“So explain the needle thing to me again.”
“Rohypnol is very similar to alcohol, in that it takes away a person’s inhibitions, but also immobilizes them. It can kill you quite easily, you know.”
“Um, no, I didn’t.”
“Well, you do now, I’m afraid. The effects of it usually last about six hours, but of course, that would put you in no fit state to return to your grandparents’ house. And I did promise Jo I’d return you safely. Seeing as how I couldn’t wait for the drug to wear off, I had to give you the flumazenil.”
“And it works, just like that?” I said.
“Within a minute,” he confirmed. “It instantly reverses the effects.”
“What if I wasn’t drugged? What if I was just drunk?” I asked.
“It still would have perked you up, just not as quickly.”
I couldn’t believe it. I had actually been drugged. With the date rape drug. I wondered why Graham had the remedy on hand, and decided I didn’t want to know.
True to his word, Graham made sure I got home safely. He accompanied me in one of the chauffeured limos, although I insisted he not walk me to the door. I couldn’t handle an awkward front porch good-bye.
When I slipped into the house, I found my grandfather sitting up, waiting for me.
A sweet sadness flushed over me. I didn’t know if I was just feeling extra sorry for myself, but my eyes started to water. I’d never had a dad to wait up for me. But here was my grandfather—his dad—filling in.
“Hello, there,” he said, clicking the remote to silence the TV. “How’d it go?”
“Great,” I said, blinking away the tears and casually folding my arms to hide the puncture mark in my elbow. “Really fun.”
He crossed the room and stopped in front of me. He cradled my chin in his hand and gazed at me with a mix of love and longing. He seemed to want to say something, but couldn’t find the words. I wished I knew him better.
“Thank you for waiting up for me,” I offered.
“It was my pleasure,” he said with a nod.
He moved toward the stairs, and I followed like a little kid who didn’t want to be left alone. I wondered if I should tell him what had happened, but decided against it. It was far too humiliating to talk about with anyone, let alone my estranged grandfather. I wasn’t even sure if I could tell Jo or Hunter. Maybe in a few days, I decided, when the whole experience wasn’t so fresh in my mind and raw in my heart. Even though I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, I felt stupid and exposed. Why, why did I follow Anders into the maze in the first place?
At the first landing, my grandfather and I parted ways. I continued up the stairs to my attic room and shut the door firmly behind me. I surveyed the room. Everything was exactly how I’d left it: my bed was sloppily made, the top of my mom’s journal peeked out from the side cushion of the armchair, and the floral garland from Gavin’s village hung from the scuffed metal knob on the wardrobe. I’m safe, I reminded myself. And I would never go near Anders Campbell again.
Still, I couldn’t get Campbell Hall out of my mind. And for reasons besides Anders attacking me . . . There was something about the actual building. Something eerily familiar.
I shuffled over to the wardrobe to get my pajamas, and carefully opened the doors so as not to destroy the delicate, intertwined flowers on the hanging garland. I thought about Gavin, and how things might have been different had he been with me at Campbell Hall. He would have protected me. But Gavin was probably halfway across the country, taking care of more important things.
I started feeling sorry for myself. I was alone and abused. And I didn’t want to be either.
When I swung the doors closed, I watched the ribbons bounce softly against the dark wood. They were curled and massed together, and, I noticed, sort of knotted.
I stooped to untangle them, but stopped short. No, it couldn’t be. I took a step back and bent my head sideways. Was I losing my mind? The ribbons looked as if they had been purposefully gathered and tied into small knots in just such a way. Yes, there was a definite pattern.
In lowercase script, the ribbons clearly spelled out roof.
Someone had been in my bedroom. I walked across the room until I was in front of the window. My bedroom light made it pitch-black outside, turning the normally transparent glass into a mirror. I was surprised to see I still looked pretty even though my hair was tousled.
My stomach was swirling, but I was sick of being scared. I took a deep breath and turned the cold, metal handle in the middle of the window that allowed it to open like a double door. I shoved the windows out, but jerked back inside at the same time in case someone or something sprung at me. Nothing happened.
I gathered my courage, leaned against the windowsill, and peered into the darkness. There, sitting on the roof, not five feet away, was Gavin.
Seeing him—his handsome profile, the way his muscular arms wrapped around his bent knees—filled me with such a mixture of relief and elation, I let out a small cry of delight that sounded embarrassingly like a kitten.
He put his finger to his lips and extended his hand to me. I kicked off my heels, climbed up on the window seat, took his hand, and stepped out gingerly. Unlike the sandpaper shingles in Missouri, the roofs in Scotland were smooth slate: slippery enough in a dry climate. But somehow, holding on to Gavin’s hand made my bare feet stick to the roof. Once again, no matter what the circumstance—even on the tippy top of a very slanted, extremely slick roof high above the ground—I felt safe because I was with Gavin.
He was back. And I was so ecstatic, I wanted to dive into his arms. Until I remembered how he’d left. The agony of missing him and the hurt of not hearing from him diluted my happiness. I sat down next to Gavin hard, and in a huff.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out, completely bypassing any type of greeting.
“I was in the area,” he answered, his voice as smooth and amazing as ever. “And I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were okay.” I noticed his face was creased with worry.
“You’re a little late,” I taunted.
“What do you mean? Did something happen at Campbell Hall?” He looked far more upset than an angel should.
“How did you know I was there?” My ears began to burn at the mention of Anders’ house.
“I can hear your heartbeat.” His voice was soft and intimate. “It’s a tracking thing. Angels and demons can remember a particular heartbeat and use it to always find someone.” He leaned a little closer to me, and I got a lot hotter. “I memorized yours,” he whispered.
“But everyone’s heartbeat sounds the same,” I said.
He shook his head. “The rhythm of every heart is unique, like fingerprints.” One side of my mouth twisted up in disbelief. “It’s true, I promise.”