Peter snorts. “This isn’t a soap opera, Malcolm. It’s not your business what happened between Lacey and me. She overstepped. Let’s leave it at that.” The gun swings toward me. “Move a few steps backward, please. Both of you.”
I do it automatically, my thoughts tumbling and swirling so much that I barely notice we’re standing inside a room. It’s in the farthest corner of the Nilssons’ basement, piled high with sealed cardboard boxes.
“This is the only room in the house that locks from the outside,” Peter says, one hand gripping the edge of the door. “Convenient.” He slams the door shut before I can react, plunging the room into darkness.
I’m at the door seconds later, first twisting the doorknob, then pounding so hard that my bruised ribs flare with sharp pain. “You can’t just leave us!” I yell against the thick wood. “People know Ellery is here. Her grandmother dropped her off!”
“I’m aware,” Peter says. There’s a sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, and I stop pounding so I can hear better. “Are you familiar with how a portable electric generator works, Malcolm?” I don’t answer, and he continues, “It should never be turned on inside a house on account of the carbon monoxide it emits. It kills quickly in a concentrated area like this. I’m not sure how this got switched on, but oh well. Maybe you and Ellery knocked against it accidentally while you were down here doing who knows what. We may never know.”
My heart plummets to my feet as I twist the knob again. “You locked us in here, Peter! They’ll know it was you!”
“I’ll be back in a little bit to open the door,” Peter says casually. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay long, though. Wouldn’t want to meet the same fate. Plus, I need to head to the grocery store. We ran out of popcorn.” A humming noise starts outside the door, and Peter raises his voice. “I’d say it was nice knowing you, Malcolm, but quite honestly you’ve been a nuisance from the start. All things considered, this has worked out fairly well. So long.”
His footsteps recede rapidly as I stand at the door, my head reeling and my heart pounding. How did I let it get to this point? Declan wouldn’t have gone into the basement like a lemming. He would have tackled Peter in the bedroom, or—
Light blazes behind me. I turn to see Ellery standing by the far wall with her hand on a switch, blinking like she just woke up. She goes back to the center of the room and kneels down in front of a box, ripping a thick strand of tape from its top. She turns the box upside down and dumps its contents on the floor. “There has to be something in here I can use to pick the lock.”
“Right,” I say, relief flooding through me. I join her in tearing through the boxes. The first few are full of books, stuffed animals, and wrapping paper. “I’m sorry, Ellery,” I say as we tear open more boxes. “I’m sorry I invited you over here, and that I let this happen. I wasn’t quick enough.”
“Don’t talk,” she says shortly. “Save your breath.”
“Right.” My head is starting to pound and my stomach rolls, but I don’t know whether that’s stress or deadly gas. How long has Peter been gone? How much time do we have?
“Ah-ha!” Ellery says triumphantly, seizing a box of Christmas ornaments. “Hooks.” She yanks a couple free and heads for the door. “I just need to straighten it and …” She’s silent for a few seconds, then lets out a grunt of frustration. “These aren’t strong enough. They just bend up. We need something else. Do you see any paper clips?”
“Not yet.” I open more boxes and root through their contents, but my head is pounding in earnest now and I’m so dizzy that my vision is starting to fuzz around the edges. I struggle to stand up, and look around the room. There are no windows to break, nothing heavy enough to use as a battering ram against the door. I upend more boxes, scattering their contents across the floor. At least we can make a mess, I think hazily. If nothing else, people might question what the hell happened in here.
But my movements are sluggish, and slowing by the second. All I want to do is lie down and go to sleep.
I can’t believe I’m thinking that already.
I can’t believe I finally learned what happened to Lacey and Brooke, too late to give any kind of closure to their parents.
I can’t believe I won’t get a chance to apologize to my brother.
My eyes are drooping, so heavy that I nearly miss it glinting on the floor. One small, solitary paper clip. I dive for it with a strangled cry of triumph, but it’s almost impossible to pick up. My hands feel rubbery and unwieldy, like I’m wearing giant Mickey Mouse gloves. When I finally get hold of it, I turn toward Ellery and the door.
She’s slumped in front of it, motionless.
“Ellery!” I grab her by the shoulders and pull her into a sitting position, cupping her cheeks in my hands until I see her release a breath. I shake her as hard as I dare, until her hair spills across her face. “Ellery, come on. Wake up. Please.” She doesn’t respond. I lay her carefully on the floor and turn my attention to the paper clip.
I can do this without her. I just need to unfold the clip and get to work. If only my hands hadn’t turned into inflatable gloves, it would be a lot easier.
If only my brain wasn’t about to pound out of my head.
If only I didn’t have to stop to throw up.
If only I could see.
If only.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ellery
Friday, October 11
I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright and painful. It’s quiet except for a soft beeping sound, and I try to raise one hand to the agony that’s my head, but it won’t move properly. Something’s stuck in it, or to it. The air smells faintly of bleach.
“Can you hear me?” asks a low voice. A cool, dry hand presses against my cheek. “Ellery? Can you hear me?”
I try to say yes, but it comes out more like a groan. My throat hurts almost as much as my head.
“I’m sorry. Don’t talk.” The hand leaves my face and curls around mine. “Squeeze if you understand me.” I do, weakly, and something wet drips on my arm. “Thank God. You’ll be all right. They’ve used hyperbaric oxygen on you and— Well, I guess the details don’t matter right now, but things look good. You look good. Oh, my poor girl.”
My arm is getting wetter. I crack my eyes open a slit and see the faint outline of a room. Walls and a ceiling, blending into one another with clean white lines, lit by the pale-blue glow of fluorescent lighting. A gray head is bent in front of me, framed by shaking shoulders. “How?” I ask, but it doesn’t sound like a word. My throat is as dry and rough as sandpaper. I try to swallow, but it’s impossible without saliva. “How?” I rasp again. It’s still unintelligible, even to my own ears, but my grandmother seems to understand.