The New Husband(60)

Just before reaching home Nina had a thought and brought her car to a stop in a strip mall parking lot. She used her phone to access a usually reliable source of information.

Google.

She had long ago googled Simon’s name, because of course she’d do that before bringing a new man into her life. What had come up was nothing remarkable: links to school-related matters, pictures of him in his Revolutionary War garb from the school website, articles about robotics competitions his team had won, and a few mentions of Emma Dolan’s tragic suicide on news and tribute sites. She had researched Emma as well, but had never looked into Emma’s family, because it didn’t seem relevant. But now she was realizing there was a hidden history there she could mine for information.

Again, she heard Teresa’s voice in her head, urging her along. Sitting in her car, she googled Emma Dolan’s name, searching for other avenues to explore. She read the obituary. There was a brother mentioned in addition to the parents, aunts, uncles, and husband she had left behind: Hugh Dolan. She googled Hugh’s name and got a number of hits from—of all places—the Manchester, New Hampshire, police department website, detailing his numerous arrests for drug possession. It did not take a lot of research for Nina to conclude that Simon’s former brother-in-law, Hugh, was a drug addict—heroin and oxy, according to the police logs she read.

He was also on Facebook. Nina matched a profile picture to one of his posted mug shots.

Before she knew what she was doing, Nina had sent him a friend request, with a short message introducing herself as Simon Fitch’s fiancée, because “girlfriend” didn’t sound serious enough. A moment later, Nina’s friend request was accepted, and a return message hit her Messenger in-box.

So you’re the one, Hugh wrote. We should talk.





CHAPTER 33


Glen felt sick to his stomach.

He had lied to his daughter. Deceived her. Tricked her. What kind of father would do that to his child? He imagined what people would say about him if they knew.

Should have given her obviously wrong answers, you idiot! Then she’d know something wasn’t right. She’d have gone to her mom, broken that promise she never should have made. They would have gone to the police and figured it all out. The police would have protected your family from Simon, and eventually they would have found you and freed you. You fool! You dummy! You dolt!

They could think that, but they’d be wrong. They didn’t live with Simon. They weren’t in the box. The box changed a person. It broke them in every way.

He was afraid. It was as simple as that. One wrong answer would bring the worst consequences. He saw blood. Gashes to Nina’s face, deep slashes across Maggie and Connor’s throats. He saw himself watching their deaths via a live video feed.

The horrific visions consumed him. He believed Simon, took him at his word, and in his heart Glen knew he was right to believe.

So many moments over these months Glen had wished for death. He was already entombed; all he needed was for his heart to stop beating. He thought about using the chain to choke himself to death, or go on a hunger strike, even stop drinking water, but again fear held him back. He couldn’t and wouldn’t leave his family to Simon.

He knew eventually, soon perhaps, there’d come a tipping point. Nina would upset Simon more than she already had with that job of hers. Maggie would cross him one too many times … and then the blood … then the knife to their throats. So Glen existed—he breathed, ate, pissed, defecated, solely to keep Simon from acting impulsively—or worse, violently—taking from his situation the only parts he could control so that his family might live another day. He had no other purpose.

Horrible as it was to lie to her, it was also unbelievably uplifting to be connected with his daughter again. He felt human. The proximity was intoxicating. He felt like a castaway catching the glow of a distant rescue ship; his heart never felt so full. Alive again. Alive.

When he closed his eyes, Glen transported himself out into a field with Maggie, playing catch with lacrosse sticks and a ball. He felt the sun on his face, so bright and warm, the wind rustling through his hair; he inhaled fresh spring air deep into his lungs. Oh, how he longed to breathe fresh air again. Roll in the grass. Touch the earth. Gaze at the sky. Hug his daughter. Tell her how sorry he was for everything, for tricking her, for lying to his family.

Tricks.

That was how he got into the box in the first place—a dirty, nasty trick.

Suddenly, Glen wasn’t in that field anymore. He was back at the Muddy Moose, reliving the day he first met Simon. He was at the bar, talking with Teresa, doing what he always did back then, nursing a beer because money was tight. Hiding out. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Seabury, and Carson had good fishing, so it was as fine a place as any to try and get his life going in the right direction again. But that effort wasn’t going anywhere; he wasn’t lying to himself anymore. At least he liked the town. He liked the waitress, too. He even liked the man who called himself Bill, who was loose with his wallet and quick with the jokes. Bill had dark hair and a mustache, but those were disguises, worn in case Glen recognized Simon from home.

The whiskey went down easy and then easier. At some point the room was tilting and Glen’s hand made its way to Teresa’s leg. Or had Simon—as Glen now knew him—put it there? Glen didn’t remember. He knew only that he was feeling very drunk. Confused. Then he was outside. A flash. Photographs. He didn’t see anyone taking those pictures, but Simon had shown them to Glen enough times so he knew it had happened. He had kissed Teresa outside the Muddy Moose. But even more happened, and later on Simon would tell Glen about the roofie he had slipped into his drink.