I do need to use the bathroom—but only as a quiet place to steady my thoughts. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Fast as you can, okay?”
I close the bathroom door, turn on the sink, and splash some cold water on my face. What the hell am I going to do? I pat down my pockets but of course they’re empty. I poke through the medicine cabinet and search the shower stall but there’s nothing I can use to defend myself. The closest thing to a weapon is a pair of tweezers.
The bathroom has a tiny screened window, just a few inches high, positioned near the ceiling for ventilation. I close the toilet seat and stand on top of it. The window faces south, toward Hayden’s Glen, looking toward the shadowy brambles of the forest. I manage to pop out the screen and push it out the window, letting it drop to the floor of the forest. But even if I mustered the strength to pull myself up, there’s no way I can fit through.
Ted taps on the door. “Mallory? Almost ready?”
“Almost!”
I have to go with him. I don’t have any choice. I’ll get in his Prius, I’ll smile as he describes Washington state and Whidbey Island, I’ll try to sound excited about our new life together.
But the first time we pull over for gas or food or water, I will find a police officer and I will scream like hell.
I turn off the water. Dry my hands on a towel.
Then I open the door.
Ted is standing there, waiting. “Ready?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
His eyes move past me. He looks into the bathroom—and I wonder what he’s seeing. Did I leave footprints on top of the toilet seat? Has he noticed the window screen is gone?
I throw my arms around him and rest my head on his chest and I squeeze him as hard as I can. “Thank you, Ted. Thank you for rescuing me. You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this.”
He’s startled by this outburst of affection. He pulls me even closer, then leans down to kiss my forehead. “I promise you, Mallory, I will never let you down. I will work every day to make you happy.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
I go to lift my suitcase and my trash bag full of clothes, but Ted insists on carrying them, one in each hand. “You’re sure this is everything you need?”
“Ted, that’s everything I own.”
Again he smiles at me with real love and affection, and he looks like he’s about to say something very sweet when there’s a loud POP and a bullet rips through his left shoulder, knocking him off-balance and spattering my wall with blood. I scream and there are three more POPs, and I’m still screaming as Ted slumps onto the suitcase, hands over his chest, blood seeping out between his fingers.
Caroline stands in the open window of the cottage, pointing Mitzi’s gun at me. She’s telling me to shut up but the words don’t register until the fourth or fifth time. She opens the door and with a little flick of the pistol’s barrel, she gestures for me to sit back in the chair.
“Were you serious?” she asks. “Were you really going to leave with him?”
I don’t even hear the questions. I’m still staring at Ted, down on the floor and struggling to speak, as if he’s acquired a stammer. His lips tremble like he’s trying to pronounce a difficult word and he’s drooling blood, it’s running red over his chin and shirt.
“See, I think you were lying,” Caroline continues. “I think you would probably say anything to get out of here right now. But I can assure you that Ted was completely serious. He’s had his eye on you since you first got here.” She points across the cottage to the white smoke detector mounted on the kitchen wall. “Did you ever wonder why that fire alarm never went off? Even if you were burning dinner?”
I don’t answer and she raps the butt of the pistol on the kitchen counter, three loud bangs. “Mallory, I asked you a question. Did you notice your smoke alarm doesn’t work?”
What the hell does she want me to say? She’s pointing a gun in my face and I’m too terrified to answer; I’m worried my first incorrect word will cause her to pull the trigger. I have to look down at the floor to muster the courage to speak. “Ted said the cottage had old wiring. He said it was something called knob and tube.”
“It’s a webcam, dummy. Ted installed it right after your interview. Plus a signal booster so it would reach our Wi-Fi network. He said he wanted to check on you, make sure you weren’t using drugs. A ‘precautionary measure,’ right? But give me a break. I’m not stupid. Some nights he’d stay awake in his office for hours, just praying you would take a shower. I always wondered if you knew, if you felt like you were being watched.”
“I thought it was Anya.”
“No, mommy stays with her baby at night. It was always Mr. Family Man here. Mr. Father of the Year.”
Ted shakes his head, like he wants to contradict her, like he’s desperate for me to know the truth. But when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is more blood, running over his chin and chest.
I turn to Caroline and she’s still pointing the gun at me.
I want to sink to the floor, cower and beg for mercy.
“Please,” I say, raising my hands. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I know you won’t. You killed Ted, using the gun you stole from Mitzi’s house. Then we struggled, but I managed to grab away the pistol. You took a knife from the kitchen drawer so I had to shoot you. It was self-defense.” She glances around the cottage, as if she’s trying to work out the precise choreography of the sequence. “You know, I’m going to have you stand closer to the refrigerator. Next to the cutlery drawer.” She points the gun at me. “Come on, don’t make me ask again.”
She come closer—the gun comes closer—and I back away from her, moving into the kitchen.
“All right, that’s better. Now reach down and open the drawer. Pull it all the way out. There you go.” She moves to the opposite side of the kitchen counter, then leans over so she can study the knife block. “I guess you should use the chef’s blade. It’s the big one, all the way on the end. Reach down and grab the handle. Get a real nice grip on it.”
I’m so scared I can scarcely move.
“Caroline, please—”
She shakes her head. “Come on, Mallory. You’re almost done. Reach down and grab the knife.”
And in my peripheral vision, just over her shoulder, I can still see blood dripping down the wall. But Ted is no longer sitting there. He’s vanished.
I reach down. Put my hand on the knife. Wrap my fingers around the grip. It’s so hard to do something when you’ve been told it’s the last thing you’re ever going to do.
“That’s it,” she says. “Now hold it up.”
Then she screams and falls—Ted has lunged for her legs—and I know this is my moment. Stupidly, I let go of the knife, because I don’t want to waste even a second pulling it from the drawer.
I just run.