Page 65 of The Golden Hour

Wood creaks as I make my way down, keys tucked in my robe pocket. When I get to the bottom, I stare, struggling to absorb what I’m seeing.

“That’s weird, huh?” Lizzie whispers behind me.

That is a single chair bolted to the floor in the center of the room.

Cold skates over my neck. “We shouldn’t be here,” I say, turning and clasping Lizzie’s hand. “Let’s go.”

She pulls away, frowning. “No.” She walks closer to the chair, head swiveling left and right as she scans the room. Besides the chair, the space is bare save for a narrow table against a wall with a toolbox sitting on it.

Lizzie reaches the table just as I see the blinking red light poised near the ceiling.

“Lizzie, stop!”

She freezes and looks back. I point to the camera and watch comprehension sweep her expression. But just as swiftly it shifts to determination and she turns away.

“Please, Lizzie, let’s just go.”

She ignores me, opening the toolbox with a flick of her wrist. Something long and shiny emerges in her hand, and she turns to face me.

“You know, I’ve never understood the point of torture.” She holds up the scalpel. “How do you actually know if someone’s telling the truth or simply telling you what you want to hear? People will say anything to stop the pain.”

Ice crawls through my extremities, seeking my heart. “Just put it back,” I tell her with forced calm. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for this. We can ask.”

“Oh, I already know what it’s for. Don’t you?” She gestures to the chair. “It’s been neglected since you came back. Poor guy, he must be lonely.”

Blood rushes in my ears, drowning all thoughts. I watch, mute and rooted to the spot, as Lizzie saunters to the chair and runs the scalpel gently across the back. When her eyes flicker up to mine, there’s nothing in them I recognize of my little sister.

“Uncle Enzo is my teacher. He’s a true master. He always knows just what to do to get them to tell the truth.”

Horror darkens my vision. Swaying on my feet, I rasp, “How long has this been going on?”

“I think what you’re really asking me, Calli, is when was the first time. Right?”

My throat closed, I nod.

“You remember David, don’t you?”

My knees buckle, slamming against the concrete floor. But I don’t feel any pain. Just freezing darkness spilling into my world, leeching light from my heart.

David Willis was my first boyfriend. He might have been my first love, but he died before I could find out. A freak mugging. No one knew why a high school athlete was in that part of downtown in the middle of the night, but the cops dismissed it as gang violence and a stupid kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.

My family’s specialty.

Lizzie was only fourteen at the time.

“Why?” I gasp.

She shrugs, regarding me impassively. “Why not? Mom and Dad didn’t like him. He wasn’t good enough for you. So I called him pretending to be you, crying about how I was lost in a bad part of town.”

Bile rises in my throat. She’s sick. She needs help.

“And Vivian? Did she know?”

“She found out later, but by then she’d already realized what an asset I was.” She grins, but just as swiftly the smile falls. “Imagine how proud Dad is of me. I only wish I had a chance to tell him before he died, but Mom wanted me to wait.”

I make my way to standing, pins and needles searing the soles of my feet. “I know he’s proud of you,” I tell her. “You have a gift.”

She snorts. “Don’t patronize me, sis. I get enough of that from Ellie.”

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