Daughter of Deep Silence (27 page)

H
e seems to enjoy watching the fear wash through me, causing my heart to scuttle so quickly that my breathing becomes feathery light and fast. “What do you want?” I ask.

Without any sense of concern or rush, he reaches for the box of matches nearby and strikes one, holding it out in front of him as the bitter puff of smoke snakes up to the ceiling. He sniffs at the air, smiling at my discomfort. “Smells a bit like gas around here, doesn’t it?”

I lift my chin, trying to give a show of bravery, but the fact that it trembles doesn’t help my cause. I say nothing.

He discards the burned match and lights another one. “I’m just trying to work out why you’d be planning to torch your own house. Though I do have to admit, you’ve definitely made my job tonight easier. No bullet, no way to trace the gun.”

I swallow and press my lips together, trying to rein in my growing distress. I’d planned on dying tonight, but not like this. “I saw you on the
Persephone
, you know.”

He laughs, letting the lit match slip through his fingers. I cringe, but the flame flutters out before it hits the floor between two gleaming rivulets of gas.
He won’t torch the place while he’s inside
, I remind myself. No one would be that stupid.

I hope.

“I assumed as much,” he says, as though he hasn’t a care in the world. “You have Greyson’s mental breakdown to thank for your continued existence. I’d planned on taking you out a few weeks after the cruise, once the media died down, but Wells worried it might be too much for the poor boy’s psyche. Plus, you seemed happy to play along with keeping things quiet.”

He strikes another match. “Until now, that is. Which is a shame because it turns out I’ve got to break the poor kid’s heart after all.”

“He’s as bad as the rest of you,” I scoff. My eyes dart around the room, searching for a weapon. Or an exit. Anything. “The truth will come out, you know. Even if you kill me.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “
If
I kill you?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I think you mean
when
.”

I’m shaking my head, mouth dry. It’s like being stuck adrift all over again, unable to swallow. “They’ll tie it back to the Senator.”

That had been my plan after all. If I couldn’t pin the cruise attack on him, at least I could make him pay for killing Libby.

The match burns out against his fingers. He pulls three more free, striking them all at once. My heart gallops at the sting and
pop
of the flame coming to life. “You mean the Senator I just escorted with his family up to dinner at a very crowded restaurant, giving them a nice, tight alibi?”

I bolt. Before I can think twice about it. While he’s still sitting all smug and sure of himself, tied up in his own boasting. My bare feet slap against the marble hallway as I careen out of the kitchen, little splashes of gas trailing in my wake, making the turns difficult to navigate.

With a roar, Thom thunders after me.

I race straight to the front door, cursing Morales for telling me to always keep it locked. I’ve just thrown the bolt, just started turning the knob when Thom crashes into me, slamming me hard against the door. Everything inside me jolts, my bones protesting the sudden pressure. Thom may be skinny, but he’s made of muscle, all of it focused on taking me down.

But I know that if I give him room to maneuver, I’m dead. And so I throw my arms around him, keeping him close. He’s not expecting it and he staggers a step, giving me just the opening I need.

I lift my knee, kicking hard between his legs. He’s able to turn, deflecting most of the blow at the last minute. But not all of it. There’s a whoosh of air leaving his lungs. A grunt. A moment where he’s distracted enough that I’m able to pull away.

I’m halfway up the stairs when my gas-slick foot slips out from underneath me. My shins slam against the marble steps, sending lightning bolts of pain screaming up my body. I claw at the banister, scrambling, panicked, climbing like a dog on all fours. But Thom’s legs are longer than mine and he can take them three at a time. I’ve barely made it to the top when he lunges. One hand wraps around my ankle, and with a forceful yank, he’s pulled me down.

I let momentum carry me toward him, ceasing my struggles for the barest moment so that I can gain leverage. This throws him off balance. Just enough that I slam into him and he bobbles the gun, dropping it in order to grab the railing to keep from falling. It clatters to the floor of the foyer below, well out of reach.

Recovering quickly, he backhands me, sending me crashing onto my side. With a vicious yank of my waistband he flips me onto my stomach and digs his knee into the middle of my back. I’m facedown on the staircase, my throat pressed hard against the lip of one of the stairs, making drawing a breath impossible.

He doesn’t need the gun to kill me. Gurgling sounds bubble in my throat as I struggle to wedge my hands under my chest, pressing hard against Thom’s weight to ease the pressure on my windpipe. I’ve just enough strength to lift my head and gulp in a lungful of air. But that’s all I can do. I can’t move my hands to swipe at him or else I won’t be able to breathe. He has me pinned, unable to do anything but kick at the empty air.

