Life is Strange, page 16
I cock an eyebrow, wondering how the hell he plans on bringing Barbazal back into the “tourism” game.
“A theme park would do it, wouldn’t you say?” he asks, with the biggest grin on his face.
He can’t be serious.
“How are you going to run a theme park with no water?”
“Well, with an economy-boosting attraction like that, Denver would be a lot more likely to funnel water back our way, wouldn’t they? They seemed pretty keen last I talked to them. Everyone’s on board but you, Alex.”
I think of Silas, rationing the water bottles in his truck. I think of Anita, trying to keep the Plate and Skate alive and thriving even through these heatwaves drying up the little water they have. And I think of Clover, holding that goldfish bowl, offering it up to the magnolia, unable to care for the fish that meant so much to her in her sister’s absence.
“No,” I reply. “They’re not.”
I look up at Clover.
“Tell him,” I say. “Tell him what you told me. Unless… you’re in on this too?”
I feel a coldness come over Clover. An icy, cracking, stiff-as-a-glacier, blue hue settles over the room.
“I…” she begins, probably unsure of where to begin or if she should continue. She swallows. “I’m… not.”
Mayor Biggs looks to his daughter in disappointment.
“You’re not what, Clover?”
“I’m not in on this,” she says, determination knitting her eyebrows together as she looks from me to her father. “Daddy, you’re not seriously going to do away with the farms around here. What about the Bates’? And the mint farm we visit every year for Christmas? Opal loves the hayrides there—”
“This isn’t about nostalgia,” he growls back, “This isn’t about your feelings, Clover. Or Opal’s. Or any of you girls’.”
A tiny volcano spits up a bit of lava in my stomach at the way he says you girls when talking about feelings, the irony being that we’re only in this mess because of his feelings. The man who invited Steph and me into his home to help us get out of here.
As if even Biggs doesn’t care for his own tone, he dials it back, sighs, rests the heel of his hand wearily against his forehead, and finally clasps his hands together in an earnest gesture to his oldest daughter.
“Clover, darlin’, please understand,” he says, “I’m not doing away with anyone or anything. We’re building the park here in Barbazal, right by the lake. We’re not mowing down anyone’s farm land. But with the revenue pulled in from the park, some of them will have to make tough decisions about whether to remain an agricultural enterprise, or adapt to the times. Being a farm out here just isn’t sustainable anymore, sweetie.”
Clover stares at the ground, thinks long and hard about what to say and do next. Then, to my surprise, she walks to me, steps up behind me, rests her hands on my shoulders as I remain kneeling and looking up at Biggs.
“We’re letting Alex go,” she says. “She’s done nothing wrong. Just because she knows about your little scheme—”
“Plan,” he says, “not a scheme. Don’t you understand? I’m doing what’s best for Barbazal.”
“And I’m doing what’s best for my family,” she says, raising a trembling hand to her stomach. She stands behind me in silence, but I look up, over my head, at Clover, and sure enough, a fire-engine red aura emanates from her, scorching the room. It bores into my skin with a fury so bright and white hot that I don’t even have time to scream until it fades and soaks down deep into my bones, until all that’s left is a humming warmth.
Biggs’ face is aghast, his mouth parted in disbelief.
“Clover,” he says, “you… you’re…”
“And if you want to be in this baby’s life, I suggest you do what’s best for your family,” she spits.
Holy shit.
“Who’s the—” he asks.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant here,” she continues, taking on the tone of a lawyer in a courtroom. “Your job is to look over us, to protect Barbazal, founded on pillars of love and compassion, and you’re currently unlawfully detaining a tourist—the exact demographic of your stupid theme park—in your living room to cover up what you’ve done to see it through. Is that really the legacy you want to leave? Daddy?”
Mayor Biggs forms a brilliant blue aura of his own, coiled with ribbons of searing red. Tears begin to form at the corners of his eyes, and a sad smile plays at the edges of his mouth.
