Chapter Thirty-Five Raine
Chapter Thirty-Five
Raine
Calloused fingers clamped around my throat. My windpipe shrank to nothing. Air trapped, rotting in my lungs, my chest burned. I clawed for breath, for freedom, for life.
Panic surged as I clawed at the hands. Black eyes—shadows swallowing light—bored into mine. My vision tunneled. I gasped—then nothing.
I bolted upright in bed. Sheets twisted around me, damp with sweat. My fingers flew to my neck, skin slick, tender.
Sleep never came easy for me. Nights were long—ceilings, empty halls, silence. Ken’s side of the bed was cold. Isolation. I’d lived with solitude for years.
But since the attack, nights weren’t just lonely. They were dangerous. Every creak, every shadow carried a threat.
Work had been my best distraction. When life pressed too close, I’d sneak downstairs, bury myself in files, cases, clients. Distraction.
But this morning, I had no work. No clients. No waning marriage. No familiar landmarks. Just blankets as heavy as stone, air like ice, and a room I didn’t recognize.
Moments passed.
I’d escaped Pete. I was safe from him.
But Hale House had found me again.
A step creaked on the staircase.
I froze. “Who’s there?”
Silence pressed in. My breath quickened.
I shoved back the covers, feet meeting the icy floor. Trembling fingers fumbled with the light on the nightstand.
The switch slipped in sweat-soaked fingers. I dried them on the sheets. Tried again. Finally, light spilled on my glasses and charging phone.
Gripping the phone, I scanned the room. Nothing moved. Nothing waited. I approached the darkness, braced for trouble. But as I got closer, the sense of another presence faded. I was alone.
I shoved out my breath. I was alone. My mind had been on overdrive for weeks, and it conjured trouble even when I slept.
I yanked on sweats and a T-shirt and, phone in hand, descended the stairs. I made a pot of coffee and powered up my laptop.
On my phone, a half dozen messages were all variations on “Happy birthday.”
Bill: Happy Birthday. Welcome to the dark side.
Mike: Looking good. Canes on sale on .
Sally: Miss you. Seize the day.
Ken: Love ya, babe.
Unknown number: Enjoy your day.
I skipped over Ken and studied the last text. Enjoy your day. Why did the nice thought feel like a threat?
Seemed trivial, considering. I thanked everyone for their kind thoughts, quipped at the “getting older” jokes, and promised to meet for drinks or a lunch.
As the machine gurgled, I searched Maria and Gabe Durant. Not likely to find much in an internet search, but if I could find friends or associations, I could start talking to people.
Maria, eight years at the hospital. Gabe started his landscaping business, then prison, now more landscaping. I scribbled names, anyone who might know something.
Next: Amy Stocker’s name. Real estate agent. I clicked through the site. Another picture of her popped up on the agency page. She wore a familiar classic button-down, hoop earrings, and a pearl necklace.
I opened the City of Alexandria’s public defenders’ page. Among the staff pictures, my headshot from five years earlier was smack in the middle. In it I wore the exact same button-down, hoop earrings, and a pearl necklace.
I’d forgotten Amy until recently. But she hadn’t forgotten me.
My phone dinged with a text.
Edith: I took Molly to school. She needs her friends. I’ll pick her up this afternoon.
Anger spiked, hot, bitter. Leave it to Edith.
I typed a response. Paused. Counted to ten. Deleted it. Edith could be a problem.
And I was very sure she wouldn’t win.