Page 68 of Guess Again
For the first time in days, Francis allowed himself to smile.
CHAPTER 65
Nekoosa, Wisconsin Monday, August 4, 2025
HER PHONE BUZZED WITH THE SONG SHE HAD SET TO WAKE HER—“Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” by Elton John.
Her eyes did not flutter open. They did not squint to fight off the morning light. Instead, her eyelids bolted upward, wide and alert, her veins filled with adrenaline. It was as if she had slept for twelve hours rather than four. She jumped from bed and felt the freedom of leaving it all behind. The impulse to make the bed was replaced by the notion that after today she would never be back inside this house. Abandoning the messy sheets left her feeling giddy and reckless.
She turned on the home’s entertainment system, which had speakers in every room, and set “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” on repeat. She turned up the volume as Elton John crooned through the speakers of the home, loud enough to drown out the whispers of doubt and regret she knew would begin echoing from the dark corners of her mind, but not so loud to alert the neighbors.
She hurried to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She had removed the brown-colored contacts the night before, bringing her irises back to their natural blue tone. The color remover waited on the vanity. She mixed it with baking soda until the bowl was filled with a thick, bubbling paste that she massaged into her jet-black hair. The lather foamed and stung her scalp, but she continued until the mixture began to froth with the black dye in her hair. She climbed into the shower and put her head under the spigot, watching a stream of black water run over her flat stomach and down her legs until it spiraled into the drain. She repeated the process three times until the jet blackness of her hair was gone and the natural blond reappeared.
Back at the mirror, she unwrapped the blond hair coloring and followed the instructions. She knew the process of returning her hair to bright yellow blond would take an hour. She set the foil highlight tags in her hair as close to the roots as possible. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be better than the jet-black coloring she had endured for the past month.
In the bedroom, she pulled an old T-shirt over her head but didn’t bother with pants or underwear, opting to complete the final task Francis had asked of her wearing as little as possible, for fear of staining her clothes with blood. She walked down to the kitchen and checked the microwave clock. She was on a tight schedule this morning, and that was a good thing. Too much time would allow her to contemplate what she was about to do. Too much time would allow her mind to wander and permit her thoughts to work against her. Too much time and she may back out of this whole thing and run. But she had no time to think or contemplate or change her mind. If she wanted a life with Francis, she needed to move, move, move.
She grabbed the canvas duffle bag that she’d packed the previous night and carried it to the garage, where she deposited it in the front seat of the Ford Focus. She grabbed the knife from the bag and walked back inside. She paced the kitchen for a few minutes as Elton John continued to drown out her worries. When the clock reached 8:45 a.m., she knew she could wait no longer.
She walked to the basement door and thundered down the steps. She peeked into the room to make sure the woman was still shackled to the bed. Even better, she was sleeping. The fast food had satiated her into a slumber, and the sedatives stuffed into the burger had kept her there. She unfolded the Victorinox Swiss Army knife she had purchased at the tactical store, opened the door, and hurried to the bed. In a quick slicing motion she drew the knife across the woman’s neck, ignoring the reverberations that vibrated the handle as the knife sunk through cartilage and bone. The woman’s eyes opened briefly as a mist of blood sprayed from the wound. She dropped the knife onto the ground and raced out of the room, slamming the door shut on the way out and, hopefully, leaving all the memories of that moment behind.
She raced up the steps, through the kitchen, and climbed the stairs to the second floor. When she reached the bathroom and looked in the mirror she was shocked to see that her white T-shirt was spattered with blood, and that her face, too, carried red freckles from the woman’s last breath.
She stripped out of the T-shirt, pulled the foil from her hair, and stopped for a moment to admire herself. To her eyes, the blood covering her face disappeared, and all she saw was her new self. The blond woman who Francis Bernard loved, with the python tattoo that slithered around her thigh, and the black heart on the right side of her ribcage. She turned from the mirror and climbed into the shower, lathering her face and hair for several minutes. She toweled dry, dressed, and exited the home.
As she pulled away in the Ford Focus, Elton John echoed from inside the home.
When are you gonna come down? When are you going to land?
CHAPTER 66
Boscobel, Wisconsin Monday, August 4, 2025
THE ELECTRONIC LOCKING MECHANISM OF THE DOOR HISSED AS ITdisengaged. A prison guard pushed the door open, and Ethan walked into the staging area. As he passed through the threshold, he saw Francis Bernard in a red, padded transport suit. The suit was so restrictive that Francis’s hands were shackled together with a long length of chain because his arms could not come together.
On his head was a round, red helmet that had no openings other than a horizontal slot at eye level. Ethan walked until he stood in front of his father’s killer. Although he could not see the man’s face, the wrinkles at the corners of Francis’s eyes told Ethan that he was smiling.
“You got what you wanted, Francis. But the transfer is not yours yet. The governor can still pull the plug on this whole thing if you don’t give us the information you promised.”
“Ethan, do you think I’d be so stupid as to offer something I couldn’t deliver?”
“Tell me where Portia Vail is being held.”
“Everything you need to know can be found in the Little Free Library located on the north end of Veteran’s Park in Milwaukee. There’s an envelope there, Ethan. It’s taped to the top of the library.”
“You tell me here and now, or this transfer doesn’t happen.”
“If the transfer van doesn’t leave this morning, the girl will die. That’s how this works, Ethan. I can’t change it now.”
“Who’s helping you, Francis?”
“Hurry, Ethan. The girl won’t make it much longer.”
Ethan stared through the slot a moment longer before he turned and ran.
CHAPTER 67
Boscobel, Wisconsin Monday, August 4, 2025
