22. Ryan #3
For one frightened second, I assume he intends to take me upstairs after all, but instead he pulls me farther into the ground floor, toward the section of the estate I know almost as well as the kitchen now.
The lab.
Understanding hits me just before we reach the door. “No!” Camille ignores me. “Camille!”
He releases my hand only long enough to punch a code into the electronic lock. Nothing happens.
“Fuck.”
I have never heard him say that word with genuine fear behind it before.
Camille reaches above the frame instead, fingers finding a small concealed panel I never noticed, then produces an actual key. He unlocks the door manually and shoves it open.
“Inside.”
“No.”
“Ryan.”
“I’m not hiding in here while you—”
His hands land on my shoulders with enough force that he turns me bodily toward the doorway.
“Inside,” he instructs coldly.
Something in his face stops me.
He is terrified.
“Camille…”
“Please.”
That does it. The word is so quiet beneath the urgency that I stumble backward into the lab before I make a conscious decision to obey.
Camille follows me only far enough to reach the wall beside the door, where he opens another narrow panel and pulls out a small emergency flashlight. He switches it on and presses it into my hand.
The beam cuts across glass enclosures.
Movement flickers behind one—one of the snakes shifting in response to the disturbance. Normally the sight would steal half my attention. Tonight, I barely register it.
Camille grips the sides of my face.
The contact shocks me after days of him waiting for permission before touching me, but there is no intimacy in it now. Only desperate focus. “Listen carefully.”
My pulse pounds. “I’m listening.”
“When I leave this room, lock this door behind me.”
I shake my head.
“Ryan.”
“I heard you.”
“Then tell me you understand.”
My throat tightens. “I lock the door.”
He turns me slightly and points across the lab toward the far end, where another door sits partly obscured behind storage cabinets and equipment. “The exterior door.”
My eyes follow the beam of the flashlight. “What about it?”
“Check it as soon as I leave. Make certain it is locked.”
“Okay.”
“There is a manual deadbolt above the electronic mechanism. Use it.”
I stare at him. The entire conversation has started sounding horribly final.
“A-and then what?” My voice trembles.
“You stay here.”
“No.”
“Ryan.”
“No, you don’t get to lock me in a room full of snakes and go play action hero by yourself.”
His expression tightens. “I am not playing anything.”
That shuts me up.
Somewhere beyond the lab walls, there is another heavy sound.
“If you hear gunshots, you do not come looking for me.”
Everything inside me drops. “What?”
“If you hear anything that sounds like gunfire, you open the exterior door and run.”
“No, w-w—”
“You run away from the house, toward the tree line. Do not go toward your cottage.”
“Camille—”
“Do not go toward the cottage,” he repeats, gripping my shoulders harder. “If they are here because of Alberte, they may have someone watching it. Go south through the trees until you hit the river, then follow it to town.”
My heart is slamming so violently against my ribs that I feel sick. “You’re talking like you know they have guns.”
“I don’t.”
“But you think they might.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going out there?”
“I need to know how they entered.”
“Bullshit. No. Call the police.”
“I already triggered the silent emergency response from my phone.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t.” My voice cracks.
Camille’s face softens. “Listen to me,” he says. “Whatever happens outside this room, you do not open the interior door unless you are certain it is me.”
“How?”
“I will identify myself.”
“That’s not enough. Somebody could make you.”
His eyes sharpen; he thinks for barely a second. “Encore.”
I blink. “W-what?
“If I return, I will say ‘encore.’ If I say anything else, you do not open this door.”
My throat tightens painfully. “And if you don’t come back?” He doesn’t answer. “Camille.”
“I need to go.” His hands begin to leave me.
I grab his wrists. “No!”
His gaze drops to my fingers, then rises to my face. “I know you’re angry with me.”
“This has nothing to do with that.”
“I know.”
“I mean it. I don’t—” My breath catches, and I hate how quickly fear has stripped away all the complicated rules I spent days building around him. “I don’t want you going out there.”
Camille looks almost destroyed by that. He then leans closer until his forehead touches mine.
The gesture is so gentle that it hurts.
“I need you safe,” he whispers.
“And I need you not dead.”
“I will do my best.”
“That’s a terrible fucking promise.”
“It is the only honest one I can make.”
My eyes burn. I squeeze his wrists harder, then something crashes somewhere in the house.
Glass.
Definitely glass.
Camille jerks away from me, and everything changes again. “Lock the door.” He backs into the hallway.
“Camille.”
“Lock it, Ryan.”
I stand there, shaking.
He looks directly at me and begins to shut the door. “Please.”
“I—Wait—”
He shakes his head and murmurs, “Je t’aime.”
I love you.
And then he’s gone.