by R. A. Casey
I’m fucking terrified.
I can’t move a muscle.
Because that person standing outside. Staring through the window at me.
The man.
What the hell is he doing out there in the middle of the night?
Where the hell did he go?
And then…
Another footstep.
And I can’t help fearing it’s coming from the stairs.
Someone is coming up the stairs.
Someone is coming up the stairs and they are going to find me and they are going to come in this room and—
“Freddie?” I say.
I barely even think before I speak as I stand there, shaking, sweating. I am literally shivering on the spot. Sweat pools down my face. I don’t know whether I am stiflingly hot or freezing cold, only that I cannot move a muscle.
Someone is here.
Someone is downstairs.
Or are those footsteps coming from next door?
Or in the attic?
Or outside?
I can’t even tell anymore.
I just know it sounds like someone is in my home.
And it sounds like they are downstairs.
“Freddie?” I say again. Turning around to the bed. My boyfriend lies there, snoring away. He is fast asleep.
I want to scream. Want to cry out.
But at the same time, as I stand there in the darkness, I wonder whether waking Freddie is the right thing to do at all.
Because what if this is something to do with the parcel?
With the disappearing parcel?
With all the weird shit happening lately?
Because it has to be. There can be no other explanation for it. Right?
I stand there. Unable to move a muscle. And for some reason, all I can think of is that stiflingly hot day on the school field. My hand in Charlie’s. Charlie’s disappointment with me. Like there is something unspoken between us.
And the baby growing inside me.
The product of mine and Glynn’s brief fling.
And I wonder if Charlie knew. I wonder if my son saw something. And I wonder if that’s what led him to be so off with me.
Or if there’s something else.
I stand there, heart racing, staring at the bedroom door when I hear shuffling to my left.
“Sarah?”
I turn around. Freddie is sitting up in bed. He’s looking over at me with narrowed, bloodshot eyes.
“What’s… What’s wrong, Sarah?”
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. My mouth is so dry. I can’t speak.
But despite all my fears about him knowing everything, I am just so happy not to be alone.
Because at least now I have an opportunity to prove to him I’m not insane.
I have a chance to convince him something weird is happening once and for all.
“The man,” I mutter. “Outside—outside the window. And then…”
I hear creaking downstairs. It sounds like the kitchen, now.
“Sarah? What’s up? Come back to bed.”
“Didn’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“The—the footsteps.”
“What footsteps?”
“There’s someone here, Freddie.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“There’s—there’s someone here. I saw someone outside, and then I heard someone inside. Come on. I’ll show you. Please.”
I walk towards the door, my legs all tingly. I don’t want to leave the room. I feel like I’m stepping into a dark, hellish void that I’ll never return from.
And then suddenly, Freddie is at my side. Holding my hand. Standing right there with me.
He’s tired. His breath smells a little. He seems a bit sleepy.
But he’s calm. And he’s here.
“Come on,” he says. “I’ll come downstairs with you. We’ll see. We’ll both see.”
I know he still doesn’t trust me. Still doesn’t believe me. Especially after the Calvin incident. Especially after the newspaper incident. I know he thinks I’m crazy. I know he thinks I need help.
And I do need help. There’s no denying that.
But I know what I saw outside.
And I know what I heard downstairs.
“I’m here with you,” Freddie says. “Every step of the way.”
We step out of the bedroom, out into the darkness of the landing. I switch the light on, and it disorients me. Blinds me. There’s something so invasive about a bright light at night. Something so unwelcoming about home in the darkness. It’s like it is sleeping too, and it knows when you are awake. Knows you aren’t supposed to be awake.
And if you stir too much, it might just wake up itself.
Like a living being.
I approach the top of the stairs slowly. I know what I heard. And as I stand by the bathroom door, I wonder if someone might be behind there. Already up here.
“It’s okay,” Freddie says, squeezing my hand lightly. “We’re okay.”
I nod. I want to believe him, want to tell him his presence reassures me. But I’m terrified.
I stare at the top of the stairs.
And as I move towards them, I expect to see someone waiting down there, staring up at me.
There is nobody there.
I stand there a few seconds. Part of me is relieved.
But another part of me is terrified.
Because what if Freddie is right?
What if this is all in my head, all over again?
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go see.”
We move slowly down the stairs. Step by step. I didn’t think the floor creaked here, but it’s really going for it now. Waking up the beast. The beast was sleeping, and now it is awake.
And it is unhappy.
I reach the bottom of the stairs. I’m not sure how much further I can go. Not sure I want to see what’s in here—or what isn’t in here.
Not sure what’s worse.
“Sarah?” Freddie says.
He looks at me with those calm, collected eyes. Smiles.
“It’s okay. I promise. Everything is okay.”
I look back at him.
Stare into his eyes.
And I love him.
I love him and his loyal, patient ways so so much.
