The Teacher(86)

The only thing that will kill me is if they find out I am still alive.

So as painful as it is, I wait. Shivering in the dirt, with a bunch of soggy leaves as my blanket. I wait until the sound of footsteps has completely disappeared, and then I wait another hour after that. I think it’s an hour anyway. It’s hard to know what time it is when you’re buried in your own grave.

Once enough time has passed, I decide to attempt to get out of here.

That is not incredibly easy. Despite the fact that I am not buried under six feet of dirt, the shallow layer of dirt and the leaves do have some amount of weight, and on top of that, I’m wrapped in the sheet like a mummy—all of which means I’m completely pinned down. On top of that, my head is throbbing. It would be accurate to say that every part of my body hurts.

My first attempts don’t get me very far. I struggle to sit up, to get the sheet loose, but it just gets me frustrated. And then I start to panic. What if I can’t get out?

I’m hyperventilating now. There isn’t much fresh air down here, and I can’t take the deep breaths I want. My fingertips start to tingle. I’m trapped. I’m never going to get out of here. What if I really die down here?

No. No. That’s impossible. My hands aren’t tied down. I can get free. I will get free.

After all, it’s the only way to make sure my husband pays for what he tried to do to me.

The second time, I do better. I find a corner of the sheet, and I start working my way free. When my hands first feel the dirt, I know I have gotten loose. But I need to be careful. I don’t want to inhale a lungful of dirt and suffocate.

It takes me the better part of another hour, but I finally claw my way free from my own grave.

The second my head breaks through the surface, I take a big gasp of fresh air. I thought I was going to die down there. It’s freezing, but I don’t even care. I don’t care about anything except the fact that I’m no longer buried alive. That was the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced.

As I struggle to get to my feet, I look at my surroundings. What is this place? It looks like some sort of graveyard, except for pumpkins instead of humans. How the hell am I going to get back to civilization?

And then I see something lying in the sheet that I just escaped from.

Oh my God, it’s my purse.

They buried it here with me. I snatch it off the ground and dig around inside. I gasp with joy when I find my phone inside. It’s powered down, but when I press the button on the side, the screen lights up. Unfortunately, there’s no service. But if I keep walking, I’m sure to reach a place where I can get a bar or two.

I’m going to get home. And then I’m going to make Nate pay for this.



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Chapter Seventy-Nine

EVE

THEY BURIED me without any shoes on.

If only I had taken those few seconds to put on my sneakers before I confronted Addie in the kitchen, this journey back to the road would be much easier. Instead, I am carefully picking my way along the uneven dirt, branches stabbing the soles of my feet. On top of that, I’m freezing. I took the sheet with me, and I fashioned it into a makeshift shawl to try to keep me warm. It’s got to be below freezing though.

After I’ve been walking for about half an hour, I come to what looks like a small road. I dig my phone back out from inside my purse—hallelujah, I’ve got cell service. One bar. It’s a miracle.

I start to dial 911, but then I stop myself.

I could call the police and get my husband thrown in jail for what he did to me. But he’ll get a lawyer and be out on bail a few days later. Get a few women on the jury and—let’s face it—he would probably end up with a slap on the wrist. If it even went to trial at all. Nate has a way of weaseling out of things.

No, I have to make sure that he pays for all the things he has done.

So instead, I send a message to the only person I can think of who might be willing to come get me in the middle of the night.

Jay takes twenty minutes to respond to my Snapflash message. Twenty minutes of me shivering on the side of the road, wondering if the alert sound will be enough to wake him—I have his number but it’s too risky to call him. Just when I’m considering giving up and calling the police, his name flashes on the screen of my phone. He almost never calls me, and I imagine him hiding in the bathroom of his house so that she doesn’t hear him and he doesn’t wake the colicky baby.

“Eve?” His voice is instantly alert. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to pick me up,” I tell him. “I…I’m sorry. I know it’s early.” My watch reads almost five in the morning.

“Where are you?”

He’s coming for me. Thank God.

I wait for him on the side of the road, shivering underneath my sheet. I hope I don’t get pneumonia. When I finally spot his car pulling up along the side of the road, I burst into tears. Salt water is running down my cheeks when I climb into the car beside him. He looks startled by my appearance.

“Eve,” he says. “Where are your shoes?”

That only makes me cry harder.

Jay doesn’t make me explain though. He just starts driving, and we sit together in silence while I cry quietly. When we get back to Caseham, I start to tell him not to go to my house, but then I notice he’s going in a different direction. A few minutes later, he pulls into the parking lot for Simon’s Shoes.