“Clover, please try to understand. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted. It’s what Magnolia—”
“You’re killing Magnolia,” she spits, her voice breaking. “She was only here for a short while, and the only thing we have to mark her life is dying because we don’t have enough water to keep anything alive out here!”
Biggs’ blue aura disappears, and his eyes narrow.
“Maybe you both need some time to think this over,” he says.
I look up at Clover in alarm. What the hell does he mean? I want to scream. But Clover follows my thoughts without even looking at me.
She smiles.
“What are you going to do, tie us up and toss us in the cellar?” she sneers, arms folded.
I watch Clover, silently willing her not to taunt this man whose anger I’ve dialed up past overwhelming and into out-of-control territory. Everything is still pulsing red with the warmth of rage, and I can’t tell whose is more intense.
Then, her smile fades. Her eyes widen in horror, and I hear a click.
I gasp, looking back at Biggs, who’s now pointing a shiny silver revolver straight at me.
“I don’t think any tying will be necessary.”
13: The Cellar
The cellar isn’t much like the cellars I’ve seen in movies. Those ones are always wet and drippy and gross, maybe a little moldy even, and you can smell the stuffiness through the TV. This one is spotless. All old wood, cedar by the smell of it. Wine bottles laid out in little U-shaped holders line the walls, displayed like trophies through the years.
From where I sit, I can see one with a label marked 2006.
“Woah,” I marvel, for a moment completely distracted from the fact that I’m in a hostage situation.
I hear Clover sigh from a little further into the cellar. She sits with her legs curled up against her chest, her arms around her knees, face lowered, and I realize she’s crying, softly.
“Clover,” I begin, but where do I even begin? “I’m… I’m sorry.”
She looks up at me, not angrily, but in surprise.
“I’m sorry I didn’t leave when you said I should’ve,” I say. “It was a mistake, staying here. I’m sorry I insisted on seeing Jonah. I’m sorry I told your father about Jonah’s plan—”
“I can’t believe Daddy was in on it,” she grunts, smacking her lips in disgust, “At least Jonah told me about the dam. About what was really going on. But he left out the part about the theme park.”
After a long, bitter silence, Clover nods.
“That must be why he was so set on our family moving to Denver. That explains everything. He knew that the Barbazal we both grew up with,” her voice crumples into a million pieces, “was going away. He… lied to me.”
She buries her face in her hands and descends into sobs, deep, body-wrenching sobs.
“Clover,” I say, scrambling to find some silver lining, offer some comfort, “maybe he… knew it would break your heart.”
“Why do it then?!” she snaps. “To think I wasted so much time on that man, building a life in Denver, building a family. And for what?”
She drags her arm across her eyes and rests her chin on her knees.
Her face, it breaks me.
But…
We have to get out of here.
Mayor Biggs didn’t take my phone off me. Didn’t even ask if I had one.
When I pull it out and look at the screen, I remember why.
No signal.
But I also see that I have a missed text.
From Steph!
STEPH: Hey, you okay? Either your
conversation with Jonah is going super well, or
you’re locked up in a basement somewhere…
Holy shit, Steph, I want to scream, you have no idea!
I let out a deep sigh.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m sorry. I really, really am, Clover. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Even though I literally can. I feel that same icy coldness envelop me from earlier, a welcome release from this inferno that’s been buzzing on my skin from Clover’s wrath.
My words, somehow, have replaced it with despair.
“But,” I continue, “I might have a way out of this. I can text my friend Steph, but I need reception.”
“Pfft,” she scoffs, glancing past me. “Good luck. Daddy had this cellar signal-blocked because his poker friends used to be on their phones instead of talking.”
I turn and look to where she glanced, and see, all the way down the hall, a huge geometric table with a green top. Must be a poker table.
“Is there any way to get signal down here? Come on, Clover, think.”
To my dismay, she turns completely away from me, curls her legs up again, and wilts against the wall, blue aura still glowing overhead.
