Minutes go by, and I try to convince myself that the obvious isn’t true, that he isn’t a monster, that my life isn’t over, but none of it works.
I can’t breathe. There’s not enough oxygen in the room. There’s no hope.
I’m dead.
I hear footsteps again. He’s jogging across the kitchen. A door slams, and a few seconds later, I hear him coming down the steps.
“Brie!”
I don’t respond.
“Brie, move away from the door. I’m going to break the lock open, OK?”
With a sob, I shuffle away.
“Are you clear? You have to tell me.”
I clear my throat and manage a quiet, “yes.”
A loud crash, then the door swings open. I feel a gust of cool night air. Bradley is soon beside me.
“Hey, hey,” he says. “It’s OK. What happened?”
He curls his arm around my shoulder, then coaxes me to stand. Sobbing, I hit him on the chest.
“What’s that for?”
“I thought you weren’t coming back.”
“What?” He sounds exhausted, almost annoyed. “That’s crazy.”
He shuffles out the door, keeping me in his arms. I try to regain composure, but as soon as I’m outside, I start crying again. The relief is unbearable.I’m alive.By the time we reach the back garden, my thoughts from five minutes earlierdoseem crazy. Bradley isn’t a character from one of Grace’s novels. He’s a kind man who, for whatever reason, seems to like me.
“I thought I was going to die.”
“Enough of that talk.” Now he’s definitely annoyed. “I’ve got enough crazy in my life.”
I bristle at his dismissive attitude. Maybe I was crazy to think he was working with Grace, but shedidintentionally lock me down there. I’m pretty sure she deliberately shut off the power, too.
“I didn’t know if anyone would find me in time.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You could have gone away. Grace might have arranged it.”
“What are you talking about?”
His questions make me want to scream with frustration. It’s almost like he’s mocking me.
“Grace locked me in. She asked me to clean out her boxes, then locked the door. And she cut off the lights, too.”
“Brie. Listen to yourself. You think Grace wanted you dead? Why on earth would you jump to that conclusion? It must have been an accident.”
“How?” As we go inside the house, I’m becoming less upset and more pissed off. “Seriously, how? The lock needs a massive key. How would that accidentally lock?”
“When the door slams shut, it can trigger the mechanism,” he says, without missing a beat. “It can happen with old doors like that.”
“Why are you defending her?”
