Never Let You Go(101)

“Sophie!” I finally manage. “What were you thinking? You could have been really hurt.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.” She looks so ashamed, and I want to hug her and reassure her, but I can’t think past the next few minutes and how I’m going to keep myself together.

“We’ll talk about this later.”

“We’ll have to call a tow truck when the phone lines are fixed,” Marcus says. “And I’ll have to contact my insurance company and make a report, but we should be able to keep the police out of it.” His voice is still smooth, assured. He’s so confident. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s played the game for months.

“You need to get checked at the hospital, Sophie,” I say. “You could have tissue damage or torn ligaments.” While Marcus is distracted by taking care of the Cherokee, I’ll get Sophie and Jared out of here and call Corporal Parker as soon as I have cell service.

“The road is blocked, Mom. Jared had to park on the other side—we walked here.”

I hold on to the edge of the counter, feel the world tilt for a moment. It’s all coming back. The night we ran away from Andrew. The storm. Trudging through the snow with Sophie.

Marcus is turning from the fridge, giving me a curious look.

“Okay, well, we’ll just walk back.” I sound cheerful, upbeat. It’s as though I’m standing on the other side of myself, pulling my strings like a puppet, making my mouth move.

Sophie is looking at me like I’m insane. “It’s freezing cold and super-windy. I don’t want to go back out.” I glance at the window. The trees are swaying wildly and I can hear the wind whistling down the chimney. Darkness and fear, pressing tighter and tighter around me.

“Where was the tree?” Marcus hands Sophie an ice pack wrapped in a towel.

“Close to the turnoff,” Jared says. “We walked like forty minutes.”

“You should probably just rest while we wait out the storm,” Marcus says to Sophie. “If you’re sore tomorrow, one of us can walk to the car in the morning.”

The morning. We’ll have to spend the night.

“What about your parents?” I say to Jared. Maybe they’ll be worried. They’ll call the police, someone will see his car parked on the side of the road and come investigate.

“They know I’m with Sophie. I texted them that I’m spending the night.”

That was it, our last chance. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Do you know what you’ve done? But he’s not the one I want to hurt. It’s Marcus. And now we’re trapped with him.



Jared and Sophie are sitting on the couch, Sophie holding ice to the side of her head. Marcus has gone to get dressed. I watch as Jared picks up Sophie’s free hand and holds it. I’d thought he was a risk. I’d worried about him being with my daughter and now I want to scream at him to run away with her. I have to warn them, but I can hear drawers sliding open and shut. Marcus is too close. If he comes out and sees their shocked expressions, he’ll know something is wrong. So far I don’t think he’s caught on. Before he went into the bedroom, he looked relaxed, even happy when he said, “Looks like we’re having an afternoon of board games!”

I look at the clock. It’s not even twelve. How are we going to make it through the rest of the day? I’ve been trying to come up with a plan so we can sneak out after Marcus goes to sleep, but three people and a dog might make a lot of noise—especially the dog. We have to make sure Marcus stays asleep. I could drug him. I’ve done it before. Why not again?

Sophie and Jared are talking. Jared is saying how scared he was when she called. Sophie rests her head on his shoulder. Something has happened between them, but I realize this in a distant, unfocused way. I’m too busy thinking about how I can get the pills.

Marcus comes out wearing a thick sweater and jeans, walks into the kitchen, and grabs a bottle of Baileys liqueur from the cupboard. “Irish Cream in your coffee, Lindsey?”

“That would be lovely.” I stand. “I’m just going to get a sweater.”

“Cold?”

“A little.”

“I’ll build a fire.”

“Great.” We’re so civilized, so polite. Both liars now. I move swiftly down the hall. I only have moments. I skip the sweater and go straight into the bathroom and lock the door. Marcus’s shaving kit is still on the counter. I fumble with the zipper. It’s stiff, like it’s caught inside on something, and won’t open. I tug harder, knocking his shaving cream onto the floor.

“Lindsey? I’ve got your coffee.” He’s in the bedroom, walking closer. He’s standing outside the door. He’ll hear me rummaging around. I can’t open it now.

I stare into the mirror at my wild eyes, press my hand over my mouth, trying to hold in the scream I can feel building in my throat.

“Out in a minute!” I take some breaths, splash cold water on my face, and open the door.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “Feel okay?” he says. “You look pale.”

“I’m just hungry. I’ll make us all some chicken soup.”

“Need help?”

“You can help by keeping the kids occupied.” I laugh. “Maybe you can watch a movie or play cards.” I’m babbling, throwing out ideas, but I have to keep him out of the kitchen. I might be able to write a note for Sophie or hide a knife. I can come back to the bathroom later.