Skin and Bone: A Psychological Thriller

by T. L. Keary

  What Sawyer told me checks out. John Hull did die a few weeks ago in an accident. There is mention of the memorial here in Snohomish in his obituary. Another quick search on social media and I find talk about the reunion. It’s scheduled for August third, just six weeks away.

  I think it through all night long. Sawyer’s explanation lines up with why Davis was so annoyed with me, so irritated. Sawyer didn’t have Ezra’s number anymore and didn’t know where to get it. But it was more than easy to track Davis down, who would obviously have Ezra’s number.

  I don’t get any sleep that night. But I can’t think of any sinister outcomes from that one phone call.

  Come morning, I deal with a few more of Sawyer’s emails and texts. Everyone is shocked at the news of her moving, sad and angry emojis scattered everywhere. There are requests for a going-away party, all of which I decline in Sawyer’s sweet, perky way.

  I answer Jared’s scathing texts, keeping it calm and even.

  There. It’s all been dealt with.

  I power the phone off again, place it back in the tampon box where no one will snoop around, and put it back in the cupboard.

  I have my plan, my mission, but even I have bills to pay and personal loans to pay off. This masterpiece came at a hefty price.

  I get to work.

  Over the years, I’ve built my own clientele, formed my own reputation for being one of the best.

  Even if the work is so boring I want to kill myself most days.

  But I had to be able to talk the talk.

  Sawyer James designs homes for millionaires.

  If I was going to do this right, I had to go all the way.

  Four years of night school, even semesters in the summer months. And voila, I had my very own architectural design degree.

  The money’s certainly nice. There’s a reason Sawyer could afford that spectacular apartment in the tech capital of the world. There’s a reason she drives such a beautiful car.

  I just don’t understand how she could see this as fun.

  It’s bathrooms and kitchens, bedrooms and rock walls.

  But I digress.

  At four o’clock, there’s a knock on my door and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest.

  I hung a mirror next to the front door as soon as I moved in. Quickly, I look myself over. Makeup is good, hair is good, though I’m going to need a root touch-up in a few days.

  I pull the door open, and I could just die of happiness.

  “Ezra,” I say with a smile. I reach up to my necklace and press the button, though it just looks like I’m fiddling with it in surprise and discomfort.

  He stands there, looking up at me from beneath dark lashes. His shoulders are tense and I can tell he’s wary, same as the other day.

  “Hey, sorry to just show up, but I don’t have your number yet,” he says. And good ol’ Ezra, I can tell he really does feel bad about just showing up.

  I focus on what’s really important though.

  He said yet.

  A smile spreads on my face and I shake my head. “That’s okay. You’re welcome to stop by whenever.”

  He gives a cautious smile at that and nods. “I… Are you busy? I was wondering if we could talk.”

  I make a show of looking back toward my office. The door is open, and you can see my drafting table, the lamp on, a pencil laying and waiting.

  “Yeah, I could take a break now,” I say, flashing him another smile. “How about a walk?”

  “Uh, yeah,” he says. It’s obvious he meant to just stay here and talk, and maybe in some ways that would be better, but I don’t trust myself to not jump in too quick and scare Ezra away.

  Besides, there’s a whole other aspect to this plan. And part of that is to be seen together, to get the whole town rooting for our reunification.

  I duck back inside and grab my phone from my desk and give Ezra a smile as we step outside.

  It’s a gorgeous day out. It’s the twenty-second of June, which means we’re finally starting to hit summer temperatures. The sun is high and bright and the sky is completely clear.

  “You finish getting those chairs built?” he asks. He’s nervous.

  “I keep telling you, I could have handled the whole thing on my own,” I say, smiling as I glance over at him. We aim down the sidewalk, walking past the other houses in my neighborhood. “But I appreciate your help.”

  Ezra nods, looking along our path. There’s a park at the end of the road. “I, uh… I don’t really know how to steer us into this conversation in a casual way, so I guess we can be adults and just jump right in?”

  I nod. “That sounds like a good plan.”

  He lets out a long breath, and I can just feel this eating him alive. He’s nervous and scared and I’m both those things, but for the first time in ever, I feel excited. Hopeful. Things are really happening.

  “I guess I just have to ask,” Ezra says without looking at me. “Did you move back to Snohomish to try to get back together?”

  I do everything to get together with you, the words fill my head full to every nook and cranny. But I can’t respond with my instincts.

  I have to be Sawyer James.

  “The answer to that question is kind of complicated,” I say, letting a shy smile spread on my face. “I meant what I said to you the other day. I just…missed the place where life was simple and happy. And I…”

  I let my words trail off, make myself seem embarrassed or unsure. I let the game play out that millions of other couples have played before they take the plunge.

  We reach the edge of the park, and I’m both delighted and annoyed when it’s completely empty. There aren’t even any noisy toddlers and distracted parents across the way on the playground.

  “Just answer the question, Sawyer.”

  I look over at Ezra, and my heart breaks clean in half when I see the look of pain and uncertainty on his face.

  “Yes, Ezra,” I confess. “I did also move back because I needed to see if there was still the possibility that there was anything between us.”

