Page 117 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
She nodded.
“Don’t let anyone in.”
She nodded.
“Pack light.”
She nodded.
“Am I mansplaining?”
She pulled away and signed and smiled. “Yes, but it’s very cute.”
He kissed her.
But he didn’t linger. The night was waning. He had her software to alter, and quickly. They’d made their plans to disappear and they needed to implement them now, before someone suspected or tried to kill Merida, or Benedict or both.
When he left, Merida locked the doors and went upstairs mentally prioritizing as she climbed.
First from the safe, her technology: the tablet, the computer, cables and gadgets. From her bathroom: toothbrush, birth control, tampons, sunscreen. From her bedroom: running shoes, comfort shoes and her one pair of stilettos.
Benedict liked those stilettos.
In the closet, she grabbed clothes for roughing it, clothes for layering, a dress, simple but easy to dress up or down. She flung it all on her bed, then off the top shelf she retrieved one rolling suitcase light enough for her to carry as needed. She didn’t know where they were going. She didn’t know how. She wanted to be prepared for everything.
She packed quickly, efficiently, discarding anything that gave her second thoughts. She was tucking her socks into her shoes when—a brief shriek from the attic room above her. A heavy thud on her ceiling.
Merida jumped. She stared up at the quivering antique light fixture.
No other sound…
Night pressed in on the windows, making the darkness blacker and deafening. The Cipres roomed up there. What had happened?
Downstairs, she heard someone rap on her door, a quick panicked patter of terror. She ran halfway down the servants’ stairs. Ran back and got her phone. Ran all the way down and into the dining room.
The rapping continued, constant, demanding, desperate.
She put her hand against the door. It vibrated continuously, like a trembling hand. She checked the security camera.
Elsa Cipre stood outside, lip split, blood trickling from one corner of her eye. She wore one of her odd black outfits, maybe her version of a nightgown, and glanced around continuously, watching for someone. Watching for… him.
Merida had always known there was something wrong with that man. Something suspicious in the way Dawkins watched his wife.
In the way he watched Merida.
She left the chain on, but unlocked and opened the door and peered through the crack.
Elsa whispered, “Please. Let me in. He’s going to kill me. This time he’s going to kill me.”
“Stay here. I’ll call for help.” She backed away, dialed Benedict. No service. No ring. Damn it, this was no time to have trouble connecting. Dawkins could get here at any moment, and Merida didn’t know what she would do. She didn’t like Elsa, but that didn’t mean she wanted her to die at the hands of Dawkins Cipre. She needed a weapon. A weapon…
Suits of armor lined the walls. Each knight held a weapon: battle-ax, spear, flail, sword… Sword was best—although it was too heavy for her, it had a point and sharp sides. A lot of ways to hurt someone. Merida tucked the phone under her ear. With both hands, she grasped the sword hilt and pulled.
She heard a click, a rattle and the sound of a chain dropping.
She whirled to face the door.
A blow to the right ear sent her sprawling.
