Blood is splashed in arcs of red across the white-tiled walls. Sydney screams and slaps her hand over her mouth, stumbling back a few steps. I swing my gaze around wildly until I find Brynn backed against the far wall, Imogene standing next to her. Brynn’s face is a mask of horror as Imogene continues to whisper too low for me to catch what she’s saying.

The smell in here is so strong that it makes my eyes water, and as I slowly sort out the red splashes in the room, I finally notice the body in the bathtub.

I can’t understand what I’m seeing at first. Annalise comes in behind me, covering her mouth as she looks around.

And then, almost in slow motion, I find the arms and the legs, the head with one eye open, gazing lifelessly in my direction. I put the entire image together with one horrified gasp.

In the oversized jetted tub, Imogene Portman’s husband lays dead. A knife covered in dried blood has been left carelessly on the floor in the middle of the room. When I turn to Imogene, she smiles ruefully.

“Don’t judge me,” she says immediately. “He deserved it. Any one of you would have done the same!”

But her voice trembles. I don’t disagree with her, because we did kill the man who threatened our lives. Can we not expect Imogene to fight for her own life?

Marcella walks over to take Brynn’s hand, cautiously watching Imogene as she leads her away. She doesn’t trust Imogene around Brynn. It occurs to me that Mr. Portman has been dead since before we got here. Maybe even for a few days. Imogene let us stay here while she slept in a room just a few feet away from his rotting corpse.

This is definitely not normal. She is not okay.

“I’m sorry,” Brynn tells Marcella, crying as Marcella checks her over and then pulls her into a hug. “There was this voice in my head,” Brynn continues. “I couldn’t sleep and then I came downstairs. I could still smell it so I … I came into the bedroom, and then I found her in here with him.”

Imogene watches them, but she doesn’t look the least bit sorry. Unlike me and the other girls, she doesn’t seem crushed by guilt.

“I had to dispose of him,” Imogene says. “You brought those humans here, so I had no choice but to get rid of the body. He was too heavy to move. I needed him in pieces.”

At the thought of Jackson and Quentin, I quickly spin around, grateful that they’re not behind us. Quentin must be helping Jackson down the stairs. I run to the bedroom door and close it, locking it before returning to the master bath.

“What are you going to do?” I ask Imogene. “What were you doing in here?”

“I was going to wrap him in a shower curtain to transport him,” she says. “Leandra is making arrangements.”

Sydney gasps. “You called Leandra? Did you tell her that we’re here?” She shoots a panicked look in my direction.

Imogene smiles. “Of course. She’s happy you found me. She has something for you. Told me not to let you leave.”

“Let us leave?” I ask.

Sydney’s hand finds mine, squeezing it.

“We have to go,” I say, pulling Sydney with me as I head for the door.

“She’ll kill him, you know,” Imogene calls after me. I stop and turn to look back at her. My heart is pounding, a chill over my skin.

“Who?” I ask.

“She’ll kill that boy,” Imogene says, glancing at her husband’s body before walking barefoot across the bathroom floor. She stops in front of me. “She wanted me to tell you that she’ll kill him if he continues to be a distraction.”

Marcella turns to me, and Sydney’s other hand grips my arm. They’re threatening Jackson. I shouldn’t be shocked, but hearing it out loud stuns me anyway.

“I’ll speak to Leandra,” I say shortly.

Imogene laughs, surprised. “I’m not talking about Leandra.”

Confused, I take a step forward. I have no idea who else she could be talking about, who else would threaten Jackson. Imogene crosses her arms over her chest.

“He’s not one of us,” Imogene says. “He’ll never understand you. They’re not capable of understanding.” She glances again at the tub. My stomach turns.

“No,” I say, pointing to her husband. “This isn’t what we’re going to become. We’re not killers.”

“You think there’s a better way?” Imogene asks, sounding truly curious for a moment. “Well, there’s not. That’s just your conditioning keeping you gentle. Men only understand violence, Mena. You should have realized that by now.”

“We need to go,” Sydney whispers behind me. When I turn to her, she widens her eyes to point out that Imogene is not well. Sure enough, when I turn back around, I see how Imogene’s left eye is blinking out of sync with her right. She’s twitching.

“I’ve suffered by their hands for too long,” Imogene says. “Now they’ll suffer by mine.”

“I thought you didn’t want to fight,” Marcella replies.

“Oh, it’s not a fight,” Imogene says. “They’ll never see it coming. This, my love, is revenge. And I’m only part of the story; you are the rest.”

Revenge has never seemed so unappealing. Out in the open, out in the light, it’s cruelty.

“Sydney’s right,” I tell the others. “We need to get out of here, both for our protection and for Jackson’s and Quentin’s.”

Imogene scoffs at the mention of the boys.

Marcella is the first to move, her arm protectively around Brynn as she leaves the bathroom. Annalise jogs after them. Sydney beckons for me to follow, but I watch Imogene for an extra moment.

I don’t know what Imogene has been through; I only know what I’ve been through. I don’t want to turn into this. We will find a better way, and we’ll have to do it before Leandra, or whoever Imogene has been talking to, kills everyone.

When I turn around to walk out with Sydney, I worry that Imogene will attack us. When she doesn’t, I’m reminded that she wouldn’t hurt another girl. Or at least, that’s what I want to believe.

But if it came down to it, if me or the other girls stood in her way, would Imogene end us, too? Leave us to rot in a bathtub? I’m not about to find out.

The girls and I get to the living room and find Quentin at the bottom of the stairs, his arm around Jackson’s waist as he helps him. They both look scared and exhausted. Jackson’s hobbling badly.

“We have to go,” Marcella tells them, waving them toward the front door.

“What happened?” Quentin asks. “Who was screaming?”

“Trust me,” Marcella says. “Right now, focus on getting out of here.”

Jackson looks to me for information, and he gathers pretty quickly that we’re all in danger. He tells Quentin to get him outside. Imogene comes to stand in the doorway of her master bedroom, watching us. Her chin is lowered, but she doesn’t look angry or upset. She doesn’t smile. She is wholly expressionless, and it is the most unsettling thing I’ve ever seen.

“What the fuck?” Quentin murmurs when he notices her. He readjusts his arm around Jackson, and they hurry toward the door. Just as they get outside, Imogene calls to us. The girls and I look back at her.