All My Darkest Impulses (House of Crows), Lisa Unger [top 10 novels .txt] 📗

just the first safe place she’d found. He was strong and solid, predictable and upright. All the things she’d loved at first later bored her to tears.

He’d let her have the house. In fact, he’d given her everything she’d wanted—money wasn’t an issue for Will, or for her—and let her go without a fight. I love you, he’d told her. But I won’t beg you to love me back.

“Talk to me,” he said now. “Tell me where you’re at.”

Get rid of him, said Archie.

“I’m okay,” she said. She tried for a smile, the muscles of her face aching. “Really. I just need some sleep.”

“You don’t seem like—yourself, Claire. I mean, I know you’ve been through a horrific trauma. But—”

He doesn’t know you, whispered Archie. I’m the only one who really knows you.

“I just need the time and space to heal. You’re right; I’m not myself. I’m probably not going to be the person I was before. I’m working toward the new normal.”

Will nodded vigorously, hands folded. “I want to be here for you.”

“You are. You have been. Thank you.”

She knew the words sounded cool, dismissive. Will pressed his full lips into a disappointed line. He looked tired. She flashed on a beach vacation they’d taken, where his skin had been brown from the sun and his golden curls were wild in the wind. They’d been happy then. Maybe she hadn’t loved him enough, but there had been plenty of good times. Lots of laughs. Great sex. She felt a tug back to him, to the person she was then.

He’s dull, complained Archie. He bores me.

“I’ll call you,” she said gently. “As soon as I wake up.”

“I’ll bring you breakfast.”

“That would be great,” she said, smiling. She reached out her hand, and he rose to take it. “You’ve always been so good to me.”

“I love you,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “That hasn’t changed. It won’t.”

She looked down, the words sticking in her throat. He let go of her hand, smiling sadly.

“You don’t have to say it. It doesn’t matter. See you tomorrow.”

From her perch, she watched him disappear down the walk, relief mingling with sadness. She imagined herself leaping up and running out the door, stopping him as he backed out of her driveway. Don’t go. Please. Something’s happened to me. Something I can’t understand. I’m afraid. But she didn’t do that. The part of her that wanted to was bound and gagged; her limbs felt filled with sand.

As soon as she lost sight of him, the afternoon sun seemed to disappear from the sky, and the room darkened, everything cast in shadow. And there was Archie, sitting easily on the chair by the fireplace. She rose to greet him, and he moved toward her, seeming to glide. Then he surrounded her like smoke, a twisting black cloud that engulfed and swallowed her until she didn’t exist at all.

5.

What now?

Matthew woke to what he thought was the sound of his wife moving furniture. A long scraping, like a chair being dragged across the hardwood floor. But when he turned over in the bed, she was sound asleep beside him. He envied her. Samantha was a woman who, no matter what might be happening in their lives, fell immediately to sleep and slept like a stone for eight solid hours. She was hard to rouse, which was why he’d never imagined she’d hear the phone when Sylvia had called late last night.

He listened now. Silence.

He almost drifted off, then startled awake, hearing it again.

This time it went on a little longer, sounded more like the moan of wood under pressure, and he climbed out of bed. The house was full of strange noises, that weird hum, creaks and snaps, sighs, doors swinging open, drafts. But he wasn’t afraid of Merle House. They had a relationship he’d nearly forgotten—he and this place. It wasn’t a good relationship, but they understood each other. Or so he liked to think.

Avery March seemed confident that she could sell the place—as a curiosity, or a bed-and-breakfast, or, earning an enthusiastic nod from Samantha, a writers’ retreat. She hadn’t brought up the old abandoned building deep on the property, though she must know about it. He certainly wasn’t going to mention it to Samantha, because then he’d have to take her out there. And that wasn’t going to happen. If he wanted to discuss it with March, he’d have to find a way to talk to her alone.

Meanwhile, there was a punch list of huge repairs he had to do, from replacing the HVAC to fixing the leaks in the roof, installing a security system for theft, fire, and carbon monoxide, and a raft of other things from floor to paint to landscaping.

It’s not rocket science, Samantha had said after March left. We’ll learn how to do some of it on YouTube. And there’s no rush, right?

No rush. They were living off their savings. He’d be lucky to ever get another university job. His book, the one he’d been working on for years, had been rejected by five publishers and counting. Jewel, who was going to school online, would probably graduate before they’d expected; she’d made it clear she couldn’t wait to get away from them (him), and the plan had always been NYU. Samantha didn’t think about money. She figured when they needed it, it would just appear. He didn’t share her faith.

And now this scraping noise. Any strange noise in a house meant money down the drain.

He walked down the hall toward Jewel’s room. He found her sprawled on her bed in a T-shirt and underwear, earbuds in, night-light glowing pink, covers kicked to the floor. He walked in to pick up her comforter and cover her. She sighed and rolled in her sleep.

“Hi, Daddy,” she breathed, sounding exactly like she had when she used to love him. When she was small and rode on his back and thought his Donald Duck impression was the