“Why would you send me in there?” she cries.
My mouth falls open. “I didn’t. Lourdes, I would never—”
“You did! I saw you! You waved at me to follow you, and we’re not supposed to go anywhere alone.”
“Lourdes,” Kane says. “Claire has been on the bridge with us for the last twenty minutes at least.”
Lourdes pauses and then shakes her head. “No, I woke up when she left the suite. I followed her. She said she had something special to show me.”
Kane glances at me.
“She was already gone when I got up,” I say. “I expected to find her on the bridge with the rest of you.” My words sound thin to my ears, even though they’re the truth.
“What happened after that?” Kane asks Lourdes.
“I… I followed her, but I kept losing her. In and out of rooms.”
I glance back toward the bridge and stiffen at the sight. Several doors now stand open.
Niggling uncertainty begins to eat at me.
“The door should have been locked,” I say. All the ones with doubleXs should be. I automatically pat the pocket of my jumpsuit for the master key. But there’s nothing. I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.
The last time I saw the key was when I put it on the nightstand, hours ago. It’s the only key we have.
“I was trying to figure out what she was doing.” Lourdes pauses, her breath hitching. “The corridors seemed so much longer, though, and I…” She stops. “But I saw her go in this room, I know I did. She waved at me to follow her.”
Could it be possible? Could I have gotten up and brought Lourdes down here without realizing what I was doing? Was the woman under the bed and my reaction to that a complete mental fabrication? Something I dreamed up while wandering down the corridor and leading Lourdes to follow me? I don’t think so, but… I can’t be sure.
Self-loathing churns in me, and I jerk my head in disgust with myself.
My head throbs in response to the sudden movement, reminding me. The bump on the back of my head from hitting the nightstand. That, at least, suggests a portion of my encounter with thewoman under the bed existed in reality, and I couldn’t be in two places at once.
But I also have a hard time imagining Lourdes reaching over me to take the key and leaving the room on her own. And where was she while I was on the bridge? In one of the rooms looking for “me”?
“Did Claire unlock the door?” Kane asks.
Lourdes’s forehead creases, but she seems calmer now that she’s in the hall and not alone. “I… don’t remember. I just… I pushed the door and it opened.” She frowns. “It was harder to open than I expected.”
“Okay,” Kane says. “Let’s get you to the bunk room so you can rest and—”
Lourdes shakes her head fiercely. “No, not by myself.” She avoids my gaze.
And not with me, clearly.
Even though I’ve done nothing wrong—as far as I know, which I suppose is the kicker—I feel the burn of shame.
“Voller is in the bunk room already. Or, Nysus is on the bridge,” Kane says. “How about that?”
She nods, and he walks her down toward the bridge.
I edge closer to the suite for another look.
The red tape on the door edges is curled back and broken by force. The tape gave way when the door was opened. The lights are on inside, and the dried blackish-red lake of blood on the floor looks so much worse than it did when Kane and I were here in the dimness with only our helmet lights to illuminate the scene.
But what’s caught my attention is the key in the door. Bright green plastic. One of a kind. And no longer in my possession, obviously.
Kane returns after a moment, without Lourdes. He studies the door, the key, and then me.
