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And, God save me, I didn’t want to kill him.

“He’s going to kill us anyway.”

“No. Listen to me—”

“This is our only chance! At least let me out so I can help us escape! Please, oh God, please, he’s been torturing me for over a day!”

Gary’s whine made me reconsider. I gulped. Maybe he was right.

“Okay,” I said, reaching out for the strap. “But if he comes back—”

My fingers just touched the strap when I heard Rien’s footsteps. I pulled my hand back.

Oh God. Oh dear God.

“No! Let me go! You stupid bitch, just let me go!”

I backed up toward the bookshelf. I couldn’t cover this up at all. The glass globe was broken. Gary’s gag was off, and I wasn’t about to stuff it back in. I stepped back into the library. Gary’s screams echoed across the operating room. I pushed the bookshelf, trying to close it but it wouldn’t budge.

“I got your cupcake,” Rien said, swinging the oak door open. “Lunch is—”

He stopped mid-stride and stared at me standing next to the open bookcase. His smile faded from his face.

Gary screamed from the operating room, his voice booming.

“You stupid bitch! You stupid bitch! You’re dead now, you see? You’re dead! We’re both dead!”

Rien stared at me. His eyes were unreadable, calm as a lake sheeted over with ice. I couldn’t have killed him, not while he was still looking at me. Even though I knew that he could kill me without a second thought.

He had done this. He had tortured that man. I shuddered, more at myself than at Rien. Even now, hearing the screams of his victim, I couldn’t believe that he would harm me. There he stood, silent. The air was heavy with meaning.

“You’re dead!” Gary called. “You hear me? Dead!”

Rien took one step toward me, and, like the prey cornered by the predator, I froze. Like a rabbit under an owl’s gaze, waiting to be eaten. The tortured voice rose, spiraling outward through the rooms.

“Dead! Dead! Dead!”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Rien

I slowly set the cupcake down, knowing I might have to kill her.

Check for weapons. Don’t let them trick you.

So she’d gotten out of the library. I eyed Sara cautiously as I walked toward the bookcase. She didn’t have a scalpel in her hands; in fact, she didn’t seem armed at all. She wasn’t going to fight. That was good. And from the look of it, Mr. Steadhill was still securely fastened to the table. From his screams, she hadn’t let him escape.

“I—I pulled out this book,” she stammered. “I didn’t know what would happen.”

Her eyes were bright with fear as I moved towards her. What surprised me was my reaction to her fear: I felt bad. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to put my arms around her and tell her that it was alright, that she had nothing to worry about.

Where did this sudden concern come from? She was a toy, a hostage. She was nothing to me. But her fear made me feel… awful.

I nodded through the doorway into the operating room where Mr. Steadhill was thrashing his head from side to side and screaming a bloody storm.

“You went in there?”

“Yes.” Her voice trembled. I longed to steady it, but I held back.

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