The Girl in the Wall (10 page)

“That’s why we wanted to meet with you,” Nico says. “Ariel said Sera was the person she trusted most so we figured we’d start by talking with her to try to come up with something.”

Sera’s whole body stiffens at his words. “Is that so?” she says, turning to me, her eyes narrowed. “I’m the one you trust?”

I forgot how cutting Sera’s sarcasm is.

“I know you and I have a lot to talk about,” I say, just because I have to say something. I don’t actually want to talk about anything except a plan to end this hostage situation.

“Do you really think a talk is going to make up for what you did to me?” she asks, her face turning a blotchy red.

“What I did to
you
?” I ask, feeling my own face heat up.

“We can’t do this now.” Hudson’s voice is soft and I can tell from the way he glances at Sera that she has told him the story and he has taken her side. But when he looks at me I don’t see judgment. “It’s getting closer to midnight and we’re better off working together to try and figure out a plan.”

I know he’s right but it takes a supreme effort to bite back what I want to say to Sera.

“We’ll table it,” Sera says, already calmed down but giving me a hard look before continuing. “And I think we have what we need. I got your dad’s cell phone.”

I am electrified by her words. “Where is it? Why haven’t you called 911 already?”

“It’s password protected,” Hudson says. “We couldn’t figure out the password.”

“Give it to me,” I say, reaching out my hand. I can’t believe that in less than a minute I’ll be on the phone with the police and this whole nightmare will be in the past, long before Abby ever gets here.

But Sera and the rock star exchange a look.

“We don’t have it on us,” he says.

I press my lips together so I don’t scream in frustration. “Where is it?” I ask as calmly as I can.

“We left it in the sofa,” Sera says. “But no one will look for it there.”

Nico proves yet again how well he knows me by placing a hand on the small of my back so that I don’t explode at Sera and Hudson.

“They were smart to leave it,” he says gently. “They didn’t know where I was taking them.”

I take a deep breath and even though I am still furious that the answer is so close, yet so far, I know he’s right. “So how fast can you get it to me? Or should I just tell you the code and you use it?”

“I don’t think we can use it now,” Hudson says reluctantly. “We’re being watched too closely. But Sera can sneak it back in her sleeve and if you can get us back up here,” he nods at Nico, “we can give it to you.”

Nico’s brow creases. “I don’t think I can get you back up here for another half-hour, when the guards change and there’s that few minutes when no one’s at that staircase.”

“A half-hour is too long,” Hudson says. “It’ll be after midnight. Can we just give it to you down there?”

Nico shakes his head. “I can’t walk back into the living room again without someone asking me why. And if I keep going back downstairs someone will notice. The best I can do is be back in half an hour and even that is pushing it.”

“Okay, then we’ll have to figure out a way to buy some extra time,” Hudson says. “Some kind of false lead to send them on so they postpone killing anyone while they search.”

Sera jumps up, excited. “The basement in the garage,” she says a bit too loudly.

Nico raises a finger to his lips.

“That’s really hard to find if you don’t know about it,” she says more softly as the rest of us look at her blankly. “I’ll say that’s where I think Ariel’s hiding. By the time they get out there and check, we’ll have had enough time to get you the phone.”

“Perfect,” Hudson says, his eyes shining like Sera’s some kind of genius.

Though I have to admit it’s a pretty good idea. It will take them a while to figure out which floorboards to move to get into the hidden space beneath the floor. And then something else occurs to me. I step into the tunnel and then return with one of my silver satin pumps, the ones I was wearing with my party dress. I hand it to Nico.

“What if you planted this outside, between the garage and the house? That would make it look even more plausible that I was somewhere outside.”

“Great idea,” Sera says. “The more evidence the better.”

Nico takes the shoe. “I think the best I can do is toss it out a window and hope no one sees it fall.”

“Do it out the window of the back guest bedroom,” I say. “That area isn’t well lit by the floodlights but you’d probably see it if you were walking from the back door to the garage. Just, you know, make sure no one’s there before you throw it.”

Nico gives me a surprisingly withering look. “Yeah, I think I know to avoid hitting someone with your shoe when we’re trying to make it look like you lost it running to the garage.”