Fine.
I feel annoyance welling up. But then I remember, Clover doesn’t really have anything to escape from down here. She’s in her own house. I’m the only prisoner.
I push myself to my feet, determined to get the fuck out of here. Steph is out there somewhere, definitely wondering what’s taking me so long, and definitely a sitting duck if Mayor Biggs went to find her…
So help me god, if he so much as touches her…
I charge deeper into the wine cellar, past bottle rack after bottle rack, until I find the far wall with the tiniest window I’ve ever seen, high up near the ceiling.
“Clover, where’s the ladder?” I know there has to be one somewhere in here. No way anyone could reach those bottles up there near the top. It’s at least ten feet up.
“They’re sliding ladders,” comes Clover’s voice, weak, defeated. “Good luck pulling them loose.”
We’ll see about that.
I look down the hall and find a wooden ladder fixed to the shelf, from the floor to the top of the rack, and I make for it. I reach out for it, try to wiggle it. It won’t budge.
Clover’s right. This thing is practically fused unless I slide it—yup, it’ll move from side to side.
Until I see a sledgehammer in the corner, between the rack and the wall.
“Yes!” I whisper, grabbing it and lifting it high above my head.
“Hey, what are you—?” comes Clover’s voice.
I don’t wait.
Wham!
The wood is unmoving.
Wham!
“Hey!” she calls. I can hear her scrambling to her feet. “Stop! Daddy’ll kill me—”
“If I stop”—Wham!—“he might kill both of us.”
Wham!
The top of the ladder comes free, hanging off the rack. One more blow to the bottom and…
I feel the hammer catch over my head, and I look up to find Clover’s hands clamped around it. She yanks it from me, and I stare at her blankly for a moment.
Am I really about to wrestle a hammer out of a pregnant woman’s hands?
I stop, holding out my hand as if I’m keeping a snarling dog at bay.
“Clover, please,” I offer, “I don’t want to fight you. But I have to get out of here. Please understand—”
“I won’t let you destroy anything else here,” she says, and I know she’s not talking about the ladder anymore. She’s talking about everything. Since I got here, Opal was sent back to the hospital, Clover found out her father was in on a plan to strip Barbazal of its lifeblood, and build a theme park in place of all of her childhood nostalgia. And finally, the love of her life—or at least the man she thought was the love of her life—was orchestrating the whole plan.
“If you help me leave,” I say, “I’ll never bother you again.”
I feel tears welling in my eyes, realizing I couldn’t help.
Couldn’t help Barbazal. Couldn’t help Jonah. Or Opal. Or Clover.
All I’ve done by staying is make things worse.
Steph was right.
We should’ve just left.
“Alex?” I hear a sharp whisper ring out from somewhere nearby.
I know that voice anywhere. And suddenly, I don’t care how menacingly Clover’s holding that hammer. I turn around toward where I heard the voice, and up there—way up there, near the ceiling, on the other side of that little window I was trying to reach earlier—is the face of the girl I love.
“Steph!” I whisper back, my voice almost breaking into an elated scream. “How’d you find me?” But I already know. She knew to meet me at dawn… but then how did she know to go snooping around basement windows?
“I could hear that hammering from across the yard,” she says, her voice urgent. “More important question: how did you get down there?!” She looks around to make sure the coast is still clear, and then lowers her voice even further. “Who put you down there?”
“Biggs,” I say without hesitation. “Clover’s down here too.”
Clover comes up behind me, gingerly, as if apprehensive about letting Steph help us. What the hell?
“Can you lower a rope or something to us?”
“You think I just have rope lying around?” asks Steph. She turns away from the window and I hear shuffling.
“There’s a rope hanging on the side of the barn,” offers Clover suddenly.
“Thanks,” I smile at Clover. That aura of hers is purple swirls of writhing vines, and I wonder if… Wait, it clicks.
