“Well, you did the right thing. We’ll make sure nothing happens. You’re safe now.”
My heart is fluttering and my hands feel clammy. I think I need to sit down.
“You don’t look good. Let me get you some water.” Cecily disappears into the kitchen and returns with a glass of water, which I gulp down.
Sinking into the couch, I feel a wave of relief, and at the same time a sharp pain in the center of my forehead. “Can I use your bathroom? I think I’m getting a migraine.”
“Of course—you know where it is.”
I go to the bathroom in the hall, but then remember she keeps the Advil in the upstairs bathroom. I yell out from the hall, “I’m going to grab some Advil.”
I don’t hear her respond, but I’ve been here enough times to know where she keeps it. My head is throbbing now, so badly that it makes my vision blur around the edges. I have to grip the railing hard as I make my way upstairs.
When I reach the sink, I splash my face with cold water and lean over the counter, dizzy. My breath sounds animal, ragged and shallow. Maybe I ate something weird. Or maybe it’s a reaction to seeing the video. Seeing Lila murdered. I shudder. I just want to watch the rest and get it over with. God, I hope Maya is innocent in all of this.
After steadying myself, I open Cecily’s medicine cabinet to lookfor Advil and am riffling through one of the drawers when I happen to glance at the name on one of the prescription pill bottles.
naomi mason—temazepam
I frown. What the hell are my sleeping pills doing in Cecily’s bathroom?
“Naomi?” I hear Cecily call my name from the hall. Her footsteps thudding up the stairs. “Where did you go?”
“Up here.” My mouth is dry.
My neck suddenly feels too hot, and sweat breaks out over my forehead. I turn on the sink and bend my mouth to it, drinking from the tap. I must have stood up too quickly, because the room spins, and I have to grip the edge of the sink so that I don’t fall.
I hear the door open. Her footsteps outside.
I want to run, but there’s nowhere to go. Cecily opens the door. She stares at me, a dark shape, backlit by the light in the hall.
“What are you doing?” Her eyes slip down to the bottle of pills in my hand and her face darkens. She holds out a hand. “Give that to me.”
No no no. This isn’t happening. Not Cecily…My heart is pounding now, but my legs feel like lead. My vision swims, my legs collapsing beneath me. The pills slip from my fingers, clattering to the floor, and the last thing I see before everything goes dark is her long fingers wrapped around a syringe.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Maya
August 2023
An hour later, maybe more,I wake to the sound of rain and blink my eyes open. It’s impossible to tell the time of day because outside is gray and bleak, rain streaking the glass. Everything is out of focus, a jackhammer pummeling the inside of my skull. Slowly, I remember the car ride, the bitter taste of the water. Then the room around me comes into view: wood beams on a high ceiling, massive fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows.Where am I?
I try to push myself up, but I can’t move my arms. Adrenaline surges through me, every nerve in my body firing.What’s wrong with my arms?Beneath me, I feel something cold and smooth. I’m on the floor, a hardwood floor. And…something isn’t right. My mouth hurts and I can’t breathe because there’s something keeping it shut. Twisting my hands, I realize they’re tied in my lap with rope.
What the hell?
My heart is racing as I try to free myself from the restraints, but there’s something wrong with my head. I try to scream, to cry out for help, but no one’s there.
Oh god.
I look up. The familiar moose head stares down at me from the wall, its beady eyes watching me. The large chandelier made of antlers over the foyer. It’s the Greystone cabin. I squeeze my eyes shut.This isn’t happening.
My stomach clenches and I heave, but nothing comes out.
“Oh, you’re up,” Cecily says, walking into the room with a cup ofcoffee like nothing’s wrong. “I made some coffee, do you want some? It might help with the hangover.”
Anger shoots through me.What’s wrong with you?I want to scream, but I can’t. The tape is cutting into the sides of my mouth. Instead, I slam my foot against the coffee table, nostrils flaring as I struggle to free my hands from the rope.
