Page 20 of The Chain House

Someone knocked on the door and he nearly jumped from his seat.

For the first few steps toward the front door, he felt unsteady on his feet, but by the time he opened it, he’d somewhat regained his bearings.

He never got visitors, other than Sam, but Sam, he knew, wouldn’t have knocked, even after their disagreement. He didn’t expect to find his next-door neighbor, Lizzie Hall, standing on his porch, wearing the same clothes she’d had on earlier, the short, cut-off jean shorts and yellow tank top. At first, he thought he was dreaming, but he wasn’t. Aside from the lurid, freshly stitched cut above her right eye, Lizzie was even prettier up close. Not only pretty, he thought, as he stood there like a fool, but innocent and plain, in that what you see is what you get kind of way, not too unlike his late wife Annie, a woman who rarely felt the need for makeup or fake nails or lipstick.

“Sorry to bother,” Lizzie said. “But I think I just saw your son on TV.”

Trevor did his best to sound sober, and it was only then that it dawned on him that he really was drunk. Really drunk. One bottle of wine, for him was over-the-top, but the sudden impulsiveness of downing half of another had been unnecessary and unlike him. “Hey … hi,” he said, holding on to the door to keep steady.

“Are you okay, Mr. Harper?”

He closed his eyes, nodded, and fought back a wave of nausea.

“I tried calling,” she said. “But you didn’t answer.”

“Phone’s charging,” he said, thinking, somewhere. My phone is somewhere. And how do you even have my number? But then he remembered, they’d exchanged numbers early on, when the Halls had first moved in, just in case of emergencies, back when Trevor had no clue that Jake Hall was such a motherfucker. Maybe he should have guessed at it, when Jake had shaken his hand that day and smiled and squeezed Trevor’s hand so hard he’d felt the bones in his hands shift like they were little bird bones. It was a sign of dominance, Trevor knew, in hindsight. Like, Feel how strong I am, that handshake had said. Look how much bigger my hand is than yours. And Trevor finally said to Lizzie Hall, “Sorry …” And didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for.

“Are you okay?” Lizzie Hall asked again.

He smiled, hoped it didn’t come off as too goofy because that’s how he felt now, goofy and giddy, like he often felt when he’d first met Annie, but without the alcohol. He never thought he’d love again, and then Annie had come along.

And now …

Trevor forced focus. “Did you say my son?”

“Yes,” Lizzie said, excited all over again. “On CNN. On Fox. On MSNBC. I had no idea he was … I can’t believe he’s going to be interviewing Batise.” She paused. “Wait, you knew, didn’t you? I mean …”

“I knew,” he said. “I just didn’t know it was on the news.” But I should have known, he thought. I should have anticipated it, and any real father would have watched it unfold with his son. He looked past Lizzie Hall toward their driveway and didn’t see Jake’s massive truck.

“You worried about Jake?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she said, “He’s at the firehouse all night. Not that it matters. Just a friendly visit between neighbors, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, thinking, Why had she even brought that up? And then he realized she seemed as nervous as he was. And then he thought back to his son’s parting jab earlier in the day, before he’d stormed off … You’re in love with a married woman. And then: You’re all talk, Dad. And Trevor Harper said to Lizzie, “You’re welcome to come in for a few. I suppose we can catch up on some breaking news?”

She didn’t answer verbally, but with a cautiously innocent nod and a quick glance toward her house, she stepped inside.

Trevor closed the door behind her, carefully balancing himself as he did so. His head was still swimming, and now his heart was thumping inside his chest like an enraged animal in a cage. He knew she worked but had weird hours, just like her husband, and then remembered she was a nurse. Jesus, Trevor, how drunk are you? He turned toward her. She was standing with her arms folded against her yellow top.

“Annie’s favorite color was yellow,” he said.

And she nodded, looked a little uncomfortable, and who could blame her, because what kind of icebreaker was that? Lizzie had never known Annie. Annie had been dead a couple of years before the Halls had moved in next door. And why would he need an icebreaker, anyway? Why was she even here, in his house, just the two of them? Sam. That’s right. She’s here because she saw Sam on the news and … He asked Lizzie, “Care for a glass of wine?”

She checked her watch, said without any further hesitation, “Sure. I’d love a glass.”

“Merlot?”

“Perfect.”

CHAPTER8

BETH HAWTHORNE IMAGINED she was floating in space.

And the sparks zipping across her blurry vision were stars and not her brain fizzling out, signs of her own imminent death.

She opened her eyes at the sound of a creaking gate.

The room was dark, but not dark like before. You’re inside a garage, Beth. She remembered now. A thin line of daylight shone across the floor beneath the garage door.

She’d awakened hours ago inside this hot, stuffy place, handcuffed to a metal pole that stretched from floor to ceiling in the middle of the garage. Her wrists had been rubbed raw beneath the cuffs. She remembered desperately trying to escape at some point, before passing out. The blood on her wrists had clotted. The space was large and mostly empty, like it wasn’t even his garage, but maybe a storage unit. But that would be stupid, keeping her in a storage unit, where so many others could be walking the premises at any point to hear her cries for help.