Then I heard my father’s voice again. This time, he sounded calm.
Maybe they were playing a game? My family does like games.
I waited a little longer, listening for the rise and fall of my father’s deep tone. In between, I listened for the woman, but she never spoke. Not that I could hear.
Feeling bolder, I sneaked closer, careful not to make a sound.
I walked slowly, trying to be quiet. A good thing, too, because when I got near, I saw the door wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even closed.
The door stood ajar, just a crack. Small enough to keep me hidden.
Wide enough to peek through.
When I looked, my body went cold. I didn’t understand what I was seeing.
The woman was strapped to a wooden table, her sparkly shoes and dress in a pile on the floor.
“Please,” she said in English. “Please, I want to go back up.”
But my father ignored her. He put a knife to her neck before dragging it down the inside of her arm.
When he reached the tender skin inside her elbow, he made a sharp motion.
The woman screamed, louder this time. He took away the knife and put his mouth on her skin instead. Then he slipped his hand inside her underwear.
I held my breath, staring, strange feelings warming my stomach.
My father made a grunting noise, like an animal.
I watched for another minute or two, watched as he put the knife to another part of her body. Then to her bra strap.
Watched as he sliced at both.
When I grew light-headed, I knew I had to leave. I couldn’t get caught down here. Not now.
I ran most of the way through the catacombs and back up the stairs. I took the servant stairway all the way up to my bedroom, stopping only to pick up the snack I’d wrapped in a napkin.
Once inside, I washed my feet, filthy from the steps and the dirt of the catacombs. Then I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up high.
My heart raced for several minutes, and my breaths felt cool and tingly in my chest.
Eventually, I settled down and closed my eyes.
But it was hours and hours before I slept.
25
I spend the rest of the afternoon reading articles online. The story is everywhere. Salacious headlines, speculation, accusations—all about things that happened on the set ofThe Last Wave.
Allegedly.
The articles might be little more than gossip, but I know the truth.
When it all began, I was a dedicated actress minding my own business, trying desperately to perform my best. I stayed focused and kept my head down.
When I heard about the weekend getaway on a local island, I didn’t go with the others to blow off steam, and I never expected anything terrible would happen.
Though I should have.
