Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I sit down and watch the sunlight fade through the crack in the door. It’s too dark to read, now; soon, it will be too dark to see anything at all.
I’m hungry, thirsty, and—worst of all—I need to pee.
To stop myself from having a panic attack, I tell myself the same stories again and again. Bradley will find me. Neil will find me. Grace will let me out and tell me it was all a mistake.
Fairy tales. Grace knows that I slept with Bradley, and now she wants me dead. There’s no hope. She could have timed it for when Bradley was away at a conference and she had an alibi in LA. She could say the locked door was an accident, and how could anyone prove otherwise?
I wonder what happened to Caroline Churchwell. Jesse mentioned her when we first met. He called her poor Caroline. Why was she poor? Was it because she slept with Bradley, and Grace had her killed?
He told me to be careful, too, just like the hermit Don. Why didn’t I listen?
Grace has a notebook about me, just like the one about Caroline. And now I’m about to die. One day, Jesse will talk to another young woman at Pine Ridge and say, Poor Brie.
How many days does it take to die of thirst? Three days? A week?
I don’t want to die. What a stupid and obvious thing to admit. No one wants to die. But I’m not anyone. I’m Brie MacKenzie, and I’m sitting on the floor of a basement in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t want to die.
Please don’t let me die.
I’m sobbing again when I hear sounds from the ceiling. Footsteps! I shout as loud as I can. It might be Grace upstairs, but I don’t care. I won’t make it easy for her to leave me here. I shout again, and the footsteps get louder. Someone’s running.
A few seconds later, I hear a voice calling out. A male voice.
“Bradley! Bradley!” I yell his name until I hear him coming down the stairs. I race up to the door and press myself against it.
“Brie?”
“I’m locked inside!” I immediately start to sob. I thought I would die down here, but I’m saved. The relief is intense.
But to my horror, the ordeal isn’t over yet.
“Just wait,” he says through the door. “I’ll go find a key.”
“No!” I can’t bear for him to leave. I can’t stay down here alone, not for another second. “Please don’t leave me!”
“I’ll just be a minute. Wait right there.”
As I hear his footsteps disappear, I feel myself grow more frantic. My chest hurts—am I having a heart attack? I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m underwater and my clothes are weighed down by rocks, and the surface is getting further and further away.
Where is he? It’s been more than a minute. What if he’s not coming back?
No, he’ll come. He’ll smash the door open with an axe if he has to.
But what if Grace didn’t do this on her own?
What if Bradley’s in on it? What if this is what they do as a couple to get off?
Maybe they play mind games with young women, then lock them up and use them as their playthings.
They could leave me down here for weeks, teasing me, hurting me, using me, until they grow bored.
And then what?
I struggle to control my breathing. Bradley is too good to be true.
He’s a kind, handsome, sensitive man with a stable job.
Why would he go for me? If he wanted a young woman, he could seduce one of the thousands of options on campus.
That would be much easier—and much less complicated—than someone who lives on his property, who sees his wife every day.
The more I think about it, the less sense it makes.
He’s using me. There’s no other explanation.
Minutes go by, and I try to convince myself that the obvious isn’t true, that he isn’t a monster, that my life isn’t over, but none of it works.
I can’t breathe. There’s not enough oxygen in the room. There’s no hope.
I’m dead.
I hear footsteps again. He’s jogging across the kitchen. A door slams, and a few seconds later, I hear him coming down the steps.
“Brie!”
I don’t respond.
“Brie, move away from the door. I’m going to break the lock open, OK?”
With a sob, I shuffle away.
“Are you clear? You have to tell me.”
I clear my throat and manage a quiet, “yes.”
A loud crash, then the door swings open. I feel a gust of cool night air. Bradley is soon beside me.
“Hey, hey,” he says. “It’s OK. What happened?”
He curls his arm around my shoulder, then coaxes me to stand. Sobbing, I hit him on the chest.
“What’s that for?”
“I thought you weren’t coming back.”
“What?” He sounds exhausted, almost annoyed. “That’s crazy.”
He shuffles out the door, keeping me in his arms. I try to regain composure, but as soon as I’m outside, I start crying again.
The relief is unbearable. I’m alive. By the time we reach the back garden, my thoughts from five minutes earlier do seem crazy.
Bradley isn’t a character from one of Grace’s novels.
He’s a kind man who, for whatever reason, seems to like me.
“I thought I was going to die.”
“Enough of that talk.” Now he’s definitely annoyed. “I’ve got enough crazy in my life.”
I bristle at his dismissive attitude. Maybe I was crazy to think he was working with Grace, but she did intentionally lock me down there. I’m pretty sure she deliberately shut off the power, too.
“I didn’t know if anyone would find me in time.”
“Why would you think that?”
“You could have gone away. Grace might have arranged it.”
“What are you talking about?”
His questions make me want to scream with frustration. It’s almost like he’s mocking me.
“Grace locked me in. She asked me to clean out her boxes, then locked the door. And she cut off the lights, too.”
“Brie. Listen to yourself. You think Grace wanted you dead? Why on earth would you jump to that conclusion? It must have been an accident.”
“How?” As we go inside the house, I’m becoming less upset and more pissed off. “Seriously, how? The lock needs a massive key. How would that accidentally lock?”
