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Chapter Two
Be
“Ow!” she heard herself say, momentarily stu
She raised her hand and bam! Her fingers hit something hard, above her. She flashed on the di
Give it up. It’s over.
Be
A lid.
She didn’t get it. She couldn’t process it. Her arms were at an angle. The wood was less than a foot from her face. She flattened her arms against her sides. There was another surface under her fingertips, behind her. She spread her arms, ru
It’s a box. Am I in a box?
She didn’t understand. It couldn’t be. She touched along her body from her neck to her knees. She had on her suit from work. Her skirt felt torn. Her knees hurt. There was wetness there. Blood? She told herself not to panic. The air felt close. She squinted against the darkness, but it was absolute.
She felt the lid. Her thoughts raced ahead of her fingers. The top was sealed. There was nothing inside the box. No air, food, water. No hole to breathe through. She forced herself to stay calm. She needed to understand what was going on. It wasn’t a dream, it was real. She couldn’t believe it and she could, both at once. Was she really in a box? Would Alice come get her out? Would anybody else?
A sense of dread crept over her. She hadn’t told anybody at the office where she was going. It was Friday night, and the associates had scattered. DiNunzio had taken Judy Carrier home to her parents’ for di
She exploded in panic, yelling and pounding the lid with both hands. It didn’t budge. She kept pounding with all her might, breaking a sweat. The lid still didn’t move. She felt the seams with shaking fingers. She couldn’t tell how it was sealed. She didn’t hear a nail or anything else give way.
She pushed and pounded, then started kicking, driving her bare toes into the lid. It didn’t move but she kept going, powered by sheer terror, and in the next minute she heard herself screaming, even though the words shamed her.
“Please, Alice, help!”
Chapter Three
Alice dried the Pyrex dish and placed it where she’d found it in the cabinet, then folded the dishtowel over the handle of the oven, the way it had been. She went to the table, straightened the stack of paid bills, and squared the corners, as she had found them.
The name on the mail read Ms. Sally Cavanaugh, and Ms. Cavanaugh would never know that while she was in the Poconos, a random woman had entered her house through an unlocked window and served wine à la Rohypnol in her kitchen. That’s what she got for broadcasting her vacation plans all over the local post office. Alice had taken a train from Philly to the little town, scoped it out until she found an empty house, then taken a cab here in the dark, so nobody would see her.
She went to the living room, sliding her cell phone from her shorts. She flipped it open with a thumb and pressed until she found the photo. She had hauled Cavanaugh’s things up from the basement, put them back in the living room, and compared the scene with the photo to make sure it was all in order; family and Siamese cat photos on the end tables, quilted knitting bag next to the worn brown chair, bestselling novels stacked on the credenza.
She picked up her black cloth bag and Be
She dug her hand into the messenger bag and found the keys to Be
She hit the gas and relaxed into the ride. Everything was going according to plan. She’d been working at PLG during the day, but started moonlighting with a side business of her own, managing two women who sold Xanax, Ambien, Vikes, and Oxys to housewives at a gym and an upscale boutique. She fell into it when she met her boyfriend Q, who ran a full-scale operation all over the Northeast. He supplied her, but he would’ve taken a cut if he knew how much she really charged. The ladies who lunch weren’t driving their Land Rovers to 52nd and Diamond for their Lexapro. But last week, she’d taken one risk too many.
Men.
Bad boys were her weakness, and though she’d had a good thing going with Q, even the CEO gets boring after a while. She’d hooked up with one of Q’s ru
Who still shops at Brooks?
She hit the gas, feeling her pulse quicken as the car accelerated through the dark night, over open road. She stayed the speed limit, but it was killing her. She loved to go fast, she fed on the sensation. She always wanted faster, bigger, better, newer, harder. She moved on when she got bored or restless, she specialized in cutting her losses. Life wasn’t a dress rehearsal after all, and Alice lived hers to the fullest. She couldn’t help the way she was. It was all because of her childhood, which was too damn good.