Then I hear a sound, a clanking of metal. Like a key in a lock.
I snap to alertness.
A low scraping sound follows, and dim light fills the room. I’m blinking at the change when a bulb flashes to life in the ceiling above.
Blinded, I turn my head to the side.
“Brooke,” he says, still standing in the door.
I don’t want to believe it’s him.
I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to die.
As I tug against the restraints, I remember my first thought upon seeing the mansion.
I came here to disappear.
And when I see the emptiness in his eyes, I know I will.
47
Lyam stares down at me, no trace of the playful young man left to be seen. His brown eyes burrow into me—flat and lifeless, as if he doesn’t see me, only what I can give him. Only what he wants to take.
“You?” I say, too shocked and afraid to make sense of his presence. Logically I understand why he’s here, but the pieces of the puzzle didn’t add up to him. Nothim. Young Lyam, with the sweet smiles and helpful disposition.
He’s so young. Too young. If he killed the little girl when Ric and Noah were teenagers, then how old was Lyam? He can’t be thirty yet, not that much older than Luci.
Luci.
I remember the day in the courtyard, how Lyam reacted to Luci’s flirtation with Andre. He wasn’t being protective.
Butpossessive.
The polaroids flicker in my mind, like cards being shuffled. I close my eyes and swallow, afraid I’m going to be sick.
I take deep breaths. Over and over. Finally, I roll my head and shoot him a look of pure disgust. “I know what you’ve done.”
“Yes.” He lifts a shoulder. “That’s why you’re here.”
“I’m not just talking about Rose and the girl and the other kills recorded in your journal.” I clench my jaw, anger and fear blending to make me reckless. “I know what you did to Luci.” I pull at my straps. “When she was just a child!”
The thought of Luci chills me again. “Where is she? What have you done to her? And to Alice?”
“Hmm. Do you really want to know? Won’t it be more fun to find out for yourself?” He twists his mouth to the side, playing with me. Because he likes the game.
“You can’t do this. My agent knows I’m here. How will you cover up two missing women? Two women who lived in the same apartment?”
“Who said you’d go missing?” He goes to the head of the table and leans in. He looks down on me, eye to eye, but his grin is upside down. “You’ll be found in the bathtub with your wrists slit. It will all be very sad. So, so tragic. Maybe you were afraid you wouldn’t get that movie role. That your career was over.”
He clicks his mouth, making athat’s-too-badkind of sound. “All of the failure combined with the drama surrounding your last movie, well, you just didn’t see a future for yourself. And, of course, you’re still grieving your dead mother.”
How does he know so much? Everything about me. My private life and private thoughts, as if he’s crawled inside of me.
I tear my gaze away, refusing to look at him.
My eyes land on a table against the wall. Tools splay across the top: knives, straps, strange black masks. And metal implements I’ve never seen before. Some spiked or curved. But all of them sharp.
