The Writing Retreat(85)

The door opened and Yana stepped through in her pink tracksuit. While Taylor had become more lively, and Chitra had shut down, Yana looked exactly the same.

“Roza wants you upstairs,” Yana told Taylor. She opened the door slot and pushed through plates of plastic-wrapped sandwiches.

“Cool.” Taylor’s chest puffed up slightly. “Later, losers.”

I wondered if Yana had come down to stop Taylor from talking to us. And then I remembered what Zoe had told me when it had been just the two of us in the cell.

Roza had a personal assistant who was in love with her, obsessed with her. Yana.

“Yana,” I said, the realization dawning. “You weren’t just her assistant. You wrote Polar Star, didn’t you?”

She didn’t answer, but two rosy dots appeared on her cheeks.

Zoe set down her laptop. “You did, didn’t you?”

“It was beautiful,” Wren said softly. Yana looked at her, something hungry in her eyes.

“It was my favorite,” I added. “That relationship between the girl and her two aunts. How did you come up with that?”

Yana closed the slot and stood. “Just do what they say. Okay? No one gets hurt.”

“Yeah, right,” Keira murmured.

“Yana, can you help us?” Zoe asked. “We’re really scared.”

“Please help us,” Wren echoed.

They were pushing her away; her eyes dropped to the floor.

“When did you meet Roza?” I asked, but it was too late. She turned and hurried out of the room.



* * *



Six thousand words was a lot, but by midnight when the lights switched off, we’d all printed out our pages and left them on the floor for Taylor to collect. Keira and Zoe collapsed on the futon, while Wren and I lay on the mattress. It was so dark I couldn’t see her.

A dark, disturbing thought had begun pulling at me sometime that evening, when I’d paused to hear the symphony of fingers clacking on keyboards. It had struck me that after the initial anger, we’d all pretty quickly agreed to the new plan. And yet again, Roza was getting exactly what she wanted from us.

“Wren,” I whispered. She was turned away from me. “Are you sleeping?”

She rolled over. “Huh?”

“I was thinking…” I again felt that eerie, desperate vertigo of trying to parse out reality. “Do you think this is still part of the game?”

“What?” she whispered back.

“Roza could’ve lied to us. What if imprisoning us was part of the plan the whole time? What if…” I forced the words out. “What if Zoe or Keira is in on it?”

Wren scoffed. “That’s nuts.”

“But we know Chitra was part of this, messing with me in the basement. I never would’ve expected that from her.”

“Chitra works for Roza. Zoe and Keira don’t.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed my eyes, starting to feel relieved. “Maybe you’re right.”

After a moment, Wren whispered: “Zoe did lead us to the basement.”

“She did.” The thought made me shiver. “And it was pretty dramatic. The sleepwalking, then when she was high…”

“And this whole story about her aunt, and how her friend’s daughter got into the retreat?” Wren exhaled. “It’s a lot.”

“Yeah.” The conversation was making me anxious. I rubbed at my tensed jaw.

“And what about Keira?” Wren asked. “She really knows how to pick locks? When you guys went to the office, maybe the door wasn’t locked at all.”

“Could they all be in on it?”

“I don’t know.” Wren shifted. “This is so fucked-up.”

“I know.”

“Does Roza really think she’s going to get away with this?”

I opened and closed my mouth. I didn’t have an answer. Yes seemed unlikely. But no meant a horrific end I couldn’t currently deal with.

“We just need to go along with it for now,” Wren finally whispered. “Maybe there will be a chance for us to get away.”

“Okay.” There was no other option.

“You can trust me.” Her breath was warm on my face. “Maybe not anyone else. But you can trust me.”

“Me too.”

Eventually her exhales evened out as she fell asleep. My mind continued to whir, the thoughts bouncing like pool balls around my skull.

Eventually, I drifted into sleep, but my dreams were filled with danger, something slithering through the dark towards me, getting closer with every breath.





Chapter 32




It happened the next night.

The day had gone much as the one before, a grotesque semblance of structure: coffee in the morning, sandwiches for lunch. We typed away in a line, ignoring each other’s growing unwashed stench, pretending not to notice when someone inevitably had to pee or defecate. After Keira came back from behind the screen, muttering and clutching her stomach, Wren and I exchanged a look.

Could Keira really be a part of this? How much would one need to be paid to have diarrhea in a dungeon?

Then again, Roza had said it herself: we needed money. We weren’t truly impoverished, especially not Wren. But how much did I have in my savings? Not more than two months’ buffer. Not enough to quit a job I actively hated.