Page 67 of Call Off the Dark

Helen sat there for a long time, longer than she would have guessed if anyone had been there to ask her how long she stayed on the bed. There was no clock in the room and no other way to mark time: no television in the corner streaming shows in thirty-minute intervals, no speakers playing songs in four-minute chunks, no downtown bus rumbling by on a set schedule. She was on forest time, and she was alone again.

It seemed Isaac had continued on his way without saying goodbye. Time was rolling by without her, and it had carried away last night’s mysterious trespasser. If she’d been able to see him off this morning, she wondered if they would have embraced—and if they had, would they have A-framed their bodies to keep an appropriate distance tented between them or would she have been unable to resist the longing to crush herself fully against him? He must be on the road right now, on to his next adventure.

Well, none of that mattered now. Isaac had arrived and been witness to one uncomfortable episode after another. It was for the best that he was gone and she didn’t have to look him in the eyes as she wished him well. She’d rather not endure yet another goodbye in her life, which had turned into a series of strange goodbyes. Things were back to normal. Maybe Wade would be able to think more clearly now, let go of his outrageous idea that Isaac was dead.

Helen stood and collected the worn pajamas. She brought them to her face and inhaled, but she detected no lingering scent. Good, she wouldn’t need to wash them. Wade could wear the same pajamas his brother had worn for one night.

She carried them to her bedroom. Before putting them away in the dresser, she breathed in one more time, just in case—but there was only the faint smell of soap. She ignored the feeling that passed quickly through her, refused to acknowledge it as disappointment.

Back in the kitchen, Helen noticed an envelope on the side table with her name scribbled across it.

She opened it, thinking it was from Isaac, but then realized it was Wade’s writing, scrawled so sloppily she almost didn’t recognize it.

As she read the note, the alarm swelled inside her.

Helen, I’m taking Isaac with me to work the trees. I’m going to take him deep into the woods and make sure he never comes back. Don’t worry. You and I will be safe.

Helen rushed into the living room and snatched the small wooden box from the mantel. She fumbled it open. The revolver was gone.

She ran outside into the yard and spun in a desperate circle, looking as far as she could see. There were trees in all directions for miles. She didn’t have a vehicle or even a bicycle. She could spend the entire day roaming the woods on foot and never find them.

It was too late. She had let things get out of control. Of course, she realized Wade had been saying and doing crazy things last night, but it hadn’t really seemed all that crazy within the context of her own experiences. Her mind had temporarily escaped the confines of reality after Tyler’s death, had even turned dark and violent corners, but she thought Wade just needed time. This was his own brother, not a masked murderer. She had never suspected that Isaac was in danger.

She didn’t know where they were, but she had to do something.

Helen ran back inside and went down to the cellar where she set up the burning candles around Tyler’s photo. She made her plea again, but this time it wasn’t just for herself: “Tyler, I need your help! Not just me, but someone else needs help, and I don’t know what to do. Send me a sign. I can’t do this alone.”

Her eyes searched the cellar, willing Tyler to appear. When he didn’t, she screamed his name, but it was futile. She dropped her head and closed her eyes. It took a while before she was able to summon the energy to blow out the candles and return everything to the box on the bottom shelf of the cellar.

Dragging her feet back up the stairs, she told herself that Wade wouldn’t shoot Isaac, wouldn’t actually kill him. No, he’d just scare him with the gun, order him to leave their property. That had to be all Wade meant by the cryptic note.

That’s what Helen told herself as she brushed her teeth and got dressed in a gray linen long-sleeved dress that was much too delicate given the circumstances. That’s what she told herself as she did the day’s chores, finishing Wednesday’s, Thursday’s, Friday’s, and Saturday’s brown bag lunches. That’s what she told herself every time she stopped in the midst of whatever she was doing and brought her hands to her face in horror. It was too much to imagine otherwise.

As the day wore on and her anxiety grew, the metronome in Helen’s mind—the usual repetition of Tyler, Tyler, Tyler—was replaced with Isaac, Isaac, Isaac.

When she finally heard the rumble of Wade’s truck just before sunset, she ran outside.

Chapter Twenty-Six

As Helen rushed out of the farmhouse, she almost tripped over the front door’s threshold. It was the same doorway she’d crossed through a thousand times before without issue, but she was so desperate to find out what had happened that her body felt both wobbly and charged, like she’d been shot from a cannon after being forced to wait all day curled up at the bottom of the barrel.

From the front porch, she watched and waited, hopeful that two men would emerge from Wade’s truck.

A moment later, her heart sank. Wade was alone. He walked unsteadily toward her, the setting sun glinting off the gun in his hand. His face was heavy and haunted. It wasn’t what she would have expected to see if he’d successfully convinced Isaac to leave without violence. It was the face of a man who was broken, completely shattered by the day’s events.

“Wade. No,” Helen said.

Just before he reached the porch, he flung the gun aside and it skidded across the grass.

“What did you do?” she said.

He just staggered past her into the house, and she let out a strangled sound, halfway between crying and choking. He’d done it. Wade had killed his own brother.

She couldn’t follow him into the house. She couldn’t bear to question him—to even look at him—but her body was trembling so badly she could barely stand. She braced herself against the rocking chair and took several deep breaths. As the evening wind started to pick up, she walked slowly out to the truck and leaned against it for support.

What kind of irony was this? The universe was cruel. Surely, it was laughing at her. Yesterday, she’d held the gun to her head, and she’d almost gone through with it. Instead, she’d avoided death to suffer this fate. Now she would have to carry the guilt of not warning Isaac that Wade was coming undone. Isaac had left her house this morning unaware that he was marching to his own death.

“Hey,” a voice said, and Helen jumped as a head popped up behind her.