“Of course. Why?”
“What for?”
“I had my reasons. Why do you want to know? What difference does it make?”
“You said I could call you Cropsey. Did you . . . other than Alan, did you kill anyone else? Outside of Willowbrook, I mean?”
He dropped his gaze to the floor, then looked at her with pain-filled eyes. “Do you know how many people have shitty lives out here? How many kids have parents who beat and abuse them, or don’t make enough money to feed them? How many have parents who are alcoholics or drug addicts?”
“Oh my God.” Terror rose to a fever pitch in her mind. And she’d given him her friends’ addresses! “Please tell me you . . . you didn’t hurt Heather and Dawn, did you?”
He shook his head. “I thought about it, but they weren’t worth my time.”
Relief swirled through her, along with the growing cyclone of panic and fear.
“Remember after the first time I saw you in the hall, you didn’t see me the next day?” he said. “I freaked out because I thought you were Rosemary’s ghost. I didn’t tell Dr. Baldwin why I was so upset, but he had to sedate me for a while.”
She said nothing. If he was looking for sympathy, he was asking the wrong person. Then she thought of something else.
“So you wanted me to see Rosemary’s body in the tunnels. But why?”
“Because . . .”
She waited.
“Because I thought you deserved to know she was dead instead of wondering what had happened to her. I can tell you’re a good person. And not knowing what happened to someone you love is worse than knowing.”
“If I’m a good person, then why are you doing this to me?” Her voice broke. “I don’t deserve to be locked up again.”
“I’m sorry. But I don’t know what else to do. I can’t tell them the truth.” He moved toward her, reaching for her with one hand, his eyes sad.
She forced herself to stand stock-still, as if ready to accept a comforting gesture, then skirted around him at the last second, raced to the door, and tried the handle. It was locked. She spun around to face him, her back pressed against the cold steel.
He let out a humorless laugh. “Did you really think I’d be stupid enough to leave it unlocked?”
“Please, just let me go. I’ll never survive in this place. I have to get out of here.” Then she forced a smile, hoping to convince him they could still be friends. It felt like a twitch. “I’m . . . I’m not going far. You’ve still got keys. You can sneak out and come visit me whenever you want.”
He moved closer, staring at her with a pained expression. “You’re lying,” he said. “You’re afraid of me, I can see it in your eyes. And you’re smart to be afraid, because I can’t let you or anyone else come between me and what I was put here to do. If you tell them, they’ll make sure I can never help anyone else. And I can’t let that happen.”
“I won’t tell,” she said. “I promise.”
“Of course you will. You think I’m a monster. And you want to make me pay for killing your sister. You’re a good person, remember? You want to see justice served. But you need to understand that this is bigger than you and me.”
She shook her head furiously back and forth. “No. I just want to go home. That’s all, I promise.”
He took a step back and reached into his pocket. “I almost forgot. I brought you something.” He held out his closed fists as if playing a guessing game. “Pick one.”
“I don’t want to,” she said.
“Come on. Didn’t your parents teach you it’s rude to turn down a gift?” He tried to hide his irritation, but anger edged his voice.
“The only gift I want is to be free.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. As he had said, freedom could mean different things.
“I’ll set you free, I promise, but first you have to pick one.”
She shook her head again.
He opened his fists. A red cylinder lay in one palm. It looked like a fat tube of lipstick. She raised her eyes to meet his, and the vicious gleam she saw there drained the blood from her veins. Then, horribly, he began to laugh.
She turned and pounded on the door. “Help!” she screamed. “Someone, please! Help me!”
He grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. She fell to her knees, kicking and screaming and trying to get away. He yanked her up, dragged her over to the bed, and pushed her onto the mattress. “You’re making this harder than it has to be,” he snarled. He put a sweaty hand over her mouth, held up the lipstick tube, and popped off the cap with his thumb. A hawkbill blade shimmered in the light.
She tried to scream, but he pressed his hand harder over her mouth and climbed on top of her, straddling her like a horse. She bucked beneath him, but it was no use. He was too heavy, too strong. She tried to snatch the weapon from his fist, her arms flailing, her hands grabbing but finding only air. He moved the blade back and forth, slicing her skin and lifting the knife out of her reach. Then he held it up high.
“Not the color you expected?” he said.
In that second, while he taunted her, she opened her mouth wide and bit down as hard as she could, catching two of his fingers and not letting go. He yelped and she bit down harder, kicking and shaking her head like a mad dog until his flesh broke between her teeth. He bent forward in agony. She tried to grab the blade and he swiped at her arms, cutting her again.
She reached up and shoved her thumb into his eye. He tried to pull her thumb away with his free hand, but accidently cut his own temple, just missing his eye socket and gouging out a thick flap of bloody skin. He cussed and reached for his face, dropping the blade. It clattered to the floor. She pressed her thumb harder into his eye and dug her fingers into his wound. He finally tore her hand away and clutched his bloody head, his face contorting in pain. She unclenched her teeth from his fingers, then slammed both hands into his chest as hard as she could. He grunted in surprise and half fell, half stumbled off the bed, landing on his side.
She scrambled upright and frantically searched the floor for the blade but didn’t see it anywhere. Then she saw it, only a few feet behind him. He turned over and got to his feet, one hand over his bleeding temple, one eye squeezed shut. He was looking for the blade too, his uninjured eye gaping and bloodshot. Sage lunged forward, grabbed the knife, and plunged it into his side, grunting with the effort., He looked down and tried to pull it out with a blood-covered hand, staggering back and forth like a drunk. She yanked it out of his side and retreated with it in her fist, ready to stab him again if he got close.
Eddie lurched forward, his hands clawed and ready to grab her. She pulled back the blade and jammed it into his neck as hard as she could. He went rigid, blood instantly gushing out from below his ear. She stepped back, gasping for air and trying to stay upright.
He stared at her with a feral-looking mixture of desperation and rage until, finally, the fight left his eyes. He fell to his knees, one hand grasping his neck. Blood poured between his fingers, running down his arm and chest in red rivers. Then, in what seemed like slow motion, he fell face-first on the floor.
Sage backed up and leaned against the wall, a scream welling up in her throat. The warm, coppery tang of blood filled her mouth, and she spat several times to get rid of the taste. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a watery streak of saliva and blood on her skin. Streaks of blood striped her arms and clothes, dripping dark and heavy on the floor.