  He looks over at me as we slowly cross the grass. We lock eyes for several long moments, and I let him have his time to process what I’ve said.

  “Why now?” he finally asks, looking ahead to the picnic table we’re aimed at. “It’s been thirteen years, Sawyer. You haven’t called once. We haven’t once run into each other on purpose. It’s been seven years since we’ve even laid eyes on each other. Why show up now?”

  We reach the table and I sink down onto it, my back propped up against the table. Ezra sits beside me, though he keeps a two-foot gap between us.

  “I had needed to try something different, go live somewhere bigger. Go…stretch my legs,” I say, hating all the words as I say them. I didn’t need any of those things, and Sawyer disgusts me that she could justify wrecking something and someone so perfect with those excuses, those selfish reasons. But I say them. “I got everything I was looking for in life. I got the degree, I got the career. I got the money and the social life I thought I needed. But…” I trail off, casting my eyes around the park. I take a few beats, letting the tension mount.

  “I’ve dated off and on over the years,” I say. I keep my voice low, like I’m somewhat ashamed of it. These words are true. Sawyer has dated off and on. But nothing has ever stuck. “But no one ever…fit right. I never felt comfortable. I didn’t connect with anyone. No one could ever make me laugh the same as I once had. No one could ever know when I just needed my space or needed to be spoiled.”

  I regret those words instantly, because those are my perception of a relationship I was never a part of.

  I doubt Sawyer would say them about she and Ezra.

  “And lately my gut has been trying to tell me that I keep looking for something I’m never going to find again,” I quickly move on. I let my voice come out as little more than a whisper. “There’s just…nothing else that can compare to what we had, Ez.”

  I look over at Ezra and his eyes are
fixed on me. I see a torrent of emotions warring in his eyes.

  “I know we were kids back then,” I say, letting emotions well just slightly in my eyes. “And I know I made a mistake, at the very least I could have handled it so much better.” I let my voice crack. “But if we were that good together as kids, I have to know what we could be like together as adults.”

  “Sawyer, I—”

  “I know you must hate me, and I am so sorry for how I acted the other night,” I interrupt him, pushing the desperation and remorse into my act. “But I hope that you’ll just think about it and—”

  “I don’t hate you, Sawyer,” Ezra cuts me off. And just like magic, he slides closer toward me. Our eyes meet. “I wanted to hate you, for years. But I never once could talk myself into it.”

  My eyes slide down to his lips and I feel just one tear slip down my cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, Ez,” I whisper. “But that’s the honest answer to your question. I absolutely came back to Snohomish for you.”

  I’ve never felt this kind of satisfaction. Because I see something break in Ezra’s eyes. I see that last bit of hesitation and self control snap.

  He leans forward, his hand coming to my neck. And he kisses me.

  This is a kiss of thirteen years of absence. Of thought. Of longing and regret and wishes for a different outcome.

  Ezra Knox’s lips take mine.

  He kisses me like this is all going to evaporate if he releases me, and I will happily let him ride out his gasping wish.

  Deeper and deeper I let him into the kiss. His tongue finds mine. We give and take and I barely suppress a happy moan from rising up my throat.

  I grip the front of his shirt with my hands, pulling him in closer and his other hand slides down my back.

  Pace yourself, I think. I got a little too excited last time and it scared him away. I can’t rush this. I have to let it take its course, its own time.

  So I kiss him and he kisses me. And I let that be everything.

  Ezra backs away, resting his forehead against mine. He closes his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together.

  “Is this what you really want, Sawyer?” he asks before letting his eyes slowly slide open to meet mine. “Do you really want to do this? Because if you have any doubts, please tell me now so I don’t let myself go there again. I won’t survive it a second time.”

  In his eyes, I see that he means it. Every word.

  I’ll keep you safe, I think. I won’t ever let you down.

  I give a small nod, giving an emotional smile. “It’s what I want Ezra. I know it. If you can forgive me, I’m ready to do this right.”

  There are so many emotions in Ezra’s eyes and I wish I could hold and caress every one, appreciating all aspects of them. They’re so real, so raw. So for me.

  “I forgive you, Sawyer James,” he breathes. The words are clear as crystal, and I lock them away in my memory to replay later. “Over and over, I forgive you.”

  He pulls my lips back to his with a hand on the back of my neck and I let myself sink in to him, taking him in, capturing him in my heart, and losing my soul in return.

  It’s done. I did it.

  And it wasn’t even so hard. Which makes my hatred and resentment deepen even further.

  Ezra forgave Sawyer so quickly, let her back in so easy.

  Because his heart never let her go, not in thirteen years.

  But I suppose I should thank her. Because she made this so easy to find my way into his arms.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sawyer

  She’s going to ruin him.

  I saw the look in Ezra’s eyes. I saw the fall. I saw it when all of his wariness and hesitation just melted away with that imposter’s words.

  Ezra is all in.

  She’s going to decimate his heart.

  I walk back over to the door cut into the end of the shipping container. I smack my fist against it, giving it everything I have. “Is anyone out there?” I yell.

