Chapter 27

Trigger warning: This part contains explicit descriptions of murder, rape and/or torture, which may be disturbing or triggering for some readers.

“I‘m going to kill her!“ I growled. Scarlett may have thought that threatening me would distract me from my ultimate goal, but she had no idea who she was dealing with.

Like I was going to be rattled by a kid. I’d clawed my way to the top, and I wouldn’t hesitate to start sharpening my nails again if it meant staying there.

“You have to admit, the girl’s got guts,” Zhara said as he brushed a coat of clear polish across his hands and feet.

I paced around my bedroom, the anger rising inside of me with each step. Since meeting with Agent Walker, I’d had plenty of time to think about his theory that the note had been left by someone other than Kyle. And though I hadn’t believed him at first, I was beginning to think he was right.

The note hadn’t been left by Kyle at all. It was from Scarlett.

“This is not the time for her to be playing childish games,” I said, flexing my fists over and over again.

“What do you expect? She is a child, Em,” Zhara said, far less worked up than I was.

And logically I knew he was right. Scarlett was just a kid and I should’ve been mature enough to let this go. But I already had so much on my plate, and I was tired and stressed, and I just wanted things to stop sucking for once…

So I reacted the way any teenager would: irrationally.

“I’m gonna kill her,” I fumed.

“Now, now, murder’s not the answer,” Zhara said, unperturbed.

“But confronting her is,” I said, suddenly. “And I’m ending this now.”

Then, without skipping a beat, I stalked over to my door and flung it open, leaving Zhara calling out behind me.

“But my nails are wet!” he yelled, sounding annoyed.

Detective Brady stood up as I stomped through the living room, barely slowing down. “I’m going next door,” I told him bluntly. I didn’t care whether he followed me or not. But if he did, it would probably be better for Scarlett.

I am not going to let a sixteen-year-old get to me. I don’t care if she does have some sob-story. It’s time Scarlett learned a lesson. One that included respecting her elders. Even if her elder is only a year older. But this is my studio and Giselle is my part. I’m not losing anything else…

My inner monologue continued as I walked up to her apartment door. Day was turning to evening and the light outside was beginning to dim. As I banged loudly on Scarlett’s door, I noticed that most of the lights were off inside. I briefly wondered if she was gone, but was too worked up to let it stop me.

I turned the knob and pushed my way into the entrance of her apartment. At first glance, it seemed like the place was empty. It was dark inside and I had to wait a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the low lighting, but eventually I could make out the living room off to the right.

I’d never been in Scarlett’s place before, but I wasn’t entirely surprised by how it was decorated. From where I stood, I could see her white couch, the plushy pink pillows covering almost every inch of surface space. The walls were adorned with life-size decals of dancers in various poses and the words, “Keep Calm and Dance On” were splashed between them. Besides that, there were large framed pictures of Scarlett everywhere. Black and white glamour shots. A younger version of Scarlett dancing in performances. School pictures. Even what looked like professional modeling photos were displayed around the room. There were no family pics, I noted.

The place was actually pretty clean for a teenage girl who had very little supervision. Then again, I’d been a little OCD about my space when I was younger, too. I’d always felt like a cluttered room made for a cluttered life. Looks like Scarlett might have felt the same way.

“Scarlett!” I called out. “We need to talk!”

I headed deeper into the apartment, expecting to see her appear any second, her signature scowl on her pretty face and her hands on her hips. But the living room and the kitchen were both empty, save for a container of cupcakes that had been left out on the counter.

I made my way down the hallway to where I knew Scarlett’s bedroom was. The layouts of all our apartments were similar, and hers seemed to be the reverse of mine. So, I knew that the door I’d just passed was the bathroom, and at the end of the hallway there’d be a closet off to the right and a bedroom directly across from it.

As I got closer, I could hear music coming from her room. It was playing quietly. So quietly I hadn’t even heard it from the front of the house. But now that I was right outside her room, I could tell the piece was from the ballet Sleeping Beauty. I knew the notes well, because it was another of my favorites.

