Chapter 63
Luke
The phone rang upstairs. Marin answered.
I heard two words through the basement door she didn’t close all the way.
“Oh God.”
Then: “I’ll be right there.”
Footsteps. The front door. No car. No engine. No gravel. She went on foot. Which means she didn’t go far.
The basement door is open. Three inches. Maybe four.
I look at the rope. Look at the door. Look at the three inches of light coming through the gap.
She left in a hurry. Didn’t check the knots. Didn’t close the door. Didn’t do any of the things Marin always does because Marin is thorough and careful and never leaves a loose end.
She just left a loose end.
I work the left wrist. Same weak point as before. Fast knots leave gaps. Takes me eight minutes. The rope drops.
I stand. Rub my wrists. Walk up the stairs.
The kitchen is empty. The front door didn’t close all the way. The porch light is on across the road.
I could leave. Get in the truck. Drive home. Be done with all of it.
I sit down at the table.
Whatever is happening—whatever I set in motion when I loosened that column—Marin is going to come back through that door and need someone to be here. Or she’s going to come back through that door and kill me. At this point, either one is possible.
I wait.