Dark Beach

EIGHT





“Aw, you didn’t. You didn’t. You took my gun? I knew I should have locked it up.”

Kurt slammed the drawer shut, but it immediately sprang back open. He rummaged through a few more, shoving this and that out of the way. Good thing there are no bullets in it. I can’t believe this! My gun—what the hell is she going to do with my gun?

He pulled on his heavy coat and continued searching the shop for his keys.



* * *



Whose house—the beach house? What is she talking about? The handwriting was different from the journals. Something was off. Jenny dialed her mother-in-law’s number.

“Hello.” The voice sounded tired.

“Rachael? It’s Jenny.”

“Hi.” Rachael immediately sounded annoyed.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I knew it.”

“What?” Jenny asked.

“He’s been in my mother’s ear.”

“What are talking about?”

“Ron! He wants the house. He doesn’t want to pay for it. I knew it. She told me about the will.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.”

Rachael raised her tone. “I don’t think so, and he can’t see her anymore.”

“Gerry? Ron has never done such a thing, okay. We were going to buy the house from you.”

“I need that money. I need it.” Rachael’s tone was fraught. “The shop isn’t doing well, okay. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“You have money trouble? He wouldn’t do that to you, Rachael. You know him.”

Rachael paused. “I don’t get it then.”

“Get what?”

“Maybe she was lying.”

“Who? Gerry?”

“Yes. She said she changed her will.”

“She can barely speak. She’s not in her right mind.”

“Sometimes she is. She said, ‘No will, no you’ to me on the phone. She repeated it over and over and over.”

“She’s confused. I just saw her. I don’t think you could be certain of anything with Gerry. I don’t see why you would just jump to conclusions like that. Ron just wanted to see his Nana. You know she’s not well. She has no teeth!”

“I’m sorry. I’m a wreck. I’m sorry...” Rachael’s words trailed off.

“Hello?” Jenny repeated several times into the sudden silence.

“I’m here.”

“By the way, I got your letter.”

“What letter?’

“The one you sent to the home,” Jenny said, wondering why she always found Ron’s Mom so exasperating.

“I didn’t send any letter.”

“These are not your words then?” Jenny read it out to her quietly, so the other occupants of the restaurant couldn’t hear.

“Oh no,” said Rachael. “It’s him.”

“Who?” Jenny ran one hand through her hair. Great!

“The stalker.”

“The one from your journals?”

“Journals? What journals?”

“I found journals in the basement, and trinkets, a ring, and pearls.” She looked at the ruby ring that still adorned her finger. Shit, she thought, twisting it. I meant to get that off.

“They’re not mine,” Rachael said. “There’s a lot of old junk out there in the basement. The previous owners left in a hurry. They left a lot of stuff out there in storage. Gerry got it all when she bought the house. I don’t think Mom and Dad ever got around to going through and throwing it out.”

“Ron told me Gerry built the house.”

“No, she didn’t. She bought it almost new. My mother wanted to build a house on the coast—that was the plan, but when they found the beach house, she fell in love with it. Ron has mixed up the story somehow, or Mom told him some story in her confusion. When she became ill, we moved her into the home. I wasn’t there long in that house. There’s something kind of creepy about it. My main focus was on getting it ready to sell. No point keeping a big house like that with no one using it. But it needed some renovations...” she paused. “I started to do it, but ... I had to drop the project.”

“The renovations? Why?”

Rachael sighed down the line. “I stopped and left when I was attacked.”

“Attacked?” Jenny shivered.

“Yes. I wanted to tell you, but I also wanted to sell the house—needed to, to pay off some of the shop’s debts. I thought he was gone. But if he isn’t, you need to get the hell out of there. You need to leave—now. He won’t quit. He’s coming.”

“Who?”

“I never knew, okay. Sometimes it feels like a nightmare, just a dream. But I didn’t stay to found out. I left. I haven’t been back since.”

“You never told anyone?”

“God … I couldn’t tell anyone. You don’t understand.”

“Why not? Why not call the police?”

Rachael hesitated again. “Because ... I ... I thought I killed him, okay! He attacked me on night and I sprayed him with oven spray, self defense. He passed out. Jesus Christ. I dragged him out to the ocean and I put him in the surf. Until now, I thought he was dead.”

“Oh f*ck!” said Jenny. “I’m in deep, huh?”

