I walk out, give him a wink over my shoulder, then turn away so he can’t see the hatred in my face. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him for what he’s done.
* * *
I’m in the kitchen, stirring the soup while keeping an eye on the living room. They’re playing cards and seem to be having fun. Marcus is joking with the kids, his teeth flashing white each time he wins a hand. Sophie is also in good spirits, obviously happy that Jared is with us now. She offered to help me, but I declined. She’s too sensitive. She’ll pick up on my fear.
I was going to pass her a note, but now it feels too risky. There’s too much chance of error or interception by Marcus. Better to wait until he goes to the bathroom, then I’ll tell them my plan. I’ll suggest we watch an action movie later. The noise will cover our voices.
I glance at Angus, who is begging at my feet for scraps. I stroke his head. I’ll keep him with me, but he might alert Marcus to Sophie and Jared sneaking out. I have to find a way to drug Marcus. I’m not going to make the same mistake I did with Andrew. I’ll give Marcus a few pills.
I open the cutlery drawer for spoons and notice the paring knife in a sheath. It might not do much damage, but anything bigger would be noticeable on my body. I pretend to drop a spoon, then lean down and tuck the knife inside the top band of my sock under my jeans.
I stand back up. “Lunch is ready!”
* * *
We’ve been playing card games for hours. I make mistakes, count the cards wrong, and fumble with my chips. My laugh is too high-pitched, my face warm from the fire and nerves. Sophie is giving me strange looks, almost exasperated. I’m hoping she just thinks I’m tipsy. Marcus is affectionate, his arm around my lower back. He hasn’t noticed that I switched my drink for a plain coffee. Since lunch, I’ve made sure I’m the one mixing our drinks, while waiting for a chance to go back to the bathroom. Finally, Marcus decides to make popcorn.
“Good timing,” I say. “I have to go to the ladies’ room.”
This time I’m able to open his shaving kit and remove a few of the pills, which I quickly pocket. I’m careful to put the container back in the same spot. When I come out the air smells of butter and popcorn. Marcus has set out a couple of bowls and the kids are digging in.
I walk into the kitchen. “Another drink, Marcus?”
“I know what you’re up to, Lindsey. Getting me drunk,” he says. I look at him, startled, then realize he’s joking when he says, “I’m switching to water before your daughter robs me blind.” Sophie tries to steal his stack of poker chips and he laughingly blocks her.
“Darn. You figured us out,” I say, with a tinny laugh. I’m so frustrated, my anxiety through the roof. Now I’ll have to wait until dinner, when he usually drinks wine.
But through dinner—he grills salmon and vegetables, all of which taste like ashes in my mouth—he keeps pouring his own glass. I never get a chance. The pills sit heavy as stones in my pocket. He hasn’t gone to the bathroom for hours. I used to tease him about his iron bladder.
He helps me clean up. Each time he touches me, his shoulder brushing against mine as he reaches for a plate, his fingers tangling with my hand in the dishwater, I feel my shell crack. I’m not going to be able to hide my fear much longer. When he leans down to kiss me, I almost sob into his mouth. I’d loved him. I’d truly fallen in love with him, and the hurt and betrayal is so raw in my throat I can’t breathe. I pull away, hide my face in his chest, and he holds me tight.
I think about him out on the lake fishing. He’d come back in happy. Is there a chance he’s forgiven me? Maybe he really meant all those reassuring words. Or maybe he’d been out there planning his revenge. Would he shoot us while we slept? Did he just want to kill me?
Please. Let it just be me. If I can’t stop him, just take me.
We sit back down in the living room. The kids are on the couch, so thankfully I’m given a little space from Marcus when we take different armchairs. He has to go to the bathroom soon.
Jared is looking at the fire. “Do you think we need more wood, Marcus?”
Marcus turns and checks the stack. “We should probably load up before the night.”
I hold my breath, my hands clenched so tight my nails dig into my palm. The woodpile is around the back of the house. If Marcus goes alone, I’ll have time to talk to the kids.
