The Girl in the Wall by Jacquelyn Mitchard, Daphne Benedis-Grab Page B

himself into a stupor. That’s the thing about Marc, he makes everything better.
    My chest tightens at the site of my goofy uncle as he is whisked by. I catch only a quick glimpse of his face and see how somber he looks, an expression that’s totally out of place for him, the eternal kid who is always smiling about something. I don’t think he is going to be able to make this better.
    A feeling is snaking its way around my stomach, through my chest. It brings with it the smell of Windex and lemon, the smell at the hotel in Mexico. As always I am powerless as it winds its way around my insides, paralyzing me.
    It’s not the memory of the guys breaking into my room that makes my throat tighten like a gloved hand is wrapping around it, squeezing. It’s not how they shouted, how one held me while another punched me again and again. And it’s not how they tied me up, put a bag over my head, and threw me on the floor like a sack of garbage.
    Yes, those things were awful. But they don’t touch the feeling that came with the force of a wave grabbing me and pulling me underwater so fast it crushed me: the feeling of pure and total helplessness. There are no words for that feeling, knowing that they could do anything to me, anything they wanted, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
I
was nothing, just a whimpering, pleading bundle of nothing. Thinking of my begging makes me want to heave. But remembering that helplessness makes me feel dead. Which was why I was slicing my arm. I wasn’t trying to kill myself, I was just trying to feel alive again.
    Knowing that John and now Marc are trapped in this, and knowing that Abby is going to be dropped off and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, is massing together into another wave about to engulf me.
    I struggle to my feet, my stomach heaving, and run back to my room, pausing just long enough to make sure it’s empty. I race in and make it to the bathroom just in time. I sink in front of the toilet and the contents of my stomach come rushing up, bile stinging my throat. I puke and puke and puke, every last drop in my stomach pumping out of me. I’m not even aware of the hand smoothing back my hair until I stop, spent and empty on the cool tile.
    “Are you okay?” It’s Milo.
    I can’t talk yet, my throat is too raw so I just nod.
    “I heard the noise in here,” he says. “But I don’t think anyone else did.”
    In a minute I’ll care about that and be thankful that it was him and not another agent who came to check things out in my room. In a minute my stomach will settle and my throat won’t be burning. And in a minute I will stand up and do something. I need to act, to stop thinking and move, to interfere with what is happening in my house.
    Because I will die before I’ll ever be that helpless again.

CHAPTER 9
Sera
    It was just a pat down. I mean, it was more thorough than you’d want but not a strip search or anything, and it was obviously a woman so it definitely wasn’t what it could have been. I feel relieved about this for about ten seconds, then start my phone panic again. But Hudson is still on the sofa so no one could have found it while I was gone.
    The agent leads me to my seat, then points to Hudson when we reach our sofa oasis. I watch for a second as they go, then as subtly as I can, slip my fingers between the seat cushions and nestle the phone back up my sleeve. It’s starting to feel like it’s part of my body. I try to brainstorm more code possibilities but I don’t try any of them out, not while there’s a room search coming and Hudson isn’t here to keep watch while I do it. It’s not like I come up with anything good anyway.
    Hudson is back about five minutes later and he grins as he gets closer. “The agent said we can eat something now.”
    That is the best news I’ve heard in a while.
    He gives me an inquiring look about the phone and I nod.
    “Let’s go,” he says, leading the way across the huge room. We both slow down