Chapter 38

Penelope

The house is dark when I arrive and put my car into park along the street. Except for one light burning in the window, Dahlia’s place looks like no one lives in it. The yard is overrun with weeds and overgrown bushes. There isn’t even a car in the driveway.

The neighborhood is run down, and except for a few lights here and there, there isn’t a lot of life to it. Even the streetlights illuminating the concrete roads are dimmed and dingy. It’s quiet here, almost too quiet. A shiver runs through me, but I ignore it, chalking it up to nerves.

Dahlia is a sweet girl, and while I don’t think she needs the extra lessons, she needs this job opportunity to go well. The teacher in me wants to give her every advantage she can have. After all, I was recently in her shoes. I know what she is feeling.

I shut off the engine, open the car door, and reach across the small space to grab my purse and the book provided by the center to all its students. I also printed up a few practice questions that could be asked during her interview and figured it couldn’t hurt to run through them with her.

I click the button on my keys, setting the alarm, and make my way up the uneven pavement to the small house. The sun is setting behind me fast, and for a moment, I wish I had made the appointment with her for earlier in the day. I’m still learning my way around town and don’t like driving at night.

Stopping at the front door, I lift my hand and knock gently. The door has clearly seen better days and is in desperate need of a paint job, but looking around, I notice that every house on the street could use a fresh coat or two.

I hear the sound of feet approaching the door, and it’s Dahlia’s voice that calls out to me from the other side of it, “One moment, please.”

The sound of multiple locks releasing runs along the door. I count four in total and throw a look over my shoulder wondering what kind of neighborhood this really is if she needs four locks on her front door.

The door opens, and Dahlia peeks out, but her face is shrouded in shadows. The light from the room next to her highlights only the shape of her body.

“Mrs. Reynolds,” she murmurs, sounding unlike herself.

“Hi, Dahlia.” I smile, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she watches me closely.

“Did you come alone?” she asks, but before I can think anything of it, she gives me a reason for the question. “My mama doesn’t like strangers, but you she is prepared for.”

“I’m alone,” I reassure her and watch as her eyes take in everything around me. After confirming my words to be true, she steps back and opens the door a little more.

“Please come inside,” she murmurs, sweeping an arm to welcome me in. I step inside, crossing the threshold, and walk into the dark, empty room. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I get the sense that something isn’t right.

The door slams closed behind me, and I stop midstep to turn around. Fear grips my chest, and my instincts fire. My eyes dart around the room, looking for Dahlia, who has disappeared.

Confused, I spin in a circle before darting to the front door and try to pull it open. It doesn’t budge. It’s locked.

“Where are you going?” Dahlia appears beside me and places a hand on my arm.

“Why’d you lock the door?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but it isn’t exactly a safe neighborhood,” she chuckles, but it’s her voice that freightens me. She doesn’t sound like Dahlia anymore; in fact, she no longer has an accent either.

“What happened to your accent?” I ask and try to pull my arm out of her grasp, but her hand tightens its hold on me.

“It’s an Engligh teaching miracle,” she exclaims and places her free hand on her chest for effect. The dark glinting metal of a gun winks up at me. “Why, Mrs. Reynolds, I do believe this private lesson has proven to be quite effective and attests to your teaching abilities.”

“I don’t understand. Please, let me go.” I try to pull away, but her grip on me is too strong. She cocks the gun and points it at my chest. I freeze. The blood in my veins chills.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she sings-songs, waving the gun around.

“Dahlia—”

“She doesn’t exsist,” she interrupts. Her face scrunches, and her voice changes. “Why do the pretty ones always have to be the dumbest?” she mutters to herself.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?” I ask, but she ignores me and turns away. Twisting my arm as she begins to walk away, she drags me into the room with the only light source.

When she faces me again, the familiarity I’ve always sensed finally makes sense as she pulls off the short blond wig, revealing her shoulder-length black hair. Dahlia’s eyes are no longer a deep russet brown either; instead, eyes the color of emeralds stare at me with hatred burning brightly in their depths.

Mirabelle.

“No, it’s not possible,” I gasp, trying once again to loosen her grip on my arm. Panic flares under my skin where she is touching me, and it spreads like wildfire throughout my body. “You’re supposed to be dead.

