The Sixes

the coffee and gave her a drink. She was totally passed out by the time I dumped her in the river.”

Phoebe felt sick, seeing the image in her mind. At least Lily hadn’t had to fight for her life in the dark, muddy water.

“And Hutch?” Phoebe asked. “He had to die, too?”

Wesley shook his head hard.

“I didn’t know what to do about Gramps,” he said. “After he left here, I was crazy. I knew he was going to probably go to the cops, and I needed to act fast. That stuff you told me about that stupid girl group was a total godsend. I planted all the stuff at the diner with you about Blair, and then I figured how I could set them up. And then I went to pay Gramps a visit. I wasn’t sure I was going to kill him, but he didn’t give me a choice.”

He shook his head again.

“You want to do the right thing,” he said. “But people just don’t let you. Like Lily. She just wouldn’t give me a chance.”

He stared right at Phoebe. “And like you,” he said.

“Bu—”

“You wouldn’t back off. You kept snooping around. I tried to scare you by killing the lights in the science building that night. But even when they caught the girls, you wouldn’t let it go.”

He glanced off, as if in dismay. Now! Phoebe screamed to herself. She spun around and bolted toward the door. She’d only gone two steps before Wesley grabbed her fiercely by the hair and yanked her back. She yelped in pain.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Wesley yelled. He was still behind her, and he coiled her hair roughly in his fist.

“Wesley, don’t do this, please,” she said. “You—you have a chance to stop it all now.”

“And get caught?” He snickered. “Why would I want to do that?”

“They’ll find out. I—I’ve told people. The man I’m seeing knows.”

“I doubt it. I know who you’ve been seeing—the guy on your phone. Ten fucking minutes ago you thought he was the killer.”

She started to struggle, trying to free herself from his grasp, but he yanked her hair even tighter. Then he drew his other hand back and punched her hard in the face. Her head snapped back. He let go of her hair, and she went crashing to the ground, landing on her broken elbow. It felt like someone had just lit a fire to her arm.

And then he had her by the hair again and was dragging her across the dusty floorboards.

“You’re going to have to excuse me,” Wesley said, panting. “But it’s going to seem weird if I don’t meet these people tonight. I’ll have to deal with you later.”

Finally he dropped her. She saw that she was against the wooden barrier that surrounded the pit. Was he going to tie her up and come back afterward? she wondered desperately. If he tied her up, she might have a chance to free herself.

But then he was hoisting her up, his thick arms under hers.

“No, Wesley, please,” she pleaded. “Please, no.”

She kicked at the barrier with both feet, but it was useless.

With one easy movement he raised her even higher. And then she was sailing through the air.

31

BEFORE SHE COULD even form a thought, the back of her body slammed into something hard. She heard a thwack sound as her shoulder blade made contact with the surface, and the wind rushed out of her. Then she was falling again, bounced from the first thing she’d struck. She hit the bottom of the pit seconds later, facedown, with her broken elbow driving into the ground. Pain blistered and then exploded through every inch of her.

She tried but couldn’t even grab a breath. It felt as if a giant snake had circled her torso and begun to squeeze. But she was alive. Above her she knew Wesley must be watching, hoping she was dead.

After a minute she heard him move. There was a fast, scuffing sound of footsteps, gradually receding toward the front of the building. He’s going now, she realized. Somehow she would try to escape. She opened her eyes just a little and peered through the dimness at the wall. Somewhere there must be toeholds that she could use to climb out.

And then all at once every light went out above her. She was lying in the pitch-black. No, no, please not this, Phoebe thought. It was as if she was in that dark space from years ago. But this time no one would ever come to rescue her.

Get a grip, she told herself.

Two minutes later, she detected the muffled sound of a car moving by. And then it was silent. Wesley would be doing everything in his power to get back as soon as he could. She knew she needed to hurry, to get the hell out now.

She commanded her brain to move her legs, but nothing happened. What if they’re broken or paralyzed? she thought, terrified. But after a few tries she realized she could shift them. It was only her elbow that seemed truly damaged. The pain was searing now, like someone burning a hole through the bone with a blowtorch.

With her right hand, Phoebe tried to push her body up. When she’d managed to lift her torso a foot off the ground, she drew her right knee up under her abdomen for leverage. From there she slowly rolled over and pulled herself up into a sitting position. Then she struggled all the way up. As she reached a standing position, her right hand touched something oddly shaped and wooden in front of her. She had obviously landed by one of the gears to the right of the giant paddle wheel. She realized for the first time that she must have bounced off the paddle wheel on the way down. Though she’d smacked her back on it, the wheel had at least broken her fall, maybe saving her life.

Through the dark she inched forward, to the wall. She could feel her panic returning, something old and familiar, and she told herself to just breathe. With her good hand she began to search for any kind of exit or toehold or ladder, slowly moving around the perimeter of the pit. There had to be something like that, she thought; people must have once climbed in and out. But after a search all the way around, she’d found nothing.

Think, she told herself. What had Wesley said upstairs? Water turned the paddle wheel, which then turned the gears, which then turned the grist stones. But there was something else, something she remembered from her conversation with him in the diner. The sluice gate. It’s where they let the water in.

She dropped to her knees and began to circumvent the pit again, but this time feeling lower along the wall, searching with her right hand for the old sluice gate. There would have to be two, she realized, one right behind the paddle wheel and another on the side directly opposite. But she was disoriented now, and wasn’t sure where she was anymore.

Finally her hand felt something—a metal plate in the wall. She ran her hand roughly over it. On either side were two metal handles, clearly for raising the gate. She gave a tug to one of the handles with her right hand. Nothing happened. It might be welded in place, she realized, or stuck from years of disuse. She forced herself up into a standing position and tried again. This time it budged. She felt a surge of relief.

Hobbling to the other side of the gate, Phoebe tugged on the opposite handle. There. The gate inched up a bit more. Suddenly her feet were cold and she knew that water had begun to seep in—not gushing but steady, a slow-moving stream. Then she thought, What if the pit fills with water before I have a chance to fully lift the sluice gate?

Quickly she moved from side to side, hoisting the gate up an inch at a time on each side. The water was