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Chapter forty-three

Patrick

“She’s in,” I whisper. “With Alexander. She’s safe.”

The girls are still at their grandparents house.

That’s good.

They don’t need to be around this kind of danger.

Neither do Alexander or the babies, but we don’t have a choice with that.

I say the names again. I have to. I have to.

“Patrick. Levana. Hattie. Milo. Alexander. Mally. Dolly.”

Faster this time.

“PatrickLevanaHattieMiloAlexanderMallyDolly.”

Pacing. I’m pacing.

The boards creak like bones snapping.

“Just keep her in. Just for now,” I murmur. “Just until I know. Just until everything goes away.”

She won’t stop laughing.

“Shut up!” I shout, spinning toward the hallway. “Shut the fuck up!”

My hands are shaking. My skin feels wrong, too tight, stretched thin over bones that want to crawl right out of me.

I run downstairs.

Grab the hammer. Nails. Wood.

I drag them to the windows, to the cracks the shadows could seep through.

Bang.

“Safe.”

Bang.

“She loves me.”

Bang.

“They won’t get her.”

Bang.

“I’m fixing this. I’m fixing everything.”

I catch my thumb on a nail, and blood spills from the wound.

Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Just keep nailing. Keep shielding. Keep protecting. Keep her here.

“She’ll thank me. She will.”

I drop to my knees, and press both palms to the wood, eyes shut, breath ragged.

I left her the notebook. The pens. The blankets. The vitamins. The snacks. The water.

I gave her everything.

She knows it’s for the best. Know’s that I love her, and this is what she needs.

“She’s safe now,” I whisper. “She’s safe from the world. From them.”

From Elliot. From the nurses. From the wind and the whispers and the teeth in the dark.

“She’s mine. She’s ours. And she’s safe.”