Pandora's Key (18 page)

“Only a handful of our Sect knows the location of the box,” Belinda said. “That’s for your own safety. Melia, the more you know, the more dangerous it is for both you and the descendant.”

“You
need
me,” Melia said to Samantha. “And
I
need to know that what I’m about to do to my best friend is the right thing.”

“So, are you telling us you didn’t believe in Pandora when you took your vows?” Samantha grasped Melia’s hand, turning it over to expose the pink lines in the shape of a P recently carved into her skin.

Melia pulled her hand away. “I guess not.”

“Step forward if any of you feel the way Melia does,” Samantha commanded. A handful of the younger initiates looked uncertain but only one other member of Pandora stepped forward—Juliette. Samantha’s eyes betrayed her surprise.

“I need to know beyond all doubt that Malledy’s death is justified,” Juliette said to the leader. “Please.” She locked eyes with Samantha. “Forgive my weakness.”

“Very well.” Samantha said. “Come with me, both of you.”

“You
can’t
be serious,” Melodie scoffed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“If Melia and Juliette weren’t such valuable members of Pandora I would choose a different course,” Samantha explained. “But the truth is that we need them.” She turned and led the way out of the greenhouse without looking back. The three women entered the cedar-shingled house through the back door, crossed the hallway, and climbed a curved, wooden staircase to the second floor, passing the room where Evangeline was imprisoned.

At the end of the hallway was a sewing room jammed floor to ceiling with bolts of cloth, spools of thread, and stacks of brightly colored patches meant to be sewn together to fashion quilts. Once Juliette and Melia were inside, Samantha shut the door behind them.

“Are you certain that this is what you want?” Samantha asked. “Because the knowing is a burden that is at times almost beyond bearing.”

“Yes,” Melia and Juliette replied in unison.

It was raining so hard, the windshield wipers made little difference and only the yellow lines on the road gave any guidance. Dr. Sullivan glanced at the dashboard—it was 12:37
AM
.

“How did this happen,” he asked softly.

A neon-red glow indicated an all-night liquor store a block ahead. Dr. Sullivan signaled and slowed, then parked in front of the store. “It happened because I just want to forget.” He got out.

Running through the downpour, Dr. Sullivan passed a hunched-over kid in a soaking wet sweatshirt and jeans walking in the opposite direction. He did a double-take.

“Hey, kid, what’re you doing out here?”

Raphe turned, his face wet, pinched, uncertain.

“I saw you at the hospital. You’re a friend of Evangeline. I’m Ms. Theopolis’ doctor—Tim Sullivan?”

“Oh, yeah, I remember.” Raphe shivered. “My car broke down a few miles back. I’m trying to find an open gas station or a mechanic or something.”

“Have you called your parents? They’re probably worried sick.”

Raphe shook his head. “My mom’s out of town.”

Dr. Sullivan glanced over his shoulder at the liquor store, hesitating. “I can give you a ride home,” he finally said. “What’s your name?”

“Raphe. Thanks, that would be great—I’m freezing.”

They climbed back into the Volvo and Dr. Sullivan turned up the heater. “Where to?”

Raphe looked down at his palms. “78 Prentiss Street—it’s near Forest Park.”

Dr. Sullivan reached beneath the seat for his thermos. Resting it between his knees, he unscrewed the top and took a swallow, tried for a second one, and came up empty.

“My dad had a thermos just like that one,” Raphe said. “He kept vodka in his cause he figured my mom wouldn’t be able to smell it on his breath. She kicked him out. Crazy hunh?”

“Ah…Not that it’s your business, but this is water.”

“Yeah, whatever. Look, Evangeline told me what happened to your family, doc, and I’m really sorry. I just figured—” Raphe shrugged. “Anyway, I’m sorry—about it all.”

Dr. Sullivan pulled away from the curb and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“Raphe, do you know where Evangeline is? I was supposed to drop her off at the police station this morning after she visited her mom, but I couldn’t find her.”

“Are the police looking for her?” Raphe asked.

“Detective Morrison hasn’t put out an Amber Alert or anything, but, yes, they’re looking. She’s not in trouble. We just need to make sure she’s safe. You understand that, right?”

Raphe drummed his fingers on the dash—fast, repetitive. “Yeah, I understand. Sammy—um, I mean Samantha—and the rest of them are still out there.”

“Do you know where Evangeline is?”

Raphe peered through the rivulets of rain cascading down the windshield, brow wrinkled. “I saw them take her,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper.

“What the hell?” Dr. Sullivan glanced over at Raphe. “What are you talking about?”

“Me and Evangeline, we found Samantha’s apartment in a condemned building. There were all kinds of weird things in there—portraits of women who I think were all Evangeline’s ancestors—and photographs. Evangeline freaked and ran away—”

“But, why?”

Raphe shrugged. “By the time I caught up to her they were carrying her down the stairs.”

“They, who?” Dr. Sullivan demanded.

“I’m not exactly sure, but I know she was unconscious.”

