Chapter Forty-Six
Clutching one of the articles, Helen moved away from the kitchen table as the weight of it settled over her. Ever since Isaac
had appeared in her kitchen, the world had felt as though it was shifted on its axis, a mystifying mix of terrifying visions
and awakening desires that had been wrapping and unwrapping her slowly. As she’d tried to work out what was happening, she’d
had bursts of certainty, but each explanation had always felt feverish and muddled. She’d been reaching for some type of safety
and assurance, and Isaac had woven an alluring web of answers. She had walked right into it.
Now she knew the truth and she didn’t feel even a dusting of doubt.
Isaac was dead.
She leaned against the counter for support. This entire time, she’d been looking at and talking to a dead man, letting him touch her. Perhaps she should have been horrified, but she felt only numbness, felt hollowed out by the reality of it.
Then she heard footsteps coming down the hall and sensed the chill that accompanied it. She crumpled the article she was holding and shoved it down the front of her dress.
The other articles were still laid out on the table though.
She rushed to them and quickly refolded the papers as the footsteps got closer. At the last moment, she snatched her Poe book
from the table and hid them between its pages.
“Hi,” she said, hoping Isaac didn’t notice how breathless she sounded as he entered.
His expression indicated that he did indeed notice. “Hi.”
The book slipped from her hand and dropped to the table with a thud. She tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, but her eyes
skirted to the book. Yes, the articles were still tucked inside. Thank God. She hoped the single crumpled one in the front
of her dress wasn’t creating a bulge in the fabric.
“How’s Wade doing?” she asked, as conversationally as she could manage.
“Okay.”
“I should check on him.” Helen hurried past Isaac, head down, not wanting to make eye contact.
As she exited the room, she had the urge to turn back and grab the Poe book, but that would bring more attention to it. It
would be okay, she told herself. It’s not like Isaac was going to sit down and read Poe that very minute.
When Helen burst into the bedroom, she found Wade sprawled on top of the bed. “Wade, we need to talk.”
“I need to rest.” He sounded groggy.
“It’s my fault you’re sick. It was the pasta.”
“The pasta was fine.”
Helen reached down the front of her dress and pulled out the crumpled article. She smoothed it out and handed it to Wade.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.”
His eyes roamed the article. He didn’t need to read it though. He’d lived it. With a heavy sigh, he looked up at her. Helen put a hand on his shoulder, the first time they’d touched tenderly in many days, and Wade lowered his head to the pillow. “I don’t feel too good,” he said.
“I’m sorry about that too.”
Wade closed his eyes. He had no idea what she was talking about, and explaining it wouldn’t help anything right now. She contemplated
trying to convince him to go into the bathroom and make himself throw up, but the powdered medication had likely already been
absorbed into his bloodstream. She certainly hadn’t given him enough to kill him. That, she knew. But she had given him much
more than a normal dose, and she needed to let him rest.
Helen exited the bedroom and started down the hall, trying to formulate a plan. As she was passing the guest room, Isaac appeared
in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe.
She tried to smile, but it felt false. “Isaac.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
He studied her with intensity, and she studied him right back. Wade suspected Isaac meant them harm, but she had seen the
good in him. If people could be complex and contradictory, couldn’t ghosts be? Tyler would never have answered her pleas by
sending a ghost her way, but that didn’t mean she and Wade were in danger. Maybe Isaac’s reasons for being here weren’t bad.
Isaac said, “I think I’ll read a little and then turn in.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe some Poe?”
“Oh, sure . . .” Helen needed to get the articles out of the book. “It’s in the kitchen. Stay here and I’ll get it for you.”
“No need.” Isaac’s hand moved from behind the doorframe, revealing he was holding the book.
Her eyes zeroed in on the edge of one of the printed articles barely poking out from between the pages. “Maybe instead of
reading, we could talk,” she said.
Isaac pushed the door open fully and gestured for her to step inside. She could see past him to the mess of dirty sheets from last night’s encounter. The burning candle on his bedside dresser cast a glow on it.
Helen said, “Maybe in the living room.”
“You seem nervous.”
“Not at all.”
He glanced back at the bed. “Do you wish we hadn’t last night?”
Again, she tried to smile, but her expression was like a mask with its paint cracking.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Helen,” Isaac said. “I think the risk was worth the reward, don’t you?”
She nodded, but she was listening to the sound of his voice more than the actual words. There was something unkind in his
tone, and she wondered if it had always been there beneath the surface and she’d just ignored it. Or perhaps she had sensed
it and been drawn in by it. She had her own carefully concealed rage, all her heartaches stacked pyres high for burning black,
but she’d been unable to ever light the match. Maybe it was part of why she had felt such a fast connection to Isaac. She
had hoped he was going to help her finally burn down her rage and her regrets, once and for all.
He stared at her for a long time before holding up the Poe book. His eyes looked cold. The only fires Isaac wanted to start
were his own.
He tilted his head toward her, almost conspiratorially, and he said, “Or maybe it’s that you’re nervous I’ll find the articles
you hid in here?”