Page 119 of The Only One Left

“No,” my sister said. “Yours should be concern enough. If you leave, you’ll be throwing your life away.”

“Or gaining a new one,” I was quick to reply.

“Either way, I can’t let you do it.”

“Go ahead then,” I said. “Tell him. It won’t keep me from leaving.”

“Then I think it’s time for one of our old games,” my sister said. “You remember how to play it, don’t you?”

My sister removed her hand from behind her back, revealing what she’d been holding all this time.

A key.

To my bedroom door.

Which could only be locked from the outside.

“No! Please!” I said, unable to get the words out before my sister left the room. I rushed to the door, feeling the brush of swift air on my face as she slammed it shut behind her. By the time I reached for the doorknob, it was too late. The key clicked in the lock just before I could grab it. I twisted the knob anyway. It didn’t budge.

The door was firmly locked.

I caught sight of the door on the other side of the room, the one that led to Miss Baker’s room. Unfortunately, my sister had also thought of it. I heard the key turning in that lock as I burst into the room.

I was completely trapped.

Still, I threw myself against the door and began pounding on it. On the other side, my sister’s evil laughter echoed down the hall as she ran to tell my father what I was about to do.

“Let me out!” I screamed after her. “Please let me out.”

I slammed into the door again and felt something inside me give way.

Liquid.

Gushing from between my legs onto the floor.

Panic flooded my body, for I knew it meant the baby was coming.

Early.

And fast.

Terrified, I pounded on the door, calling for my sister.

“Please!” I screamed. “Please, Lenora!”

THIRTY-SEVEN

I find Mrs. Baker in the kitchen, corkscrew in hand, opening a bottle of Cabernet on the counter. She looks up, surprised to see me enter from the hallway and not the service stairs.

“Is everything all right with Miss Hope?”

“Yes, Lenora,” I say. “Virginia is fine.”

The corkscrew goes still. Just for a moment. Then she yanks, uncorking the bottle with a whisper-like pop.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her denial, ironically, confirms my suspicion. The rigid way she stands, her forced smile and her steely blue eyes are an exact re-creation of the uncovered portrait in the hall.

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