Page 55

Fourteen Months Since Megan’s Escape

I t was approaching midnight when Livia pulled to the intersection and saw Megan standing in the shadows of a building.

The streetlight painted her face when she walked from the alcove, and even from such a distance Livia recognized the difference.

When Megan climbed into the passenger seat, the dim glow of the car’s dome light confirmed the startling transformation.

More than two weeks had passed since they were last together, when Megan had squeezed Livia’s hand in her father’s office after he agreed to help them.

Back then, Megan’s eyes were filled with hope and elation.

Now, Livia noticed vacant and wandering eyes, heavy with burden.

“What’s wrong?” Livia asked.

Megan shook her head. “I know where he kept me. I figured it out.”

Livia took a moment to decipher Megan’s words. “The bunker?”

“Before that. I know where he kept me during those two weeks. The cellar. I need to go there, Livia. I need you to take me.”

Parked on the side of a deserted road, dark and quiet in the middle of the night, Livia understood something cathartic was happening. She realized suddenly this girl’s frailty, and she felt the heavy responsibility of Megan’s well-being on her shoulders.

“Maybe we should talk to your dad, Megan. He told me you were having trouble with all this.”

“No. Only you.”

From her short stint through psych rotations during her internship year, Livia was familiar with different states of psychosis. She was certain Megan was in one now. “Maybe we should call Dr. Mattingly. Let him know about this.”

Megan shook her head in the darkened car, then turned and looked at Livia. “Please, Livia. Take me there. Help me.”

Livia stared at Megan, and in that moment another metamorphosis took place.

Megan was no longer the girl who went to school with Nicole.

She was no longer the other girl who had been taken that night.

Megan was, in that moment, a friend who needed help.

“Okay.” Livia put the car into gear. “Where are we going?”

“West Bay.” Megan shook her head in disbelief. “It’s not far. Not far at all.”