“Leave, okay. Just leave.”



* * *



The key was small and tarnished. She turned it over in her hand, wondering what in the house it could belong to—nothing came to her.

“I’ve got to go back. Got to get Charlie.” Jenny stuck the key back in her purse.

“Sleep.” Kip slumped back in the diner booth.

It was almost nine. She looked at the tousled head, snuggled against the green leather, and thought, how can I do it? How I can take her back there? Guilt swamped her.

“What are you doing here?”

“Kurt, hi. It’s late. We have to go.” Jenny wrote out a check and left it on top of the bill, stuffing some dollars for a tip in on top of it.

“But I just got here. Didn’t feel like cooking.”

His timing was bad, very bad. “I know.” She stood.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Something’s up. I can tell.” He motioned for her to sit.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re acting funny.”

“No I’m not.” Jenny put a palm up, and then bit her lip. “I’m just tired that’s all. It’s late.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she insisted, staring at his feet—at the big black boots on his feet.

“Okay then. You can always stay with me.”

“Why would you say that?” Jenny faced him squarely.

“What do you mean?” asked Kurt, putting out a hand to her.

“That’s a strange thing to say, especially…”

“What? You know … stop right there.” His tone grew firm. “All I have done is help you—ever since you arrived in this town. Don’t get mad at me, not after everything.”

The diner wait staff swiveled their heads to stare at them.

“I need to go, okay. I can’t talk to you about this.” She took a step toward the door.

“I knew it. There’s something going on. Tell me.” Kurt plonked down in the booth, patting the leather beside him.

“No. I’m going home now, back to the beach house.”

“You can’t. You have something of mine.”

“What?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You know damn well what.”

“I have nothing of yours.” She took another step, watching Kip yawn.

“Fine. Play it that way. I’ll see you later.”

Kurt jumped up and stalked off to find a waitress.

Jenny watched, feeling like she should go to him, but deliberately ignoring the pang. He’s not your husband. You can’t rely on him. You barely know him. What’s wrong with you?

Sighing, she tucked her purse tighter under her arm.

Kurt did not look at her again until she had already started the car. He stared out at her and they locked eyes. In the quiet of the diner, he whispered, “Damn you, woman!”

With a nod of goodbye, Jenny took off down Rocky Shore Road. There was little traffic and most of the houses were dark—the tourists having fled as winter approached.

I should go. Rachael’s right. I should grab Charlie and just leave?

“Kip, what do you think?” she asked.

But Kip was already asleep.



* * *



“My work is done. I’m not staying.” Ron stared down at the empty dry dock.

“We need you on this job. It’s not over.”

Carl’s southern accent was becoming more obnoxious as the hours wore on, or was it Ron’s exhaustion?

Ron rubbed his face—his hands coming away dirty and wet with sweat. “I left my pregnant wife alone at a beach house on the Washington coast to be here. It was the first vacation I’ve had in well over a year, and I get called to this mess!”

Carl backed up, his hands raised. “Wait a minute here, now. We need you. Take a look around. You’re right an’ Ah won’t argue with you on that. This place is a mess. Ah’m happier than a pig in shit with what you’ve achieved, but we need those doors back on, the hydraulics fixed. The sub will be back soon after that test run. We need to prepare. There’s damage in the dock from the destroyer. Ah can’t let you go.”

“I’m going,” said Ron.

“You’ll be fired.”

Ron stared at him. “Fire me, then.”

“God dammit now, Ron. Reason with me here.”

“You can finish this. You have all the men you need,” Ron yelled and threw his hands up in the air. “She’s sick. I have to go to her. I quit.”

“You quit, just like that? That’s your choice then.”

“It is and we’re done here.”



* * *



Jenny looked at her sleeping daughter. Her fair head nestled into the pillow. Eyes closed, rosebud lips partly open. How can I disturb that for a drive in the dark to an empty house? Maybe I should just call Ron, see what he thinks?

“One more night. We’ll leave first thing,” she whispered, stroking Kip’s cheek. Then she tiptoed out and prepared, making sure every window and every door was locked. She drew the blinds, closed the curtains, and then, striking a match, lit the stub of a candle in the lantern and carried it into the living room, setting it down on the white wicker table, just in case the lights went out.

