Until I was empty.
There wasn’t a clock in the room, and I didn’t have my phone, so I had trouble gauging how much time had passed since he’d locked me in here. But I could tell by the light that it was no longer morning. My throat hurt from all the screaming. I stared at my father’s dumb double-vision beach painting for God only knows how long, until the two suns in its swirling sky started to look like the eyes of some sky god, peering back at me.
I needed to pull myself together and figure out how to escapebefore Paul got here. Because the last time I saw him was when he was pointing that gun in our faces, and I didn’t know what he’d do this time. Or what my father was capable of doing under pressure. All I knew was that Nana had been right to hate him, and if he was telling the truth about trying to keep custody of me, then I owed Nana everything for preventing that from happening.
After taking a moment to breathe, I tried to focus on getting past either of the locked doors. I picked through everything I’d dumped on the bed and shoved it back in my purse. The only thing I had that might pick a lock was an old ballpoint pen with a chewed cap. I took it apart and tried to use various pieces of it to open the lock on the bedroom door. But I just ended up getting ink all over my fingers.
MacGyver I was not.
More time passed. I was starving, so it was well past lunch. I paced the room, combing every inch of it. Crouched near the vent to try to hear more conversations. Trying to figure out how long I had until Paul got there.It was only an hour away. Shouldn’t he be here by now?I’d been trapped in here for hours, surely. I finally sat down in the farthest corner from the bedroom door, so that I could watch it, stroking the Blackbeard ring around my neck like prayer beads.
Until I heard something...
Chapter 29
At first, I assumed the sound was inside the vent—another phone conversation, maybe. But it wasn’t a voice I’d heard, and it wasn’t coming from inside the house.
It came from outside. Somewhere outside those locked French doors...
Anxiety flaring, I stood up and walked to the balcony doors to scan the backyard. That housekeeper, Ester, was down by the pool, straightening chaise longues. I guess that’s what I heard—the sound of metal scraping across concrete. At first I thought she was just doing her job, but she was craning her neck, peering into the trees that flanked the yard. What the hell is going on... ? I watched her pull out her phone and talk into it as she swiveled and searched around the pool. Then she nodded and left the backyard.
As she entered the home’s back door, just below the balcony, I slammed my fist against the glass, trying to get her attention, but she disappeared into the house without looking back.
Frustrated and scared, I wilted against the balcony doors.
Until I heard the sound again.
Whatwasthat... ?
Some kind of heavy scraping. Of stone? Was there construction work being done on the outside of the home? Plastering, maybe?
It gave me hope that I might be able to flag a builder or contractor down, so I scanned the pool again. The housekeeper hadn’t returned, and the chaise lounges sat neatly in a row, so they weren’t the source of the noise. Not really a scraping noise. Not really a noise at all. I put my hand against the glass andfeltsomething. It felt like... scrabbling.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted movement between the wrought iron rails that lined the balcony. Was it a bird or something? Hard to see anything past the massive monstera plant. Taller than me, the big-leaved plant sat outside the French doors in an enormous steel planter, blocking my view of that side of the balcony.
But Ihadseen something out there.Wait. What is that... ?
A hand.
I jerked away from the doors, backing up a step as my heart thudded wildly against my ribcage. Someone was climbing onto the balcony!
The hand was soon followed by another, and then a dark silhouette lurched over the balcony railing, landing behind the monstera plant. The silhouette darted to one side, out of sight, then it moved like a shadow around the potted plant to peer into the French doors.
Holy shit.
“Seb... ?”
A chaotic tangle of blond waves blew in the breeze, and two blue eyes squinted into the balcony doors, his hand blocking late-afternoon sun so that he could see inside.
“SEB!” I whispered loudly, putting my face and both palms against the glass. Unbridled joy washed over me. I’d never been so happy to see anyone.
His eyes snapped to mine, and a look of supreme relief fell over his face.
Tears brimmed. I just couldn’t help it. “I can’t get out!”
He jiggled the door and mouthed, “Fuck.”
“I’ve tried everything,” I told him miserably, remembering that my father claimed this room was soundproofed. Could Seb even hear me?
