“Sure thing, sweetie,” he said.
She pulled out a laptop with some dailies, which she’d snuck into her bag before departing.
“I’ve got proof. These are the dailies from our production.”
Frowning, the sheriff handed the laptop to his junior and instructed the man to have a look.
“You famous or something?” he drawled.
“Ever heard of a reality show called The Groom?” she asked.
“I have,” he said. “You win it?”
“I intend to,” she said.
She waited in a holding cell for the sheriff and his junior to return. Though she insisted on going with them, they refused to let her into the forest service’s helicopter when it tornadoed into the field across the station. They assured her she “wasn’t in no trouble,” their words exactly, but as Sabrina grasped the bars and peered out at the varsity football captain in charge of watching over her, she doubted they were telling the truth.
The guy looked like the kind of generic cop who made jokes about Mondays. He reminded her of Tristan. She laughed. If only they knew what kind of man she belonged to. They wouldn’t force her to wait behind bars.
When the sheriff returned, he let her out and handed her the laptop.
“My friends?” she said.
“Ma’am, there ain’t no one out there at that manor,” he said. “And it’s overgrown to shit. Doesn’t look like anyone’s been out there for a dozen years.” He held up a photo on his phone, showing a rundown building squeezed half-to-death by trees.
“Then, they were murdered, too,” she said.
“There’s no evidence of murders,” he said.
“But… I…” The room spun around her. “I saw it.”
“Are you sure?” The man pressed his hand to her shoulder, forcing her to sit down on the cot at the room’s back wall. “I know a little something about these shows. They’re designed to make the contestants crazy. That’s why they cut off your connection with the outside world. They don’t let you exercise, or watch TV, or read. It’s to make you nuts, so you act nuts.”
Sabrina ran through what she’d seen: Brandon’s body; Tristan’s body; the three camera operators in the woods (though, she hadn’t seen them with her own eyes); and she’d found that trick wall. Maybe he was right.
“Here.” The sheriff opened the laptop in her lap and pressed play. “You’ll see.”
He was right. There was nothing on the dailies but drama. The files showed nothing of the weird shit she’d witnessed.
“We’re going to get you home,” he said. “We’ve already called your sister, and she’s so happy you’re safe and well.”
Back home, Sabrina tried to reconcile what she’d seen with the home she’d left. She sat in her first bath in weeks and stared at her hands as she tried to separate reality from the fantasy, but it left her head in a constant spin cycle until her sister stepped through the bathroom door.
“I locked that,” Sabrina said.
Morgan held up her pinkie. “Fingernail trick.”
“I want to be alone.”
Morgan sat on the toilet and scanned Sabrina’s naked body. “You need help.”
“I need space,” Sabrina said.
“Dad has to go in for another surgery,” she said. “I maxed out our credit cards while you were gone. So you didn’t win The Groom? Fine. We’ll get you on the next dating show. We’ll find some way to get ourselves invited to some rich parties and find a CEO.”
Morgan grabbed a pair of tweezers and knelt at the side of the tub. She plucked several hairs from Sabrina’s brows, washing them off into the water. Sabrina watched them float to the sides and stick to the bath.
“I loved Tristan,” she said.
“You didn’t,” Morgan said, plucking a hair from Sabrina’s chin. She pinched the skin. Sabrina yelped.
“I did!” she said, then caught herself and lowered her voice. “I don’t want someone else.”
“You have to,” Morgan said. “It’s what Mom gave you.” She moved down to Sabrina’s nipples, tweezing a dark hair around the areola.
Sabrina had always been self-conscious about the hair on her chest, but when she’d expressed that to Tristan, he’d kissed her there and grinned. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said. “I didn’t even notice.”
Bringing her hand down, she knocked the tweezers from Morgan’s hand. They plunked into the water.
“What the fuck?” Morgan said as Sabrina rose out of the bath.
“Tristan wouldn’t have faked his death,” she said. “He wanted me. He needed me.”
Morgan scowled. “Get back in there. You’re not clean yet.”
But Sabrina emerged from the tub, dripping onto the floor below. Water pooled out from her feet, and as she marched into the living room, naked as Lady Godiva, she left wet steps behind, like the footprints of a ghost.
In her mother’s bedroom, Sabrina pulled a giant pink bag out of the closet. As she unzipped it, white taffeta sprung free. The smell of old lace wafted into her as she dissected the dress bag and revealed her mother’s wedding gown. Carefully, she stepped into the graceful bulk, zipped it up as far as she could by herself, gathered her mother’s crystals, and left.
