Chapter 25
The next day at school, Chase came up behind her in the hallway. “Hey.”
She turned to face him. A smile formed on her lips, despite the close call last night. “How are you?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Did you get into trouble?” His gaze landed on her arm, where the bruises had healed.
“No. Delilah thought she heard a guy in my room, but she didn’t find anything.”
“I’m a fast climber.” He grinned.
“Maybe we should cool things for a while,” Isabella said. When she saw the look on his face, she added, “Just until Delilah’s convinced I’m not sneaking guys into my bedroom.”
He reached for her hand but she pulled it back, afraid Delilah would come walking around the corner. He frowned. “I won’t come near your house. Just meet me tonight in the park.”
She hesitated, afraid to say yes. “I don’t know.”
“Please?” He gave her his movie-star smile.
How could she say no to that? She blew out a breath. “Okay. Our regular time.”
A foreboding feeling crept into her chest, but she ignored it.
Nothing would happen. No one knew where they met. And Chase was too hard to say no to.
He leaned over and gave her a kiss. “See you in physics.”
Her heart stuttered as she watched him walk down the hallway. He really didn’t care who saw them together. He didn’t mind committing social suicide. She liked that about him. He wasn’t concerned with his status, like so many others. But that ominous feeling in her grew as the day progressed.
When she finally met him in the park, she’d convinced herself it was just silly worries.
He pulled her close and gave her a long, slow kiss. Then he put his forehead against hers. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”
She grinned up at him. “I won’t complain if you want to do it again.”
He chuckled and hugged her tight. “How are things at home? Your stepmother say anything?”
“No. And it’s a little weird. Normally, when Delilah complains about something, she’ll tear into me and make me rearrange the gallery or something. But she was eerily silent this morning.”
“Maybe Delilah didn’t say anything since she didn’t actually see me.”
Wishful thinking. “Maybe.” The foreboding feeling crept back over her, but she pushed it down and snuggled into his chest. “Let’s talk about something else.”
They settled on the bench, and Isabella leaned against him, his arm around her shoulders. “How’s college hunting going?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to say anything until I got the application done, but now that it’s off and into the mail, I’ll spill it.”
She glanced up at him. “Yes?”
“I applied to UNH Manchester.”
She turned and threw her arms around him. “Are you serious? We could both be going to college in Manchester?” Warmth enveloped her. This was too good to be true. She half expected to wake up at any moment to her real senior year.
“I don’t know if I’ll get in,” he said, chuckling.
“But you want to be near me. That means a lot.”
They talked for another half hour before Isabella started feeling anxious. “I should get going.”
“Okay.” He kissed her nose. “See you tomorrow.”
She stood, hugged him one last time, then said, “If my stepmother doesn’t lock me in the attic and throw away the key.”
She meant it jokingly, but he frowned and squeezed her tight. “Be careful.”
She waved to him and walked the short distance to her house. The lights were off, except for her bedroom light shining onto her balcony. She climbed the lattice and slid the glass door open.
Elenore stood in her bedroom, her arms folded, her blood-red nails digging into her own flesh. Isabella flinched, and fear snaked its way through her.
“Where have you been sneaking off to?”
She couldn’t tell the truth. “I took a walk.”
“At eleven o’clock at night?”
“I wanted to see the stars.” Lame excuse. You couldn’t see the stars unless you drove out of town.
Elenore removed something from her pocket. A piece of folded paper. She handed it to Isabella. Panic flooded her as she recognized one of Chase’s notes.
“You’re lying to me. You’ve been seeing your sister’s boyfriend.” Elenore glared daggers at her. “I told you to stop, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all she could think of to say. It came out a whisper.
Elenore turned around and pointed to her paintings. “Where’s the tree branch painting?”
Isabella stared at her, confused. “What?” How did she even know about that one? Elenore was never in her room, and she hadn’t shown it to her.
Elenore spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “The tree branch painting. Where is it?”
Oh, this wasn’t good.
“I sold it,” she confessed, not sure what else to do.
Elenore’s hand came out fast, and she grabbed Isabella’s hair. “You sold it? To whom?”
Pain flashed through her scalp as Elenore yanked on her hair. Isabella fell to her knees. “Mr. Kato.”
“What did he pay you for it?”
She forced the words out. “A thousand dollars.”
“You stupid girl!” Elenore let go of her hair, and Isabella crumpled to the carpet. “How could you be so senseless?” Elenore went to the wall where her paintings were stacked. “You just threw away a million dollars.”