“Your father can’t legally keep you in here either, you know,” I say. “This isn’t right, what he’s doing to you.”
“He knows I’ll talk,” she says, cradling her arms around herself.
“Will you?” I ask, knowing what it would mean for Jonah if she did.
After a long moment, she nods.
Thlip!
I look behind me where I find a ten-foot rope hanging from the window, where a smiling Steph greets me. I smile back.
I climb, promising myself I’ll get back in the gym and do some more lifting so this isn’t such hard work. I reach the top and turn to help Clover climb. But it turns out, even while pregnant, Clover’s more in shape than I am.
She’s right behind me.
“Up we go,” I say, pulling her through the rest of the way.
And we’re free…
14: The Lawn
…or at least I thought so.
Until I turn and find myself staring down the barrel of a gun.
It startles me so bad, I stumble backward and nearly fall against Clover and Steph. I stretch out my arms instinctively to shield them behind me, although I really have no idea what the hell I’m doing.
I’ve been here before, on the business end of a silver revolver.
That same sick feeling coils up into my throat and sends my heart rate into hyperspeed.
Biggs is looking over the sight at me with narrowed eyes and a cunning smile.
“Alex,” he sighs, “I had so hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, you know.”
“You can’t shoot us,” Steph barks. Alarm bells ring out through my head.
“Steph,” I whisper over my shoulder, hoping she fills in the rest. Not a good idea to challenge the guy with the gun.
“Everyone in the town will hear you,” Steph explains, clearly not filling in the rest.
She has a point, right?
…I hope?
Mayor Biggs begins his answer by cocking the gun. Click!
“That’s a fabulous point,” he explains, and when the three of us remain silent, he waves the gun toward the tree line before yanking it back in our direction. “It’s the start of hunting season. If I, as a law-abidin’ citizen, went for a stroll in the woods back here on my property, and I heard a noise, I’d be well within my right to deploy my firearm to bring down a deer or a rabbit. Or even in good old-fashioned self-defense.”
Shit, he’s right.
But I know not to say anything. Apparently Steph and Clover do too.
“Especially after finding two reprobates sneaking around my homestead.”
“Daddy—” comes Clover’s voice.
“And you,” he snaps, his grip on the gun tightening. He thinks he’s going to scare me with that? To be fair, he’s right: I’m fucking terrified. I can feel my fingers shaking even as I continue holding them out on either side of me. And then, that red aura blooms over Mayor Biggs’ head, warming us all again with brilliant heat, and…
…I’m the only one who can get us out of this.
I have to talk him down.
“Clover, move outta the way,” he says. I look up at him, studying his face, his eyes wide and wild, his hands trembling ever so slightly.
“She’s not going anywhere,” I say, my voice shaky and, I’m sure, unconvincing, but I’m sticking to it.
“Alex, what are you doing?” whispers Steph from behind me.
“It’s okay, Steph,” I say, lowering my hands to either side of my body and stepping forward.
All at once, Clover and Steph gasp, and Mayor Biggs flinches, but he takes half a step back anyway, red aura twisting in on itself like a smoke cloud forcing itself into an origami shape in the sky, geometric outlines turning over each and folding into magenta, and I realize… he might be bluffing.
“This isn’t the man you are, Griffin Biggs,” I say. “You love your daughters more than anything, all thirteen of them.” His eyes grow even wider as it sinks in that I know more about him than he realized.
“So you’ve done some googling,” he spits.
“No,” I say, “I’ve studied. I know you’re a broken man, and your life has been full of the greatest joys anyone can know.” I glance over my shoulder at Clover with a smile, then turn back to Biggs, pointing at the magnolia across the yard. “And the greatest sorrows.”
He doesn’t follow my finger. He doesn’t need to. Blue explodes all around us, suffocating and heavy. I look down at the grass as it withers rapidly beneath my feet, the plants in the yard, the trees, all of them bending and convulsing as the life is sucked from them. They brown and shrivel, and lastly, so does the magnolia.
