More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
But I am wrong. The text message is not from my ex-husband. It reads, YOU’RE NOT SAFE ANYWHERE NOW, and it is followed with a symbol I recognize: Å.
Absalom has someone else coming for us. The thought runs through me like a lightning bolt, dries my mouth, makes all my nerves fire at once, because it feels right.
I call one of the few numbers in my phone. It rings just once before it’s picked up, and I hear the ever-tired voice of Detective Prester of the Norton Police Department—the town nearest where we lived, no, live, because we will go back to Stillhouse Lake, I swear we will—say, “Ms. Proctor. It’s late.” He doesn’t sound happy to hear from me. “Are you one hundred percent sure that Lancel Graham is dead?”
“I’m going to make certain she doesn’t have to. Meanwhile, your father will be watching me, because finding me is his top priority.” I pray that to be true.
Melvin is free out there, free to stalk and kill more women like Sam’s sister. Melvin will kill again. If I know anything about my ex-husband, I know he will want to go out in a blaze of selfish, murderous, Grand Guignol fury.
In a quick move, Sam takes my phone and slips it into his pocket. “If Absalom has this number, you can’t use it to set up the kids’ shelter,” he says, and I immediately feel stupid I didn’t think of it. I must be more exhausted than I think. “I’ll wipe calls and contacts and leave it for someone else to steal.
“Because there are dead people standing between us,” I say, and instantly, all that brightness is gone, and the truth is so frightening that it feels like a ghost, sending my skin into shivers and goose bumps. “My sister, for a start.”
I cannot begin to fathom the obstacles these two have overcome. It appears, perhaps, there are still many in their near future.
“The last post he put up on his social media said that it was my fault, that if I’d been a good enough wife, Melvin wouldn’t have—”
I feel Sam’s warmth behind me, and he says, “We have to know.” He doesn’t sound any more eager about it than I feel.
It doesn’t completely mute the harrowing, awful screams. I am shaking, I realize; my pulse is suddenly a jackhammer in my head, and my hands are quivering until I clench them hard enough to hurt.
“They’re going to find bodies,” he says, and I agree with him.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I frown and check it. It’s not a number I recognize. I ignore it. Another second later, Sam’s cell buzzes. He locks gazes with me, then puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?” I freeze as I watch him, looking for clues in his expression, his body language. I see a slight frown, and—paradoxically—a relaxing in his shoulders. Then he says, “Hey, Mike? How’d you get Gwen’s
number? I didn’t call you from it.” He puts the call on speakerphone and lays the device on the polished wooden table between us.
I’m so surprised I don’t know what to think. But we saw . . . I reach forward and stab the “Mute” button on Sam’s phone. Then I say, “They didn’t find shackles, chains, winches? Then that video wasn’t filmed there. Not in that basement!”
hear my phone buzz, and I
take a risk. I leave Gwen at the table with him and get in line for the coffees; I make them simple and keep an eye on the table. To all appearances, Mike and Gwen are having a civil conversation. Appearances are wrong.
Lustig hits a key on the computer, rips off the headphones, and charges over. To me. He takes my arm and tows me back, fingers digging in painfully, and when I try to resist, I get dragged.
“Dinner’s ready!” That’s Kezia, from the kitchen. “I didn’t cook it, so it’s safe, I swear.” The running joke of the past few weeks has been Kezia Claremont’s inexplicable talent for ruining absolutely everything she tries to cook. It’s a gift.
Well that's one thing we have in common.
“I’m just going down to check the mail. Be right back.” “Be careful!” That comes from everybody at once. Sam is watching to see if I need company. I shake my head.
This gives me an uneasy feeling.
look down at the last envelope, and I stop moving. For a moment I stop breathing. If I could pause my heart, I would.
Oh no! What could it be?
get another stone, a smaller one, and I search in my pockets. The mail came with a rubber band. I use it to wrap Melvin’s letter around the rock. I throw the weighted, unopened letter into the water.
In this moment she shows that he no longer has power over her.
And maybe, if he’s burning in hell, that will hurt him worst of all. SOUNDTRACK I choose music for each book I write, because it helps me find the right tone and tempo of the story.
