But her sister did.
I drop my phone to the floor, shuffling away as if it’s dangerous.
And in a way, it is.
I don’t know who I’ve been messaging with.
But it isn’t Alice.
My Hotel Peculiar
My father lifted the little girl in his arms. “Follow me.”
He led me through the winding shafts until we came to a stop beside a door. I recognized it from the night I came down by myself.
The night I saw him with the woman from the party.
But I paid more attention this time. A symbol was painted on the wood, one I’d seen many times before. “Grégoire’s symbol,” I said, pointing.
My father only grunted, struggling to unlock and open the door with the girl in his arms.
A coil of blonde hair fell over his elbow. I reached out to stroke the silky length.
“Wait,” my father barked at me.
Guiding me inside, he turned on a light. Not the same yellow bulbs as the tunnels, but a round fixture with a bright white glow.
Mesmerized, I stared at the items in the room. Ancient walls, like the rest of the catacombs, but shiny steel tables along one wall, covered in instruments. I didn’t know what they were, but they made me tremble, made me feel oily inside.
In a good way.
The space smelled wet like the tunnels, but also different. Metallic.
A long table sat in the center of the room, and my father laid the girl there. Then he strapped her hands down with some sort of leather cuffs. They were attached lower on the table as well, but her legs didn’t reach.
“Come.” My father motioned for me to join him at the table. His dark eyes seared into mine, so I looked down. He put his hand on my shoulder and smiled. “I knew it would be you.”
My chest felt puffed up, fizzy and tight. I looked up at him again. “What do you mean?”
The girl whimpered then, a small sound, like a mouse in a trap.
My father turned to her but spoke to me. “Today, you will learn of our legacy.” He stroked a finger down her thin, white throat. “Our family secret.”
40
I sit for another moment, clutching the fire poker. Then I launch into action. Whoever’s been coming into the apartment has been using the hidden stairway, so I need to barricade every door. And then, when I’m done, when I feel more protected . . .
I have to finish the journal.
It takes me fifteen minutes to wrestle large pieces of furniture in front of all three doors, and then another twenty to check every single wall panel in the place.
I can’t afford to miss any other secret entrances.
Satisfied I’m safe for the moment, I make sure Clairee is still asleep on the sofa before locking us both in the study.
I no longer chastise myself for overreacting. I no longer wonder if I’m being paranoid. The truth still sounds crazy, but I can’t ignore facts the details recorded in the journal.
One of the family members is a sadistic killer.