“I can do it.” Jared’s face is hopeful, eager. He wants to impress us. Sophie is gazing up at him proudly. I want to shout at him to sit down.
Marcus rises to his feet. “You can help cut some kindling.”
“Bring lots. It’s going to be cold tonight,” I say. Marcus gives me a wink and I know what he’s thinking. I’ll keep you warm. I dig my fingernails harder into my palm.
While they get their coats and boots on, I flip through the movies as if I’m picking one for us to watch tonight. The titles blur. Sophie sits nearby reading a magazine. Finally I hear the door close. I wait a few beats for them to get around the side of the house, then quickly move closer to Sophie and grip her arms. She’s startled, almost jerks back, but I hold her in place.
“Honey, listen to me. Marcus isn’t who he says he is. He was Elizabeth Sanders’s husband. I went into that room upstairs and her things are still there. Books, clothes, and—”
“Mom, that’s nuts!” She tries to tug free, looking at me like I’m drunk or insane.
“It’s the truth.” I raise my voice to a firm whisper. “I saw her name in the books and I found pills—the same kind that almost killed Angus. I think he wants to hurts us. You and Jared have to sneak out tonight and get help.”
Her face is stunned, her green eyes staring into mine. Her expression changes from surprise to horror. “He heard me on the stairs last night. He’ll catch me.”
“I have a plan. We can do this, just listen. After the movie, say you’re tired and want to go to bed. Tie sheets together, climb out the window. Then you have to get Jared out his window downstairs.” I pause, glance at the door. “Once you have cell service, call the police.”
Even as I’m talking, she’s already shaking her head. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”
“You have to. I need to keep him distracted.” I glance at the door again. I can hear chopping sounds outside, but that could be Jared. I decide not to tell her that I think Marcus killed Andrew. If she’s too upset, she won’t be able to think straight. She’s already in shock. Her skin is pale, her nostrils flaring. Her hands balled into fists.
“You have to try to act normal, okay?” I say. “He can’t suspect anything.”
She nods, but she still looks petrified. “What if he figures it out?”
Before I can answer, the door swings open with a bang and my heart jolts in my chest. I sit back on my heels. Marcus and Jared come in carrying armloads of wood. Sophie hurriedly picks up her magazine. I try to give her a comforting smile, but she’s not looking at me. I can feel her frantic thoughts, see her eyelids blinking rapidly.
I get to my feet and sit beside her, slide my hand into hers, and give it squeeze. It’s going to be okay. We can do this. She squeezes my hand back. Marcus and Jared stack the wood beside the fire, complaining about the wind and the rain and joking about how we’re lucky to be inside beside the warm fire. I laugh and tell them to hurry up. Sophie is smiling too, but I know she’s working hard at it. Her body feels stiff. I have to get her to calm down before Jared or Marcus senses something has changed. When they go outside for another load, Sophie and I talk more and work through the plan until her voice sounds stronger, more confident.
The guys come in with their final loads and stack them beside the fire, then take off their coats and boots. Marcus goes into the bathroom and comes out with a couple of towels for him and Jared. They ruffle their hair and dry their faces, then hang the towels by the fire.
“We’ll be lucky if we have power for much longer,” Marcus says.
Sophie flicks a sideways glance at me. I know she’s thinking about o
ur plan.
Marcus collapses down into the armchair and Jared perches on the hearth. Jared’s fiddling with the metal screen, trying to close it across the fire. Marcus glances at him. “It’s broken.” He looks back at me. “Did you pick out a movie? Something with lots of action, I hope.”
“Of course.” I point to the one I’d set aside on the floor. “Point Break.”
“Great choice.” As he slides the movie in, I stare at the back of his head and keep my daughter’s hand tight in mine.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
SOPHIE
The credits are rolling on the movie. The warmth of Mom’s body against my side is solid and real. I don’t want to leave her, but I can feel her tension, see it in her face when she glances at me with a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s probably meant to be reassuring. My insides are churning and I feel like my voice is going to come out all strangled when I try to speak. Jared is sprawled on the floor with Angus. I have to get him to leave with me. I look over at Mom. She’s staring at the TV as if she’s totally interested in finding out the names of all the actors and stunt doubles. She presses her leg against mine. Do it. Do it now.
