Chapter Fifty-Eight

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

The house is utterly silent.

There's no ambient noise—no piano music, construction clanks, roaring leaf blowers, or creaking of floors as people move about.

I can't hear anything but my pulse thudding between my ears.

"Would you care for some tea?" Harriet offers. She wears a blue sweatsuit, and her short gray curls are brushed back from her face, as if she has been settling in for a relaxing night at home.

There's no way I'm eating or drinking anything one of the Barclays prepares. "I'm fine, thanks. I just need to see Rose."

Harriet nods. "Let's give her another few minutes and see if she wakes up. She may just be taking a nap. If she isn't up soon, I'll bring you to her room."

She's stalling. Trying to delay until the Valium kicks in?

"I need to see her now ." Maybe Harriet senses I'm going to do whatever it takes to win this power struggle because after a brief hesitation, she nods again.

"Very well."

She gestures toward the stairs. "Would you mind following close behind me? I'm a bit awkward on the stairs since my accident."

"You don't need to come with me. I'd actually prefer to go alone."

Harriet responds quickly, like she was anticipating this: "I promised Beth I'd be present when you interacted with Rose, since this isn't a scheduled visit and Rose isn't feeling well."

Her cane taps as she makes her way to the grand staircase. I stay close behind her, as instructed, as she steps up with her right leg, then turns her left leg sideways and drags her foot up to the first step. She repeats the process, clutching the banister with her right hand and bearing down on her cane with her left.

Halfway up, she pauses. "Just give me a moment to catch my breath."

I don't feel the slightest bit guilty for making her take this trek. Harriet is the one who came up with the idea of drugging Rose.

At the sound of a muffled thump from downstairs, I turn around fast. But my view is limited; I can't see anyone.

My mind scrambles to reassure me: The noise was probably just the restless old house settling, or maybe Ian ducking in to grab a blanket or bag of chips. Plus, I'm still wearing my jacket and my phone is in its pocket. And Charles knows where I am. He'll call the police in about fifty minutes if he doesn't hear from me.

I crane my head, listening hard, but I don't hear anything else.

We continue making slow progress, passing the pictures of Rose staring out at us from glassless frames.

We finally reach the landing, and Harriet limps down the second-floor hallway. All of the doors on this level are closed, as usual, and it's very dim, with just a faint light filtering up from downstairs. It seems cruel to leave a child alone on this dark floor at night. It's as if they've already begun to tuck Rose away from the world.

Harriet pauses at Rose's door and gently knocks, then twists the knob and pushes the door open.

She gestures for me to look inside.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they do, I see Rose is beneath the covers, her hair splayed out on her pillowcase. She appears to be asleep.

I take another step into the room, hoping she knows I'm here and that she'll send me some kind of signal.

"Rose?" I whisper softly.

She doesn't move.

Harriet frowns and puts a finger to her lips. She leans very close to me: "I told you she was sick."

I recoil; the warm breath from her whisper felt like it slipped down my ear canal and wormed into my brain.

I wait for another few moments, but Rose doesn't move. I can't even hear her breathing.

Harriet touches my arm, and I suppress the urge to shake her off. She gestures for me to step into the hallway so she can close the door. I back up, keeping my gaze fixed on Rose.

At the very last second, while the door is only a couple of feet open and closing fast, Rose's eyelids fly open, the whites of her eyes gleaming in the night.

She looks directly at me.