Page 59 of Mine

So, why stay?

Then, like a wrecking ball, it hits me.

“Prishna ...” I set down the knife and tomato and turn fully to her. “Are you here against your will too?”

Her hand freezes and she looks at me, taken aback by the brazen question.

“Did Astor kidnap you, like he did me? Is he forcing you to work for him?”

Heavy footsteps come down the hallway. Prishna and I turn as Cillian passes the doorway, frowning at something on his cell phone.

“Ugh, Cillian.” Prishna groans at the trail of mud he’s leaving on the hardwood floor.

“I’ll help.” I grab a dish towel and follow her to the hallway.

Shaking her head, Prishna kneels to pick up a clump of dirt. As she bends over, a necklace slips out from under her collar. Dangling from it is a gold pendant in the shape of one half of a broken heart.

It’s the exact necklace Astor’s wife is wearing in each of her photos.

Thirty-Five

Sabine

I am spinning with so many conspiracy theories that I don’t care if I get caught as I sneak into Prishna’s bedroom while she’s busy in the kitchen.

After seeing the pendant, I was so shaken that I politely excused myself under the guise of a headache. Though it wasn’t really a lie as my head is suddenly pounding. The sleepless nights and unfamiliar surroundings are catching up to me. I know I need to nap to clear my head for tonight’s dinner with Astor, but first, I need some answers.

Gently, I close the door behind me but don’t latch it. The shades are drawn and the lamps are off. There’s just enough light for me to see my way around.

My heart hammers.

I have no idea what I’m searching for, other than anything that will give me answers.

Why would Prishna have the other half of the heart necklace that Valerie wore before she died? What’s the connection?

I recall from my pre-teen days that matching necklaces and bracelets are a symbol of friendship. Were Valerie and Prishna friends? If so, how long had they known each other? Or am I in the middle of some weird polygamy cult where Astor is married to both women and gifted them the necklaces. I could totally see Mr. “Slap Me Again” being into kinky shit like that.

And also, is Astor holding Prishna captive? Just like he is me? Or is she being blackmailed for something and he’s making her work for him?

I kneel beside the luggage. Inside, Prishna’s clothes are folded at perfect ninety-degree angles, even her underwear. I grin when I find her pajamas. Two sets, one red flannel and one blue flannel, the kind you see in family Christmas cards. I can’t see Prishna in matching flannel sets, but I guess like everything in life, there is always more than meets the eye.

I move to the bathroom where I find her toiletry bag. Nothing special, until I slip my hand into the side pocket and pull out a brown pill bottle of antidepressants. I get another pang of sympathy and recall my mom once telling me that behind most people’s angry disposition is a broken heart. Who broke Prishna’s heart?

Next, I find a tube of scar cream.

“Oh, Prishna,” I whisper, shaking my head. The severity of her burns is well past what any over-the-counter ointment can remedy, but still, she tries.

Suddenly, I feel very bad for going through her things.

After replacing everything, I hurry out of the bathroom but find myself pausing at the suitcase, feeling a pull to search just one more time.

I run my fingers along the inner lining. My hand stops on a low-profile zipper.

A hidden pocket.

Inside is a long white envelope. The edges are worn, the color dingy. My heart hammers as I pull out a thick folded sheet of paper.

Certificate of Death

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