“How long have you been up?” Sarah asks as Elijah leads her down the stairs.
“Since about eleven. I’m usually in bed by four or five. I don’t need to stay up now that the motel’s closed, but I like it when it’s quiet. I try to listen for the screams the men heard.”
Another person might think he was joking. “And have you heard them?” Because she thinksshehas.
His face falls. “No. Not yet.”
In the kitchen, a loaf of bread and a bundle of cold cuts sprawl on the counter next to a tub of pre-washed lettuce, a jar of pickles, and another of mayonnaise. Elijah hands her one of two plates, but she takes both of them. “Here, I’ll make yours too. It’s the least I can do for eating your food,” she says.
She understands why Caleb stays when Elijah rewards her with a brilliant smile. Someone this ingenuous needs protecting. She washes her hands and looks around for a knife to spread the mayonnaise. “There,” Elijah says, pointing to the drawer closest to the fridge.
She pulls the drawer open and peers down at the empty slot in the silverware tray. Remembering what Caleb said the previous day, she checks the dishwasher. The basket only holds a pair of coffee spoons.
“Are you looking for a knife? He’s not supposed to have knives,” Elijah says.
The back of Sarah’s neck prickles. “You mean Caleb?”
“I threw them all away after Dad died. He fits the profile of those who disappeared from the motel. Big men who don’t talk about their feelings. He’s so much like Dad.”
Sarah swallows hard, conscious of the weight of the knife against her belly. How else is Caleb like his father? Elijah says, “Oh, he’s told you. Don’t worry, he’d never hurt me, but it’s like he—he’s got a storm inside him.”
Don’t they all, a voice in the back of Sarah’s head says.
“I was afraid he’d hurt himself,” Elijah adds.
Who’s taking care of whom? Sarah almost laughs out loud. The only knife in the house is the one in her pocket. It explains all the convenience foods in the fridge.
She grabs a spoon from the drawer and spreads the mayo on the bread with the back of it. Elijah seats himself at the table. She sets down the sandwiches and takes the seat opposite him, startling when he reaches across the table and clasps her hand in his. His cold fingers twine around hers, and she relaxes, touched he would seek human connection with her. “Let us give thanks.”
“To whom?” She hasn’t seen any signs of religion in the house except forBulfinch’s Mythology.
“The woods, of course.”
She should’ve known from the paintings that the woods are Elijah’s god. A merciless Old Testament god who demands devotion and sacrifice, but a god nonetheless. Elijah bows his head. She follows suit, silently thanking the woods for hiding her.
Elijah releases her hand. “Any luck with the phone charger?”
“No. Caleb said he wouldn’t be able to get one in town.” She slumps at the table, shoulders rising to her ears under the weight of her despondency. “I need to call my brother. Graham could come get me, and I’d be out of your hair.”
“Is he older or younger?”
“Older.”
“Like Caleb.”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “Yes. The older one, the responsible one. I’m worried about him, though. He and his wife split up earlier this year, and then he took a teaching job at a college as far away as possible. I don’t think he’s taken the change well. Though it’s hard to say.”
“You’re not close?”
“No, he’s pretty tight-lipped about his feelings.”
“Exactly like Caleb.” Elijah gestures to the phone hanging on the wall. “Go ahead, you can call him.”
Hope lightens the weight on her shoulders, but her instinct is to still play nice. “It’s long distance. I only have his cell and it’s a Toronto number.”
“That’s okay, I’m sure it’s not expensive.”
“But Caleb said?—”
