He refills our glasses.
“Let’s make a toast,” I say, raising my glass. “To us.”
He meets mine. His face beams with pride. “To us,” he agrees.
“So, when do I get a tour of the upstairs?”
All the color drains from his face. His fork clatters against his plate. “You want to go upstairs?”
I reach over for his arm, but he jerks away from me. He stares at my hand, as if my touch is the devil herself. “Jeb, is everything alright?”
He slaps his palm into the side of his head and drags it across his face, pulling his cheek with it. He lets out a soft moan.
“Jeb, are you okay? Can I do anything for you?”
His head twitches in reaction to my words. He repositions himself in the chair, drawing himself up tall. He clears his throat. “There’s nothing for you up there, just old boxes of junk that won’t interest you. It’s not safe for you upstairs.”
“I just want to know everything there is to know about you.”
He snorts through his nose. “No, you don’t.”
I reach for him again. “I care about you.”
He knocks over his chair in his haste to stand up. The heavy wood splinters when it hits the hard tiles, but he makes no indication he even heard the crash. “It’s time for you to go back to your room.”
Without asking if I’m finished, he pulls out my chair. I set down my fork and napkin. I know better than to disagree with him. When he lifts me up, I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss his neck. He takes a sharp inhalation, but he keeps walking.
“Jeb,” I whisper, “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
He lays me down on my bed in my evening gown. He doesn’t even ask if I want to change before pulling up the covers.
I grab his hand and squeeze it. He allows me one sad smile, as if the very effort of raising his lips is too much for him.
I let the covers fall away, offering my bed. “Stay with me.”
His breath hitches. “Even after my behavior tonight, you still want me near you?”
“I always want you near me. Please lay with me and hold me.”
He steps away from the bed. “I can’t trust myself to be that close to you, not after the way I acted.”
I pout. “You promised me when I was ready, and I’m ready.”
“Give yourself a few more days to heal,” he whispers, kissing me on the forehead.
I wrap my arms around him and push my tongue into his mouth. He laughs, allowing me a kiss so long I’m sure he changed his mind until he breaks away.
“Jeb,” I gasp.
“All in due time, Miss Watson. In due time,” he whispers before locking my bedroom door behind him.
Chapter Sixty
I let our dinner conversation roll over and over again in my mind. I can’t figure out why he got so upset when I asked about the upstairs. He said it wasn’t safe for me, but every evening, including this one, the stairs creak and moan as he climbs to the second floor.
For hours, I study the plaster patterns on the ceiling, winding in and out of each other in endless, complicated spirals. The mystery of Jeb twists and curves in my brain. I know all about the far-off countries he’s visited and the mountain peaks he’s climbed. I’ve seen him tie a dozen different climbing knots and rattle off a catalog worth of mountain bike brands. I can recite a playlist of songs he can perform on stage, but I know nothing about his childhood or his parents. He never mentions old girlfriends or friends, not even his bandmates. I don’t know if he ever had a favorite pet that died or a special present from Santa.
Hours later, he returns to his vigil beside my bed. I’m sure he thinks I’m asleep, but Hamlet’s soft whimpers wake me. His nails click across the floor, following him to the armchair, but Jeb ignores him. The poor pup craves attention, but Jeb spares him none.
The night we shared our first kiss, he swore to me that he would never force himself on me. He promised again and again that he’d wait for me to make the next move. It thrills me to wield such power, but tonight, I want him to come to me. I want him to need me.
I moan his name a few times in my sleep. When that doesn’t work, I shift my shoulder, so the strap of my dress slips off my arm. The side angle exaggerates my cleavage. I hear his quick intake of breath as I shift toward him, but he remains in the chair. It makes me crazy that he won’t come to me. He fights his impulses far better than I can. He shifts and adjusts himself a few times, before he abruptly stands up and comes over to the bed.
Please let tonight be the night he takes me as his and all our secrets will disappear.
With careful, tender fingers, he pulls the strap back onto my shoulder. His breathing grows ragged. He reaches down and presses his lips against my forehead. His chest heaves in and out. I turn my head, ready to take our relationship to the next level but his lips disappear.
