He stepped in, watched the filth swirl around his shoe.

“I know this was you lashing out, testing me.”

He moved past the table, kicked a pair of empty Sprite bottles.

“But I have to teach you. This time, you will learn.”

He picked a paperback off her pillow, threw it behind him, then pulled back the sheet.

“In time, you’ll thank me.”

Caitlin lay in the fetal position, one hand tucked into her chest, her other under the pillow. He pulled her shoulder, set her flat on her back.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Thank you,” she said, then struck his head with something sharp and metal.

Chapter 82

CHAPTER

82

CAITLIN’S FIRST SWING broke the skin. The jagged corner of an anchor bolt cut Embower’s cheek, inches from the eye.

He reached for his head. She reached for his crotch, twisted three hundred and sixty degrees.

Embower fell toward her. Caitlin used the closing distance to attack again, this time bringing the edge of the metal disc down against the base of his skull. He collapsed onto her lap. She shoved him to the side and ran for the open door, hearing movement behind her.

“Caitlin, wait—”

The raised doorjamb snagged her left foot going into the hallway. The drain cover fell from her hand, but she caught herself on the wall and turned around. Embower staggered around the table, his face a mix of blood and blue toilet water. Caitlin slammed the door and turned the top deadbolt. Through the window, she saw him throw his body against the door as she flipped the second lock.

“Caitlin.” His face left a smear of blood against the glass. “If you don’t open this door, I will tear you in ways Troy Woods never imagined.”

Caitlin looked around, found a light switch panel with a timer next to a pipe with a valve. She turned the valve, twisted the timer, and ran down the hall to the door past the playroom. There was no window, but she turned the locks and opened the door.

A woman wearing pajamas, pink like Caitlin’s but with the word “Angel” across the front, stood three feet away, arms at her sides, bag over her head.

The bag tilted to one side. “What’s going on?”

“Angela Chapman, take that freaking bag off your head.”