Good Girls Lie(94)
The blood on the cloth is old, dried. It flakes off onto my hands when I touch it like I’ve been doused in ashes from the fire. Gross. I wipe it off on my jeans.
Why do I have a feeling I’ve just discovered the real red staircase?
Something terrible happened here, of this there is no doubt. The pervasive dread creeping along my spine makes me want to turn around and launch myself out the window. I should turn back. Go to my room, lock the door.
But there is truth here, I can feel it. Though the truth about what, I don’t know. Logic tells me this is the path to another variation of our secret society cabin, and I’m curious enough to follow the stairs down to see if I’m right. Especially if there is forgiveness on the other end.
The door above me closes softly. All the hair rises on my body.
Someone has shut me in here.
I run back up the stairs but the door is locked. Locked from the outside. I swear I can hear breathing.
“Funny joke, ha ha. Open the bloody door, you arsewipes.”
Nothing. No more sound. It’s like I’m the only person in the world.
I slam my shoulder against the door, but it is closed tightly. I have no choice but to see where the passageway leads.
My natural claustrophobia combined with my emotional exhaustion at the past week’s events make it feel like the walls are closing in. I drag in a ragged breath.
“Keep moving. It will be okay. They’re playing a joke on you. The gits.”
I call the girls a few more names—this has to be an Ivy Bound joke, it has Becca’s sense of cruelty attached—and take the steps down. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. They’ve branded me, I am wearing the Ivy Bound insignia under my breast. They can’t kick me out. They’ve shared their secrets. I caved when they needed me to be strong. They’re giving me a second chance.
Relief is as sweet as water to my parched throat.
There is no light down here but my eyes have adjusted so I don’t feel like I’m in total blackness. Still, I have to use the nasty dirt wall to keep myself upright. My hand keeps getting tangled in cobwebs, and it is totally freaking me out. What if I get lost down here in this tunnel?
What if it’s not a tunnel at all?
Of course, it is. Don’t be stupid. Piper warned you about them first day of term. You were in one for the tap. This isn’t any different. It will open up into a cabin, and there will be a bunch of snotty bitches screaming and laughing because they’ve pulled one last prank on you. Just keep moving.
It feels like I’ve been walking forever before the air starts to clear and the path slants upward. I hurry now, desperate to get out of the close confines of the tunnel. The air changes, fresher, cleaner, then I hit a gate.
The lock on it is old and rusted. And open. Thank God. Someone has gone out this way and left it open.
Someone is waiting for me.
I step into the darkness, into the cool night air, heaving deep breaths to clear my lungs.
The moonlight spills over the ground and I see rocks, standing rocks. Then my brain does the math and I realize they are gravestones.
I am in a graveyard.
And I’m not alone.
“About time you got here, Swallow.”
71
THE CONFRONTATION
I can’t help it, I scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth so it comes out as a muffled meep.
“Shut up! Do you want everyone to hear you?”
Panic shoots through my body, and my heart starts to thud. I thought it would be Becca on the other side of the door, laughing, joking, jolly, and happy again.
But this is not Becca.
I know this voice. It isn’t one I ever wanted to hear again. I look around wildly, how can I get away? How can I escape?
“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth. If you scream, if you call out...”
Something hard and sharp touches my neck. Christ, she has a knife. She’s insane, this I’ve always known, but she has a bloody knife.
“I’m not insane, you cow, and you know it. How dare you say such a thing?”
Oh, my God, I said it aloud.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please, don’t hurt me.”
The pressure on my neck subsides. She shoves me away. I stumble between the graves. My brain says run but my feet are planted as if the roots surrounding the graves have grown over my bones, as well. I can no sooner run than fly.
“What...what are you doing here?”
“What do you think? Cleaning up your messes. My God, you are a disaster. Every time I turn around, you are practically telling everyone our story.”
“I haven’t said a word. I swear it.”
“You don’t need to lie anymore. This little experiment is over. I need the money.”
“What money?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, sister.”
She drops the word so casually, so caustically, that I close my eyes.
She knows. Oh, God, she knows.
“How did you find out?”
“The letter Gertrude sent to wreck our lives. The solicitors were sniffing around the flat in Oxford. Kevin said he was your boyfriend and they asked him to give you a letter. He gave it to me. It spelled everything out. Everything that matters, at least. Did you know we were sisters?”
How do I even answer this? I must have shock written all across my face because she smiles meanly and continues, thankfully, before I say anything.