“Jeb,” I whisper into the darkness, but he’s already gone.
Chapter Sixty-One
Jeb’s not back from the shop and Hamlet really needs to go. His soft whimpers elevated to howl-barking five minutes ago. Thank the surveyors of yesteryear that the closest neighbors live two miles away because Hamlet’s bark breaks every noise ordinance in Wellsboro city limits.
The other day Jeb suggested I keep my crutches over by the door so they won’t get knocked over. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. Now, not so much.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Hamlet sniffs my feet and decides my toes make excellent chew toys.
“No Hamlet,” I grunt, heaving myself off the bed. The bruises and cuts on my good leg throb and pulse. My knee buckles from lack of use. I balance for a while until my leg muscles ease back into supporting my weight. When the pain subsides, I hobble to the foot of the bed and grab the mahogany bed post.
The crutches mock me from the far wall. I take a deep breath and start hopping across the room. Hamlet threads in and out of my legs like a cat. He’s enjoying himself far more than I am.
“Hamlet, stay,” I hiss through clenched teeth. He flops his fat rear down on the wood floor. He has no idea what ‘stay’ means. He’s probably just tired. He’ll be on his feet in no time, and I will become his partner in a game of keep away.
I hop, hop, hop across the distance refusing to stop. If I stop, I’ll remember how much pain I’m in and I will lose the drive to keep going. With less than five feet to the wall, my body pitches forward. I wave my arms in the air, but my impersonation of a human windmill provides no support. A hundred brass knuckles pound against my ribcage.
My arms take the brunt of my weight as I crash against the wall. Blackness creeps along the edges of my vision, but I fight to keep conscious.
Hamlet nips at the back of my foot. This small act of play reminds me why I hobbled over in the first place. I open the bedroom door and he scurries past me. His back legs skid across the slick hardwood floors, but his speed propels him forward. The Oriental runner provides just enough traction for me to shimmy down the hall without fear of falling.
I unlock the front door and push down on the French handle, but the door doesn’t open. I try a few more times, with no success. Then I notice another deadbolt. This one needs a key to unlock it.
I search the trim of the door, but no key. Hamlet claws my bare foot, reminding me to hurry. I shuffle over to the antique sofa table Jeb bought in England or maybe it was Scotland. At this point it really doesn’t matter where the tables from. I’ve got a puppy who’s gotta go. I search through the drawers. I find twine, rope, zip ties, duct tape, box cutters, pocket knives, pens, pencil, paper, but no key. Finally, in the back corner of the last drawer under several pairs of stained work gloves, I find the key.
As far as Hamlet’s concerned, I can’t get the door open fast enough. The moment daylight shines in, he barrels through my legs. He tumbles down the front steps and squats on the first piece of available grass. When he’s done, he kicks his hind legs in the dirt and sprints
around the yard. His ears flap up and down to the happy rhythm of pounding paws. His tongue lolls to one side.
I remember the rush of freedom I felt every time I threw on my sneakers and hit the trail. With my body so broken, I won’t be able to run or dash or leap for a long time.
After his third lap, he scrambles back up the stairs.
“Good boy Hamlet, good boy!” He wiggles and jiggles at my feet, exposing his soft underbelly. The tip of my crutch provides the perfect belly rubber.
A loud metallic bang echoes through the house. My heart jumps in my throat. Metal on metal shudders the floors, the walls, the ceilings. Worse than last night. Much worse. More persistent and angry. Jeb really needs to get the pipes fixed.
Hamlet’s hackles stand up. A low, deep growl erupts from his belly. He tears off down the hallway, past my bedroom. He slides to a stop in front of another door at the end of the hall and starts to dig. The scratch of his nails on the hard wood floors sends me hobbling after him.
“Hamlet, no. Come.”
He shoves his nose under the door, huffing and sniffing. His nails dig and scrape. “No Hamlet!” I cry. If Jeb finds marks on his pristine wood floors, he’ll be in big trouble.