The cold revolver, she eased from her handbag. Was it even loaded? Who knew? A glance down the barrel exposed only black. There was a small button on one side; Jenny slid it up and down. It revealed either a red dot or a green dot.

“Green means go I guess,” she said, leaving it on green. “Just try and get me now. We’re ready for you. It’s time for it to end.” The words hung eerily in the room.

Charlie whimpered, wrapped up in a little pile on the sofa.

“You’re sleepy now, huh? Good pain medicine?” The dog’s eyes closed under her soft caress. “I don’t want to leave you, but I need you to listen out down here for me, Charlie. I have to go upstairs.”

Taking the lantern with her, she headed up the stairs. Back in the hex room, she flipped through the journals, tossing them about, searching for more information.

Give me a name! Who is it? What happened to you? Where does this key go? “God almighty!” She huffed, tossing the last journal on the floor. “This woman—nothing.”

She paced the hex room, one eye on the beach. As she passed the bed again, she noticed one last journal poking out from under the bed—a red-covered one.

“How’d I miss that?”

Opening it, she read the squirrelly handwriting.



Thursday: I know he’s coming for me. It’s time for it to end.



Jenny stopped. “I just said that.”



I left him a message down at the beach. He likes to stand down there and watch us through the windows at night. I have a gun. I just don’t care anymore. I’ve had enough. I can’t believe I ever loved him.

Friday: I thought he would come last night. He didn’t. It’s 1 am. I can hear something outside … heavy steps.



“Oh … that’s it? You’ve got to give me more than that!”

The rest of the journal was blank. It got chucked across the room along with the others.

She wondered what time it was anyway. The lighthouse clock on the bedside wicker stand had stopped ticking. She took a spot on a window seat and peered out. The glow from the lantern prevented her from seeing completely, so she cupped her hands up against the glass.

First she could see the ocean, black and rolling off into the distance for all the ages. Then there was the beach, and then the dune. The grass swayed in a silent lullaby—and a dark figure was standing in its song.

Jenny slumped down low, still leaning against the window, although it made no difference: there was nothing to hide behind.

RING, RING. RING, RING.

There’s a phone in here? Jenny tried to ignore it.

RING, RING. RING, RING.

Crawling across the hardwood floor, she followed the sound to a long, thin closet in the corner. An old, pink plastic landline sat on the closet floor. “Hello.”

“Jenny?” The voice was thin and fragile.

“Yes.” Frantically, she pulled the phone out of the closet and stretched the line as far as she could toward the window. It fell short, reaching only to the end of the bed.

“This is Molly—Mrs. Coggington. I’m so glad Gerry didn’t have the phone disconnected after all. I searched and searched for the phone there the other day, and luckily I still had her old number in my little book that I keep near the phone with addresses and numbers in it,” Molly began.

“Molly, oh hi.”

“I had to call. I didn’t know if you knew. It is terrible news, I’m afraid.”

Jenny’s heart was pounding, Molly’s voice barely audible over its thumping.

“It’s Gerry,” said Molly.

“Yeah, I was just with her.”

“She’s dead.”

Jenny dropped the phone. It broke in two pieces and the frail voice faded.

“Oh God.”

Sidling over to the window, Jenny popped her head up. The figure was gone.

“Oh no.”

The gun pressed painfully against her hip as she crouched. She arched her back up a little, reached into her pocket, and pulled it out. Her anxious face reflected back at her in the windowpane. She inhaled, focused on her own black, glossy pupil. In an instant, the familiar razor-sharp teeth appeared, spiraling out from the center. The whale advanced slowly behind her and took her in its mouth.

“No, stop,” she cried.

Jenny felt the hot breath of the beast, the sharp teeth slicing down over her neck, choking her. Hot blood jetted out from all angles. All Jenny saw was red, and the sweet taste of iron flooded her mouth. She spat and spewed, gazing up at the black behemoth towering above.

Gripping the gun tightly, she pointed up until she felt it hit soft flesh. She cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger.

A blank click.

She pulled again. Click. Click. Click.

“NO!” she spluttered.

Dropping the gun, she punched up and hit bone, hit greasy flesh. She dragged her nails along the beast’s insides, strained to kick and squirm, but the teeth only tightened their grip on her neck. Dizziness set in as all the blood in her body oozed away.

