Walking down the dark driveway to the homestead, I fantasize about raising kids at Pine Ridge. The property would be an incredible place to grow up. I imagine a pack of them,running through the trails, exploring the woods, climbing trees, laughing and screaming. There’s no school nearby, but maybe I could homeschool them. I wouldn’t be the only mom in the area to do so.
Despite the day, I feel genuinely happy as I go inside the house. The hard part is over. Tomorrow, our new life will begin.
I pour myself a glass of wine and take it upstairs. I leave all the lights on, get into bed, and put on a podcast.
I’m asleep in minutes.
HONK!
I wake to the sound of a car horn. It’s still dark outside. I check my phone and see that it’s 3 a.m. My mouth is dry, and I can feel the dull thud of a headache coming on. That’s what I get for finishing the sangria.
HONK!
As I sit up and turn on the lamp, I feel uneasy. It sounds close. It must be coming from the driveway.
A man’s voice, screaming. Then the horn again.
I want to turn off the light and put in my earplugs, but instead, I creep out of bed. The hallway lights are still on, but it’s dark in the spare bedroom. I walk quietly, as if the man outside can hear every creak of the floorboards. I kneel and crawl towards the window.
I raise my head slowly. A car is parked by the barn, its headlights on full beam.
He lets rip on his horn again. I cover my ears with my hands, but it doesn’t drown it out. After a minute, the sound stops. But now I can hear something else.
A howl of despair, violent and primal.
When I dare to look out the window again, I see a dark figure staring right at me.
It’s Jesse, I’m sure of it.
When he’s quiet again, I can hear the car idling and feel a rush of relief. That means he’s not staying.
“I’m coming for you, Bradley!” he yells out. His voice is uneven, and I assume he’s still drunk. “And you, Brie-like-the-fucking-cheese!”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
I spend the rest of the night in the bedroom, watching the driveway. As the hours pass, my mild hangover becomes major. When dawn breaks, I try to get a few hours of sleep, but my brain won’t let me relax.
He’s coming back.
He’s coming for me.
I text Bradley multiple times during the night, but he doesn’t reply. I wonder how he spent the night. How many fake tears did he cry? How many sympathetic stories did he hear about the woman he killed? How many stories did he have to tell before they left him alone?
It would have been an incredible performance. I’m grateful that Bradley did it, because it means there won’t be any more questions about her death from her family.
The only threat left is Jesse.
At some point, he’ll have to give up. He might go to the police, but so what? They won’t reopen an investigation based on his wild theories. It’ll be annoying for a while, maybe even scary sometimes, but he’ll move on.
We all will.
As I go into the kitchen to make coffee, my spirits rise. Bradley will be home soon, and then we can be a couple—a real couple.
I take my coffee into the living room and mentally check off everything I want to change. Grace’s paintings and her collection of serial killer mementoes will go. Her books can go, too. And while I’m at it, I hate these antique couches and chairs. I hate the coffee table. I hate the color of the walls. I hate the creak in the floorboards.
Bradley said we’ll have money. Well, I’m going to use it.
I’m going to change all of it.
