Page 63 of Another Girl Lost

The top floor, which had been dark for months, was now lit up. A new neighbor. Another person on a long list of people I would not meet. I pulled my shade down, closing out the world.

Removing my shoes, I tugged off my dress and walked toward my bedroom behind the large screen. Pulling on an oversize T-shirt, I pulled my hair into a loose ponytail as I moved toward my studio.

I flipped on the lights and uncovered the painting of Della. Until now, I’d kept this painting and all the ones like it hidden away. And when I was satisfied with the latest, I would take it into the back alley and set it on fire. I always stood alone for this, watching the flames eat at the canvas and Della’s face. But maybe this time I wouldn’t burn the portrait. Maybe I would save it, display it in my studio, so the world could see Della and maybe someone would recognize that face.

“Are you afraid to have your face shown?” I asked.

The portrait’s eyes looked off to the side, and as I stepped back, the eyes seemed to follow me. Della was always present. Always watching.

I stared back at Della. We both got away from Tanner. I’d been tossed into the spotlight after Tanner’s death, whereas she had faded into the shadows.

A week after my rescue, I left the hospital, and the police took me to the site of Tanner’s house. Wearing borrowed sweats, a jacket two sizes too big, and purple lost-and-found sneakers, I stood before thesmoldering remains of my former prison. The roof and first and second floors had collapsed, filling in the basement and obliterating all traces of my cell.

The flames, the cops had said, had destroyed the DNA evidence of Della, me, and anyone else who’d been in the house. There was no physical evidence of any of us. Like it never happened.

Anger and disappointment had twisted around each other. I’d felt abandoned. Della, who had said we’d survive together, had left me.

Months later, I’d taken my mother’s car and returned to Tanner’s house alone and walked around the scorched ruins. The fallen timbers had cooled, but it was difficult to approach the foundation. Still, I’d worked my way close to the blackened bricks, hoping to find something in the charred remains. I’d found nothing in the rubble.

The summer of 2014 had passed in most people’s lives without being noticed, or if it had been, it was sunshine, beaches, and cool drinks. But those months had passed for me with aching slowness. And they were forever burned into my soul.

Chapter Nineteen

SCARLETT

Then

Maybe sixty days in the basement

There were ninety-eight hash marks on the wall, and the radio DJ was talking about back to school.

As I deepened a hash mark with my little stone, Della smoothed her hand over my hip, patted my bottom in an almost affectionate way. “He sees the marks. He knows what they mean.”

I stared at the cracked wall and my white scratches. How many hours had I studied the growing number of marks? “I need to remember. I need evidence.”

“Who’s ever going to see it?”

“The cops might walk these rooms one day. I want them to see.”

She edged toward me, trying to smile as if we were buddies. “He’s wired the house to explode. There’s dynamite in clusters all over the house.”

I rolled on my side toward Della and stared into her resolute expression. “When did he do this?”

“He’s been working on it since the Other Girl left.”

“Why?”

“He’d rather we all die together. He doesn’t want to go to prison and worries about it more and more.”

I turned back to the wall and deepened the hash mark. Maybe some of this would survive. They found things that dated back ten thousand years. Why couldn’t some of my marks withstand an explosion?

Della laid her hand gently on my arm. “You want this to be remembered, and all I want to do is forget it and move on.”

“He’s not going to let either one of us move on. One day we’ll be gone, too,” I said, more to myself. “If he did it to the Other Girl, he’ll do it to us.” In my gut, I’d known that day was coming. There were even moments when I welcomed it.

“I’m getting out of here alive.”

“He likes you,” I said. “I can tell. If anyone can escape, it’ll be you.”

---