I go still.
RUN
“What?” I whisper, turning to scan the walls, the ceiling. “Run where?”
Out
The word thunders through me, reverberates along my rib cage.Out.As if it were that simple, as if I could turn the doorknob and be rid of this nightmare. If it were that easy to leave this room, I would’ve done it already. But Evie reinforces the locks on my door with multiple layers of security. I only saw the mechanics of it once, when she returned me to my room after allowing me to look outside for a few minutes. In addition to the discreet cameras and retina displays, there’s a biometric scanner that reads Evie’s fingerprints to allow her access to the room. I’ve spent hours trying to get my bedroom door open, to no avail.
Out
Again, that word, loud and harsh inside my head. There’s something terrifying about the hope that snakes through me at the thought of escape. It clings and tugs and tempts me to be crazy enough to listen to the absurd hallucinations attacking my mind.
This could be a trap, I think.
This could all be Evie’s doing. I could be playing directly into her hand.
Still.
I can’t help myself.
I cross the room in a few quick strides. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the handle, and, with a final exhalation, I give in.
The door swings opens easily.
I stand in the open doorway, my heart racing harder. Aheady rush of feeling surges through me and I look around desperately, studying the many hallways stretching out before me.
This seems impossible.
I have no idea where to go. No idea if I’m crazy for listening to a manipulative voice in my head after my psychotic mother spent hours injecting things into my mind.
It’s only when I remember that I first heard this voice the night I arrived—just moments before Evie began torturing me—that I begin to doubt my doubt.
Dying
That was what the voice said to me that first night.Dying.
I was lying on an operating table, unable to move or speak. I could only shout inside my head and I wanted to know where Emmaline was. I tried to scream it.
Dying, the voice had said.
A cold, paralyzing fear fills my blood.
“Emmaline?” I whisper. “Is that you?”
Help
I take a certain step forward.
Warner
“I’m a little early,” he says. “I know your birthday is tomorrow, but I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
I stare at my father as though he might be a ghost. Worse, a poltergeist. I can’t bring myself to speak, and for some reason he doesn’t seem to mind my silence.
Then—
He smiles.
