Page 265 of The Professor's Wife

TRISTAN

The road narrowed after a few miles. It was paved at first, then turned to gravel. Branches scraped against each other overhead. The air smelled of cedar, damp earth, and something metallic that reminded me of old rain on rusted tools. I thought of my father. His garage. The tools we used and abused growing up on off-road motorcycles and ATVs and my first car that I’d driven into a ditch the first week I’d owned it because I was a dumb little shit.

Every few minutes, I looked behind me.

Nothing.

No headlights.

No movement. Just vast darkness and me. There was a sick certainty I was doing something I shouldn’t. The trees pressed closer as I walked. My headache pulsed behind my eyes. The sleep had left something dirty in my blood. I felt heavy and wrong, but paranoia kept me sharp.

I thought about the puffer.

The keycard.

B13.

All I knew was that Oliver had thrown away two objects he didn’t want anyone to see. I had taken them. Then I had passed out after drinking from a bottle he’d handed me. When I woke, those same objects were gone.

Why?

And now I was walking toward his cabin because some part of me believed Daisy was at the center of it. Or maybe I needed Oliver to be evil because otherwise I was only a drunk, jealous bastard chasing another man through the woods over a woman who had never promised me anything more than a few hours at a time in a hotel room.

A sign appeared between the trees, catching my attention.

PRIVATE PROPERTY.

NO TRESPASSING.

I stopped and listened.

Nothing. No voices. No dog barking at my arrival. Just trees shifting in the wind and my own breathing.

As I edged closer, I saw Oliver’s white car in the drive, shadowy beneath the trees. Even in the dark, that satin finish caught the moonlight, pale and expensive.

My whole body went still. He was here, but the cabin itself was dark. There was no porch light or glow in the windows. I saw no movement behind the glass. No sounds of a man moving around his perfect retreat, readying it for his wife.

There was only his car, the unlit cabin, and the woods around us.

For a while, I didn’t move. I watched the car, and the windows and the black seams between the trees, waiting for some kind of shape to detach itself from the night.

There was nothing.

Still, I didn’t trust it.

I moved along the tree line, keeping low, feeling ridiculous and on edge in equal measure. I had no plan. No idea what I was even looking for. It could have been proof that I wasn’t inventing the rot I felt whenever Oliver smiled at me, like he knew something I didn’t. Maybe it was proof that Daisy had a reason to look so haunted whenever his name touched the air.

I reached the side of the cabin and crouched beneath one of the windows.

For a long moment, I just listened.

Nothing moved inside.

I lifted myself slowly and looked through the window.

The room beyond was dark, but the moon gave me enough. I caught the stone fireplace, leather chairs, and shelves lined with books. There was a long table with papers stacked neatly at one end. I didn’t see any sign that he had been inside. I expected a dirty mug or some form of clutter.

I lowered myself again, heart hammering.