Never Let You Go

by Chevy Stevens

“Sure.” He looks around. “Where’s Angus?”

  “He must be chasing something. I’ll call him in a while.”

  He climbs onto the other side of the bed, slides closer to me, and rests his head against my shoulder, his lips cool on my bare skin. I feel as though spiders are crawling on me. We watch the news together, but it’s just flickering images. I can’t take in the information. I’m listening to every sound and waiting for him to drink his water, but he hasn’t moved toward it.

  “I brought you water. I thought after all that wine…”

  “Thanks, honey,” but he’s still watching the TV. Like he actually cares what’s happening in the world. Like it’s just any other night of the week. Finally he turns and takes a sip of his water, then makes a quizzical face.

  “I put lemon in it,” I say.

  “Doesn’t really go with toothpaste.” He puts the glass down.

  I stare at the TV, despair and panic chasing each other in an endless loop. How much did he swallow? One mouthful? That won’t even make him drowsy. I try to think how long it’s been since Sophie and Jared went to bed. Fifteen or twenty minutes? Not enough time.

  Ten more minutes pass. I try not to look at the clock too often, pretend to fiddle with the alarm. Marcus slides down, rests his head on the pillow. I keep glancing at his face to see if his eyes are closed, but he seems fascinated by the news—and not the least bit tired. I can’t wait any longer. I have to see if the kids are gone. I might be able to sneak out while he’s engrossed.

  “I’m going to call Angus.”

  “Okay.” He doesn’t look over. I ease to the edge of the bed, walk out, and close the door behind me. I pause, listening. I can still hear the TV.

  I creep down the hall toward the back of the house and push Jared’s door open, peer into the dark room. The window looks like it’s closed. I stare at the bed, wait for my eyes to adjust. A huddled shape. What went wrong? I have to get him out of here.

  I move quickly inside, touch Jared’s shoulder, and feel softness. I push again, and almost sag in relief. It’s a pillow. I close the door and move down the hall, holding my breath as I cross in front of the bedroom door, then head up the stairs to Sophie’s room. I smell fresh rain, shiver in the cold air. The bed is near her open window, a sheet still tied to it. They made it.

  I’m halfway back down when my shoulder brushes against a frame on the wall, pushing it with a loud scrape. I stop, wait in silence. Did he hear? The wind is loud outside, gusts making the house shake and moan. I start moving again, set my feet down lightly on each step.

  “Everything okay?”

  I jerk back with a startled gasp. Marcus is standing in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. How long has he been there?

  “I heard something, but it was just the wind,” I whisper. “Kids are fine.” I take the rest of the steps, pause in front of him.

  “One of the windows might’ve broken in the storm,” he says. “I feel a draft.” I don’t like the way he’s peering up the stairs with a frown, like he’s thinking about going to check.

  “Everything looks okay. Sophie’s under a few blankets.”

  “You find Angus?” He’s facing me now. I hope this means he’s decided to leave the windows alone, but I’m not in the clear yet. He’ll be suspicious if I don’t want to search for Angus. Then it comes to me. That’s exactly how I can escape.

  “Not yet. I’m going to look around outside. He must be hiding from the storm.” I walk toward the bedroom, praying that Marcus follows. I have to get him away from the stairs.

  “It’s blowing pretty hard. I’ll come with you.”

  I grit my teeth, glad he can’t see my face. He’s just being polite. I can still get out of this.

  “I’ll be fine. One of us might as well stay dry.”

  “I can’t let you go out there alone.”

  We’re in the bedroom now. I can’t protest anymore or he’ll catch on. I grab a sweater from the drawer, pull it over my shirt, and slide on some jeans. I delay for a few moments as I rummage for socks. What if Angus is waiting at the front door? We’ll have to come back inside. Maybe I can break away, run into the forest, hide somewhere. I’ll have the element of surprise.

  Marcus picks up his silver flashlight from the night table. “Ready?”

  * * *

  The wind almost yanks the door out of my hand as I open it, snatches at my coat. I press my hood tight to my head, glance around. I don’t see Angus. He’s never disappeared like this before. He must be with Sophie and Jared. Marcus is behind me. I need him to walk ahead.

