Page 112 of Tattletale

That’s all I need. Alive is all it takes for me to get her to safety.

I pull my phone out of my jacket and dial. The service is spotty, and it takes too long to connect.But she’s breathing.That’s hope.

When Vesper finally answers, she starts, “Where are you, I’ve been—”

“I have her,” I croak out. “We need a doctor.”

“Cricket or Vienne? Where? What happened? Where’s Gabriel?”

It’s way too many questions for me to answer. “Spartacus,” I whimper. “Spartacus. Spartacus,” I say on repeat. I’m overcome with far too many feelings. My words are garbled.

“Lancelot, hush. It’s understood. Where are you?”

“The Dollhouse.”

“We’re coming.”

The call ends, and I drop the phone on the bed next to Cricket’s torso.

I lay my head against her chest once more, comforted by the soft thudding. I count the beats and focus on her breathing to calm my hysteria.

Buh-bump. One.

Buh-bump. Two.

Buh-bump. Three.

“You’re here,” she whispers. My heart stops, and I’m stunned into silence. I stare at her lips, wondering if I just imagined her speaking. But with her eyes still closed, she winces, like her throat hurts.

I glance around her cage, and if Gabriel weren’t already dying, I’d end him right now. She’s been locked up like an animal. Judging by how slight her arms look and her sunken-in cheeks, he didn’t give her food or water. He tortured her, recreating the trauma she already lived through once.

I stroke her cheeks with the pad of my thumb. “Of course, I’m here. I’m so sorry I’m late, but I’m here.” I reach around the back of her hair to cradle her head and feel an enormous lump at the base of her skull. “Oh no, baby,” I breathe out. This is why she can’t get out of bed. She’s alive…but “well” is a hill we haven’t made it over.

She parts her dry, cracked lips to try and speak, but nothing comes out.

“Shh, Cricket. Help is on the way. Our family is coming. It’s okay. I’ll stay right here with you. But could you do me a favor, C? Can you open your eyes for me?”

She doesn’t respond, but her throat jumps as she tries to swallow.

“I know you’re tired, but you can do it, baby.Please?Eyes open and on me.”

I’m about to give up and lay my head back on her chest until I see her closed lids flutter. They open just a quarter inch, then clamp shut. She tries again, and again, until finally, I’m staring into big, green emeralds.

I can feel my feet again. My heart begins to beat. My breath deepens. The world slowly fills with color again as Cricket’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“That’s my girl, C. You’re doing great. Eyes open and on me. I’m right here.”

THIRTY-TWO

LANCE

TWO WEEKS LATER

I’m in my office,staring at the headline on my monitor:

Billionaire Gabriel Lochland, brutally shot and killed in a gang robbery at his own nightclub.

I scroll through the article, absorbing the rest of the inaccuracies. They said he was shot in the head.Wrong.It was two bullets to the heart. They said that tragically, he died alone.Wrong again.He died in Vienne’s arms.

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