a silent countdown. I make it all the way to ten—when a pair of hands clamps around my ankles.
I scream in terror as strong arms drag me out from underneath the bed.