  “Angus!” I shout into the wind.

  Marcus whistles loudly, the noise piercing through the storm. I stiffen, count my breaths. Stay away, Angus. Stay away. Each moment drags into the next. I can hear the rustle of Marcus’s rain gear as he shifts his weight, the rain beating against my shoulders.

  “Let’s check the woodshed,” I say.

  Marcus nods, his face shadowed under his baseball cap, gestures for me to go first. He shines a beam of light ahead. The concrete stairs are slippery, wet with rain and leaves. I scan the forest as though I’m searching for Angus. Where would be a good place to take off? The land is rugged, steep with cliffs.

  “I need to fix my boot.” I bend over to lace my hiking boots, wondering how fast I can run in them. Marcus is standing behind me on the narrow stairs, the light aimed at my feet. I’d hoped he would pass, but he’s still playing at being a gentleman. I scour the ground, looking for a rock, a branch, something I can grab fast, but there’s nothing, only a river of rainwater.

  I start to stand up. Something slams into the back of my head and I pitch forward, land hard on my hands and knees. Pain ricochets through the back of my skull, down my spine in a sharp jolt. I try to get to my feet, but my arms sway, the steps rush toward me, and my face smacks into the edge of the concrete. My teeth snap together, my cheekbone throbs. I taste blood.

  Beside me, Marcus’s boots. Black tips, shiny with rain.

  “Lindsey?” His voice sounds far away, floating in and out like I’m underwater. “Can you hear me?” The world is crumbling at the edges, darkness pulling me down. I need to stay awake, need to protect myself. I try to crawl, reach for the step below. I slide down on my torso, topple to the side, and land in the mud, the river of rain flooding my legs. I’m looking up at Marcus.

  He’s raising his arm, the flashlight coming toward my head.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  I blink slowly as I wake up. The ceiling blurs. I blink some more until it comes into focus. I try to raise my hand to feel the side of my head, but there’s something sticking to my wrists. Duct tape. More across my mouth, pulling at the skin. My legs won’t move either. My ankles are taped together. I’m soaking wet, and cold. So cold. I’m just wearing my shirt and jeans; my coat and boots are gone.

  I look to the side, and the world shifts and distorts and spins. My stomach rises into my mouth, bitter acid. I can’t see Marcus, but I hear movement, rustling. I slowly lift my head.

  He’s at the other end of the room, hunched over in front of the dresser. He’s changed into a camouflaged coat. I’ve never seen it before. He looks like a hunter.

  My body starts shaking hard, my muscles clenched as I yank and twist my wrists. It’s no use. The knife under the pillow. I bring my hands up. Too late. He’s turning around.

  “You’re awake.” As he moves toward the bed, I push my bound feet against the mattress, use my stomach muscles to pull myself up, press my back against the headboard. I’m breathing hard behind my gag, taking quick rushes of air in and out through my nose. I’ll kick him. I’ll lift my legs and kick him in the stomach. I’ll use my fists like a club. I’ll stab my fingers into his eyes.

  He stops at the bottom of the bed, slides some shirts into a duffel bag. He didn’t have a bag when we arrived—he had a suitcase. This is army-green, wilderness survival style. Now he’s at the closet, pulling clothes off the hanger. He folds the shirts, places th
em carefully in the bag.

  What’s his plan? He doesn’t look angry, or even upset. His movements are quick and efficient. Not rushed.

  He didn’t kill me. He could have, but he hasn’t yet. That has to mean something. He’s taking me with him? Like a captive? I listen for sirens, but I can only hear wind outside.

  Now he’s in the bathroom. I reach for the knife, feel around with my fingers. Where did it go? He’s coming out. I pull my hands back in front of me. He goes down to the bottom of the bed with his shaving kit, unzips it, brings out the container with the pills, and pushes them around with his finger. Counting. Then he glances at the water glass, meets my eyes.

  “You were going to drug me, just like you did with Andrew.”

  I grunt behind the tape, hold my hands out in a plea, then point them toward my mouth, beg him with my eyes. Take the tape off! Let me talk, please! I can explain!

