Chapter 41
CHAPTER
M y entire body shakes.
But it’s not fear. It’s rage , raw anger searing through my veins.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I scream.
A few Polaroids are still in my hands. I clench my fists and crumple them into a ball.
“Do you get off on it? Reminding women who’ve finally moved on what was done to them?
” My eyes widen, a horrible thought occurring to me.
“Oh my God. Are you doing this to all of us? All the girls in the photos?”
Noah’s eyes drop to the floor, to the splatter of Polaroids strewn all over the carpet. His face changes. Anger morphs into something else—a moment of indecision, almost confusion. He opens his mouth, but says nothing as his pupils dart between the photos and my face. “What are you talking about?”
“Give me a fucking break! I’m not buying the innocent act anymore.
” I gesture to the photographs littering the floor, hold up the several still in my hand.
“He deserved to die. He preyed on young girls who were desperate , who needed love and attention and would take it however they could get it. So I’m not sorry.
Not even a little. I’m glad he couldn’t do it to anyone else. ”
Noah shakes his head. “I don’t understand . . .”
“How did you know about the pregnancy? Is there a journal somewhere?” I turn, ripping everything out of the nightstand I’ve already gone through, tossing the contents over my shoulder as I go.
The first drawer empties, so I whip open the next, but it’s still empty.
Desperate, I run to the nearby dresser, open it, and keep flinging things.
When there’s nothing left in those drawers, I turn.
“Where is it? I know it’s here somewhere! ”
“What journal? What pregnancy?” He just stands there, pretending he doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about.
I laugh maniacally. “Oh, you’re good. Almost as believable as that sick fuck of a father of yours.
But I’m not a little girl anymore. And you’ve both taken so much from me, I have nothing left to lose.
” I march toward Noah, brush my shoulder with his as I round the bed to the other side.
He stays in place as I yank open the second nightstand, pull out everything, just like I did the first. After, my eyes flit around the room, looking for more places to search. “Where is it? Where the fuck is it? ”
“I don’t have any journal.”
“Is it a notebook, then? An electronic file? What did he leave behind that you’ve used to write the chapters you’ve been sending me, Hannah ?”
His forehead creases. “Elizabeth, I can see you’re upset, but I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Nice try.” My eyes land on a book on top of the dresser, and it reminds me . . . books, shelf— the office ! Why didn’t I start there? I bet that’s where it is. Without another word, I run out of the bedroom and bolt down the stairs.
Noah chases behind me. “Where are you going?”
I march into the office and start with the bookshelves, tearing each book, one by one, from the neat rows. “Where is it? Where the fuck is it ? ”
Noah comes to a stop in the doorway, watching me as though he’s afraid to come in. Smart man. Because even I don’t know what I’m capable of right now.
“I’m not sure what’s going on, but why don’t we sit down and talk about it? Clearly you’re upset . . .”
This is taking too long, so I wipe the second shelf clean by reaching in and sweeping everything to the floor.
Then I do the same to the third and fourth.
The case is empty, but that’s not good enough, so I pull at it, trying to bring it down.
When it doesn’t budge, I lift a leg, press my foot against the wall on the side for leverage, and yank harder.
Noah puts a hand on my shoulder. “Elizabeth, stop. It’s screwed to the wall.”
I jump back. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!”
He holds his hands up, actually looking nervous. “Okay, okay.”
I move on and empty the contents of two more tall shelves while Noah watches. There are piles of books knee-deep now, and I try to trudge through them to get to the other side of the room, but I trip and fall two steps in, landing on top of the pile.
Noah rushes over. He reaches out a hand to help me, but I slap it away. This time, he doesn’t back off. Instead, he secures my hands in front of me and wraps me in his arms while I kick and scream, trapping me against him.
“Shhh,” he whispers. “It’s okay. Let me help.”
“I don’t want your help! Get off me.”
He holds me tighter. “I’m not letting go until you calm down, Elizabeth.”
“I fucking hate you!”
“You can. I don’t care. But you’re scaring me, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“ I’m scaring you ? Are you fucking kidding me? You turned my world upside down by pretending to be my student and sending me that sick shit you wrote!”
Neither of us speaks for a moment. My breaths are coming fast, harsh. I’m hyperventilating.
