Page 268 of The Professor's Wife

Here.

In this shed.

On this stained bed.

With these cuffs.

With this book.

With this empty glass.

My stomach twisted so violently I thought I might be sick.

What did he do to you?

I had asked her that. Like a fucking idiot, I’d asked a question that had an answer I wouldn’t have understood.

On the wall beside the cot, scratches marked the wood. Some were short, tally-like. Some dragged downward, desperate and uneven. At first, I thought they were random.

Then I leaned closer.

Words.

Not all of them. Most had been rubbed away or carved over. But I could make out pieces.

stay awake

eyes

eyes everywhere

watching

do not cry when he comes back

June was right

My chest cracked.

June.

The name meant nothing to me and everything at once. I didn’t know who she was. I only knew Daisy had carried the name like a bleeding wound. That and Rowe. Instantly, my mind wandered to my dreams, to the images that plagued me.I swallowed hard and moved back to the textbook. Under it sat loose papers. There were more questions. More proof of whatever sick education he’d forced into her.

That sick fuck.

His words suddenly made sense now.

I gave her structure.

There was actual pride in those fucking eyes. That motherfucker—

A sound came from the trees outside. I shut the flashlight off. Darkness swallowed me whole. For one second, there was only my breathing, too loud and too fast, filling the rotten little room. I held my breath, not moving.

Another sound came. It sounded like a wet drag through grass followed by a soft, dull scrape. Metal against stone.

Fuck, I felt cold.

I moved toward the wall and peered through one of the gaps in the boards. I saw nothing but black tree trunks and the soft moonlight.