AND THEN WE WERE ON the 10 freeway, in a flow of headlights. Wet signs flashed above me, the white letters of exits. La Cienega. Swamp. The rain had stopped, but everything had a misty halo. I had feeling back in my feet and hands, and I was stretching them, clenching them quietly, but my torso still felt like a sack of mud. I was not sure I would be able to stand.

Layla must have sensed me waking because she cranked her neck and looked back at me.

“Why me?” My tongue was still thick, and the words slurred.

There was a buzzing sound in the front seat, and Layla picked up my phone, reading the tiny screen. “Oh,” she says. “Two people are looking for you. I’ll just tell them you called a cab home.”

She tried texting with her thumb, still driving, swerving.

I fought to keep my eyes open.

“I still don’t know why—”

“Sure you do,” said Layla. “You didn’t snoop around Nelson’s house for no reason.”

My phone buzzed again, but she ignored it.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said.

“Just shut up, gallerina. I tried to warn you. You should have quit on your first day.”

I worked my muscles, clenching, bending. My thighs, hips, and belly still felt leaden. I wouldn’t be able to fight her when the car stopped. I wasn’t even sure I could stand. But the effects couldn’t last forever—I’d only ingested a fraction of what she’d intended for me.

Layla drove faster, slamming the gas, then the brakes, as she wove through the busy lanes. The ocean was ahead of us, the open water. Even if I couldn’t see it, I could always sense the end of the land, the big blackness where the lights stopped and the long emptiness took over. Once we got off the 10, we would be at the Westing in minutes.

“How did you find me tonight?” I said.

“Nelson knew you worked at the Rocque. I took a chance and waited outside the museum until you left. You’re not hard to follow. You never look behind you.”

“Where’s Ray?” I asked.

“I can’t help him,” she said. “Shut up so I can drive, okay?”

23

“SO WE’RE GOING TO PLAY a game,” Layla said in my ear as she helped me from the car. We were parked in the back of the gallery, where the truck of shoes had pulled up days ago. “If you shout for help, I’ll stick this knife in your side. Right under the ribs. And then I’ll twist.” I felt the cool edge of a blade against my belly.