Amy tucks her hair behind her ear, takes a bite of her sandwich, then says, “My dad used to say I was being stupid. I said it was super weird that you’d lock someone in their bedroom. That’s what it looks like, right? But my parents didn’t think it was a big deal.”

She stares at me until I look away and asks, “How old is your stepsister?”

“She’s seventeen. She goes to St. Gregory’s.”

Amy’s face changes. When I mentioned the locks, she was calm, but talking about her old school does something strange to her features. She looks like she did the day we met, when she wouldn’t meet my eye and her mother failed to ease the awkwardness.

I want to ask what happened there. Suddenly that feels like the bigger mystery. Whoever drilled holes into the outside of our doors, it looks like they’re long gone. But Amy’s time at St. Gregory’s did something that causes tremors whenever you mention it.

“What room are you in?” she asks, and, when I tell her, she sad-smiles and says, “That was mine.”

I had hoped it was. Somehow, I knew it was. But I don’t ask which room is hers, now. I don’t want her to know how closely I’ve watched her new house.

I was looking to see if she needed saving, but I think she’s already escaped—not from a house with locks on the doors, but from a school and its own horrors.

20

The holes don’t look scary anymore.

I can see how easy they are to ignore and, maybe, in time, I’ll stop noticing them. This house might have a horrible history, but it’s further back than I thought, and I don’t know who lived here before Amy. I could ask her. But, even if she knew, what would I do?

Instead, I lie on my bed, thinking about Amy and wondering if this is what a happy ending feels like.

I never thought I’d think like this. Dreams are dangerous if you let them creep too close, because reality has a habit of getting in the way. But I can’t help imagining what it would be like to let Amy in. I could tell her my secrets. I could tell her about the houses we walked into but ran out of.

Leaving Gary was the easiest, but only after Mum realized he was truly dangerous. The one before was so much harder—the closest we’ve come to a prison. Before Gary, there was Martin—the man who didn’t need locks on the outside of our doors.

Our life with him was one big lock.

21

I don’t know how Mum met Martin. All I know is we moved in with him in a heartbeat, and it was millions more before we left.