Chapter 12 The Intruder
The phone screen goes dark but the words are burned into my retinas.
I just bought the locksmith.
I stare at the black glass and I feel sick. I feel like there are spiders crawling under my skin.
I look at the door.
It’s heavy wood. Solid oak. The deadbolt is thick steel.
Dante thinks it’s impenetrable. He thinks he built a fortress that can keep the world out.
But he’s wrong.
If the Man from the South bought the locksmith then the walls don't matter. The gates don't matter. The army of guards patrolling the perimeter doesn't matter.
Because the threat is already inside.
I slide the phone back under the mattress and my hand is shaking so bad I scrape my knuckles against the bed frame.
I sit on the floor and I watch the door handle.
I watch it for hours.
I wait for it to turn. I wait for the click. I wait for the monster to walk in and take what he paid for.
But nothing happens.
The house is silent. The only sound is the wind rattling the windowpane and the blood rushing in my ears like the ocean.
Maybe it’s a lie.
Maybe he’s just trying to scare me. Maybe he wants me to panic and run straight into his arms.
Or maybe he’s waiting.
Waiting for me to fall asleep. Waiting for me to lower my guard.
I don't sleep.
I sit there until my legs go numb and my eyes burn and the grey light of dawn starts to bleed through the bars on the window.
Another day in the cage.
I get up and my body feels heavy. My bones feel like lead. I splash water on my face but I can't wash away the feeling of being watched.
I open the door at 4:00 AM.
The guard is there. A new one today. Younger. Nervous eyes.
Is he the locksmith?
I look at his hands. They are gripping his rifle tight. I look at his belt. Keys. A heavy ring of keys that jingles when he shifts his weight.
Did Rinaldi pay him? Did he take the money? Is he going to open my door tonight and let the wolves in?
"Kitchen," I say and my voice is raspy.
He nods. He doesn't speak. He falls in step behind me.
I walk down the hallway and I feel his eyes on my back. I feel the crosshairs.
Every person I pass is a suspect now.
The maid dusting the vase. The gardener outside the window. Rosa chopping vegetables.
Who is it? Who sold me out?
I walk into the kitchen and the atmosphere is poisonous.
Yesterday was fear. Today is resentment.
They look at me like I am a disease. Like I am the reason their lives have turned into a prison.
And I am.
"Scrub the pantry," Rosa says without looking at me. "And stay out of the way."
I take the bucket. I take the brush.
I crawl into the pantry and I scrub the floor. It’s small in here. Dark. It smells like flour and dried herbs.
It feels like a coffin.
I scrub until my knees ache. I scrub until the floor is spotless and then I scrub it again because if I stop moving I will start screaming.
I am trapped between two monsters.
Dante who wants to keep me in a cage. And the Man from the South who wants to break me open.
And somewhere in this house there is a traitor who is holding the keys to my life.
I need to find out who it is. I need to know who I can trust.
But how.
I can't talk to anyone. I can't go anywhere. I have a shadow with a gun following me to the bathroom.
I am helpless.
I hate the feeling. I hate it more than the fear. I finish the pantry, standing up and stretching my back.
I walk out into the kitchen and I freeze.
Dante is there.
He is standing by the stove talking to Rosa. He is wearing a black suit. No tie. The top button of his shirt is undone and he looks exhausted.
There are dark circles under his eyes. His jaw is rough with stubble.
He looks like a man who hasn't slept in days. Good.
I hope he never sleeps. I hope he sees my mother’s face every time he closes his eyes.
He stops talking when he sees me and looks me up and down. His gaze is heavy like a touch.
"You look tired," he says.
"I wonder why," I snap and I don't care that the guard stiffens behind me. "Maybe it’s the cage you put me in."
"The cage is necessary."
"Is it? Or is it just easier for you?"
He walks over to me. The kitchen goes silent. Rosa stops chopping. The guard looks at the floor.
Dante stops a foot away from me. He is too close. He is always too close.
"Do you think I enjoy this?" he asks and his voice is low and rough. "Do you think I want my house turned into a fortress?"
"I think you love it," I say. "I think you love having control. I think you love knowing exactly where your property is at all times."
His eyes flash with anger.
"You are not property," he says through gritted teeth. "You are a target. And until I find out who is hunting you, you will stay where I put you."
"Who is hunting me, Dante?" I ask. "You keep saying that. But you won't tell me who. Is it Rinaldi? Is it the man from the warehouse?"
"It doesn't matter who it is."
"It matters to me! It’s my life!"
"It’s my responsibility," he roars.
The sound echoes off the pots and pans.
He takes a breath and runs a hand through his hair. "Just do your work," he says and his voice is tired now. "And stay inside."
He turns to leave.
"Dante," I say.
He stops but doesn't turn around. "Your walls aren't high enough."
He stiffens. "What does that mean?"
"It means you can't keep the world out forever. Eventually something is going to break."
He looks back at me over his shoulder, "I won't let it break," he says and then he walks away.
I watch him go and I feel a twist in my chest.
He believes it. He believes he can stop the tide with his bare hands but he doesn't know the water is already in the boat.
I finish my shift. The hours drag by like years and I’m exhausted. My body aches. My mind is spinning in circles.
The guard marches me back to my room and unlocks the door. I walk in. He locks it behind me immediately.
I lean against the wood and close my eyes. I survived another day.
I push off the door and walk toward the bed. I just want to sleep. I just want to forget.
I stop in my tracks, there is something on my pillow.
I stare at it. It’s a photograph.
Small. Old. The edges are crled.
I can't move or breathe. I know that photo.I haven't seen it in years. I thought it was lost. I thought it was gone forever.
I walk over to the bed. My legs are shaking. I reach out and pick it up.
My fingers tremble so hard the image blurs.
It’s Mama.
She is standing in the garden at our old house. She is wearing her white sundress. She is laughing.
And I am there too.
I am five years old. I am sitting on her lap. I am holding a flower. We look happy and safe.
I flip the photo over, there is a writing on the back. In black ink and harp letters.
Ask him about the key.
The room spins. I sit down hard on the mattress.
Who put this here? Who has this photo?
I look at the door. It was locked. The guard was outside.
Someone came in.
Someone walked into my room while I was scrubbing floors. Someone stood by my bed. Someone laid this photo on my pillow like a gift.
I look at the writing again.
Ask him about the key.
Ask who? Dante? What key?
I clutch the photo to my chest.
The enemy isn't at the gate or waiting in the warehouse. The enemy is sleeping in the next room. Or guarding my door. Or cooking my food.
I’m not safe.
Dante promised to protect me. He promised to keep me safe, but he can't protect me from a ghost.
I look at the photo one more time. Mama’s smile. My innocence. Everything I lost.
I hide the photo under the mattress with the phone and the knife. I lie down in the dark. And stare at the ceiling.
And I realize the cage isn't locked to keep me in, It’s locked to keep me trapped with the monster.