“Yeah, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” I say shakily. “Been campaigning to get rid of my house since you moved back here.”
“We all have,” he says coolly. “And it’snotyour house.”
Slowly, Mrs. Whitman lowers her hands.
“It belonged toSusan,” Jeff says firmly and looks behind him for confirmation, like he’s rallying a crew. “And to Janet.” His eyes are wet with tears. He’s faking it. He doesn’t give a shit about them, not the way the Whitmans did.
But the residents are nodding. They’re agreeing with the bastard. The sides have been drawn if they weren’t already.
Jeff Johnson gives me a smug look only I can see.
“Susan is dead, and Janet probably is too.” I try to say this tactfully, but it comes out blunt. Harsh. I clear my throat. “I’m sorry for what happened to them. I know some of you knew them both.”
But I can see it in their eyes. They don’t want my apologies. They just want me out. I exhale painfully. I’m so tired. So tired.
“I never meant any harm in buying the house,” I tell them finally. I look up and catch Mr. Whitman’s eye. “All my money’s gone into it,” I reveal. His eyes soften a touch, but not much. “Once the renovations are finished, I’ll be gone.”
“You shouldn’t have bought it in the first place,” he says gruffly.
“Well, I’m not the first,” I say slowly, scanning each face. “Am I?”
Mr. Whitman stares me down. They must know about Amanda. They must.
“He’s trying to drive me out of Black Wood House,” I declare, glancing wildly at all the faces, trying to make them understand. I’m not the crazy one. He is. He is. He is.
“He poisoned my cat, Reaper,” I choke out, tears stinging my eyes. Behind Jeff, Mrs. Whitman looks at me like I’m a wounded animal, like she wants to help me but she’s afraid to come close.
“Reaper’s been sick ever since we moved in,” I explain desperately. I want to sit down on these glorious hardwood floors and cry my eyes out. “Jeff Johnson’s been leaving me threatening notes. The bastard even left a dead rat in my mailbox.”
Mrs. Whitman’s eyes flick to Jeff, and for the briefest moment, a look of distrust creeps into her eyes. Does she finally believe me? God, I hopeso.
“I think he did the same to Amanda,” I tell them shakily. “And now she’s gone. Disappeared.”
Nothing. Mrs. Whitman looks purposefully at the floor, and my heart sinks. No one cares. No one’s going to help me. Maybe they were complicit in driving me out…
“My God,” I stammer, hand on the doorknob, sweat breaking out above my lip. “You’re all involved, aren’t you?”
My skin is uncomfortably hot. I feel like a goat among wolves. I take a small step back toward the door. God, I thought I was safe coming here. What if I’m not? What if Amanda thought the same?
She’s gone. I’m next.
These people. They’re dangerous.
I scramble backward, heart leaping into my throat. Mr. Whitman steps forward, and I shoot my hand out. “Back the fuck up!”
I scream it because I’m frightened. Because I’m losing all control and the room is spinning in nightmarish circles. Behind me, the door springs open. My throat closes up, and I feel like I can’t breathe. I whirl around and come face-to-face with a man in his fifties, clean-shaven and calm. He gives me a once-over, winces. He’s wearing a short-sleeved navy-blue shirt. A badge on the arm saysVictoria Police.
Relief floods through me. I grab the crook of his arm. “Please,” I beg, voice cracking. “This man here”—I point shakily at Jeff Johnson—“he broke into my house, and he poisoned my cat.” I gulp in air, crying noisily.
“Mrs. Slade”—the policeman speaks in low, gentle tones, eyes flicking to the silent residents—“why don’t you step outside for a minute?”
I ignore him. “Please.” I’m fucking sobbing now. I swipe at my tears, and Mrs. Whitman looks away. I feel like the roof is about to crash down on me. God, I just want my cat to be okay. I can’t change anything about what happened with my sister. But I can change this. Reaper. Reaper. Reaper.
“Have you been drinking, Mrs. Slade?” the cop asks brusquely, wrinkling his nose.
“Ask him about Amanda!” I yell. “Ask him what he did to her!”
My eyes find Mr. Whitman’s. His lips move silently, like he’s saying a prayer. He knows something. They all do.
