Page 116 of Shattered Promise

Beth, my bartender sort-of friend, steps into the room, wearing a turquoise sheath dress. Her lipstick is redder than I’ve ever seen it, and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. The last time I saw her, she was standing behind the bar, tapping her fingers in a rhythm that made my teeth hurt. Now her hands are empty, but there’s a charge in the way she holds her arms in front of her, palms splaying toward me.

“Abby, you’re awake,” she says, a smile blooming across her face.

“Beth? What’s going on?”

She steps closer, her heels clicking sharp and even on the hardwood. “You had a bit of a spell,” she says, kneeling until we’re eye-level. There’s a faint chemical burn beneath her perfume; up closer, it’s almost medicinal. “You fainted. I was worried you’d hit your head, but you’re okay. See?” She lifts her own hand and touches my cheek with a gentleness that doesn’t match any of this.

The other woman—my double—watches from the mirror, her body humming with tension. I realize, with a cold, crawling horror, that she’s studying me. Not just my dress or my hair, but the way I sit, the way my shoulders curl when I’m scared. She’scopying it, running the scene back in the mirror, like a rehearsal for a part she still doesn’t know how to play.

“Where are we? And why am I ziptied to a chair?” I try to keep the panic out of my voice, but it’s no use.

Beth sits back a little, like we’re just two friends chatting and she didn’t just abduct me then tie me to a chair. “Think of this as a bit of a pitstop. She needs a few more things from you before we can get back on the road.”

I shake my head, confusion draping over my senses like a wool blanket. “What are you talking about?”

The woman waltzes over, tugging a chair to sit right across from me. “I thought you said she was smart, Bethy. She doesn’t seem so smart right now,” she says, tilting her nose up in a way I know I don’t do.

I flinch when Beth crouches beside me. Her fingers are cold as they brush hair back from my face.

“Don’t be scared, Abby. I’m not going to hurt you,” Beth coos as she brushes back my hair. It takes everything inside of me not to flinch back from her. “You just have to help my sister for a little bit. Then we can leave. Here, I left you some tea. Chamomile and honey. I know you like that when you’ve been singing a lot.” Her smile flickers as she brings the teacup and saucer to my mouth.

I turn my head a little. My throat is dry, but there’s no way I’m drinking anything they give me. “No thank you.”

Beth nods like she understands, like this is a normal conversation and not a hostage scene. She sets the teacup and saucer down on the floor and trails her fingers over the scarf at my right wrist. “I know it’s not ideal, but we had to make sure you didn’t run.”

The other woman, Beth’s sister, claps twice. “She’s not thirsty, so let’s begin. I have some questions, and you’re going to answer them. Okay? Now laugh. I need to study the way yourface moves because I can’t get it right. The photos don’t show me enough and you don’t laugh much on the video calls.”

My heart stops, panic threading through every single pore and floods my nervous system. “I don’t understand.” I don’t understand anything.

Beth’s sister sighs. “Ugh,okay. Let’s try something else first.”

“Do you remember the night you met Mason?” she asks abruptly. “The first thing you said to him?”

The question lands like a slap, so out of left field that for a second all I can do is blink. “What?”

She leans forward, chin propped on her hand, eyes boring into mine. “Just say it,” she says. “Say the words, exactly.”

I shake my head. “I don’t remember. I was a kid?—”

“You do remember,” Beth’s sister purrs. “You said, ‘You look like a superhero, but you sound sad all the time.’ You wrote about it in your journal.”

My mouth goes dry.

She beams, a bright, glassy smile, and claps her hands. “See? You do remember. That’s perfect, Abby. So honest. It’s what makes you so . . .” She trails off, looking down at her lap. “It’s what makes people want you.”

I stare at the woman as she sits up taller, crossing her legs with a little flourish. She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, just so, and looks at me, waiting. I can’t look away. It’s like watching a snake unhinge its jaw.

Beth sits back on her haunches but looks at me expectantly.

I close my eyes and exhale slowly. When I open them again, Beth’s sister holds up a black velvet pouch, the gold ribbon dangling like a noose. Her fingers work it open. What she tips into her palm makes my stomach twist.

No.

She turns toward me slowly, grinning like we’re sharing a joke.

“Most women might draw the line at using another woman’s vibrator,” she says lightly, running one finger along the rose gold bullet nestled in her palm. “But I don’t see the point in half-measures. If I’m going to understand what makes you tick, shouldn’t I know everything?”

My skin goes ice cold. “Did you take my vibrator?” There’s a thread of hysteria in my voice, that kind of grand incredulity I couldn’t mask if you paid me.

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