By this point, my anger had already begun to dissipate, and I was surprised to find that I wasn’t all that pissed anymore. Something about seeing Scarlett’s place had reminded me just how young and naïve she was. She was only doing what kids did. What I’d almost done: lash out because of circumstances she couldn’t control.

And that was something I could kind of understand.

I took a deep breath and began to walk away, but stopped when I heard the music end and then start over again. From the beginning.

It was on repeat.

I have no idea what it was about this that made me pause, but suddenly I had the feeling that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t even late and Scarlett was at home, by herself. She always had people around. She was a social butterfly. So what was she doing here alone?

Though my heart had begun to pound, I reached for the door handle and twisted it until it opened.

The room inside was dark, the curtains drawn to block out the light completely. I could barely see more than a few feet in front of me, and hesitated to search for the light switch. What if Scarlett was actually asleep and I woke her? What if she was in here with someone else and I was interrupting? What if she was with Preston?

But my gut told me it wasn’t any of these, and it didn’t feel right to leave without knowing she was okay. So I fumbled around for the switch and flipped it on, expecting an explosion of light to flood the room, but nothing happened.

I could just run. Leave and tell Detective Brady to check in on Scarlett. Nobody would fault me for that. In fact, it was probably what Agent Walker would want me to do.

But it was Scarlett and she was a dancer like me. We were in the same company together. And despite our differences, I couldn’t just leave her…

I felt my way forward until I reached the curtains and threw them open to let in the setting light. Turning around slowly, I saw the younger girl’s room for the first time. My gaze fell immediately to the bed, which I noticed with relief was empty and made, perfect pink frills extending the length of the comforter. It matched the rest of the apartment perfectly and I could picture Scarlett lying there at night dreaming of taking over the ballet world.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move, and jerked my head around wildly, only to see my own reflection staring back at me in. Scarlett had installed a mirror and barre in her room, just like the rest of us. It was kind of a necessity if you wanted to practice outside of the studio.

But then I noticed something else. Something I hadn’t expected.

I let out a little yelp, as my eyes adjusted to what I was seeing. There appeared to be a life-size doll, standing on pointe at the barre. Clad in tights and a leotard, the doll’s legs extended down to the floor, just grazing the wood below. Its arms were resting back on the wooden handrail, as if holding itself up, and the doll’s head tipped forward, its hair covering its face.

It was the creepiest thing I’d ever seen and I wondered how she managed to get any sleep with it standing there like that. Then again, this was Scarlett we were talking about, so the fact that she’d had a doll created in her image wasn’t too surprising.

I took a step forward to get a better look. It was incredibly life-like. The doll’s hair was long and blond, with a silky wave that fell down past her shoulders. The toe shoes looked real, too, but when I nudged them, they didn’t move.

What the…

I took another step toward the doll and reached out to touch its hair, expecting it to feel stringy like a Halloween wig.

It didn’t.

I began to feel sick with fear, but forced myself to pull the doll’s hair away from its face. It couldn’t be…

When I saw what was underneath, I screamed and jumped backward, falling onto the floor. From this angle I could see everything.

Dark, bloody sockets where her eyes had once been, staring blankly as her body appeared to dance above me. Trails of red tears ran down porcelain skin, staining the strands of hair touching it a rusty brown color. Her mouth was wide open, like she’d died mid-scream, too horrified by what was happening to close it.

I began to notice all the things I hadn’t before. The way she’d been strung up and secured to the barre so that her body would remain in place. The drips of blood at her feet. The tiny dark spots littered around her chest and stomach where she’d been punctured.

I began to sob and scooted myself backward out of the room.

Scarlett.

She was dead. Because of me. Because I’d pissed him off.

Kyle had killed her. And if he could get to Scarlett, he’d get to me, too.

I continued to retreat, my cries turning into screams, until suddenly my back hit something hard and solid. Before I could turn to see what it was, two strong arms were picking me up and dragging me away.