Thom fists his hand through my hair and slowly pulls my head back, digging his knee between my shoulder blades. Forcing an unnatural arch into my neck until my body threatens to break. My fingers scratch at the marble of the stair, struggling to keep as much of the pressure off my throat as possible. But even so, I’m choking. Helpless.

The rigid edge of his teeth presses against my ear. “Say good night, Libby.”

My eyes whisper closed.
For nothing
, I think. All of it for nothing. What’s the point of struggling anymore? After all these years, I’m exhausted. Ready to be done with it.

There’s no one left to mourn me.

Say good night, Libby.

Libby.

My heart jolts. I’m thrown back to that moment on the life raft when Libby gave up. The way her eyes dulled, dried trails of red tears staining her cheeks. She was just done. There was nothing I could do to convince her to keep fighting.

And it was so shocking to me because that’s not who Libby was. Libby was vibrant and full of life—she was everything I wasn’t. Everything I wanted to be.

Except in this one thing.

Libby wasn’t a fighter.

But Frances was.

And I still am.

I
explode, throwing elbows, arching to buck him off. But his grip is too tight, his knee digging harder into my back, keeping me pinned. He slams me against the stair once and then twice. I brace for a third, but something causes him to hesitate. His fingers twitch against my scalp. A second later, I understand.

Smoke.
Through the blurry slits of my eyes I peer past the banister to where a curling finger of black snakes its way into the foyer.

Thom curses.

I remember him lighting the three matches, just before I ran. He must have dropped them when he came after me and the flame hit one of the puddles of gas.

The house is on fire
. And with accelerant doused all over the place, it won’t be long before the entire thing blazes uncontrollably. I struggle harder, thrashing. But Thom has something else in mind. He swipes at my hands, yanking them behind my back. Taking away my leverage.

My throat crashes against the lip of the stair and he braces his forearm across the back of my neck, increasing the pressure and choking me in earnest. My windpipe feels like it’s being crushed and I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

Starbursts explode in my vision. Lungs screaming in agony, my mind becomes a blur of light-doused panic. With the last of my energy I flail, doing everything I can to just please—
please
—draw another breath.

Thom doesn’t relent. It’s obvious what his plan is: choke me to unconsciousness and leave me to burn. Which means the only way to have a chance at survival is to let him think he’s succeeded.

It takes everything I have to stop struggling. To somehow override the primal urge for air. I go limp, letting the fight seep from my limbs. He continues the pressure a few heartbeats more and then, finally, he relents.

My first lungful of air burns—from the pain of my bruised throat and from the sting of smoke. But even as I choke and sputter, I continue to feign helplessness. Let him think that I’m too oxygen-starved and weak.

I don’t fight as he drags me up the final few stairs by my hair. The air’s thicker up here, heavy with smoke billowing from below. Orange light already flickers along the hallways, chewing its way up the walls.

He’s running out of time if he wants to get out safely.

I’m running out of time as well.

He’s just pulled me around the corner when someone screams my name from downstairs. Thom pauses, listening.

“Frances!” the shout comes again. This time closer and more panicked.

Grey
.

And at the sound of that name on those lips, a memory shifts into focus. The night of Shepherd’s accident—the texts from Grey. He’d said, “Thank you, Libby.”

But at that point Grey already knew the truth about me. He’d have never called me Libby. Not even to keep up the charade.

Which means that he wasn’t the one to send those texts.

A jolt passes through Thom, his eyes going wide as he recognizes the voice. “Shit,” he growls.

I pounce on his hesitation. “Grey!” I try to scream. But the sound comes out limp and scratched. It’s nothing against the buffeting roar of the fire.

Thom hauls me to my feet, pulling my back to his chest as he wraps his forearm around my throat. Cutting my air. He drags me down the hallway and into the first room he comes across.

Mine.

I know the instant he sees the bed because he draws a horrified gasp and stumbles to a stop. His arm goes slack in shock and I force my elbow back, jamming it into his stomach. I try to pull free and pivot but my air-starved muscles refuse to cooperate. I make it only two steps before falling to my knees.

“What the
hell
is that?” His voice wavers as he points to the bed.

Behind him, the hallway pulses orange, heat causing sweat to drip down my cheeks. Any moment the flames will ignite the trail of gas into this room. And when it does, that’s the end of everything.

That’s the endgame of it all.

There’s no escaping.

“
What is that!
” he screams louder, advancing toward me.

“I . . .” There’s barely anything left to my voice, which is fine because what would I say anyway? That’s it’s me?

A large groaning noise comes from below as some integral internal structure gives way. The floor shudders and tilts.

He lunges. “What—”

But he doesn’t have a chance to finish. There’s a loud
POP
. A red gash tears along the side of his throat, blood spraying in a wide arc. Thom clutches at what used to be his neck, eyes wide and mouth gaping as he falls to his knees.