I yawn slowly and stretch my arms. “I’m tired.”
Jared rolls over, looks up. “You going to bed?”
“Yeah. Come with me for a minute? I want to show you a new drawing.” I hope my voice sounds natural, but it sounds fake to me. Like the worst actress in the world.
“Leave the door open,” Mom says. “Or I’m coming up.” I know she’s only saying it because she wants Marcus to think everything’s normal, but I still have to act annoyed.
“God, Mom. We’re just talking.” I roll my eyes.
“Humor me, please.”
“Fine.” I get up and walk toward the stairs, then slow as I near the kitchen counter, and glance back at Jared, who’s taking forever to get to his feet. I try not to look at Marcus to see if he’s watching. I hated sitting in the living room with him for the last two hours. I kept wanting to stare at him, like somehow his face might look different now that I know the truth. I don’t remember a second of the movie. My head was filled with memories of conversations I’d had with Marcus, how nice he’s always been. I’ve been alone with him so many times. I never knew anything was wrong. I keep seeing the newspaper photos of Elizabeth Sanders, the mangled wreck of her car, the tarp over the side so photographers couldn’t take pictures of the blood.
Jared is finally leaving. I hear the jingle of Angus’s collar as he gets up to follow, then a whine. He wants to go outside. I turn around. Jared is opening the door. Angus darts out.
Jared looks at my mom. “Sorry. He ran down to the lake.”
“It’s okay. I’ll bring him back in.”
She sounds calm, but I know she must be upset. We didn’t want Angus outside—he might bark if he hears me climbing off the roof, but there’s nothing we can do about it now. I’ve reached the bottom of the stairs. Jared is right behind me. I look back at Mom and Marcus. He’s getting up as though he’s going to sit on the couch with her. I feel a lurch in my stomach.
“Get some rest, kids,” Marcus says with a smile. “We’ll go out on the lake tomorrow.”
“Cool.” Everything he’s told us is a lie. Everything. This is just another one. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe he plans to tip the boat or do something horrible out there.
“Good night, honey,” Mom says. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Our eyes hold for a moment, and then I have to turn away.
* * *
The roof is slick. Water spills out of the gutters and rushes down over the wood shakes, which are slimy with old leaves and moss. The wind throws rain in my face, tugs at my body. I tread carefully in bare feet, crab-walk down to the edge. I glance up. I can’t see anything in the window. The lights are off. The bedsheet stretches out from my hand.
Once I’m on the ground, I’ll hide in the bushes and wait for Jared. I hope he gets out through his window soon. I wasn’t sure if he was going to believe me when I whispered everything to him upstairs, but he caught on quickly. We grabbed the sheets off my bed, knotted them together with the duvet cover, and tied them to the leg of the iron bedframe. Jared waited until I was on the roof, then went downstairs to distract Marcus in the living room in case I made any noise.
I’m over the edge of the roof, the hard edge scraping against my stomach and breasts, then I’m free and hanging in the air. The wind catches me. I spin around, bumping into the side of the house. I kick off with my legs, lower myself hand over hand. My feet finally hit earth.
I run a few feet from the house and crouch in the bushes. My hair is soaked and the water runs down my neck. I couldn’t get my coat from downstairs, so I layered shirts under my hoodie, but they’re already wet. Soaked through to the bone, is what Mom would say. I slide my slippers on—they were stuffed into my hoodie pocket. I figured bare feet would have more traction on the roof, but my toes are freezing. My runners are by the front door. Jared didn’t have any extra clothes with him, so I gave him a pair of my socks and a sweatshirt.
I can’t tell what’s going on inside the house. The only thing I can hear is the wind roaring and trees snapping back and forth in the forest. I want to peek through the window of the kitchen and make sure Mom is all right, but if Marcus sees me, everything will be ruined.
