Page 95 of Buried in the Woods Below

A shiver crawls up my spine. This is where we’re supposed to sleep tonight. With her.

Eric turns, face drawn, creases etched in his brow, the stench of death still clinging to him. Russ’s words echo as I search his eyes for something darker, but all I find is a mask of grief.

“I don’t know how long it’ll stay cool without power, but I don’t know what else to do,” he says.

I reach out to hold him, but then pull back. “You did the right thing,” I say, the words strange on my tongue. I want to believe him. I want the man I’ve imagined to be real. Even if Russ was telling the truth, that doesn’t make Eric a killer.

“I don’t know what I’m going to tell the twins,” he says, raising a hand to his lips, his voice crashing with each word.

“Sleep on it. You can talk to them about it in the morning. You’re exhausted.”

“Thanks. You’re right,” he murmurs.

“I keep trying to call the police, but there’s still no signal. Should we try the neighbors?”

“It’s not safe. I almost died a few times out there. Plus, I don’t trust anyone on this island anymore. Let’s just get through the night, and hopefully the network will be up by morning.”

“Okay. Well, at least you were able to bring her back.”

His gaze lingers, something unspoken crackling between us. “It was hard. It was really hard.”

He staggers upstairs. “C’mon. I’ll shower up and make us some tea.”

But I don’t follow. Something in his voice keeps me frozen in place. The way he said it.

It was hard. It was really hard.

Like he wasn’t just talking about carrying her.

My mind races back to the rope burns around her neck. The ropes Eric so effortlessly tied when he docked the boat. The axe that split the Adwanis in two. Eric swinging it, splitting logs like butter.

Upstairs, a drawer slides open.

The scrape of metal against wood.

Then, click. Another click.

Front door locks. Back door locks. Bolting shut.

With each bolt, a gunshot in my mind.

I step back from the freezer, pulse pounding, breath shallow.

Eric’s footsteps slow above me.

And I wonder…

Have I just locked myself in with the murderer?

Chapter 44

The five of us spend the rest of the evening in the basement huddled by candlelight, sipping chamomile tea, half watching the storm’s violence, half watching each other. I test my phone. No signal. I try to send an emergency SOS text, but the storm blocks the satellite. Eric looks at me, and we both acknowledge the undeniable reality: We’re trapped here. The adults do our best to put on brave faces for the twins, but none of us can forget that Laelynn’s corpse lies in a freezer.

Sometimes when I close my eyes, I swear I can hear her voice.

When the meteorologist on the radio tells of the tornado veering north, Eric puts the twins to bed. Olivia and I retreat to our rooms. I close the door and turn the lock. The subtle click makes me flinch. I flash to Eric’s expression when he saw Laelynn—pure, unfiltered horror. That wasn’t an act. Was it? Could what Russ said be true? Is Eric really scaring people off the island? Was Marjorie Neuman the one he couldn’t scare?

I don’t think he killed his wife. But I didn’t think I’d find a body rotting in the lake either.