I can’t tell what’s going on inside the house. The only thing I can hear is the wind roaring and trees snapping back and forth in the forest. I want to peek through the window of the kitchen and make sure Mom is all right, but if Marcus sees me, everything will be ruined.
Something nudges my back and I let out a little cry and spin around—hands out, ready to block a blow. It’s Angus, soaking wet and jumping all over me and whining. “Shush!” I grab his collar to hold him still. “Calm down, boy!”
A soft thump from the back of the house. Footsteps. Angus’s body stiffens, a rumbling growl starting in his throat. I wrap my hand around his snout. Then stare into the dark shadows.
“Sophie?” Jared’s voice.
“Over here!”
We run down the center of the gravel road, mud splashing up our legs. My slippers are saturated. The wind is pushing against us, scattering branches and leaves and broken bits of wood across the road. We dodge and leap. Our breath is ragged, our feet thudding. I falter and stumble, my legs wobbly, and Jared presses his hand into my lower back, pushing me on.
“You can do it!”
I keep running. His feet must hurt, with just socks for protection, but he doesn’t say anything. Angus lopes beside us, his collar jingling and his breath chuffing. I tried to make him stay behind at the house so he could protect Mom, but he followed us anyway. I hope Marcus doesn’t go searching outside for him and notice the sheets hanging from the window.
We round a corner and I finally see the dark shape of the tree across the road. It looks like a fallen giant, branches reaching up to the sky as though begging for help. Jared’s car is just on the other side. Almost there. We slow to a jog, catching our breath, and check our phones. My fingers are wet and cold and slip as I press in my password. The screen lights up.
“I have service!” I quickly dial 911. Still out of breath, I stumble over my words as I explain that Mom is trapped in a house with a man who’s trying to kill her. “You have to come quick!”
The operator is asking questions that I can’t answer, wants details and facts, but I just want them to get here. What if Marcus has realized we’re gone? “I don’t know the address!” I shout into the phone. “It’s the one with the green mailbox, but there’s a tree blocking the road. It blew down in the storm.” They’re going to take too long. I think about Mom, all alone with Marcus. The operator is saying something about officers on the way. I hang up and look at Jared.
“We can’t leave her. We have to go back.”
“Let’s go.” We turn and sprint back down the middle of the road.
Hang on, Mom. Please, just hang on. We’re coming.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
LINDSEY
“Looks like it’s just us,” Marcus says.
He’s putting more wood on the fire, stoking it to a roaring blaze. The orange flames make the side of his face glow. It must be so hot, but he doesn’t move. He’s the devil.
I have to get him to the bedroom so the kids have a chance to escape. If Sophie can’t get off the roof, she’ll have to come through the living room. I need to keep him distracted.
“Why don’t we watch the TV in the bedroom?”
“Sure,” he says. “I’ll just lock up.”
“I’ll do it. I have to call Angus back anyway.” While Marcus walks to the bedroom, I open the front door and whistle for Angus, but there’s no sign of him. If he starts barking at the kids, I’ll have to bring him in right away before Marcus gets suspicious. I close the door.
Marcus likes to keep a glass of water on his night table. It’s my last chance to drug him, but I have to cover the taste of the pills. Maybe lemon. In the kitchen, I cut up a wedge and squeeze some into the water, then look up and listen. He’s still in the bedroom. I drop all of the pills into the water and mix it quickly, take a sip. My mouth fills with tart lemon. I remember the night I drugged Andrew, the burning taste of whiskey in my mouth.
I walk into the bedroom, glass in hand. Running water in the bathroom, sounds of him brushing his teeth. I put the glass on his table, move around to my side of the bed, and swiftly pull the knife out of my sock and slide it under my pillow.
I hesitate, thinking about what to wear. Then change into the T-shirt and pajama bottoms. I wore last night. I turn on the TV. Marcus comes out wearing his boxer shorts. His chest is defined, his arms like ripped steel. I think of his obsessive working out. I’d believed it to be his way of coping with grief. I guess it was, but grief for his wife, not a daughter. I wonder where he was all those years after she died. He couldn’t have been looking for me all that time.
“Do you mind if I watch the news?” I say. “I’d like to hear the weather report.”
“Sure.” He looks around. “Where’s Angus?”