Chapter Thirty-seven
Gross – I’m drooling … lying in a puddle of drool … what time is it … and where am I?
I blink, not understanding what I’m seeing. Mostly black, with sharp slices of light cutting through.
A van. Moving, rumbling, rattling, my body bouncing around like a sack of potatoes.
And then I remember. Zoe’s terrible confession.
Her sad voice. I’ll have to kill you too – and then …
Devin. He must have been lurking in the hallway, out of sight, listening to our conversation before coming in for the kill.
My heart goes from zero to a thousand. My breathing comes quick.
How much time has gone by? It has to be hours and hours. It’s dark now. And where the fuck is Barnett and his team?
This morning, I never would have believed that my own friend would be willing to kill me, but everything has changed now.
Now I have to focus on surviving this. I need to think fast.
My hands can’t move. Neither can my feet. Zip ties, of course. Fuck fuck fuck. At least I’m not gagged.
I can see the front two seats and hear the murmur of voices – Zoe’s and Devin’s. I twist around slowly and see Liam, behind me. He’s breathing heavily. It sounds like he’s still passed out. Brooke isn’t back here – I can only hope that Zoe left her alive and that the police will find her soon.
‘Liam,’ I whisper, low enough that the sound of the engine should conceal my voice.
There’s no answer. I kick my joined feet out and tag his legs. His eyes open slowly, then widen.
I made as loud a ‘shh’ sound as I dare, and he nods groggily.
He doesn’t look normal – he’s clearly still under the effects of whatever drugs they gave us – but at least I’m not alone in this.
He jerks his head a bit, indicating something behind me.
I crane my neck around and feel a jolt of adrenaline when I spot it: my purse, slumped in a corner of the van.
Of course. If they’re going to dispose of me, disposing of my purse, ID, phone, etc., makes sense. If I can just get to it … I shimmy backward, my hands reaching blindly for the fabric of the purse body. And then, I have it.
The van rolls to a stop, Liam and I lock eyes, and I stop moving, waiting for the motion and noise to return. The van moves forward again.
Liam nods frantically.
‘How long do the ovens take to heat up again?’ Zoe is saying.
Oh fuck. So we’re headed to Anderson & Pulaski. Images of being shoved alive into the oven crowd my brain, followed by a very twisted image of the kind of painting Zoe might make with my ashes, but I shove them back. We are not dying. Not tonight.
My hands are now inside my bag. My range of motion is so limited – and I have to be so careful not to make noise. My fingers brush a pack of tissues. A tube of lip balm. My keys, which dear God I cannot rattle right now. And then – boom. The knife. And then the van is pulling to a stop.
I mouth knife to Liam.
‘We’re here,’ mutters Zoe. ‘Party time. How are we moving these two?’
‘You should have killed them back at the house.’ Devin sounds stressed. ‘They’d be easier to move if they were dead.’
‘I wasn’t ready!’ hisses Zoe. ‘I told you! She was my best friend. This is kind of a big deal for me. Anyway, the drugs should keep them both sedated until I can get them into the retort.’
The knife is still closed. There’s no time to open it and try to saw myself free, but I scoot my butt so it’s level with my hands and shove the knife into my back pocket.
‘Zoe, are you sure you can’t just let them go?’ says Devin, his tone frustrated. ‘We dump them in the parking lot. Leave them here for someone to find tomorrow. You and I drive through the night, cross into Mexico by tomorrow evening—’
‘But all my stuff! My final painting! I can’t leave it!’
‘Zoe, you heard the sirens. Margot isn’t stupid.
She told someone where she was going, and now they’re all over my property.
’ Devin makes a huff of frustration. ‘They’re going to find Brooke, and then it’s game over for both of us.
We shouldn’t even be here. We’ll only be safe when we’re out of the country.
We need to act smart, Zoe, and leave now. ’
Please say yes, I silently pray. Please dump us here and drive away.
‘No,’ Zoe says, her tone stubborn. ‘I have to kill them. They’re the only people who really know who I am.
As long as they’re alive, someone will be after me.
I can’t live like that, Deedee. Running, hiding – trapped, cornered like a fucking animal!
Is that the life you want for me? After everything I’ve survived? ’
‘No …’ Devin sounds defeated, hollowed out.
‘This has to be the last time. OK? I can’t do this any more.
