Page 60 of The White Octopus Hotel
“My sister,” Eve replied. “Her name was Bella….”
But was it, really? For the first time, it occurred to Eve that her sister’s given name might actually have been something else, even if they had all called her Bella. Perhaps her mother had reconsidered that crossed-out name on the napkin. It wasn’t as if Eve had ever seen Bella’s birth certificate or any formal documents.
Max looked puzzled. “And?”
Eve shook her head. She was surely creating connections where there weren’t any. And yet. Anna had those same cheek dimples. She even had a rabbit. And Jane’s words from the night of the Sunset Room party rang in her ears.
You look so alike….
“Do you think that guest was telling the truth about Anna?” she asked. “That she told him to say those things?”
“Yes, I believe him,” Max replied. “When he came in here the other day talking about that octopus in the walls and the mirror, it was too casual. He wasn’t scared—not like he was just then. He was reciting lines.”
“But why would Anna tell him to say something like that?”
“I don’t know. The magic might be real, but some of this is still a performance, a setup. And if we don’t know what game we’re playing, then we’re not going to be able to win.”
“I am going to win,” Eve said. “I’ve got to.”
“You told me once that we have to make peace with the past and you were right.”
Eve looked down at the broken mirror. Every shard reflected back a rabbit. She saw a long ear in one, a bright eye in another.
“The past refuses to make peace with me,” she said.
Behind them, the telephone began to ring, loud and shrill and insistent. Eve shuddered, wondering if the call was for her or for Max, but the next second there was a thud as something hit the floorboards and rolled, coming to rest beside her shoe—a single perfect red apple.
Thud.
Thud, thud.
Thud, thud, thud.
Several more apples rolled across the floor towards them.
“Where are they coming from?” Max exclaimed.
“The painting.”
Eve forced herself to look at the Bouguereau artwork over the fireplace—the little girl with the apples in her hands. The apples were supposed to be green. Theyhadbeen green before. But now they were a vibrant, fairy-tale, poisonous red. As Eve watched, one of the painted apples in the girl’s hands swelled and morphed into something real that dropped right out of the canvas to roll across the floor and join the others. They were coming out with alarming speed now, dozens and dozens of them.
“Let’s go.”
Eve couldn’t bear the sweet, cherubic expression on the painted girl’s face as she gazed from the painting. She had the sudden notion that if she kept looking at her, then the girl might become real too, climb right out of the canvas and try to hold her hand. The thought made her sick. She could feel those painted eyes on her as she strode from the room. Max followed and Eve slammed the door closed, leaning her back against it the moment they were out in the corridor.
“What was that?” Max demanded.
“How should I know?”
“You’re white.” He took a step closer. “Why do apples scare you more than being dragged through the walls by an octopus?”
Eve took a breath, tried to steady herself. “The apples are…they’re one of the ways my sister haunts me. Apples and rabbits.”
“Your sister?”
“I killed her.” The words tumbled out. “It was my fourth birthday and I wanted to see the balloons my mum had tied to the gate. I didn’t close it behind me, and Bella got out and was killed by a car. She wasn’t even two yet.”
Her sentence ended in a bit of a choke. It still shocked her, even now, hearing it said out loud.Howcould such a thing have happened? It was so wrong, so grotesque, that itmustbe undone, no matter the cost. She felt the thud of several more apples rolling into the door and cringed. Within the room, the telephone continued to ring and ring and ring.
