Page 81 of Call Off the Dark

“But it was obviously premeditated! First degree! We were just standing there. Did he say why our apartment? Did he say why he stabbed Tyler?”

“He did explain himself, yes.”

Helen sat up straighter. The Big Why of it. Finally. “What did he say?”

“He was on drugs that night.”

“So? Lots of people do drugs and don’t kill people. That’s the reason he gave? Drugs? That’s not a reason at all!”

Calhoun lifted her hand, a gentle but firm request that Helen be quiet. Helen’s shoulders slumped as she fell silent.

“He said he would go to your apartment building sometimes to buy drugs,” Calhoun said. “His dealer lived on your floor.”

“Great,” Helen muttered. “Never realized we lived in a druggie building.”

“Drugs are sold all over the city.”

Once again, Helen thought, If only we’d bought a house instead.

“But he didn’t have enough money that night,” Calhoun said. “Dealer wouldn’t sell to him, so he left angry. He went down to his car and got the ski mask and a hunting knife, intending to go back up and rob the dealer. But once he was on your floor, he had second thoughts—the dealer has a gun—so instead he decided to steal money to buy the drugs. He’s picked locks before, and he just chose your door at random.”

Helen lowered her head as a wave of emotion hit her. “He picked the lock?”

“Yeah, he said he picked the lock.”

“So I didn’t leave the door unlocked.”

Calhoun put a hand on Helen’s shoulder. “He went into your apartment looking for cash. He was high on bath salts. They’re a powerful psychoactive drug. They can make people violent and paranoid.”

Helen shook her head. No excuse.

“He said he doesn’t remember the night clearly, but he panicked when he thought you might be calling the police.”

Helen inhaled sharply and looked at Calhoun with imploring eyes. “So it’s because I ran back to the bedroom? That’s why he did it?”

“Helen, stop,” Calhoun said. “You won’t find a reason like that. I’ve been in this job too long, and the more I see, the less I know. But one thing I know for sure: This isn’t your fault. This is senseless violence. This is a crazy, damaged person doing a horrible thing to innocent people. You can search for all the reasons in the world to try to make sense of it, but I’ll tell you, no matter what you think you’ve figured out, your reason sure as hell better not be anything you did. Don’t do that to yourself. Do you understand?”

Helen squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, I understand. Does he remember stabbing my husband?”

Calhoun paused before answering. “He says he doesn’t.”

“He’s lying.”

“Probably.”

“Twenty-five years is not enough. He killed Tyler. He killed him.” Helen dropped her head into her hands. “Tyler is gone. He’s not gone for twenty-five years. He’s gone forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever . . .” She had no idea how many times she said the word ever, but Calhoun let her say it ten times, twenty times, a million times.

When Helen finally stopped and looked up, Calhoun’s eyes were a little shiny. But that didn’t do anything to make Helen feel better, because the monster was getting a deal. Tyler was dead, and the person responsible would be out of prison before he even qualified for Denny’s fifty-five and over menu.

Helen first slept with Wade the same night that Calhoun told her about the plea deal. What she really wanted to do was kill a specific man. So instead she fucked a different one.

She had already decided she would wait outside the courthouse on the day of the masked man’s sentencing—she refused to think of him by his name—and she would shoot him. If she was able to escape from the scene, getting out of town with Wade would be a good option. And if they caught her outside the courthouse, she’d be going away to prison for a long time. So she may as well have sex while she could. Wade had started to awaken something inside of her, and she was curious. She’d started to imagine him on top of her and inside of her. She was a widow, but she was still a woman too. In true crime shows, everyone always thought the spouse was guilty of the crime if they dated someone too soon after the murder. But all those vipers judging from their comfortable couches had no idea what it felt like to be truly torn to pieces. You would take almost any scrap that gave you comfort.

So she went home and cried in the shower as she shaved her legs, cutting herself three times. The first two times were accidents; the third time she wasn’t sure.

And then she called Wade. “Can I come over tonight?”

The line was silent for a moment. She suspected it wasn’t the question that had given him pause but the way she’d asked it. It was impossible to miss the urgency in her tone.