CHAPTER 67

GRANT

You spend decades thinking something, moving down one path, and then, in a single conversation, everything flips upside down.

Leewood had been fucking with my head, stirring my emotions around in my brain with a giant wooden spoon, but this last visit had upgraded his spoon to a blender.

I knew my wife. I knew she'd had a fucked-up childhood. How she had escaped with any semblance of sanity after a dozen years in a house with a madman ... It was a question I had asked myself a hundred times, one that had endeared me to her and raised every protective hackle in my body.

The night I reunited with her, at the Folcrum Party anniversary memorial ... it had been like seeing a ghost. I was frantic to talk to her, spend time with her, cherish the life that was just brimming out of her. Our history immediately drew a cord of connection between us, and damn—she had been beautiful. The pull to her had made me blind to her faults, immune to any frustrations, and I built a pedestal of love and placed her on the center of it. Treated her like I wished someone had been able to treat Lucy. Gave her the love she'd never received but always deserved.

Now I didn't know what to think.

... she missed the step in the process when that thing inside us, the thing that tells us what's right and what's wrong ... like she didn't get that piece.

The statement scared me because it hit home. I believed it because I had seen it. Perla was missing something, and I had always blamed that void on Leewood.

When Jenny killed that bunny, she didn't feel anything about it. When her mother died, when the girls died at that party ... She's empty inside.

Could it be true? She killed Piketo? I couldn't imagine a seven-year-old Perla killing a cute, fluffy rabbit. Killing and leaving it on her front porch ... I pinched my eyes shut and tried to remember how she'd told me the story. Had she said that Leewood killed it? Or had I just jumped to that assumption because it was the only thing that made logical sense?

Don't give her too much attention, at least not around Jenny.

You have to be careful with Jenny. Very, very careful. She doesn't do well with female competition.

The warning had been clear in his voice, but he hadn't seen Perla with Sophie. While she had moments of jealousy with Sophie, it wasn't anything to worry about.

When her mother died, when the girls died at that party ... She's empty inside.

I had never known the order of the girls' deaths. It was one of the details I had obsessed over and desperately wanted to know from Leewood. There hadn't been many signs of a struggle, but the thought of the other girls just sitting there while Leewood moved from one to the other had always seemed strange. Two girls, okay. Maybe one was shell-shocked long enough for him to create a debilitating wound, then move on to the next. But three girls? I had tried to bring it up to Perla once, and she completely shut me out. I'd dropped the topic and felt like shit, but the questions had remained.

I should have chased Leewood's comment deeper. He made it seem like Perla had been conscious when the others died and that she didn't care.

Why even bring that up? Because she hadn't reacted to their deaths?

Or had she participated in them?

My mind recoiled at the thought, which felt sacrilegious. She was my wife. The mother of my child. She hadn't been anything but a victim in that horrible crime.

I climbed the steps to the second floor and shut myself in my office. Using the key on my chain, I unlocked the file cabinet drawer where I kept all the Folcrum files. Pulling the drawer all the way out, I reached underneath the bottom of it and untaped the manila folder from its underside.

I uncoiled the wire that kept it shut, then withdrew the stack of letters I'd received from Leewood over the years. I placed them in the center of my desk, then opened my work briefcase and removed the thin folder that held the notes I'd collected during my time as Dr. Tim Valden.

Leewood was right: me adopting a faux persona may have been unnecessary, but I had enjoyed the opportunity to get up close and personal with Leewood under the cover of anonymity. For the first time, I understood why Perla enjoyed pretending to be someone else. It was fun, creating a character. I felt bolder, like I could say anything without fear of consequences, judgment, or repercussions.

But life had all three of those things. I spread out my notes and started a fresh page, where I drew a simple organizational table to record my data.

I would start with the oldest letter and move to the most recent and record anything he'd said or written that provided any sort of clue to the truth. His final confession letter just didn't sit right with me, especially given all his emotions around Perla.

Tell her that if she doesn't contact me or come here, the bunny will start talking about carrots.

He had a secret he was keeping for her, and I was terrified I might know what it was.