“I can tell you’re not going to believe me, but I have no clue what you’re talking about right now. Whatever you think I’m doing to you, you got the wrong guy.”
I keep trying to get out of the hold, but he’s bigger and stronger. Just like his goddamned father. Eventually, I settle into an eerie calm.
“Let go of me,” I grit through my teeth. “I’m fine.”
He loosens his grip, but doesn’t release me. “Will you talk to me? Tell me what you think is going on here?”
I don’t respond, but after a moment, he slowly lets go, lets his arms fall away a little at a time.
Eventually, he takes a step back, giving me space.
The crumpled Polaroids that I brought down here, still in my hands, are now on the floor.
Noah bends and picks them up. He unfurls the plastic and stares down for a long time.
“This is you, isn’t it?” He swallows. “You were one of his girls?”
He’s almost believable. But I’m not falling for the Sawyer men’s crap anymore. “I think we’re past pretending. Why don’t you just tell me what you want from me, Noah?”
“I don’t want anything from you. I only wanted to get to know you.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Because I like you. Because you seem to know what you want and not be afraid to take it. I found that refreshing.” He looks into my eyes. “I swear, I had no idea that you . . .” He trails off. “I only recently found out about my father’s affairs with his students.”
“They weren’t affairs . ‘Affairs’ implies two consenting adults. I was a child, and your father was my abuser—both physically and sexually.”
Noah rakes a hand through his hair, blows out a full breath of air.
“I had no idea. I really didn’t. After my mother died, I decided to remodel the house.
When I took down the drop ceiling in the bathroom, I found the Polaroids.
I recognized my father’s handwriting, and, well, it was par for the course with him. ”
“How so?”
“Well, he wasn’t a good guy. His hobbies included writing poetry and beating my mother four nights a week.
Me, too, once I turned six and tried to stop him the first time.
Sad to say, but discovering he kept a stash of photos of young girls wasn’t too shocking.
” He frowns. “I’m so sorry he did that to you. ”
For a half second, I almost buy it—believe he’s sincere and just another innocent victim in this mess. But I’m done being gullible. “Where’s the journal, Noah? Your father must’ve kept a journal.”
“If he did, I didn’t find it.”
“Then how did you know all the details you wrote in the chapters you sent me?”
“I didn’t send you anything, Elizabeth, I swear.”
I look over at the desk, at the bookshelves I haven’t checked yet. “I’m going to keep searching.”
He shrugs. “Have at it. I’ll give you some space and go wait in the kitchen. It’s the least I can do.”
Noah leaves, and I finish rummaging through the office.
I don’t rip the books from the shelves or upend the drawers, but I do a thorough search—every book, every piece of paper in the desk.
Twenty minutes later, I walk into the kitchen empty-handed.
Noah sits at the table with a bottle of whiskey and a glass.
“You want some?” he asks without looking up.
“No.”
He shrugs. “Find anything of interest?”
“I assume you know I didn’t or you wouldn’t have let me finish searching. You have it somewhere else.”
He shakes his head. “Is there anything I can say or do that will make you believe I had no idea who you were when you walked into the bar that night? And I had no idea what you went through until you just told me?”
“Probably not. What did my mother want?”
His brows furrow. “Hmm?”
“You went to visit her in the hospital. Why?”
“Oh. She had a nurse call me. I was curious, so I went. The first time she was sleeping, so I went back the next day. She asked what my intentions were with you. I told her not to worry, they were all good. She was in and out of it after that, so I left her to rest.” He knocks back the amber liquid in his glass. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“You accused me of sending you stuff. So you, what, think I was stalking you or something?”
“Yes.”
“Why would I do that? Even if I had known about you and my dad. Why on God’s earth would I want to bring up shit that happened twenty years ago?”
“Revenge?”
“Revenge for what?”
I don’t answer right away. Instead, I wait until Noah looks up and our eyes meet. “Revenge for killing your father.”
Noah’s brows shoot up. “You strangled my father?”
“Strangled? No. I hit him over the head with a lamp to keep him from punching me more on the night of my graduation.”
Noah’s eyes flare. “Well, then you didn’t kill my father. Because he died from asphyxiation, not a head injury.”