Chapter 15 The Playdate
I waited for the hand to grab me.
I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath until my chest burned and I waited for the violence. I waited for the knife or the bag over my head.
But nothing happened.
There was a squeak. High and sharp.
Then something brushed against my boot. Something small and furry and frantic.
I opened my eyes. I shined the light down.
A rat.
It was big and grey and it looked just as terrified as I was. It scuttled past my foot, claws scratching against the wood floor, and disappeared into a hole in the baseboard near the vent.
I let out a breath that sounded like a sob.
It wasn't an assassin. It wasn't the Man from the South. It was just a rat living in the walls of a rotting kingdom.
My legs gave out. I slid down the wall until I hit the floor. I sat there in the dark next to the vent and I started to laugh. It was a quiet, hysterical sound.
I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop it because Dante was just on the other side of the wall and if he heard me laughing in the crawlspace he would know I was insane.
I wasn't safe here.
The tunnel wasn't an escape route. It was a tomb. It was tight and dark and if I went any further I might get lost or stuck.
I couldn't do it. Not tonight.
I crawled back.
I moved fast, scraping my knees on the rough wood, desperate to get back to the cage. The closet felt like safety now.
I reached the panel. I pushed it open.
I tumbled out onto the floor of the closet and smelled the cedar and the clean laundry and I wanted to cry with relief.
I slid the panel shut. I checked it three times to make sure it was flush. I ran my fingers along the seam. It was invisible.
I stood up and brushed the dust off my clothes. I hid the key. Not in the bag. I reached up and wedged it onto the lip of the doorframe inside the closet, high up where no one would run their hand by accident.
I washed my hands. I washed my face.
Then I got into the big soft bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.
I survived the tunnel. But now I knew it was there. I knew the house was hollow.
I slept. It was a black, dreamless sleep born of exhaustion.
I woke up to the sound of beeping.
The electronic lock.
I shot up in bed. My heart was hammering. I looked at the clock. 9:00 AM.
The light on the keypad turned green. The heavy bolt clicked back and the door swung open.
I braced myself for Dante. I braced myself for an interrogation about why I looked so tired.
But it was Jasmine.
She stood in the doorway holding Snowball by the ear. She was wearing a pink dress with ruffles and her hair was a mess of curls.
She looked at me and her face lit up.
"Lily!"
She ran. She didn't walk. She sprinted across the room and launched herself onto the bed.
I barely had time to catch her. She slammed into me, small and solid and warm.
"You're here!" she shouted into my shirt. "You're really here! Papa said you were moving upstairs but I didn't believe him!"
I stiffened. I felt the instinct to push her away, to keep the distance I needed to survive. But I couldn't. Not with her hugging me like I was a lifeline.
I wrapped my arms around her. "I'm here," I whispered. My voice was raspy from the dust in the tunnel. "I'm here."
Dante appeared in the doorway.
He was leaning against the frame, watching us. He looked tired. He was wearing the same clothes as last night, the tie gone, the shirt unbuttoned at the top.
He watched Jasmine hugging me and his face was unreadable. It wasn't angry. It wasn't happy. It was just empty.
"She wouldn't stop asking," he said. His voice was flat. "She refused to eat breakfast until she saw you."
I looked at him over Jasmine’s head.
"So you let her in?"
"She has the run of the floor," he said. "It is her home."
"And I'm just the guest who can't leave."
"You are the guest," he corrected. "For now."
Jasmine pulled back. She looked at my face. She touched my cheek with her small, sticky hand.
"Are you living with us now?" she asked. Her eyes were huge and grey and hopeful. "Like forever?"
My chest tightened.
Forever.
That was the sentence. Life without parole.
"I'm staying for a while," I said. "Your papa thought it would be safer."
"It is safer!" She bounced on the mattress. "The downstairs is scary. The upstairs is for family."
Family.
The word hung in the air like a threat. I looked at Dante. He didn't flinch.
"Can we play?" Jasmine asked. "Can we have a tea party? I brought Snowball."
