“Do not feel lonely,
the entire universe is inside you.”
—Rumi
Griff’s fingers dig into my arms, the toes of my heels dragging on the floor as he hauls me down the dark basement hallway. My breathing is thick, my hair sticking to my damp forehead. I wriggle against him but can’t get him to budge with my arms tied behind my back, and muffled whimpers are all that get through the tape over my mouth.
He takes me to the third room. The lights are off, leaving it pitch black, but I know someone is here.
Soft weeping bounces off my ears when I’m shoved forward and into some kind of metal crate. My nose hits one of the bars as I fall face-first, and I choke on a curse before straightening so I’m sitting up.
My eyes are wide as I look around, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
What the hell is going on?
“Emmy.” It’s a whisper, or maybe a cry. There’s a sniff, then another broken, “Emmy.”
I glance toward the familiar voice, to my right. After a moment, another crate takes shape. Slender fingers are curled around the bars. Behind them, a feminine face surrounded by long strands of hair stares at me. I lean closer, my heart rate picking up as the shapes of her eyes come into focus, her small nose, her high cheekbones.
Frankie.
I slam my shoulder against the bars, trying to get to her, and a shooting pain races through my arm. When I try calling her name, all that comes out is a stifled shriek, and Jesus, frustration boils in my blood until my eyes burn with unshed tears.
“Shh,” she hushes me through quiet sobs. “He’ll hear you.” My brows knit, and she adds, “My master.”
My eyes dart around the room again. A shape forms around the column, big enough to be a person but also too clunky. I continue looking but don’t see anything, or anyone, else.
“I’m so sorry, Emmy,” Frankie whispers, pulling my gaze back to her. “I had no idea you’d try to find me. I just needed—I just needed to . . . I don’t know what I needed. But I never meant to lead you here. I’m so sorry.”
I focus on my breathing—in and out, in, out. God, I want to yell. At Frankie. At Adam. At fucking Raife. But mostly at myself.
Why didn’t I try harder to find her? Why did I let this place suck me in so deep?
I squeeze my eyes shut when harsh, bright lights fill the room, and they water when I open them again. I can’t tell if it’s from the harshness or if my tears have finally spilled.
I scoot backward as the form I’d spotted against the column earlier is suddenly directly in my line of vision, clear as day. It is a person. Except chains are wrapped around his chest and ankles, keeping him upright, and his head is hanging low. He’s unconscious.
“You know . . .” Raife’s voice slides past my eardrums, and a tremble runs through me as I try to spot him. “I wasn’t so sure at first. I mean, I knew it was too coincidental. Enough for me to lock Frankie away in the front house when you made my fucking day by inquiring about employment.”
Oh my god. She was here the whole time? Locked up?
I turn to Frankie, and my eyes well up. She shakes her head and whispers, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“If you saw your sister here, safe and sound, what was to keep you from leaving? Nothing. And I needed time to observe you. What started out as pure fascination quickly evolved when I realized it couldn’t all be a coincidence. But fuck, your mom knew how to cover her tracks. And this one”—he turns to Frankie, his lips tilting up. “She is talented at keeping secrets. You guys really had me going there.”
My brows pucker, and I glance at Frankie again. Tears slide down her cheeks.
“Katerina wiped her existence off the map, then did a home birth with you—brilliant. Just brilliant. As far as the world was concerned, you didn’t even exist, did you, Sofia?”
I shrink back as the lights somehow grow even brighter above our heads. My breath turns shallow and my dress feels itchy.
Sofia. Katerina. Sofia. Katerina.
“I apologize.” Raife steps into view, his shiny shoes and suit-clad legs level with my eyes. “Are the lights making you uncomfortable? I thought you’d feel right at home.”
Anger spikes in my chest, and I lunge toward him. He chuckles when I crash into the bars.
You have the wrong fucking person, psycho! I want to scream.
“I know.” He kneels so our eyes are level. His head cocks, and disgust twists his face as he stares at me. “You’re confused. But I researched this subject thoroughly for you—repressed childhood memories and all that psychobabble.” He flicks his gaze to Frankie, and she swallows. “You had quite the traumatic childhood even after going to live with your aunt, it seems. I’d say I’m sorry but . . .” He stands, letting his incomplete sentence hang.
“Stella. Now, if you will.” He winks when he glances back at me. “One final thing to set the mood, and this should do the trick.”
A soft, feminine voice drifts through the air, so quiet I think my mind is playing tricks on me. It gets louder, and I shift in my spot, looking around the room. The voice is everywhere. In the corners, on the walls. In my crate and in my ears.
I know this song. Somehow, I know it.
Come little children . . .
I squeeze my eyes shut. Why does it hurt?
I’ll take thee away.
No, no, no.
I try to bring my palms to my ears, I try to make it stop, but my wrists are stuck behind my back.
The song only gets louder, and soon it’s seeping into my bones and filling my lungs. My knees fold up, my hair curtaining my face to block out the patches of light my eyelids can’t close off. I need to stay out of the brightness. It’s where bad things happen.
Blue eyes, black hair. She’s looking down at me.
I shake my head. It’s not real.
But it is. Her eyes are so real. Her touch when she flicks my nose with her finger, her quiet laugh when I smile. It vibrates on my skin, and I know it’s real.
The images, the voices, they won’t stop. They flood my brain until it hurts.
She tells me she loves me.
I’m her baby girl.
I want to say something to her; I want to speak. But then I remember I can’t. I can’t. Because I know what happens when people speak to her for too long.
There’s so much crimson.
Smooth bones in my hand.
Just paint, I tell myself. Paint it red.
It looks just like the real thing, he said.
You did good, he said.
I promise I’ll come back for you.