Hidden Pictures(84)

Caroline stands in the open window of the cottage, pointing Mitzi’s gun at me. She’s telling me to shut up but the words don’t register until the fourth or fifth time. She opens the door and with a little flick of the pistol’s barrel, she gestures for me to sit back in the chair.

“Were you serious?” she asks. “Were you really going to leave with him?”

I don’t even hear the questions. I’m still staring at Ted, down on the floor and struggling to speak, as if he’s acquired a stammer. His lips tremble like he’s trying to pronounce a difficult word and he’s drooling blood, it’s running red over his chin and shirt.

“See, I think you were lying,” Caroline continues. “I think you would probably say anything to get out of here right now. But I can assure you that Ted was completely serious. He’s had his eye on you since you first got here.” She points across the cottage to the white smoke detector mounted on the kitchen wall. “Did you ever wonder why that fire alarm never went off? Even if you were burning dinner?”

I don’t answer and she raps the butt of the pistol on the kitchen counter, three loud bangs. “Mallory, I asked you a question. Did you notice your smoke alarm doesn’t work?”

What the hell does she want me to say? She’s pointing a gun in my face and I’m too terrified to answer; I’m worried my first incorrect word will cause her to pull the trigger. I have to look down at the floor to muster the courage to speak. “Ted said the cottage had old wiring. He said it was something called knob and tube.”

“It’s a webcam, dummy. Ted installed it right after your interview. Plus a signal booster so it would reach our Wi-Fi network. He said he wanted to check on you, make sure you weren’t using drugs. A ‘precautionary measure,’ right? But give me a break. I’m not stupid. Some nights he’d stay awake in his office for hours, just praying you would take a shower. I always wondered if you knew, if you felt like you were being watched.”

“I thought it was Anya.”

“No, mommy stays with her baby at night. It was always Mr. Family Man here. Mr. Father of the Year.”

Ted shakes his head, like he wants to contradict her, like he’s desperate for me to know the truth. But when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is more blood, running over his chin and chest.

I turn to Caroline and she’s still pointing the gun at me.

I want to sink to the floor, cower and beg for mercy.

“Please,” I say, raising my hands. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know you won’t. You killed Ted, using the gun you stole from Mitzi’s house. Then we struggled, but I managed to grab away the pistol. You took a knife from the kitchen drawer so I had to shoot you. It was self-defense.” She glances around the cottage, as if she’s trying to work out the precise choreography of the sequence. “You know, I’m going to have you stand closer to the refrigerator. Next to the cutlery drawer.” She points the gun at me. “Come on, don’t make me ask again.”

She come closer—the gun comes closer—and I back away from her, moving into the kitchen.

“All right, that’s better. Now reach down and open the drawer. Pull it all the way out. There you go.” She moves to the opposite side of the kitchen counter, then leans over so she can study the knife block. “I guess you should use the chef’s blade. It’s the big one, all the way on the end. Reach down and grab the handle. Get a real nice grip on it.”

I’m so scared I can scarcely move.

“Caroline, please—”

She shakes her head. “Come on, Mallory. You’re almost done. Reach down and grab the knife.”

And in my peripheral vision, just over her shoulder, I can still see blood dripping down the wall. But Ted is no longer sitting there. He’s vanished.

I reach down. Put my hand on the knife. Wrap my fingers around the grip. It’s so hard to do something when you’ve been told it’s the last thing you’re ever going to do.

“That’s it,” she says. “Now hold it up.”

Then she screams and falls—Ted has lunged for her legs—and I know this is my moment. Stupidly, I let go of the knife, because I don’t want to waste even a second pulling it from the drawer.

I just run.

I throw open the door and behind me there’s an explosion—a gunshot, reverberating off the walls of the cabin. I leap off the porch and hit the grass sprinting. For three terrifying seconds I am completely vulnerable, a silhouette moving across the wide-open lawn, and I brace myself for the next explosion.

But it doesn’t happen. I dart through the shadows on the side of the big house, past the trash cans and recycling bins. I run across the front lawn and stop at the end of the two-car driveway. All the neighboring houses are dark. Everyone on the block is fast asleep. Nobody walks on Edgewood Street after midnight. And I don’t dare knock on a neighbor’s door—I have no idea how long it will take someone to come downstairs. Right now my biggest asset is speed—increasing the distance between me and Caroline. If I sprint I can be at the Flower Castle in three minutes, I can bang on the door and scream for Adrian’s parents to help me.

But then I glance back at the Maxwells’ house and realize Teddy is still sound asleep on the second floor. Oblivious to all the mayhem in his backyard.