and I locked it, going around the rest of the downstairs to check all the entrances, windows, and close the doors to rooms I wouldn’t use. Finding one or more open later would give me a clue someone was in the house.
I took off my jacket and took out my phone, turning it on to call my mother.
Or trying to call my mother.
The phone wouldn’t fire up.
And then I remembered that I’d forgotten to plug it in last night to charge. I exhaled a breath, fighting the urge to cry.
Yanking open the drawer on the foyer table, I pulled out a charger and plugged in the phone, but I thought better of leaving it out in the open. Instead, I threaded the cord through the back of the drawer and hid the phone inside while it charged. He’d get it away from me if he really wanted to, but hopefully I’d get it charged enough to make some calls first.
How could my mother leave me like that? He got them packed, changed and out of the house in a matter of a few hours before I got home last night, and he or Crane hadn’t relayed a message, I hadn’t gotten any calls—that I knew of yet, but I’d check my phone as soon as it had a charge—and no one else had contacted me to let me know my mother was concerned or trying to reach me.
She hadn’t just left me. Arion would have, but not my mom. What threat or lie did he feed her to get her out of the house? Did he even handle it himself or did he use some of his dad’s hired muscle?
And were they really in the Maldives? Like all the way in fucking Asia? Ari always wanted to go. He would’ve agreed to anything to get rid of her.
But he wasn’t joining them.
He wasn’t going anywhere. Even I knew that.
Walking into the kitchen, I took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with bottled water, hooking the tip of my finger over the edge of the glass to feel when the water reached close to the top. Taking a long drink, I closed my eyes and listened to the house. To the wind and the rain and the floors, absorbing the hum of the refrigerator, the heater warming the water, and the silence.
Too much silence.
My blood coursed under my skin, and my hair stood up on my arms.
I still felt it. The same thing I felt this morning.
No creaks. No footsteps. No music.
No Mikhail.
But it was still there. The heaviness in the air.
And I knew.
I just knew.
I set out a bowl of food for Mikhail in the mud room and freshened up his water, just in case he was outside somewhere. I knew he wasn’t. He would’ve come back by now. But just in case…
And then I took my water and headed upstairs, into the bathroom, my eyelids trying to close like I hadn’t slept all night.
I set my water down, it clinking against the granite countertop, and walked over to the tub, sitting on the edge as I turned on the water. Making it as hot as I could stand, I sat there running my hand under the water, the steam wafting up to my face.
I closed my eyes, feeling my pulse thunder inside as everything else was so quiet.
I feel you.
I feel you everywhere.
The cloves on his clothes, the fountain on his skin.
The words on his tongue, the breath on his lips.
The hand on my neck, the sharp in his silence.
Down the hall. Sitting in the study. Outside in the rain.