Page 63 of The Perfect Son

“You’re a smart woman, you’ll figure it out. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to that darling child of yours.”

“Leave my son out of it.” The words tumble out at the same speed as the tears rolling down my face.

“Don’t worry, I have no intention of hurting anyone.” The malice in his voice says otherwise.

“I... I don’t know anything. I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out, Tess.”

“How do you know my name?” A scream forms in my throat, lodging against my larynx so every word is a fight to get out.

“I know everything about you. Now be a good girl and get me the file before my patience runs out.”

“But—”

“No buts, Tessie.” He drags out my name for several seconds before there’s a click and the line is dead.

I drop the phone and shrink all the way to the floor until my cheek presses against the wood. The house is spinning and all I can hear is my breath dragging in and out. I can’t get the air in, Mark. I can’t breathe.

Stop, Tess. You can.

I can’t.

Blotches of black creep across my eyes.

I can’t breathe.

I’m going to die here.

You’re not, Tessie. Remember the first time we met, at Stacey’s housewarming party? You wore that black top with the glitter on it andI was still in my suit. You asked me if I was the real estate agent who sold Stacey the house, and I asked if that was your chat-up line.

Keep talking.

There were too many of us crammed into a tiny living room and the music was so loud, the walls were vibrating. We found a quiet spot in the garden and talked all evening.

I knew the moment I saw you that it was something special.

Me too, Tessie. I felt it too. I was supposed to fly to Portugal the following Friday for a golf weekend with friends. I canceled the trip so I could see you instead.

I remember.

My breathing changes—each inhale takes a little longer. I sit up, cradling my head in my hands until the spinning stops.

I can still hear his voice, Mark. He called me Tessie. Why did you tell him that? You’re the only one who has ever called me Tessie, and only when we were alone. It was ours and no one else’s.

Do I call the police? He said you were in trouble, Mark. Is it the kind the police would ask about? The newspapers are still desperate for news about the crash. If they find out that one of the victims was breaking the law, they’d splash your photo over the front pages, drag you in the mud, and Jamie and me along with it. I can’t do that to Jamie. I have to figure this out for myself.

I crawl on the floor, the wood hurting my knees as I move to the stairs. My body is shaking from the words of the man whose name I still don’t know. I grab the banister and pull myself up.

I reach the study and flick on the light. The first box is sitting wonky, the lid not quite shut from the last time I looked in it.

I still don’t know what I’m searching for, but I have to look, and properly this time.

His voice echoes in my head. “I know everything about you... Mark was working on something for me.”

“But what?” I ask the empty room.

A hard drive? A USB stick? Whatever it is, if it’s in this house, then it has to be in one of these boxes.