27 Everleigh Let Me In—Dermot Kennedy #2
Leaning heavily against the door to straighten my jelly legs, the room dips and sways. I have no idea where I am. This isn’t the house I fled or any property I recognise. In fact, it doesn’t look lived in at all.
Do not panic.
One, two, three, four.
Just a sole inhabitant. Skin translucent, two empty glass balls staring up at the ceiling beneath matted, unwashed hair. She’s bare. Her body gaunt and bones exposed from captivity. Hand clasped over my mouth and nose, I inch closer to study her crushed throat.
Strangled.
Just like Isabel.
I saw the evidence myself in Christopher’s scrapbook. He had glossy, high-definition photos printed to memorialise the kill. Not to mention the detailed notes and musings that outlined his fantasies. I wonder what he did to this poor soul while holding her here, savouring the eventual kill.
With trembling hands, I attempt to slide her empty eyes shut. Her skin feels waxy and glacial beneath my touch. Like a plasticine doll crafted into death’s image by the devil himself. Stripped bare and humiliated until the very end.
“I’m so sorry,” I cry desolately. “You didn’t deserve to die like this.”
Pulling off Fletcher’s shirt to drape over her bareness, her blue skin vanishes beneath thick, rough flannel.
“I’ll make him pay for you and Isabel. He won’t get away with this.”
My hand rests over her still heart, hidden by the shirt. I sit with her in solidarity until the door’s lock snicks back and the handle rattles. When it clicks open, the official reunion I’ve spent months fearing comes to fruition.
“Ah.” Christopher steps into the bedroom. “You’re awake.”
Without his all-black disguise, my husband is a lot more recognisable. Though I haven’t seen him out of full, three-piece suits and fine shirts in a long time. His dark jeans and designer polo befit his slicked-back hair. The warm, friendly psychiatrist—as handsome and approachable as ever.
“Hello again, Everleigh. Did you sleep well?”
Unsteadily rising from the bed, I back up into the wall. “Who is she?”
“Sit down, darling. You’ve been through a lot.”
“Stop playing games,” I hiss at him. “Who. Is. She?”
Smirking, he prowls farther into the room, casting the body a lingering look.
“She couldn’t live up to you. I tried to mould her, to create a replacement for you . . . but she refused to obey. Once I knew you would be coming home, I had to dispose of the cheap knock-off.”
“What is her name?”
He takes a moment to rack his mind. “Rachel.”
“You didn’t have to kill her! You’re fucking sick!”
“She outlived her usefulness.” Christopher shrugs.
“She’s a human being! Just like Isabel Vale was.”
“Ah,” he coos. “Isabel. Yes, that little connection was quite the shock for me too. Serendipitous, really. Though I didn’t care much for her husband—so rude.”
Even with the bed and its occupant between us, his aura crackles with dangerous energy. It was always there, hidden behind practiced smiles, PR-perfect lovability, and enough money to silence any who dared to say otherwise.
But I never knew just how capable he was of using that carefully concealed violence to inflict savagery most couldn’t dream of. Now, the writing’s on the wall. And I’m the only one who can expose him.
“It’s good to see you, dear wife. You were gone for a long time.”
“How did you find me?” I gulp hard.
“I have friends.” He smiles slyly. “It took a lot longer than I’d hoped for, but anyone can be traced with the right minds on the case and adequate funds to grease the wheels.”
“You investigated me?”
“Truthfully, you gave my buddy a good run for his money. I didn’t expect it to take so long to trace your movements back to that ramshackle town. I’m rather impressed.”
“I had good motivation,” I snarl.
“Quite.” His smile flashes teeth, pearly and perfect. “Did you miss me?”
“I’ve spent months living under a false identity to escape you. What do you think?”
Brow creasing, he scans the empty room. “I had thought you’d come back of your own accord. We are married, after all. And I’ve treated you well.”
“Well?” A hateful laugh pulls from my chest.
“Everything I’ve done has been for your own good,” Christopher explains without an ounce of humility. “I made you what you are, Everleigh Banks. Without me, you’d be just another trust fund baby who lost her poor, sweet daddy.”
Rage rises up and crests into a tsunami that steals my breath.
“Fuck you.”
“Now, now.” His gaze hardens. “It’s taken great pain to explain your absence to our friends. Thankfully no one asked questions once I mentioned your ailing mental health. They know how fragile you are, darling.”
