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I opened the dark chocolate drizzled kettle corn and took a bottle of water from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table with it. Shannon might kill me if he ever found out I’d been drinking red wine in the tub. I wasn’t even sure candles were allowed because wax could drip. I was pretty sure the coffee and toast in bed kindness had been a one-time thing. After my snack, I finished up the bottle of wine from earlier.
On a lark, and pleasantly buzzed, I checked Shannon’s office door. I couldn’t believe it when the knob turned easily in my hand. He never left this room unlocked. Even when he was home. It wasn’t as if there were any remaining doubts that he was trying to get me to leave, but why the fuck would he leave his office accessible?
Of course, inside the office itself, pretty much every drawer and filing cabinet, as well as the closet were locked. The only thing that wasn’t locked down was his laptop on top of the desk. I booted it up. There was a split screen, one was a login for Shannon, and I was sure I’d never crackthatpassword. But next to it was another login for “guest”. That must be me. But what was the password?
If he’d really set up a login for me it would have to be a really simple password I could easily guess like my name or admin or... I typed inpassword. The screen changed, and I was in my own desktop and internet connection.
It was yet another link to the outside world. Another window of escape I was just going to go ahead and ignore, self-preservation be damned. Maybe it was the effects of the Merlot, but I knew exactly what I wanted to do online and it wasn’t ask for help.
I typed in my old university’s web address. The screen loaded surprisingly quickly. I scanned around the site in the faculty section. Exactly what I thought. Professor Stevens was still there. Fucking tenure. Probably still assaulting students and getting away with it right under everybody’s nose. I could send him an email. But I didn’t know enough about computer security. It might be traced somehow back to Shannon. I was sure he had to have some really beefy internet security, otherwise there was no way he’d give me access to an internet connection at all, but still.
Besides, email didn’t have the satisfying physicality of a real paper letter.
I went back upstairs and got the stationery and the magazines I’d bought earlier and brought them down, trying to will my hands not to shake. But the adrenaline was surging full throttle now, and I couldn’t get the tremors to stop. I took several deep breaths and then went to the sink and splashed some cool water on my face. After several minutes, I felt myself begin to relax as my body realized I was in Shannon’s house. Safe.
When I felt calm enough, I put on some gloves from under the kitchen sink and found a glue stick and some scissors in a drawer in the kitchen. I began cutting out letters from the magazines and gluing them onto the stationery.
It took about an hour, but when I was finished, it said: “You must have been relieved when you thought I was gone for good. Watch your back. This isn’t over, fucker.”
I folded the crude note, put it in the envelope, sealed it, addressed it, stamped it. I didn’t put a return address on it, but I was back to the trouble of the post mark. If I were in Savannah, it might not be as big of a deal, but I knew I couldn’t mail it from Stoney Oak, though Ireallywanted to.
I was tempted to get dressed again, sneak out, and walk back to town. I was sure there would be a mail drop off box somewhere outside one of the stores, maybe outside the courthouse a couple blocks over from where I’d been shopping earlier. But Shannon would kill me. Besides, what was I going to do besides mail a stupid, pointless letter? I was afraid to even ask Shannon to kill him for me, not just because it was crossing a line on a whole other level I didn’t know if I could cope with morally, but because I was afraid he would sayno.
So maybe my problem with it wasn’t morals at all. Especially now with my memory back, knowing how Trevor had died safe in the knowledge that I wasmourninghim. I just didn’t think I could let someone else get away with hurting me like that. And yet, so far, Professor Stevens had. He’d gone on with his life in his cushy little tenured teaching position, smug in the knowledge he’d gotten away with it.
I wasn’t sure if what I wanted was justice or garden-variety vengeance, and I didn’t really care. Whatever it was, I wanted it so much I could taste it. It tasted vaguely like apple cinnamon bubble bath.
I ended up ripping up the carefully constructed anonymous threat and throwing it in the trash. I was careful that no part of the address or name was visible or could be reconstructed. Shannon was rubbing off on me. I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and went back to bed.
* * *
Every night without Shannon,the dreams came, each time more awful than the night before. I was sure that if he were here—if I were in his bed—the nightmares wouldn’t have the nerve to disturb my sleep.
On Sunday morning, Shannon returned.
“Elodie?”
I could tell by the sound of his voice that he wasn’t sure if I was there. Though surely he couldn’t think I would fill his house with plants and then run away.
I practically flew down the stairs to meet him even though I was afraid to see that deadness in his eyes that I was sure he reserved for most everyone else.
When he saw me, the hint of a smile appeared on his face, and I let out a breath. Hedidstill want me here. So it must have been a test.
He seemed so much calmer and more relaxed than he’d been before. I’d always thought of Shannon as calm and methodical, but now, by its absence I realized there had been a buzz of restless energy below the surface. He might not give it away overtly, and he might not react strongly to things, but wheels were turning behind the scenes all the time. Now it seemed some tightly coiled thing inside him had been released and a reset button had been pressed.
“How was the job?” I asked.
He seemed caught off guard, surprised that I’d ask or care aboutthe job, particularly since I knew what kinds of jobs he did.
“Satisfying. Everything went smoothly. The target knew he was being hunted. It’s always better when they know. It’s a bigger challenge. More fun.” He looked nearly giddy. Like a kid on Christmas morning discovering Santa got him everything he wanted, even though he’d asked for crazy things he shouldn’t expect to receive.
I must have made a bit of a freaked-out face at this display oftoo much information, because he noticed and changed the subject. “Jesus. It looks like a fucking greenhouse in here.”
“I need them.”
He took a moment to look around, assessing the changes to his space. “What about the cat? Some of these might be poisonous.”
“They aren’t. Botanist, remember? I know my plants. I considered that when I bought them.”