I push him out of the way with my crutch. He flies backwards and bumps the wall. He shakes his head and returns to the door. “No Hamlet!” I push him away again and use my crutch as a shield. I inspect the floor. Thankfully, I got to him before he caused any real damage.
He pushes past the crutch and shoves his nose under the door. I prod him, determined to get him back to my room before we get in trouble. As he flops backwards, something pink falls from his nose.
I shove my crutches under a shoulder and reach for it, but my bandaged, broken body refuses to cooperate. I crash to the floor.
My fingers wrap around the flat, rounded object. I clutch it to my chest. The collapse of my fragile universe digs into my palm. A double-edged sword meant to wound upon contact and deliver the killing stroke upon removal.
Chapter Sixty-Two
I’m afraid to confirm what I know to be true, what I feel in the marrow of my bones, in the depths of my heart. I take several pinched breaths, willing strength into my body and courage to open my eyes. My fingers peel back in slow motion, revealing a pink and black fingernail with a tiny diamond stud.
It can’t be. But there it is. Before my eyes. Indisputable proof that I cannot deny.
I stare up at the door. Just above the old tarnished door knob along the trim run three long jagged lacerations exposing the wood underneath the layers of paint.
I haven’t heard from Cassie since the day of our fight. Not a call. Not a text.
Another loud bang shudders through the house. My heart pounds in my chest. I struggle to get up. I push and manipulate my body into a dozen different directions. I fight. I slip. I paw. I reach. I need to know.
I twist the knob, but the door won’t open. My body quakes in fear. Banging rumbles through the house. I yank. I elbow. I hit the door with my crutches, but it won’t open. Then I hear perhaps the scariest sound in my entire life rumbling down the driveway. I shove the nail deep into my bathrobe pocket and limp down the hall.
“Tiffani! Tiffani!” Jeb shouts from outside. In my rush to get Hamlet, I forgot to shut the front door. His boots thunder up the stairs. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. He skids to a stop when he sees me. My terrified eyes meet his. Anger replaces concern. “WHAT are you doing out of bed?”
“I…, I…,” I shift my crutches under my arms for better balance. Cassie’s fingernail feels like a 5000 lb. weight. “Hamlet needed to go to the bathroom and you weren’t home.” Tears fall down my cheeks. I pitch forward. Jeb races over and scoops me up. My crutches crash to the floor. Hamlet yelps, tucks his tail between his legs, and bolts into my room.
He sets me down on my oasis of protection, but I’m terrified it might be a mirage, that the nightmares that haunt people’s sleep just became my reality. I cry for all that I have lost and what I might lose. “There, there Tiffani. It’s okay. I’m back now.”
His words should console me. His touch should soothe me, but I fear something sinister at work. I smack my dry chapped lips together. “Water, please.”
He brushes my hair off my forehead. “Sure thing, Angel. I’ll be right back.”
I watch him until he shuts the door. When I hear the key slide into the lock and the loud clank as the teeth grab hold of the locking mechanism, I know I’ve lost my privileges.
I pull the fingernail out of my robe. It has the same diamond stud that Cassie likes to use and her signature pink and black color combination. It’s exactly like the nail I found in the doorway at my apartment.
Jeb steps on the squeaky board outside my room. I shove the nail back into the robe.
He walks in with a silver tray. “Good news, I hired two new employees, so we can be together all the time.”
“Great.” I press Cassie’s nail deeper into my pocket.
“Medicine time,” he smiles as he hands me a Dixie cup filled with pills. An emphatic bang rattles from the basement. His shoulders stiffen. “I’ll be back. I need to fix those pipes.” He takes the empty Dixie cup and puts it back on the tray. He bends over and kisses my forehead. “Will you be okay without me for a little while?”
I manage a tight smile and nod. The moment he locks the door behind him, I spit out the pills.
Chapter Sixty-Three
I wake up screaming.
“Angel, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Jeb whispers, rubbing his hand up and down my back. His touch soothes me, though I fear it is capable of horrible things.
