The words rang between them like a struck bell. She watched him play them back and then wince. “Now that I’ve heard myself say it out loud, I’ll admit I could have picked something better.”
Stifling a sudden urge to scream right in his face, she tore out into the parking lot, wrenching the door shut behind her as she went. Thomas was forced to wrestle it back open, which he did with just as much aplomb as he’d done everything else.
Outside, a broad yellow sun had burned off much of the morning’s haze. The blocky SUV Philip reserved for staff usage sat parallel parked out front. As she stood there waiting for Thomas to unlock the doors, her phone went off inside her bag.
She tugged it free, glancing down at the screen.
This time, the text from Jesse was long.
Jesse
I’m a surgical resident. A student.
You do understand that, right? I wrote
that thesis as a joke. It’s all hypothetical.
I’ve only ever scrubbed in on surgeries
to observe. I’ve never done anything solo.
The lock clicked and Thomas appeared, already sweating in the heat.
“Your chariot,” he intoned, pulling the door wide.
She ignored him as she slipped into the passenger seat, too busy composing a response.
Vivienne
Don’t be so defeatist.
I believe in you.
Jesse
Well, you shouldn’t. Because if we go through with this, you won’t survive.
The engine turned over. The air-conditioning clicked on. In the synthetic chill, Vivienne’s skin felt strangely clammy. Like she’d caught a sudden fever. She could feel her reflection sneering in the side mirror. She didn’t look.
“You okay?” Thomas was staring over at her, his expression impassive. “Looks like that last text upset you.”
He was being paid to pry. He didn’treallycare. Not about her trophies. Not about pizza. Certainly not about how she was feeling.
Fine, she signed, though nothing felt fine at all.
She was losing Jesse. If she wanted to convince him to go along with her plan, she’d need to do something considerably more drastic. And quickly.
In the driver’s seat, Thomas was still peering over at her. This close, she saw that his eyes were gray. Clear and still as a lake on a summer day. She hadn’t meant to notice.
Stop staring, she signed, jabbing two fingers between them.Just do your job and take me home.
When Thomas Walsh was very small, he’d found death waiting for him inside the trunk of a sedan. For the first hour of his confinement, he’d kicked and kicked, driving the little heels of his light-up shoes—the ones his mother had scrimped and saved to buy—into the latch. With each kick, the dark had flickered wildly back at him in swirls of reds and blues. All these years later, he still dreamed of the flashing colors.
It wasn’t colors that rattled him awake now. He opened his eyes to pitch black, his skin itching with the palpable feel of being watched. For several heartbeats he lay prone atop the mattress and tried to ascertain whether the prickle in his skin was just the result of waking somewhere unfamiliar, or something more.
Across the room, the door snicked shut.
He jacked upright, his heart hammering. “Hello?”