I love you and I’d do anything for you. I have done everything for you, because I promised I would when we were sixteen and I don’t fucking go back on a promise.
But I’m telling you, this is my limit. I didn’t sign up to watch people die. It’s fucked, Zoe. It’s really fucked.’
Zoe sighs. ‘But you’ll help me, right? One last time?’
‘I’ll help you get them inside. The rest is up to you.’
Shhh, mouths Liam, and goes limp. We both need to play dead until I can get my hands free.
Devin gets out first. Zoe follows more slowly with her crutches. I close my eyes and lie motionless as Devin flings the van doors open in the back. Then he’s getting a gurney from the van parked next to us and setting it up.
Oh God. I’m about to be loaded on to a gurney like a corpse.
‘Get her first, the PI second,’ says Zoe.
Devin pulls on my bound feet, dragging me forward and loading me on to the stretcher.
He doesn’t bother strapping me to the gurney, but wheels me over the bumpy pavement.
He pauses to unlock the back door. Inside the funeral home, I hear him punch the button for the elevator, and then down we go, to the basement, and I don’t have to peek to know that he’s wheeling me into the crematory. It smells like cleaning fluid and ash.
It takes all my willpower to keep my eyes closed as Devin grabs me under the arms and slides me on to the metal table where we prep bodies to roll into the oven. Then, he presses a button – probably to preheat the retort.
Fuck, this is getting real.
The second he leaves with the gurney, I open my eyes, push on my feet to get my butt in the air, and start reaching for the knife in my back pocket, grunting and thrashing and not even trying to be quiet.
It’s a lot harder than it should be. I wiggle on to my side and manage to snap the knife open, nicking my palm.
Fuck, now there’s blood, and it’s slippery, and it’s making this even harder.
Gritting my teeth, I try to position the knife so that I can saw through the zip tie.
Come on, Margot! People do this in movies all the time!
I’m whimpering as I go, moving the knife up and down, but I don’t seem to be getting anywhere.
I hear a distant whoosh. The elevator. They’re coming back. And Liam is counting on me.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper, moving the knife against the plastic.
‘Is the oven preheating?’ Zoe’s voice.
The plastic tie pops open. My hands are free – but there’s no time to do my feet. Quickly, I roll on to my back, the knife hidden underneath me, and close my eyes. If only there was a way to communicate with Liam.
I hear the gurney wheels squeaking as they roll in with him.
Liam, who got into this mess to support me, and promised to see it through – and now he might die for it.
It’s not supposed to work like this. Bad people should die. Good people should live. When did everything get so fucked? I can’t let anything happen to him.
I think of Liam at my coffee maker, Liam whipping up eggs in my kitchen, Liam’s lips hovering over mine. I’m filled with the ache of potential. We’re just getting started. I want to go back to his cabin and do naughty things in that outdoor shower. This can’t be how our story ends.
I open my eyes to the merest slit, and fuck, Zoe is hovering right over me.
‘I should do it now,’ she says, and she sounds sad, which is so fucking twisted.
‘How?’ says Devin.
‘I’ll smother her before we cremate her. It always feels kind of gentle that way.’
‘Are you sure?’ Devin’s voice is dead serious. ‘Zoe … Margot is good people. She’s your best friend. And my coworker. She hasn’t done anything wrong.’
‘That’s what makes this so hard!’ Zoe shouts. ‘Do you think I don’t know how wrong this is? But this is on her! I gave her an out, and she wouldn’t fucking take it!’
My heart is beating so hard surely Zoe can see my chest vibrating.
She sighs. ‘Isn’t there some kind of pillow in this place?’
‘Yeah, I’ll get you one from upstairs. But we have to hurry, OK? They’ll look for us here next.’
Devin’s footsteps retreat. I open my eyes. The first thing I see is Liam, looking straight at me from his prone position on the gurney, his eyes steady, encouraging. Trusting. Zoe is still close enough I could touch her, but distracted, looking at the door that’s just closing behind Devin.
Now is my chance – when it’s just Zoe. I surge up, knife slippery in my fingers, and stab forward.
I’m so buzzed with adrenaline I don’t even know where the blade lands, but it pierces flesh, and she’s stumbling back with a dry shriek as I swing my bound legs off the table and immediately bend to try and cut my feet free.
