Chapter Nineteen
Through the window, I saw Matthew pull back into the driveway, and I listened to his footsteps. Instead of going to the basement or kitchen, I heard them stop outside the door to the library: the room I had made a second home.
He knocked.
I glanced down at my clothes, straightening them out, and tapping my fingers against the table, trying to invent a reason to stall. Finding none, I took in a deep breath.
“Come in,” I said.
The door swung open and Matthew walked through, wearing a grey wool coat. It was a light jacket, perfect for the early spring coolness, and it seemed the fresh air still clung to him.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
My mind froze. He had been gone; how could Matthew know what had happened?
I looked down at my hands and knees, the smooth skin revealing nothing of what had taken place only hours before.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Matthew shrugged, taking the seat by mine. He scratched his blond beard, apparently just as uncomfortable with this closeness as I was.
“I know that what has happened around here recently would be enough to scare anyone. I just wanted to check on you,” he said. Perhaps reading my skepticism, he added: “I know I haven’t been as kind as I should have.”
“To whom?” I asked.
His eyebrows raised. “To you.”
“I’m sure you’ve been dealing with some issues yourself,” I said, trying immediately to shift the focus of the conversation.
He nodded, almost smiling. “I think it’s because of how I’ve been affected by these losses, that I wanted to talk to you, to make sure you’re handling it well. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave here completely and never look back.”
There seemed to be an earnest plea hidden in his words. His eyes were unblinking, unwavering, and it seemed every muscle in his body was tensed. I didn’t buy for a minute his insistence that he was just interested in my wellbeing.
“Well, there’s Vic,” I said, unsure of why I would confide anything in him.
“Yeah, he said you two were engaged to be married. I suppose I should have offered my congratulations,” he said, brushing the words off the moment they left his tongue.
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
“Is it worth it to stay here just for him?” Matthew asked. “I’m no romantic, but I just can’t imagine it is.”
“Why aren’t you leaving?” I asked.
He leaned back in the armchair. He was beginning to relax into the conversation, but only barely. I realized that this was the longest I’d had to study his face in daylight. He seemed tired, exhausted past sleeplessness. There was a disturbance brewing in his mind, beyond any disquiet he’d shown surrounding Edith or Margaret’s deaths.
“I might,” he said with a small shrug. “But I can’t leave just yet.”
“Oh, right, your medical schooling,” I said.
He nodded. “I might have to tough it out.”
I waited, and the fresh silence stretched painfully between us. At least we were returning to some semblance of normality. He looked out the window, over my shoulder, and I glanced briefly at the ground.
“You’re stronger than I am. If I were you, I’d grab my things and go,” he said. “There are other opportunities, other men.”
I bristled internally at Matthew’s analysis of me as some boy-crazed simpleton, or worse.
“I’ll think about it,” I said with measured calm.
“You think about it,” he said. “I worry about both of us being here. Something’s not right.”
Matthew stood back up.
“I get the sense I’ve overstepped,” he said. He looked around the library. “I’m glad they were able to clean out the blood.”
“What blood?” I asked.
Matthew’s brow creased in confusion. “Margaret’s,” he said.
“Margaret killed herself on the porch,” I said.
Matthew shook his head. “No, she killed herself in here. There was blood splattered all over that wall,” he said, pointing to my left.
“No, I saw it,” I said, my heart beating a little faster.
“The only one who saw her go through with it was one of the cops.”
“I saw.”
Matthew looked down at his hands. “I should get going,” he said.
#
I realized that I needed to leave, but the thought didn’t come with any urgency. Instead, it seemed like something important that had been momentarily forgotten and was now remembered, but only in part. It had been on my mind for some time, unattended and giving way to decay.
Vic stepped into the room, as though reading my mind. The second I saw him, I caught the flash of desire in his eyes and lost myself momentarily as my gaze skimmed the fabric of his shirt stretched over taut muscle. I felt my resolve eroding.
“Margaret was in the cage downstairs,” I said spontaneously, as though the effort of keeping one secret had forced another from my lips.
Vic’s eyebrow raised and he smiled. “Was she, now?”
“Why did you tell me she left?” I continued, unable to stop myself.
“Because she did,” he said gently, as though talking to a small child. “I don’t know what you saw, or think you saw, but after Margaret left, she broke in and beat Theresa nearly to death. She stole Matthew’s gun and killed herself in front of you.”
“She never left the house,” I said.
“She left, then she came back and killed herself in front of you,” he said. “You even told the cops that she left that note behind.”
“You told them about the note,” I said.
“And you backed me up, because you knew what kind of woman Margaret was. Do you remember when she called you my whore? Do you remember when you struck her again and again, when her blood was under your fingernails…”
He leaned forward, resting his hands on the arms of my chair, trapping me.
“And when you sucked her blood out,” I said, half defeated.
“When I sucked her blood from under your fingernails, I realized I would do anything for you,” he said, the words barely above a breath.
“Except tell me the truth about her leaving,” I said.
I closed my eyes, but felt his fingertips grip my chin and tilt my face upward. When I reopened my eyes, they were met by his intense gaze.
“I told you the truth,” he said. “Margaret left this house, and returned to attack Theresa and kill herself. Whether you believe me or not is something I have no control over.”
I sagged back into the armchair. Vic stepped back and grabbed a chair, pulling mine forward so that I was seated in a place between his legs. He looked down at me, his body surrounding every limit of mine, making me feel so small.
“Is it enough?” he asked. “Do I need to work any harder for your trust? Will my word ever be enough?”
I nodded. “It’s enough.”
He left, seemingly satisfied by my response. The second he was gone, I walked upstairs and packed my things into a bag. I didn’t know why I was leaving. It felt more like something on a to-do list, something I had always meant to do, but hadn’t had the opportunity.
