PROLOGUE
PROLOGUE
Nights were always the worst.
Ever since Lance had left, Marie Bottoms had a hard time falling asleep. Everything seemed so quiet, like it was her against the world.
Sixteen days. That was how long he’d been gone. But more importantly, sixteen nights. Sixteen sleepless nights, spent with her heart in her throat and her comforter pulled up over her head like some frightened child.
She’d spent most of the day fulfilling orders, threading silver beads onto elastic cord to make her custom creations. It kept her busy, kept her mind from wandering to what he was up to. Now, she looked down at her phone for the thousandth time that day, hoping for a text from her husband. He used to do those things so incessantly, she’d almost been annoyed by it. Just a, Hey, checking in or a U ok? or a Thinking about you. Or even just something to let her know she was on his mind.
But she wasn’t, anymore, was she?
She stood up from the couch, leaving the television on because it kept her company. Poor company, even though she’d always found the announcer’s voice comforting and his jokes funny. Taking her empty teacup to the sink, she decided to leave it there until morning. If she could get to bed right away, the Sleepy-time tea could sometimes lull her off before she had a chance to obsess about what had gone wrong in her life, leading her to this horrible, desperate loneliness.
She checked the back door to make sure it was locked, something Lance had always done for them. He’d always been so concerned about the safety of their little family. That was one of the things she’d liked most about him. He was careful. So steady, responsible, and well, predictable.
That was, until Carrie.
His secretary.
Marie noticed something was wrong, almost the same time the eighteen-year-old bombshell from Florida had started working for Lance’s firm. One moment, it was, “our old admin’s retiring, hope we can find someone to replace her,” and the next, he was staying late. Arranging long, out of town business trips. Forgetting to call or text her during the day to check in. Coming home, smelling heavily of flowery perfume.
And then, one day, just over two weeks ago, he hadn’t come home at all.
She’d gotten a text, of all things, explaining how it was. He said he was sorry, but he wouldn’t be coming back to their house, ever. He wanted a divorce, but he’d keep her in the house, make sure she was taken care of. He apologized that it hadn’t worked out.
Now, she looked down at her phone and saw it, silent. She hadn’t had any communication from him at all in over three days.
Marie laughed bitterly at that, as she locked the front door, set the alarm system, double-checked it, and went upstairs to brush her teeth. As far as she’d known, it was working out. He had a good job, she had a thriving shop on Etsy, selling fancy cellphone charms, and they were trying to start a family. She’d even told him she was going off birth control last month, and he’d been excited about that.
Now, she was alone. Twenty-six-years-old, and about to be divorced.
When she was finished getting ready in the bathroom, she left the light on there, closing the door only partway before plugging in her phone to charge and jumping into her big, lonely bed.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of trees swaying in the moonlight cast through the window. Faraway, a television announcer said something, and the audience roared with laughter.
Did she lock the back door?
She couldn’t remember. Marie had always had OCD tendencies, which was why she let Lance take care of all that. If she was in charge of it, she’d constantly obsess about whether it was done, and would check and re-check things to near madness. That had always been her problem; she never trusted herself. She’d been so happy when she’d found him, someone she could trust, to take care of everything and make sure she was safe.
Her lips curled into a snarl and she threw the covers off, surprised at how cold it’d become in such a short period of time. Shivering, she rushed down the steps to see Jimmy interviewing some sports star she didn’t recognize. She checked the back door.
Locked.
She groaned at herself. Of course it was locked, stupid. You always second-guess yourself.
And she’d been doing it more and more in the last few weeks. Questioning herself, her sanity. She hated to think that it was that man, her cheating husband, who’d given her all her confidence, but it was true. Now, she felt adrift.
But what was she, a child? Needing someone to guide her through life? No, she had her own business. She was a fully independent adult. She’d survived without Lance Bottoms for eighteen years, and she could do it again. She could do this.
Turning, she went to the television and switched it off. Adults are happy with their own company, she told herself, smiling in triumph.
She marched to the front door and put her hand on the banister, ready to climb the steps and fall into her bed, when she noticed the security system panel on the wall near the front door.
A light on it was blinking.
Had it ever done that before? She couldn’t remember. Lance had managed all that. He was a techno-geek, and it had been his fun toy—he knew all the ins and outs of it, what every little button on it did.
She moved closer to it and saw that the blinking was next to the words, “BACK DOOR.” Another word was flashing on the panel, too, right next to it. UNLOCKED.
That was strange. Hadn’t she just checked that?
Probably a malfunction. It had done that a few times, when Lance was here. She pressed a button, hoping to turn it off. It didn’t work.
She tried a couple more, but none of them seemed to do anything, either. “Stupid thing,” she said, smacking it and half-wishing it was Lance’s face. “You’re broken.”
Then she went through the house, once again, to the back door. Maybe she’d disturbed some sort of sensor, sent it off track, and she just needed to flip a switch.
She went to the door, looking for the wiring, but she noticed something else.
The back door was no longer locked. It was closed, but the lock had not been engaged.
This time, though, she was sure she had engaged it. She remembered twisting it. Had she not twisted it hard enough? No, she was certain she had.
I’m going crazy. Without Lance here, I’m losing it.
Then, she thought she heard a noise, outside, on the back deck. A c***k. Like a foot stepping on a dried branch. But nearby, almost right by the door.
Pulling open the door, she slowly, cautiously, poked her head out.
All was quiet. Her house backed up to tall trees, and a little creek. She could hear the burbling of its waters, the slight rustle of the leaves, the lone cry of a hawk in the trees above. But nothing else. Reaching for the switch on the wall behind her, she flipped on the back light, illuminating the small patch of deck. Nothing.
I am so paranoid. I’ve got to loosen up, she thought, rubbing her eyes.
But the second she regained her focus, the man was there. Standing in front of her.
Marie froze in terror, recognition sparking within her. She couldn’t remember where she’d seen him; all she knew was that he didn’t belong here, on her back deck. She scrambled back a few steps, hitting the door and tripping over the transom as she frantically tried to remember where she’d left her cell phone.
Upstairs. On the charger. A lot of good it’s doing you, now.
Before she could try to stand, he reached for a pillow from the couch and stood over her. He brought it down over her face, holding tight there. She flailed her arms, trying to escape, but it was no use. She was already half out of breath from the fright, so she quickly went dizzy from lack of oxygen. Her lungs burned, so hot she thought they might explode, until it felt like they did. Then, gradually, everything went numb, and she could feel no more.