I nod back at him.
And then we step into the kitchen.
I hit the light right away. And I regret it. I wish I’d just walked in here in the dark and tried to see if I could see anything, but the light blinds me for a moment, renders me useless.
Vulnerable.
But as my tired eyes adjust, I realise there is nothing in here.
The back door is locked.
The windows are intact.
There is nothing out of the ordinary here.
And that concerns me more than I expected.
I look around at Freddie and see him staring at me in that way already, and I hate it.
I push past him.
“Sarah—”
“The lounge.”
“But—”
“The lounge. I heard someone, Freddie. I heard someone. I know what I heard.”
“Don’t you think maybe you were just—”
“What? Dreaming? Making it up? Like everything else?”
“No,” he says. But I can tell he is desperate. I can tell he is torn.
“Then what?”
“I… I just… I just don’t know what to say. Only that we need to go back to bed. Come on, gorgeous.”
I stand there. Stare at him. Heart racing. Feeling betrayed, but also understanding. Because I know how hard this must be to him. I know how this must look to him.
“I’ll check the lounge first,” I say.
I step in there. Search it in the darkness, first. The dark leather of our two-piece sofa. The television screen in the corner, jet black. The two glasses of wine sitting atop the fireplace, one of them only half-empty.
There for days now.
I look towards the front door. See nothing at the letterbox. See nothing on the doormat.
I walk to the door.
Check the lock.
Locked.
I stand there. Put my head against the wood. And then I open my eyes and I turn the key and open the door.
I am standing at the door. Above, the streetlamp flickers. I can hear a dog barking in the distance. A car door slamming somewhere. A faint scent of weed in the air from somewhere up the street.
I see nobody where the man stood.
Nobody at all.
I just feel the cool air against my skin, and I ask myself the question again.
Are you insane?
Are you losing your mind after all?
I take a long, deep breath, feel that cool air against my burning, shivering skin, and then I turn around.
That’s when I see Freddie standing there.
His eyes are wide.
He looks concerned by something.
Alarmed by something.
A new shade of pale.
“Is—is everything okay?” I ask.
He moves his hands behind his back.
Fast.
He looks at me with those wide eyes.
With that pale face.
“Freddie? What is it?”
He stares at me for just a moment longer than is comfortable.
Then, he breaks out in a smile.
“Nothing. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. Come on. Let’s go to bed, Sarah. Let’s go to bed.”
I stand there.
I stare at him.
And against my better judgement, I nod.
But as I walk towards my beloved boyfriend, I feel uneasy.
Because I know he is lying.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I’m at the doctor’s again. Only today, I don’t have a choice about going in. Because Freddie is sitting beside me.
I hate the waiting room at the surgery. Hate the way little kids run around like it’s their playroom. Hate how stuffy and hot it is. Can’t possibly be hygienic, especially with everyone in here already harbouring whatever illness or other.
The ventilation here could be a lot better, especially post-COVID, and since the face mask mandates had been lifted. I’m sweating. The air conditioning pumps away above, but it looks like it could do with a good clean.
Freddie holds my hand. Slightly looser than usual. Like he’s not completely here.
And it makes me wonder if something is wrong.
No.
Not just “wonder.”
I know something is wrong.
He has been off ever since last night. Ever since I heard the footsteps downstairs. Ever since I went to the lounge door and looked outside, fully convinced I was losing my mind.
I turned around and saw him standing there. Wide eyes. Hands behind his back.
His face a little paler than before.
Was he hiding something from me?
Especially when he told me everything was okay.
What is he keeping from me?
I asked if he was okay, and he insisted he was. Told me to get back to bed. But then he disappeared to the bathroom for a little while. I heard the tap running. Then I heard him head back downstairs. Outside.
I wanted to go down there. To follow him. To see what he was doing.
But he just came to bed and told me he couldn’t sleep, so he’d had a wash and a hot chocolate. Not too far beyond the realms of possibility. It was something he’d done before.
But ever since I woke up this morning, I’ve felt something off with Freddie. Something wrong with him.
I wonder if maybe he’s just worried about me. Maybe he’s concerned. Maybe it’s just the shock of everything finally catching up with him. The realisation that I am not the woman he moved in with. I am not the woman he wants me to be.
Damaged, sure. But not permanently broken. Fixable. He knew I had my baggage. What mother who lost their son didn’t have their baggage?
But this. This was surely beyond what he expected. What he’d signed up for.
And the most painful part of it all is I still feel so, so terrified about being completely honest.
“Sarah Evatt?”
I flinch. Look around.
The doctor is standing there again. My stomach sinks. It’s that doll again. Doctor Murray. The pretty one with the blonde hair and the eyelash extensions and nails far longer than a professional doctor should have.
I want to shake my head. To tell her I’m okay. That this is all a mistake.
