Page 48 of Call Off the Dark

Wade exhaled but otherwise didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if he was so deep in thought that he hadn’t really heard her or if he was just ignoring her.

“Wade, I’m sure it was traumatic. Very traumatic,” she said softly, knowingly. “And as we know, the mind will do all kinds of things to deal with trauma.”

“Helen, stop.” He still wasn’t looking at her.

“You must have been so traumatized to see him hurt badly that you imagined he was dead. Those delusions, those scenarios, can feel real.”

Wade finally looked at her. “It is real. He’s dead, Helen. Dead. And I can’t hear myself think with you talking!”

It was unlikely that Isaac could hear them speaking behind their closed bedroom door, down the hallway and around the corner, but Helen didn’t want to take any chances. She lowered her voice, hoping it would encourage Wade to do the same. “Wade,” she said. “I get it—you don’t want to talk about it. But this is my house too, and I’d like to talk about the strange man who’s in my kitchen if you don’t mind. Can I be part of the conversation?”

“Fine. What?”

Helen took a moment to calm herself so her next words wouldn’t sound accusatory. “The mind will do all kinds of things to try to cope,” she said in her gentlest tone. “Trust me, I understand what that feels like.”

“I can tell the difference between what’s a delusion and what’s real,” Wade snapped.

That stung. Had he meant it with implication? As in, I am not someone who could go crazy. You are. She wasn’t sure, but when she spoke again she knew she sounded small. “Okay, you think you can, but when you’re in the middle of it, when your mind is doing things to you, it’s hard to tell the difference.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

Alarmed, Wade held up his hand. Then he mouthed, “Isaac,” as if she didn’t know.

Another knock. Helen blinked slowly at Wade. This was preposterous.

She whispered, “He knows we’re in here.”

Through the door, Isaac’s voice reached them. “Hey guys, sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s okay,” Helen called back.

She hadn’t meant her words as an invitation, but the door swung open then, revealing Isaac.

She was surprised by the feeling of apprehension that rippled through her.

According to Wade, she was staring at a dead man.

Chapter Eighteen

Isaac propped his arm above his head and leaned into the doorframe. “I had a long day traveling. I don’t want to be presumptuous, but is it okay if I crash here for the night?”

He looked as alive to Helen as any breathing man she’d ever seen.

“Of course it’s okay,” she said. “I’ll show you the guest room.”

Isaac nodded graciously and stepped back into the hallway. As she followed him out the door, Wade shot her a look.

Helen led Isaac down the hall, back in the direction of the living room and into a darkened guest bedroom on the opposite side of the hall from Helen and Wade’s room. The guest room had no electricity wired into it, and it held a queen-size bed, a small dresser, and a wooden desk and desk chair. A notebook, pencils, several candles, and a box of matches sat on top of the desk. Next to the desk, there was a narrow clothes closet.

Helen didn’t know why Wade had even brought an extra bed here. Last month, she had put forward the idea of hosting her parents for Christmas—Someone should use the bed, right?—but Wade had said it was a bad idea. Her parents would be bored, and she’d have to entertain them the entire time. “Maybe we should spend Christmas in Seattle then?” she’d suggested. She hadn’t really wanted to go to Seattle. The idea of returning to the city was too overwhelming, but she thought the suggestion might push him to reconsider letting her parents spend the holidays with them. But he’d just scoffed and said, “Why would we want to spend the holiday in a city full of smog and crime?”

Helen felt she was the rightful owner of any feelings about crime in that city, and if anyone had the right to resist returning there for that reason, it was her. Sometimes it seemed Wade wasn’t even aware of the words he spoke.

So she really wasn’t sure who this guest bed was for then. She often considered sleeping in it herself, but she suspected that would upset Wade. So every night the guest bed sat empty, with the pretty pink and yellow quilt tucked neatly at the corners.

Helen struck a match and lit the largest of the candles.

“The bedding is clean, but . . .” She trailed off. “I should change out the top blanket.”