let myself dwell on the list of
Still, it was hard to hold the razor, my hand was shaking so much. Forget horizontal or vertical — any slash I made now would veer off into a wild zigzag.
What was I doing, anyway? Taking a sharp blade and slicing myself? Maybe I really was crazy. Spurting blood was an all-around terrible idea. And way too messy. There had to be a gentler way of achieving white light.
With enormous relief, I tossed aside the razor and looked around for a better idea.
My gaze drifted across the room. How about jumping from a window? I imagined myself crashing to the ground. Extreme ouch. Not a gentle way to go, and it would be a crime to smash Leah’s body. I’d rather temporarily die in a completely painless, non-bloody way. That’s why I nixed the blow dryer in the bathtub method. (Plus, I might still end up in the wrong body, but with a serious case of bad hair.)
What about drowning?
Hmmm … now this idea had potential. I should have thought of it first. Minimal pain, and maximum opportunity for survival (as long as someone found me in time). So I had to “drown” in a public place, not alone in the bathroom. There was also the nudity factor to consider. I’d rather be rescued wearing a swimsuit, not a birthday suit.
“The swimming pool!” When I’d gone outside with Chad, I’d glimpsed turquoise blue water glittering in an oval-shaped pool. I may be locked in my room, but swimming laps was part of Leah’s ordered exercise regiment.
One problem decided.
Next problem — what swimsuit would I wear?
Leah owned fourteen bathing suits. I found them hanging in her walk-in closet, arranged by size and color. It was a new experience to model swimsuits, one that I confess I enjoyed far more than I should have given the morbid circumstances. I narrowed my choice to a black strapless bikini, a red tankini, and a neon-yellow string bikini. They all looked amazing. As Amber, I never could have fit my chubby thighs into suits this sexy. But Leah could wear a ragged towel and look like a runway model.
I finally settled on the tomato-bright tankini, because it would be an easy-to-spot target on the floor of the pool.
Walking back to the bed, I picked up the printed exercise schedule and ran my index finger down the list. I stopped at the notation, “Swim Laps: 9–10 a.m.”
I’d always groaned that exercise would kill me.
Now I was counting on it.
16
The next morning, I shut out any fear of pain and all the things that could wrong. If my plan went right, that was even scarier. I pretended nothing was real, my movements robot-like as I slipped into the red tankini and focused on the one thing I could control. I longed to shout at Mr. Montgomery, “You don’t own me!” Then I’d raised my hand, tuck in four fingers, and flip him off to my death.
With a towel tied around my waist, my hips moved in a natural sway. Very unnatural to me. Nothing really seemed real, anyway, which in an odd way made things easier. Like I was an actress playing a role. Starring Amber Borden as Leah Montgomery.
Angie arrived promptly at five minutes to nine. She told me to follow her down the hall, her attitude surly as ever. She didn’t even talk to me. That was fine, since casual chitchat was not in my plans. Only moving forward and doing what I had to. Wordlessly, I followed Angie downstairs and through a back door that opened into an enclosed yard — with a swimming pool as its centerpiece.
“One hundred laps,” Angie ordered.
I nodded.
“Don’t cheat and quit early.”
I nodded.
“Stay in the pool until you finish your laps.”
“I’ll stay,” I replied obediently, shutting off my mind so I wouldn’t think too far ahead. One step at a time, that’s all I had to take.
Draping my towel on a wicker chair, I scanned the pool. Sparkling clear blue water with a strong odor of chlorine. Dustin loved to swim … no, don’t think of Dustin or anything connected to my real life. Just get through this with no mistakes. Should I jump into the deep water, or wade in from the shallow end?
While I was deciding, I heard the squeak of a door and glanced over to see Angie leaving. But that would ruin everything! Angie didn’t know it, but she had a key role in my plan. Despite her thoroughly disagreeable personality, she wouldn’t let the boss’ daughter drown. She’d jump in to save me — although I hoped it would be Leah she’d pulled out of the pool.
“Where are you going?” I called out to Angie.
She glanced over, annoyed. “None of your business.”
“But aren’t you supposed to watch me?”
“I got better things to do.”
“I might try to escape.”
“As if anyone could do that!” She made a humph sound. “You’d need wings to get over that twelve-foot wall. Then you’d have to get past your daddy’s trained dogs.”
“I love dogs.”
“Since when? Those dogs are so mean they don’t even like themselves. Vicious beasts, but they do their job. Now I have my own job, and it doesn’t include wasting time with you. Get busy with those laps.”
“You can’t force me to swim.”
“Maybe I can’t but your daddy can, and he’s got security cams all over this place.” She pointed up to a black camera fixed high over a doorway, its lens aimed at the pool like a weapon. “Now get busy exercising. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“An hour! But that’s too long.”
“Not unless you’re a speed swimmer,” she said, misunderstanding. Then she went inside, shutting the door behind her. Locking it, too, I was sure.
Frustrated, I sank in the lounge chair. I was still operating on “numb” and knew that if I stopped to think, the odds were high I’d chicken out.
Focus on the plan, I ordered myself.
I wasn’t a strong swimmer, but I could doggie paddle and float on my back. I’d already realized that a flaw in my plan was my inability to stay underwater until I started to black out. Instinct to survive would kick in, and I might not be able to resist coming up for air. Unless I weighed myself down.
The swimming pool was enclosed by a cement-block wall circling around perfectly pruned shade trees and artificial grass that looked real enough to fool hungry cows. Rushing water echoed in a lyrical rhythm from a faux waterfall that cascaded onto rocks. Hmmm … rocks.
Unfortunately, most of the rocks were too heavy, and I couldn’t pick them up. My arms may have looked muscular, but they were pathetic at lifting. I stepped over the larger rocks and searched for smaller ones. As I bent over to pick up a fist-sized rock, I had the odd sense of being watched. The shade trees rustled slightly from the spring breeze, and a few birds swooped through the branches. I didn’t see anyone, but did spot another security camera fixed over the pool house. Normally I’d hate the idea of cameras spying on me, but now I was glad to have them. They were extra insurance for a rescue.
Slipping into a mindless numb zone, I sorted through the rocks until I found five that were heavy, yet also slim enough to fit into my tankini. I squeezed in two up top and three below. My suit sagged, lopsided, and I balanced the rocks so my tankini bottom didn’t fall off. I barely felt the rocks up top under Leah’s surgically
