I wake up to sunshine. Glorious sunshine. I smile, open my eyes, and take in the soft yellow light filtered by old-fashioned lace curtains.
And I remember where I am.
Sitting up with renewed anxiety, I fumble for the phone on the bed beside me. I check the time, surprised when I see it’s ten o’clock. I didn’t wake up once in this foreign bed, this foreign house knowing my husband is hunting me.
I’m tempted to call Abel but remember what he said and slip the phone into my pocket. I push the blankets off, slide my feet into my shoes, and go to the window. The lace is torn in places, and the windowsill has a layer of dust. I push the curtain open just a little. Outside all is quiet. My car is still where I left it. The army I’d expected Santiago to come with not there.
I make my way into the bathroom, where I splash water on my face and rinse my mouth before heading downstairs to the kitchen. In one of the cupboards, I find a tin of coffee and filters for the machine, but then I remember the baby. Caffeine isn’t good for a baby, right? I don’t really know much about pregnancy. I put the coffee back into the cabinet and look for tea but don’t find any, so instead, I pour water from one of the bottles into a mug and set it into the microwave. At least it’ll be warm.
While sipping that, I look through the frozen meals and find a breakfast burrito. I pop it into the microwave, and it makes my mouth water when I take it out. I carry it into the living room to eat, glancing out the window through the curtains, which are heavier downstairs, before taking a seat on the couch. I bite into the burrito, the eggs and cheese tasting great. I sit back and just eat for a few minutes. I’m so hungry, and I can’t remember the last time I ate something like this. Santiago would lose his mind, I’m sure. The food at home… no, I catch myself. The food at his house is healthy. Delicious even but never anything like this, so I savor the fat of the sausage, licking it away when it drips down my chin.
I wonder what Santiago is thinking now. He must be furious with me. Probably hurling curses at me for having stolen his baby. His. Not ours. It makes me angry to remember it. How dare he? This is my body, and it’s our baby. He can’t just use me as some host to grow a human being then take the child away from me. I don’t know what world he thinks we live in, but even The Society cannot have that kind of power.
I put the dish down and wipe my hands on a napkin I find on the coffee table. It’s clean. There’s a stack of them and beside them packets of ketchup from a fast-food place. I pick up my mug of now warm water and finish it, then look at the newspapers around me. I read the date on the first one, and it surprises me, so I look at another. It’s a different paper but the same date. The day after the gala. There are several gossip magazines underneath the pile of papers, about a week’s worth. Again, the week following the gala.
It’s nothing, I tell myself as I stand to carry my dish and mug back to the kitchen. Just a coincidence. In the kitchen, I wash my things and set them on the drying rack before returning to the living room.
Was Abel here that week? Why? He called this a safe house. What would he have needed to be safe from?
But no, Abel doesn’t read gossip magazines. He does devour the papers, though. I check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed his call. I haven’t, but he’d better call me soon. The battery is running low, and I don’t have a charger. Although I could charge it in the car if I need to. The one I keep plugged into the power outlet would fit.
I make my way into the study. It’s still not as bright as the rest of the house, but with the light coming in from the open door and my flashlight, it’ll do. I sit back down in the big chair, switch on the flashlight and start to go through the folders one by one, seeing if I recognize any names. Abel’s voice telling me not to touch anything echoes in my mind, but I ignore it.
When I’m about halfway through the files, I finally come across one I recognize. One that makes me shudder.
Judge.
It’s in italics beside what I guess to be his real name. Lawson Montgomery. I flip through the pages of the file and, like the others, see a date of birth, parents’ names—some seem to have a whole family tree, but this one doesn’t. He does have a brother, but according to this, they’re estranged. I see his address and wonder if that’s where the cellar is. It would match up to the length of time it took us to drive to IVI.
I close the file and set it aside. I don’t want to read about him. I don’t want to think about that time.
