Lifting a candle, I waited, watching the flame.
After several minutes, a shape flickered near the window.
“Sammy?” I whispered his name and then said it again, louder. “Sammy?” I had heard him, and then I saw him, there in the corner for only an instant.
I ran to the drapes and ripped them open with such force, they crashed to the wood floor. I dropped to my knees and raked my hands through the fabric.
“Sammy?” I heard the hysteria in my voice, but within seconds had lost all control. I stood and searched the room, raced to the furniture and peeked behind and underneath it. As if what? I believed Sammy were playing one of his little games of hide-n-seek with Isis, and he would be curled into a ball beneath a blanket, standing stock-still behind a coat rack?
I still held the candle in my hands, the one whose flame had flickered as if in signal, or maybe in warning. I squeezed so hard the wax collapsed. Hot wax poured over my hands and dripped on the floor. I threw the candle, the wick already devoured by wax, and raced to the stairway, taking the stairs two at a time.
“Sammy!” I shrieked, running from room to room, slamming open doors, tearing clothes from the wardrobes and comforters from the beds. I flung pillows at the walls. When I reached our room, the room we had shared, I stared at the bed and tried to will his shape to emerge.
“He has to be here,” I mumbled, pulling off blankets and sheets and finally the mattress itself. I shoved it onto the floor and stared at the box springs. My hands shook, and I put them to my mouth, feeling the raw spots where the wax had burned. I wanted to chew them or slam them against the windows and break the glass. I wanted to die. Was there any better explanation than that? I wanted to be done with the charade. How could I live the next year, the next ten years, without Sammy?
I gazed around the room searching for a weapon, something sharp to slash myself with, but instead my eyes flitted over my nightstand and the little pink cup streaked with rainbow clouds that Isis had brought to bed on some earlier night.
I released a horrible gasp, a sound that seemed to come not from me, but from an ancient place - a damp, dark place that understood how love could not only bring life, but also take it away. I sank to my knees and crawled toward the bare mattress. With the last of my energy, I pushed myself onto the bed, pressed my face down in the white softness and cried.
Sarah
SARAH PUSHED open her mom’s door with her hip, holding a paper sack of groceries and wondering if she should have brought olive oil. Her mother usually had it, but bread and oil didn’t exactly work without the olive oil, and she hadn’t checked ahead of time. Her stomach turned at the thought, and she directed an irritated glare at the sensation. Nerves rarely plagued her, especially when introducing her mother to a new girlfriend, but today they seemed to gnaw a hole in her stomach.
The meeting was barely the half of it. She replayed the scene in that dark, terrifying chamber again and again, her shoulder pulsing each time. Will was at her house, poring over the Enchiridion like a man obsessed, and she had reluctantly agreed to a night of normalcy so that her mother could meet Brook.
“Mom?” Sarah called. “Please tell me you have olive oil.”
“Sassy,” Isis squealed, running into the foyer. She wore a pair of pink bib overalls over a gray t-shirt smeared in something blue and sticky.
“Hey there, Icicle,” Sarah grinned, setting her bag on the floor and scooping up her niece. She walked into the kitchen, where her mother stood at the counter vigorously chopping vegetables. “You’re watching Isis?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, yes, and sorry I haven’t gotten a thing done. Isis needs a lot of attention right now,” her mother explained. Her hair was sloppily pinned up, and she wore jogging pants with a sweater.
Sarah had expected her to be overdressed, candles wafting from every surface with a spotless kitchen. The opposite appeared to be true. Isis scrambled from her arms and ran to the table spread with crayons and coloring books.
“Nana and me made cookies,” Isis announced, picking one up from a plate and taking a bite.
“Why’s she here, Mom?” Sarah asked, growing uneasy.
She loved Isis to bits but had spoken with Corrie that morning, who insisted they were spending the night at Amy’s house in Cadillac. She had called Sarah to let her know she didn’t need to check on them. If Isis was with her mom, Corrie was alone at Kerry Manor.
“Corrie’s sister dropped her off a few hours ago. Isis stayed with Amy last night because Corrie had errands to run. Corrie called this morning and asked if I’d keep her tonight, said she had a migraine coming on. Poor lamb.” Her mother shook her head, and Sarah saw her eyes glistening.
“Corrie doesn’t get migraines,” Sarah murmured.
Helen looked up.
“What’s wrong, honey? You’re as white as a ghost.”
“I have to go, Mom.” She gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. “The groceries are in the hallway.”
“Wait, what do you mean go? Isn’t your friend coming? Did you break up?” her mother frowned, and Sarah smiled, shaking her head.
“No, we’re fine. Great, actually. But Corrie’s not. I’m going to check on her.”
“Maybe she needs a little time, Sarah.”
“That’s exactly what she doesn’t need, Mom.” Sarah didn’t wait to hear more. She jogged out to her car, sending Brook a text as she drove.
CORRIE
“CORRIE.” I heard my name not as a whisper, a sound snaking away - but solid, firm, as real as the walls surrounding me. I sat up and stared into the dark room.
“Sam?” My voice trembled. I placed a hand over my thudding heart. I had not expected to feel fear when he arrived, and yet blood roared through my ears and I found I could not swallow. I thought if I screamed, only a whimper would emerge.
“It’s time, love.” He spoke again, and this time I saw him, or the shape of him there by the door wearing the clothes I’d laid out.
He slipped from the bedroom door and I followed, my bare feet sticking to the floor. My body was coated in sweat. I had slept hard, and I found the dark hallway and the shape of my husband surreal and hard to focus on.
“Sammy, wait,” I said, hurrying to catch him. I reached out, but he moved away down the stairs, drifting into the hallway.
I lost sight of him for a moment and my pulse quickened. What if he disappeared around the corner and I never found him? What if he was not there at all?
“Sammy, please,” I called, desperate now and running. I spotted him at the door to the study. He walked inside. I saw him for an instant, illuminated by the glow of a fire in the hearth I had not built. His unkempt auburn hair glowed near red in the light. He smiled his irresistible grin, and I rushed down the hallway, skidding to a stop when another form stepped from shadows within the study. A small girl stood silhouetted in the doorway. Her eyes were black holes in her face, and her blonde hair looked sooty and stained. She smiled, a strange, unhappy smile, and slammed the door.
CHAPTER 37
Now
Corrie
I ran to the study door and turned the knob. It turned, but the door didn’t move. Somehow it was sealed shut. I pounded my fists on the door.
“Sammy, Sammy,” I screamed, knowing the girl inside intended to hurt him. I had only just gotten him back and feared she would send him away again.
As I pounded, the surrounding air seemed to grow hot, stifling, Sweat poured down my face. Something sharp and hot bit the back of my leg and I wheeled around. I was no longer in the hallway. I stood in the study, pounding on the door as if I wanted out. Blinking, I tried to make sense of the vision before me.