Never Let You Go(105)

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.”

“Sure.” He looks around. “Where’s Angus?”

“He must be chasing something. I’ll call him in a while.”

He climbs onto the other side of the bed, slides closer to me, and rests his head against my shoulder, his lips cool on my bare skin. I feel as though spiders are crawling on me. We watch the news together, but it’s just flickering images. I can’t take in the information. I’m listening to every sound and waiting for him to drink his water, but he hasn’t moved toward it.

“I brought you water. I thought after all that wine…”

“Thanks, honey,” but he’s still watching the TV. Like he actually cares what’s happening in the world. Like it’s just any other night of the week. Finally he turns and takes a sip of his water, then makes a quizzical face.

“I put lemon in it,” I say.

“Doesn’t really go with toothpaste.” He puts the glass down.

I stare at the TV, despair and panic chasing each other in an endless loop. How much did he swallow? One mouthful? That won’t even make him drowsy. I try to think how long it’s been since Sophie and Jared went to bed. Fifteen or twenty minutes? Not enough time.

Ten more minutes pass. I try not to look at the clock too often, pretend to fiddle with the alarm. Marcus slides down, rests his head on the pillow. I keep glancing at his face to see if his eyes are closed, but he seems fascinated by the news—and not the least bit tired. I can’t wait any longer. I have to see if the kids are gone. I might be able to sneak out while he’s engrossed.

“I’m going to call Angus.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t look over. I ease to the edge of the bed, walk out, and close the door behind me. I pause, listening. I can still hear the TV.

I creep down the hall toward the back of the house and push Jared’s door open, peer into the dark room. The window looks like it’s closed. I stare at the bed, wait for my eyes to adjust. A huddled shape. What went wrong? I have to get him out of here.