3
Idon’t wait for Jackson. I shoot out of bed and rush into the hall, immediately meeting Marcella, who moves past me down the stairs. I look behind to see Sydney run from her room, grabbing my arm before we hurry toward the sound. Quentin stumbles out into the hall, rubbing his eyes in confusion.
“That was Brynn,” Marcella says breathlessly.
My heart is beating out of my chest as we pause to look around the living room. Just then, we notice Imogene’s bedroom door is ajar. Marcella darts in that direction, and we quickly follow behind her.
There is a quiet crying coupled with a hushed voice as we enter the main part of the room. We’re immediately hit with a distinct smell, and I cover my nose, trying to find the source of it. The light is on in the bathroom.
“Brynn?” Marcella calls. There’s no immediate answer and we slowly approach, unsure of what we’re going to find. Marcellaplaces her palm on the bathroom door, pushing it the rest of the way open. She gasps.
Blood is splashed in arcs of red across the white-tiled walls. Sydney screams and slaps her hand over her mouth, stumbling back a few steps. I swing my gaze around wildly until I find Brynn backed against the far wall, Imogene standing next to her. Brynn’s face is a mask of horror as Imogene continues to whisper too low for me to catch what she’s saying.
The smell in here is so strong that it makes my eyes water, and as I slowly sort out the red splashes in the room, I finally notice the body in the bathtub.
I can’t understand what I’m seeing at first. Annalise comes in behind me, covering her mouth as she looks around.
And then, almost in slow motion, I find the arms and the legs, the head with one eye open, gazing lifelessly in my direction. I put the entire image together with one horrified gasp.
In the oversized jetted tub, Imogene Portman’s husband lays dead. A knife covered in dried blood has been left carelessly on the floor in the middle of the room. When I turn to Imogene, she smiles ruefully.
“Don’t judge me,” she says immediately. “He deserved it. Any one of you would have done the same!”
But her voice trembles. I don’t disagree with her, because we did kill the man who threatened our lives. Can we not expect Imogene to fight for her own life?
Marcella walks over to take Brynn’s hand, cautiously watching Imogene as she leads her away. She doesn’t trust Imogene aroundBrynn. It occurs to me that Mr. Portman has been dead since before we got here. Maybe even for a few days. Imogene let us stay here while she slept in a room just a few feet away from his rotting corpse.
This is definitely not normal. She is not okay.
“I’m sorry,” Brynn tells Marcella, crying as Marcella checks her over and then pulls her into a hug. “There was this voice in my head,” Brynn continues. “I couldn’t sleep and then I came downstairs. I could still smell it so I … I came into the bedroom, and then I found her in here with him.”
Imogene watches them, but she doesn’t look the least bit sorry. Unlike me and the other girls, she doesn’t seem crushed by guilt.
“I had to dispose of him,” Imogene says. “You brought those humans here, so I had no choice but to get rid of the body. He was too heavy to move. I needed him in pieces.”
At the thought of Jackson and Quentin, I quickly spin around, grateful that they’re not behind us. Quentin must be helping Jackson down the stairs. I run to the bedroom door and close it, locking it before returning to the master bath.
“What are you going to do?” I ask Imogene. “What were you doing in here?”
“I was going to wrap him in a shower curtain to transport him,” she says. “Leandra is making arrangements.”
Sydney gasps. “You called Leandra? Did you tell her that we’re here?” She shoots a panicked look in my direction.
Imogene smiles. “Of course. She’s happy you found me. She has something for you. Told me not to let you leave.”
“Letus leave?” I ask.
Sydney’s hand finds mine, squeezing it.
“We have to go,” I say, pulling Sydney with me as I head for the door.
“She’ll kill him, you know,” Imogene calls after me. I stop and turn to look back at her. My heart is pounding, a chill over my skin.
“Who?” I ask.
“She’ll kill that boy,” Imogene says, glancing at her husband’s body before walking barefoot across the bathroom floor. She stops in front of me. “She wanted me to tell you that she’ll kill him if he continues to be a distraction.”
Marcella turns to me, and Sydney’s other hand grips my arm. They’re threatening Jackson. I shouldn’t be shocked, but hearing it out loud stuns me anyway.