Grey stands behind him. Thom’s gun clutched in his hands. He looks at me, face frozen in shock. Not processing what he’s done and where he is. He starts to turn and I know that if he does, he’ll see the bed.

I stumble, half standing, and lunge for him. When I grab his hand, a bright flare of orange roars up in the mouth of the doorway. It races toward us, spitting sparks and chewing everything in its path. Pulling Grey behind me, I dive for the door to the balcony and struggle to pry it open.

A sharp wind batters its way inside, tossing my hair as it rushes past. Behind me there’s a sucking sound, as though the house were alive and breathing. I know what’s coming next. The fresh air will fuel the fire, turning it monstrous.

I shove Grey across the balcony. “Jump!” I scream at him. He throws a leg over the balcony and I turn to go back inside.

“Wait, what are you doing?” He reaches for me, but I twist out of his grasp. All of my journals are still in my room—along with the proof I have against Senator Wells. I can’t let it get destroyed.

Heat rolls over me in waves as I force my way back into the burning house. My eyes sear from the smoke as I search for the two bags. They’re still sitting on the floor by my desk and I grab them.

Grey’s hand closes around my arm. “Get out!” He hauls me to my feet, throwing me toward the door. I crash onto the balcony, hit the railing with my hip. I drop the two bags to the ground and turn for Grey.

He’s right behind me. “Come on!” I reach out a hand for him.

There’s a moment when everything is perfectly still. The house no longer sucking in the fresh air. The flames retreating. Grey’s fingers brush against mine.

And then it’s nothing but fire. I’m thrown, no up and no down, just me twisting in the air and then my shoulder crashing onto the patio. Above me the sky explodes into a brilliant orange of shattered glass and smoke that swallows the balcony whole. Flames rip through what used to be the doors to my room.

“Grey!” I scream. I have no idea whether he jumped or whether he was caught in the blast. “Grey!” I scream again, pushing to my hands and knees, panicked.

In the distance I hear sirens approaching. I can’t be found here, but I can’t leave—not until I find Grey.

I can’t be responsible for his death.

“Grey!” I shout again, spinning to scour the patio for him. That’s when I see the body, sinking through the ash-smudged water of the pool, limbs limp. “Oh God,” I croak, scrambling toward him. I dive in after him and he doesn’t fight or even react as my arms circle around his chest.

“Hang on, Grey,” I tell him, when I get him to the surface. Except he doesn’t cough. He doesn’t even move.

I haul him out onto the edge of the pool deck, my hands moving by rote memory as my mind screams:
Not Grey. Not him too
. I pound at his chest, and water dribbles from his mouth and finally—
finally
—he draws a shallow, shuddering breath.

I’m kneeling over him, my hands wiping across his forehead, pushing wet hair from his face, when his eyes flutter open.

“You’re okay,” I tell him, the words coming out in a relieved sob. “You’re okay.”

A smile twitches along his lips. “
You’re alive
,” he whispers.

I’m trembling, my relief is so overpowering. I almost laugh, more of a choking cry than anything else. “I’m not,” I whisper, pressing my hand against his cheek, letting my fingers dance across his skin. “I died in the fire—I never made it out. I’m just a ghost, I promise. This isn’t real.”

He raises his hand to mine, but his grip is weak. “You feel real.”

“
I’m not
.” I try to smile but fail. “I never have been.”

His eyes flutter closed and for a moment I’m worried I’m about to lose him again. But his breathing continues, slow and steady. “I saw the texts—I wasn’t the one to send them. I’d never put you in danger like that,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry about Shepherd.”

“Shh, I know it wasn’t you,” I tell him.

He struggles to focus on me. “Dad swore to me that you’d be safe—that you wouldn’t get hurt. I shouldn’t have believed—” His voice breaks. “Dad was just a pawn. Thom was the one behind it all. I tried to get here in time when I realized he’d gone after you.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezes.

Sirens blaze from the front of the house as the fire trucks arrive. I only have moments left.

“I’m sorry too,” I whisper.

But his grip tightens on my hand. “No, I mean for the
Persephone
. For Frances. For all of it.”

I lower my face and press my forehead against his. “I know. And if Frances were still alive, she’d forgive you too.”

He looks at me confused. “But you’re Frances.” He scores a thumb down my cheek.

I shake my head. “No, you were right before. I haven’t been Frances for a long time.”

“But—”

“I promise you’ll understand soon,” I whisper against his cheek.

I let my lips touch against his, lighter than a sigh. “Good-bye, Grey.”

And then I’m gone. I grab the two waterproof bags and race down the boardwalk to the beach. To where there’s a Zodiac anchored in the dark just beyond the breakers, waiting for me.

To a new life.