Page 107 of Make Me Scream

A lock on the entrance to the stairs buzzes.

“Head downstairs,” the voice commands. “And don’t try going up. You’ll see what happens.”

“Fuck you.”

I run into the Archives instead, finding more paintings of more women. They’re all beautiful and young. I wait for the shock to bowl me over, but it doesn’t come, so I keep going. The room bends at a ninety-degree angle, and eventually I come to another door:Toy.

I go in, only to find I’m back where I started: surrounded by sketches of me. The rooms go around in a circle.

“Downstairs, Toy.”

The word sends a chill through me.

“Don’t call me that, motherfucker.”

Electricity snaps, burning me from within.

“Do as you’re told, Toy.”

Screaming, my body heaving, I grab one of the pictures of me and tear it off the wall. Another shock, this one even more powerful, knocks the breath out of me.

“You’ll be dead before the battery on that collar runs dry. And these pieces of you are just placeholders. I care about them less than you think. But Iwillpunish you for disobeying me. It’s important you learn that. Now, go downstairs. It’s time for you to meet Pet.”

Oh fuck. There’s someone else here?

I was in Union Square and… and I was talking to Mundell. We were looking at graffiti, then there was something about a job…

I need more time to remember, to figure out what’s going on. Acting confused, I turn around and head back through the Archives. I make my way slowly, examining the art for any clues they may hold. I study their style, looking for deviations in technique and medium, but as far as I can tell they’re all painted by the same person. The main differences are the women themselves. Each has several paintings devoted to them, and at the end of the Archives I count six different women.

I stop at the last one. I focus on her face.

I know her. She’s familiar, though I can’t place her.

“Who’s this?” I ask.

“Someone who found out what happens when she disobeys her master.”

“Is she dead?”

I howl, hit by another high-voltage dose.

She died, Lane said, a conversation that feels like it happened in another world.

“Did you kill her?” I ask, not caring about getting punished.

“That’s enough,” the voice growls.

But it wasn’t enough.

We were talking about Anne.

My eyes go wide. I fall to my knees. The voice could shock me right now and I wouldn’t feel it. The pictures of Anne Nichols are fresh enough in my memory that I know, without a doubt, that this final woman in the Archives… is her.

How did she end up here? Unless…

Have you ever been to the Catskills?

My car is just up ahead…

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