Something nudges my back and I let out a little cry and spin around—hands out, ready to block a blow. It’s Angus, soaking wet and jumping all over me and whining. “Shush!” I grab his collar to hold him still. “Calm down, boy!”
A soft thump from the back of the house. Footsteps. Angus’s body stiffens, a rumbling growl starting in his throat. I wrap my hand around his snout. Then stare into the dark shadows.
“Sophie?” Jared’s voice.
“Over here!”
* * *
We run down the center of the gravel road, mud splashing up our legs. My slippers are saturated. The wind is pushing against us, scattering branches and leaves and broken bits of wood across the road. We dodge and leap. Our breath is ragged, our feet thudding. I falter and stumble, my legs wobbly, and Jared presses his hand into my lower back, pushing me on.
“You can do it!”
I keep running. His feet must hurt, with just socks for protection, but he doesn’t say anything. Angus lopes beside us, his collar jingling and his breath chuffing. I tried to make him stay behind at the house so he could protect Mom, but he followed us anyway. I hope Marcus doesn’t go searching outside for him and notice the sheets hanging from the window.
We round a corner and I finally see the dark shape of the tree across the road. It looks like a fallen giant, branches reaching up to the sky as though begging for help. Jared’s car is just on the other side. Almost there. We slow to a jog, catching our breath, and check our phones. My fingers are wet and cold and slip as I press in my password. The screen lights up.
“I have service!” I quickly dial 911. Still out of breath, I stumble over my words as I explain that Mom is trapped in a house with a man who’s trying to kill her. “You have to come quick!”
The operator is asking questions that I can’t answer, wants details and facts, but I just want them to get here. What if Marcus has realized we’re gone? “I don’t know the address!” I shout into the phone. “It’s the one with the green mailbox, but there’s a tree blocking the road. It blew down in the storm.” They’re going to take too long. I think about Mom, all alone with Marcus. The operator is saying something about officers on the way. I hang up and look at Jared.
“We can’t leave her. We have to go back.”
“Let’s go.” We turn and sprint back down the middle of the road.
Hang on, Mom. Please, just hang on. We’re coming.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
LINDSEY
“Looks like it’s just us,” Marcus says.
He’s putting more wood on the fire, stoking it to a roaring blaze. The orange flames make the side of his face glow
. It must be so hot, but he doesn’t move. He’s the devil.
I have to get him to the bedroom so the kids have a chance to escape. If Sophie can’t get off the roof, she’ll have to come through the living room. I need to keep him distracted.
“Why don’t we watch the TV in the bedroom?”
“Sure,” he says. “I’ll just lock up.”
“I’ll do it. I have to call Angus back anyway.” While Marcus walks to the bedroom, I open the front door and whistle for Angus, but there’s no sign of him. If he starts barking at the kids, I’ll have to bring him in right away before Marcus gets suspicious. I close the door.
Marcus likes to keep a glass of water on his night table. It’s my last chance to drug him, but I have to cover the taste of the pills. Maybe lemon. In the kitchen, I cut up a wedge and squeeze some into the water, then look up and listen. He’s still in the bedroom. I drop all of the pills into the water and mix it quickly, take a sip. My mouth fills with tart lemon. I remember the night I drugged Andrew, the burning taste of whiskey in my mouth.
I walk into the bedroom, glass in hand. Running water in the bathroom, sounds of him brushing his teeth. I put the glass on his table, move around to my side of the bed, and swiftly pull the knife out of my sock and slide it under my pillow.
I hesitate, thinking about what to wear. Then change into the T-shirt and pajama bottoms I wore last night. I turn on the TV. Marcus comes out wearing his boxer shorts. His chest is defined, his arms like ripped steel. I think of his obsessive working out. I’d believed it to be his way of coping with grief. I guess it was, but grief for his wife, not a daughter. I wonder where he was all those years after she died. He couldn’t have been looking for me all that time.
“Do you mind if I watch the news?” I say. “I’d like to hear the weather report.”