I nod, as if his words reassure me, but they don’t, not by a long shot.
“Tell me what disturbs your sleep,” he pleads. “Let me make it better.”
I am haunted by endless passages lit by fingernail scratches that scar the walls, but I know the truth will not set me free.
“Same as always, me falling down the trail. Always falling down, down, down.”
His tears glisten in the faint glow from the candlelight. His belief in my tale buoys my courage. He possesses a heart, a conscience, a soul that wants to protect me. I worry when I lie though. I worry he will hear Cassie’s fingernail scratch along the wood floor and tear at the silk canopy. I worry he will hear her voice screeching in the wind, demanding me to call her. Call her and find her. My very own tell-tale heart.
But if she is lost, it means Jeb’s halo hides a pair of horns.
Chapter Sixty-Four
The moment the front door closes, I spit out my morning dose of pills. I pull the fork I stole from last night’s dinner out of my robe and drag it along the seam of the mattress. I jerk and tug until the fabric rips and there’s a hole large enough to hide the fork and pills.
Defying Jeb is a calculated risk I must take. I need to find out what’s in the basement.
My brain throbs with the sharp ache of an icepick jabbing it, but it’s better than yesterday’s incessant stabbing. One skipped round of meds and a few hours of clairvoyance. I figured out I’ve been at Jeb’s for at least three weeks, maybe longer. The heavy curtains in my room block out the light. The passage of time revolves around the meal Jeb serves. For all I know, our romantic candlelit dinners could be at three o’clock in the morning.
When I made the mistake of disagreeing with him about literature, I could have been locked away for months. That scares the shit out of me.
Since I’ve been at Jeb’s, I’ve been exhausted. I couldn’t rid myself of the cloudy, lethargic feeling that haunted me like a hungry hound begging for scraps until I skipped yesterday’s dose.
Call it a withdrawal hallucination or a paranoid, overactive imagination brought on by the consumption of one too many “Criminal Mind” episodes, but I think Jeb dopes me with sleeping pills, morphine, or some other pain killer to keep me asleep when he’s gone and passive and compliant when he’s around.
Hamlet barrels into my room. He paws at the s
ide of the bed where I stashed the fork and pills. His nail scrapes against the metal. I reach over and pull him up on the bed before he reveals to Jeb everything I’ve hidden.
“Aren’t you two the snuggly pair?” Jeb says from the doorway. “Do you need anything before I go?”
I shake my head. “We’re good.”
He walks over to the side of the bed. I pray to all that is good and pure and sane in the world that Hamlet didn’t knock anything out of the hole. He twirls a lock of my hair around his finger. “Are you sure you don’t need any more to eat?”
“Jeb, if I keep eating all this food, I’ll be too fat to leave this room.”
“Then we shall be together forever,” he teases, reaching down to kiss me full on the lips. I allow this small display of affection. He must not suspect I doubt him. “Sleep, while I pick up the mail and check the store. Any special requests for dinner tonight?”
“Surprise me,” I yawn, as I settle back into my pillow.
“I won’t be long,” he promises.
I want to say, “Take as long as you want.”
A few minutes later, the jeep rumbles down the driveway. I count to 300 just to be sure Jeb doesn’t return. When I’m sure he’s not coming back, I leap out of bed. Unfortunately, I forget about my lack of pain meds. Big mistake. A lumberjack drives his ax to my kneecaps and I crash to the floor. I waste three minutes recovering before I can move.
I manipulate the silver fork into the old-fashioned crystal door knob. I twist the fork until I hear it catch on the internal locking mechanism.
Hamlet tries to shove his nose through the door, but I push him back. “Stay here, boy.” He whimpers and flops down on the floor.
I limp down the hall toward the door that will lead me to the truth—that either Jeb is a monster who has locked my best friend in the basement or it really is the pipes that make all that noise at odd hours of the day and night. My stomach lurches at the site of the shiny new brass deadbolt separating me from whatever is on the other side. I check to see if maybe he forgot to lock it.
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