This time the rear door didn’t slam.
I tracked the footsteps. Hallway. Back room.
“Tawny, we have to move!” I hissed.
It was hopeless. I was going to have to act on my own.
Arching and contracting my back, I strained with every fiber to free my ankles from my wrists. The knots held. I wanted to cry from pain and frustration.
Pomerleau’s footsteps echoed again in the hall, then receded into an adjacent room. Seconds later they were closing in on the parlor.
I settled to the floor.
Too late.
The footsteps hitched, then sped toward the armchair. I heard a mewing, more kitten than human, then the footsteps veered toward me.
“So, my little dormice are both awake.”
It was pointless to remain passive. Summoning all my adrenaline-induced strength, I rolled onto my knees and looked up.
Pomerleau was an ebony cutout in the murky gloom. A cutout holding a coffee can. The room reeked of gasoline.
Fear rocketed from nerve ending to nerve ending.
Empathize? Cajole? Accuse? Beg?
“Where’s my friend?” Had Anne gotten away somehow?
Hideous leer from Pomerleau. “She didn’t last. She fell through the looking glass.”
Heartsick, I spat out, “Catts didn’t murder those girls. You did.”
When Pomerleau stepped closer, a single arrow of gray illuminated her face. “Murder?” Dusky voice. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“You tortured and starved them.”
“They fell through my looking glass.”
“Angie Robinson.”
I felt more than saw Pomerleau tense.
“Tell me why,” I pushed.
“Truth or dare?” Lilting.
“What did you do to my friend?”
“Truth or dare?”
Dear God! The woman was enjoying this!
“You’ve brutalized Tawny.”
“Another Alice in my Wonderland.” Reptilian smile.
“You killed children.”
“Some last. Some don’t.”
“Give me their names.”
“Why?”
“Their families have a right to know.”
“Their families can rot in hell, and you won’t be telling them. Fool! You won’t be telling anything to anyone.”
“Your parents searched for you.” Pleading tone.
“Not hard enough.” Bitter.
“They miss you,” I lied. “They want you back.”
“There’s no going back.”
“There are people who will help you.”
“The looking glass cracks.”
Flashbulb image. My apartment. Shattered pictures, mirrors.
“All the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t put the damned back together again.” Singsong.
“What happened to Angie Robinson?”
“Just another lost girl.”
“Lost? Or destroyed?”
