Page 74 of Vicious Hearts

27

Roxy

Idraw a deep breath as my eyes flutter open, inhaling a lungful of stale, mildew-smelling air.

It's dark, but there's a little bit of light coming from a small frosted window.

A basement. The light outside is probably streetlamps.

I'm sitting up, my knees bent. My abductor has learned from his mistake—I'm zip-tied and duct-taped. My hands are bound to my feet, left to left and right to right, and my mouth is covered. There’s a painful tightness in my forehead, as though the skin is stretched too thin. A metal mesh is pressed to my cheek where I’m leaning on it.

I'm in a wire crate. The little door is locked, but the crate is collapsible. The sides are secured to each other with zip ties, but I have no doubt I could kick it to pieces in under a minute.

There is another crate beside this one. A small figure is inside, lying down.

Tears fill my eyes.

I could get out of this crate. A terrified child probably couldn't.

With that, I'm sobbing, screaming into the gag. I know I must keep quiet, but I can't. Panic clutches my throat, and I try to breathe evenly.

A low bulb pings to life. It's dim, but I can see far better.

My captor must have heard me.He'll kill me when he comes down here.

The wire of the cage has bite marks on it. Little smears of blood on the ground. I wonder how many desperate tears have soaked into this dirt floor. How many sad young lives ended in pain and terror in this lonely place?

At least six.Two more to add.

I glance at the cage next to me. I can see the child now—he's lying on his side, his head on his arm.

It's Eddie Coffey.

Moira Coffey's cherished little boy. Her only child.Is he dead?

I watch him, keeping my eye on his shoulder. It rises and falls with his breathing.

Oh, thank you, God.

I understand that I'm seeing something no one was ever meant to see. This is what The Dollmaker did with those children. Brought them here and kept them in cages as if he owned them. Why? What was he getting out of it?

A realization punches me in the gut.

I never told Ben I loved him.

The last time we spoke was horrendous. There was more to say, but it wasn't the right moment. What arrogance we had to assume more time was promised. That we could return to the conversation and clear things up.

We already spentmonthslying to ourselves.

That night in Hawaii changed everything. He disappeared, and I thought I'd lost him for good. We found one another again, and despite everything, we felt something real.

But we clung to our insecurities. Resisted the change we forced on one another. I wanted him, but it became aneed, and I was afraid to acknowledge it. He was going through something similar, but instead of knocking down his walls and letting me in, he built them up again.

When I saw him last, we fought. The image of him turning away to leave is burned into my memory. Already it feels like years ago.

We hadsomany chances to do things differently. If we hadn't been so wrapped up in one another, we would have realized that we were wrong about the identity of The Dollmaker.

Now it's too late.

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