The power had come back on. The lights were on in my bedroom, and Frank Sinatra crooned from the speakers in the ceiling. I was afraid to speak or move. I lay paralyzed, the blood pounding in my veins, my eyes glued to the gun that Aidan cradled in his lap. I remembered picking it up that day at his apartment, the deadly weight of it in my hands. It was pitch-dark outside. The wind shook the windows, and the thought crossed my mind that I might die here tonight. Was Aidan capable of killing me, or did he merely want to frighten me into submission? I couldn’t know for sure, but I had to assume the threat was real. Failing to take him seriously could mean my death.
I moved to get out of the bed and he shifted suddenly in the chair, thrusting the gun toward me.
“Stay there,” he said.
His eyes seemed unfocused, like something was knocked loose inside. How had I ever found this man attractive? I looked at him now and all I saw was crazy. And crazy was a problem—a big problem. A regular guy who got rejected might come after me. He might hurt me, even kill me. But Aidan had gone after my family. My sister. My daughter. That he knew about them at all, that he had a motive to hurt them—that was on me. In order to protect them, to make this up to them, I had to take responsibility for stopping him, even at the risk of my life. But how? I was unarmed and helpless. He was bigger than me. He was blocking the door. And he had a gun. My only hope was to get him talking and play for time, until I found an opening to escape.
I cleared my throat, which was dry with fear.
“How—how did you get in here?” I asked Aidan.
The answer was obvious. He’d broken in, and not for the first time. My alarm went off earlier tonight. It went off last week, and the police supposedly were dispatched and found nothing amiss. The police, right. Tommy Callahan. The cavalry wasn’t going to burst in and save me. They were on the gunman’s side.
“How did I get in?” Aidan said. “You let me in.”
“No, I didn’t. I was sleeping.”
“You invited me in, Caroline. You left the door open for me. You want me here. Admit it to yourself.”
My face flushed with the effort of controlling my temper. I don’t want you here. I hate you, you lunatic. You belong in jail, or in the psych ward. Or better yet, dead. I had to take a deep breath before I could speak.
“Maybe I did leave the door unlocked. It wasn’t intentional. I’m not sorry you’re here, though. There are things I need to say to you.”
“Oh, now you talk to me. After you ignored me for so long? How many messages did I leave? You blocked my number. That’s disrespectful.”
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t nice of me to block your calls. I should have been up front with you and told you that your conduct was unacceptable. You did some terrible things—”
“Shut up. I’m not interested in hearing you trash me. That’s over.”
“Aidan—”
“I’m done listening. I hold the gun. I’m the boss now, and I say what happens. Take the blanket off. Show me what you’re wearing. I want to see your body.”
I didn’t move. He pointed the gun at me.
“Do what I say,” he said.
I drew the covers back, showing off my sweatpants and loose-fitting T-shirt.
“Happy now?”
“Don’t provoke me. Take it off.”
His mouth was a grim line. If I didn’t figure out a way to distract him, he’d be on me in seconds. In the heat of the moment, I heard my father’s voice. The best defense is a good offense. I had to stop cooperating in my own destruction. I needed to stop acting afraid, to assert control, to throw him off balance. Most of all, I had to figure out a way to get out of this room.
“Why should I, you pervert?” I said. “You went after my daughter. Something’s wrong with you. You’re sick.”
The surprise in his eyes was gratifying to see.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” he said. “I didn’t go after her. She came on to me.”
“A mother and daughter. What is that, some kind of perverted fetish?”
His face went deep red. “It wasn’t sexual at all. I was only there to help her.”
“Oh, please. You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“If it’s true, prove it. This is my daughter’s welfare we’re talking about. You can’t expect me to take your word for it. I’m calling her.”
I picked up my cell phone from the bedside table. I knew there was no service, but he didn’t.
He looked at me with suspicion. “What are you doing? Put that down.”
“I’m going to call Hannah right now. If you didn’t lay a finger on her, she’ll tell me that, and then I’ll believe you. I’ll admit I was wrong. But if you won’t let me do that, it says something, doesn’t it? It tells me you’re lying.”
I moved slowly, sitting up, putting my feet on the floor, pulling up Hannah’s number on my phone.
“Give me that!” Aidan said, and lunged for my phone.
I threw myself sideways and tried to run around him. He body-checked me, and I tried to grab the gun. He saw that coming, and grabbed me by the hair, yanking me down onto the bed and straddling me. He leveled the gun at my forehead and gave me that same chilling, empty smile he wore when I woke up to find myself his prisoner.
“Stupid move, Caroline,” he said. “Now I’m mad.”
We paused there, staring at each other, breathing heavily, and I flashed back to the last time we were together in this bed. In pursuit of one night of mindless fun, I’d found my own destruction.
“You need to apologize and make it up to me,” he said.
I stared down the barrel of the silver gun, and my courage deserted me.
“Please,” I said, my voice shaking. “Don’t hurt me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. If you treat me with the respect and love I showed you, I won’t need to.”
“No. Please. I can’t. I’m married. What we did was wrong.”
“Then we can go another way. I can pull this trigger. You won’t even feel it. Either way, I win. You’ll belong to me, and you won’t hurt me anymore.”
“If I hurt you, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“You’re a liar, Caroline. You can’t help yourself.”
He thrust the barrel of the gun hard against my forehead. Tears of desperation flooded my eyes.
“Please. Please, don’t shoot,” I whispered.
Suddenly, downstairs, a crash rang out. Aidan’s head whipped around. He stared at the closed bedroom door. Then, to my amazement and gratitude, he got off me, and stood up, listening.
“It must be the wind,” he said.
The wind rumbled like a freight train outside the bedroom windows, but it was a steady sound. That had been a crash. If it had come from outside the house, I might’ve taken it for a tree limb falling. But it came from inside.
“That’s not the wind,” I said. “Somebody’s downstairs. They knocked over furniture, or kicked the door in. Looters come out in a hurricane, Aidan. They could make off with the TV. You claim to be the big man. If that’s true, go stop them.”
He grabbed my arm and yanked me up.
“You’re coming with me,” he said, poking the gun into my ribs. “Stay quiet and do what I tell you.”
Aidan’s grip was like a vise as we moved to the door. He opened it slowly, careful not to make a sound. We stopped on the landing and listened. It was hard to hear anything over the roar of the wind and the thumping of my heart. Aidan dropped my arm and put a finger to his lips. Then I caught it—the sound of footsteps. It was unmistakable. The tread of shoes against the wood of the floor. Someone was downstairs. Aidan knew it, too. I saw the alarm in his eyes.
“Caroline? Are you here?” the voice called out.
It was Jason. My husband had come to rescue me. I was so overwhelmed with relief that I wanted to burst into tears. But I held my breath, too anxious to make a sound. Because I realized: Now his life was in danger as well, and it was all my fault.