“A theme park would do it, wouldn’t you say?” he asks, with the biggest grin on his face.
He can’t be serious.
“How are you going to run a theme park with no water?”
“Well, with an economy-boosting attraction like that, Denver would be a lot more likely to funnel water back our way, wouldn’t they? They seemed pretty keen last I talked to them. Everyone’s on board but you, Alex.”
I think of Silas, rationing the water bottles in his truck. I think of Anita, trying to keep the Plate and Skate alive and thriving even through these heatwaves drying up the little water they have. And I think of Clover, holding that goldfish bowl, offering it up to the magnolia, unable to care for the fish that meant so much to her in her sister’s absence.
“No,” I reply. “They’re not.”
I look up at Clover.
“Tell him,” I say. “Tell him what you told me. Unless… you’re in on this too?”
I feel a coldness come over Clover. An icy, cracking, stiff-as-a-glacier, blue hue settles over the room.
“I…” she begins, probably unsure of where to begin or if she should continue. She swallows. “I’m… not.”
Mayor Biggs looks to his daughter in disappointment.
“You’re not what, Clover?”
“I’m not in on this,” she says, determination knitting her eyebrows together as she looks from me to her father. “Daddy, you’re not seriously going to do away with the farms around here. What about the Bates’? And the mint farm we visit every year for Christmas? Opal loves the hayrides there—”
“This isn’t about nostalgia,” he growls back, “This isn’t about your feelings, Clover. Or Opal’s. Or any of you girls’.”
A tiny volcano spits up a bit of lava in my stomach at the way he says you girls when talking about feelings, the irony being that we’re only in this mess because of his feelings. The man who invited Steph and me into his home to help us get out of here.
As if even Biggs doesn’t care for his own tone, he dials it back, sighs, rests the heel of his hand wearily against his forehead, and finally clasps his hands together in an earnest gesture to his oldest daughter.
“Clover, darlin’, please understand,” he says, “I’m not doing away with anyone or anything. We’re building the park here in Barbazal, right by the lake. We’re not mowing down anyone’s farm land. But with the revenue pulled in from the park, some of them will have to make tough decisions about whether to remain an agricultural enterprise, or adapt to the times. Being a farm out here just isn’t sustainable anymore, sweetie.”
Clover stares at the ground, thinks long and hard about what to say and do next. Then, to my surprise, she walks to me, steps up behind me, rests her hands on my shoulders as I remain kneeling and looking up at Biggs.
“We’re letting Alex go,” she says. “She’s done nothing wrong. Just because she knows about your little scheme—”
“Plan,” he says, “not a scheme. Don’t you understand? I’m doing what’s best for Barbazal.”
“And I’m doing what’s best for my family,” she says, raising a trembling hand to her stomach. She stands behind me in silence, but I look up, over my head, at Clover, and sure enough, a fire-engine red aura emanates from her, scorching the room. It bores into my skin with a fury so bright and white hot that I don’t even have time to scream until it fades and soaks down deep into my bones, until all that’s left is a humming warmth.
Biggs’ face is aghast, his mouth parted in disbelief.
“Clover,” he says, “you… you’re…”
“And if you want to be in this baby’s life, I suggest you do what’s best for your family,” she spits.
Holy shit.
“Who’s the—” he asks.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant here,” she continues, taking on the tone of a lawyer in a courtroom. “Your job is to look over us, to protect Barbazal, founded on pillars of love and compassion, and you’re currently unlawfully detaining a tourist—the exact demographic of your stupid theme park—in your living room to cover up what you’ve done to see it through. Is that really the legacy you want to leave? Daddy?”
Mayor Biggs forms a brilliant blue aura of his own, coiled with ribbons of searing red. Tears begin to form at the corners of his eyes, and a sad smile plays at the edges of his mouth.
