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Not when the real killer is still running free on the train.
Anna doesn’t think Dante had anything to do with the murders. Everything regarding that, from her emphatic accusation to restraining him in his room, was just for show—and his own safety. Too many people have died or been hurt on this journey. Anna hopes forcing Dante into his room will help him avoid a similar fate.
As for the true killer, Anna assumes he’ll be making a move very shortly. So she dries her tears and leaves the observation car, her body humming with anxiety and second thoughts. What if she made a mistake? What if she’s wrong?
She assures herself that she’s not.
She can’t be.
Anna moves quickly through Car 13, unnerved by the silence. It’s a potent reminder than only the dead inhabit this section of the train. She tries not to picture them as she passes their doors. It’s useless. The lifeless faces of Judd, Edith, and Herb are all she sees.
It’s just as quiet in Car 12, even though she knows this one isstill home to the living. The doors to Sal’s and Dante’s rooms remain closed, with Lapsford’s door about to join them. Anna stops at the back of the car, watching the once-open door now slowly and quietly close. Someone has just entered and doesn’t want anyone else to know.
Her timing, for better or worse, is perfect.
The moment the door is completely shut, Anna flies down the hall, needing to hear what’s happening inside the room. But she can’t press her ear to the door, no matter how much she wants to. It could open at any moment, exposing her presence. She needs to listen in secret, in a spot where she won’t be discovered.
And the closest place to do that is the one she least wants to enter.
Sal’s room.
Anna cracks open the door and slips inside, vowing not to look at Sal’s sheet-covered form because she has no idea how she’ll react if she gazes at it for even a second. Still, she comes close to looking. A half glance Sal’s way. An almost glance. Anna stops herself when she sees the edge of the sheet covering her.
Facing the other way, she presses her ear to the wall between this room and the one next door. Through it, she hears Lapsford’s familiar bellow.
“What areyoudoing here?”
Anna freezes, listening, waiting for a response that never arrives.
Lapsford speaks again. “Answer me, dammit!”
This time, Anna doesn’t try to hear a reply. She knows there won’t be one. Because the other person in Lapsford’s room isn’t there to talk.
They’re there to kill him.
Just as she expected.
Catch them in the act. That’s what Reggie told her had to be done.
Now she’s about to do exactly that.
Anna bursts out of Sal’s room and into Lapsford’s, not thinking about the danger lying in wait there. All she can think about is Tommy and her parents and how she needs to make sure at least one of the people who took them from her is brought to justice. If she can do that, even if it means dying herself, it will be worth it.
It’s dark inside Lapsford’s room. The curtains have been drawn across the windows and the lights turned off. The only things Anna can see as she moves deeper inside are the shadow-obscured body of Lapsford on the bed and an equally inscrutable person standing in front of it.
A man, Anna realizes. One with a pillow in his hands, which he presses over Lapsford’s face.
Anna slams into him, sending them both tumbling to the floor.
She hits it first—a hard landing that shoots pain through her left arm and shoulder. More pain follows as the man lands on top of her. Momentarily crushed under his weight, Anna sees nothing but floor and carpet and the shadow under the bed. A fathomless darkness.
Then the man rolls off her and stands, allowing Anna a full view of the face she most expected to see—and most hoped it wouldn’t be.
“I’m sorry,” Seamus says, bending toward her and offering his hand. “You were never supposed to know.”
6 a.m.
Two Hours toChicago