“What about Michael? Have you seen him? Is he with Shelley?”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to ask Mr. Preston.”
When she was gone, I sat in the waning light, wanting to leave the room but somehow afraid of what I would find. Olivia’s room was like a kind of island in the house. Michael was out there. Somewhere. But I had to be strong to find him.
Chapter 39
More than a Bastard
I didn’t have to wait long for Press. It was he who brought my soup and crackers, looking like a contrite, caring husband. Such a superb actor. His actions were completely unironic: the way he closed the door, softly, with his elbow, as though he didn’t wish to disturb me, the solicitous let’s turn on a small light, it’s so dark you might spill your soup and how is your head? Better?
My husband. My jailer. Though I had not heard a key in the lock, as Marlene had promised. He knew only too well that I would not leave without Michael.
Jack had given me an injection against the pain, whispering that I shouldn’t make a scene in front of Holly and David, promising that it wouldn’t hurt me. The pain had, indeed, gone for a while. I didn’t know if he had called Press after David had first called him, or if David had called Press directly. But I knew it didn’t matter. I was lost. Michael was lost to me. Press had come into the Webbs’ living room with exclamations of gratitude to David and Holly, but he had approached me cautiously, as one might a violent child. Or a madwoman.
I didn’t make a scene.
Even when Press took Michael from my arms so Jack could tend to me, I didn’t protest. I knew no one would hear a word I had to say against Press. Really, what was there to say? He hadn’t injured me. There were no witnesses to his threats. He was a man who had lost a daughter, and his wife had gone a little mad with grief.
By the time we got out to Jack’s car, I was shuffling with weariness brought on by the drugs, and I only just remember seeing Shelley’s anxious face in the passenger window of my sedan. The last thought I had before we drove away was that Michael would at least be taken care of on the way home.
I hadn’t had the presence of mind to think that Press might take him from the house right away. I was too tired, too drugged to worry.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t find the tiniest bit of solace being back in Bliss House. It wasn’t a good thing, but at least it was familiar. Better the devil you know.
“I want to see Michael.”
“What kind of greeting is that? Of course you want to see him, but you’re not in any shape to see him yet. You don’t think I would do anything to hurt him, do you? If so, you’re doing me a huge injustice, my love. Give me credit for at least a small amount of humanity.”
I turned away. I hated looking at his smug, not-quite-handsome face. He looked very different to me now. Something about his eyes wasn’t right. I thought again about the jewel-handled knife. Was it still in my clothes? But if I killed him and he had done something with Michael, then I might never find Michael again.
“I hope you’re ready for the memorial tonight. There won’t be a lot of people, but you know almost everyone. They’ll understand, of course, if you’re not yourself.” He set the tray on the side of the bed. The smell of the soup made me salivate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten.
“I know you must be hungry.”
The soup was too compelling. Turning my head, I saw it was Marlene’s vegetable soup. Beside it, she had put very thin slices of her special rye bread on one of the Minton dragon plates.
Unable to bear looking at him, or at the food, I turned over again to face the short wall with the dresser and jewelry box.
“Go away. You’re a bastard.”
“Something more than a bastard, my love. Much more.”
I felt him move away from the bed.
“You might as well eat. You’re only hurting yourself.”
“Should I just assume you’ve drugged the food?”
When he laughed, he sounded so satisfied. Genuinely amused.
“Assume whatever you like. Would it really matter? You may be a martyr, but no one sets out to like pain, Charlotte. Pain is an acquired taste. If I were you, I wouldn’t work too hard to acquire it. You’re likely to get what you want, and I don’t think it really suits you. You’re not as fragile as you think you are. I think you’ve held up very well, considering that you killed your own daughter. Not many women could survive that.”
Quickly turning over so that it felt as though knives were shooting through my head, I flung the steaming soup bowl at him, and watched with satisfaction as the carrots and potatoes and bits of celery tumbled down his shirtfront.
“I didn’t kill her, and we both know it.”
Press didn’t move, didn’t change expression.
“You’ve shamed yourself, Charlotte. Remember that.”
Chapter 40
A Clever Trick