“Clover, please try to understand. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted. It’s what Magnolia—”
“You’re killing Magnolia,” she spits, her voice breaking. “She was only here for a short while, and the only thing we have to mark her life is dying because we don’t have enough water to keep anything alive out here!”
Biggs’ blue aura disappears, and his eyes narrow.
“Maybe you both need some time to think this over,” he says.
I look up at Clover in alarm. What the hell does he mean? I want to scream. But Clover follows my thoughts without even looking at me.
She smiles.
“What are you going to do, tie us up and toss us in the cellar?” she sneers, arms folded.
I watch Clover, silently willing her not to taunt this man whose anger I’ve dialed up past overwhelming and into out-of-control territory. Everything is still pulsing red with the warmth of rage, and I can’t tell whose is more intense.
Then, her smile fades. Her eyes widen in horror, and I hear a click.
I gasp, looking back at Biggs, who’s now pointing a shiny silver revolver straight at me.
“I don’t think any tying will be necessary.”
13: The Cellar
The cellar isn’t much like the cellars I’ve seen in movies. Those ones are always wet and drippy and gross, maybe a little moldy even, and you can smell the stuffiness through the TV. This one is spotless. All old wood, cedar by the smell of it. Wine bottles laid out in little U-shaped holders line the walls, displayed like trophies through the years.
From where I sit, I can see one with a label marked 2006.
“Woah,” I marvel, for a moment completely distracted from the fact that I’m in a hostage situation.
I hear Clover sigh from a little further into the cellar. She sits with her legs curled up against her chest, her arms around her knees, face lowered, and I realize she’s crying, softly.
“Clover,” I begin, but where do I even begin? “I’m… I’m sorry.”
She looks up at me, not angrily, but in surprise.
“I’m sorry I didn’t leave when you said I should’ve,” I say. “It was a mistake, staying here. I’m sorry I insisted on seeing Jonah. I’m sorry I told your father about Jonah’s plan—”
“I can’t believe Daddy was in on it,” she grunts, smacking her lips in disgust, “At least Jonah told me about the dam. About what was really going on. But he left out the part about the theme park.”
After a long, bitter silence, Clover nods.
“That must be why he was so set on our family moving to Denver. That explains everything. He knew that the Barbazal we both grew up with,” her voice crumples into a million pieces, “was going away. He… lied to me.”
She buries her face in her hands and descends into sobs, deep, body-wrenching sobs.
“Clover,” I say, scrambling to find some silver lining, offer some comfort, “maybe he… knew it would break your heart.”
“Why do it then?!” she snaps. “To think I wasted so much time on that man, building a life in Denver, building a family. And for what?”
She drags her arm across her eyes and rests her chin on her knees.
Her face, it breaks me.
But…
We have to get out of here.
Mayor Biggs didn’t take my phone off me. Didn’t even ask if I had one.
When I pull it out and look at the screen, I remember why.
No signal.
But I also see that I have a missed text.
From Steph!
STEPH: Hey, you okay? Either your
conversation with Jonah is going super well, or
you’re locked up in a basement somewhere…
Holy shit, Steph, I want to scream, you have no idea!
I let out a deep sigh.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m sorry. I really, really am, Clover. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
Even though I literally can. I feel that same icy coldness envelop me from earlier, a welcome release from this inferno that’s been buzzing on my skin from Clover’s wrath.
My words, somehow, have replaced it with despair.
“But,” I continue, “I might have a way out of this. I can text my friend Steph, but I need reception.”
“Pfft,” she scoffs, glancing past me. “Good luck. Daddy had this cellar signal-blocked because his poker friends used to be on their phones instead of talking.”
I turn and look to where she glanced, and see, all the way down the hall, a huge geometric table with a green top. Must be a poker table.
“Is there any way to get signal down here? Come on, Clover, think.”
To my dismay, she turns completely away from me, curls her legs up again, and wilts against the wall, blue aura still glowing overhead.
Fine.
