Forty
“SO, HELEN, YOU’RE THE expert here. What happens next?”
Since Rose took our phones and I don’t have my watch, I don’t really know how much time has passed. My best guess is she left us about thirty minutes ago. Helen and I haven’t said a word since she left. I’ve been pacing around, finding myself increasingly disquieted by all the mirrors and their multiple views of Helen sitting on the bed.
For her part, Helen’s been contemplating her hands in her lap, as if staring at them will give her an answer to a question she’d rather not ask me.
“Well, Gladys probably already called the state troopers and the FBI,” Helen says. “They know where we are—maybe not right now, but they know we’re at The Belvedere. Hopefully, they’ll get here before Rose’s deadline is up.”
“And if they don't?