Dr. Sullivan shook his head to clear it. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

“There were too many.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

Raphe looked down at his fingernails—they were bitten to the quick. “Because.”

“I’m running out of patience. Because why?”

Raphe turned in his seat to look at the doctor. “Because one of them was my mother.”

“You want this room to be your grave?” Melia asked.

“Why should I trust you?” They stood in Evangeline’s darkened room. It was almost one o’clock in the morning and the sounds of the house had long since faded as her jailors retired for the night. Evangeline had been asleep, too, in the white flannel PJs her captors had left in a dresser drawer. Melia’s hand over her mouth had woken her.

Do I want this room to be my grave?
What’s she talking about? Who is Melia, really? She’s lied to me our whole lives.
“Were you ever really my friend?”

“Oh, E.” Melia gave Evangeline a look of pure exasperation. “This is not the time.”

Crossing her arms, Evangeline sat back down on the edge of her bed. “You’re popular. You could’ve hung out with the jocks or the cheerleaders, but you stayed with me. Did they make you do it?”

“No,” Melia said, “and yes. E, I’m just a kid, too. There were times when I got sick of looking out for you, but I also loved you like a sister. No matter what you think, I still do. And in case you haven’t looked in the mirror lately, you’re not a geek anymore. You’re stunning—kind of a cross between Uma Thurman and Angelina Jolie but with way better hair.”

“Really?” Evangeline ran a hand through her hair. “How’d that part happen, M?”

“The beautiful part? I don’t know. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting it, either.”

“Do you mind?”

Melia’s eyes locked with Evangeline’s. “Yes.”

“That might be the first true thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“If that’s what you think,” Melia whispered, turning toward the door, “then I’m out of here.”

“No, wait! Will you…will you take me to the hospital to see my mom?”

“If you don’t believe in anything I’m saying and think everything I’m doing for you is BS, why should I bother continuing to help you? Why should I bother taking you to see your mom?”

I have to do something—trust someone—take control of my own life.
“Because a few days ago we were best friends,” Evangeline said, feeling a sense of emptiness and loss. “I have to trust someone…and the only
someone
I have left is
you.
So, let’s go—please!”

Melia grabbed Evangeline’s arm and half led, half pushed her toward the door. “Stephanie had the first shift guarding your room. She’s a coffee fiend, so I brought her a latte and drugged it with my step-monster’s Valium. She won’t stop us!” Melia chuckled.

“Wait—I’ve got to get dressed.”

“Stephanie passed out ten minutes ago, but I don’t know how long she’ll sleep. You’re fine—we’ll get you some clothes and shoes later, okay?”

They snuck by Stephanie asleep in a chair, wearing a black track suit and Nikes, her chin was bobbing on her chest and her hand resting on an unsheathed knife in her lap. They crept down the hall and Melia paused at the last door on the right.

“I thought we were getting out of here,” Evangeline whispered.

“Quiet,” Melia mouthed. They slipped into a sewing room overflowing with bolts of fabric. Melia tiptoed to the far wall and pulled up the window shade. In the weak light of a crescent moon partially obscured by rain clouds, Evangeline could make out a large oak tree. Unlocking the window, Melia inched it open, wincing as it caught and scraped. She and Evangeline forced the window all the way open. Balanced in the crook of the oak, sat Tristin, wearing a black jacket and dark jeans. He held up a hand in greeting.

“What’s he doing here?” Evangeline hissed.

“Helping me break you out of this place.”

Reaching behind a bolt of checkered fabric, Melia withdrew a small golden box which seemed to be giving off an inviting pale-pink glow. Evangeline couldn’t help staring at it and she reached for the box. Melia shook her head and placed the box in her backpack. Evangeline felt both disappointed and strangely relieved to see it disappear.

“Go ahead,” Melia urged. “You first.”

Evangeline climbed onto the windowsill. The tree was a good six feet away. “I can’t,” she said, looking down at the two-story drop.

“It’s a leap of faith or you’ll be back in that room, locked away for I don’t know how long.”

“Come on!” Tristin urged. Evangeline pushed off into his waiting arms.

The trail that led through the forest was narrow, the pine and oak trees dense, and sharp rocks and brambles cut Evangeline’s bare feet. But she pressed on, determined to put as much distance as possible between herself and the cult that’d kidnapped her.
Run. Get away. Get to the hospital. Get to mom before it’s too late!

None of them spoke and the only sound was the whisper of leaves, an owl’s insistent hoot, and their labored breath.

“I’ve got…to stop…for a minute. Please.” Evangeline was panting after almost an hour of hard running, hands on her thighs, trying to regain her breath. A cramp burned across her side and her feet throbbed.

“We need to keep moving,” Melia said, looking nervously behind them.

Tristin put his hand on Evangeline’s back. “Just give her a second.”

Melia violently shook her head. “Tristin, you don’t understand! The people who’re coming after us, they won’t think twice about killing you. And I’m not sure what they’ll do to
me
.”

“You okay?” Tristin asked, crouching beside Evangeline.

“No—yeah, but my feet are trashed and I just need a few minutes…to catch my breath.”