Chapter 3

THREE

AMETHYST

Nothing will pull me out of this nightmare. Not biting the inside of my cheek, not closing my eyes and opening them again, not even throwing myself against the wall of this vehicle.

My doppelg?nger’s brute and pretty boy wrestled me into a straitjacket and tossed me in the back of a truck. The bastards placed a gag and some sort of harness around my mouth so I can’t scream. All I can do is kick at the door like a mule.

My arms are bound tight within the thick fabric secured by bands at the wrists, elbows and biceps. It’s not as uncomfortable or as confining as the zip ties, but I think that’s the point. Straitjackets are supposed to be snug, offering a deceptive form of safety to stop you from attempting to escape.

How the hell would I know a thing like that?

I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the restraints, but I’m bound tight. The belts at the back of my jacket are attached to a hook in the truck’s interior, so I can barely even reach the doors.

Xero taught me how to escape ropes, handcuffs, cable ties, and locked trunks, but he didn’t teach me how to break out of a contraption like this.

Shit.

Why am I even thinking about that betrayer at a time like this? He’s worse than my shitty music teacher, Mr. Lawson, who at least kept me to himself. Xero wove an entirely different reality where he was protecting me from snuff moviemakers, only to share my body with multiple men.

Pain lances through my chest, making me double over and gasp. In the end, Xero was just like any other backstabbing man, which is why he needed to die. But even knowing that—even after all the betrayal—my traitorous heart still aches with grief. Grief for what could have been. Part of me wonders if I could have changed him. Or even saved us

The truck stops, and the engine goes silent, pulling me out of my thoughts. If I’m stuck in a lucid dream, thenI need to take control. Maybe I can even muster up some superpowers so I can escape the doppelg?nger and her cronies.

I wiggle my fingers, trying to create bursts of flame to burn through the fabric, but nothing happens. Footsteps echo outside the truck, accompanied by tinkling laughter that makes my skin erupt in goosebumps. My pulse pounds through my eardrums as the locks creak.

The doors swing open with a screech, and daylight pours into the truck’s interior, making me squint. The brute’s silhouette looms in the entrance, blocking out most of the sun.

He stares down at me and grins. Without the hat, he’s not so terrifying, with gray eyes set within the rugged masculine features of a boxer or an action movie star.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he growls.

I shrink into the wall.

“Fen,” Dolly snaps, her voice making my spine stiffen. “Stop fucking about and get her out.”

Fen’s smile dissolves into a tight line. He climbs into the truck and unfastens the belts holding me to the hook.

I skitter backward, but he lunges forward, grabs my middle, and carries me out of the truck into the blinding afternoon. Eyes burning, I blink over and over until my vision clears.

We’re on the runway of an airport with small jets parked in neat rows. Dolly and the pretty boy are already striding toward a set of boarding stairs.

My stomach plummets.

Dream or not, I can’t let these people transport me to another location. Any fan of true crime knows that’s when the worst happens to the victims. Thrashing within Fen’s grip, I scream through the head harness, but the sound is muffled.

Grunting, Fen adjusts his grip around my arms to suppress my struggles. “Just relax,” he growls into my ear. “Then you won’t get hurt.”

I jerk my neck forward, then back, delivering a head butt. Pain explodes across the base of my skull, but Fen releases his grip with a roar. I crash to the tarmac, landing painfully on my tailbone, yet it’s nothing compared to the agony of what I need to escape. Scrambling back onto my feet, I tear away from the brute and sprint across the runway toward the building.

“You incompetent fuck,” Dolly shrieks. “Get her!”

Gritting my teeth, I pick up my pace, my legs pumping harder. The building looms closer with each approaching second. It’s a steel-and-glass structure with reflective windows that mirror the planes and the surrounding tarmac.

Behind me, Fen gives chase, but I focus on the double doors, which slide open for a security guard, a red-haired man who can’t be more than nineteen. He stops in his tracks, his mouth falling slack, but doesn’t make any move to help.

“Stop her!” Dolly yells.

When the guard reaches into his pocket, my hopes soar, but he pulls out his phone and starts recording.

Tears prick my eyes, but I continue toward the door, not having the time or mental bandwidth to curse his callousness.

A large weight barrels into my back, knocking me onto the ground. My head hits the tarmac with an explosion of agony, and my vision fills with stars.

“Good try.” Fen hauls me off the ground and tosses me over his shoulder. “You won’t get another one.”

“No!” I buck against his bulk and scream for help, but everything comes out muffled through the fabric covering my mouth.

Fen turns around and marches toward one of the private jets. No matter how desperately I struggle, his grip tightens until I can’t breathe.

“Let me take a look at her.” Dolly appears at my side, grabs a handful of my hair, and wrenches my head back. I flinch, partially from the pain, but mostly at the flash of those malevolent green eyes. “Ugh. You’ve damaged the face.”

“But she was getting away,” Fen mutters.

“It’s going to take days for her to be camera ready,” she screeches. “Now, I’ll have to stand in for her until she’s healed.”

Fen falls silent. “Sorry.”

Camera ready?

