by Chelsea Cain
Susan’s throat felt swollen, like it might close entirely.
Archie tried once more to stand, failed, and came to a rest in a sitting position, legs akimbo in front of him, back against the wall. He looked up at Susan and his eyes filled with tears. His lips were colorless and his expression was puzzled. “Sorry,” Archie muttered.
Susan was shaking uncontrollably now. Karim pulled her into the doorway and sandwiched her against the doorjamb and then, to Susan’s horror, he pressed his gun against Archie’s forehead.
“I could kill you,” Karim snarled at Archie. Then he bent his elbow and lifted the gun. “But instead I’m going to leave you here to die.” Karim’s breathing came in halting rasps. He was pressed against her hard, worming his pelvis against her, trying to work her legs open, but Susan kept her thighs clamped shut. Karim holstered the knife into his waistband and socked her hard between her legs. Susan cried out and Karim forced his hand into the front of her pants. He grinned, his face glistening with sweat. But he wasn’t even looking at Susan. This was for Archie. Karim clawed his hooked hand against her underpants, digging to get inside her even as she clenched her body tight to resist him.
He was going to hurt her badly, but what bothered Susan the most was that Archie would have to watch it.
“I want you to spend the next few minutes thinking about what I’m going to do to her,” Karim said in a low, nasty voice. “I’m going to take my time. We’re going to have a lot of fun together.”
He grabbed her flesh through the underwear and twisted it, and Susan wailed in anguish. He grinned cruelly. This was what turned him on, not sex, but pain. “I’ll fuck her raw before I gut her,” Karim said. Karim paused and cocked his head. Then he lifted a foot and gave Archie’s arm a kick. “You still awake, mate?” he asked. Archie didn’t respond.
This wasn’t happening, Susan told herself. This was all a bad dream.
“I’ll fuck her,” Karim spat at Archie, “and I’ll make her say your name.” Susan felt his hand release her and then fumble with opening his own pants. She glanced down at Archie. She couldn’t see his face anymore, but one hand was motionless, palm up on the floor, and one leg was splayed lifeless in front of him. Susan heard Karim unzip his pants and she sucked in a lungful of air, determined not to give him the satisfaction of crying. She looked up at the ceiling, bit her lip, and steeled herself against whatever was coming.
Karim pinned her against the doorjamb again. Archie was slumped on the floor just feet away. Karim lowered his face to Susan’s shoulder and licked her. When he lifted his head, there was blood around his mouth. He scraped the knife down her throat, like he was giving her a shave.
“Say, ‘Fuck me, Archie,’” Karim said.
Susan was so horrified she couldn’t even speak. For a second she thought she might throw up.
Karim frowned at her, his dark eyes murderous. Then he stepped back and gave Archie a kick.
Susan couldn’t see Archie well enough from her position to see Karim make contact, but when Karim brought his foot back the toe was covered in blood. He’d kicked Archie in his wound. Archie hadn’t even whimpered.
“Say it, or I’ll kill him now,” Karim said.
Susan was sobbing. She didn’t know what to do. But she knew that the sooner they got this over with, the sooner he’d kill her.
“Fuck me,” she said weakly. She could see Archie’s leg, his dirty brown shoe. She hoped he couldn’t hear this. She hoped he was unconscious. She hoped he was dead. She looked at the ceiling. “Fuck me,” she sobbed. The next word stuck in her throat, but she choked it out. “Archie.”
“Since you asked for it,” Karim said, and he jammed his hand in her pants again, his stiff fingers trying to penetrate her, his face a terrible snarl.
She heard herself moaning in pain.
She had to go limp. She had to force her body to relax. It wouldn’t hurt as much that way. Not this part anyway. With a whimper of surrender, vomit rising in her throat, Susan made herself soft under his grip. She let her muscles uncoil. Karim saw it instantly. He grunted and started fumbling to get her pants down, as his erection pressed against her pelvic bone.
“Say it again,” Karim said, panting.
Susan would win in the end. She would show Karim. She was going to ruin this for him. She was going to die quickly. “Fuck me, Archie,” she said again.
