Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight. Fifty-nine. Sixty.
He counted them a second time, to be sure. Then a third time.
They were all here. Just like she’d said, she hadn’t taken any.
He slid the pills into his palm. At the sink, he flicked on the water, then poured them down the garbage disposal.
The destruction of her pills made him feel no better.
She could always get more. Hide more. Take more.
Natasha
“Did you hear that?” I ask the others on our eighth day in our underground room that smells like a sewer. I was trying to French-braid Genevieve’s hair, but now I cock my head to the side to listen.
“What?” Genevieve asks.
“Shh,” I say.
There it is again, the grinding sound of a big machine. Then comes a far-off groaning, scraping noise ... as if pieces of our building are being lifted away.
“What is it?” Ben asks.
Genevieve looks at me excitedly.
“I think,” I say, “that might be the sound of our rescue.”
Chapter Twenty-three
The drive to Atlanta to confront Alice Atwell was worsening Genevieve’s state of mind, which had been dismal since her fight with Sam the night before.
Heartsick, she propped her chin in her hand and watched the scenery fly past from within the backseat of her dad’s BMW. The tension inside the car was so thick that, had she scissors, she’d have been able to cut it to pieces.
Sam had found her pills.
In fact, the way things had unfolded, it was almost as if God hadwantedhim to find them.
Sam had accused her of hiding her addiction, and he’d been right. She’d literally been hiding that bottle of Oxy in that canister.
Hiding ... still.
Even after all the effort she’d made the past three months to be open with herself, Sam, and Natasha, he’d caught her red-handed, and she’d been horrified. Then he’d chosen that moment—when her very worst flaw had been on display—to tell her that he loved her.
She still couldn’t believe he’d said that. A few times since last night, she’d questioned her recollection of his“I love you”because it seemed so impossible that he’d said that.
But no, it had been real. Had he spoken those words to her a different day under a sweeter circumstance, she’d have been elated. As it was, she’d been wondering if she’d forced the declaration from him the way a person might force a bear to attack by poking it with a stick.
Had he meant it? Did he love her? Really? And if he had loved her last night, did he love her still, after finding Oxy in her cottage?
Her actions last night had woken the ghost of Kayden, which had probably made him doubt whether he had the heart to continue dating her.
After Sam left last night, she’d paced endlessly, her distress oscillating between remorse over their fight and fear for her family. Sam hadn’t come back to the cottage or texted or called. Nor had she reached out to him.
She hadn’t taken a pill in almost three months. Regardless, her life seemed to be spinning out of control, just like it had been the day she’d awoken in an unfamiliar cottage with a stranger standing over her.
Genevieve’s focus settled on her parents in the front two seats. Mom was pretending to read, but Genevieve hadn’t seen her turn a single page. Dad had turned on instrumental music and passed the drive in silence, his profile strained. Natasha sat next to Genevieve in the back, tapping on her computer with a drawn expression. Over the past hour and forty minutes, Genevieve had periodically attempted to catch up with social media on her phone. Mostly, though, she’d stewed about Sam and hovered on the precipice of tears.
“I think we’re coming up on it,” Dad said.
