The following morning, Elise kept tapping her foot, unable to contain the nervous energy that was coursing through her.
She was sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs on the front porch, her eyes locked on the ever present waves of Lake Superior, waiting.
Waiting for Tucker to reveal all.
Just waiting, and trying to hold it together.
He had come downstairs a few minutes ago, showered and dressed and told her to meet him in a few minutes, to wait for him, and he would show her what was holding him back, what was standing in the way of their being together.
She now wished she hadn’t asked, hadn’t insisted on knowing. She wished she could turn back time to a few nights ago, when it was just the two of them wrapped up in each other in his bed, naked and exposed, loving only each other with no pretense, with no reservations.
Elise still couldn’t imagine what it was that they couldn’t manage to overcome, and that was making her more and more nervous.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when the door opened and Tucker stepped out, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes hazy and dark.
He looked almost menacing – like he had the day she had first met him, in the library, when he had reveled in intimidating her.
God, that seemed a lifetime ago.
She stood up and faced him, and without words, he reached out and took her hand firmly in his, giving it a small squeeze.
“I love you,” he said huskily, and she nodded, too nervous to repeat the words back to him. “I want you to know that, no matter what. And know that I never wanted to lie to you, and have done my best not to, but…”
“Please,” she said, and then cleared her throat when it came out sounding more like a hoarse bark. “Please just tell me… whatever it is.”
He nodded, and, still holding her hand, led her off the porch and across the backyard. Her brow wrinkled in confusion when they approached the deserted guesthouse, tucked back in the tree line, and grew even more confused when he strode to the door, turned the knob easily and opened the door to a warmly lit room that was clearly inhabited.
Elise swallowed thickly and followed him inside, still confused. A slight woman, probably in her fifties with bobbed grey hair and wearing surgical scrubs, stood up hastily, putting down a cheap paperback novel she was reading and straightening her smock a touch nervously. “Mr… Mr. Hale. What brings you here today?” she asked apprehensively, her eyes darting to Elise in confusion then back to Tucker.
“I’m here to show Elise everything,” he said simply. “How are we today, Mrs. Williams?”
“In very high spirits, and not in a good way,” the woman replied seriously. “Not a good night, nor a good morning.”
Tucker nodded then took a deep breath. “Shall we?” he asked, gesturing to a second door slightly behind Mrs. Williams. “If you please, Mrs. Williams.”
The woman looked at Elise once more, then took a key from the pocket of her scrubs and carefully fitted it in the lock then turned the knob, stepping back quickly as though afraid of a boogie monster on the other side.
Tucker strode forward, his chin raised as though almost defiant. “Elise – meet Sophia Hale,” he said simply. “My wife.”
The world spun around and around Elise at his words, and she grasped for the doorframe to keep herself upright, blinking several times as though to clear the cobwebs from her brain.
His wife.
He had actually said wife.
Elise felt like she might vomit.
He kept his wife locked in the guesthouse of Timberline, just pulling her out to play with like a doll when he was bored? Or was she some sort of agoraphobe who had to be away from people? Or was it something else entirely?
And why was there a nurse present?
And why all the locks on the doors?
Why was she locked in.
His wife.
Elise took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, suddenly refusing to let him see her shaken up. She instead peered into the room, which was arranged like a small studio apartment. There was a bed along one wall with several pretty quilts atop it, a colourful rug on the center of the floor in lovely jewel tones, a small sink area with some toiletries scattered near it, and several comfortable looking chairs with a table between them, stacked with magazines, books, a television remote… and lots and lots of medication bottles.
What a shame should couldn’t read the labels from here, Elise thought darkly.
She’d like to know exactly what she was dealing with here.
Elise’s eyes bounced around the room, absorbing this, before her eyes finally alit on a small figure near the window, staring out at the lake, the palm of one hand pressed to the glass, as though begging to be let out.
A long, dark tumble of tangled hair hung down her back, and the small figure was wearing a white nightgown of heavy cotton, which covered her from neck to ankles, allowing only her hands and feet to show. Hearing the noise of the door opening, her head snapped around, and Elise saw dark eyes sunken into what once must have been a very pretty face, but which was now contorted in anger and pain, her lip curled up and a slight snarl of antagonism coming from her mouth. Her cheekbones were high and her skin was a pale creamy white, but there was nothing delicate in her expression.
The woman before her – who must have been about Tucker’s age, Elise would guess – was continuing to snarl and then stamped her foot before whirling around, hands extended, reaching for Tucker’s neck with a scream, a high, thin scream that sent a shiver down Elise’s back.
Tucker took a step back and the nurse – Mrs. Williams – ran interference, stopping Sophia in her tracks even as she tried and tried to reach Tucker, an inhuman growl coming from her lips, which were suddenly wet with spittle.
“I said it was bad morning,” Mrs. Williams said, struggling to pin Sophia’s arms to her sides with little success. Tucker took a step forward and helped to restrain Sophia – to restrain his wife – while Mrs. Williams reached over for a syringe on a nearby shelf and quickly stuck the struggling woman with no hesitation.
There were a lot of syringes just waiting there, Elise noted dimly.
Within moments Sophia went limp and glassy eyed, and Tucker and Mrs. Williams steered her to the nearby bed, gently placing her under one of the quilts and waiting a moment to make sure the sedative would take.
Elise looked at the tableau before her – a woman clearly not in her right mind, a full time nurse who had obviously been here for a while, a dwelling that was clearly well lived in and taken care of, and the man she loved, looking down at a woman with a mixture of concern, disgust, tenderness and self hatred.
Elise turned and fled, unable to stay in the scene for even one moment longer.
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