“When the door slams shut, it can trigger the mechanism,” he says, without missing a beat. “It can happen with old doors like that.”
“Why are you defending her?”
“I’m not—” He takes a breath before speaking again. “You’ve gone through a lot. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I say. I don’t want platitudes. I want righteous anger. I want action.
“Come on. You’re saying my wife intentionally locked you in our basement.
I think it’s more than reasonable for me to look for an alternative explanation.
Seriously, anything is more plausible than that.
Just a second ago, you thought I was part of this conspiracy.
” He’s frowning slightly as he looks at me, as if searching for something in my eyes.
“I’ve put you under a lot of pressure, living here with Grace. ”
“I’m not crazy!” I say. I haven’t told him about the poem, the poison, the book. The trick with the roses. It’s too late now. He'll think I've lost my mind if I bring it all up.
“I found something else down there. Notebooks about Caroline Churchwell.”
“Notebooks?”
“Yes. With plans. To kill her, I think. And clippings from her disappearance. Dozens of them.” I stare at him. “You told me it was a misunderstanding. But from the looks of it, she was obsessed with Caroline. She fantasized about hurting her. And she’s doing the same to me! ”
He’s still giving me that same look, as if testing to see if I haven’t completely lost my mind.
“Brie—” he begins, and he’s lucky I don’t hit him again. Even the way he says my name is patronizing. “You’re jumping at shadows. I already told you, Caroline lived with us for a time. She left without telling us, and we notified the police. But it was all a misunderstanding.”
“Why does she have all those clippings? What’s up with that notebook?”
“She used Caroline for her first novel. Not directly, but I think it unblocked her. She gets in her own head. That stuff might seem a little strange, but it’s just research.
She had terrible writer’s block. She’s had it for her entire life.
Nothing ever comes easy for her. She drew on Caroline for inspiration. But none of what you read is real. ”
I stare at him in disbelief. How can he not see what she’s like? “Tell me the truth. Did Grace hurt Caroline? I’m not saying she killed her, but this is more than just research.”
He takes a deep breath, and I can already tell that he’s going to gaslight me.
“You feel unsafe, and I get that. But you don’t know Grace as I do.
Caroline got sick of living here one day and left without telling us.
But we searched for her, and she’s alive and well. Living in Canada. Like I told you.”
I take a second to process what he’s saying. Caroline is alive—I can believe that. But then why does everything feel so off?
“Let’s not bury the lede,” I say. “Your wife tried to kill me.”
“I see that you think that. But can you consider other explanations? The Grace I know would never do that to you. Or to anyone.”
“How do you know?”
“I know, OK? And even if you don’t trust her, trust me. I’m here, and I won’t let her hurt you, as absolutely ridiculous and unlikely as that is.”
He takes my hand and attempts to pull me closer, but I snatch it away. I’m not done.
“No. You’re gaslighting me. You’re not here all the time. I am! I know what I see!”
“I don’t know what to do, Brie. What do you want from me?” He pulls at his hair with his right hand, and it stands out to the side like it’s being manipulated by a magnet. “How can I make you feel better?”
I can’t believe he thinks he can sweet-talk me down. Typical college professor. He thinks words are all he needs. But I don’t need a goddamn sonnet. I need him to actually do something.
“Divorce her! Like you said you’d do.”
“I’m working on it. But I can’t just end my marriage overnight.”
“Work harder. I don’t want to see her ever again.”
“She’s not an app on my phone, you know,” he says. “I can’t just delete her with a click. We’ve been together for over a decade. It’ll take time.”
“Fine.” I walk past him, down the hallway, to the front door. I can hear him jogging after me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving. Call me a taxi.”
“You’re kidding.” He forces a laugh that makes me want to punch him again. “No taxi will come out here at this time of night.”
“Drive me, then. I’ll find a motel.”
He grabs my hand, and this time I let him. “Stop. Please.”
“Why should I stay? You think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy.” He takes my other hand and looks at me. “I’m the crazy one. I’ve fallen in love with someone I just met.”
Love? I’m about to stammer a response, but he keeps talking.
“I know you just want to be friends, but I want more than that. Please stay. I’ll move as quickly as possible with the divorce if we can be together.”
I let him pull me closer. With the narcotic of that word, I even let him kiss me, but just for a second.
After everything that’s happened, I feel exhausted—exhausted, but also angry. And now that I’m in Bradley’s arms, I definitely don’t want to stay in that dark cottage on my own.
“Even if everything you think about Grace is right, you shouldn’t run away. You’re much stronger than she is. She can be mean, but she’s very insecure and fragile underneath it all. There’s no reason you should be scared of her.”
I look out at the dark forest. Am I strong?
What evidence is there of that? But maybe he’s right.
For my entire life, I’ve done what other people wanted.
Isn’t it time for me to be selfish? Isn’t it time to fight for what I want?
Why should I risk living on the street just because Grace is an insecure bully?
Why can’t I fight back, for once in my life?
He steps closer. I recognize the look in his eyes. I want to tell him to read the room, but I’m still flattered by his attention.
“How can I make you feel better?”
I pull away. “By letting me go to the bathroom. I was trapped in there for six hours.”
“They say romance is dead,” he calls out.
Not romance, I think, glancing at the memorabilia on Grace’s shelves.
But not me, either.