My thoughts boomerang to our conversation about Rita. I might always blame myself, but knowing Libby doesn’t—knowing she can look past it—is an unexpected gift. I’m surprised by how nice it felt to get it off my chest. And the Cross thing—that might be a lucky break. I felt pessimistic about it at first, but at this moment it’s hard to feel anything but hopeful.
I wrap myself in a robe and grab one for her. I’m already smiling like a moron as I push the door open.
My eyes fly to the bed, eager to see Libby’s face. But she’s not there. I stride into my room and turn a full circle. Empty.
The blinds to the right of the bed are cracked, and the window is open. Libby’s clothes are on the floor where I tossed them, and as I look that way, I see the bedroom door is still locked—the way I left it when I carried her in here.
I go look out the window. “Libby?”
I look out at the lawn, but it’s quiet and seems normal. I push the window open and get half my torso out before I notice the blood spots on the grass.
ELIZABETH
WHEN I COME TO, the first thing I notice is the roar of a plane. I wince, because it makes my head throb. Why am I flying with such a killer headache?
I crack my eyes open and feel a bolt of terror that ricochets through my body. I pull in a few shallow breaths through the cloth that’s tied around my mouth. I listen, but hear only the plane. I see...a ceiling. Not a plane. More like a house. The ceiling is rounded, and not too wide.
I shut my eyes again, hoping I’ll remember what the hell is going on, but nothing comes. I remember making love to Hunter...and then Lockwood at the window.
Shock flows through me like a drug, making my heart pump faster. I can’t believe this really happened!
I open my eyes a little wider and look down at my body, even though it hurts to move my eyeballs. I’m lying on a narrow cot with my arms bound in front of me, and holy shit, I’m nearly naked. I’m wearing an oversized, dirty green T-shirt, but it barely reaches my upper thighs.
I register some soreness between my legs before my eyes are bouncing around the space again. I slide them to my right, and there’s Cross! He’s slumped over a small chair beside me. Seeing him limp like that makes me panic. I gasp, and when I do, I smell the bitter scent again. Some kind of chemical. That must be what put me out.
I turn my head, ignoring the ache that threatens to split my skull, and try to get a better look at Cross. But there’s nothing to see. He looks unconscious. Slowly, and with great effort, I turn my head to the left, hoping—no praying—I see Hunter on the bed beside me.
Shit.
But…if Hunter was with us, who would rescue us? Someone has to rescue us...don’t they?
That’s the last thing I think before the door to our room opens, and Priscilla steps in, a ghoulish smile on her face.
“Well hello, hello, my dear. You’re on your way to Mexico,” she says.
She steps a little closer to me, and I lean away. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” She walks behind me, chuckling. A moment later I feel a sharp sting in my upper arm, and her face, above me, starts to blur.
I don’t know how much time has passed when I wake up and find myself lying on my back in a dingy motel room. Long enough for my stomach to ache with hunger, despite a brain-killing headache and the stench of garbage.
I glance down at myself. Wrists still tied, ankles now tied. My gaze drifts up to the cracked ceiling, and then back to my lower body, which feels weak and strange, like I haven’t moved in years.
I’m lying on a twin bed, on the most disgusting pale yellow bedspread I’ve ever seen in all my life. Right in front of me, pushed against a cracked yellow wall, is a rickety-looking wooden table with a chipped ceramic flower vase on top. I assume, based on the heat, that we’ve arrived in Mexico.
God, are we really in Mexico? Part of me can still see Hunter moving over me. How did this happen—and why? I think that might be the worst thing: The way I have no memory of what went down.
I summon the energy to lift my head and glance over to my right, where I find Cross lying face-down on the other bed. He looks so still. My pulse starts pounding.
“Cross?” As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn’t. I lie there for a minute, tense, waiting for Priscilla or Lockwood to burst through the warped wood door. When no one does, I try to sit up. Maybe if I kick and strain enough, I can get myself untied.