Zyah tried to do what Player said and go back and pull the details out of her head—not what she wanted to see but what she’d really seen. Player covered her hand, and she realized she was gripping her thigh so hard her fingers were digging into her skin as she tried to recall the details. She’d been afraid the moment she saw the White Rabbit, even when she was aware she hadn’t heard the ticking of the bomb. She could see the boy was no longer at the bench, but a man was bent over it, working. She would recognize him anywhere with his wild hair and distinctive tattoo.
The White Rabbit peered over his left shoulder, tapping his foot impatiently and staring down at his gold pocket watch. She tore her gaze from the watch to look above him. The rabbit’s head was centered exactly in her grandfather’s drawing, but in front of it. Relief flooded her. The White Rabbit began to fade, and there was the rather handsome older man looking a bit like the devil with his silver-streaked hair and beard, standing where the rabbit had been. Sorbacov wasn’t as distinct as the white-furred creature. Much more blurred, even fully transparent in spots, his head in the exact spot the White Rabbit’s had been, in the center of the drawing, but in front of it.
Zyah took a deep breath, filling her lungs with Player, before turning her gaze inward again. Instinctively, she tightened her fingers around Player’s. He immediately brought her fingertips to his mouth and kissed them before pressing her palm to his thigh and just holding her hand there tightly. Those eyes staring so malevolently had really scared her, and conjuring them up again was terrifying, but they had to know. She had to know she was right.
She forced herself to look at Sorbacov, his face. His eyes. He was staring down at Player so gleefully. Twice he switched his gaze to his watch. He was a man who loved power over all things. He rode on the waves of fear pouring off the children when he visited the “school” he’d created for his chosen victims. His eyes showed how depraved he was. Still, Zyah refused to turn away. She wanted to see that moment when he began to fade and the other took his place. The transformation was entirely unexpected.
Zyah swallowed and even leaned toward the apparition, even though it was all taking place in her mind, not in the bedroom. She saw Sorbacov fade even more, his facial features so thin she could see her grandfather’s drawing distinctly behind him. The lines were etched into her memory, so she knew them and filled them in around his head, like a child’s Etch A Sketch.
Weirdly, her eyes began to play tricks on her. The frame around the picture appeared to be rolling slowly and then picked up speed. She glanced back to look at Player. He was staring at the picture, his eyes very focused. They were holding hands, sitting close together, backs to the headboard, staring at her grandfather’s drawing.
Her heart began to pound as she forced herself to look at Sorbacov. His head had completely faded away. Those malevolent eyes were staring at them, and they were all too real. Around the eyes was absolutely nothing but black. There were no lines. No charcoal drawings. The eyes did seem to be set back into the drawing, not out in front of it, as if the drawing itself were some kind of a tube.
“Player.” She whispered his name, knowing the entity was gone, but still terrified. She needed the connection of her hand on his thigh, but raised the other one defensively to her throat. “What is that thing? Why is it here in my bedroom with us? It really does look like it’s inside my grandfather’s picture.”
He suddenly gathered her into his arms and pulled her onto his lap. “Stop shaking. We’ll figure this out. I can take you and your grandmother out of here and put you somewhere safe until we know what is going on.”
Zyah buried her face in his throat. He was always so warm, his body comforting. “My instincts are very strong about this, Player, telling me we can’t be separated. From the very beginning I felt we had to be together.” At no time had that changed. If anything, her feeling had grown even stronger that they needed to stay together for safety.
“I believe this man has something to do with the bomb,” Player said. “I just don’t know what. I don’t understand how he managed to get into this room. I had to have brought him here, but I don’t recognize him. Can you sketch those eyes? It’s possible Czar might recognize him from his eyes, but I sure as hell don’t.”