The Night Before(80)

She saw a butcher block with a set of knives and grabbed one from the back, one with a large blade. She held it with both hands, propped in front of her, and walked slowly with her back against the wall until she reached the entrance to the living room.

She heard voices coming from the basement. The door was open. She approached it slowly, listening, the knife in her hands.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped.

“Laura!” she called out.

Sirens rang out in the distance. The police would be here in mere moments.

“Laura!” she called out again. Then she walked through the door.





FIFTY-FOUR


Laura. Present Day. Saturday, 4:35 p.m. Branston, CT.

Gabe turns to see Rosie standing at the top of the stairs. But I don’t look away from my target. I raise the bat high behind my head.

“Gabe!” Rosie calls his name now. “Just back away. Everything is all right now. The police are just up the street—can’t you hear them? Step away from Laura.”

My knuckles go white. I can feel them the way I always do when the fists come. I want to swing it down against him. Strike him in the chest. Send him to the ground. My mind flashes back to the night in the woods. The bat in my hands. Mitch Adler at my feet, blood pooling around his head.

I tell my arms to move, but they don’t listen.

And then I know. With every part of me, I know the answer to the last question Dr. Brody asked me.

I did not swing the bat. I did not level the fatal blow to Mitch Adler.

Rosie is moving down the stairs now, the knife in her hands. Gabe is afraid of her. I can see it in his eyes. He’s afraid of Rosie and what she might do to him.

Rosie, who’s never lifted her finger against a living soul. But Rosie, who would give her life for mine. Who would take a life for mine.

Gabe lifts his hands in the air and steps back just as Rosie reaches the last step. We hear knocking on the front door and then feet pounding the floorboards. Officers appear at the top of the stairs, guns drawn.

I feel my fingers release. The bat drops to the ground. And my fists turn to open hands just as Rosie pulls me into her open arms.





FIFTY-FIVE


Laura. Before the Sessions. Five Months Ago. New York City.

Dr. Brody: Is it strange dating a shrink?

Laura: As long as you don’t try to shrink me.

Dr. Brody: I’ll try.

Laura: It is strange dating a man with kids. And a wife.

Dr. Brody: It won’t be strange when you meet them, finally. And she’s a soon-to-be ex-wife. She left me, remember? For her high school boyfriend, no less. But then I met you.

Laura: But then you met me.… I hope you’re not sorry about that day.

Dr. Brody: How could I ever be sorry I met you?





FIFTY-SIX


Laura. Present Day. Saturday, 10 p.m. Branston, CT.

I feel cold.

Joe has brought a blanket and Rosie has wrapped it around me. But it can’t touch the place where I feel it most.

Two men are dead. Another came close. Jonathan Fielding. Where this latest chapter began. They say he’ll make it. His body will recover. But he won’t recover in other ways. Every time his hand reaches for a lock to open a door, he will feel the fear. I think about his caution. His concerns about my past, all the questions—relentless questions. I convinced myself they were unusual, that they made him suspect. But in the end, he was right to be concerned, wasn’t he?

Two men are dead.

Two men. The first, Mitch Adler. My high school obsession. Dragged from his car and beaten to death with a baseball bat. Gabe had been watching from deep in the woods, the preserve where we spent days upon days together, alone, and with Rosie and Joe. Hours, days, years—none of us ever saw it. None of us ever knew what was happening inside our friend. His brother’s abuse was worse than even I knew, and I thought I knew everything. It had been going on for years. There was a file at social services. Visits from caseworkers to their home—right next door to us. Our mother now says that Mrs. Wallace confided in her about Rick, all those afternoons when they were in the kitchen together. Our mother crying about Dick and his infidelities. Mrs. Wallace crying about her twisted, violent son who enjoyed tormenting his little brother. Both women keeping secrets that would lead to people dying.

Our mother is on a plane now. She has no idea what she will face when she sees us. Me, Rosie. And Joe. My half brother.

The second man, Dr. Kevin Brody, was killed in an alley outside his gym in the early morning hours. I am in shock, they say, which is why I haven’t cried yet. But the tears will come.

I met Kevin at a coffee shop one Saturday morning. His wife was leaving him, but they couldn’t afford for either to move out of the apartment. Kevin left on Saturdays. She left on Sundays. They both needed some space, and to be alone with their children.

It was crowded that morning, and he asked if he could sit with me at my small table with the extra chair. I moved my bag and let him sit.

Four weeks later he told me he loved me, and it was the first time I ever believed it. Now I wonder if it will be the last.

I am the reason he’s dead. I am the reason his children don’t have a father. I may as well have beaten him myself and left him to die. It might as well have been me.

They found Kevin’s phone in Gabe’s house. He sent me the text I thought was from Kevin—the one ending things for good. It was so concise and so believable that I didn’t question it. I didn’t try to reach him or see him. I didn’t seek out a more complicated explanation. Instead I invited the pain in—opened the door wide and put out a welcome mat. And I let it nearly destroy me, leaving my job. My home. My life. Returning to the scene of the crime. The place of my childhood, where it all began.