There was a flash of light and something hot sprayed across Susan’s face. It was in her eyes, her mouth. She blinked, speechless and immobile, as the red spray continued, spurting on her chin, her neck, her shoulders. Had Karim cut her? With a sharp enough blade it would take a minute before you’d feel the pain. Was she bleeding to death right now? She heard Karim’s gun drop to the floor. He was looking right at her, his dark eyes boring into hers. Blood gurgled from a slice on his throat, a red slash like a smile. He leaned forward, his face folding toward hers, like he was going to kiss her. She turned her head sharply and squeezed her eyes shut. He stayed against her for a moment, his nose pressed against her cheek, radiating that sour smell. She could hear a sputtering sound that she realized was coming not from his lips, but from his throat. Then his head slid wetly down her body, her chest and belly, as he sank to the floor, his face finally coming to rest between her knees. Susan kicked him off her, and heard him fall backward, his skull hitting the floor with a thud. Then Susan opened her eyes. Standing where Karim had stood, her bloody scalpel gleaming in her hand, was Gretchen Lowell.
Susan’s eyes automatically went to Archie. He was still slumped against the wall near her feet, eyes half-open, staring straight ahead.
Gretchen wiped her scalpel on her skirt. “Do I have to do everything myself?” she asked wearily.
Susan could barely breathe. She had to get to Archie, to see if he was okay. She inched around the doorjamb and lowered herself at Archie’s side. His gun was on the floor by his thigh. Susan didn’t give herself time to think or hesitate. She reached across him, picked up the gun with her good hand, spun around, and pointed it up at Gretchen.
Susan was breathing through snot and tears and she knew it sounded like crying. But she was not afraid. She was furious. She had fired a gun once at a range. She knew how to line up the sights. She knew to brace herself for recoil. Archie was dying and Gretchen had done it. Gretchen hadn’t fired the gun, but she’d brought them both to that island. Susan was certain that Gretchen had orchestrated this whole thing somehow.
Gretchen arched an eyebrow. She didn’t look scared or surprised or even mildly inconvenienced. It made Susan loathe her even more.
“You’re not going to shoot me, pigeon,” Gretchen said with a sigh. “I just saved your life.”
Susan pulled the trigger. She braced herself but there was no recoil. No bang. Just a small hollow click. Gretchen didn’t even blink. A sob was stuck in Susan’s throat. She kept the gun aimed at Gretchen, but now her hands were shaking with frustration, making it even harder to steady the weapon.
“There were only two bullets,” Gretchen said.
Susan squeezed the trigger again, and again, willing it to fire, but each time it just clicked uselessly. Gretchen crossed in front of Susan and knelt next to Archie. Susan kept the gun trained at her head, because even an empty gun was better than no gun at all. Gretchen placed two fingers on Archie’s throat, and Susan squeezed the trigger again. This time she didn’t hear the click. There was a noise coming from somewhere, a distant grinding hum that echoed off the concrete walls. It sounded like a dental drill. Or power tools. Susan inhaled quickly. That’s what it was. The cops were trying to get to them through the locked tunnel door.
Gretchen must have heard the sound, too, but her face didn’t register it. She was concentrating on Archie. She withdrew her fingers from his neck and lifted up one of Archie’s eyelids. He didn’t react. His eyes remained fixed and unfocused. His face was splotchy with varying shades of ash.
Susan’s eyes burned. Help was so close. It couldn’t be too late. She could
barely bring herself to speak. “Is he alive?” she asked.
Gretchen didn’t answer. She turned and seemed to scrutinize Susan. Even in this situation, Susan found herself fascinated by her. Even covered with blood, Gretchen looked like a movie star. Her hands were gloved with red. The white polyester dress was so stained it looked like it was patterned with roses. Gretchen reached over and plucked Archie’s gun from Susan’s hands and set it on the floor. They were so close that Susan could see the tiny earring holes in Gretchen’s earlobes. Gretchen put one hand on Susan’s upper arm and the other on top of Susan’s bad shoulder.
Susan cringed from pain, afraid to move. “Don’t touch me,” she said.