  He drops the shaving kit into the duffel bag. “We both know if I take off the tape, you’ll scream.” He still thinks the kids are in the house. He hasn’t checked the bedrooms, that’s why he’s moving so unhurriedly. He thinks he has time. What will he do if he hears sirens?

  His hand is in his pocket, something jingles as he takes it out. Keys. Now he’s crouching in front of the chest. I can only see the top of his baseball cap, hear the snick of the lock, then things being moved around. When he stands back up, he’s gripping a gun.

  I press myself harder against the headboard, hold my hands out in front of me. I’m shaking my head, making animal noises as I choke on my strangled breath.

  He doesn’t look at me, just slides the gun into his pocket, then bends over again and takes something else out of the chest. It’s a photo album, white satin.

  “Elizabeth loved this house.” He slowly flips through the album. “We came here almost every weekend.” He touches one of the photos, almost reverently, his hand grazing over the surface. “I heard that women glow when they’re pregnant, and I always thought that was a myth, but when we found out she was finally pregnant, it’s like she was lit with a hundred candles.”

  Elizabeth was pregnant? No, how could this be? There wasn’t anything in the papers, nothing came out at the trial. Wouldn’t the police have known?

  “I didn’t tell them she was three months along. They might’ve given him a longer sentence.” He puts the album back inside the chest, closes the lid, and rests his hand on top. “Her ashes are in here, with her wedding dress, the baby shoes she bought—pink ones. She was so sure it was a girl.” He looks up at me. “I was notified when Andrew was released. I could’ve shot him as he walked out of the prison, but that would have been too easy. He had to feel like he was getting everything back, his freedom, his family, then I was going to take it all away.”

  He’s studying my face, his expression satisfied as he notices my tears. He’s enjoying this, revealing his clever plan, gloating over his brilliance. “You told me everything. You told me about your marriage, and I used it all. You even let me watch as you typed in your alarm password. Sophie’s letters told me everything else. She kept them under her dresser, you know.”

  He’d been through every inch of my house. He knew everything about my daughter, our home, had been through our drawers. And I was the one who let him in.

  “I’d drive down and watch him in Victoria, going about his day, laughing with guys on the job site, enjoying his life.” He spits out the last words. “Then I saw him buy his plane ticket. He was coming to Dogwood Bay. It was time. You believed he was stalking you, eventually even Sophie believed it. The police would’ve blamed him for your deaths.”

  I stop straining at my bindings, this final truth wrapping tighter around me than the tape. All this time, as the months and days sped past, he’d been planning to kill me and Sophie. I sag backward, reeling from the blow, the knowledge. I’m shaking again, my body in blind panic.

  “You trusted me so much by then. I could have made it look like he’d tracked you down in Vancouver and killed you there, but then he followed me into your house.”

  The rest comes clear. I see him and Andrew standing at the top of the stairs. I see them fighting. I see how much Andrew loved Sophie. How much he loved me.

  “I was still so fucking angry.” It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him swear, the harshness adding to my terror. “What was the point of his death? I had nothing left. I still thought about Elizabeth every second of every day. Then you needed a place to stay, and it seemed right, like some sort of message. Why shouldn’t I take his family? He destroyed mine. I almost started believing I could have some sort of life again. But then you told me about the pills.…” He meets my eyes, stares into them. It’s all in there. His despair, his rage. It was never about me.

  I twist my body, roll up onto my knees, my hands in front of my heart in the prayer position. I’m crying hard now, trying to moan and grunt. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

  He looks around the room, takes a deep breath, as though savoring the very scent of the walls, the air. “I’m going to miss this house, but it’s time. I have to start over. It’s the only answer.” In one smooth motion, he lifts the duffel bag over his shoulder and meets my eyes again. “I’m going to burn the house down now. It will go fast—the smoke will kill you first.”

  I slide off the edge of the bed, drop to my knees. He’s already walking out of the room in quick strides. I crawl after him, an awkward shimmy on knees and elbows. I have to get out the door, wedge it with my body. But he’s moving too fast, I can’t keep up.

