The Teacher(85)

And now I have to go the rest of the way on foot.

At least I thought to bring my boots, and I’m wearing a waterproof coat. I tug on my beanie and put up my hood as I climb out of the car. Immediately, my feet slip out from under me, but I manage to catch myself before I fall.

My fingers are tingling with anticipation. I should never have left Addie here alone. I should have helped her finish burying Eve’s body. I thought she could handle it alone, but now I realize I made a terrible mistake.

But Eve was dead. I saw the life drain out of her with my own eyes. I couldn’t feel a pulse in her neck. She wasn’t breathing.

At least I don’t think she was. I’m hardly a doctor.

I squint through the rain until I can see the sign for the pumpkin patch, overgrown with weeds and now covered in mud and rain. My boots sink into the mud with every step, and it feels like it takes half an hour to traverse the small distance to the patch, and when I finally make it there, I’m breathing hard. But I can’t stop. I’m too close.

I know exactly where we buried her. I walk across the pumpkin patch, stepping over rotting pumpkins that look much like what’s in my kitchen. I chose the space right by the old chicken coop. I step closer, expecting to see an irregular mound of dirt. But that’s not what I see.

I see a gaping hole in the ground, roughly two feet by six feet.

My heart is pounding. Christ, I don’t want to drop dead of a heart attack in this pumpkin patch in the middle of nowhere. I step over to the grave we dug two nights ago, and I lean forward, squinting into the darkness. I expect to see the navy sheet that had covered my wife’s body. Or perhaps animals have chewed through it, and instead her partially decomposed corpse is lying at the bottom of this hole. But none of that is there.

The grave is empty.

I fall to my knees, sinking into the mud, as tears prick my eyes. Aside from the sound of the pouring rain, the pumpkin graveyard is silent. The silence is unbroken, and the only word spoken is my own whisper:

Eve…

And as I wait for an echo to murmur back the word, something slams into the back of my head and everything goes black.



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Part III



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Chapter Seventy-Eight

EVE

IF YOU’VE NEVER BEEN BURIED alive, I don’t recommend it.

Taphephobia is the fear of being buried alive. In biblical times, people were wrapped in shrouds and their bodies were placed in caves so somebody could check on them days later to be certain they were actually dead. Even George Washington requested that he not be buried until two days after his death. In the past, during epidemics, safety coffins were developed, which included a device (such as a cord attached to a bell) for the allegedly deceased to signal to the outside world that they were still among the living.

Such a device would not have been useful to me, since the people who attempted to murder me were the ones who buried me and left me in the middle of nowhere in hopes that I would never be found. Finding myself buried under the dirt was one of the worst experiences I have ever had in my entire life.

But it’s not worse than what’s about to happen to my husband.





TWO NIGHTS EARLIER


WHERE AM I?

Everything is dark. The last thing I remember is Nate’s fingers wrapped around my neck, squeezing. First he was choking me, and then I blacked out.

I can hardly move. My body feels like it’s wrapped in something—a sheet or blanket—which is keeping me still. And then there’s a layer of something else on top of that. Something cold and heavy.

And then I hear the sound of a shovel digging into the earth.

My head is throbbing, and it feels like there are knives in my throat when I try to swallow. I am lying on something cold, irregular, and very uncomfortable. It makes it hard to focus on what is happening around me. The shovel scrapes against the ground again, and this time it is accompanied by something hitting me in the leg. I close my eyes against the blackness, trying to get my thoughts in order.

I think…

Oh God, they’re trying to bury me.

If that’s true, then I don’t know what to do next. I could scream or try to break free from this sheet I’m wrapped in, but considering my husband has already tried to strangle me to death once and Addie clocked me with a frying pan, I don’t want to give them a third shot at me. I doubt I will survive a third time.

But I can’t let them bury me alive.

While I am weighing out my options, a young female voice above me calls out, “Nathaniel?”

There’s a long silence in which there is no digging or dirt falling on me. She calls out his name once again, but I don’t hear my husband’s voice.

There’s a rustling sound and a shadow of something darker above me. It feels like it’s about to land on me, and I brace myself for a heavy impact. But instead, it feels light. Leaves?

What little moonlight I could see becomes obscured as more leaves are shuffled on top of me. But I remain still. I don’t move. I don’t scream.

“Nathaniel!” she calls out one last time. Her voice sounds farther away. So do her footsteps.

I take a shallow breath, just to reassure myself that I still can. Although I have been buried in the dirt, I am not in a coffin six feet under. I am wrapped in some sort of sheet, and it feels like there’s only a thin layer of dirt on top of me, and then perhaps some leaves. The sheet is preventing me from inhaling any dirt. I’m not going to suffocate down here.