Oh, shit. Please don’t tell me this is about a snuff movie.

“Load her up on the fucking plane,” she says.

Fen’s burly frame sags, and I feel him nod. His dejection is only a fraction of the dull ache of despondency weakening my will to live. Dread rolls through my gut like thunder at the prospect of ending up like Lizzie Bath. Without another word, he carries me toward the steps of a private jet.

Behind us, the pretty boy laughs. “You should have sedated her.”

Dolly huffs. “I wanted her to feel the whole experience of her life turning to shit.”

The pretty boy says something that makes her giggle.

“Alright then.” She snaps her fingers. “Hold on a minute. Locke wants to give her a little something.”

Fen stops walking for the second it takes for the pretty boy to saunter over and order the larger man to cradle me in his arms. I squirm within Fen’s grip, trying to break free again, but he holds me so tight that I can’t breathe.

I used to think Xero’s eyes were cold, but that was only the color. Locke’s irises are an inky blue, completely devoid of humanity. They’re set within perfectly proportioned features that belong to a Ken doll. He advances on me with a syringe filled with clear liquid.

Every fine hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I shake my head, my eyes stinging with tears. I don’t want to lose consciousness and let these bastards subject my defenseless body to even more atrocities. I can’t let that happen again.

“No need to struggle, little impostor,” he drawls, his lips curving into a smile. “We’ll take really good care of you when you’re asleep.”

The confirmation of my fate unleashes a torrent of adrenaline, sparking a frantic struggle. Thrashing from side to side, I scream into the gag, my eyes darting toward the building where the security guard just disappeared.

What happened to him? Where’s the alarm?

What kind of airport allows innocent people to be abducted into private jets?

A needle pierces my neck, and I whimper, my eyes filling with tears. Nightmares usually end at this point, when the terror becomes unbearable. I should wake up in a bed, drenched in sweat, with my heart pounding.

But I’m still here.

Darkness swarms the edges of my vision, turning the world into a blur. As my body goes limp, Locke turns away from me and pulls Dolly into his side. In my periphery, the pair of them continue toward the private jet. My mind battles to stay awake, but my limbs succumb to the drug.

Before I can even consider what the hell this means, the world goes black.

I wake up again, collapsed at the back of a school bus racing through a landscape of woodlands. Beyond the trees are rolling hills peppered with sheep. The setting sun paints the sky in hues of tangerine and lilac, turning their wool peculiar shades.

My neck throbs, and my tongue is coated with the faint taste of chemicals. I try to move, but dizziness and the straps of my restraints keep me rooted to where I slump.

Up ahead, Fen is in the driver’s seat with Dolly and Locke canoodling in front. I can’t hear their conversation over the drone of the engine, but I’m sure whatever they’re planning will make me wish I’d perished at the hands of Reverend Tom.

I glance up to find cameras mounted on the bus’s ceilings, with blinking red lights indicating that they’re recording. The bus drives over a hump in the road that brings up a wave of nausea. I double over and groan.

“She’s awake.” Locke’s voice cuts through what’s left of my haze.

The pair approaches, and my insides twist into painful knots.

“Do you recognize this place?” Dolly asks.

I shake my head.

“What’s wrong, impostor?” she asks.

“Maybe she’s shy,” Locke says with a chuckle.

Dolly sits beside me and scoots so close that her body heat soaks through my straitjacket. Locke settles into the seat in front, his lifeless blue eyes scanning our features.

“You’re so identical, it’s spooky,” he says, his voice breathy with wonder.

“She’s got that bruise on her temple,” Dolly mutters.

“You can cover that up with makeup.” Locke leans over, his fingers reaching for my face. I recoil, but Dolly slaps his hand.

“No one touches her without my permission,” she snaps.

“Fine,” Locke mutters before offering me a wink.

I shrink against the window, trying to put as much distance as I can between Dolly and me, but she edges closer, like a predator admiring her quarry before moving in for the kill.

These people aren’t just murdering rapists, they’re gleeful. They remind me of bullies on a school trip. They want so much more than to film my degradation and death. They want me to suffer for sins I can’t even remember.

Dolly’s breath reeks of acetone as she closes in, her fingers tracing my jawline in a mockery of affection.

“How about now?” she asks.

My brow furrows.

She grips my jaw with harsh fingertips and turns my head toward the front of the bus. “Do you recognize it now?”

I turn to look out through the windshield, my chest tightening with unease. We’re now on the unkempt grounds of a Victorian building. Its crumbling red bricks hide under a thick layer of ivy. Nature has taken over its courtyard, which is now overgrown with weeds as tall as saplings.

My mind flickers through a state of déjà vu that knocks my sanity off balance. Despite not knowing what the hell is happening, there’s no denying this chilling sense of familiarity.

“Well?” Dolly snaps.

I shake my head, not wanting to give her any satisfaction.

“Those photos I sent should have refreshed your memory.”

Gasping, I reel forward in my seat. All this time, I thought the polaroids were the work of an older man.

“This is the Saint Christina Lunatic Asylum.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug. “Welcome back to your former home.”