Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

Rose

I’m lying on something hard. Cold. Damp.

I try pushing myself to a sitting position, and my brain cells spin like cotton candy, making me retch. I’m numb with cold, and the sensation is so unnatural that I wrap my arms around myself and curl up into a ball, knees dragged against my chest, chin resting on my knees.

Shivers wrack my body. My breathing is shallow.

Think, Rose. Think.

First question: Where am I?

Second question: How did I get here?

I don’t have the answers to either question, but I do know that this is my punishment for not persuading Brandon to pull out of the deal.

Tears trickle down my face, the chill as they soak up the cool air making me shiver uncontrollably.

Wherever I am, the floor is metal. There are no lights, the darkness so dense that I can barely distinguish my fingers in front of my face, and the silence seems to roar in my ears: Get out. Get out. Get out!

A sound penetrates the panic whirling around inside me. So faint, I might’ve imagined it. I listen, concentrating, my heartbeat skipping erratically, until… There it is again.

A whimper.

An animal?

“Hello?” I whisper, my voice barely reaching my own ears.

Another whimper, the faintest sound of movement.

“Hello?” I try again. “Is there someone else in here?”

A scratching sound follows, and my stomach lurches. Is it an animal? It can’t be a wild animal because it would’ve sensed my weakness and attacked by now. Instinct is telling me that it needs my help, that it might be more afraid of me than I am of it, like my dad always said about spiders when I was a little girl.

Trying to ignore the chill, I force myself to unfurl and crawl towards the sound on all fours, feeling my way across the bumpy floor. My left knee lands on something hard and lumpy, and I crumple momentarily, pain shooting through my knee. A rivet? A screw?

I keep moving. Slowly. Stopping sporadically to listen out for the sound.

It’s only when I’m a bit closer that I hear the whisper. “ Over here .”

I turn to my left, follow the sound, testing the floor in front of me with trembling fingers before shuffling my knees forward.

Then I touch something. It’s cold and wet, and slips through my fingers, and revulsion shudders through me, causing me to back off. Panting, I force myself to get a grip and try again. This time, I spread both hands and pat the air trying to locate whatever it was I touched before.

I find it. It’s like wearing a blindfold and playing a game of ‘What can you feel’? Only now I realize that it’s hair. I trace the length of it with my fingers until I reach the head, the face, the dangly earrings in the person’s earlobes. A faint scent of perfume mixed with mold.

“Jennifer?” I whisper.

“Rose?” The sound of her voice, so fragile, so vulnerable, fills me with dread.

I feel my way down her shoulders to her hands which feel like ice. She’s shivering so badly that I can’t keep her hands still. “Are you hurt?”

I recall the bruises on her face and wish I’d been more tactful.

“We need to get out of here, get you to a hospital.” I hesitate. “Jennifer, do you know where we are?”

All I can hear is the gushing in my ears, but then Jennifer squeezes my hand and I lean closer to her face in the darkness. I can barely feel her breaths on my cheek, and a fresh wave of panic crashes through my chest.

“…water…”

“Water?” I lean closer still, pressing my ear to her lips. “Where are we, Jennifer?”

“Under … water…”

No, no, no.

“We can’t be underwater,” I say out loud. “We wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

My pulse races as my thoughts play catch up with what I just said. My wrists and ankles are not bound. Jennifer’s wrists aren’t bound either, which means that our captors know that we can’t escape. But if we’re underwater, and the floor is dry, wherever we’re being held must be sealed. It must be airtight.

“Help!” My voice is shrill. “Help! We’re trapped in here. Help us, somebody!”

Jennifer squeezes my fingers again. “Stop. Save … oxygen…”

She’s right. I slump back against Jennifer, her shivers passing through me too.

What are you supposed to do if you’re in an enclosed space and running out of oxygen? Stay calm. That’s a fucking joke—how can you stay calm when you know you’re going to die if no one rescues you?

Regulate your breathing. Conserve your energy. Stupid guidelines that will only prolong the inevitable, because you’ll still die when there’s no oxygen left.

What can I do? If Jennifer is right, what’s the point of yelling for help—no one is going to hear us underwater.

But at least we have each other. If this is where my life is going to end, I’m grateful that I don’t have to spend my final hours alone.

I lie down on the floor and stretch my body the length of Jennifer’s, spooning her, my arms wrapped around her. It’s the best I can do for her. Small comfort, but I can at least try to keep her warm, let her know that I’m not going anywhere without her.

I close my eyes and think about my twin. He wasn’t alone when he died—he had me, my heartbeat, my body pressed against his, just like me and Jennifer now. I think about my dad. How will he cope with the grief all over again when he’s alone? A million dollars in a bank account is no consolation for losing your family, and I don’t even have to think about it to know that he’d swap the money for me in a heartbeat.

Finally, I think about Brandon.

His smile. His eyes. The way he played piano in the bar of the hotel in Las Vegas. I hope he finds peace one day. And love. I hope he falls in love one day with a woman who loves him with the same fierce passion that I know he’s capable of.

I snuggle up against Jennifer’s cold back and empty my mind.