Chapter 3

I don't know how long I'd been lying there when the faint trickle of air inside the box stopped completely.

I heard soft footsteps outside.

Then the last breathing gap was taped over and sealed.

The temperature climbed. Every breath felt like a knife cutting through my throat, and my head grew heavy and foggy.

Somewhere in the haze, ten lifetimes of memory came flooding back.

I'd desperately cried for help in fires, in the deep sea, and beneath rubble.

Not once had a single person stopped for me.

So this time, even as I felt myself suffocating, I didn't move so much as a fingertip. I didn't make a sound.

I just lay there and waited for it to arrive.

This ridiculous eleventh life, I thought, is finally over.

Then I woke up again.

No underworld. Just the sting of antiseptic.

Dad stood at the side of the hospital bed, gray-faced, jabbing a finger at me.

"Claire! Have you lost your mind?

"An ambulance drove onto our property. Do you have any idea how the neighbors are looking at us?

"You won't be satisfied until somebody dies and the whole city knows the Ashfords abuse their own daughter, is that it?"

I stared at the ceiling.

Ryan stood with his arms crossed, looking at me the way you'd look at something crawling out of a drain.

"Dad, I told you she did it on purpose.

"Who gets locked in a box for a day and a night and never knocks on the lid once? Never shouts for help once?

"She timed it. She played dead and used her own life as a shakedown, just to make us feel sick about it."

Right on cue, Tessa caught Ryan's sleeve, eyes rimmed red, tears dropping one after another.

"Ryan, don't be angry with her. It's my fault. I should have gone to check on her sooner."

She sniffled, looking deeply aggrieved.

"But she'd rather smother herself in there than knock for help and admit defeat to us.

"She must hate me so much that this is how she gets back at this family."

"She wouldn't dare," Ryan snapped. "She's the one who walks around like a corpse and makes herself unbearable. What right does she have to blame you?"

Mom sat on the edge of the bed, looking at how pale I was, and let out a helpless sigh.

She reached over and tucked the blanket in around me. Her hands were gentle. Every word out of her mouth had a hook in it.

"Claire, sweetheart, you overthink everything and you're far too stubborn.

"If something's wrong, can't you just talk to your family about it?

"Remember, we're your family. Blood is thicker than water.

"Your brother shut you in there because he was angry and wanted to teach you a lesson.

"But if you'd asked for help, do you really think we'd have stood there and watched you die?"

Ryan made a scornful noise and tossed a small white emergency alarm onto my blanket.

"Take it. Next time you want to play the victim, press that.

"And stop going around with that dead look on your face like the Ashfords owe you a few lives."

The beacon sat against my palm, cold and hard.

If I asked for help, they wouldn't let me die?

I looked down at the thing in my hand and pressed it lightly.

Ryan's phone went off with a shrill electronic tone.

He scowled, disgusted. "Claire! What do you mean by pressing it now? Is performing in front of us fun for you?"

I took my hand back. My voice stayed level.

"No. I was just checking whether it was broken."

Mom came over and stroked my hair.

"That's enough of that. When you're discharged, your father and I are taking everyone up to Summit Ridge for a few days. The whole family together for once.

"It'll settle your nerves. And you and Tessa can get to know each other better."

I held the beacon and looked out at the flat gray sky, and said nothing.

They'd promised, all of them.

So I'd try one more time. One last life.