Page 54 of I Will Mend You
I wanted to speak to them right away. Lyle said I should relax and let him make dinner, but I insisted on calling Three Fates. The line was busy, but I kept calling, even though Lyle looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe it was my leftover paranoia, but I burst into tears, needing to see my daughters.
When he asked for permission to call Charlotte’s number, I felt like the world’s biggest bitch. Charlotte answered and brought the phone over to the girls’ dorms. We had a video chat. Amy burst into tears at the sight of her baby brother. Dolly sat back and smiled.
I asked if they were getting along, and Dolly said she was taking care of Amy. My girls sat together, like sisters, with no traces of animosity. Looks like Lyle was right. The baby really brought us closer together.
The girls wanted to know everything, including when they could come home. It was too late in the day to send Lyle out to get them, so I said tomorrow morning.
Lyle didn’t like me wasting the money he’d invested on a quiet weekend break, but I needed my family under one roof. He apologized, remembering I’d spent so long in the hospital and at home under bedrest. It’s natural that I would want my family to be together.
That night, I had my best sleep in months. Maybe I was no longer resistant to my medication. I wasn’t about to question why. I woke up the next morning, drowsy and relaxed, seeing Lyle standing over me, feeding the baby.
He didn’t want to wake me. Isn’t that sweet? He let me cuddle with Heath before taking him back to his crib. Over breakfast in bed, he told me that the girls were just an hour away and would arrive by the time I showered and dressed.
I fell asleep again, relieved that all was finally well. Later, I woke up to the sound of chatter. My girls were in the room with Lyle, taking turns holding Heath.
And standing at the doorway with a serene smile was Charlotte.
TWENTY-SIX
AMETHYST
Xero reaches the exit before me and sticks his head through its metal surface. I flinch backward, my stomach tightening at the peculiar sight.
Seeming to sense my distress, he turns back to me with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“You just…” I point at his head, then drop my hand, realizing that hallucinations can do whatever they want. “Never mind.”
I reach the door, a solid metal barrier with no handles. Finding a tiny gap where it meets its frame, I wedge my fingers into the slit and try to pull. My nails are too thick, since they’re encased in the straitjacket’s sleeves.
“What are you going to do?” Xero asks, his gaze trailing down my form. “Take it off?”
Shaking my head, I pull my arms out of the sleeves, leaving them trailing down my side, and fumble with the fastening around my crotch. Now that it’s no longer so restrictive, I twist the entire garment, so I’m wearing it almost back to front.
Finally, I slip a hand through the jacket’s opening at the back and reach for the gap in the door. This time, my nails slip into the tiny slit, and I pry it open with a gentle creak.
I peek out into the hallway, finding it empty. On the far right, the heavy door leading to the filming room swings shut. I probably have less than thirty seconds before Grunt alerts someone of my supposed reaction to the oatmeal.
That doesn’t give me much of a head start.
“There’s no time to think about risks,” Xero growls.
Sucking in a deep breath, I dart into the hallway and run in the opposite direction. Ignoring the bite of fallen plaster beneath my bare feet, I head to the fire exit straight ahead.
Sunlight filters through windows blackened by years of grime, casting an eerie glow on the neglected hallway. The air is thick with dust and the smell of stale water.
Xero jogs at my side, his steps matching the slap of my sleeves against my bandaged legs. “Keep going. You’re doing so well.”
I reach the fire exit and yank open its heavy door, fully expecting to trigger a fire alarm. When nothing happens, I slip into a darkened stairwell that descends into shadows.
“Keep going,” he growls as I charge down the steps, clutching the handrail. “There’ll be a door at the bottom of the stairs. Wedge it open.”
Sure enough, when I reach the ground floor, sunlight streams in through gaps in a heavy metal fire exit at the base of the stairwell. Triumph surges through my veins. I press my shoulder against it, straining to compensate for its rusted hinges.
“That’s right. Throw your weight against it.”
“I am,” I say through clenched teeth.
With a screech, the door grates open, letting in a gust of meadow-scented air. I’m about to step out onto a walkwayoverrun with ivy and weeds, when Xero places a hand on my shoulder.