Chapter Thirty-Seven
Helen and Wade ate their meals in the bedroom, perched on chairs she’d carried in from the kitchen, plates in their laps.
She’d apologized as she’d left Isaac alone at the table, but he’d said he understood; he didn’t feel like eating with his
brother tonight either.
This was the third evening she’d held her breath as she’d watched Wade eat dinner, afraid that he would notice the bitterness
of the antipsychotic powder. Tonight it hadn’t been as easy to disguise the taste since they’d only had Brussels sprouts and
carrots sprinkled with parmesan to eat, and there was barely any parmesan left to mix with the meds.
Wade finished his vegetables quickly, though, his chomping filling the silence.
Putting his empty plate on the floor with a loud clatter, he said, “We’re apparently running out of food,” as if he’d just
come to some important realization that Helen hadn’t already pointed out.
She pressed her lips into a thin line, and he left the room. A minute later, she heard the water in the pipes. He was running
his own bath again.
Ever since Isaac had suggested that Wade was lying to her, Helen was seeing things differently.
Wade could have all sorts of past lives of which she knew nothing.
The first time they’d met, he’d said he was “small town,” as if that equaled honesty and integrity, and she’d taken his word for it.
Now she didn’t know what to believe, but she knew that ever since Wade had claimed his brother was dead, her own mind had been pulling tricks on her.
She couldn’t think straight anymore, and it was Wade’s fault.
Dirty plates in hand, she went back to the kitchen to ask Isaac if he had a cell phone. She desperately wanted to call her
mother—just to hear the voice of someone who loved her unconditionally—but Isaac didn’t have a phone.
He asked, “Why doesn’t Wade take you to town?”
She replied, “I don’t want to go anywhere with him.”
At that, Isaac smiled faintly. Or maybe she just imagined it.
Hours later, Helen lay awake in bed next to Wade’s snoring form. Running everything through her head, yet again, was draining
her. She may as well get up and read poetry.
She sat up and tossed the covers from her body, this time not bothering to be careful with the blankets. Wade didn’t stir
though.
The chilly air touched her skin. She was behind on laundry—she was behind on everything—so tonight she was wearing a sleeveless
summer nightgown, silken and almost sheer.
She dangled her feet over the edge of the bed into the black abyss below and lowered them to the floor, feeling her heart
skip a little. But there was nothing. No dark hands. No evil lurking. Of course not.
She took a step forward, and suddenly a shadowy hand shot out and grabbed her back foot, tripping her. She fell to her knees,
and the panic in her rose. On her hands and knees, she scrambled across the floor until she bumped up against the dresser.
The dread was rising in her throat, but she had to know, she had to see it. She lowered her head to look, and it was the very
worst thing.
There was Tyler, beneath the bed, blood soaking through his shirt, his face in agony, reaching his hand out toward her.
Helen covered her face and moaned into her hands.
When she finally uncovered her face, Tyler was gone.
“Tyler?” Her voice was barely a whisper, and she was met with silence. Suddenly, she wanted him back under the bed. Even if
he was bleeding and reaching, at least he was there. “Tyler? Tyler, what did you want to tell me? When I left you there, I
was coming back for you . . .”
It was useless. She would never get what she needed. She couldn’t spend another minute inside this house.
She stumbled out of the bedroom and down the hall into the kitchen. There, she pulled the first coat from the hook above the
entry bench and threw it on, then shoved her feet into her shoes at the front door, not bothering to tie the laces. There
was a lantern burning by the door and she didn’t even stop to consider how strange it was that the lantern was lit when she
was sure she’d extinguished it before bed. She just grabbed it and ran outside into the cold midnight air. She wanted to scream—needed to scream—but if she did, it would wake up Isaac and maybe Wade too. So she took off running through the yard and across the
meadow for the woods. She was going to run and run until she got far enough away from the farmhouse that neither of the men
would be able to hear her scream.
It didn’t occur to her that she might need to call out for help in the woods that night. She was so fixated on running away
from pain that it never occurred to her that she might be running into danger.