I don't recognize the next set of names, but then I come to another one I do. Van Der Smit. Jackson’s last name. The file is about another man, though. Marcus Van Der Smit. From the date of Marcus’s birth, I’d say he’s maybe an uncle? Are these all members of IVI? And why does my brother have detailed files on all of them? Is it my brother or my father, though, who’s kept these?
Opening another one of the drawers, I find more of the same stacks. I don’t have the energy to go through them, though, and there’s nothing about my father or Hazel in here, so I get up and go back to the kitchen to try the back door. I can at least walk around in the backyard to get some exercise and fresh air.
The door has the same keypad on it as at the front, and I dig out the sheet of paper from my pocket to unlock it, not sure how it works to get out once I’m in, but when I punch in the code, I hear the same sounds and see the green light. Just in case, though, I drag a chair over to keep the door open. The day is cool, and I don’t have a jacket, but it’s nice to be outside, so I hug my arms around myself and walk around the yard. I can hear cars drive by. A baby cries somewhere not too far away. And I think about my own baby and then about Santiago. How it could have been different for us. How I’d felt like it was getting there, at least a little.
I still remember his face the night I burned the bloody sheet. I’d never seen him look like that before, and I’d thought I’d seen Santiago at his worst. But I understand, too. The fire must have triggered an old memory. I wonder about his memories of the night of the explosion. He never talks about it. Does he remember? And did seeing that fire, seeing the photos of his father and brother just beyond the flames, did I stir something up in him that made him so angry? Did it remind him of the night they died?
God. Did he watch them die?
I shake my head. There are moments I think how ridiculous this is. How if he’d just let me talk, if he’d listen, he’d know I don’t mean him harm. But as long as he doesn’t tell me his secrets, doesn’t tell me what it is that happened that made him hate my family and me so much, it won’t matter anyway.
My phone rings then, startling me even though I’ve been expecting Abel’s call. I fumble to drag it out of my pocket and answer.
“Abel?”
“Yes,” he says, sounding on edge. “You’re still at the house?”
“Yeah. My phone’s almost dead. I think it hooks up to the cord I have in the car, though. If we get disconnected, I’ll—”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll just be a minute. You won’t need it. Stay inside the house, Ivy. Don’t fuck this up.”
“Okay. It’s not a big deal.”
“Good. I’ve got some friends coming to get you later tonight.”
“Friends? Why don’t you come?”
“I can’t. Your husband has eyes on me.”
“Oh. Have you seen him?” I ask, hearing that little upward turn of my words, wondering how he’ll read it.
“You want an update on the man who put you in the hospital?”
“He didn’t…No. I just…never mind.”
“Good. You’ll need to be ready to go when they get there between eleven and midnight.”
“Where are they going to take me?”
“I’m working that out now.”
“Who are they? Do I know them?”
“They’re just some people I work with. Listen, they’re doing me a favor. You just be ready and don’t give them any trouble, understand?”
“I wouldn’t give them trouble.”
“Good. I have to go.”
“Can I talk to Eva? I called her, but she isn’t picking up.”
“She forgot her phone, and she’s not here. I’ll let her know you called.”
“Why isn’t she there? Is she okay?”
“She’s at school, Ivy. It’s a school day, and believe it or not, life goes on. Has been even without you in it. Now, I really have to go.”
I don’t know why his words hurt me. “Abel?”
“Yes?” he asks, tone frustrated.
“Do you use this house?”
“I told you, it’s Dad’s.”
“I just saw papers from the week of the gala, and since Dad’s been in the hospital, I just wondered if it was you.”
“Are you playing detective?”
“No, I just...I didn’t know.”
“Well, remember, don’t touch anything.”
“Is something going on? I mean, why do you need a safe house?”
“Jesus Christ, Ivy. I’m saving your ass at a great risk to my own, I might add, and you’re giving me the third degree?”
“No, it’s not like that. I just was curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Be ready to go when they come.”
“Can I know their names at least?” I hurry to ask before he disconnects.
“Just be ready.” He hangs up.