Page 88 of Call Off the Dark

They reached the grave and peered down. Empty.

Helen exhaled heavily. She needed him to know what was happening to her. She suddenly wanted to tell him about seeing the masked man in the closet and the hanging version of herself in the hallway, and she wanted to tell him about the hands that grabbed her from beneath her bed. She couldn’t bear to give the weird specifics of it though, so she simply said, “The truth is, I keep thinking I’m seeing things. Maybe I’m going crazy too.”

“No,” Isaac said. “Wade has you rattled with the crazy things he’s saying about me.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Where’s the raven?”

He gestured vaguely behind her. “I buried it in a smaller grave out there.”

She stared down into the large grave. “Why’d you dig such a big hole? Someone could fall in here.”

“I’ll fill it in tomorrow.”

“Maybe I should lie down in it just before you do that.”

Isaac stilled, an uneasy curiosity passing across his face. Was that her attempt at a joke?

Helen saw the question in his eyes and knew he was hoping she’d laugh to show it was just a bad attempt at humor, but she couldn’t even muster a smile. “Sorry” was all she said.

The chirping of the crickets was the only noise for several long moments.

Finally, Isaac said, “Do you sew all these dresses you wear?”

The change of subject surprised her. “Oh. Yeah.”

“That’s quite a talent.”

“Not really. This one, I had to undo the stitching four times to get it right.”

“You must like sewing to stick with it.”

“I hate sewing,” Helen said. “I hate everything.”

“No, don’t say that.” Isaac reached out a hand and softly brushed her hair back over her shoulders. “You can’t hate everything.”

“I had a husband before Wade.”

“You did?” Isaac’s eyebrows rose, his face all wrong, as if he thought she was about to divulge an interesting scandal, not the heartbreak of the century. “What was the first guy like?”

“Do you really want to know?” Her voice came out like a challenge.

Isaac heard it, and his own voice turned serious. “If you want to tell me, I’m all ears.”

Helen looked down into the grave. “The first guy was the most patient, understanding, kind person ever. Much too good for me.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

She shook her head. “That’s because you never got to meet him.”

“Did he leave you?”

“In a way.”

“Then he’s an asshole.”

“No, he’s not.” She gave Isaac the sorrowful smile of funerals and deathbeds and candlelight vigils. “He didn’t want to leave me. He was murdered.”

“Oh, Helen. I’m sorry.”