“I think he’s going to find a way to come tonight,” she says. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Did you call the police?”
Hannah shakes her head. “I didn’t want to call until I was sure that… Anyway, there’s no reception out here. We’ll have to make a run for it. I’ve got my bike.”
Run for it? That isn’t going to be possible, given the state of my ankle. But first things first. I need to get out of this goddamn hole.
“I don’t suppose you can climb out,” Hannah says.
“My ankle is injured,” I admit. “That’s going to make it difficult.”
She scrunches her eyebrows together. “If I give you my hand, do you think you could…？”
I try to stand up again. My right leg is really rubbery. I make it almost to standing, then I accidentally put a tiny bit of weight on my left ankle. The pain is like white hot coals. I scream and collapse on the floor.
“Olivia?”
“I can’t stand up,” I gasp. “I can’t do it. You’ll have to… go get help…”
The thought of sending Hannah away is nothing short of horrifying. It was an eternity waiting for somebody to come here, and I don’t want her to leave. But there’s no way I can climb out of this hole, even with her help. We need somebody bigger and stronger, and possibly a ladder.
I look up at Hannah, who is frowning. “What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“I think I hear something.”
We’re both quiet. I hear my heart pounding in my ears, but nothing else. At first. But then I hear it.
Rustling of leaves. Followed by footsteps. The sound of hinges creaking.
“He’s here,” Hannah whispers.
Oh my God. He’s here. And he’ll kill us both. Well, maybe not Hannah. Maybe he’ll let her live—she’s family. But I’m gone. At this point, I’ve clearly become a liability. It’s probably not worth it to him to watch me starve to death.
“Hello, Hannah.” His voice fills the room above me. I cringe at the familiar sound of it. “I thought I might find you here.”
She’s silent for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is shaking. “Hi, Daddy.”
Chapter 58
Jason
Is it finally my turn? Has Erika finished talking? Or will it go on for another hour or two?
That’s Erika. Never shuts up. Always worried about every little thing. Obsessed. Especially about Liam. Anytime he opens his mouth, she has to analyze it to death. Half the time, I’m just staring at her, waiting for her to stop talking. Hannah is the same way. The two of them might not look alike, but they are two peas in a pod. Like mother, like daughter.
Liam, on the other hand. Well, you can guess who he takes after.
You’re probably wondering why I married Erika, considering she’s certainly far from my favorite person. There is no simple answer for that, but I suppose that some part of me wanted a normal life. When I first met Erika, she was beautiful. That long black hair and dark eyes. She was wearing a fitted white blouse and a skirt that left just enough to the imagination. I wanted her. And not just for that one night and then dispose of the body. I wanted her a second night, which turned into a third, and then a year.
And for the first time, I could imagine a normal life for myself. Well, as normal as I was capable of. A wife—a family. It didn’t seem like a bad idea, and before I really thought it through, Erika and I were getting married. In retrospect, it was a mistake. But by the time I realized that, it was too late. We already had a baby on the way.
The easiest thing to do was stash the family away on Long Island. I work long hours. No, not really. I don’t work much at all. I come up with ideas that are great ideas and make me money without having to do much. The truth is I have a lot of free time on my hands, which I do manage to fill with various activities.
And the best part is Erika never suspected a thing. Not even a little bit. It just goes to show how brilliant I am at acting the part. Liam, on the other hand, leaves a lot to be desired. I suppose I can’t blame him. I was equally careless when I was his age. My parents were not as understanding as Erika and I have been either. My mother was a deeply religious Catholic, and she believed I was punishment for one of her past sins.
My mother was terrified of me. It probably had something to do with me murdering her cat when I was five. She loved that cat, for reasons I could never understand. It was a cat, after all. It didn’t have real emotions, although it did struggle quite a bit when I held that pillow over its head until it stopped moving. That was part of the fun.