Page 88 of The Executioners Three
Fortunately, it took Freddie only twelve footsteps to forget about Theo. Twelve footsteps that carried her right up to Mrs. Ferris’s room… where her windpipe promptly closed off and her pulse thumped into her eardrums.
An irrational reaction, she knew. This wasn’t room 27, and it wasn’t Frank Carter waiting on the other side.
Still, it took Freddie three steeling breaths before she finally worked up the courage to touch the silver doorknob of room 34. Then another two breaths before she finally twisted it.
She shoved her way in, half-frantic, half-sluggish, until at last she was inside and the door was clunking shut behind her. Of course, Freddie realized a split second too late that maybe she should’ve knocked before coming in. Or maybe she should’ve found a nurse. Ormaybebrought some flowers or a “Get Well Soon” balloon. Something other than simply barging in.
But it was too late now; Freddie could already hear Mrs. Ferris shifting in her bed behind the blue privacy curtain. The lights were off. The plastic blinds were drawn.
“Rita?” came a feeble voice, at once familiar and at once foreign. Mrs.Ferris hadneversounded feeble before. “If you’ve brought me more donuts, I’m going to scream. I told you I wanted beef jerky.”
Okay, that sounded more like the Mrs. Ferris Freddie knew. And it gave her the final nudge of courage she needed to march to the curtain and poke her head through.
“Hi, Mrs. Ferris.” She tried for a smile. It fell flat.
“Freddie?” Mrs. Ferris blinked, startled. Then she snatched at a pair of glasses looped around her neck. Her blankets rustled.
She looked so frail, her skin makeup-free and her hair unstyled. The hospital gown only made it worse, revealing the sharp lines of her shoulders.
And for a moment, Freddie was completely thrown by it all—by how this vision clashed with her mental image of Mrs. Ferris. Which was why, for several long seconds, all Freddie could do was stare. Gone were the recited words she had prepared on her bike ride. Gone were the planned apologies or desperate pleadings for forgiveness.
This woman was her friend. She was also Sheriff Bowman’s mother and Theo’s grandmother. What had Freddiedoneto her?
But then, seemingly out of nowhere, Mrs. Ferris transformed. She sat taller. Her eyes flashed behind her thick glasses, and she even snapped her fingers. “Come,” she barked. “We don’t have much time.”
Freddie obeyed, too startled to do otherwise. “Time for what?”
Mrs. Ferris’s fingers lashed out. With shocking strength, she yanked Freddie to the bed. Her skin was papery this near. Her blue eyes bloodshot. “How did you know to visit me?”
“Uh,” Freddie began eloquently, but Mrs. Ferris wasn’t listening. She was already powering on.
“Doesn’t matter,” she continued. “Rita will be here momentarily, and she must not know about this. Do you understand?”
Freddie didn’t understand at all, actually. Sheriff Bowman was Mrs. Ferris’s daughter. Why couldn’t she know Freddie had come?
As soon as Freddie’s lips parted to ask this question, Mrs. Ferris continued: “Just listen to me, Freddie: it’s too dangerous. Don’t you see? Rita can’t… resist… Just like my Teddy couldn’t. Soyouhave to figure it all out.”
“Figure what out?”
“What I was tracking all these years.” The old woman’s urgency shiftedinto something pained. “It started with Rita’s brother and a bell no one else could hear.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying—”
“You know where my house is?” Mrs. Ferris interrupted. “There’s a key under the potted basil by the back door. I want you to go inside. Then go upstairs. At the end of the hall is a stairwell into the attic.” Each of Mrs. Ferris’s words was breathier than the last—although less from exertion and more from urgency. From panic, even. “All the way at the back of my attic, behind an old dollhouse, you’ll find a hidden room.”
Freddie’s eyes widened.
“That’s where you’ll find the answers you need. More than I can give you right now.” Mrs. Ferris flung her gaze to the door. “Lives depend on you, Freddie.”
Freddie rocked back. “I don’t understand, Mrs. Ferris. What are youtalkingabout? You can’t just say all this stuff and not explain.”
Another blue-eyed blink behind the glasses—but this time it was laced with doubt. She raked her gaze up. Then down. “You’re Frank Carter’s daughter. I know you can figure this out. I see it in you. No—don’t say anything, Freddie. You need togo. Rita will be here at any moment.”
Freddie didn’t want to go. Her mind was reeling, her gut was a block of lead encased in ice, and she had a million questions. Agalaxyof questions, bright and desperate. But now Mrs. Ferris was shoving at her. Pushing her away from the bed. “Key is under the basil pot. Now, hurry!”
Freddie didn’t hurry. Or even move. She just stood there, numbly gawping at the frenzied old lady before her. Because this was seriously more than her brain could work with right now. She had been accused of lying by the sheriff because all of her hard-won evidence had beenstolen. Then she’d found gravestones in the woods and Laina with a candle.
Now this too?Nowshe was expected to go into Mrs. Ferris’s house and find a secret room in the attic?