“Leave me,” she slurred, her gaze landing on the black roil of unforgiving ocean. “Leave us be.”

Then she let the beast consume her, let it triumph.



* * *



Jenny woke violently, her hands groping wildly for the hard floor beneath her nails. In the background was a low scraping sound. She gasped for air and reached for her neck, feeling her head. It was all there—body intact. She felt stiff and sore, and her neck throbbed.

Unsteady, she rose and walked to the white, wicker-framed mirror on the wall. Bruised fingerprints covered her neck, like a tattooed necklace. She lifted her hands up and stared. She couldn’t remember what she was doing or why she was there? She thought hard, but nothing came to her. “Jesus.”

The walls began to spin, the mirror rotated.

She slapped herself. “Get it together.”

She slapped herself again and the motion stopped. I need my pills, she thought. My pills.

The low slapping and moaning continued.

What is that? She covered her ears. “Just shut up,” she yelled. “Shut up!”

Backing up, she tripped and looked down to see a broken phone. “Huh?”

She picked it up and examined the wires hanging out, then tucked them back in and pressed the face back on, but it wouldn’t stay. Jenny picked up the receiver. Silence.

Notebooks were spread across the floor and a revolver was abandoned in the corner.

“A gun?”

It caught the light of the candle behind her and gleamed, puzzling, fascinating. Picking it up, she maneuvered it into firing position, pointing it at the broken phone. “I’ve done this before,” she whispered.

The black and white faces on the walls watched her descend the narrow steps to the master bedroom.

Time to leave, she thought. This is too freaky. She heaved her red suitcase onto the bed and found her little black bag. In the medicine bag, she found three bottles of pills—all an ugly translucent orange.

Staring, she undid each lid and set each bottle down, sighing. Then she picked one up and took out a small white pill. She put it in her mouth, holding it there, recalling something—or nothing. She felt a twinge in her stomach—a cramp. “Oh boy.” She spat the pill back into the sink and rubbed her head.

Exhaling, she picked it up again. The white coating came off on her fingertips. I’m pregnant, she remembered. Placing the pill on the sink, she took a seat on the edge of the white bathtub, her head in her hands.

The strange keening sound faded a little, replaced by the drip of the bathtub faucet.

Jenny set the gun on the edge of the tub and calmly turned on the faucet. She needed to relax, to escape. Maybe a warm bath would help ease the cramping. She began to undress. Once nude, she slipped into the bath and settled into its warmth, pouring some pink liquid soap onto the yellow tub sponge and washing her arms and her full breasts, pausing over her full belly. “I need to slow down on the ice cream.”

Moving on to her legs, she gave her feet light massage. Relax. She brought her hands up to her neck and rubbed lightly. “So much better,” she said, closing her eyes, sliding down into the water, leaving only her nose above the surface. Relax, she told herself again, thinking of that day in the Cascade Mountains with Ron.

A whimper from downstairs interrupted her thoughts.

“Charlie…” she inhaled, and then exhaled gradually and sat up in the tub.

The whining stopped. She felt her thoughts slipping away again. Then she suddenly jolted awake, shocked upright.

A man stood at the bathroom doorway.

Jenny held her breath, quickly moving her arms to cover her exposed breasts and bringing up her knees up to cover her lower regions. Her eyes flew to the gun on the bathtub edge. It was not there. Shit!

The man was holding it, or rather, pointing it directly at her.

He cocked it and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Jenny leaped up, water drizzling everywhere, and ripped down the white plastic shower curtain. She flung it towards him, crashing against the cabinet and knocking over all of her open medicine bottles. White pills spilled everywhere, clicking as they bounced on the tiled floor.

They both toppled to the ground; Jenny on top, the man half hidden beneath the curtain. With a grunt, she punched the intruder in the face. He tried to reach up to grab at her, but was impeded by the slippery curtain and by her body on top of him. She punched him again. Reaching down behind her, she flailed around on the ground for some weapon—anything. All she found was pills. The gun was nowhere in sight. She grabbed a handful of them and shoved them in his mouth. The man gritted his teeth, but she managed to jam three or four pills in, followed by her elbow, crashing down into his teeth. He bit down, catching her thin skin and flesh, and then started to choke and cough wildly. He’d swallowed the antipsychotics.

“Eat that!” Jenny yelled. “You bastard, you bit me.”

