Chapter Fourteen #2
“Would he blame you for his mother’s death?”
I frown in thought. “He was good at handling Dianne. Playing the part of the loving son to get what he wanted. But the stuff he would say to me about her sometimes when she wasn’t around…
I don’t really know how much he cared about her.
What mattered the most to him was his ego and maintaining control of situations. ”
Detective Hahn sighs. “Keep your doors locked, Miss Walsh.”
The call ends and I set my cell on the table. Noah is still sitting where he has been the whole time. On the plate in front of him is the forgotten slice of apple pie. And the pint of ice cream is nearby sitting in a small pool of water. So much for our romantic dinner.
“We could go,” he says. “Hit the road and get out of here. Go find that beach we were talking about.”
“Leave the restaurant without a head chef?”
“They could handle things for a while.” He cocks his head. “How about we drive cross country. Take you and your dog to meet the Pacific Ocean?”
My brows are as high as can be. “You want to drive across the country with me?”
“Whatever it takes to keep you safe and get you the hell away from him.”
My smile is small but present. “Thank you.”
“But you’re not going to agree to go.”
“I need to be here for the walk with the cadaver dogs.” I take a sip from the glass in front of me. Warm white wine is really an acquired taste. And not a good one. “And also, I think if he honestly wanted me, he would just follow us wherever we went.”
Noah frowns. “You’re probably safer with the cops sitting out front.”
“True. And I haven’t run from him yet. I don’t want to start now.
The house security system is solid. All of the doors and windows have locks on them.
And Auggie will let me know if anyone is sneaking around,” I say.
“There’s still no evidence to suggest Ryan is hanging around here.
For all we know, he could have headed straight for the coast, stolen or bought a sailboat, and already be out to sea. ”
“You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know what to believe. He actually did used to talk about how his dad would take him sailing when he was little. But that’s beside the point. What I do know for certain is that asshole doesn’t get to tell me how to live.”
“Do you have a gun in the house?”
I shake my head. “No. I hate them.”
“You might want to think about changing your mind.” Noah sits back in his chair and gives me a long look. He seems calm on the surface. Though there’s an intensity to his gaze. Something out of the ordinary. “Okay. We stay put.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Then I say, “It might be a good idea for us to put some distance between us for a few days. Just to be safe.”
“Sid.” And he smiles. The man actually smiles. “I was wondering how long it would take you to try this. Hate to say it, but you can be a little predictable when it comes to my safety.”
“Noah, be reasonable. He was so mad that time on the phone when he heard your voice. Just completely lost his shit. I’m not saying it would be permanent. But giving each other a little space while this is happening would probably be smart.”
He just watches me.
“You’re not going to fall for my bullshit,” I say finally.
“I’m really not, but I appreciate you trying. Baby, that asshole doesn’t get to tell me how to live my life either.”
I rest my hand on my chin. He has a valid point. I would know since I just used it and all.
“It was a good speech, though.”
“Thanks,” I mumble. “This is all very stressful. There’s a big old tub upstairs that takes forever to fill. Want to take a bath with me?”
“I would love to take a bath with you.”
Come morning, there was no more police car. Ryan had been sighted seven hours away outside of Toronto. I can’t remember him ever saying he had any connection to the city. The urge to get as far away as possible might solely be what’s dictating his movements. Who knows?
He didn’t care about me after all. What a fucking relief.
Noah went to work, and things went back to normal.
Or my personal version of the everyday mundane.
One where a cop car cruises past a couple of times a day and my neighbors wonder if I’m a homicidal axe murderer or something.
But every neighborhood has that one person they all talk about.
I make myself an extra strong cup of coffee after a crappy night’s sleep. Tree limbs brushing against the side of the house was him climbing up the stairs. The wind rattling a window was him picking the lock. And on and on it went all night long.
I thought of going out and spending some quality time with my punching bag.
Though the idea of Noah waking to find me missing put a stop to that.
And I wasn’t going to wake him to tell him when it’d taken him so long to settle.
At around four in the morning, I finally fell asleep.
Then being roused by the alarm just a few hours later well and truly sucked.
Me: I am texting you from the great beyond.
Hana: Dammit. He got you, huh?
Me: Got me good. I am so dead.
Hana: Bummer.
Muriel: I don’t know how you two can joke about it.
Me: It’s either that or scream and cry.
Hana: Muriel has been stress baking.
Muriel: I have rhubarb pie, maple cinnamon rolls, and some fudge that’s setting.
Me: We need to get together and fall into a sugar coma. This is of the utmost importance.
Hana: Wonder what he was doing in Toronto.
Muriel: Putting as much distance between here and himself as possible.
Me: Yeah. That’s my guess too.
Hana: Has anyone heard anything about the corrections officer?
Muriel: Nothing yet.
Me: I have a bad feeling.
Hana: I feel for her husband.
Muriel: Yes.
Me: Guess we just wait and see.
Normal life is sitting on my ass and doing hours of data entry.
I delete any and all emails requesting a comment or asking for an interview.
Including the one from a publisher asking me to write a book about my experiences.
I don’t know how to write a book. What a joke.
Though I guess they would pair me with a ghostwriter or something.
There are already books out there by people like me.
I’m not sure I have anything interesting to add to the conversation.
And surviving my ex seems too raw right now.
What with the threat of him hanging over my head so recently.
However, the presence of people like him is not necessarily something that will be absent from society anytime soon.
There were almost three hundred known serial killers active in the country during the seventies.
Those figures dropped significantly in the new century for a wide array of reasons.
Such as advances in forensic science, incarceration rates, surveillance cameras, digital tracking, and so on. But there are still some out there.
I want to be more than a survivor or a victim.
Though I do kind of wonder what it would be like to meet people like me.
Ones who have gone through some wild shit and come out the other side.
But that idea leads to leaving the house and meeting people and trying to make friends, which I am awful at. Just awful.
By midday I’m standing in the backyard with my third cup of extra-strength coffee. Auggie is busy doing his thing. And the sun is horribly, insistently bright. Just this big ball of fire in the sky. I should have worn my sunglasses.
“I’m going inside,” I tell the dog. “You don’t need me to watch while you do your thing. Scratch at the door when you’re ready to come back in.”
He seems vaguely disappointed. Like how dare I not want to stand there and watch the marvel that is him peeing. But soon enough, he returns to sniffing at something in the corner of the yard.
I head inside, through the kitchen and into the dining room. It takes a while to adjust to the dim light inside the house. And another moment to notice the thing sitting in the living room in the black leather and chrome armchair. What was once Grandma’s favorite seat for watching TV.
Long blonde hair falls over unmoving shoulders and blank blood-red eyes stare straight ahead.
There’s no doubting she’s dead. Maggie Young, the corrections officer, doesn’t seem as calm and competent now.
Just awfully, unnaturally still. And the marks on her throat are horrific and all too familiar.
Suddenly, I’m locked inside my body. The terror is so intense I can’t move.
Ryan smiles at me from where he sits at his ease on the sofa. “Hi, Sidney.”