Gretchen’s grip tightened and she pressed Susan’s shoulder to the wall, and simultaneously snapped Susan’s arm forward. Susan howled. The pain bloomed outward from her shoulder, all the way to her scalp and toes. It made her hair stand up and the marrow in her bones dry up. Then, just as suddenly, it was over. The pain was gone. Susan, panting and sweating, tears streaming down her face, cautiously inspected her arm. She lifted it carefully and bent it back and forth at the elbow. She rotated her shoulder. The joint was back in the socket.
Gretchen had returned her attention to Archie. She held his bloodless face in her hands, a sad smile on her lips, her eyes glistening. Then she leaned forward and gently kissed him on the cheek. It was so tender that Susan nearly believed that Gretchen was actually experiencing an emotion.
Something deep in Susan’s stomach twisted.
Was Archie dead?
Susan covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head, not wanting to believe it. Archie couldn’t be dead. But there was so much blood. And he was so still and pale. She looked at Karim, who lay in a fetal position in the doorway. His eyes were also half open. His face was also waxen. A puddle of dark red blood encircled his head.
They were both dead.
Susan turned desperately back to Archie, only to find Gretchen was scrutinizing her again. Blood spatter spotted Gretchen’s cheeks and neck like red freckles. The sadness Susan had thought she’d seen in her eyes was gone, if it had ever been there. Gretchen looked at Susan with the same mix of superiority and queenly detachment that she always did. Susan’s lip trembled as she looked pleadingly at Gretchen, waiting for an answer, and at the same time not wanting to hear it.
Gretchen didn’t offer any answers. Instead, she stood up and began adjusting the skirt of the bloodstained white dress.
Susan reached for Archie’s hand, hoping it would be warm. It was cool to the touch and sticky with blood.
She could still hear the hum of power tools. And something else—the frantic beating of someone banging on a metal door.
“They’ll be here soon,” Gretchen said. “Best get him on his back on the floor and keep his knees up.”
Susan gazed up at Gretchen, confused. A tiny pang of hope fluttered in her chest.
“It’s just a little hypovolemic shock, dear,” Gretchen said.
Archie was alive.
Susan made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a sob and hunched over Archie. His skin was clammy and mottled. His eyes were still half open and unseeing. How could someone bleed that much and survive? There were two red fingerprints on his neck where Gretchen had touched him. Susan pressed her own fingertips on top of the spots. Her heart was pounding so hard it was difficult to detect anything else. Then she felt it—a faint pulse. Susan started to cry.
“Keep him warm,” Gretchen said, sweeping past Susan and plucking the ring of keys off the floor. She pocketed the keys, produced a nurse’s cap, and began affixing the cap to the top of her blond head.
Gretchen was leaving. The thought flooded Susan with relief, followed by an immediate knot of dread. Gretchen was going to leave her here with Archie. But Susan didn’t know what to do, how to take care of him. Keep him warm? With what?
“This was fun,” Gretchen said gaily. She frowned a little. “I don’t know what I’m going to do next year to top it.” She gave Susan a curt smile, stood up a little straighter, and stepped through the door.
Susan looked helplessly at the empty space where Gretchen had been. “Wait,” she said weakly. But the word was swallowed by the sound of the power tools.
For a moment, Susan couldn’t move. She didn’t know how to take care of someone. She couldn’t even take care of herself. She couldn’t lay him down—she’d hurt him, make it worse. She had told Jeff Heil he wouldn’t die. She had said it again and again as he slipped away in her arms. She was supposed to take care of Pearl, and look what had happened to her.
Then Susan’s eyes fell on a round metal object on the floor by Archie’s hip, near her knee. It looked like it had fallen out of Archie’s pocket. Reflexively, Susan snatched it up. She thought it was a pillbox. But when she pressed the little latch, the top popped up revealing the face of a compass. The hand was trembling, pointing north.
Don’t worry about the direction. Just move.
