Page 62 of Ask for Andrea

From the dark hallway, I saw Meghan and Skye appear, standing like sentinels as all three of us watched him. Meghan backed up slowly into the kitchen as he stood up and surveyed the tiny living room, his eyes resting on the collection of survival tools. Skye held her ground, glaring at him with a fury I could feel from across the room.

He stood where he was in the living room for a few seconds, clearly weighing his options.

“Where’s April?” I called to Meghan softly, hoping she wasn’t gone yet. I couldn’t see her anymore.

“She’s in the bedroom,” came the quiet reply from the kitchen. “She’s pretending to be asleep.”

A wave of despair pulled at me like a riptide. “What about the girls? Did she at least grab a knife or something?”

Skye shook her head miserably. “No.”

James was on the move again, but he was walking toward the kitchen and Meghan—not toward the bedrooms.

He stopped in front of the wall clock, squinting at the cracked plastic in the darkness. It was 3:00 a.m.

He was standing just a few feet away from Meghan. She stood facing him, her arms still wrapped tightly around her middle as if to keep from flinging herself at him.

“If you want to jump him, do it,” I told her. “I couldn’t stop myself. It felt good for a second, even though it didn’t do anything.”

She nodded tightly but didn’t look at me—or move to attack him the way I had on the trail. “We heard you out there.”

He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck and stretched. Then he yawned and sighed heavily. Skye made a disgusted noise. “Poor baby. Tired after staying up late digging holes.”

It was true: He looked exhausted. “Maybe he’ll wait,” I said hesitantly, still feeling the despair threaten to pull me under. If he didn’t do it tonight, he would do it tomorrow. Or the next day. There was still no indication as to what his plans were long-term, but those plans clearly no longer included his family.

It made me think of the hamster I’d had as a little girl who, when I forgot to feed her for a couple of days, ate her three babies. All that was left when I looked into the cage was a few droplets of dark blood.

I shook my head. No. He wasn’t like an animal at all. At least with the hamster, there was survival on the line. He killed because he wanted to. Because he felt like it. Because he liked it. No animal I knew of did that.

He hesitated in the hallway, looking from the stash of survival objects to the bedroom door. I tried not to imagine what he was thinking about but couldn’t stop the mental image of the different deadly objects at his disposal. The knives. The rope. The shovel out by the woodpile. If he wanted to do it tonight, he had plenty of tools available.

He yawned again and rolled his neck, turning to look at the neat piles of meals. He hadn’t counted them for a couple of days. But the buckets still looked relatively full. Nobody was eating with the vigor they had a few days ago, given the effects on everyone’s digestive system.

He sighed heavily then padded down the hallway to April’s room. Skye and I followed, while Meghan hung back. Neither of us prodded her to follow.

He quietly opened the bedroom door, casting a dim square of light across the bed where April lay on her side, turned away from him. I watched her chest rise and fall. Deep breaths like clockwork. If I had to guess, she was counting with each inhale and exhale.

He stared at her for a few seconds. Then he carefully shut the door, pulled off his jeans and plaid shirt, and got into bed on the other side.

43. SKYE

Cascade, Idaho

I really missed sleeping. The ability to just turn your brain off for a while was something I’d really taken for granted while I was alive. Without a body that needed sleep to physically recharge, my thoughts never turned off. Except for the times when I got caught up in a memory.

Meghan called it “drifting.” That was how she’d found her grandmother, the one who was waiting to welcome her at the end of this horror show.

The three of us gathered around April, speaking the truth about her husband in turn.

April’s eyes, wide in the darkness, gave no indication that she sensed any of it. She was finally awake to the gravity of her situation. But only time would tell if that awakening would be enough.

I knew that look in her eyes. It was that same wild-animal feeling I’d gotten when I realized I might have made a terrible mistake getting into his car. And that my choices were now limited to whatever mercy the universe would grant me. In my case, there had been none. But maybe things would be different for April and the girls. I hoped so.

Once James’s breathing grew deep and measured, April scooted to the far edge of the bed, clutching the quilt and no longer trying to feign sleep.

The seconds ticked by like hours as we waited for her to move. To do something. To run.

“Move, girl,” I kept telling her. “He’s asleep. Move.”