The Writing Retreat(79)

Zoe eyed the bottles. “I might have to drink one of those pretty soon.”

“What if it’s something lethal?” Keira asked. “What if they’re trying to get rid of us? I mean, how do we expect this to end? We know too much. They’re not going to let us go.”

Wren started to cry quietly into her hands.

I stared. Wren had always been the brave one, the adventurous one. She’d talked our way into private parties teeming with models and celebrities. She’d snuck us into sold-out concerts through back doors and kitchens. She’d gone off on tattooed bikers and coked-up dealers and even drunk Jersey girls, throwing drinks in their faces when they took our barstools or stole the shots she ordered. And even the Jersey girls had stepped down, slinging insults, because they’d been able to sense what everyone else knew: you didn’t fuck with Wren.

Seeing her crumble like this was making my head spin.

But maybe part of that was the hunger: it was shifting from a dull ache into a sharp need. Even worse, the water bottles had made me realize how thirsty I was. My lips felt cracked, my tongue fuzzy. I imagined cool water filling my mouth with an erotic longing, like a sudden rainstorm sinking into a dusty desert.

“So now what?” I asked.

Zoe broke the ensuing contemplative silence: “I’ll do it.”

“Do what?” Keira asked, suspicious. She’d placed an arm around Wren’s shoulders. There had to be some kind of heat down here—after all, you couldn’t see your breath—but it felt bitterly cold. Frigid air seeped between the threads of my thin sweater. And Zoe just wore a flimsy dress.

“I’ll drink the water.” Zoe motioned for a bottle. “You guys can see what happens to me.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?” I asked. Just a half hour before, she’d been crying about how she was going to die down here, and now she wanted to drink a high-risk beverage?

“They’re not going to kill me with a water bottle.” She shrugged. “That’s not Roza’s style.”

“Either way, it’s not happening.” Keira shook her head.

“They turned off the heat.” Zoe rubbed her arms. “It’s getting colder. It’s all just going to get worse.”

I heard a sharp clacking sound.

“What is that?” I asked.

“It’s Wren.” Keira bent her head down. “Her teeth.”

“Sorry.” Wren grimaced. “I’m really cold. And hot.”

Keira felt Wren’s forehead. “You’re sweating.”

“Fever,” I said. “That’s not good.”

The speaker crackled and our faces swiveled.

“Good evening.” It was Taylor, speaking with her English schoolteacher accent. “This is your tour guide, Mrs. Lillyputter, letting you know that your immersive experience comes with its own set of guidelines. Rule number one: In order not to die of thirst, you must drink the beverages provided. All of you. Please rest assured that these are perfectly safe and only include a few drops of a special ingredient to ensure the most quality rest on your first night.”

Wren buried her head against Keira’s shoulder, moaning.

“Rule number two,” Taylor went on. “To ensure that our tenderest of guests remains alive, we highly recommend allowing us to provide her with medications, heaters, and blankets. In order for us to provide these, please see rule number one regarding drinking the provided beverages.”

“Taylor.” Keira’s voice broke. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Rule number three,” Taylor went on, undeterred. “Once you are situated, you will have complete access to the hostess of the trip, the inimitable Roza Vallo. She will make herself available in the morning.”

“Taylor,” I called, just wanting to stop the psychotically exuberant voice. “Please, will you come in here and talk to us?”

“If you have any further questions or comments, please hold until the end of our tour, when a feedback card will be provided. Thank you and have a lovely day.” Another electronic crackle, and she was gone.

“Okay, has she lost her mind?” I asked, infuriated. “Is this a psychotic break? Or has she been like this the whole time? Keira? You were close with her, right?”

“Sounds like you’re the one who hooked up with her.” Keira pressed her lips together. “Don’t put this on me.”

“I’m not. I just…” My cheeks warmed. “It happened when we were tripping. I mean… I guess there was some interest there. But…”

“It’s okay.” Zoe touched my arm. “She’s a psychopath. Just like Roza. She can mimic human emotions well enough, but she doesn’t feel them. She just sees it all as a game.”

A game. A memory resurfaced.

“Wren,” I said. “Taylor told me that she heard you telling Roza that you’d thought about getting a restraining order against me.”

Wren shook her head. “I never said that.”

“Well, she told me you didn’t like my book.” Keira snorted.

“That I didn’t like it?” I asked. “I love it.”

“She got me too,” Zoe said. “She said Wren had told her I was like an annoying younger sister to her. Not that I really cared. No offense, Wren.”