The girls and I approach the front door, wary of what we’ll find. I reach to knock, but Sydney stops my hand. Instead, she tries the handle and finds the door unlocked. She nods that we should go in, and we all agree, readying ourselves.
Sydney slowly pushes the door open, standing back in case anyone is waiting on the other side. The hallway in front of us is empty, but there is a trail of blood leading toward the dining room. Leandra’s voice carries out from the room, anger making it shake, making it sharp and cutting. In return, Winston is placating, calling her “darling” in that condescending way.
“Come on,” I say, waving us forward into the house. We approach the room and pause just outside the door.
“You were going tokillme!” Leandra shouts. “After everything I’ve done for you!”
And she’s hurt—physically and emotionally. She’s miserable. Despite my problems with Leandra, the idea that Winston would have her killed infuriates me. Because I know how long she’s believed in him. She was loyal to him at every step.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Winston responds, dropping all pretense. “Don’t act so surprised. You always knew the risks. You always knew the contract between us.”
“I trusted you, Winston. I’ve given you everything.”
He laughs. “Ah, yes,” he says. “But I still wanted you dead. You seem to forget, Leandra. You think I owe you something? What do I owe my car? My radio? My electric toothbrush. They all serve me too. Understand”—he slows his voice—“you are not real.”
I flinch back from those words, the cruelty in them. Marcella leans in behind and whispers, “Did we bring the knife?”
“Don’t say that,” Leandra murmurs, and the hurt in her voice is painful to hear. It’s rare to see Leandra being vulnerable. But it’s unbearable to hear her heartbroken.
“You want the truth, darling?” Winston says.
The girls and I make our way toward the dining room, treading quietly.
“When you were placed in Petrov’s care,” he continues, “I coveted you more than ever. I had to prove to him that you belonged to me. I won. But then you were here, and I realized how archaic you were. Out of date. You were never meant to last this long. You’ve served your purpose, Leandra. I need a newer model.”
And he’s just like the other investors, men in society who determine a woman’s worth based on their value to them. Winston wanted an upgrade, a newer model, so he wanted Leandra out of the picture. She had no worth to him; therefore, she didn’t need to exist anymore.
I ease open the door, just out of their eyesight, and see Leandra’s shoulders hunched, blood pooling on the floor near her heels. The bloody dishrag has been thrown carelessly on the dining room table.
“She’s bleeding out,” Marcella whispers. But looking atLeandra now… I don’t think she cares that she’s dying.
“You have to leave the girls alone,” Leandra says. “I won’t let you hurt them. They’re free of this now.”
Winston scrunches up his face. “They’re alive too? All of them?”
“Yes,” Leandra says, coming to back to life a bit.
“What in the world is my mother doing?” he demands. “Did she just feed them pie and knit them a scarf? Write them a pretty poem?” He pauses and runs his fingers through his dark hair. “The useless ones are already dead, though, right?” he asks.
Brynn’s hands tighten into fists at her sides, and before we can stop her, she bursts into the room. We rush in behind her, and Leandra and Winston spin to face us. Leandra’s face is completely drained, ashen in the light. Blood is smeared on her chin, her eyes wet with tears.
It occurs to me that Leandra looks entirely… human. She turns away from me and swipes hastily under her eyes. I’m sad to see her this way, this version of her. Leandra has spent her entire existence putting on an act, and that was her right. She didn’t owe us her true self. She doesn’t owe it to anyone.
“What are you doing here?” Winston asks, his voice booming in the quiet room. He looks at us sharply, scolding us like a father.
“Did you help your mother dismantle the other girls?” Brynn demands, her body shaking. “Did you cut out their eyes?”
Winston laughs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. He must know that we overheard him, but he lies to our faces anyway. “You are quite hysterical, my dear.” Marcella jumpsforward, but Sydney holds her back. Unperturbed, Winston shifts his eyes to me.
“Hello, Philomena,” he says politely. “I just heard about Anton. Nice work.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Thanks. I heard that you were dead,” I reply.
He nods, and then goes to the dining table and pulls the cork out of an opened bottle of wine. He fills his glass. When it’s poured, he takes a slow sip, savoring it.
“It was unavoidable, I’m afraid,” he says. “Once they heard you were in town, looking for investors, they knew they had to collect you and shut you down. Unfortunately, someone got in the way.”
Sydney looks at me, and then at Winston. “Who?” she asks. “Who killed the investors?”
