Page 138 of Where the Snakes Sleep

At 16:43, the gate opens again, and I detest the automatic relief that goes through me.

Ryan enters the house carrying a paper bag from the bakery in the village, and finds me exactly where he left me.

“You didn’t text,” he says.

“I did not.”

“You weren’t worried?”

He’ll be the death of me, I swear.

“I was.”

Instead of saying something about that, Ryan looks down at the bag. “I brought you something.”

He sets it on the table beside me.

Curious and a bit caught off guard, I open the bag and see he’s brought me an apple Tarte Tatin, an upside-down caramelized tart.

I tear off a piece of the pastry and eat it as he watches with bated breath. I would be concerned he poisoned it if it didn’t taste how it does.

“Do you like it?” he asks.

“I do,” I confirm. “Thank you.”

He looks away, but I see the small smile gracing his lips. “That’s good. I just stopped by on my way back, and since I got a treat for myself, I thought it’d only be fair to bring you back something.”

“Ah. What did you have?”

“A very big choux à la crème,” he answers.

After I finish my tart and thank him once more, he flushes and scurries off, leaving me alone again.

On the fifth evening after the journal was discovered, I am in my study answering university correspondence when Ryan appears in the doorway carrying his bag.

Why? Does he plan to truly leave me?

My hands stop over the keyboard.

“You can breathe,” Ryan says lightly.

I had not realized I had stopped. I inhale, then ask him, “What do you need?”

He enters and closes the door behind him. “I need to know something first.”

“Alright.”

“If I let you see what else was in the wall, are you going to lose your mind?”

The truthful answer would depend upon what is inside.

“I will attempt not to. But do you mean to tell me there was more than the journal?” I say, my voice tight in the dim light of the study.

Ryan studies me in the soft glow of the desk lamp. “Are you going to take anything?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Copy anything?”