The grey-haired man stopped fighting and his eyes flew open to glare at her. His irises were blue, but cloudy, his eyes wandering as if he could only see her outline.

“Feeling sleepy?” said Jenny.

He pushed her with all of his might, slamming her body against the wall. Jenny crumpled over on her side, but he came at her again—arms out, hands open. With a scream, she slid to one side of him and slithered past him on the floor. He hit the wall.

“Get out of my house,” she yelled, hurtling past him down the stairs to the family room level. Quickly, she dashed down the narrow hall to the bedroom where Kip was sound asleep. She snatched the child up, blankets and all, and ran back out and down to the kitchen.

Tucking the child behind the kitchen bench, Jenny grabbed one of the blankets and fashioned a rough toga to cover her own nakedness. The knife lay on the kitchen bench. She snatched it up, hunting all the while for her cell phone.

“It’s not here … where is it?”

Charlie whimpered from his spot on the sofa.

“Charlie, stay there okay.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Jenny ducked down next to Kip, behind the counter.

“I want what’s mine,” he slurred in a deep voice. “You have what’s mine.”

“What are you talking about? I have nothing of yours!” She leaped up and brandished the knife in his direction. The ruby ring on her finger gleamed.

“Bitch.” He came closer, gesturing to her hand. “I gave you that, you whore.”

“Back up!” Jenny screamed. She stood, directing the large knife towards him. “You need to leave. Who are you?” As she yelled it, she thought his face looked vaguely familiar.

He lunged toward her, around the kitchen counter. Jenny swiped at his shoulder. Tackling her, the man knocked the knife from her grip and pushed her down against the floor, pinning her arms under his weight. Jenny squirmed, trying to reach the knife that lay just out of reach. She must have nicked him earlier; blood seeped through the man’s worn green sweatshirt. Jenny ground her head from side to side, grimacing, struggling to fight him. “Get off me,” she screamed in rage and terror.

“Shhhh. I told you you’d never leave,” he said, his voice sounding strangely far away. “You leave me, and you’ll leave in a box, you bitch. A box. Didn’t I tell you that? What did you think that ring meant.” He put his hands around her throat. “A ring is round and has no end,” he said in a singsong voice. “Remember that: no end. Endless, just like the ocean. You’ll never take that boy away from me. He’s my boy. Our boy. If you’re leaving, I’m taking you there.”

“You’re insane,” Jenny cried, clawing at her throat. “You know that? Insane. What do you want from me?”

He moved his face closer to hers. “I see you now.”

“F*ck off!” She closed her eyes. Her throat ached, the breath rasping as he squeezed tighter.

“You’re not as pretty as she was.”

Jenny stopped struggling, held still as fear began to win over hate. The smell of him—age, body odor, and cigarettes permeated her senses. Nausea set in. He still hadn’t noticed Kip, big-eyed at the end of the bench. Please, don’t let him notice Kip. She tried with all of her might to think of something else, anything else but that moment.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me where they are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I know you have them—you bitch. I heard you tell her about them. You’ll be dead, too.” He tightened his grip.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jenny choked out.

He laughed and squeezed her throat, holding her there in silence, watching for a long time as her eyes bulged and she gagged. Finally, she coughed and moaned, “I’m going to be sick.”

“That won’t scare me.”

She heaved, trying to swallow back the tide of vomit. Coughing, her throat burning, she swung her head back and forth, slamming it against the floor. “Kip, run!” she screamed. “Run! Run!”

She struggled harder and harder, faster and faster.

“Stop that!” he said, his hands tightening again. “Be still.”

But it was he who became still.

He crashed down on top of her—like a dead weight.



* * *



“Delayed,” said Ron, scanning the flight departures board. “Well, that’s just great!”

The generic airport store had everything he needed, at least. A magazine, a candy bar, and a souvenir later, Ron took his lonely seat in his designated flight area and watched the buzz of the busy airport around him.

Jenny’s cell phone had gone straight to answering machine. He’d left two messages already. He looked down at his phone, feeling the need to call again, but didn’t. He was immediately startled by the phone’s sudden vibration. He took the call.

“Ron?”

“Mom? I’ve been trying to reach you. How are you?”

She sobbed.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nana—she’s passed.”

“What? When?”

