Page 85 of His Loving Wife

“Go.” Vincent raises the knife in his hand as a reminder.

I reluctantly step onto the boat.

Vincent unties the ropes keeping us tethered to the dock. There’s a sinking sense of hopelessness; whatever they have planned, I know it will be impossible to overcome them once at sea. Adrenaline spikes, and without thinking, I lunge toward Vincent, trying to knock the knife from his hands. With his back to me, I’m able to knock him off balance. The knife falls from his hands, tumbling into the gray waters below. He turns, slapping me hard across the face. I stumble backwards, until I feel my body hit Andrew’s.

“Vincent, that wasn’t necessary,” he says.

“Then keep her back.” He starts the boat’s engine, backing into the bay, away from the house and the safety of shore.

I look into Andrew’s eyes, a quiet moment between the two of us when I’m silently asking him, why? How could our missteps have led to this? He appears concerned, and yet, there’s a barrier between us. Between him and his real self. I believe he recognizes this, that he’s not acting in his right mind, but it’s already too late to stop what he has put in motion.

In the middle of the storm, we’re surrounded by noises. The engine. The waves. The rain pattering against the deck. Softly, the children’s cries. Andrew is huddled close to us.

“You don’t want to go through with this,” I say to him, trusting the cacophony of sounds around us will drown out our voices.

“I have to,” he replies.

I move closer to him. “You would have done this while we were at sea the first time if that were the case. You wouldn’t need Vincent to intervene if this is what you really wanted.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be peaceful, happy.”

“Is that what you think happened to the others? Do you think they were happy?”

“I don’t know. I—”

“I read what happened to them. The Rogers. They were shot, executed one by one. At some point, the others had to know what was happening, had to realize there was nothing they could do to save themselves. That’s not peaceful, Andrew. That’s torture.”

“Cal loved his family. That’s why he—”

“That’s why he murdered them?” I scoff. “Andrew, you have to see through this. Whatever fantasies Vincent is putting in your head are just that: fantasies. Nothing about this stems from love.”

“I just wanted to find a way to keep us together. I didn’t want to run the risk of losing you, or watching the kids struggle.”

“Look at them,” I say, pointing in their direction. Willow has her arms wrapped around Noah. Both their heads are down, afraid to look. “They’re terrified. It’s like they’re experiencing the horror of the invasion all over again.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t compare what I’m doing to Paul. He tried to tear our family apart.”

“Vincent is trying to tear our family apart. He’s trying to justify his own actions, like he did something heroic.” I wait, letting my words sink in. “It’s not too late for you to protect us. We can still stop this.”

“We can’t.” He laughs, a pitiful, losing sound.

“We can try.” I look over at the kids again. “We owe them that. They need us now more than ever.”

Andrew’s gaze lands on the children, seems to stay there for an eternity.

Chapter 47

Now

We’re going faster, moving farther and farther away from land. After a few minutes, Vincent kills the engine. I’m surprised he’s stopped here, but in this storm, it doesn’t really matter. Even a few feet away from the shore would be dangerous.

“Ah, ha! Nothing like that sea air.”

“Why are you doing this?” Noah shouts.

“It’s important that all of you are together. As a family. It’s hard for you to understand just how much your father loves you. He’s willing to do whatever it takes to protect you. Aren’t you, Andrew?”

“Yes.” The response is loud yet unconvincing.

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