WE STAND TOGETHER just outside the hotel entry, under the overhead that protects the drive-up. I’m pretty certain the desk manager can see me on CCTV, but somehow, I feel better now that his eyes aren’t peeled directly on me, live and in person.
“I’m sorry for grabbing you like that, Pen,” I say. “It’s just that I really feel like we need to do our best on our own to find Chloe.”
“But the house detective will be trained—”
I raise my hands and she does something that breaks my heart. She backs away. Backs away out of fear.
“Pen,” I add, my throat closing in on itself, voice choking. “What are you doing?”
Her eyes fill.
“Oh my God,” she says. “I’m so sorry, Doc. I didn’t mean to.”
She reverses course, steps into me, kisses me on the cheek.
“You’re afraid of me. I don’t blame you. I’ve become a monster. Prison can do that.”
I never actually murdered anyone. But what Penny doesn’t realize is that something like sixty-five percent of all paroled murderers end up killing again.
“No, I do not accept that,” she affirms while anxiously twisting the metal ring on her finger. “I am most definitely not afraid of you. And you are not a monster. You are my husband and I love you very much.”
Her words are sweet. Like a cool drink of water for a parched man who thirsts for reassurance. This is a big bad world I’ve reentered, and with Chloe missing, it’s only getting bigger and far more volatile. Maybe the whole world is a prison. I need for Penny to know she can trust me. Otherwise, we share nothing together. We are adrift, lost in a sea of dread and suspicion.
“Where do we start looking?” she asks.
I gaze across the parking lot onto Lake Placid’s quaint village and the main street that runs through it.
“Let’s be smart and start at the start,” I offer, not without a smile.
“You’re a poet.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Penny takes hold of my hand and together we make our way across the parking lot, like two lost souls making their way through a thick, dark wood.