It had been so hard at first. Both times. Losing Arthur had been harder. But you took it one day at a time. She had learned the truth of the saying: “That which doesn’t kill you, strengthens you.” She felt herself a bit stronger each day, now.
Her eyes roamed, taking in their furnishings, their framed prints, their hanging plants, their photos on the end tables. Their. She could accept that word. At first, she’d been tempted to redecorate. But that felt like running away, too. Learning to accept his ongoing presence in the things they’d shared strengthened her.
The doorbell rang.
She looked at the wall clock in disbelief. After eleven! She had told them she preferred to be alone tonight. But as she went to the door, she had to smile to herself, suppressing her irritation. She should feel lucky to have friends like this.
She flipped on the switch for the outside light next to the door, but it remained dark outside. She’d have to replace the bulb.
“Yes?” she called through the door.
She heard faint whistling, then made out the tune.
We wish you a Merry Christmas.
She chuckled as she unlocked the door, pulled it open.
“Merry Christmas, Susanne,” he said, a sick grin on his lips.
The shock paralyzed her. Before she could move a muscle or open her mouth to scream, he rushed in, smashing into her, lifting her right off the floor with one arm around her back, clamping his other huge hand over her mouth and nose. Holding her crushed against him, he kicked backward, slamming the door shut behind him.
He swept forward like a giant wave, carrying her with him through the entryway, out of the living room, down the hall. She flailed helplessly, uselessly, trying to scream through the pressure of his fingers, unable to breathe, walls and doors flashing by, lights, then no lights no air I’m falling I can’t breathe God I’m dying my lungs the pain…
*
Something smacked her across the face, jerking her head to the side. Stinging pain. Her eyes twitched open. Light, shadows, blurred. Something over her mouth. Something tight on her wrists, pulling her arms behind her, setting her shoulders on fire. The room fuzzy, out of focus, spinning.
A face.
His face.
She tried to scream, but the thing across her mouth made it a muffled moan.
“Now that’s silly, Susanne. No one can hear you down here.”
Her head snapped around. She was in her basement den.
“See? There’s no point in yelling, calling for help. No point in fighting me, no point in cursing me, blessing me, begging me. No point at all, Susanne.”
She began to cry, her eyes blurring with tears.
“Poor, poor Susanne. The big bad man is back, isn’t he?”
She sobbed, breathing only through her nose. Then started to choke.
He knelt and leaned close, inches from her face, frowning. “No, don’t die on me, Susanne.” He raised his hand; she felt the pressure of his finger tips against her cheek; then his hand tugged across her face. She felt a tearing sensation across her lips.
Suddenly her mouth was free and she gasped, filling her lungs with a rush of air. She started to cough uncontrollably.
“Better? Be nice, now, or the duct tape goes right back on.” He grabbed her hair. “Understand?”
She nodded weakly. Began to cry softly.
“Good girl! Now remember: No carrying on. Nobody is going to hear you, anyway, but if you irritate me, you’re going to be punished. And you wouldn’t like that.”
He stood, a giant, his head almost touching the basement ceiling. He had taken off whatever jacket he had worn, and now towered above her in a red flannel shirt and jeans. He began to wander around the den, idly examining the bookcases, the photos on the wall. He paused in front of the display of their vacation photos. Pulled one off the wall.
She closed her eyes.
“What is this? London? How nice. You were quite the romantic couple, weren’t you?”
“Please…”
She heard his sudden footsteps closing on her. Snapped her eyes open. He bent over her. Seized her shoulder near the neck and squeezed with his forefinger and thumb.
She screamed.
“You broke the rule, Susanne. You begged. I told you not to do that. You don’t ask for anything, you don’t beg for anything, you don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Understand?”
She nodded frantically, biting her lip.
He took his hand away. “Good.” He knelt again, leaned right into her, rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes. His breath was foul, like onions.
“Now, before we get cozy,” he said quietly, “there’s a phone call you are going to make. And there are going to be rules for that, too, Susanne. You say exactly what I tell you to say. And if you say anything else-if I even begin to suspect you’re trying to warn the person-”
She felt his heavy palm on her shoulder again. His fingers lightly stroked the place where he had just squeezed.
“-then the pain you’ll feel will be nothing like you have ever imagined. Okay?”
She felt dizzy, as if she were about to pass out again. How was he free? How was he here? How could this happen?
She could not think. There was no will left in her.
Kill me now, get it over with, be done with it. Let me see my Arthur again…
“Stay with me, now, Susanne. We’re going to call your dear friend, Annie. And here is what you’re going to say…”
Bethesda, Maryland
Wednesday, December 24, 11:20 p.m.
They had been quiet for a while.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last.
She glanced up at him, clutching the small paper cup in both hands.
“It wasn’t true,” he said. “Any of what I said. I knew it when I said it. Look, you couldn’t have known who I was when we first met. And I went after you. So I know that what happened between us-and what we felt-none of that could be a lie. We weren’t faking our feelings. It was all real.”
“Then how could you say those things?”
It was hard for him to admit it. So he knew he had to.
“I wanted to hurt you.”
“But why?”
“Because I was hurt. Because I wanted so much to make this work. Because I loved you, but all the lies were killing it.”
“Loved?” she asked.
He saw her struggle to suppress any more tears, to regain control, to reassert her dignity. He suddenly understood the courage that it had required for her to get this far with him. Of the terrible price she had been willing to pay for her love. Of the price she had paid tonight. And even now.
He searched her eyes and searched his feelings.
“Love,” he answered.
Her chin trembled. But she did not cry again.
“I needed to know that,” she said. “Because if you hadn’t said that, then I couldn’t do this.”
She rose from the sofa, went to the kitchen counter, where she had left her purse. Brought it back with her to the sofa.
“I needed to hear that first, because I had to know that you trust me enough to still love me. That you trust me not to betray you. I needed your absolute trust- before I offer you proof that I wouldn’t betray you.”
“Proof? I don’t understand.”
“Dylan, there’s something important you don’t know. And if I truly wanted to betray you, I wouldn’t tell you this. The police-Cronin and his people-they have a sample of your blood. Of your DNA. They got it off that dog.” She looked at his arm, smiling weakly. “You know-that ‘poodle’ that bit you.”
A chill touched his spine.
“I didn’t know about the DNA,” he said. “I could tell you knew about the dog bite, though, from the way you reacted when you saw my arm. From that, I deduced that Cronin had told you about the dog.” He paused, thinking it through. “But now I realize that I completely missed something. It never occurred to me to ask myself: How the hell would he, or you, know that the dog had bitten me? Unless, of course, I’d left my blood behind?”