Elias’s face pales and he shakes his head no. “I’m sorry,” he says eventually. “I can’t hear it, Audrey.”
“But . . .” I spin around, taking in the room. Looking for a piano or a radio. “I know I heard it coming from in here.” Tears start to blur my vision. “I’ve been hearing the same song for days,” I tell him. “I thought maybe it would lead me to an answer. Everything is so messed up,” I choke out. “Elias, my brother’s gone crazy, my dad’s gone sane. I watched you nearly kill someone.” He lowers his eyes, but I go on. “I can’t leave the hotel,” I say. “I can’t even walk out the goddamn door. I just want to go home. I want my family and I want to go home.”
Elias’s expression weakens. “I know,” he murmurs. He takes a step toward me, but nervousness replaces my initial relief at seeing him. I’m overjoyed that he’s okay, but I watched him hit a man—or what I thought was a man—and crush his skull. What else is he capable of? What is his part in all of this?
He pauses when I take a step back from him. “Audrey,” he says, pained. His entire posture sags, and I see that I’ve wounded him. My chest aches at the thought. Because when I’m with him, I’m not overwhelmed by grief. My heart is somewhere else entirely, and I didn’t think that was possible. I didn’t think I would ever love anything again.
“I can’t stay here,” I whisper. His eyes glass over, and he swallows hard. I’m leaving him—we both know it’s going to end that way. “How do I get out?” I ask him.
“The Ruby has to let you go,” he says quietly. “You just have to wait.”
It’s not the answer I wanted to hear. “Wait for what?” I ask. “For Kenneth to kill me?”
Elias’s eyes flash. “He won’t touch you,” he growls. “It’s not his place.”
“This makes no sense!” I say, raising my voice. “What? Am I like the others, then?”
Elias stares at me a long moment, taken aback by the question. “How did you . . .” He stops and looks over my outfit again. “Catherine,” he murmurs to himself. Tentatively Elias moves toward me. I don’t shrink back this time. “No. You’re not exactly like the other ones,” he says. “Except in the fact that Kenneth can’t hurt you. Not physically.”
I think about that. There was a moment last night, when I went to the front desk to get an invitation. Kenneth implied there was a cut on my head. I felt the sting, saw the blood. But then it was gone. I remember now. I don’t know what it means, but I remember.
“This can’t be happening,” I say, still clinging to the notion that there’s a rational explanation for all of this. Elias comes to pause in front of me, and I tilt my head to look up at him. His eyes are desperate and lonely. Sad and loving. It’s hard for me not to reach for him, and I ball my hands into fists at my sides. I didn’t notice, but there’s a fire crackling in the hearth across the room. The sound of voices down the hall. We’re not alone, but our connection isolates us from everything else.
“I’m sorry,” Elias says. “I . . . we all hoped you’d enjoy your stay and then leave, like the other ones. A fond memory. But I should have told you what Kenneth was, even if I would have ended up locked away like Lourdes.”
“Her suspension,” I say, putting the pieces together. “What happened?”
“The Ruby doesn’t reveal herself,” he says. “Or at least she shouldn’t. Kenneth has strict rules to keep guests happy, including the others. If you had known what you had walked into”—he lowers his eyes—“you would have made trouble for him. Been disruptive. Lourdes broke the house rules once before. She told Tanya the truth and ended up locked away where we couldn’t find her. She was gone for so long.” He puts his fingers over his lips, holding back. He takes a breath and continues. “Kenneth doesn’t have the power to get rid of us,” he says, “but he can punish us. For you I should have taken that chance.”
“Maybe,” I say, even if it’s not what he wants to hear. “But I can tell you that I wouldn’t want you to suffer, to be locked away.” There’s a fine line between self-preservation and protecting the people you care about. Now that we can’t change it, I wouldn’t have wanted him to sacrifice himself.
“This is my fault,” he says miserably. “I couldn’t stay away from you. I dragged you into this.”
“And what if you had stayed away?” I ask. “My family and I would have vacationed for a few days, played tennis, and then gone on our way to Elko? Where does that leave you? Why can’t you get out?”
“I belong to the Ruby now,” he says. “But you don’t. You still have a chance.”