The blade is very sharp. Skin under the chin is like butter. Slice the jugular first, a quick bleed-out if I’m lucky. Then an artery or two to be sure. This is the fastest, most painless death.
I don’t want this. I’m really a very peaceful person. I’m so bad at killing. When I have to stomp mice in my sh*thole, for instance, when they’re struggling in the glue traps, I throw up.
But Sam Vetiver is leaving me no choice.
I was so hoping she’d take the hints I’ve been leaving her. Tossing her earbuds in the snow. Emptying her expensive salon shampoo. Throwing her phone under the couch. Peeing in her boots. Raising her discomfort level to the point at which she might go back to the city. Not that I had much optimism. As I suspected from the start, she’s a tough one.
And I can’t leave this to chance. They’re getting closer by the day. Which just makes everything that much harder. The sooner the better. I’d do it tonight if I could. But there are two of them to one of me, and William is so big. He would overpower me if I didn’t play it just right. And I don’t need to take care of them both. Just one.
I’m rehearsing the moves and using my superpower, which is seeing how people will look dead, like big dumb surprised dolls, when Sam Vetiver’s eyes pop open.
F*ck! She’s looking right at me.
It’s a good thing I know this place so well, even in the dark. By the time I hear her scream, I’m already downstairs.
And I’m in the basement when I hear William’s voice, along with his heavy footsteps and Sam Vetiver’s lighter ones. I’m scrambling through the storage room with the water heater, past the army of Flat Williams and shelves of William’s swag, all the merch his publisher sends to influencers and reviewers with advance reading copies. T-shirts with his covers. Hair product baskets forMedusa. Glow-in-the-dark putty forThe Space Between Worlds. “Love-scented”You Never Said Goodbyecandles. Magnets and keychains, tote bags and notebooks: Does anyone ever actually use the sh*t that comes with books, or do they just toss it all in the trash?
At the back of the room there’s an actual-@$$ billboard, William holdingall his novels beneath the commandRead The Virtuoso! I have no idea how he even got it in here, but as I move it aside and push behind the bookshelf and squeeze through the tiny Rabbit Hole door, I’m grateful. I’m thinking something no woman has said ever:Thank God this man’s ego is so big!Because I can hide behind it. And plan my next step.
Chapter 31
Causeway
“You don’t believe me, do you,” Sam said.
She and William were tromping along the shoreline in their snowshoes, as they did every morning, but this time they were looking for different prints. Rabbit tracks. William was a few feet ahead of Sam, posture alert, head thrust aggressively forward like an explorer investigating a hostile continent. He’d shaved off his beard the day after Sam arrived, since it was unkind to the more sensitive parts of her anatomy, but he’d since been experimenting with muttonchop sideburns, and in the early dawn light, he looked like a retired 1970s porn star in a plaid hunting cap. He leaned over to inspect something in the snow, then pointed silently.
“Whitetail,” Sam said. “Bobcat.”
William nodded and crunched onward. There were plenty of snowshoe tracks, too, which he and she had made; if a third person had been there, there’d be no way to tell the difference. Sam labored to keep up. She was still not very proficient on the snowshoes. William couldwaitfor her. He usually did. And why was he not talking? Sam had never known William to be quiet for so long, not even after he’d chased the Rabbit unsuccessfully in the Portsmouth Marriott.
She floundered up behind him as he trekked up the hill toward the causeway. They’d combed the house attic to basement with flashlightsafter Sam saw the Rabbit, then searched the yard. Warmed up with coffee and carbs at dawn and come back out for a more thorough sweep of the island, though William had said,You can go back to bed if you want.Sam saidNo, I’m goodas she stepped grimly back into boots that felt squashy and smelled weird. She’d never had sweaty feet before, but maybe snowshoe boots were different. She’d look for disinfectant products next time they were in Augusta.
“I swear I saw her, William,” Sam said now. “She wasinthe house.”
William held up a hand as he stepped onto the lake near the gate pillars, then gestured to Sam that it was safe. Sam edged out onto the ice. The rising sun dodged in and out of low clouds, brightening and darkening the morning around them.
“I’m not loving the silent treatment,” Sam said. “Are you mad at me?”
“That’s not the word I would use,” said William without turning.
“What then?” William didn’t respond. “Annoyed? Frustrated? Humoring me? Because youreallydon’t believe she was in our bedroom. Right?”
Now William glanced at her. “I believeyoubelieve it. I believe you think you saw a—” he cocked an eyebrow—“wascally wabbit!”
“It’s not funny,” said Sam.
“No, it isn’t,” William continued, proceeding across the ice. “You rout me out of bed while I’m on a deadline, when youknowI need my sleep and every minute counts, just because you had a bad dream—”
“That’snotwhat it was.”
“I hope thatiswhat it was, Simone. Or similar. Because I’m starting to wonder...”
“What?” said Sam.
William climbed onto the causeway, now an elevated snow-covered plateau bisecting the ice. Sam stood on the lake with her arms crossed.
“What do you wonder? Just spit it out,” she said.
