Page 81 of Her Sloth

I connect the beamer to the laptop.

It first shows just a white stream, and then a video starts playing.

My sister’s face stares right at me, interrupted by the last raindrops before it finally stops raining.

She is sitting on a chair, getting interviewed.

My hands flap in front of my face.

Seeing her.

She is talking; I can’t hear the sound, but the text shows as massive subtitles.

The text telling all the things that died with her.

‘He said I should be a good girl and undress. That I am not a child anymore.’

Videos play as an overlay. Videos of her being—being⁠—

Oh god.

My stomach twists.

I can’t watch it.

Names appear.

Names of people Whitney-Morgan does business with. Names of high-ranking employees, like the Foundation’s CFO. Names of people I know from film and red carpets. I hate this world. More names. Names of people I have personally met, like Lilian’s own fucking father. Like Delilah’s father.

Goosebumps, not of the good kind spread over my arms. There is this murderous rage withing me.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as I realize how bad it is. And what I have done, leaving her alone with all of it. Walking away and never looking back.

My entire body trembles as I stare transfixed at what Kat and Lilian have cut together.

I should’ve known. Should’ve made her come with me. Should have checked in. Should’ve connected the dots. Should’ve⁠—

“You should get out of there,” says Kat suddenly. I have completely forgotten where I am and what’s happening.

Sirens.

“Are they coming for me?”

“I believe so,” Kat says. “We’re live streaming it everywhere. I interrupted every show on TV, every network; it’s all over social media. I even hijacked the White House site.”

As much as I am impressed by her skill, I am fucked.

“Shit,” I say, hang up, swing my backpack back on, and get back around the corner to the side and start climbing back down.

And then, my hand slips—I forgot the gloves.

I swing onto the level, rub my hands, and climb back up to the level I came from.

There, I take the gloves and slip them on as the sirens close in.

I climb down as fast as I can with the still-wet beams.

When I reach the first level, several police cars are blocking the area around me. I slip into the first level so they don’t see me climbing from the outside, and I get to the front to check out Park Avenue as I crouch on the ground, figuring out my options.