Reborn(63)

“If it was Anna,” I said to Sam, “would you go?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Sam,” Anna said. He flinched.

“Whatever reason the Branch had for wanting Elizabeth in the past is still a reason to worry about in the present.” I shoved around him. “So I’m going. With or without you.”





32

ELIZABETH



MOM AND RILEY TOOK ME TO A two-story house on the outskirts of town, crammed onto a small lot on the corner of Apple Street and Sherman Avenue. Children were outside playing in the front yard of the brick house next door when we pulled up. A girl blew bubbles through a wand while her younger brother chased after them, giggling. Their mom sat nearby watching, a magazine open in her lap.

It all seemed so normal, so unlike my life.

Riley hit the garage door opener clipped to his visor and pulled inside a moment later.

“Come on, sweetie,” Mom said, coaxing me out of the car.

Reluctantly, I climbed out, and let Mom lead me through a mudroom and into the kitchen. Two men in plain clothes, with guns at their waists, stood around discussing a recent sports game.

Riley interrupted the conversation and introduced them to me, but I couldn’t be bothered to remember their names. Everything everyone said seemed hollow and distant, as if I were underwater and drowning.

I blinked.

I was in the living room now. Sitting. Mom was sitting next to me, her hand threaded with mine.

“Would you like some tea?” she asked.

I nodded. Yes.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

I shook my head. No.

“Pills,” I said, a second later, changing my mind. “My anxiety meds.”

Currently, I was numb inside, but it would only be a matter of time before everything caught up to me, and when it did…

“I’ll have Riley look into it,” she promised.

Riley.

Riley.

That name was familiar. His voice was familiar. Everything about him was familiar except his face.

I blinked again. Tears clouded my vision. I glanced down at the mug of tea that had somehow appeared before me. I hadn’t even heard or seen Mom go out or come back in. I took the cup between my hands, soaking in the warmth because inside I was cold to the core.

Aggie had been shot. Aggie was dead. I was dead.

Drowning.

The old gunshot wound in my chest flared, and my hands started to tingle.

“Pills,” I repeated, but when I looked around the room, I was alone.

I brought the mug up to my mouth, the steam leaving behind a sheen of warmth. I blew across it and inhaled. Earl Grey with a squirt of lemon.

Lemons.

Secrets.

Shh, Mom had said. This is our little secret.

Voices murmured from the kitchen.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong.

I pulled my cell from my pocket and texted Chloe. Where are you? I wrote. I need you.

My hands trembled as I typed.

The phone buzzed less than a minute later. I quickly navigated to my settings and shut off the vibrate. For some reason, I didn’t want my mom to know I was talking to anyone. Which was crazy, I realized. It was my phone—I wasn’t a prisoner here. Was I?

Just got coffee. At the park, Chloe replied. Come over if you want. Something happen with Nick?

More than something.

I texted, Can you come pick me up? Meet me on the corner of Bryant and Saxton?

What are you doing way out there?

Please. Can you be here in ten minutes?

I’m leaving now. I’ll be there soon.

“Mom?” I called.

She poked her head through the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Yes, honey?”

I saw her face all those years ago, etched with panic, her life threatened, her daughter held captive. There were no mirrors in the building where I’d been kept, but I’d seen my face reflected in glass and steel enough times to know I had looked like a person held captive. Hollow, haunted eyes rimmed in shadows, face washed out, lips dry and cracked, hair disheveled and limp.

And looking at her now I realized one important detail I’d missed back then. Mom had looked the same way she’d always looked. Shoulders level, head held high, complexion perfect, hair perfect, everything perfect.

She hadn’t looked as fraught as I had. She hadn’t looked like a prisoner.

“Can I use the bathroom?” I asked.

“Third door on the left down the hall.”

I nodded. I got up. The walk to the bathroom seemed to take forever. One foot in front of the other. One inch, two inches, hurry up.

As soon as I was inside the bathroom, door shut and locked, I was a flurry of movement. Hurry.

Hurry.

Hurry.

I turned on the faucet and went to the window. The latch came undone easily enough. There was no screen.

Though the window was small compared to the other windows in the house, I was sure I could fit through.