Finally, we wrangle the last boxes onto the truck and head back once more to Mrs. Thackeray’s dark apartment. This time, I’m determined to beat Gavin at his own game. I manage to trip him on the stairs and sprint for Mrs. Thackeray’s door, but he recovers too quickly and follows on my heels.
“Whoa, slow down,” he pants once we get inside. “You’re moving a little too fast for me. Oh, and you might want to fix your lip gloss,” he adds with wicked grin.
There’s no sound in the room. No wheezy chuckle, no appreciative audience. I blink, surprised that the tiny woman isn’t here.
Gavin shrugs and turns to me. This time, he’s no longer smiling and his face is defiant.
“What was that about?” I blurt, glad I manage to keep my temper in check. At least my words are clear. Kind of.
“Just teasing you,” Gavin says, his eyes challenging.
“Not funny,” I mumble.
“Then why didn’t you say something?” Gavin demands, moving a step closer.
Because I can’t, you idiot! Don’t you understand that?
I shake my head and plant my hands on my hips. And glare.
Gavin’s eyes narrow. “Forget it,” he mumbles. “I’m out of here.”
I watch him go, wanting him to stay but not knowing how to get him to do it. I don’t know how to explain something to him that I don’t totally understand myself. But I have to try.
“Wait,” I say.
Gavin turns, hovering over the threshold.
And a sudden weight presses on my shoulder. A hand, with strong, bony fingers grips tight and doesn’t let go.
“Not you, girlie. You’re not done, yet.”
I hadn’t noticed Thomas in the shadows. I wrench myself from his grasp and step back. He glowers in my direction, but doesn’t try to grab me again. Instead, he moves to the door and shoves it closed, pushing Gavin all the way outside. I hear a muffled “Hey!” from the hallway. Then, I hear the lock click. My heart leaps into my throat and tries to choke me. I’ve always had a problem with locked doors.
“They’re waiting for me at home,” I say with a shaking voice, looking up at the gaunt man before me. The words come out totally scrambled.
“What?” the man growls. I can’t answer because my tongue is now frozen.
I step back when Thomas moves, but he doesn’t come any closer to me. He simply stands against the locked door, arms crossed in front of his chest. Gavin pounds on the door from the outside. Thomas ignores him. Fear knifes my stomach. Now I know the reason for Mrs. Thackeray’s little game. They wanted to get me here, alone, but make it look legit.
“How are you getting inside, Rosemary?” the old woman asks from behind me.
I whirl and there she is, once again settled into a corner of the couch like an overlarge, wrinkled pug. Where had she been? Her question doesn’t surprise me, but my tongue is super-glued to the roof of my mouth. I’m afraid no words will ever come out again.
“Come on, then!” Thomas barks. “Answer her question!” The pounding on the door stops. Gavin has abandoned me.
“I—”
“Answer me!” Thomas shouts.
“Get in where?” I say. My voice is so quivery the words seem to shiver apart and fall to the floor.
“You know where!” Thomas roars. “Into that flat next to yours. We know you’ve been in there!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I scream. My words slur together like I’m drunk.
With a wordless growl, Thomas takes a step toward me.
Someone pounds again on the door, hard.
“Rosie?” Sylvie’s voice calls. Her voice is shrill.
“Here!” I shout. Thomas glares at me, but he turns to unlock the door and swings it wide.
Sylvie and émile rush inside. I bolt over to them, finally able to breathe.
Everyone talks all at once, except for me. Sylvie shouts and gestures. Thomas manages to look insulted.
Mrs. Thackeray says we were chatting. She asks why in the world Sylvie is so upset. “We were about to invite Rosemary to stay for tea. We would have invited that nice young man, too, but he left.”
“I want to go,” I say to Sylvie. She leads me out with a strange look on her face. émile stays behind in Mrs. Thackeray’s apartment, saying something I don’t catch. I flinch at the sound of Thomas’s rumbling voice, as he answers. What if he tells them what he knows about me? What would I say? More lies. More and more lies. I’m shaking.
We descend the stairs, but at the bottom, Sylvie grabs my shoulders and turns me around to face her. Speaking in rapid French, she asks me if I’m really all right. What did he want? Why are you so frightened? Did he do something? Sylvie’s face is hard. She’s angry, but I also sense fear in her widened eyes. She is truly afraid for me.