Page 88 of They're Watching You

I take it, and together, we hurtle through the corridor as fast as our faltering legs will take us.

Nearing an open door, we skid to a tiptoe. “So,” I hiss, “you did find the antidote?”

Remington releases my hand. He peeks inside the chamber, and, finding it empty, presses on. “No,” he answers, huffing. “But I broke into the health center and found some charcoal.” That explains the black traces on his teeth. “It took time. But I think it’s absorbing some of the toxins.”

“So you were faking?”

“Not most of it. Back in that first chamber, I really couldn’t stay on my feet.” The hall ends up ahead, and Remington stops, holding an index finger to his lips. But his breathing is so labored, anyone in the room would hear us out here.

“Then you still need the antidote,” I whisper. “Why did you come back?”

“For you.” He checks around the corner and then turns, meeting my eyes for the briefest second. “I knew they wouldn’t let you go without their sacrifice. I was hoping the charcoal would help enough for me to get you out of here. And if not…”

He would’ve let them take him. So that I could go free.

We pass through the hauntingly silent chambers until Remington halts. At first, I think he’s hallucinating again or about to collapse, but he glances from side to side. “It’s too easy.”

He’s right; it feels like a trap. But we can’t just sit around, waiting to be found. My fingers graze his sleeve as I push ahead, the map from the night Jordan played princess imprinted on my brain. I lead us through the remaining passageways, until finally, we fly through the empty antechamber to reach the trapdoor.

I scramble up the ladder, Remington close behind me. When I enter the old cathedral, my heart stops.

We’re surrounded. Figures in black robes form a circle, blocking every possible angle of escape.

Remington inches up behind me, threading his fingers through mine. I squeeze back.

At the far side of the cathedral, the wall creaks. A large beam of light swings at us like a laser, and I shield my eyes. Something moves over by the members’ entrance, and the light whips away, zigzagging over the society members and drawing nearer to us.

It’s over. We’ll never be able to fight this many of them. Remington’s struggling for air and I can barely stay on my feet.

I squint at the approaching shape, blinking until Jordan’s pale face and black hair zoom into focus. “They’re over here!” she screams, waving at whoever’s back there.

More footsteps now, like thunder over the ancient cathedral floor.

Uniformed figures burst into view, shouting and grabbing at the hooded people, raising their guns. My breath snags. I lift my hands, kneeling down on the floor, and Remington falls in line behind me.

The police continue wrangling, their shouts jarring in the dead of night. But I exhale, releasing a ragged, anxious breath, and inhale sweet relief.

She did it. Jordan actually did it.

Thirty-Five

Five Months Later

I trudge back to my dorm room, wet sandals squishing over the carpet, towel wrapped around me. The key card buzzes me in, and I open the door, immediately dropping my shower caddy.

Shampoo oozes over the floor, a slick tile now that Polly’s rug has been removed. The cold slime hits my toes, but I’m focused on the envelope. The one someone slid beneath the door, addressed to Maren Montgomery.

It can’t be.

After the police stormed the old cathedral, we learned that Jordan had also alerted the local media, who were stationed outside, ready to get the story of the prestigious academy run by a bloodthirsty cult.

By the time Jordan convinced the police to uncuff Remington and me, Remington was in bad shape. Despite my objections, we were both sent off in an ambulance, leaving Jordan in charge of one last important task: tracking down another dose of the antidote.

After some rest and fluids, I was fine. Remington, on the other hand, had to battle. Doctors say the only thing that kept him alive was the charcoal. It bought him some time, which they managed to extend with fluids and other medications. A few hours later, though, he took another turn for the worse.

That’s when Jordan showed up with the antidote she stole from Dr. Yamashiro’s cottage while he was in police custody. She had to sneak it past the hospital staff, who never would’ve let Remington ingest the questionable concoction. Not long after, Remington’s doctor got to claim responsibility for his patient’s miraculous recovery.

Jordan, Remington, and I were interviewed extensively by the police. We explained that we’d been held against our wills, that we’d unwittingly participated in the poisoning of Alicia Jones. That some of our teachers were aiding and abetting these criminals. And that no one was guiltier than the headmistress herself, who drugged us when we came to her for help.

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