Chapter 64
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
After he tells me this, I return to my room, get into bed, and don’t get up for a week.
Overwhelmed by Neil’s recurring threats, my body shuts down completely.
The nightmares about Grace return. I keep seeing Bradley looming behind her with a rock.
After he cracks open her skull, he holds out his hand to me, like a demon luring a victim to hell, and every time, I take it.
Whenever I wake, Neil is there, sitting in the corner of the room, waiting with a meal or a cup of tea, his brows knitted in concentration. I panic every time. Nightmares waking to nightmares. No escape.
Sometimes, he leaves the house. I’m free to go, but of course, I can’t really ever leave him. He’ll always be able to lure me back.
So I stay. A prisoner.
Soon, the panic attacks subside, and I begin to feel numb to it all. I wander around the house in a daze, spending my days watching reality TV or scrolling through videos on my phone. Despite the lack of exercise or stimulation, I sleep ten hours a night.
One day, I find the pills he’s giving me in his bedside drawers. Beta blockers and sleeping pills. I consider flushing them, but I’m scared to face reality.
Some days, I think about asking him to double the dose.
The day after Grace returns to the land of the living—front page news, of course—the police drop the investigation against me, and Neil goes back to work.
He brings home flowers that night, and the next, until I tell him to stop. But the romantic gestures keep coming. He brings me jewelry. At every opportunity, he tells me how much he loves me.
Soon, he begins to say how much he wants me, too. He never forces it, but I soon feel his hands on my hips, my ass, my breasts. I tell him I’m not ready, but it’s clear I’m running out of time.
And then one day, I’m flipping through channels, and I see a news report about a boat found floating in the Pacific Ocean, hundreds of miles from shore.
No one is on board, but there are liquor bottles everywhere.
According to the news, the police concluded that the owner of the vessel, one Bradley Little, fell overboard when intoxicated.
When Neil comes home late that night, he’s drunk.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says, kissing me. “We should have a baby.”
The next day, I check my emails and find a message from Lucy Davos with the subject line “The Mackenzie Wildlife Restoration Project.”
I open it and find that Lucy is an associate at a law firm in the city.
Dear Ms. Mackenzie,
I’m writing on behalf of my client, Grace Frost, concerning plans to purchase five thousand acres to act as a protected habitat for endangered birds in the north-east region.
Before we can conclude our transaction, we need you to sign off on the use of your name for the property and any associated promotional and educational materials.
I’ve attached a contract for you to read. I recommend consulting with your lawyer. I’ve also attached the current project prospectus, and of course, I am happy to answer any questions you might have.
Sincerely,
Lucy Davos
I open the prospectus, which turns out to be a 200-page PDF outlining the full plan to acquire an enormous tract of land 200 miles north of Pine Ridge.
It goes into detail about infrastructure required, land use, predator protection, buildings, and accessways.
At the end, it lists the endangered birds that will use the land as a habitat.
It’s an overwhelming document, and I have a million questions. But it’s not the lawyer I want to answer them.
It’s Grace.