Contents (85)
- Contents
- Part I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Part II
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Part III
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- One
- Two
- Reading Group Guide
- A Conversation with the Author
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
This is easier. Okay.
Is Cora a killer? she asks me.
Yes.
But is she a good person?
I don’t hesitate. No.
How about this one…a question you’ve thought about before, more so tonight than ever before. Has Cora killed again?
Yes, I reply. The dog.
No, not the dog. People. People like Caleb. Innocent people.
Caleb wasn’t innocent, I tell her, hearing the weakness of my argument in my own thoughts.
You don’t really know that. Based on everything you remember from that night, do you truly believe he was trying to hurt Cora?
It’s what I’ve always let myself believe, because it’s the only way to rationalize what happened. He must have been trying to hurt her. Maybe she overreacted, maybe she—
Cut the shit, Rose. You’re still rationalizing. Answer without thinking. Answer from your soul. Answer from the place you’ve been unwilling to explore for twenty-two years. Do you think Caleb was trying to hurt Cora?
No.
Do you think she enjoyed killing him?
Yes.
Do you know why she did it?
Because she’s broken. She’s different and she’s broken.
Good, Rose, we’re making progress here. You won’t sleep and you’ll feel like hell tomorrow, but we’re making progress. So given all you know about her, all your interactions from the past and present, do you think Cora has killed again?
I have no idea.
What if she has, Rose? What are you going to do about it?
I can’t change the past.
She’s still young. She’s got a lot of years ahead of her. Just think what she’s capable of. Not to mention the influence she’s passing down to that little Lizzie Borden of hers.
I never really thought it was—
WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO, ROSE?
I give my own mind one final answer. One answer, as I lie here in the dark, listening to the soft snores of Max, to whom sleep comes with ease and he doesn’t even realize what a gift that is.
In the dead of this night, I answer.
I have to stop her.
Forty-Six
Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin
November 15
Colin never appreciated the dark as much as he did now. In his living room, ten o’clock at night, all things silent, all lights off. He’d spied stray ambient light from the digital thermostat and put duct tape over it.
Curtains drawn, taped flush to the wall.
Darkness, like a womb.
A delicate, fertile womb. It was Colin’s world now. Maybe just for tonight. Maybe for the rest of his life. But in this womb, Colin felt some kind of relief. Certainly not happiness. But relief. Like pain being transferred from one body part to another.
Also, he was drunk.
He stumbled in the darkness to the refrigerator and opened it. Brilliant light flooded him, causing him to recoil. He reached inside and grabbed an eighth beer. Twisted the cap off, then closed the door, entombing himself in the blackness once again.
Comfort in the void, he thought. Colin tipped the bottle back and spilled as much as he drank, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in the void—that was how voids worked.