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When Mr. Black speaks again, the sound is so close he might as well be talking to the three of us trapped inside the large closet.
“I’ve admitted what I did,” he grinds out, his voice low. “I’ve told you I’m sorry. But if you won’t let me back in, that’s all I can do. You won’t even let me make love to you in our goddamn bed like a husband and wife should. You make me come crawling to you in here, once a month, and that’s all—”
“Because you fucked her in our bed!” Audrey isn’t screaming anymore, but she might as well be, for the intensity of the emotions carried on her words. “You decided to do that, Samuel! Nobody made you! You’re lucky I still share a room with you at all—but I’ll be goddamned if I let you fuck me in the same bed you had her in!”
I’m holding onto Dax and Chase like I might collapse if I let go. My knees are jelly from a combination of adrenaline, fear, and embarrassment.
We shouldn’t be hearing this.
This is just about the most private kind of fight a couple can have. Part of me wants to close my ears up and stop listening, but another part of me—the bigger part of me—strains to catch every word. Waiting, just waiting for Mr. Black to slip.
To say something he shouldn’t.
To mention Iris’s name.
There’s another soft thud against the wood, and when he speaks again, his voice is even closer. I think maybe he’s resting his forehead against the door, his body caging hers in.
“What do you want me to do, Audrey? Huh? I have made mistakes. I admit that.” His voice drops, growing rougher, deeper. “I got rid of her. She’s out of our lives for good. What more do you want? Why is that not enough for you?”
There are more scuffling noises as she shoves away from the door, shoving away from his hold.
“She’s out of our lives?” She laughs, the sound high-pitched, almost desperate. “It’s not that fucking simple, and you know it! And don’t act like you did this for me, you sick asshole. You did it for you. To cover your own goddamn ass.”
“Audrey…”
Mr. Black sounds tired—exhausted—and I hear him step toward her.
“No!” she bites out. “I can’t even look at you right now. I’m going out. Don’t follow me.”
Her heels tap against the floor as she stalks away.
Mr. Black doesn’t follow her. There’s a moment of silence, then he lets out a noise that’s half sigh, half groan.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
It’s all he says before his footsteps move toward the door. He doesn’t even shut it after himself, just turns and heads down the hallway in the direction of the master bedroom.
“Holy shit,” Chase whispers, his voice hardly more than a breath in my ear.
I don’t answer. I’m replaying the fight between Audrey and Samuel in my mind, trying to commit to memory everything that was said between the two of them, every little detail. I wish I could’ve recorded it, but I don’t even have my phone. It’s still in my old bedroom down the hall, along with the rest of my stuff.
“Shit. We gotta get out of here. If he finds out we heard…”
Dax doesn’t bother finishing that sentence. He doesn’t need to. It wouldn’t be good, I know that much. And thinking about it beyond that just makes my blood feel like water.
Slowly, the two boys release me from their hold. I have to pry my fingers away from their arms one by one, as if my body is convinced that as soon as I release my grip, I’ll go hurtling away through space. My legs wobble, but the adrenaline in my system keeps me upright as Chase slowly turns the door handle, peering out into the room.
“Clear,” he whispers.
My heart is beating like a fucking drum, almost as hard and fast as the night we saw Iris die, when I kept waiting for the man in the ski mask to come back for us.
To come back and finish the job.
That’s what this feels like. Like I’m waiting for Mr. Black to return, to dart back into the room and find us all.
We creep slowly across the empty space, and when Dax leans out to look into the hallway, my body goes rigid with fear.
He waves, gesturing us forward, and we pour out into the corridor. If Mr. Black comes out of his room right now, he’ll see us—the hallway stretches all the way to the master bedroom. But I ignore the screaming impulse to look behind me as we dart quickly and quietly toward my old room.
