“Elsa?” Peter sounded both incredulous and horrified at once. “To what do my wife and I owe the pleasure of you dropping by?”
“Elsa brought us a blueberry pie,” Agnes shot back, sounding sharp-edged and fearful. “Her daughter is somewhere around here, too. Mallory?”
“Mallory? Are you still in the bathroom?” Elsa called, her voice strained.
Mallory’s heart thudded. She could practically feel them around the corner from the big statue of the gorilla, honing in on her. It wouldn’t take long before they discovered where she was. Then, what would Peter do with them? He’d already stolen thousands and thousands of dollars worth of their precious possessions. He wouldn’t just shrug and say, “Oops, here’s your stuff back.” In fact, the only reasonable conclusion Mallory could come up with was:He’s going to hurt us.
After another Grand Canyon of a pause, Peter’s voice wailed out from the crack in the basement door. Mallory’s legs gave out beneath her, and she fell against the stuffy couch.
“Mallory! Come on out now. You know better than to go places you don’t belong.”
Mallory’s eyes widened with shock. Suddenly, there came the first creak of the first step as Peter began his descent. She was a child, waiting for punishment. There was no getting out of it.
“She’s in the bathroom, Peter,” Elsa tried, somewhere behind him.
“Well then, who left all the lights on down here?” Peter demanded.
“I’m sure she just got lost,” Elsa offered.
“Lost? In the basement?” Peter guffawed like a villain.
“Peter!” Elsa cried out as Peter stepped down several more steps. It was clear now. He was hunting Mallory like prey.
Suddenly, from upstairs came another wild screech of the front door. Mallory’s heart pounded.Was this one of Peter’s cronies coming to destroy her?Had he already called for backup? She grabbed her phone to try to dial 9-1-1. Down in the basement, however, her service was limited. The call broke after only half of a ring.
“Excuse me? Hello?” Another voice rang through the house, confident and masculine and hero-like. “Elsa, are you here?”
Peter stopped short at the top of the staircase, clearly at a loss. “Who is that? Agnes, why did you invite so many guests over?”
“I didn’t!” Agnes cried.
“Bruce? Is that you?” Elsa’s shock shivered through the house.
“That’s right.” Bruce remained steady at the front of the house, holding court.
“Oh, Peter. I’d love for you to meet my boyfriend,” Elsa coaxed.
Peter groaned inwardly. Next came the creak of the steps as he tugged himself back to the first floor. “Bruce Holland, I presume? I remember you from your island days. There’s been gossip about the two of you buying property together. I’d been looking at that stretch of property myself. Always hungry for another location here on the island, you know. Ah, but in the end, we decided to focus on our beautiful space here.”
Peter’s hubris hadn’t allowed him to let Bruce go. He had to rub his life in Bruce’s face. And with that time, Mallory ran up the staircase, surging past the gorilla before she ultimately bolted herself back into the bathroom.
The reflection she saw in the bathroom mirror hardly looked like herself. All the color had drained from her cheeks, and a smattering of basement dust hung heavy on her curls. She scrubbed at her hands, petrified yet so grateful for the powerful weight of Bruce’s voice in the hallway.
Go out there. Pretend like nothing happened. Pretend like you didn’t see anything.
Calm your eyes. You look like a freaked-out child.
Mallory opened the door and flashed a smile at Elsa, who stood with Agnes far down, where the hallway met the foyer. Bruce and Peter stood at the door, swapping tales of real estate and hopes for future architecture prowess. Elsa’s smile waned as Mallory approached.
“Honey, you don’t look so good,” Elsa said, lacing an arm over Mallory’s shoulder.
Mallory tried her darnedest not to catch Peter’s eye. “I think I need to go home.” She stared at the blue sky over the top of Bruce’s head, petrified that she would give herself away.
“What were you doing in the basement?” Peter asked, his voice bouncing as though this was all a great big game.
“I wasn’t in the basement,” Mallory shot back. “I just went to the bathroom.”
“Hm.” Peter stepped between her and Bruce, cutting through her path to the door. His nostrils flared, and he subtly sniffed her— probably sensing the years and years of basement dust in her hair.