But Zoe’s back, a crutch lifted, the sinewy muscles in her arm standing out.
It comes crashing against my head, and I fall sideways, off the table, all the way down to the floor, the knife skittering away as I break my fall.
She’s coming closer – I swipe my hand forward and knock out a crutch.
Thrown off balance, she topples, and we’re on the ground, my hands in her hair, her hands around my neck.
She squeezes, and I can feel the feral strength in each digit, cutting off my air. My eyes bug out, my instincts scream, all I can hear is a high-pitched buzz.
Escape the chokehold … how did that lady do it again? … I think it involved legs … but mine are still zip tied …
Then, I see movement behind her. Liam. His hands and feet are still bound, but he’s upright on the gurney, pale, his teeth gritted.
I can’t breathe. She’s literally choking me.
Every vein in my head is about to explode.
And then, Liam launches his body off the gurney, crashing into us.
The pressure on my neck relieves, and I gasp for breath as Zoe rolls off me and straddles Liam, clawing and punching.
With his arms and legs restrained, he can’t defend himself.
Blood spurts from his nose as he takes punch after punch.
‘Stop!’ I shriek, grabbing Zoe’s hair and pulling her away, because that’s the mouth that kissed me, and she does not get to ruin it.
‘Margot—’ Liam groans, releasing a gurgling cough. ‘I love you. I—’ And then his eyes roll back in his head.
I don’t have time to even process his declaration.
My hands buried in Zoe’s hair, I yank back and forth, but she seems impervious to any pain she may be experiencing and is already reaching for my throat again, impossibly strong, every tendon in her neck standing out, looking more monster than human.
The world starts to go dark again – and then, a noise. The door opening. A cry of surprise.
Devin. He’s back, and now I’m truly done for and I’ll never get to kiss Liam again, or hear that laugh that felt like it was healing me every time it tumbled out—
But it’s not Devin’s voice that cries out,
‘Found them!’ followed by another voice that shouts, ‘Get off her, you bitch!’
George – and someone else behind her. Elsie.
The weight goes off me as George grabs Zoe. My vision swims as I try to take in what’s happening. George advancing on Zoe. Zoe backing away from George on all fours, like a cowed animal, toward the retort.
‘The cops are on their way,’ says George, standing tall. ‘It’s over, Zoe.’
That’s when I notice the knife, right next to Zoe. She notices it too and reaches for it. Her eyes gleam, wild and wet.
My vision is seriously spotty. I blink hard, trying to stay conscious, trying to stay in control—
‘Put down the knife,’ says George in an even voice. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
Zoe grabs the edge of the oven to help herself to standing, her maimed leg hanging, her left hand still gripping the knife, her eyes now on me.
But even though she’s literally holding a weapon, she doesn’t look evil right now to me.
Just pathetic, her hair straggly, her body sagging, her mouth bloody.
Just weak and damaged and tired. A victim.
Her favorite role. And even if it started as a front, a way to manipulate things in her favor, somewhere along the line, she bought into it too.
This is the version of herself she truly believes in.
‘Zoe—’ I say, but that’s all I can manage. Her name. A wave of nausea moves through me, and my vision spots again.
Zoe’s face tightens. A single tear squeezes out. She looks at me and me alone and gives her head the smallest shake. My vision is blurred, and for a second, it looks like a halo is glowing around her head, like her painting.
‘I won’t let them cage me, Margot.’ Her eyes are both fierce and pleading. ‘Remember? Live free or die.’ And then, she flings open the door to the retort, releasing a blast of heat.
‘Zoe!’ I shriek.
She gives me one last look, and for the breath of a second, I see not the murderer, or the painter, or the roommate, or even the victim she so fiercely believed she was – but my friend.
And then she’s in the oven, and the door is closing and her face contorts as she draws the knife against her throat with a liquid shriek, falling back. The last thing I see before the door closes is her hair catching fire.
And then, silence.
‘We have to get her out!’ I scream, grabbing the gurney to try and help myself stand. ‘Help – we have to turn it off—’
‘No,’ says a voice. George, behind me, wrapping her arms around me, holding me back.
‘But we have to save her!’ I sob, sinking back down against George.
‘She’s gone, Margot,’ says George, squeezing me tight. ‘You’ve hung on long enough. Let her go.’
And, leaned against George, I let go, and black out.