Susan snapped the compass closed, stretched her arm around Archie’s shoulders, and began to slowly ease him fully onto the floor. She anticipated him to groan or wince or cry out, but his face remained lifeless. When he was flat on his back, she crawled around his body and bent and lifted each of his legs. His hands were at his sides on the concrete. She reached for one to give it a squeeze. It felt cool and dead, like refrigerated meat. Susan lifted it and held it to her chest, trying to warm it. She glanced around the ransacked room. There was nothing to cover him with. She lifted the other hand, sticky with blood all the way to his elbow, and pressed it against her chest and neck. Three hikers had gotten lost once on Mount Hood and they’d kept each other alive through a snowstorm by staying pressed up against each other through the night. Susan stretched out next to Archie, wrapped her arms around his chest, and curled her body around his. The tiny hairs on her arms stood up and her skin goose-pimpled as a chill instantly radiated down to her toes. She felt something wet and she realized that the pool of Karim’s blood was slowly spreading under them. Susan gripped Archie tighter. The compass was still in her hand, hard and smooth against her palm. “We’ll be fine,” she told him. Then she reached down and slid the compass back into Archie’s pocket.
CHAPTER
44
Archie comes to consciousness gasping for air. Leo and Star are gone and he is alone in the guesthouse bedroom. His head is pounding, but he remembers everything. It unfolds in his mind like a Kinetoscope. Star coming down the stairs, Leo washing blood off in the sink, Leo putting his arm around Archie’s neck.
Archie props himself up on his elbows.
Susan is in danger.
She is on the island.
“They’re using her to control me,” Leo had said. “You have to find her and get her out of here.” The room spins. Archie grasps the bedpost and pulls himself into a seated position. Everything is undulating, throbbing along with his pulse. How long has he been out? Archie’s eyes move to the bedroom window. He can see between the drapes that it’s still dark. Maybe it’s only been a few minutes. Maybe there’s still time. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know why Leo did this to him, and right now he doesn’t care. He knows that Susan needs him. That is enough. Using the bed for leverage, he hauls himself upright until he is bent over and dizzy, but standing. He glances around the room for a landline, but doesn’t see one. He has to get downstairs. His head is already clearing. By the time he gets down the stairs, he is lucid. The guesthouse is quiet. The lights downstairs are low. Archie makes his way carefully through the living room and out the front door. The catering van is gone. He fumbles for the mask in his pocket and puts it on, and then moves briskly down a path leading through the grounds. The party is still going. He can hear the music coming from around the house. The lamplights and torches are like bright stars in the yard. But he doesn’t see anyone else. No caterers or partygoers. It’s like this part of the grounds has been closed to guests. The path in front of Archie forks in two. So many of
the gravel garden paths split and meander and double back on themselves, that Archie has to glance around to get his bearings. He doesn’t want to lose time. That’s when he sees her.
He stops in his tracks.
She’s not on a path. She’s in the woods. But there is an accent spotlight angled up to illuminate a tree, and it catches her briefly in its glow. She is wearing a slinky red gown and a gold mask that glitters as she crosses the beam of light. Her hair is long and dark.
But Archie would know her anywhere.
It’s Gretchen Lowell.
Archie knows every inch of her body; he recognizes the angle of her head, the contour of her shoulders, her carriage. But he knows she must be a hallucination, that he’s gone too long without oxygen, that his eyes are playing tricks on him. Yet, there she is, right in front of him. She doesn’t see him. He’s sure of this. Her attention is focused elsewhere, up ahead. Archie follows her gaze and sees a flash of movement thirty feet in front of her, and he realizes that she’s following somebody.
She looks so real.
He takes a step after her.
Then she’s gone, out of the light, like she was never there. Archie panics, despite himself. He steps off the path and hurries across the grounds, toward the lake, toward the place where she had been. He scans the tree line, black foliage, the odd angles where accent lights cut through the darkness. He’s not sure what he wants more—to see her and know he’s not crazy, or to not see her and know he is.
He stays off the paths, stepping around plants, trying to stay in the dark.
As he gets closer to the empty spotlight, he sees a faint greenish glow through the trees and knows where he is. Two gargoyle lamps light the entrance down to the pool and boathouse. Archie stops. The music is muffled; the party seems distant. He peers around one of the lamps, but the stairs down the hillside are dark. The pool glows luminescent green. More gargoyle lamps light the path from the pool to the boathouse. Each throws a circle of light on the stone deck, leaving the gargoyle on top in shadow, a hunched silhouette, like a carrion bird waiting for meat.
