? ? ?
It was pitch-black in her room when Bex woke up. She was still dressed from school, her backpack on the floor where she had left it, her cell phone on the dresser where Denise had set it. There was a half-empty bowl of chicken noodle soup on the nightstand, and Bex’s head was pounding like a like a bass drum. She pulled the ponytail holder from her hair and massaged the throbbing spot on her head, lost in the dark haze of just waking up. It took her a second to remember what had happened, for the day to come crashing back on her.
She grabbed her phone, nestled deep in bed, and texted her friends, thinking a blanket text would be the least painful.
Bex: Srry I bailed, guyz. Sick. Barf. Gross.
Chelsea texted back immediately.
Chelsea: Nice 1, barf breath. T’ll B all over that!
Bex rolled her eyes but checked her phone, hoping that Trevor wouldn’t respond with anything that referenced her barf breath.
Chelsea pinged again.
Chelsea: Y u up?
Bex glanced at the clock.
Bex: 2am?! LOL Just woke up. U?
Chelsea: Cnt sleep
Bex: Y?
Chelsea: Thnkin. Darla. No1 missed her 4 a week.
Bex: U did. U called everyday.
Chelsea: Didn’t do anything tho. Her parents didn’t kno she was missing. Scary. Do u think ur parents miss u?
Bex paused, about to respond, when another text from Chelsea broke through.
Chelsea: I mean ur real parents.
The breath caught in Bex’s throat and she felt her lungs collapsing, constricting. What did Chelsea know? Her eyes were watering, and she could hear the sad wheezing as she clawed at her chest and tried to breathe.
The Wife Collector.
Her father.
Do U think ur parents miss you?
Her mother.
What did Chelsea know?
The scream was out of her mouth before she knew it.
“Bex, Bex!” Michael flicked on the light and Bex cringed from it, the brightness burning her retinas. He and Denise flew to her bedside, eyes wide, concerned.
“Relax! Relax, look at me.” Denise kneeled in front of her, her hands on Bex’s, squeezing. “Keep your eyes focused on me. Try to breathe slowly.”
Bex felt as if she were breathing through a pinhole. The tears were streaming down her face and her lungs screamed, sending a searing heat up the back of her throat.
I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to die.
An image burned in front of her eyes—another headline, another victim: Amanda Perkins: Wife Collector’s 6th Victim?
Bex was seven when she learned the word “asphyxiated.”
Hands on her throat. Her windpipe narrowing, closing. The searing heat, the struggle to breathe, to live.
This is what it feels like. This is what it felt like for Amanda Perkins.
Bex’s lungs swelled with air and she sputtered, coughed. Denise and Michael were staring at her anxiously, Denise on her knees, still holding Bex’s hands.
“What happened?” Bex squeaked, her throat feeling raw and dry.
“Michael, get Bex some water.” Denise focused on Bex. “I think you may have had an asthma attack. Do you have asthma, Bex?”
Michael returned with the glass, and Bex sucked down every last drop before shaking her head. “No, not that I know of. That’s never happened to me before. I mean, not that I can remember.”
“It wasn’t listed in any of the medical reports, was it, hon?” Michael asked and Denise shook her head.
“I don’t think so.”
Nausea rolled through Bex’s stomach. “You have my medical records?”
A smile quirked the edges of Denise’s lips. “Of course we do, honey. Your caseworker sent them over before you arrived so we could enroll you in school. We needed your vaccination records and all that, because we wanted to be sure that you’d have everything you needed once you”—she paused and bit her bottom lip—“came home.”
Bex was worried that her caseworker hadn’t changed the names on her reports—was worried until she heard the pull in Denise’s voice when she looked at Bex, eyes soft, and said, “home.”
She was Bex Andrews and this was her home.
She was just Bex Andrews.
Twelve
The fight to breathe had taken everything out of Bex and she slumped. Her cheeks were flushed, and little prickles of heat and sweat beaded at her hairline.
“You going to be okay, honey?” Denise asked.
Bex nodded. “I think I’m going to take a quick shower.” She glanced at the clock. “Is that okay?”