Page 106 of Call Off the Dark

Silence.

Finally, he asked, “What do you want, Helen?”

Oblivion. Peace. Quiet. Noise. Revenge. Joy. Excitement. Death. “Will you just hold me?”

Helen felt the weight shift on the bed and then Isaac was behind her, pulling her against his body. She closed her eyes and let him wrap her up in his arms, feeling weightless as he gently settled their bodies back onto the bed.

“I only came here to see my brother. I had no idea it would turn out like this,” Isaac whispered into her ear. “It’s been more fun than I expected.”

Helen had no response. Fun is not the word she would have chosen.

She stayed there in Isaac’s arms as long as she could afford to, and then she slipped away, back to her bedroom before the sun rose.

Chapter Forty-Four

The next morning when Wade woke up, Helen pretended to be asleep next to him. She kept her eyes closed as she felt his weight leave the mattress, and she lay still as she listened to the screech of the dresser drawer, then the ruffle of cloth against his bare skin as he pulled on his pants, then his shirt, then his socks.

She stayed in bed until she heard his truck pull away. She didn’t want to face either of them. Wade was not a good husband, but Isaac was not a good man. She wasn’t deluding herself into thinking she was a good woman, but at least she could recognize now that things were broken beyond repair.

She sat up slowly in bed and thought of all the women trapped in past centuries who’d been thrown into asylums for daring to lose their mind to grief or hopelessness or anger, or even desire. This was her asylum here, and she needed to get out.

As she crossed the bedroom, her body felt unmoored, as if it didn’t belong to her anymore. Her arms heavy, her legs twisted, her head floating. Her stomach was hollow, and she realized suddenly she was very hungry. She’d barely eaten anything in the last couple of days.

First, food. Then, escape plans.

Helen walked toward the front of the house, feeling as though the hallway had never been so long and narrow, the walls had never pressed in on her so much. As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, something dark flew through the air, practically hitting her in the head. She ducked just in time and the object thudded against the wall.

A raven lay there on the floor, its body at a broken angle. Her mouth dropped open. The raven gave one last twitch before it went lifeless. She thought of two nights ago in the clearing with the wolves. Just before she had heard the word run, there had been a flash of black, the sound of wings. Of course, it had been a raven with her then too.

She went to the sink to get the stained hand towel. Another bird to bury. The birds were circling her now too.

But when Helen turned back, the dead bird was gone and in its place was her Poe book, lying open to the poem “The Raven.” She stared at it, a hidden door in her brain cracking open.

Helen brought the book to the table and sat down with it. She read the poem slowly, carefully, pausing to reread one particular line:

“And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming . . .”

Helen looked up from the book. It all made terrible sense now.

“Holy shit.”

Still in her wrinkled silk nightgown, Helen carried a piece of wood toward the house. She was freezing, her bare legs exposed to the October morning, but she couldn’t find any reason to get dressed either. Now that she’d put the pieces together, her decision to escape seemed pointless.

After she got a small fire going in the kitchen’s wood stove, she lay down on the floor in front of it. This was how she would fade away. She didn’t need a gas oven like Sylvia Plath. She just needed to wait for the dark and the ravens and the wolves to come for her.

She was unaware of how much time had passed before she heard a soft rapping on the front door. She sat up, resigned to it. Now comes the fall, she thought. It would be a final plunge into whatever this was.

She stood, despondent in her movements. When she opened the front door, she found Agnes standing on the porch in her hiking clothes and gear, stone-faced. The girl’s normal smile and enthusiastic energy were missing.

“Oh, it’s you,” Helen said, puzzled.

“Are they here?” Agnes whispered.

Helen just looked at her.

“Your husband and his brother,” Agnes said.

“No.”