Page 81 of Queen of Nothing

“We have pizza bases—but no sauce.” Serena’s voice is accompanied by the clattering of cans and rustling of plastic. “I promised Sal we would have pizza tonight and watch a movie. It’s your day off tomorrow, and I need to go into the city to pay the fee.”

So a pizza-and-movie night was Serena’s way of bribing Sal out of a tantrum. He always hates when she leaves for the day.

“I’ll check what they have in the frozen section. I’m sure there’s pizza.”

I sound just as enthused as I look in the small square of my face on the screen. Not my face, not really, just another illusion in a line of many.

I avoid looking at it too long.

It’s not something I’ve ever gotten used to.

“And potato chips.” She’s just adding to the list now. “Dip. Some chocolate—he likes Twizzlers, too. The sherbet ones.”

I know.

I’m raising him, too.

Serena tugs out of the pantry—leaning into view of the camera, but her face is pinched with a frown. “Do you hear that?”

I stop picking at the peeling leather of the steering wheel. “Hear what?”

Serena moves away from the pantry, her steps silent, and her whisper barely audible, “Someone’s coming up the corridor—”

She jolts—and so do I.

Because the door shudders with a firm knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

There’s a pause between each one, and I feel the tremor of the door in my bones.

Serena, turning her back on me, starts to run her hands over her head. She begins to pull on an illusion—

But she doesn’t get past her hairline.

Not before the door bursts open, like it’s been booted in from the other side.

Serena staggers back.

Eyes wide, I stare at the doorway over Serena’s shoulder—and though I’m separated by a video call, not in the apartment itself, I shrink into the seat as though I am there.

Mr Younge swallows up the doorway.

14

Mr Younge is all I see.

Not the back of Serena’s head, or the kitchen, not the lounge and the dining table, or the door that hangs off the hinges.

My gaze is hooked onto Mr Younge.

The panic in me is soft. Cold, but gentle, like a stream of water gliding through me.

I should be surging with urgency—but I’m not.