He’s funny when he tries to be sarcastic. And kind of cute too, a thought I quickly squelch.

“So we have a plan,” Hudson says.

Voices come from the hall and we all freeze. Then I leap into the fireplace. I wait for Nico to set the grate in place but there is a pause and then he passes me the food from the plate Sera brought up, that he’s put on a shoe box top. I can’t believe he thought of me being hungry when we’re under pressure like this.

I take it from his hands, then listen as he leaves with Sera and Hudson. I wait until their steps, muffled by the carpet, fade, and then I dig into the food. The cold shrimp rolls are tough and doughy, the bacon and goat cheese rolls hard with grease. But I am too hungry to care, stuffing every last morsel into my mouth. Then I stand up and head for the living room, hoping against hope that our plan will work and that no one will die at midnight.

Nico peeks out before hustling us into the main hall and then down the stairs. This time my heart is in my throat for another reason: I don’t want Nico to have to explain why he has taken us out of the specified area—the empty plate is really a flimsy reason for two people to have gone upstairs.

Fortunately, we make it to the kitchen without being seen.

Nico, who is back in his ski mask, says, “I’ll come get you in thirty minutes.” He says it so softly it’s more like breath than words. He nods at the agent in the kitchen, then heads back upstairs.

“How are you doing?” Hudson asks quietly, eyeing the agent standing in the other doorway.

Another agent joins the one in the kitchen and they start talking in low voices. I sag back against the wall, letting it hold me up. I can’t believe we just saw Ariel, that this was our first conversation in nine months and four days. I think it’s the first time we’ve even had eye contact since she got back from the facility.

“Overwhelmed,” I say finally.

“She’s intense,” Hudson says, getting a glass of water.

“Yeah,” I say, the word coming out as a sigh. “That can be awesome when you’re party planning or doing a school project. But not so much when she’s working to make your life hell.”

He gulps down half the glass, then passes it to me. I take a sip, feeling coolness trickle down my throat. It gives me the strength to move over to one of the bar stools. The hors d’oeuvre are still on the counter, grease congealed in lumps around the food.

“She misses you, you know.”

I laugh, something I wouldn’t have guessed was possible as the minutes tick down to midnight. “Right.”

“Seriously,” he says.

He’s obviously just trying to be nice because if there’s one thing I’m certain of it’s that Ariel does not miss me. That she has made abundantly clear.

“We need to get the phone,” I whisper. We’ve been speaking too quietly for the agents in the doorway to overhear but I’m not taking chances.

“Just one second.” Hudson opens the fridge.

“I can’t believe you’re still hungry.”

“My mama used to say that I could eat a whole turkey and be back at the kitchen asking for a snack an hour later,” he says, taking out an apple.

I smile, as much at the fact that he calls his mother “mama” as the story itself. And I love the Southern drawl that has been creeping into his voice this past hour.

“Let’s go,” he says.

Everyone is pretty much still sitting where they were when we left. I guess we weren’t gone that long but so much has happened. Then I see something that makes me stop in my tracks. An agent is sitting on our sofa. Panic pierces me at the thought of the phone slithering out from its hiding place and falling on the floor, or even just poking up above the edge of the cushion, but when I can bear to look, there is no sign of it.

“What are we going to do?” I hiss. We have to get that phone.

“I don’t know,” he says, biting his lip.

We are by the poker table and he sets the apple down, his appetite obviously killed. I want to say something, to come up with some kind of plan, but then I see my classmates standing up and heading toward the chairs where The Assassin told us to sit at midnight. And now my stomach lurches for a whole other awful reason.

“We should probably go sit,” Hudson says. “You ready?”

“No,” I say, trying to make it sound like a joke but failing.

He takes my hand. “Me neither.”

Groups of girls sit close, the guys are in clusters hovering nearby. No one is really talking. I guess there isn’t a lot to say. Cassidy looks like she accidently bit a lemon when she notices me and Hudson but other than that no one bothers with us as we sit down.