What was she talking about? Isabella cowered away from Elenore, unsure what else was coming. She didn’t bother to respond to her crazy-lady talk.
Elenore snorted. “You thought you could go around me? Start selling your paintings on your own? You wretched ingrate. You have no idea what you’re worth, do you?” Elenore seized her arm and yanked her to a standing position. “I can’t have you running off with Delilah’s boyfriend. And I can’t have you going off to college. I was going to wait, but now seems like the perfect opportunity to help Delilah—and myself.”
Elenore jerked her out into the hallway and then opened the door to the attic. She pulled Isabella up the carpeted stairs. Isabella gasped. Carpet? When did Elenore do that? She opened a second door at the top of the stairs. That was new, too.
Pain flashed through her arm as Elenore shoved her into the room, the ceiling slanted with the high pitch of the roof. One single bulb cast stark shadows around the small space. A second room had been added. It had a toilet and sink. The window had been drywalled over. Her easel sat near the wall, along with her paints and a few empty canvases spread out on the floor. A blanket lay in the corner of the otherwise-empty room. Isabella gasped.
“What did you do up here? Where are my father’s paintings?”
“You really are daft, aren’t you?” Elenore let go of Isabella’s arm. “You thought I would take millions of dollars in paintings and put them in the attic?” She laughed, a cackling sound. “That wouldn’t be smart, would it?”
Pain wormed its way into her fear and panic. They were gone? She’d never see her father’s paintings again. The one of her mother . . .
“You sold them?”
“Yes. And you’re so simple, you didn’t figure out I was selling yours, too. You paint just like him, you know. It was easy to forge his signature. Your poppy painting brought in a million and a half dollars.”
Isabella stared at her, stunned. She’d been selling her paintings as her father’s?
Elenore backed toward the door. “And you sold your branches for a measly thousand,” she scoffed. “Foolish waste.”
Isabella’s legs grew wobbly and her fingers trembled. “What are you doing?”
Elenore stopped. “I’m going to lock you in here. And you will paint for me. I will sell your paintings as your father’s personal collection. No one has seen them, you see. You will keep his legacy going.”
“You can’t keep me locked in here,” Isabella said, her voice not sounding at all authoritative, as she’d hoped.
“Why not?”
Isabella’s mind raced. “I have school.”
“Not if you have run away from home.”
A cold feeling settled in her stomach. “What?”
Elenore gripped the door handle, her knuckles white. “You’re going to run away. I’ll call the police and they will search for you, but no one will find you.”
Isabella took another look around. New walls. Thicker. A new door. Soundproof. A sink and toilet. A prison. She fought the urge to throw up.
“I’ll come check on you. Maybe bring some food if you’re quiet. If not . . .” She clicked her tongue and pulled something else from her pocket. A small photograph.
Isabella cried out and fell to her knees.
How had Elenore gotten it? She must have left it in her jacket pocket with Chase’s note.
“No, please, give it back. It’s all I have left of my mother.”
Elenore looked down at the photo, disdain turning her lips down. “I know.”
Tears slid down Isabella’s cheeks. “I’ll do whatever you want.” She needed the photo. How many times had she strained to remember what her mother looked like, fearing she’d forever be lost, before pulling out her photo to soak in her features once more?
A cold fear froze her as Elenore took the photo in both hands and ripped it down the middle.
“No!” Isabella screamed, her heart tearing into tiny pieces as Elenore continued to rip the photo.
“This is what happens when we do not obey.”
Pain ripped through Isabella as Elenore slipped out of the room. Isabella pounced toward the door, but it was too late. The door clicked as the deadbolt slipped into place. She twisted the door handle anyway, pulling in a useless effort. It didn’t even rattle. Tears blurred her vision as she pummeled the door. “No!”
The silence was her only answer. She collapsed to the floor, tears choking her. Her photograph. Gone. It was her last connection to her mother. And now she was locked up in the attic for probably forever. She could scream as loud as she wanted, but no one would find her.
When had Elenore created this perfect prison? Maybe when Isabella was at the gallery. She worked there a lot. It could have happened any time over the last few years.
Elenore would tell everyone she ran away. Would Chase believe it? Surely not. Savannah would. She’d been telling Isabella to run away for years. She’d rejoice, thinking Isabella finally got away, and wouldn’t think twice about it. But Chase wouldn’t believe it.
He’d come after her . . . wouldn’t he?
She curled up on the blanket and cried herself to sleep.