His feverish eyes meet mine. “It’s everything. Being acknowledged. That’s what matters, Molly. That’s all that matters. That’s why I couldn’t understand you. Why would you try to hide from the world? You were somebody. At least for a little while. If I were you, I would’ve written a book, a big shiny hardcover. Gone on talk shows. Made lots of money.”

“You won’t make any money, Cal. It’s against the law.”

Aggravation flits across his face. “I know that,” he snaps. “For me, it’s not about the money.”

His phone chimes, a melodious aberration in this decaying cellar, and that throws him off-kilter. He pulls his phone from his pocket and peeks at it like a kid trying to hide from a teacher. The name that has popped up sends a cloud across his face, something vaguely akin to remorse.

“I’ve got to take this,” Cal says, as though we’re two people in the midst of a business meeting, and he heads for the ladder, pausing on the first step. “I won’t be long, Melinda.” His gaze flickers up to the high window, where snow continues to whirl. “Then we’ll end this.” He pulls the gun from his waistband, stares at it a moment, then tucks it in his jacket pocket.

I hear floorboards creaking, and I picture Cal pacing. That’s what it sounds like, around and around, right over my head. He’s talking in a loud voice, but I can’t make out the words. Then he laughs, a deep throaty chuckle that sends shivers down my back. Who could he be talking to? And I’m amazed at his dexterity, swinging from multiple murderer to nice guy like the opening and shutting of a door. But then, he’d fooled us for years, until Jay.

I take a deep breath and reach behind my back to the cement wall. I’ve got to be ready. He’ll kill me when his call ends. My frozen fingers run along the chain and the loose pipe fitting. I work my fingers until I stir up some warmth, enough to do what I have to do when the moment comes. I’ll fight him. I’m not a helpless child anymore. I’m not six-year-old Melinda crying in a dark cellar, soaked in my own urine.

I sigh, clear my throat, and think about Jay, try to capture that feeling of being together to keep forever. For the five years he was part of my life, I felt totally loved and protected. If I survive this, what will my new life be like? Jay would want me to be happy, to fight for that happiness. I wipe a tear from my cheek as memories of Jay flood my mind. His laugh, his arms around me, my hand in his as we walked the streets of Paris.