The Shadow Box(28)

Conor knew he would take another look at Ellen’s case file when he had time.

And he decided that the next time he saw Griffin Chase, he would check to see the color of his eyes.





THREE DAYS LATER





14





CLAIRE


The cabin was my hospital for the first three days and nights. At the edge of the marsh behind the woods, I felt hidden and safe. I wrapped myself in my old sleeping bag and slept on a bed of pine needles, slipping in and out of dreams. My cuts and bruises stung and ached. At night I heard screams—a rabbit being killed by an owl or the wild cat I’d tried to spot my whole life. In my dreams and delirium, the rabbit was me.

I knew I was being hunted, no differently from the creatures of the night. My attacker wore that black mask, but his size and shape made me positive it was Griffin. During the first twenty-four hours, I heard bloodhounds and knew that Griffin’s police had ordered search dogs. Their baying sounded distant; I hoped my concoction would keep them far away.

First thing, I knew I had to get water. There was a spring nearby, at the foot of the granite ledges. I left the cabin at dawn. I carried an empty plastic jug from the cabin, filled it up, and drank straight from the bottle right there by the brook. It took all my effort to trudge back to the cabin, staying in the shadow of the rock face as the sun’s first light began to penetrate the woods.

I had no appetite. My head felt as if nails had been driven through my skull, and I had double vision. Did I have a concussion? If I could look in a mirror, would my pupils be different sizes? Maybe my brain was bleeding and I would die of traumatic head injury.

Better than letting Griffin find me.

But I was stubborn, and I had every intention of either surviving or leaving evidence of what had been done to me. The problem was, I couldn’t be sure what had been done to me. The force of the attack had been so swift and violent and the mask so terrifying. By the time the noose was around my neck, I had passed out once, then twice. Cuts on my hands oozed blood from where he had jabbed me with the knife.

He must have thought the hanging had killed me. Had someone interrupted him, forced him to leave me there? I escaped before he could remove my body. It gave me pleasure to picture his face, the shock when he returned to find me gone. But once he realized he had failed, he would rage and search until he found me.

I knew I needed to eat, to get strong again. In my search for food, I headed toward the beach. It was a longer walk than it was to the spring. I had to skirt the ledges on my way downhill, and I felt nervous because once I got to the cove, I would be close to Catamount Bluff, almost within sight of my house. It was barely dawn, but the last morning stars were still out, and I was able to slowly follow a deer track through a grove of scrub oak and white pine.

At the edge of the rocky uplands, I came upon the burial ground. I passed the sacred place, made my way down the ridge, and crossed the path between Catamount Bluff and Hubbard’s Point. For a moment I considered going “home”—to Hubbard’s Point, to Jackie and Tom Reid’s cottage. But could I trust Tom? Especially since his brother, Conor, as a member of the state police, was closely connected with Griffin.

My instincts told me Conor was good, but those same instincts had allowed me to fall in love with Griffin. I didn’t know who to trust.

It was only a few days after I had sat at that picnic table with the Reids that someone tried to kill me. Could Conor have told Griffin that Ellen was still and forever on my mind? Griffin already knew that, but coming from Conor, it could feel like even more of a threat. Had Conor figured out that when I talked about green eyes turning black, I was talking about Griffin? He had told me psychopaths had eyes that did that.

Conor had clearly said that Ellen’s death had been ruled an accident. He didn’t show any doubt, so I stopped myself from saying more. Griffin demanded loyalty. Every law enforcement agency in the state was rooting for Griffin to win the election. Having a law-and-order governor would benefit and empower them. Conor was part of that group. Tom too.

Before I stepped out of the woods, I broke a low bough off a pine tree. From spending my childhood here and from all my beachcombing treks, I knew every inch of this shore. I took off my shoes, carried the branch as I crossed the sand, and dropped it on the tide line. I stepped very carefully onto the granite ledge, inching my way over the slippery surface to the shallow water.

It was midtide. Sargassum weed, attached to rocks, wafted in and out. I brushed aside clumps of seaweed and in the gray light from the last stars was able to see a colony of blue-black mussels clinging to the rocks. I gathered a handful, cracked them with a loose stone, and ate the sweet shellfish raw.

I knew I needed to return to my cabin before the sun rose, but I had a pilgrimage to make first. The cove was just around the bend. This spot was as sacred to me as the Pequot burial ground—the tidal pool where I had found Ellen. Emotion overtook me. My neck was so bruised from the rope that each sob felt like it was crushing my throat from the inside out.

I crouched beside the pool where Ellen’s body had lain. I reached into the water with both hands, splashed it on my wounds. The ocean called to me. Some people are scared of what they can’t see in the depths, especially in the dark, but I knew I had to go in. I stripped off my clothes. Dried blood made the fabric of my shirt and jeans stick to my cuts. I winced as I tugged them off, reopening wounds. My father had said nothing was more healing than salt water.