Page 97 of The Chain House

Jennifer sniffled over the phone. “A diversion … like you and Yellow did when we escaped from the ranch?”

He found himself choking up too. “Yeah, like that,” he said, eager to change the conversation. “Jennifer, look, I don’t know what Minks has planned, but we just found enough weapons and ammunition for an army to break into Fort Knox, and they just left here madder than hornets.”

But it was like she hadn’t heard that last part. She cleared her throat. “You never came back,” she said, crying now. “You came for Sam. You saved Sam from the closet, but you never came back for us. You promised.”

“I know I did.”

“I pissed my pants in that closet. I became a different person inside that closet.”

“I’m sorry …”

“You promised you’d come back to get the rest of us.”

“I know it and there hasn’t been a day gone by, ever since, that I haven’t thought about it, Jennifer. I tried, believe me, I—”

“The Raven … is a liar,” she said, interrupting him, and he could tell it took courage, like even though the words might have caused pain for both of them, they had to be said.

“I’m sorry … Jennifer, look, I gotta go, but we’ve got each other’s numbers, and we’ll figure this out. Okay?”

But she’d already ended the call.

CHAPTER49

“HELLO?” BETH CALLED out, her lips an inch from the hole in the wall, close enough to smell the metal from the chain connecting her to the woman in the neighboring room.

Through the hole, she saw the woman sitting on a piano bench at a desk in the middle of the room, typing on an old, clunky typewriter. To her left was a stack of blank pages. To her right appeared to be a manuscript, three inches tall, and growing, page by page. Was this the woman he’d called his wife, when he’d referred to himself as Mr. Darcy and her as Elizabeth Bennet? Her chestnut brown hair showed hints of gray and was so long it nearly brushed the hardwood floor behind her.

“Hello,” Beth called out again. “What’s your name?”

The woman continued typing, like she was in a zone, until she reached the end of the page, at which point she pulled the page out and stacked it atop the manuscript to her right.

“Don’t drink the wine,” the woman said without turning around. She loaded another page. “And my name is Elizabeth,” she said. “Elizabeth Bennet.”

No, it’s not, Beth wanted to tell her. He’s lying to you. He has you chained through a wall and he is not Mr. Darcy. But instead, she said, “What are you working on?”

“A book.”

No shit, Beth wanted to say, but at the same time thought, I know your voice. “What’s it about?”

“Oliver Crown,” she said without hesitation. “It will pick up where the first book left off. It’ll be Book Nine. It’s called Oliver Crown Reborn.”

Beth said, “Your name isn’t Elizabeth Bennet. You know that, don’t you?” When she didn’t answer and resumed typing, Beth said, louder, “How long have you been held captive here?”

The woman paused in her typing, as if to ponder the simple question. Although if she’d been here a long time, as in months or years, then maybe it wasn’t so simple. There was a hole in the far wall of the neighboring room, but no chain through it. But just that it was there meant someone had probably been in that room too. It appeared this woman was connected only to Beth. The woman had yet to resume typing since the last question. Her hands shook noticeably as they hovered over the keys.

When she finally spoke, her voice cracked, “I don’t even know anymore.”

“Can you turn around? So I can see you …”

The woman started typing again, maybe a line or two before stopping again. Her shoulders vibrated. She was crying. She said, “I know your voice. But it can’t be …”

Beth’s entire body began to hum like electric current ran through it instead of warm blood. Without explanation, her eyes welled with tears. “Please …”

The woman turned slowly on the bench, lifting the chain around her ankle so it didn’t snag—she was clearly used to having it on. When the woman faced Beth, she at first kept her head down like she was ashamed to show her face.

When she looked up, Beth lost it, first crying and then sobbing—it was Emily, her husband’s sister, abducted so many years ago.

CHAPTER50