My intestines twist at the thought of his bloodsucking friends, tutting and faking sympathy for the poor housewife losing her marbles. I bet they all laughed it up behind their champagne glasses.
“You’ve put me through hell with all this.” He sighs.
“Do you think I care about that?”
“You should. I am your husband.”
“You’re a murderous psychopath!”
“Enough!”
Christopher flashes across the room to stalk towards me faster than I can plot an escape. There’s nowhere to flee. Not when he boxes me in and assaults me with those dead midnight daggers, daring me to say another word against him.
“What has happened to you?” he seethes. “You’re being a brat. You should be thanking me for covering for you.”
Old Everleigh would cower before him. Anything to avoid his wrath and disgust. But I no longer believe the lies he instilled in me for so long. If hating me keeps him away from those I love, I’ll talk back all day long.
“I learned to live,” I spit back at him.
“Hah. Is that so?”
“Yes. You can’t control me.”
His laugh licks over my skin in a resentful sneer. “Look who went away and got brave. You’ve forgotten your place, Mrs. Banks.”
“It isn’t on your list of victims. Not anymore.”
“Victims?” He chuckles maliciously. “You, dear, are not a victim. You’re just . . . property.”
When he leans in to drag his nose along my neck, inhaling to bathe in my scent, I feel myself snap. My knee shoots upwards to collide between his legs, eliciting a wonderfully pained groan.
I shove past him to bank towards the unlocked door. Christopher howls my name, more enraged than I’ve ever heard him. My feet trip and skid over old floorboards in a desperate bid to escape him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he roars.
Just as I’ve thrown the door open to hurl myself through it, a vice cinches in my hair and yanks me backwards. Lava erupts over my scalp as locks tear free, the momentum carrying me backwards and flat onto my ass.
“You will learn to obey, Everleigh!”
“No! Let go of me!”
“I said obey!”
He drags me back, tossing my body into the corner without care for the impact. I smack into the floor hard enough to jostle my screaming head wound and bruised body. The force knocks the wind out of me.
“If you don’t behave, you’ll stay in this room with the last woman who disappointed me. I want to take you home, but I can’t do that until you stop this nonsense and act like a proper wife.”
“Then just kill me!” I cry through flooding tears.
“Kill you?” he repeats, grinning darkly. “Oh, no. Believe it or not, that wasn’t even my intention when I set fire to your hiding place. But I did think it would scare you into coming home.”
My bones quake, shuddering at the realisation. Perhaps my fear-fuelled hallucination wasn’t so wrong after all. Even subconsciously, my mind sensed his evil creeping closer.
“You burned down the Lakeside Tavern?”
“In truth, I was surprised it didn’t have the intended result.” He shrugs. “I remained close by until I saw your little friend enter the building. He rescued you before I could.”
“Don’t lie. You had no intention of saving me.”
“Do you really think that little of me?” His lip curls in disgust. “I only wanted to frighten you.”
“You tried to kill me!”
“Always so dramatic,” he tuts. “Thank you for blaming someone else, though. That made my life a lot easier.”
“Why not come back to finish the job?”
“And spoil the chance of you scuttling home, tail tucked between your legs?” Christopher chortles in amusement. “Now that was a sight I wanted to see.”
“Yet you did return.”
Storm-clouds gather on his expression, flashing darkly. “I’m a very patient man, Everleigh. But even my patience has its limits. I had to take reasonable action.”
“Reasonable?” I screech. “You stabbed my friend’s sister!”
“The bitch should’ve minded her own business.”
Gaping at him, I slowly shake my head. “You’re insane.”
“Me? There’s only one person here to blame.”
Jabbing a finger in my direction, Christopher moves to the bed to grab Rachel’s ankles. I curl up tight, watching through horrified tears as he drags her from the bed. Her stiff limbs bang against the floor, causing his muscles to strain.
My husband drags the woman he killed like she’s little more than a dead pig hanging on a hook. Never once breaking a sweat. Before he closes the door to seal me in her prison cell, he winks at me.
“Rest, darling. Perhaps when you wake up, we can have a sensible conversation about you returning to your wifely duties without all this unpleasantness.”
Then he’s gone.
Taking the last five years of my life with him.