Page 72

SEVENTY-ONE

I grope around blindly. Millie is right behind me. Probably less than six feet away. If only there were another bolt of lightning. Then I might be able to find something that I could use against her. But it’s too dark. I can’t see what’s right in front of me.

“Wendy,” she says.

I turn around, backing up against the stove. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest, and for a moment, the room starts to spin. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. It won’t do me any good if I pass out. I’d probably wake up with my hands and feet bound together.

My eyes have managed to adjust to the dark. I can clearly make out Millie’s silhouette across the room. And then something glints in her right hand.

It’s a knife. It must be the same one she used to kill Russell, probably still wet with his blood.

Oh God.

“Please,” I beg her. “I can give you whatever you want. I’m going to be filthy rich.”

Millie takes a step closer.

“I know you’ve been struggling financially,” I babble on. “I can pay for your entire education. Your rent. And then a bonus on top of that. You’ll never have to worry about money again.”

I can just barely see it in the dark kitchen, but Millie’s silhouette shakes her head.

“I’ll tell the police I got it wrong.” My voice has taken on a hysterical quality. “I’ll tell them you weren’t there at all. I was mistaken about everything.”

I may as well promise that, considering the police have the videotapes that show Millie wasn’t ever in the apartment at the same time as the real Douglas. But Millie doesn’t know that. When I get out of here, there’s a good chance that the police will take me into custody, but I accept that. I’ll go to jail if I have to, but I don’t want to die.

Millie doesn’t seem to be moved by my offer. She takes another step forward while I try to back away, but there is nowhere for me to go.

“Please,” I beg her. “ Please don’t do this.”

A bolt of lightning illuminates the room at that moment—too late to help me find a weapon on the counter. My eyes strain to take in the tiny bit of light, and for a moment, I can clearly see the face of the woman moving toward me with a knife in her right hand.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

It’s not Millie.