The Writing Retreat(80)

“So she was lying to all of us this whole time,” I said. “Turning us against each other.”

The maraca sound resumed: Wren’s teeth were chattering again.

“We have to do something.” Desperation rushed up through my throat. “She’s really sick.”

Zoe reached a hand through the bars. “Give me a bottle.”

“No.” I motioned to Keira. “Give me one. I’ll drink it.”

“We all have to,” Zoe said. “That’s what Taylor said. Just let me go first to make sure it’s okay.”

“There’s no time.” I was almost shouting. “We’ve been down here for hours. Wren needs help now.”

Keira moved away from Wren, who curled up on the cement floor. She handed bottles to us.

“Are you sure?” I was suddenly terrified of actually going through with it.

“You’re right.” Keira looked defeated. “Wren’s really sick. We’ve been down here a long time. And I don’t want someone’s death on my conscience.” She grabbed the other two bottles and sat back down. “And I think Zoe’s right. Roza’s not going to kill us. Yet.” She touched Wren’s back. “What do you think?”

Wren sat up and grabbed a bottle. We watched in silence as she drank deeply, drops running down the sides of her face. After it was empty, she lay back down.

Keira, Zoe, and I held the bottles. I felt two powerful and conflicting urges: to pour the water down my gullet immediately. And to hurl the bottle as far away as I could.

Zoe shuddered, either from cold or from fear.

“Bottoms up,” she said, and twisted off the cap.





Chapter 30




I awoke to the smell of coffee. I stirred, comfortable in that safe, fuzzy place between sleep and wakefulness. For a second I thought I was in my apartment in Brooklyn and my roommate was brewing a batch in the kitchen.

But my bed was too hard. My eyes flipped open.

I was still in the dungeon.

Slowly I sat up, taking stock. It was much warmer, that was one thing. There were two space heaters on the other side of the bars, close enough that we could reach out and turn them up or down. I was on the folded-up duvet I’d passed out on. But the inside of the cell was now littered with pillows, comforters, and colorful wool blankets. Keira and Zoe slept back-to-back on a futon. Beyond, Wren slept on a twin mattress.

I stood shakily, nausea rising in my stomach. Fighting it down, I hurried over to the mattress, keeping my head low in the cave-like space. I distantly noted a new Japanese screen in front of the toilet. How nice.

Wren’s face was hidden beneath a blanket and I pulled it back.

She wasn’t breathing. Her face was pale and waxy: a death mask.

My heart stopped.

But then her eyelids fluttered and she exhaled. I pressed my hands into my eyes, taking a shaky breath. She was alive.

“Al?” She sat up, touching her forehead. Her diamond ring sparkled in the gloom. “What happened?”

“We all drank the water.” I struggled to sound calm. “It knocked us all out.”

“The water?” She swallowed. “Oh yeah.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay. I don’t think I have a fever anymore.” She glanced beyond me.

“No.” She jumped up unsteadily and then hurried to the door. It squealed as she pushed against it. “No!”

I followed her. “It’s locked.”

“What the fuck?” she whispered, staring at me.

“I know.” I shrugged, feeling useless. And loopy. “Look, they made us coffee.”

A large coffeemaker was on the other side of the door, plugged into an extension cord, along with the heaters. Beside it were four stoneware mugs as well as individual creams and sugars.

Keira and Zoe stirred at the other end of the cell, on the futon.

“Guys.” I straightened and slammed the top of my head into the concrete. I tried to ignore the pain as I ran over.

“Hey.” Zoe smiled weakly. “We made it.”

“How are you guys feeling?” I asked.

In response, Keira jumped up and ran to the toilet. She retched behind the screen.

“I’m okay.” Zoe tucked a strand behind her ear. Her blond hair was now so greasy it looked dark. “Someone decorated, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Dungeon chic.”

Zoe looked behind me. “How’re you, Wren?”

“Physically, better.” Wren collapsed on the futon next to Zoe. “Mentally… not great.”

Zoe stood and went to the coffee machine. “Keira, you want coffee?”

Keira swore softly from behind the screen.

“We don’t think this is drugged?” I approached and Zoe handed me a mug.

“Could be.” Zoe shrugged. “But there’s not a lot we can do about it.” Without the young, energetic PR girl act, Zoe seemed like a completely different person: unruffled, purposeful. She must be in her early forties, and even though she didn’t look it, she acted like it.

Keira rejoined us. “We’re fucked, guys.” She wiped at her mouth and accepted a mug from Zoe. “Now that we’re all locked in here, we’re officially fucked.”