Page 126 of The Witch's Orchard
“I know,” I say.
I wish I could turn to her. I wish I could move.
I can’t.
Pain blooms in my skull and wraps around my face like icy fingers. It wraps around my eyes and tugs at my mouth. My teeth are exploding and my tongue is burning.
I want to bury my face in my hands but I can’t. I want to shut my eyes against the pain but I can’t.
The fog swirls and swirls again and there is a little girl standing in the road. She’s wearing dirty jeans and a T-shirt. She is me.
She is holding a gun. She raises it. Aims.
BANG!
“Miss Gore—” a voice says.
I open my eyes. I’m coughing.
“Miss Gore?”
The voice is Deena Drake. I blink, focus. Lucy is sitting beside me. She has a cup in her hands. My face and hair are wet. My head is throbbing. I sit up and roll over and vomit onto the thick pile carpet. The room spins. I feel for my gun. It’s gone.
“She took it,” Deena says.
“Jessica,” I breathe.
“Yes,” Deena says. She sighs. Her hands are still tied to the chair. They are tied with a blue velvet sash. Her ankles are tied with a thin cord. It looks like a curtain cord, small, braided silk. I reach into my back pocket, feel for my phone. It, too, is gone.
“She took that as well,” Deena says. There’s a pause and then she says, “You have blood all over your shirt.”
I look down.
“It’s Bob’s,” I say. “He was downstairs. What was he doing here?”
She shakes her head.
“He was coming to collect some cookies I’d made for the search party. Jessica killed him?”
“Probably.”
I lean against the chest of drawers and look up at her.
“You,” I say, my voice gravel and acid. “You took the girls.”
“Jessica, Olivia, Molly,” she says. “Yes.”
Then she asks, “Do you think you could untie me? Lucy tried but…”
“No offense,” I say. “But—well, some offense, actually—you’re akidnapper who’s been holding two children in captivity for the last ten years. I don’t trust you.”
I get to my feet and stumble around the room. There are no windows here. Only the skylights. The door is shut and locked. It’s made of heavy steel. I run my fingers over the seams, uselessly.
I look back at Lucy. She’s huddled on the blue bed, her knees tucked under her chin, watching me with big brown eyes.
“But you didn’t take Lucy?” I ask Deena.
She shakes her head.
