Page 44 of Forget Me Not
He would know I was upstairs, rooting through his things while he was away.
I’m still trying to work up the nerve to move when the groan of old wood erupts from the hallway as Mitchell comes ambling out ofthe kitchen, mere feet below where I now stand. I recoil, pressing my body against the wall and grateful I hadn’t chosen that moment to run. He doesn’t look my way; instead, I listen as he heads into the living room before chancing a glance over the railing again. He’s hovering over Marcia now, his fingers reaching for her braid and twisting a few strands of her hair in his hands. She looks so small like that, her fragile body crumpled beneath him like a sapling crushed beneath the sole of a shoe, and I wonder what he’s about to do next until he seems to notice something on her neck, his eyes squinting as he twists his head.
He drops the braid, now reaching for a spot beneath her jaw. Then he holds his finger there like he’s looking for a pulse before removing it and bringing his hand to his nose.
I continue to stare, not understanding what he’s doing until I feel a twist of something in my chest—comprehension, fear—as I look down at my own hand, the leafy residue from when I brushed my fingers into the base of her mug. I had touched Marcia’s neck immediately after and I wonder now if some of it had rubbed off on her skin, lingering little scraps that Mitchell now sees.
He’s probably wondering where they came from, how they got there when Marcia was asleep the entire time he was gone.
I push myself back against the wall and pinch my eyes shut, my heart hammering hard in my throat. Mitchell could start searching the house now, turn the corner into the hall to find me hiding on the middle of the stairs. I wonder if I could make it into the guest room, conceal myself in the closet or something, and I’m about to turn around and attempt to hide when my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket, the sound of it deafening in the silence of the house.
I reach for it quickly, pulling it out and jamming the silencer on the side. Ryan is calling and I cuss under my breath as I remember what Liam said about the modem in the main house.
I have plenty of signal in here, enough for a call to actually come through, and now I can hear Mitchell start toward the stairs and I know he must have heard it, too.
I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing myself for him to round the corner when a new sound emerges on the porch. It’s footsteps, unmistakably, and I open my eyes just as the front door bursts open beneath me.
“Hey, it’s getting ready to storm.”
It’s Liam’s voice, urgent and strong, and I flatten myself harder against the wall as if the force alone could make me disappear. I can’t see him from here, his body hidden by the stairwell wall, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see me: my long shadow spilling down the steps, the sound of my breath suddenly so loud in my ears.
“Looks like a big one,” he continues as I hear him take a few steps into the foyer. Then I glance out the window, noticing the marbled clouds in the distance. The sky was so clear only an hour ago, but now it’s dark, practically black, and I can smell the metallic threat of rain through the door.
“I need some help securing everything,” he adds. “Wind’s already starting to pick up.”
A thick silence settles over the house as I imagine the two of them in a stiff standoff, Mitchell staring at Liam from a few feet away.
“Where’s Claire?” Mitchell asks at last as I feel a spasm in my chest at the sound of my name. Just a few days ago, it had almost beensoothinglistening to him say it from the top of the porch, his voice a salve easing the sting of these last few months. It had felt like he knew me, somehow. Like he understood me. Like I could actually see my problems floating away with a simple snap of his fingers, dandelion seeds getting swept up in the breeze—but now it just soundswrong, coming from him, and I have the sudden urge to crawl out of my skin. Burrow under the covers to keep myself safe.
“Sleeping,” Liam says. “She’s still recovering from yesterday. Besides, it’ll be faster if you help. She doesn’t know where anything is.”
A sigh erupts from Mitchell’s direction followed by the clink of glass as he puts his cup down. Then I track his footsteps as he makes his way down the hall before he and Liam retreat to the porch, slamming the door hard behind them.
CHAPTER 30
My hair is dripping by the time I get back.
Once I was sure Mitchell and Liam were gone, I finally allowed myself to let out a breath while simultaneously scolding myself for how close I just got to getting caught. Then I had waited a few seconds before tiptoeing down the rest of the stairs and peering out the front-door windows.
I could see their two bodies making their way to the shed, presumably to grab supplies for the storm. Then Mitchell went in first as Liam glanced back at the house, hesitating for a second before he took a deep breath and stepped in after.
Only then did I bolt to the door, twist the knob, and fling myself out and into the rain.
In the few seconds it took for me to get between the two houses, the skies opened up with a strength that was startling. The pelting drops sharp as nails as I jogged across the yard and into the relative safety of my room. I know this kind of weather isn’t unusual inJuly—I’m familiar with these microbursts that come out of nowhere, violent little spurts that appear and disappear in the blink of an eye—but right now, despite my soggy clothes and rain-drenched hair, I’m just thankful for the distraction. For the opportunity to get out of that house, away from Mitchell.
The excuse to hole up in here and plan my next move instead of having to act like everything is fine.
I attempt to dry off as soon as I step inside, twisting my hair into a towel before my attention returns to my phone. It’s vibrating in my pocket again and I pull it out, Ryan’s face and name appearing on the screen.
“Claire,” he says as soon as I answer. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all morning.”
I look down at the display to find a smattering of texts. They must have gotten stuck in the ether while I was walking around the property, the spotty service going in and out keeping them from getting through.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and light, though even I can hear the shake in my throat. The adrenaline pushing its way out after those tense few minutes as I hid on the stairs. “I’ve been… busy.”
“Doing what?” he asks, and I feel myself flinch at his brusque tone—still, it’s a fair question. Ryan thinks I’m back at home, back with my mom. I’ve led him to believe I have nothing at all going on in my life, nothing stealing my attention for hours at a time, so of course he’s curious about where I’ve been disappearing to, day after day.
Why I’m suddenly unable to pick up the phone.
