Page 50 of I Will Break You

I slump down on my desk chair, my lungs deflating. “You’re joking.”

“No. I also logged into my email and every single message containing the manuscript has been deleted.”

My breath hitches. “It’s the ghost.”

“It isn’t,” she says, her voice strained. “It’s a hacker. Someone out there doesn’t want you to release the book. Probably an online troll.”

I gulp over and over, my breath quickening. “Maybe this is a sign that we shouldn’t. All the letters Xero sent me are missing from my filing cabinet. I know you bought us tickets for the book fair, but I can pay you back?—”

“We’re going,” she says, her voice laced with steel. “I believe in you and your talent. If the epistolary story doesn’t work out, we’ll find something else. Something better. Something spicier. People have gotten book contracts with far fewer followers.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “But I’ve been banned.”

“Set up a second account. You can rebuild your following. Do it now.” She hangs up, presumably to get her computer fixed.

Instead of setting up a new account as she suggested, I walk to the bedroom and refresh my overnight bag. That sex contract didn’t appear on the kitchen table for no reason. But my consent only extends to Xero, and I’ll be damned if I fall asleep in this house to be molested by a malevolent presence.

By the time I step outside, Sparrow and Wilder are gone, as are all traces of the broken bottles. I ring Relaney’s doorbell, and she answers within seconds.

Her huge blonde afro is held back by a headband made of white fabric that matches her floaty, white mumu, and the lavalamps cluttering her hallway shine through the loose strands with reds and blues and greens.

“Amethyst,” she says with a broad smile. “Where have you been? I thought you’d return for another seance.”

“I’m here now. Can I stay the night?

TWENTY-NINE

Alderney State Penitentiary,

Dear Amethyst,

I’m glad you’re feeling better. I knew the medication was causing your memory lapses. Society is so fixated on molding its drones to the same mindset that it’s willing to iron out any deviations with drugs.

The attorney your parents hired should never have drugged you for what happened with your music teacher. He was the worst kind of predator and needed to be destroyed. They should have given you protection, not prescriptions.

I would never see your scars as ugly. Each is a sign of a challenge we survived. If yours are truly as vivid as you claim, then I would treat each one with the utmost love. Without them, I would never have you. However, I won’t press for you to send full nudes.

Your comment about my online notoriety made me laugh. I knew I was popular from all the fan mail I received, but I had no idea people were making posts on social media about my life. If talking about me on the internet makes you happy, then you have my permission to set up an official fan club.

Tell everyone out there that I appreciate their love andsupport. I can’t reply to every letter, as the volume of mail I receive is more than one prisoner can manage, but if you relay one or two questions in each letter, I will provide answers for the fans.

Tell me what else they want to know. I’ll do my best to supply you with content for the fan club’s social media.

Since you asked about my father’s proposal, I will tell you the story in multiple parts. My father is still alive and an extremely dangerous man, as are his associates. For your own safety and my peace of mind, do not share the next parts of my story. Not even with your best friend.

Xero.

P.S. I remade the toy and it’s in the mail. Let me know the moment you receive the package.

THIRTY

AMETHYST

Relaney ushers me into her living room, where a computer tablet plays new age pipe music. The mattresses on the far left of the room are now bare, with sheets folded neatly on the side, and all the clothes now reside in large laundry bags.

Gone are the candles, replaced by small lamps, and there isn’t a trace of burning incense. It looks like they’re not taking any more chances with fire hazards.

Ezekiel and Chappy sit around the low table, drinking beer from cans, which they set aside the moment they realize I’m not Relaney. Both men sit straight and gaze up at me, their eyes wide and expectant.