Take Me Tomorrow

Chapter 24: I Was Dead

Pierson coughed loudly, gaining the attention of the guards around us. He nodded at them, and they mindlessly went back to work. Without hesitation, he repeated it out of the corner of his mouth, "Lie."

"About what?"

Pierson widened his eyes at me, opening his mouth, and then Anthony shouted from the doorway, "Bring her in."

Pierson gripped my shoulder until I winced before pushing me forward. I stumbled over my twisted ankle and held back a whimper. The burly man had apparently done more than twist it. I forced my mind to go elsewhere as I tripped over the front steps and entered the mansion. The tiles were pearl white, and they filled the entrance room. A secretary sat at the entrance, prim and proper, with her eyes focused on the computer as if she couldn't see them dragging a helpless teenager inside the walls of her work. I gaped at her, unsure how she could ignore me, and Pierson walked me to the nearest suede couch. "Sit."

When I did, I looked around. Just as the outside was beautiful, the inside was filled with riches. Golden frames held paintings, and silver bowls crammed with candies sat on the desks. On every cherry wood table, fresh sunflowers sat in glass vases. The room reeked of their sweet fragrance, reminding me of history class. We had learned about the sunflower and how it used to be Kansas's state flower before the United States was separated from an international economic collapse. Now that I knew we were actually in Missouri, I wondered what state flower we should've had.

I shivered.

Anthony spun around the entranceway as if it were his mansion we had entered. "Phelps likes to keep his house very cool for his flowers."

"I thought flowers liked heat."

"Not once they've been cut from their stems," he said, looming over me. "They're more vulnerable when they're by themselves."

I ignored his childish threat. I knew more than he did. I'd been here before, after all. In fact, Phelps let me play with the sunflowers before, and to the left, he had walked me down the hallway to see his paintings. The only one I could see clearly now was at the end of the hallway. A long, dark bridge, lit up by thousands of lights by a sea—or an ocean—or a river. I couldn't tell, but I had seen it before. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it—both because it was new and familiar. It was the bridge Lyn had tattooed across her collarbone. It was there, on Phelps' wall as a decoration, alive and breathtaking. In my childhood, he had hung up an arch of some kind. Now that it was gone, I wondered where it went. I wondered why this bridge had taken its place.

Pierson followed my gaze. "The Brooklyn Bridge."

I tore my gaze away from the painting. "What are you talking about?"

I didn't want him to know I was studying it, but Pierson looked back at me like he already knew. His lip twitched. Lie, Pierson's voice echoed.

I gulped before looking back at Anthony. "I'm here to talk," I began. "I thought that's what you brought me here for."

Anthony crossed his arms and leaned back. If he were anything like Noah, then I knew he was surprised. "You didn't want to talk earlier."

I shrugged. "I'm not dying for this."

A slow smile spread across his cheek as he sat down across from me. He was my height now. "What do you want to talk about?"

"What do you want to know?"

Anthony squared his shoulders. "We're going to wait for Phelps."