Famous Last Words

Jonathan dropped to the ground.

Reed stood over him, panting heavily. Then he looked at me, his eyes rimmed with red and his nostrils flared. “I told you to be quiet.”

I couldn’t think of a reply. I’d snapped out of the dreamy haze into a state of stark terror.

Moving quickly, Reed taped my arms and legs to the chair and then stuck another piece of tape over my mouth, muttering about how he would have to fix my makeup later. Then he grabbed Jonathan by the arms and dragged him out of sight.

I stared, petrified, as my stepfather’s feet vanished around the corner. A minute later, the dragging sound stopped, replaced by a new sound: ru

Reed was filling the bathtub in the downstairs bathroom.

Oh, God. He was going to drown Jonathan. I got an image in my head of my mother arriving home to find both her husband and her daughter dead. And I couldn’t do a thing about it. I hung my head as hopelessness descended over me.

In defeat, I raised my eyes to look around the dining room. This is what the room where I will die looks like on the night that I will die.

Suddenly, everything in my messed-up life seemed precious and amazing, shining and brilliant. I wept in my heart that I’d never have the chance to say good-bye to my mother.

And I’d never have another chance to talk to Wyatt.

I wondered what Paige had been thinking as she fought for her life, struggling to surface, only to be cruelly pushed back under. Who was she fighting for? Because I understood on a fundamental level that any will I had left would have to be drawn from the love I felt for other people — for my mom. For Wyatt.

If I found the strength to resist, it would be for their sake. Fighting for them suddenly seemed more important than fighting for myself.

Something cold and wet brushed against my face, and I opened my eyes.

A rose petal lay on my plate.

It was a sign from Paige. She was here.

My eyes, fluttering around the room, landed on the sideboard.

The knives. If I could get to them, somehow …

That’s crazy, Willa. He’ll torture you.

Yeah, maybe so, but … what was the alternative, to do exactly what he wanted me to do? Just let him kill me?

Suddenly, I felt a fire inside me. It was a familiar sensation — and my automatic response was to push it back, suppress it. Not let it affect me.

But then, for the briefest moment, I tried not suppressing it.

I let myself feel the true horror and shock of what was happening. I let myself envision Reed’s cold eyes staring across the table at me. The sound of his voice commanding me to play a willing part in my own murder.

The fire spread. First, it spread to my heart. Then to my head. Then through the rest of me.

And I found that I was sitting there, practically panting.

With rage.

How dare he? I thought. How dare he do this to people?

The tub was still ru

He’d done a much shabbier job taping my wrists together this time, and with only a small amount of concentrated effort, I was able to get my hands free. Then I leaned over and untaped my legs. I got to the sideboard, pulled opened the center drawer, and shoved the lid off the flat box.

The light from the candles flickered off the knife blade.

I grabbed it and slid the drawer shut.

From the bathroom came a grunt of effort, and then a loud splash.

I’d need to surprise him, catch him off guard. So I slipped back in my seat, setting the knife under the right side of my skirt. Then I quickly leaned over and bound my legs back to the chair, reached my hands behind me, and rewrapped my wrists with the tape.

About two seconds after I finished, Reed walked in, his tuxedo wet from the bathtub. He looked winded and upset.

“What are you looking at?” he snarled. I shifted my gaze to my plate.

He was a hundred times more dangerous now because things were going badly.

But I could be dangerous, too.

He bent over and ripped the tape from my legs, then tore the piece off my wrists and mouth, making me wince as the adhesive pulled at my skin.

“What are you doing to Jonathan?” I asked. “Did you kill him?”

Reed grunted. “It’s not your concern.”

“I thought you said he was like family to you.”

He ignored me. “Let’s get started. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Is my lipstick okay?” I asked.

“You’re stalling, Willa. It won’t help.” He gave me an exasperated look, then turned for the makeup kit. “But I might as well —”

His back was toward me.

GO. GO. GO.

I reached under my skirt and grabbed the knife. Then I propelled myself out of the chair, toward Reed’s back.

He heard me and began to turn around.

But I was already on him. I plunged the knife into his side. He gasped and let out a primal roar.

I gave him a hard shove, and he tumbled backward. Then I ran out of the room, toward the front door. All I had to do was make it to the road and pray somebody was driving by — and that they’d be willing to stop.

What I hadn’t counted on was that, over the course of the evening, my legs had fallen asleep. As I moved, blood rushed back through the veins, essentially turning my legs into unusable stumps. Even though Reed was injured, I wouldn’t be able to outrun him all the way to the gate. I staggered across the foyer, threw the door open, and screamed at the top of my lungs as I crumpled onto the porch.

Then I started crawling, determined to drag myself to the road if I had to.

But Reed grabbed me by the back of my dress and pulled me back inside the house. He slammed the door closed, struggling to get me into a choke hold with his left arm. In his right hand, he held the bloody knife.

He was breathless with fury. “Huge … mistake … Willa …”

The feeling was coming back into my legs now. I kicked backward and threw him off balance. He tried to grab me by the hair, but only succeeded in pulling the wig off my head. I raced for the stairs, scrabbling up on all fours. He was right behind me. I made it to the top barely two steps ahead of him. I could lock myself in Jonathan’s office and climb out the window again….

I ran to the end of the hall and tried to shove the door open.

There was a low, gurgling laugh from behind me.

“Yeah, it’s locked,” Reed said. “I locked it. I locked them all, actually.”

I turned to face him. He hadn’t bothered to follow me down the hall. He stood at the top of the stairs. Blood ran from the wound in his side, staining his white shirt ruby red.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he said. “But you’ve got nowhere to go, sister.”

I glanced at the banister. How far was the drop to the first floor?

“Go ahead,” he said. “Break your legs. See if I care.”

Oh, God.

He stood rooted smugly in place, clutching the knife as if he knew a thing or two about knives. “You’re going to pay for this, Willa. Your poor mama’s going to cry her eyes out when she sees you.”

I was distracted momentarily by something else glinting in the light, besides the knife blade …

Water.

A trail of wet footprints on the floor, between Reed and myself.

Paige?

“Stay back,” I said. “I’m warning you.”

He laughed flatly. “Big, tough Willa. Haven’t you noticed that I keep wi

I couldn’t let him corner me. I was still woozy from the pills and not moving very fast, but I’d rather be a moving target than a sitting duck. He was hurt, too.

I drew in a breath and charged toward him. As I got closer, I ducked and flattened myself against the wall.

But I didn’t make it. He used his whole body to shove me to the ground. I fell back and hit my head on the sharp edge of the baseboard, so hard I saw stars. Then I scooted as far away as I could, which wasn’t very far.