I’m not sure Jason feels the same way.
“I haven’t decided yet.” I chew on my lip. “Obviously, this isn’t the best timing. But… I’m curious. What if Liam is the way he is because…?”
Jason cocks his head to the side. “Because of what?”
“Because of me. Because he’s inherited it from me?”
He blinks a few times. “You’re not a murderer, Erika.”
“But my father is.”
My husband stares down at his hands for a moment. My stomach fills with butterflies as I try to figure out what he’s thinking. When I can’t stand it another second, he looks back up at me. “Liam didn’t kill that girl.”
“But what if he did?”
“No.” He squares his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Erika. But just because your father was a crazy murderer, it doesn’t mean Liam is too.”
But I can see in his eyes the shred of uncertainty. For the first time, he doesn’t look so sure that our son is innocent. He had no idea when he married me that I was the daughter of a convicted murderer. Apsychopath. Now that he knows what’s running through my blood and what I might have passed down, he’s finally starting to believe that our son isn’t the perfect child he thought him to be.
And it’s all my fault.
Chapter Forty-Five
OLIVIA
It’s night now. I know that because the slice of light has vanished, plunging me back into the worst kind of pitch blackness.
I have almost no food or drink left. One slice of bread. Some part of the last bottle of water. I’m so thirsty, I could drink my own pee. I never understood how people did that during those survival stories. But I totally get it now. I’m dizzy with hunger and thirst.
With the remaining strength I have left, I’ve been working on building up the mound using Phoebe’s bone. My little tower is about a foot high based on feel. Possibly high enough to reach the trap door.
I’ve got to give it a try. Before he comes back.
I step up on the mound with my right foot. I try to lift myself to the top, leaning against the side of the hole, but I accidentally put weight on my left ankle.
Oh myGod.
I howl and double over in pain. My left ankle feels worse every day. It’s definitely broken. It’s very swollen and warm, and I’m having trouble wiggling my toes. But then again, it’s just pain. People get shot and keep moving. I have to get past it. That’s my only chance of survival.
Think of happy things, Olivia.
My parents. My mom.
My room.
Madison.
I can only imagine what Madison must be thinking right now. She warned me. She warned me and I didn’t listen.
I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to see my family again.
I take a deep breath and get back up on the mound. My left ankle touches the ground and it’s agony, but I don’t allow myself to collapse again. I stand up straight, lifting a long bone in my hand over my head. It scrapes against the roof of my enclosure.
I did it! I can reach the top!
I bang on it with the bone, and I hear metal. The trap door is locked.
Of course.
