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
Running.
I’m always running.
Each time I have the dream, I run. After arguments with Riley, I’d run. After taking the wrath of Cora, I want to run.
Running away. That’s what I’ve always done, isn’t it? And that’s what I promised myself to stop. After Riley died and my father asked me to come back to Bury, I told myself it was time to face my past. Go back to the house. Be with it.
And still I haven’t.
Here I was, thinking that moving back would stop the nightmares. But just being in this house isn’t enough.
I have to be in this house.
So I turn, absorb the silence of the foyer, and head to the stairs.
Sixteen
I don’t know how to do this or what it is I’m even doing. But I have an idea.
I step out of my shoes, peel off my socks, and feel the cool kiss of the wooden floors on my soles. It’s only a few steps to reach the base of the stairs, but I take my time. I’m not scared as much as I am thoughtful. I’m not going to race through this.
When I reach the base of the stairs, I step onto a spot about three feet from the bottom of the first riser. This is the first time I’ve stood here in over two decades. Ever since that night, I’ve always approached the stairs at an angle, just to avoid standing exactly where I am.
It doesn’t feel any different.
I sit, cross my legs, place my hands on top of my knees.
Close my eyes.
No, keep them open. No more looking away.
The color of the hardwood stairs is a golden red, the last seconds of a sunset. Glossy finish, always gleaming. I can even see where two of the steps were restained, the color very close but not exactly the same as the adjacent ones.
As I stare, the silence shifts into a hum, a rhythm of energy both soothing and overwhelming. It’s as if I’m floating through space, enveloped in the vibration of all the universe.
I surrender to this hum, letting it take over my body, letting it pulse from the crown of my head to the chilled tips of my toes. Eyes open, ears attuned, and the surface of my skin poised to feel even the breath of a spider, I have become a receptor for whatever signal wants to transmit through me.
This is when I realize the hum is not a singular, steady sound. It’s the collective sound of all the voices of my past. All the words of everyone in my life up to now, stitched together in a mosaic of noise. And these words, some of them are loving and soft, but many are angry. Desperate. Every decision I’ve made as an adult has been born of some kind of desperation, and I hear that now. My decision to leave Bury. My path to writing crime fiction. My relationship with Riley. I was chasing off a desperation each and every time. That desperation would scurry away just out of reach but, like a pack of wolves, always returned, and each time got a little closer.