“Hello, Penelope, it’s a delight to see you, too.” A sardonic smile spreads across her face, revealing a toothy grin. “It’s a shame we can’t stay and… catch up.” She pauses, and her eyes rake my body before she continues. “Don’t worry, though. We’ll have plenty of time for that soon enough.”

“Mirabelle, please,” I start, but she lifts her hand holding the gun and brings the butt of the weapon down, striking me hard across the face. A tinge of copper fills my mouth, and my face throbs in the spot she struck me. The blow should have knocked me out, but she didn’t aim it right. The look in her eyes tells me she missed on purpose.

“Don’t you dare say my name,” she shrieks, stepping forward to force me backward. The wall meets my back, but she pushes into me further, pinning me in place. She rests the open barrell of the gun underneath my chin. “I’m not supposed to mark you, but I’ll gladly take my punishment for doing so.”

I want to scream at her, push her to pull the trigger because something about what she said frightens me more than the gun pressed to my skin.

She isn’t alone.

Someone else survived.

Damien’s paranoia doesn’t seem so out of place anymore.

“Drop your purse and books.” She steps back, moving the gun from my chin, but she waves it in my face. I drop the items, wishing at the same time I were braver and stronger. “Now, we’re going to slowly walk through the house and out the back door. If you try anything, I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

I nod my head as visions of Damien fill my thoughts and I swallow hard. I’m such a fool. I should have listened to him, but most importantly, I should have listened to my own instincts.

“But first, you’re going to put these on.” She reaches behind her, pulls out a pair of heavy metal handcuffs, and offers them to me. I take them with shaky hands and hesitate. She pushes the gun in my face. “Don’t be stupid. If you ever want to see your precious husband again, you’ll do what you’re told.”

I nod, unable to do anything else. She grasps one wrist with her free hand and closes the cuff tightly around. I yelp as the cold metal bites into my skin.

“Now, be a good girl and walk toward the back of the house,” she demands, flicking the gun in the direction she wants me to go but keeps me in its sights.

“Please,” I beg her, but she ignores me.

My heart beats hard in my chest, my eyes burn with fear and unshed tears, but my feet shuffle my body across the room without thinking. I don’t know why I move, because I never told my feet to do so, but my survival instincts are heightened.

Different scenarios of the next few minutes play out in my head. Trying to decide the best course of action, I study my surroundings, looking for something to use to fight my way out of this. But it’s pointless when she has a gun in her hand. There is no doubt she will shoot me if I try to run. Whether or not she’s a good shot, I’m not willing to take the chance to find out.

Damien was able to manipulate her in front of a crowd of people, but I doubt she’ll listen to anything I say. Me speaking only seems to piss her off more. Besides, he knew her weaknesses and what strings to pull. I don’t.

I blink and realize we’re outside, standing in front of a dark blue sedan. The dark-tinted windows make it impossible to see if there is anyone inside. Should I scream? Would someone come out from their dingy little home to help? My instincts tell me no, not in this neighborhood. They’re probably used to seeing something like this happen.

“Open the door and get in,” she instructs, shuffling the gun into her other hand and reaching into the pocket of her jacket. She pulls something out, but I can’t tell what it is. The fear of the unknown makes my heart rate kick up another notch, but I open the car door and slide into the backseat. The dome light comes on, flooding the space with light, and I breathe a breath of relief to see the backseat empty.

I sit, tucking my legs into the car as I go, momentarily contemplating jumping into the front seat and locking her out, but there are no keys in the ignition. Maybe that’s what she pulled out of her pocket?

A sudden movement beside me catches my attention, and Mirabelle leans into the car, gun in one hand and a syringe in the other.

“This might sting a little, but don’t worry, you won’t be conscious for long.” The glint in her eyes frightens me to the core, and she plunges the needle into my leg, emptying the contents in one push.

I scream and try to move away from her, but it’s a pointless. The contents in the syringe take effect almost instanenously, and my body relaxes. Whether or not the drug burned, I’ll never know because my eyes close seconds later and I fall into uncounsciousness.