  The door is opening. I have a quick glimpse of the dark living room, the table, chairs. He doesn’t look back as he closes the door. I’m a few feet behind, still crawling. Scraping sounds, something being dragged in front of the door. The bookshelf.

  He’s trapped me in the bedroom.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  SOPHIE

  I don’t hear sirens. Our feet thud on the road in tandem. I’ve lost one of my slippers, but I don’t slow down. We’ve been gone too long. Angus stops suddenly, ears pricked, then he plunges into the darkness beside the road.

  “Angus!” I turn and peer through the trees. Should we wait for him? Jared grabs my arm and I start running again. He’ll be okay, I tell myself. He’ll catch up. I keep hoping to hear the jingle of his collar, but there’s nothing, just the sound of the heavy rain and screaming wind and our gasping breaths.

  “What are we going to do?” I pant.

  “There’s an ax by the woodshed.” Jared’s eyes are squinted against the rain, his hair slicked back, his arms tight to his side. “We’ll jump him.”

  We’re going to attack someone with an ax. Not just someone. Marcus.

  I look down the road. We’ve started to see some lake houses but I’m not sure how close we are now. The trees all look the same, the curve of the road that never seems to end.

  I pick up a familiar scent, growing stronger. “You smell smoke?”

  “Probably from the chimney. We’re close.”

  Then we round the bend and see the lake house. Thick smoke hovers around it in a hazy cloud. It’s coming from the chimney, the windows, crawling over the roof.

  “Mom!” I sprint toward the house, reckless now, my feet and arms wild. Jared’s yelling something behind me, but I can’t hear him. All I see is the smoke.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  LINDSEY

  I can hear Marcus moving around the living room, his quick footsteps. He’s not going to come back and check on me now. I can smell smoke already. I have to get out. I swing my body around until my legs are curled under me, then roll onto my hip, and use my core to pull myself up onto my feet. I hop back to the bed, my arms straight out in front for balance. This time when I reach under the pillow, I find the knife where it had slid next to the headboard.

  I pause, listening. Boot steps, walking away. The front door slams. Now there’s only silence. Sitting on the floor, I use my fingers to carefully slide the knife out of the sheath, then brace it be
tween my knees, and cut the tape. With my hands free, my ankles go faster. It’s only been minutes, but the smoke is stronger now. It hangs in the air, seeps under the door.

  I peel the tape from my mouth, cry out as it takes off some skin. I suck in air. The only way out is the window. It won’t open. Something is wrong with the lock. I slam the lamp against the glass. It bounces back, flies out of my hands, shatters at my feet. I take one of the pillowcases and wrap it around my hand, then hit the window, but I’m not strong enough. Maybe there’s something in the bathroom I can use. The shower rod, the back of the ceramic toilet.

  A noise. Someone shouting, loud and frantic. Two voices. Sophie and Jared. Coming closer, running footsteps. Yelling for me. They’re in the house.

  “I’m in here!” I sprint to the door, pound my fists on it.

  “Stand back!” Jared’s voice. Something is hitting against the door, splitting wood. The head of an ax, slicing through. Kicking sounds, and the door flies open.

  “Mom! Come on!” Sophie grabs my hand, pulls me out. We run for the front door, but the living room is filling with smoke. The curtains are already in flames, curling higher.

  “Stop!” Jared grabs our shoulders from behind. “The back door.”

  We follow him down the hall, pressed together. I wrap my fingers around the back of Sophie’s sweatshirt, the cold wet fabric. We have our arms over our faces, coughing. My eyes are watering. I squint through the smoke, follow their shapes. Jared is leading, then Sophie. I grip her shirt harder. Jared opens the back door. I see the dark night, smell the rain.

  A sharp cracking sound. I lose my balance as I jerk my body to the side, and bounce hard into the wall. Through the smoke, Marcus, running after us. He’s pointing the gun at me.

  Another cracking sound. Loud, close.

  Something hits the wall beside my head. I duck, drop to my knees. Sophie’s on the other side of the doorway, her face a white mask as she reaches for me, rain pouring down on her, heavy strands of violet hair splayed across her cheeks. She’s in the open, outlined by light.