The Midnight Estate #3
When Marie reached the end of her street, instead of turning left towards the shops, she turned right, towards the residential areas farther out.
She walked six blocks, smiling at passersby, waving to the postman.
Eventually, she turned onto the quiet avenue where her school friend Donna now lived.
They’d been close, right up until Rupert decided that no one could be close to Marie except him.
But Donna was a good person. Marie felt hopeful that she’d have some idea how Marie could get out of that house. She walked
up to the front door, her steps light, a smile still pinned on her face. Her stomach was churning and she felt light-headed
with fear but the smile didn’t slip, even as she knocked on the door.
“Be right with you!” she heard Donna call from the recesses of the quaint little cottage she and her husband, Ryan, lived
in. Then at last, the door opened and a heavily pregnant Donna appeared. As she recognized Marie, her face blanched.
“Hi,” Marie said, suddenly a little breathless, and now that she was there it occurred to her that she didn’t know what to say. Best to ask to come inside. To sit down, maybe over a cup of coffee,
and explain her predicament. And until then, Marie would keep it light and casual. “How are you, Donna? I was just in the
neighborhood—”
Donna pushed open the screen door and grabbed Marie’s elbow. She looked this way and that, checking the street for cars, then
dragged her inside.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Donna said as soon as the door closed behind them.
“I—” Marie was mortified to find her throat was suddenly dry. “I was just wondering if we could talk, that’s all.”
“No, that’s not a good idea.”
“But . . .” Marie cleared her throat. The shame and humiliation of the mess she was in washed over her. Her face flushed hot and her knees felt weak. “Please, Donna. I just don’t know where else to
go.”
Donna hesitated, but then she groaned softly. “I can’t get involved,” she said. “I’m really sorry, Marie, but I just can’t.”
“But . . .”
“Rupert pulled me over, Marie, in his police car. He told me it was best to give you space for now, that you’re not coping
well—having mental problems. He said that even Irving couldn’t deal with it anymore so moved out on his own.”
“But that’s not—”
“Of course it’s not true.” Donna sighed impatiently. “Honey, I wanted to check in on you right away but Ryan was spooked.
We’ve heard things . . .”
“About me?”
“About Rupert. Surely you must know . . . ? Ryan’s boss said he’s mixed up in some awful business—nothing more than a bully
and a thug . . .”
Hot tears prickled behind Marie’s eyes but she blinked them away. She hated to be so desperate and powerless and in need of rescue yet again. Useless. Pathetic, just like Rupert always said.
“I need to get out,” Marie said unevenly. “Could I borrow a little money, maybe? Just enough for a bus fare . . .”
“Marie,” Donna whispered gently. “You need to go home.” She touched her hands to her swollen stomach. “I have a family to
think of, honey. I just can’t get involved.”
Marie went home. She told herself she’d think of something else—some other way out. She washed her face, fixed her hair. She put the little nest egg back in her closet and she told herself she’d just keep skimming and saving.
She made Rupert a pot roast and she ate her salad.
A few weeks went by after that and Marie kept trying to find some thread of hope to grasp on to, but it was like she was reaching
for a lifeline that kept slipping out of reach. And then one morning she woke to Rupert sitting at the edge of the bed beside
her. He held a small wad of cash in his hand.
“I was married before, you know,” he said quietly. Marie was still half-asleep. She sat up, touched a hand to the rollers
in her hair, rubbed her eyes.
“Did you say you were—”
“She left,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Ran away.” He folded up the money and he pushed it into his breast pocket and
then patted it. His expression was mild, as if he were talking about the weather. “And do you know, it didn’t matter where
she went. I was always going to find her.”
He bent to kiss Marie’s forehead, then stood. He reached down to stroke her cheek with the back of his forefinger and then
he dragged the finger down to run it horizontally across her neck. Marie stared up at him, frozen.
“You’re mine, Marie,” he said softly. “You know that, don’t you? You know I’ll never let you go?”
He’d told her that time and time again since they were married. In the beginning, that phrase brought relief. She had felt
so alone and overwhelmed after her parents’ accident, now she had her dream husband, and a beautiful home, and a golden future
that she could confidently know she would always share with him.
But now, she heard that same phrase, and she understood that he meant it as a threat.
She nodded mutely.
“Do you know where my first wife is now?”
Marie just stared at him, until he cupped her shoulder in his palm, then tightened—not hard enough to bruise, just a warning
shot. She hastily shook her head.
“Neither does her family, Marie. And they’ll never know because they’ll never find her. I made sure of that.”
A bolt of shock went through her. Rupert released her and walked to her dressing table. He bent until he could see himself
in the mirror, then straightened his tie.
“Have a great morning, darling,” he said. “Remember, I’ll speak to you at ten thirty.”
And after that, Marie finally understood there was already a noose around her neck, and it was likely that one day, she would
stumble across the line of one of those unspoken rules and that would be how her story would end.
In the absence of any way to help herself, in the absence of any active help from others, all Marie could hope for was a miracle—that
some door would open up somehow that would enable her to escape.
But five days before she locked her keys in the house, Marie went to button up her blouse and realized that she had gained
some weight. How on earth that could have happened with the scant little she ate baffled her at first—until she suddenly realized
that she had not had her period for some time.
And after that, she tumbled into a fog of depression and panic.
She had no idea if Rupert really had been married before. She wouldn’t put it past him to tell her a story like that just to scare her, given he seemed to delight in keeping her in a perpetual state of terror and loneliness.
She knew one thing for sure though. If the thought of Marie walking out on him riled Rupert up enough for him to hint at murder,
he would only become more incensed if she were ever to try to leave once his child was involved.
Now when she reached for a shred of hope, she realized there was simply nothing there. No way out. No chance of rescue.
She would live in Rupert’s house and raise his child until Rupert decided otherwise, but it was clear that she would never
leave alive.
Silas pulled Maeve’s car onto the concrete drive beside the largest house in Summer Hill Street. It was a modern home of tidy
red bricks with a long flat roof and large windows just about everywhere. He checked the address he’d scrawled from the phone
book one last time. Yes, this was it—this was the house of the only family in town with Marie’s surname.
It sure did look flashy for a police officer, even for the deputy chief of the station, but then again, Silas understood that
Marie’s husband was enjoying the fruits of two labors, so he supposed it made some sense.
Silas popped open an umbrella against the pouring rain as he slid from the car. He ran towards the front door but something