BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next onyour reading list?

There was really only one candidate.

Whoever owned the house. Roy, the husband.

Peter moved faster now. He knew there would be no trip wires or IEDs. The coyotes would set them off. More than that, the carcasses were left in the woods to attract them. Because the coyotes themselves were the security system.

Not to keep someone out, but to keep someone in.

34

HELENE

THEN

While Helene was still shivering from the freezer, Roy went for supplies and came home with six bags of groceries, a stack of magazines, and two different pregnancy tests. He sat on the tub while she peed on the sticks and they watched together while the pink lines appeared. Roy crushed her in his arms, tears in his eyes. Helene stared out the bathroom window, thinking furiously.

She’d lied to Roy, earlier. He wasn’t the only man she’d slept with. But she was going to keep that fact to herself.

“We need to find a doctor,” she said. “Just to make sure everything is okay.” She remembered when she’d had her first ob-gyn appointment at fifteen, when the gynecologist asked if she felt safe in her home. A doctor would have to help, wouldn’t he?

Roy frowned. “That might be bad luck, don’t you think? Let’s give it a few months. Just to make sure.”

He unlocked the closet in the spare bedroom and brought out armloads of clothes, simple skirts and blouses and old-timey dresses on wooden hangers. Nothing warm, though. Nothing practical. She didn’t want to think about why there were at least three different sizes. After she’d made her selections, they sat on the porch holding hands like a normal couple, watching the coyotes stalk rabbits through the tall grass. After one particularly bloody moment, Roy said, “Do you think it’s just instinct for them? Or do you think they like it?”

Before she could come up with an answer, he scooped her into his arms and carried her up to the bedroom.

—

As the weeks passed, his appetites were even greater than before. He’d lift her dress at the kitchen table at any time of day. He’d carry her up to the bedroom before lunch and dinner. Sometimes he was rough, other times he was tender. Helene never knew which Roy she was going to get.

The weather only grew colder.

Between cooking and cleaning, she wrapped herself in the quilt and sat on the couch and paged through Good Housekeeping or Pioneer Woman or House Beautiful. Even though the magazines had gone sour for her, they were all she had. The place was old and drafty and she was always freezing. One morning, her mom’s sweatshirt had disappeared, along with the black sweater and her jeans. Even her pink backpack was gone, with her money and her mom’s notebook. She tried not to panic.