  I listen for a solid minute, but all I hear is silence and my own breath.

  “Hello!” I scream, pounding my balled fist on the door over and over and over.

  I kick at the door again, but as with all the other dozens of times, it just sends pain shooting up my leg. That door is made of solid steel and I’m not doing a damn thing to it.

  I go back to the seam between the giant doors and pry my fingers between. But my fingernails only reach more steel. I pull and tug, but I don’t have anything to grip on to. I just break another nail.

  I want there to be more I can try. I wish there was some hole I could be digging, some piece of this prison I could chip away, one bit at a time.

  But there’s really nothing down here.

  Since the toilet is a composting one, meaning I throw a scoop of sawdust in after every use, it doesn’t even feed into the ground. There’s a vent that rises up into the ceiling, another one next to it, which I assume is giving me my air.

  There’s that door. The shelving with food and water. My cot. The chair. And that damned TV.

  Tears threaten to well in my eyes. I feel panic rising in my chest, clawing its way around. It slithers and snaps inside of me. It’s trying to rush its way up my spine to take possession of my brain.

  You’re going to die in here, the thoughts echo through my brain with maddening persistence. She’s going to trick Ezra right down the aisle and you’re just going to be a rotting corpse down here and no one will ever even know that the real Sawyer James is dead.

  A scream works its way up my throat but comes out as an angry sob. I scan the space, frustrated that there’s nothing to smash, nothing to shatter. I settle for the pile of empty cans in the corner, screaming and screaming as I throw them at the locked door. Tears roll down my face in an angry torrent.

  “Let me out!” I cry, turning in a circle when I’ve run out of cans to throw.

  “Please, let me out,” I say as my fingers rise up to lace into my grimy hair.

  I close my eyes and force myself to breathe through my mouth, slow, controlled breaths.

  In and out. In and out.

  I breathe faster but keep my control.

  I won’t let you destroy me mentally, I think to the imposter. I will not let you win.

  I drop to the ground and begin a set of push ups. Up and down, controlled and precise.

  I can’t do many. In the time I’ve been down here, I’ve already lost muscle tone.

  I lay on my back and do sit ups next.

  My body has been wasting away living in these one hundred seventy square feet.

  Next, I get up and I do lunges back and forth across the space, over and over.

  She’s not a murderer, the imposter had said. A psychopath, even she admitted it. But my only hope is that she really actually can’t live with my death on her conscience. I have to hope that the guilt gets to her. That she’ll watch me on that camera and while I’m asleep, open that door to bring me more food and water.

  I have to be ready for that to happen.

  I have to be able to overpower her.

  I have to take control when my opportunity comes.

  I jog in place, forcing my heart rate to rise.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two dates out into town, one night of talking till three in the morning. And now Ezra is making me dinner at his house.

  It’s been the best week of my life.

  Everything is moving right along just fine.

  I climb into my car Sunday evening and work my way across town. Ezra lives on the other side of it, where the lots are bigger and more spread out. When I pull up to it, I admire the craftsmanship. It’s a farm style house with white siding and red brick. It’s classic looking, like it could have been built in the mid-eighteen hundreds. Yet it looks brand new, because it is.

  Ezra built it himself and just moved in six months ago.

  It’s the perfect house for the perfect, happily married couple, the perfect family.

 
I smile as I climb out, closing the door, and walk across the driveway to the front porch.

  I imagine all the lazy afternoons we’ll spend here on this porch. All the lemonade I will make in the kitchen, all the cool glasses I’ll bring Ezra after a long day at work.

  I imagine how beautiful it will be when we come home from the hospital with our firstborn. I imagine two or three kids running around in that back yard, squealing and laughing as they swing from the trees that will one day be big.

  It will be the perfect life.

  I cross to the front door and knock on it just twice before I let myself in.

  Ezra was on his way to the door and stops in the entryway with a big smile when he sees me.

  “You don’t have to knock, Sawyer,” he says with a laugh before heading back into the kitchen.

  He’s wearing an apron, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Seriously, you can let yourself in whenever,” he says as I step into the kitchen. He wraps a hand around my waist and presses a quick kiss to my lips before going back to his work.

  “Ez, I really can’t even say how much I love this house,” I say, letting some swoon into my voice as I set my purse on one of the stools at the island and turn, taking it all in. “Your designer did an amazing job.”

  That’s my professional opinion.

  “Thanks,” he says. “Give me just a minute and I’ll give you the full tour.”

  I let my eyes drift everywhere in this house, memorizing every space, every detail.

  The kitchen is huge. There’s a full size fridge, full size freezer, side by side. The cabinets are white and stick with that farmhouse look. A huge wood range hood is the centerpiece of the kitchen, and somehow I’m sure Ezra built it himself. The quartz countertops are gorgeous and modern. This is the biggest island I’ve ever seen. It has to be ten feet long.

  A dining area is just off the kitchen and sports a table that also looks handmade by Ezra. Two long benches stretch down either side, long enough they could each hold four people.

  And just off from there, I find a beautiful living room.