“And you've been there ever since?”
“Yes. I went up there the night Peter died and haven't come back until today. There's no television in the cabin, and I don't listen to the radio. Cell service is spotty at best, but I tend to turn my phone off when I'm up there, anyway. Being tethered to my regular life through technology kind of defeats the purpose of a respite. I didn't hear about Everly until very early this morning when my brother finally got ahold of me. You can imagine how startling it was to listen to news reports on my way here. I would think the media would be tasteful enough to wait until I was properly notified before splashing the story all over,” Michael tells us.
“I'm sorry you had to hear those reports, and I understand your frustration with how it is being handled. Unfortunately, the media only really feels obligated to wait until the next of kin is notified. Since we were able to find Everly's parents for notification, they consider that enough,” Sam explains.
Michael nods, his lips pursed together as he thinks through the implications.
“I guess they are still her next of kin. We weren't married yet.”
“How did you feel about your ongoing relationship with her?” Sam asks.
“What do you mean?”
“With the questions concerning the death of your son and you not coming home to stand by her, it looks like you were considering ending the relationship,” I say. “Not that anyone would blame you.”
“I wasn't planning on ending my relationship with Everly. If anything, I hadn't come to a solid decision yet. But I was far from being sure I didn't want her in my life anymore. I loved her. More than I've ever loved anyone. More than I ever knew was possible to love someone. It didn't take long after I met her to know she was who I wanted to spend my life with. I couldn’t imagine going through the most painful thing I ever experienced, the loss of my son, without her. At the same time, I couldn't face her."
"Do you think she hurt Peter?" Sam asks.
He's following a delicate balance between discussing Everly's suicide and venturing into the investigation he already decided to put on the back burner.
"No," Michael says. "Everly adored Peter, and he adored her. They were everything to each other. She could never hurt him."
"Then why haven't you spoken up for her?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "I don't know. I should have."
"Just one more thing and I'll let you go," Sam says. "Did she ever express anything to you about wanting to hurt herself?"
"No. I didn't hear from her at all after that night. She didn't try to get in touch with me. Not even right before she did it. I guess I was the last thing on her mind," he says.
I shake my head.
"I think you were the only thing on it."
Chapter Seventeen
Him
People always think keys are necessary to get into houses without calling attention. He knew that wasn't the case. They make things easier. It’s simpler and less time-consuming to just be able to walk up to a door and put a key in. Over the years, it became second nature to him to find ways of getting copies of people's keys. When he wanted access to their home or their business, he'd simply use one of these methods to get his hands on their keys and create his own copies. Instantly their world was open to him. Once he knew their patterns and schedules and was able to find and deactivate pesky features like security cameras and alarms, he could come and go as he pleased.
It wasn't so simple with Emma. The police coverage of her other house was dwindling. After not seeing anything suspicious or having anything to report back to her, it seemed less and less pressing to have them around at all times. Soon it would only be once or twice a day that they circled around and checked. Then a few times a week. Then one day, they just wouldn't return at all. But that's not what he was concerned about right then. Now his focus was on the house in Sherwood. He hadn't been able to get access to her keys. She always kept them far too close and didn't do any of the things he relied on when wanting to slip a keyring away.
It didn't stop him. Again, keys make things easier. But they aren’t necessary. There are many other ways to get inside somewhere without the luxury of the key. Fortunately, the almost dizzying peace and quiet of the neighborhood was on his side. There were no neighbors to the back, and tall Ivy-covered privacy fences to either side kept the backyard tastefully isolated. Even if there were people around to notice him there and be suspicious of his presence, they wouldn't see him when he got to the back door. He would be hidden from view, able to take his time and leave no trace.
This time he had to be sure Emma wasn't home. He made such a stupid mistake the night before. When he saw how dark the house was, he was positive she wasn't there. Her car was sitting in the driveway, but that meant little. She spent almost as much time in the Sheriff's car as she did her own. Seeing the back-porch light on only made him feel more confident. She always turned the light over the backdoor on in the evening. She always had. No matter where she was living, if there was a light to be turned on, it didn't stay dark after the sun went down.
But that time, she did. When he got into the backyard, he paused only long enough to slide the brick out of place on the side of the porch. It's not that he really thought a key would still be there, or that even if there was it would still work in the lock. It was more to check to make sure the brick was still loose. If anyone ever fixed that brick and secured it fully into place, the house would lose more of what it once was. After slipping the brick back into place, he got to the door, reassured and comforted by the darkness, and went to work on the lock. If he was careful and didn't let himself get too excited, he could get through the lock without breaking it or leaving marks.
That was the most difficult part. Holding back his excitement. It buzzed inside him, making his blood feel effervescent, and his thoughts bubble and pop around the edges. Getting inside here was even more than her other house. Even more… what? He couldn't really finish the sentence. Even more thrilling. Even more personal. Just, more.
What amounted to an alarm system on the house was nothing more than a mechanical scream that went off when a door opened. It could be silenced with just the turn of a stick key in the metal panel on the wall. Experience watching her go into the house enough times told him she rarely activated the system when she wasn't going to be in the house. It was a fairly worthless sound, not connected to anything or anyone, and he could assume by the creative profanities she flung when it went off that she hated the sound.
He wasn't going to be the way he was the night before. Too eager. He didn't pay enough attention and nearly got himself caught first by her, then by the sheriff arriving at the front door. Today he knew she was gone. He watched her ride away in the sheriff's car, and she hadn't come back. He had the lock, and the house it offered up to him, all to himself.
His tools rarely failed him, and they didn't now. The lock opened easily. Almost too easily. Hopefully she would consider replacing the locks on that door. He didn't want to think of Emma being in any danger when she was home.
As soon as the lock popped open, he slipped his tools back in his pack and stood to slip inside. He walked through years to step into that kitchen. The smell of cinnamon and yeast dough lingered in the air, and it could have been hanging there since the last time he smelled it. Walking further into the house, he watched as his mind superimposed images of the past with what he saw now. So much had changed. Much of it was barely recognizable. But there were details that couldn't be altered. No matter how long between visits. No matter what family took over for their temporary time in the house. Some things about it could never be different.