Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Colt nudges me. “I feel like we’re still missing too much. Why is Sheila working with them? What the fuck does Romero actually want?”
“If he wants to explain it to me before I blow his brains out, I might allow him a few moments. Otherwise, I just care about getting Quinn back. It’s getting harder and harder to think about living without her, know what I mean?”
Priest nods. “So we’re gonna make sure we won’t have to.”
33
Chapter 33 - Quinn
My eyes burn when they finally take my hood off. The lights are so bright after the long darkness. I blink the black specks away, giving whoever released me time to leave the room and shut the door behind them with a metallic thump, followed by the click of the lock.
I’m in a bedroom. No windows, so while everything looks fairly normal, it feels like a prison cell. Everything is shades of red and pink, with small touches of baby blue and white. There are generic paintings on the walls: swans on a lake, horses in a meadow, that sort of thing. Every surface has a vase on it, packed with slightly wilted flowers. It all feels very deliberate and kind of creepy.
Surprisingly, I’m not bound in any way. No blindfold or cuffs or anything. Not that I have much experience being a captive outside of Saving the World, when I was locked in a cell with Toby, waiting for Erika to break us out. I’d always imagined handcuffs or chains or a cage or something.
I laugh out loud, clapping my hand over my mouth in surprise.
The panic is making me a little crazy.
When they pulled me out of the van, Mom didn’t say a word. Just disappeared one way while I was led in a different direction. I wonder how long Colt waited. Are they already on their way? Someone had to see what happened, right? They kidnapped me right out of my own building in the middle of downtown.
Okay. What would Desdemona do?
Take stock of where I am and see what I have available. I start looking for ways out. The door is the obvious first choice, but equally obviously, it’s locked. I put my ear up against it, listening for anything on the other side. Not much. Some dull thumps, but the door seems thick.
I search the rest of the room, looking for anything that might be helpful. There’s probably not going to be a secret panel hidden behind a painting, but even knowing if there are cameras somewhere would be nice. There isn’t much to look through except the dresser, and…
Oh my God.
Pictures, so many pictures. And they’re all of me.
Candids, promos, newspaper cuttings, printouts, they’re all put together into a crazy stalker scrapbook.
Oh, I’ve got a really bad feeling about this. Like really, really bad.
On the bright side, this is a good indicator that whoever is behind this isn’t out to kill me. At least not right away. On the other hand, I might wish they were. I get chills and hug myself, rubbing my arms with my hands to warm myself up. It doesn’t work.
But who—
The lock in the door clicks.
Panicked, I shove the scrapbook back in place and look around for somewhere to hide, or a weapon to pick up. Anything to slow down what feels like the inevitable, but there’s nothing. I back up against the far wall and wait as the door slowly opens.
Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised to see Romero, but I am. “Quinn.” He smiles.
“What’s going on?” I ask, faking innocence.
It makes sense in a creepy sort of way. How else would Mom be so involved? But sending flowers to your girlfriend’s daughter doesn’t need to mean a crazy stalker bedroom.
“You’re a smart girl, Quinn,” he says calmly. “Let’s not pretend around each other, alright?”
This is the sort of thing that should only happen in the movies. Here’s hoping that the heroes save the day at the end, and that I’m not victim number one in a serial slasher flick instead. I really wish I had a script to check.
“What are you doing? You can’t just kidnap me.” Other than the fact that he just did. But someone must’ve noticed, right? “Where’s my mother?”
“Sheila? Around.” He gestures vaguely, like it doesn’t matter. “My hand was forced somewhat, I’m afraid. If people had simply followed directions from the start, this could’ve been much less stressful for all of us. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He closes the door behind him. Not locked, but there’s no way I can slip past and open it without him having time to stop me.
“Do you really think I’d eat or drink anything you brought me?” I press my back against the wall even harder, willing myself to just phase straight through it.
“Quinn, I’d never want to hurt you. I thought that had to be obvious.” He sits down on the bed, watching me like a hawk. “This was meant to be.”