Page 91 of Twisted Enemy
I haven’t given my sister a pinky swear since we were locked inside the Dark Place. “Pinky swear,” I say. “Now try to get some sleep.”
It’s not until I end the call that I realize Cole is sitting at his desk on the far side of the bedroom. He’s wearing black silk pajama bottoms, but his chest is bare. The flesh-color adhesive bandage I wrapped tight around his abs is still firmly in place.
“You aren’t supposed to be awake,” I say.
“I got my four hours.”
“Answer honestly,” I say, a plan starting to form in my brain. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was hit by the proverbial Mack truck. Why? Are we getting Breagha from Baltimore?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. But tonight, before midnight…”
I tug the bedclothes across my lap and tell him my idea, knowing he’ll help me perfect it before we run out of time.
I sit on the edge of the merry-go-round, digging my toes into the track of dusty dirt surrounding the playground equipment. I pull myself a few feet to my left. Flex my calves. Pull myself a few feet to my right. The merry-go-round shrieks like it’s being disemboweled.
I haven’t been to this park since I was eight years old. Breagha didn’t like the merry-go-round. She wanted to go on the slide.
Tonight, I sit facing the playground. I expect Tarasov to come from the woods, like the Bad Men did that summer afternoon. I don’t want him to see my face. Not yet.
I glance at my mobile, where it’s cradled in my lap, almost hidden by yards and yards of cheap white tulle. The chain of messages I sent last night read like a filthy poem.
Breagha
Pyotr?
Please text back
I can’t call you
I’m too embarrassed
Pyotr?
Pyotr
Fine. I’m here. What?
I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused
I was scared
But I don’t want to be bad
Not like Kate
And I should care why?
…
…
Tomorrow night
After the wedding
When we go to bed