I loaded the bag into my car and closed the trunk. I wanted to say goodbye to Vic, to explain my upcoming absence, but found I could not put my thoughts into words. I knew that, realistically, I had reason to leave the man who had lied to me at every turn, and may have been involved in a nurse’s imprisonment and death.
Yet, none of that mattered. I loved Vic with every fiber of my being. It was as though in a trance that I left the house with all of my earthly belongings shoved into a bag. I loved Vic and I wanted him to come with me, but I didn’t know how to ask, how to tell him that there was something in the house, something malevolent which would not let us rest as lovers beneath its roof.
So, I closed the trunk and sat down in the driver’s seat. I looked back at the house one last time, taking in every angle of the structure I had briefly come to think of as home.
Then, I saw Vic step out of the front door. He spotted me in the driver’s seat, and waved. I wanted so badly to ask him to come with me, but the words died on my lips as I watched him approach.
His mouth was turned upwards in a light smile and he kept his hand extended, as though wanting to ask me something.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
I had rolled down the window, and he leaned against the door. He looked so perfect standing there, and I gazed up at him with admiration shining in my eyes.
“I’m just going into town,” I said.
“I’ll go with you,” he said. “Frankly, I need a break from this place.”
At his words, my heart leapt. Maybe he would come with me, on this adventure with no clear end. The more I thought about it, the more I wondered what had impelled me to pack my things and get into the car in the first place.
“I’m running away,” I said, forced by the same inexplicable impulse to tell the truth to Vic, no matter how much I wanted to lie.
His eyebrows raised, and his mouth formed a half-smile. Still, I saw his fingers tighten their grip on the door.
“Running away,” he repeated. “I hope you’re not running from me.”
I laughed, a little nervous. “No, not from you. The truth is, I’m running away from this house. There’s something going on here that I can’t explain, and I’m so afraid of staying here another night.”
Vic leaned further into the car, but looked back at the house. “I guess that makes sense. There’s no getting around the strange things that have been happening here.”
I reached through the open window, and pressed my palm against his cheek. He leaned into the touch.
“You know I can’t let you leave,” he said softly, kissing my palm.
“Come visit me,” I said. “Maybe when this is all over, I can come back.”
His eyes stayed locked on mine, as his lips pressed light kisses to my wrist.
“You know I can’t let you leave,” he repeated in a whisper.
With those words, his fingers wrapped into my hair, fisting, and pulling my head forward. With his other hand, he opened the door, and hauled me out.
I fell on my side and he grabbed my wrist. My other hand wrapped around his forearm and my muscles strained against him, as I dug my heels against the gravel driveway trying to find some traction.
He grabbed my arm just above the elbow and pulled me to my feet. Vic wrapped his arms around me, so my back was pressed hard to his chest and the breath was squeezed from my lungs. With one hand, he covered my mouth and with the other he lifted me from my feet and carried me back to the porch, up the steps, and into the house.
Once inside, he threw me onto the rug in the foyer, and slammed the front door behind him.
I scrambled to my feet, backing up until I hit the wall. I could feel the gilt frame mirror above my head wobble.
“Vic, please let me go,” I said. I could feel the tears coming hot and fast across my cheeks. I wiped them from my face with the back of my hand.
“I thought you would stay on your own. It’s more humane that way, you know? I actually thought you loved me,” he growled.
“What do you mean more humane?” I asked. My hands were clenched into tight fists, and I could feel my fingernails digging into my palms.
At this, Vic laughed. “Sweetheart, you’ll find out soon enough and let me tell you: by the time you understand what’s happening, you’ll dream about the days when you lay in my arms. You’ll know that it could have stayed that way, and that’s what’ll kill you.”
He strode forward and grabbed my wrist. I tried to slip away, but he dug his fingers into me with an unwavering, brutal strength. I thought that he was going to break my bones in the palm of his hand.
He started to drag me toward the stairs leading up. I pulled hard enough that my hand slipped free for a moment. The force of my fall sent me sprawling on the floor. Vic reached down to grab me again and I kicked at him, my foot connecting with his jaw.
He recoiled briefly, before coming at me again with an intensity of purpose in his eyes that caused every muscle in my body to freeze.
He grabbed my wrist again, and yanked me to my feet. He then picked me up, throwing me over his shoulder. I tried to struggle, but he pressed his elbow hard against my ribs until I stayed still.
He walked me back to my room, and threw me down on the bed. He had a piece of rope in his back pocket. He flipped me over onto my stomach and stuck his knee into the small of my back. I struggled to shift my body even a little, just to move the pressure of his knee from my spine.
When I refused to stay still, he grabbed my hair and pushed my face to the side. He slapped me across the cheek hard, before pressing his palm against my head, crushing my face into the mattress under us. When he was satisfied that I had abandoned my struggle, he tied my hands behind my back, and stood up, leaving me on my stomach on the bed.
“Do me a favor, sweetheart, and stay put for a minute. Okay?”
I nodded, feeling the bedspread underneath me grow damp from my tears.
I could hear him going through the drawers, before leaving the bedroom and going into the bathroom. After sometime he returned.
“Just making sure this room won’t be a problem. I would invite you to share my bed again, but it will take some time for you to earn my trust back,” he said from some place behind me.
He then closed the door, and I heard the turn of a key in the lock. When I heard him walk down the hall, I felt it was safe to move again. I brought my knees under my body and sat up. I looked around the room, noting that everything looked more or less the same.
The keys!
The keyring was in the car, in my bag. I would have to assume that they would be found whenever Vic decided to search my clothes and return them to me. At least, I assumed he would be returning my clothing to me. In a matter of minutes, he had become a stranger, so there were no guarantees.
I waited for some time on my knees, my hands bound behind my back and my feet tucked under me. The daylight gradually gave way to evening, and there was still no sign of Vic.