I want to disappear again. Just like yesterday.
Only I know I can’t go where I went yesterday.
Not with Freddie so on my scent.
Because he’ll have questions.
So many questions.
I sit there and look at Freddie. And in my eyes, I know I am begging him not to make me do this. Not to face her. Not again.
But I realise, as he squeezes my hand gently, that I do not have a choice anymore.
I nod.
He leans over. Kisses me.
An old man sitting opposite tuts and rolls his eyes. “We’re all waiting here,” he mutters.
And that alone convinces me to go a little bit slower, just to piss him off.
“Don’t worry, Sarah. Everything will be okay.”
I frown. “What—what are you—”
“I’m coming in with you,” he says.
“What… That wasn’t the plan.”
“I want you to tell the doctor everything, Sarah. Everything you’ve told me. And I want to hear you tell her, too. So we can get to the bottom of this. So we can get better. Once and for all.”
I’m standing and staring at Freddie in the middle of this waiting room, and I can’t believe he is doing this.
Suddenly, I am trapped. I am stuck. And I don’t know how to get out. I don’t know how to free myself.
“Um… is there a problem?” the pretty doctor asks.
I look at Freddie. Stare into his eyes.
“Please, Sarah,” he says. “For us.”
I want to tell him he can come with me.
That he can join me.
I want to tell him he can hear everything.
Every.
Thing.
But as I stand there, shaking, like a rabbit caught in the headlights, I can’t speak.
The doctor is here now. Standing beside us. Looking at me like I’m some kind of freak.
And that’s because she knows.
She saw it on my record, and she knows.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“My girlfriend would like me to join her for today’s consultation. Isn’t that right, Sarah?”
I look at Freddie.
I look at Doctor Murray.
I look at the rest of the patients glancing over, staring at this rare waiting room drama.
I look at the little boy in the corner of the room running around, toy airplane in hand.
I take it all in, and I feel trapped.
Tight fingers around my wrist.
Someone pressing me down.
“My angel…”
“Sarah?” Freddie says. “That’s okay. That’s what we want. To help you. Isn’t it?”
I look Freddie in the eyes.
And then I hear Doctor Murray clear her throat beside me.
“It’s entirely up to the patient,” she says. “Do you want your partner with you for this, lovely?”
I look at her.
I look at Freddie.
And then I say something that I know will have ramifications for weeks to come.
“No,” I say.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I see him waiting in the van for me, and I know already he isn’t happy.
I walk over to the van. Get inside. It’s cooler outside now. Cloudier too, and quite a bit breezier here. I’ve only come out in a thin cardigan, so I’m somewhat relieved to get out of the coo
l and into the heat of Freddie’s van. Even though I’ve been banging on all summer about how hot it is outside. Never satisfied. That’s what my mum and dad used to always say. You’re never satisfied, Sarah. We could give you the world, and you’d want the galaxy. Ungrateful, that’s what you are.
I sit in the passenger seat without saying a word, and I wait for Freddie to explode.
He doesn’t say anything. Just turns the key, reverses out of the parking spot, and drives out of the doctor’s car park as calm as can be. And in a way, I find this worse. I find it more difficult to deal with. Because I want him to grill me. I want him to lambast me for what I’ve done.
Because I deserve it.
But this silence, this is even worse.
I know he’s pissed with me.
I know he’s at his wits’ end with me.
And I know he’s hurt by me, too.
I know he feels betrayed.
And can I blame him, really?
He stood there in the doctor’s surgery and told me he would go into the GP’s office with me. He told me he was going to support me. That we were both going to tackle this. Together.
And what did I go and do?
Turn him away.
Stand there, look him in the eyes and tell him I didn’t want him there.
I know why that is. Deep down. Of course, I know why.
Because I don’t want him knowing everything about me.
I don’t want him knowing the truth.
But I know he will feel even more hurt and betrayed by my lack of willingness to have him there.
“It went okay,” I say, growing agitated by his silence as we drive through Longridge. “In case you were wondering.”
“You sure about that?” he asks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You didn’t sneak off on a little adventure behind my back while the doctor wasn’t looking today, did you?”
I roll my eyes. “You shouldn’t have put me on the spot like you did.”
“I shouldn’t have put you on the spot?”
“No. It was wrong. A doctor’s appointment is private.”
“We’re supposed to be working through this together, Sarah,” he shouts.
“Then the next time you plan on pulling a little trick like that, can you at least give me a heads up, so I have more than enough time to let you down gently? And not embarrass myself and everyone else in the middle of the fucking doctor’s surgery?”
He swings the van to the pavement in a sudden jolt. So unexpected, I almost bang my head against the window. The vein on his temple is pulsating. Sweat trickles down his face. His eyes are wide. I can see he is pissed off. I can smell the sweat in the air. This isn’t good. Not at all.