I looked at Dante. I was asking permission. I hated that I had to ask permission to play with a child.
He nodded once.
"I have work to do," he said. "Stay in the room. Don't go on the balcony."
He turned to leave.
"Dante," I said.
He stopped.
"Thank you."
I didn't mean it. I hated him. I hated him for locking me in here and for killing my mother. But I needed him to think I was compliant. I needed him to lower his guard.
He looked at me. His eyes lingered on my face, then dropped to where Jasmine was holding my hand.
"Don't make me regret it," he said.
He closed the door.
He didn't lock it this time.
I was alone with Jasmine.
It felt strange. We were in a high-security prison cell playing with a stuffed rabbit.
"I missed you," Jasmine said. She arranged Snowball on the pillow. "I waited in the garden yesterday but you didn't come."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I got busy."
"Uncle Antonio said you were sick. Were you sick?"
"A little bit."
"You look tired." She peered at me. "You have circles under your eyes. Like a raccoon."
I laughed. It was a rusty sound.
"Thanks, Jas."
"It's okay. Papa looks like a raccoon too. He never sleeps."
"Does he not?"
"No. I hear him walking." She lowered her voice. "At night. He walks up and down the hall. Thump, thump, thump."
I shivered.
I imagined him pacing outside my door. Guarding the cage. Or maybe he was just hunting ghosts like I was.
We played for an hour. We played tea party. We played dress up with the expensive robes in the closet.
Every time she went near the closet, my heart hammered.
I watched her open the door. I watched her push the coats aside.
The panel was right there. Behind the silk robes. If she pushed on it, if she leaned against it, it would slide open.
And she would see the dark.
"Let's play hide and seek!" she squealed.
"No," I said, too quickly. "Not hide and seek."
"Please? I'm really good at it."
"This room is too small," I said. "There's nowhere to hide."
"There's the closet!" she said.
She ran toward it.
"Jasmine, no!"
I lunged off the bed. I grabbed her arm just as she reached the closet door.
She looked up at me, startled. Her smile faded.
"You're hurting me," she whispered.
I let go instantly. My heart was pounding so hard I felt dizzy.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I just... I don't like the closet. It's dark in there."
She rubbed her arm. She looked at me with those big, intelligent eyes.
"Are you scared of the dark?"
"Yes," I said. "I am."
"Me too," she said. "Papa says I shouldn't be. He says there's nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light."
"Your papa is wrong," I said. "The dark hides things."
The door opened.
Dante was back.
He stood there looking at us. He looked at Jasmine rubbing her arm. He looked at my pale face.
"Is everything alright?"
"We're fine," I said quickly. "We were just playing."
He walked into the room. He walked past me. He walked straight to the closet.
My blood turned to ice.
"Why is this open?" he asked.
"We were getting robes," I said. My voice sounded thin.
He looked into the closet. He reached out and pushed the clothes aside.
I held my breath. I prayed to a god I didn't believe in.
He stared at the back wall. He stared at the robes.
Then he reached out.
He grabbed the handle of the closet door.
"It looks cluttered," he said.
He shut the closet door firmly.
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brass key.
He inserted it into the lock on the closet door and turned it.
Click.
He pocketed the key.
"I don't like clutter," he said.
He turned to look at me. His eyes were cold. Suspicious.
"And I don't like my daughter playing in closets."
He picked Jasmine up.
"Time to go, Jas. Lily needs to rest."
"But Papa—"
"Now."
He walked to the door with Jasmine in his arms. He stopped and looked back at me.
"I'll send someone to tidy up later," he said. "Until then, the closet stays locked."
He walked out.
The door clicked shut. The electronic lock beeped.
I stood there in the middle of the room.
I looked at the closet door.
Locked.
And the silver key—the key to the tunnel, the key to my freedom—was inside.
Trapped behind a door I couldn't open.
I stared at the wood and I realized the game had just changed.
I wasn't just trapped in the room anymore.
I was cut off from the only way out.