All the seats in the back are taken, of course, so we end up in the front row of chairs, next to the other people deemed most expendable by the class. I’m surprised to see Ella there but less surprised to see Noah and Lulu, two grinds who don’t really do anything social. I notice Franz toward the back, his nose swollen, his shirt stained with blood.

The grandfather clock in the corner begins to strike midnight and a taut silence falls over the group. The air feels heavy, like it does right before a shattering thunderstorm.

At the eleventh chime The Assassin walks in. The rest of the agents look alike but there is something to his walk that lets you know exactly who he is. He strides over to our group and easily grabs Mike from the back row where he is sitting next to Cassidy. People near them lean out of the way as fast as they can, like Mike is now contagious.

The Assassin walks Mike to the front of the chairs, places the gun at his temple, and then turns to us.

“So who has some information for me?” he asks in his calm voice.

Mike’s eyes are shut tight but tears begin to leak out, making his face shine in the harsh light. An hour ago he was making jokes in the kitchen and now he is terrified for his life.

My chest is so tight I can feel my heart working to beat in the small space it has left and my lungs are having trouble filling. I think I might faint. But Hudson squeezes my hand and I somehow manage to make it to my feet.

“Um, I thought of another place Ariel might be,” I say. My voice sounds like it belongs to a stranger but I press on. “It’s in the garage, it’s this bomb shelter under the floor.”

“Okay,” The Assassin says.

Relief floods through me so fast I lose the ability to stand and sit back hard on the metal chair. Hudson squeezes my hand and I turn to him, relief making my body feel light. We got the time!

And then I hear the gunshot.

One minute Mike is a person and the next minute he is an open wound, his head a leaking mess of red and gray and gore, his body falling, lifeless, on the floor. I press my hands against my mouth, holding in my scream. It slips out the sides but there is so much screaming in the living room that mine goes unheard.

I close my eyes but the image is seared in my brain, calling up the matching images of Bianca and my father. It takes everything in me but I push them away, into the dark place in my mind, and shut the door. My face is wet with tears and sweat but I crawl back to the grate and look out into the living room.

Agents are cleaning up the mess that was Mike—that I don’t look at. Pretty much everyone is having some kind of breakdown, crying, wailing, sobbing in someone else’s arms. Cassidy’s face is sharply etched but I see tears on her face. Ella has collapsed in Lulu’s lap and there is blood on her hair that Lulu is not touching. Sera is next to her and I’m surprised to see that she’s not having a meltdown. Sera melts down over mice in traps so this should put her over the edge. But it hasn’t. Her face is ashen and she’s holding Hudson’s hands so tightly I can see her skin turn white around the knuckles. But there are no tears, no cries, just a deep pain in her eyes. I can’t help but wonder if she’s keeping it together or if she’s fallen into some kind of catatonic state.

The Assassin is still standing in front of everyone, gun in hand. He is waiting for people to be quiet. Slowly, when people realize he is still there, the cries soften to low moans and people sit up. After a minute it’s so quiet I hear fabric rustle when Ella sits up. No one wants to give The Assassin a reason to shoot anyone else.

The sweat on my face and body has dried and now I feel chilled sitting here alone on the hard floor. I wrap my arms around myself and wait for The Assassin to speak.

“Your friend was not here at midnight so someone was shot, as promised,” The Assassin says in his neutral tone. He looks at Sera. “If we find her in the garage, then you can all relax. But if not, I’d advise you to do some careful thinking about why you would protect the person who just let your friend die. And I promise you, if she is not found soon, he will not be the only one to die tonight.”

His words slice into me so deeply I almost cry out. This is my fault. Mike would be alive if I hadn’t hidden and stayed hidden. Or if I hadn’t changed seats with Bianca. But he lost his life so that I can keep mine and I’m not sure I can live with how worthless that makes me feel.

“We’ll let you know what we find,” The Assassin says, and then he is gone.

I feel such hatred for him it scorches my insides. But it’s nothing compared to the hatred I feel for myself. I can’t do this, I can’t stay hidden any longer. I see Nico’s point about my disappearance as a distraction, but it’s not worth more lives.
I’m
not worth more lives.