Page 43 of Fear Me, Love Me

In fact, I’ll prove she does.

“You’re a pathetic little child.” I let her go and stride through my labyrinth, and behind me, I hear her gasping for breath. A moment later, the hidden door opens with a mechanical whir. There’s a shocked cry, and then the sound of footsteps receding.

Forfuck’ssake. She’s made it through the fourth gate. I keep walking, angry at myself as well as at her.

Miss Stone isn’t here out of loyalty or love. Something else is driving her, and I’m going to find out what it is. At the very least, I’ll discover that she’s not the ever-adoring sister she pretends she is. No one likes a half-brother that much. She’s had jealous and petty thoughts, and I’ll find out what they are and throw them in Miss Perfect’s pretty fucking face.

The best place to discover her secrets is in her bedroom, so I get into my car and drive to her home.

The Stone residence is in darkness and the car isn’t in the driveway. I wonder where Owen Stone and his wife are. Presumably out somewhere trying to get my money if they know what’s good for them.

In their haste to do what I’ve asked of them, they’ve left the back door unlocked, so I don’t even have to smash a window to get inside. Their dinner has been left on the kitchen table and it’s grown cold. A glass is smashed on the floor. A coat is lying in the hall, and I pick it up and breathe in the scent of spring blossoms.

I throw the garment away in disgust. I shouldn’t have to know what that girl smells like. She’s in my labyrinth, focused on her task, and I’m in here to dig up dirt on her.

Upstairs, I find her bedroom at the end of the hall. There’s her made bed, her paperback novels, her desk covered in knickknacks and papers. I discover her name is Vivienne and turn the pleasing syllables over in my head. Of course she has a pretty name. How predictable.

There are cardboard boxes and random junk that doesn’t belong to her, like golf clubs, stacked up in the middle of the room. Vivienne sleeps here sometimes, but she doesn’t live here. Presumably, she lives at Henson University. I hope she hasn’t taken everything important with her, but what I’m looking for isn’t the sort of thing a young woman would take to college.

In the third drawer of her desk, I find what I’m looking for. Vivienne’s teenage diaries, and I pull them out with a smirk on my face. Inside these covers, I should discover every nasty thought she’s ever had about her father’s new wife, the pregnancy, and the injustice of being replaced and neglected because of a new baby. There are three diaries, the first beginning five years ago when she moved to Henson at age fourteen. Turning the pages, and reading Vivienne’s loopy cursive, I murmur, “What secrets do you have for me, Miss Stone?”

Words likeHenson,school,weather, andfriendsjump out at me. Boring. Irrelevant. I want complaining. I needspite.

A familiar name catches my eye, and as I stop to read the entry, a smile spreads over my face. By the time I’m done with two pages, I’m grinning with glee. This is not what I was expecting. It’s got nothing to do with Barlow, her stepmother, or even her father, but what I’ve found in Vivienne’s diary is far more humiliating than anything I’d hoped for.

I snap the diary shut and head for the door, laughing as I leave the house and head back to my car. This is going to destroy Vivienne.

15

Vivienne

“What the hell?” I whisper, gazing out across serene, still waters reflecting the silvery light of the moon.

A lake. Tyrant Mercer has alakeon his property.

It’s not a big lake, granted, but it’s too big to be called a pond. You could get in a boat and row across it, and it would take you several minutes to reach the other side. Of all the rumors I’ve heard about Tyrant over the years, no one’s ever mentioned that the grounds of his home are big enough for a lake and a labyrinth.

That he keeps a menagerie of tigers, lions, venomous snakes, and other predators? I heard that rumor, and I’m overwhelmingly grateful that so far nothing here has threatened to kill me except Tyrant himself. There’s also the rumor that he killed five men in one day when the car they were traveling in splashed muddy water all over him, ruining one of his suits. I can imagine how an incident four years ago may have spiraled into that particular rumor. The most notorious rumor about Tyrant Mercer is a lot bigger than lions and tigers and killing strangers who ruin his Italian wool suits.

It’s the rumor that he killed his own father.

Some versions of the story are that at nine years old, he walked in on his father having sex with a woman who wasn’t his mother, and he immediately shot him in the head. Another version is that once he was a grown man, Tyrant tracked down the father who abandoned him as a child and killed him with his bare hands. I happen to know that the suit-ruining story has a grain of truth, which makes me wonder if the same goes for the patricide rumor. I glance at the serene surface of the lake, wondering if it conceals any anacondas, alligators, piranhas, or other predators.

I’m not wearing a watch, so I don’t know how much time has passed since I entered Tyrant’s labyrinth, but it feels like it’s been many, many hours. My body is tired and cold, and there’s so much farther to go before I reach the house. I need to rest for a little while.

A boathouse is visible among the rushes and trees to my left. It might be a good idea for me to attempt a short nap there if the door is unlocked.

When I walk over and try the handle, the door sticks a little, but it opens. Inside it’s illuminated by moonlight coming in through the windows, and it feels like the rafters are probably full of spiderwebs, but the wooden floor is dry and not too dusty.

I sit in the corner with my back propped against the wall and my arms wrapped around my knees. Even inside away from that labyrinth, I don’t feel safe. This is Tyrant’s home, and he can get to me anytime he wants. Lying down on the floor and letting my guard down seems like an invitation for something terrible to happen.

It must be hours past midnight, and my eyes burn with fatigue. Slowly, against my will, my head nods forward. I’ll just rest my head on my knees for a moment…

“Dear diary, you won’t believe what happened today. I barely believe it myself.”

My head snaps up at the sound of a deep, gloating voice cutting through my slumber. I glance around in confusion, wondering where the hell I am. I’m sitting on a wooden floor. There’s the sound of lapping water from outside.

Tyrant Mercer’s labyrinth. The boathouse. Barlow. I remember now. My stomach fills with dread as I realize I’m not alone. Someone is moving in the shadows, and from their mocking voice, I know exactly who it is.

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