The Dollhouse(93)

Esme reached out and touched Darby’s cheek. “We’re a pair, remember? You can’t leave me all alone.”

The misery in her voice pierced Darby’s anger at their predicament. She remembered the gentle way Esme had helped her out of her umbrella dress when she’d been a wreck, how close they’d become. Maybe her father had had a special friend as well, one who hadn’t stuck by him. What if he’d felt the same panic when his world came tumbling down around him?

“Why don’t you come with me and Sam to California? We’ll hide out, explore a brand-new city.”

“What am I going to do in California?”

“We’ll find jobs, work, make money.”

“But all my singing contacts are here. I have auditions lined up for us.”

“You’ve destroyed those contacts by talking to Quigley.”

“I tell you, it’s only temporary. And now I’ve got money. Gobs of it. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

There was no talking to the girl. She couldn’t see the big picture, was lost in a haze of self-delusion and dreams.

“I’m not willing to risk my life.” Darby’s heart pounded in her chest. “I’m leaving with Sam. I’m sorry, Esme.”

She turned to go, but Esme grabbed her arm. Darby lost her footing on the wet terrace and fell into a shallow puddle, her palms stinging from the impact.

Esme loomed over Darby, her eyes blazing the color of molten caramel. “No. We’re not done talking yet.” She held out a hand to help her stand up, but Darby smacked it away.

“Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t try to stop me.” The words trembled on Darby’s tongue.

Esme took one step back, pleading. “Let’s leave together, head to Hector’s for a malt. I have to explain it to you better, that’s all, and then you’ll understand.”

Darby slowly rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her skirt. “I’m meeting Sam at Grand Central. You’re welcome to come with me, but I’m not staying here in the city.”

“You can’t leave me!” Esme lunged for her, forgetting about the knife, which sliced into Darby’s arm. Blood oozed from the wound and she cried out in pain.

Esme froze for a moment, in shock at what she’d done, and finally crumpled, tears pouring down her face.

Darby stepped forward and held Esme’s face between her palms as blood trickled down the length of her forearm. “You need to get to safety, that’s the first order of business. Hide out at your cousin’s. I’ll write to you once Sam and I are situated and you can follow us.”

But instead of agreeing, Esme shook her head. “No.”

Time was running out. Darby had to get off the terrace, fast. Esme’s obstinacy had turned into madness.

“I’m sorry, Esme. Sam will be waiting for me.” Darby turned to go, but Esme came at her fast from behind, knocking the wind out of her. Darby managed to free one hand, and drove her elbow into Esme’s side. Esme staggered back against the balustrade, breathing heavily, her features contorted with rage.

“Darby?”

Darby whirled around to see Stella stepping out of the doorway onto the terrace, cigarette in hand. She wore a black cat costume, replete with a headband with pointed cat ears, and whiskers painted over her ivory cheeks. Behind her stood a pirate, who lifted up his eye patch to get a better look.

Stella stopped for a moment, frozen. “What’s going on?”

Darby opened her mouth to warn her, but Esme’s arm was around Darby’s neck before she could speak. Stella stayed near the door, lips in a wide O, her eyes green and huge.

“Esme, that’s enough.” Darby’s bellow, which came from a deep, dark place inside her, caught them both off guard. She whirled around, facing Esme.

At first, Darby thought Esme had hit her in the nose and broken it, that her nose was bleeding. Pain seared her forehead and cheek. Blinded by the gushing wound, Darby lashed out, flying at her friend, unaware how close they were to the edge.

For a moment Esme was suspended, hands waving in the air, clutching at nothing.

Then she was gone.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO



New York City, 2016


Outside, the city was eerily silent, as if in respect for Darby’s story rather than the lateness of the hour.

Rose and Jason sat quietly for a few moments once Darby finished speaking. Darby, not Esme. Relief flooded through Rose with the knowledge that Darby was the one who had survived. It was almost as if she’d come back from the dead.

Darby’s face was white, her eyes watery. “I’ll never forget the look she gave me as she fell backward. Shock, surprise. I didn’t realize we were so close to the edge. I didn’t mean to push her so hard.”

“You were only trying to protect yourself.” Rose’s words were inadequate, but she had to say something.

Darby took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. “No. She was my dearest friend. And I killed her.”

“Why did you tell Sam you had died instead?”

“When I got back from the hospital, the book of spices was waiting for me. All that time, I figured Sam had shown up at Grand Central and left without me, wondering where I was. But when I read what he’d written inside, I knew he was in trouble. I didn’t want him coming back to the city to find me. Kalai’s men were all over. He would have been in terrible danger. And I couldn’t imagine going out to San Francisco and facing him, telling him what I had done. I was mortified at the thought of him seeing me like this. So I told him I had died. I offered to send the book of spices back. I knew how much it meant to him, but he didn’t want it.”