I feel annoyance welling up. But then I remember, Clover doesn’t really have anything to escape from down here. She’s in her own house. I’m the only prisoner.
I push myself to my feet, determined to get the fuck out of here. Steph is out there somewhere, definitely wondering what’s taking me so long, and definitely a sitting duck if Mayor Biggs went to find her…
So help me god, if he so much as touches her…
I charge deeper into the wine cellar, past bottle rack after bottle rack, until I find the far wall with the tiniest window I’ve ever seen, high up near the ceiling.
“Clover, where’s the ladder?” I know there has to be one somewhere in here. No way anyone could reach those bottles up there near the top. It’s at least ten feet up.
“They’re sliding ladders,” comes Clover’s voice, weak, defeated. “Good luck pulling them loose.”
We’ll see about that.
I look down the hall and find a wooden ladder fixed to the shelf, from the floor to the top of the rack, and I make for it. I reach out for it, try to wiggle it. It won’t budge.
Clover’s right. This thing is practically fused unless I slide it—yup, it’ll move from side to side.
Until I see a sledgehammer in the corner, between the rack and the wall.
“Yes!” I whisper, grabbing it and lifting it high above my head.
“Hey, what are you—?” comes Clover’s voice.
I don’t wait.
Wham!
The wood is unmoving.
Wham!
“Hey!” she calls. I can hear her scrambling to her feet. “Stop! Daddy’ll kill me—”
“If I stop”—Wham!—“he might kill both of us.”
Wham!
The top of the ladder comes free, hanging off the rack. One more blow to the bottom and…
I feel the hammer catch over my head, and I look up to find Clover’s hands clamped around it. She yanks it from me, and I stare at her blankly for a moment.
Am I really about to wrestle a hammer out of a pregnant woman’s hands?
I stop, holding out my hand as if I’m keeping a snarling dog at bay.
“Clover, please,” I offer, “I don’t want to fight you. But I have to get out of here. Please understand—”
“I won’t let you destroy anything else here,” she says, and I know she’s not talking about the ladder anymore. She’s talking about everything. Since I got here, Opal was sent back to the hospital, Clover found out her father was in on a plan to strip Barbazal of its lifeblood, and build a theme park in place of all of her childhood nostalgia. And finally, the love of her life—or at least the man she thought was the love of her life—was orchestrating the whole plan.
“If you help me leave,” I say, “I’ll never bother you again.”
I feel tears welling in my eyes, realizing I couldn’t help.
Couldn’t help Barbazal. Couldn’t help Jonah. Or Opal. Or Clover.
All I’ve done by staying is make things worse.
Steph was right.
We should’ve just left.
“Alex?” I hear a sharp whisper ring out from somewhere nearby.
I know that voice anywhere. And suddenly, I don’t care how menacingly Clover’s holding that hammer. I turn around toward where I heard the voice, and up there—way up there, near the ceiling, on the other side of that little window I was trying to reach earlier—is the face of the girl I love.
“Steph!” I whisper back, my voice almost breaking into an elated scream. “How’d you find me?” But I already know. She knew to meet me at dawn… but then how did she know to go snooping around basement windows?
“I could hear that hammering from across the yard,” she says, her voice urgent. “More important question: how did you get down there?!” She looks around to make sure the coast is still clear, and then lowers her voice even further. “Who put you down there?”
“Biggs,” I say without hesitation. “Clover’s down here too.”
Clover comes up behind me, gingerly, as if apprehensive about letting Steph help us. What the hell?
“Can you lower a rope or something to us?”
“You think I just have rope lying around?” asks Steph. She turns away from the window and I hear shuffling.
“There’s a rope hanging on the side of the barn,” offers Clover suddenly.
“Thanks,” I smile at Clover. That aura of hers is purple swirls of writhing vines, and I wonder if… Wait, it clicks.
“Your father can’t legally keep you in here either, you know,” I say. “This isn’t right, what he’s doing to you.”
