Page 113 of Call Off the Dark

“Maybe some Poe?”

“Oh, sure . . .” Helen needed to get the articles out of the book. “It’s in the kitchen. Stay here and I’ll get it for you.”

“No need.” Isaac’s hand moved from behind the doorframe, revealing he was holding the book.

Her eyes zeroed in on the edge of one of the printed articles barely poking out from between the pages. “Maybe instead of reading, we could talk,” she said.

Isaac pushed the door open fully and gestured for her to step inside. She could see past him to the mess of dirty sheets from last night’s encounter. The burning candle on his bedside dresser cast a glow on it.

Helen said, “Maybe in the living room.”

“You seem nervous.”

“Not at all.”

He glanced back at the bed. “Do you wish we hadn’t last night?”

Again, she tried to smile, but her expression was like a mask with its paint cracking.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Helen,” Isaac said. “I think the risk was worth the reward, don’t you?”

She nodded, but she was listening to the sound of his voice more than the actual words. There was something unkind in his tone, and she wondered if it had always been there beneath the surface and she’d just ignored it. Or perhaps she had sensed it and been drawn in by it. She had her own carefully concealed rage, all her heartaches stacked pyres high for burning black, but she’d been unable to ever light the match. Maybe it was part of why she had felt such a fast connection to Isaac. She had hoped he was going to help her finally burn down her rage and her regrets, once and for all.

He stared at her for a long time before holding up the Poe book. His eyes looked cold. The only fires Isaac wanted to start were his own.

He tilted his head toward her, almost conspiratorially, and he said, “Or maybe it’s that you’re nervous I’ll find the articles you hid in here?”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Helen felt her breath catch, and Isaac smiled at her, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. The cruelty that she had previously seen in his face that she thought was reserved for only Wade was there now, and it was for her.

He lowered the Poe book and tapped it against the side of his thigh.

“Are you here to hurt us?” Helen asked.

“Yes and maybe.”

“Yes and maybe?”

“Yes, I plan to kill Wade,” Isaac said in a calm voice that communicated the statement as simple fact. His next words were spoken more softly, almost playfully. “But I don’t know yet what happens to you.”

His eyes flashed in pleasure as he watched Helen try to hold in her reaction, then he shut the guest room door in her face.

“Wade, come on!” Helen shook Wade’s sleeping form.

He stirred on top of the bed, but just barely.

“We need to go.” She tapped him on the cheek and his eyes opened.

“What’s happening?” He sat up, dazed.

Helen went to the closet and grabbed the first pair of his shoes she saw. She brought them to him. “You were right,” she said. “It’s not safe here with Isaac.”

Wade’s eyes widened. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and she grabbed his right foot and shoved it in the shoe.

“What happened?” he whispered.

“He told me he plans to kill you.”