Page 97 of Beneath Her Skin

And although I don’t want to admit to it her, or to myself, really, I think seeing him dead will stop it.

I don’t have to do much to prepare. Judith takes care of everything, and I watch her like I might learn something. She scrubs the carpets free of my blood and goes out to the bomb shelter one sunny afternoon for an hour. When she comes back, she sits at a writing desk in one of the house’s manybedrooms and writes notes that she doesn’t share with me. She has groceries delivered, and inside one of the bags are two silver padlocks, one of which she loops through the bomb shelter door.

I don’t sleep on Friday night. I lay in bed, listening to Judith’s rhythmic breathing, and stare up at the shadows on the ceiling. I was in that bomb shelter for three days, and I’ve been in the house with Judith for six. She’s crazy too, the way she talks about killing people like it’s nothing, but I feel safe with her. I like sleeping in the bed beside her, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed the graceful way she moves when she’s getting ready in the morning, curling and teasing out her hair and putting on her makeup—something I haven’t bothered with, even though she offered to share.

I’m going to miss her, I think, when this is all over. Assuming I’m still alive at the end of it. But I think I will be. Because Judith promised, and I trust her for some probably stupid reason.

Saturday morning is bright and sunny and very, very cold. All the snow from the snowstorm that stranded me here is still piled up in glittering white drifts in the yard and among the trees of the surrounding forest. Judith and I trudge through it together, side by side. At least this time I’m all bundled up and wearing some of her old snow boots.

The bomb shelter sticks out of the snow like a tombstone.

“If you leave me down there—” I say, the words turning to steam in the cold air. I don’t finish what I’m going to say, though, because what will I do? Suffer at the hands of her husband?

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” Judith says for the millionth time. “He’ll be home in a few hours. You’ll just be waiting, like we talked about.”

Judith drags the door open and immediately I’m slammed with the choking, musty scent of my torture. I gag, stumbling backward into the snow. Judith catches me by the arm and leans close.

“Just a few hours,” she murmurs. “You won’t be chained up. You’ll have a weapon.”

I close my eyes, breathing in deep.

“And I’ll be there,” she whispers, her voice fierce. “I promise.”

I look over at her to find her green eyes boring into mine. Something heats in my core.

I nod.

We go down the stairs. It takes me a long time, because with every step images flash through my head of all the things he did to me. Things I hadn’t thought about since Judith brought me into the house. Things I’d willed myself to forget until I was in this place again, with its coppery, musty scent. And suddenly, I remember all of it.

But Judith doesn’t push me.

When I finally make it to the landing, I lean against the wall, taking deep breaths. Judith breezes past me and studies the wall of weapons, one hand on her hip. She doesn’t do it the way he did, where he would make a show of what he was going to select. She looks like she’s shopping for groceries.

After a minute, she picks up a small, shiny blade from the little tray. I think it’s a scalpel.

“You can hide this easily enough,” she says, pressing it into my hands—her own hands are warm. Reassuring. “Aim for his throat, his eyes if you can. Don’t worry about killing him, but you need to get him distracted so you can run if necessary.”

I curl my fingers around the knife, power surging into my palm. I nod.

Judith smiles, although her eyes are dark with what I think might be concern. “Are you ready?”

I look over at the cell where he trapped me, the door still hanging open from when Judith set me free, although thebroken padlock is gone, replaced by one of the new ones Judith bought.

I swallow against my fear. “You’re not going to leave me down here,” I whisper.

It’s not a question, but Judith still says, “Absolutely not, Gloria.”

The way she says my name—no man’s ever said my name like that before, I can tell you that much.

It’s easier than I expect to get situated, maybe because of the little silver blade. It reminds me that this situation is not the situation I was in six days ago.

I strip out of my coat and borrowed clothes and put the disgusting nightgown back on, which Judith apparently saved—I guess for this reason. She helps me loop the chains around my wrists and ankles, although we leave them unlocked, and when I practice, I’m able to jump out of them easily.

Judith nods in satisfaction. “Remember to move fast,” she says. “He’s going to notice you look healthier.”

“But you’ll be here, right?”

“Absolutely.” Judith smiles radiantly at me. The angel in the kitchen, I think, and me the whore in the bomb shelter.

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