“Today, earlier. They don’t know why. They said she was eating, said she looked fine. They came back later and ... found her.” Her voice was choked, barely getting the words out.

Pain welled up in his chest, real physical pain. He leaned all the way back in the seat, his blue eyes prickled by tears. His mother’s sobbing made it that much worse. “Oh, Mom.”

A long moment of silence passed between them.

“Oh Ron, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not letting you see her. I’m sorry. I was so mad. When Mom mentioned that she was changing her will ... I just thought ... you and Jenny ... there in the beach house, visiting her. And all my debts.”

“Mom, don’t say that. Don’t think about that. I thought you hated the beach house. And what debts? Plus, I did see her, okay. It’s okay. It’s okay, Mom.”

“It’s the shop.” She sniffled. “It’s in trouble, and the beach house is worth a lot of money now. But you’re right: I do hate that place. And if she left it to you, then it is yours and that’s how she must have wanted it and I should never have stopped you...” She sobbed again and blew her nose. “I didn’t even get to see her. And I’m so sorry you couldn’t have been there, Ron. But at least she wasn’t alone. At least Jenny was there today.”

“She was?”

“Yes.” Rachael choked up and blew her nose again. “She called me earlier—about the house. She’s in danger.”

Everything blurred as Ron fought back tears. Yeah,” he said, confused. Not wanting to be seen like that in public, he gathered his bags and walked towards the men’s room.

“I have a bad feeling,” said Rachael.

“Mom, you’re going through hell; of course you have a bad feeling.”

“No, no. It’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“The note,” she said, and her voice trembled.

“Huh? What note? What are talking about?”

“Him,” she said. “I’m talking about him.”

“Mom, you’re not making any sense.”

“Oh Ron, you need to get home. You need to get to the beach house … now!”



* * *



Jenny rubbed her eyes and strained again. The old man was heavy; it took her an age to manage to roll him off. He snored loudly, oblivious. She felt like kicking him. Scrabbling in the kitchen drawers, she found a roll of duct tape. The rest was easy. She left him, taped there in a heap on kitchen floor, and went to find her daughter. Kip was back in her bedroom, hiding under the bed.

“Kip. Kip, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay, baby. Come to Mamma.” She coaxed the child out. “It’s okay. The bad man has gone.” Climbing on the bed, she rocked with her until the child fell asleep and then tucked her under the covers, back in a soft land of pristine sheets and little boats. Shutting the door, she tiptoed out and made her way up to the hex room. Think. Think. What did he mean? She looked down at the ring. The jewelry?

Why’d I have to get mixed up in this? She gazed around the room. Notebooks were scattered everywhere. Picking them up, she stacked the journals underneath the bed. As she stood again, she realized the black and white photo of the woman standing before the jetty was cracked. Running her finger over it, she exhaled. On the wall nearby was the slightly paler mark where the painting of Barney on the Retty once hung.

You leave me, and you’ll leave in a box, you bitch.

The journals! Oh, my God. It wasn’t Rachael after all!

“Barney, what did you do?” she said aloud.

Just call the police, screamed her commonsense and she realized her cell was still missing. It must still be downstairs on the bench. Her hand over her mouth, clutching the red journal to her chest, she tiptoed back downstairs.

The phone was on the bench, lying next to the odd little key Gerry had given her. She stared over at Barney, sprawled on the kitchen floor. He stirred slightly and a moan issued from his duct-taped mouth.

“Awake huh, psycho?” Jenny leaned over him, shook the journal at him. “This what you were after? Or this?” She showed him the key.

He nodded. Folding the journal lengthwise, she shoved it into his pocket.

“It’s all yours. You killed her, didn’t you? Just like you would have me. You pulled the trigger. Then what would you have done? You’re crazy—under the cloudy sky mad.”

He moaned, as if he wanted to speak.

“No. You have to listen now. What did you do to her? And what did you do to Rachael? Is that why you can’t see? It’s not cataracts, is it? She blinded you with oven spray—jog your memory?”

He lay still.

“I’m right. I know it.”

He turned his head away from her.

“And I’m the one who’s crazy,” Jenny scoffed. Taking his feet, she hauled him, still moaning, into the downstairs bathroom and shut the door after him. “I’m calling the police … I don’t want my daughter to see you.” She looked down at the phone in her hand and dialed a number.

What am I doing?