“He knows I’ll talk,” she says, cradling her arms around herself.
“Will you?” I ask, knowing what it would mean for Jonah if she did.
After a long moment, she nods.
Thlip!
I look behind me where I find a ten-foot rope hanging from the window, where a smiling Steph greets me. I smile back.
I climb, promising myself I’ll get back in the gym and do some more lifting so this isn’t such hard work. I reach the top and turn to help Clover climb. But it turns out, even while pregnant, Clover’s more in shape than I am.
She’s right behind me.
“Up we go,” I say, pulling her through the rest of the way.
And we’re free…
14: The Lawn
…or at least I thought so.
Until I turn and find myself staring down the barrel of a gun.
It startles me so bad, I stumble backward and nearly fall against Clover and Steph. I stretch out my arms instinctively to shield them behind me, although I really have no idea what the hell I’m doing.
I’ve been here before, on the business end of a silver revolver.
That same sick feeling coils up into my throat and sends my heart rate into hyperspeed.
Biggs is looking over the sight at me with narrowed eyes and a cunning smile.
“Alex,” he sighs, “I had so hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, you know.”
“You can’t shoot us,” Steph barks. Alarm bells ring out through my head.
“Steph,” I whisper over my shoulder, hoping she fills in the rest. Not a good idea to challenge the guy with the gun.
“Everyone in the town will hear you,” Steph explains, clearly not filling in the rest.
She has a point, right?
…I hope?
Mayor Biggs begins his answer by cocking the gun. Click!
“That’s a fabulous point,” he explains, and when the three of us remain silent, he waves the gun toward the tree line before yanking it back in our direction. “It’s the start of hunting season. If I, as a law-abidin’ citizen, went for a stroll in the woods back here on my property, and I heard a noise, I’d be well within my right to deploy my firearm to bring down a deer or a rabbit. Or even in good old-fashioned self-defense.”
Shit, he’s right.
But I know not to say anything. Apparently Steph and Clover do too.
“Especially after finding two reprobates sneaking around my homestead.”
“Daddy—” comes Clover’s voice.
“And you,” he snaps, his grip on the gun tightening. He thinks he’s going to scare me with that? To be fair, he’s right: I’m fucking terrified. I can feel my fingers shaking even as I continue holding them out on either side of me. And then, that red aura blooms over Mayor Biggs’ head, warming us all again with brilliant heat, and…
…I’m the only one who can get us out of this.
I have to talk him down.
“Clover, move outta the way,” he says. I look up at him, studying his face, his eyes wide and wild, his hands trembling ever so slightly.
“She’s not going anywhere,” I say, my voice shaky and, I’m sure, unconvincing, but I’m sticking to it.
“Alex, what are you doing?” whispers Steph from behind me.
“It’s okay, Steph,” I say, lowering my hands to either side of my body and stepping forward.
All at once, Clover and Steph gasp, and Mayor Biggs flinches, but he takes half a step back anyway, red aura twisting in on itself like a smoke cloud forcing itself into an origami shape in the sky, geometric outlines turning over each and folding into magenta, and I realize… he might be bluffing.
“This isn’t the man you are, Griffin Biggs,” I say. “You love your daughters more than anything, all thirteen of them.” His eyes grow even wider as it sinks in that I know more about him than he realized.
“So you’ve done some googling,” he spits.
“No,” I say, “I’ve studied. I know you’re a broken man, and your life has been full of the greatest joys anyone can know.” I glance over my shoulder at Clover with a smile, then turn back to Biggs, pointing at the magnolia across the yard. “And the greatest sorrows.”
He doesn’t follow my finger. He doesn’t need to. Blue explodes all around us, suffocating and heavy. I look down at the grass as it withers rapidly beneath my feet, the plants in the yard, the trees, all of them bending and convulsing as the life is sucked from them. They brown and shrivel, and lastly, so does the magnolia.
