Devil You Know(24)

Jane needs more.

She needs her prince charming.

And that’s a fairy-tale ending I can’t offer.





CRICKETS SING outside the large French doors. I sit in the dark, insde the house, with my knees tucked to my chest, and watch Rocco as he chases moths around the patio.

I told Malice I’d be fine, but I lied. I’m anything but fine. My hands are sweaty, my pulse roars in my ears, and there’s a shake to my leg I can’t get rid of. All those years with Dylan, I thought that being alone was my sanity—my time out. Only now that I’m alone without recompense, without the knowledge he’ll be back, as much as I hate Dylan—I’m freaking out.

Nobody is coming back for me.

Malice said he’d return tonight, but I know better. He didn’t have the heart to let me down, is all. Barely ten minutes after he left I wandered up the hallway to the room he dumped his bag in, and checked it was still there. Convinced it had to be full of useless things he could leave behind as a decoy, I ratted through the thing to confirm my suspicions.

All I found were clothes. And a toothbrush.

No vindication.

So, I stashed the things away in the drawers in the room in case he asked why I’d been through his bag. At least then I could put it down to some psychotic need to keep busy doing something.

If only that were a lie.

I do need to keep busy. Sitting idle is the thing that’s driving my sanity over the edge. Idle gives me time to think, and the shit up there? Well, it isn’t healthy, that’s for sure.

I started watching Rocco simply to push the thoughts of tomorrow from my mind. If Malice doesn’t return, and I have to go to that police station on my own . . . well, even if I had a way of getting there, I won’t be going. I can’t handle it: the pressure, the questions, and the lies. They’ll tell me they’ll arrest him, but I can put money on the fact they won’t. He’ll get out of it—like he always does.

Rocco lies at the door, and paws the frame. I unfold my aching joints, and rise to stand with the expected amount of pain that accompanies two shattered ribs. He slips his furry butt through the gap in the door, and I lock it quickly behind him—to keep the moths and the bogeymen out. Every shadow holds a threat, and I’m taken back to a time when the dark of the night was only soothed by the glow of a star-shaped night-light beside my door.

Knowing what I need—like dogs always do—Rocco nuzzles into my knees after I flop into one of the over-sized armchairs. I moan at the ache in my side caused by my overly casual movement, and mentally scold myself for forgetting I’m injured so easily. Placing my broken side against the armchair, I pat the seat beside me. Rocco jumps up, and curls into me, his doggy breath coating my face in short puffs. His fur brings me relief, small as it is, and I bury my head into his neck scruff.

The clock in the kitchen ticks like a cannon going off. At first the incessant noise irritates me; every strike a reminder of how long I’ve been left here alone. But after a while, Rocco’s fur becomes the perfect pillow, and I close my eyes for a moment.

Fear ripples across my skin in a wave of tiny goose bumps, and I snap my eyes open to keep myself alert, and not vulnerable. The crickets have stopped, and Rocco now lies at my feet. How long was I out? Silence resonates with the imperceptible aggravation of a dog-whistle. Taking care to place my feet around Rocco, I stand, and move toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. My throat scratches with each swallow. Visions of me asleep, slack-jawed like an old woman, curl my lips into a smile.

I find a clean glass, and draw water from the tap. The second I raise it to my lips, light sweeps across the living room, and the crunch of gravel disturbs Rocco from his sleep. My heart races, and out of habit I run through what I’ve done that day, to figure out what may get me in trouble. I’m still contemplating if I should run to the bedroom or out the back door when the front one opens.

I want to look, I do, but the slim possibility that it isn’t Malice, and that indeed Dylan has found me, roots me to the spot like a statue. The scuff of boots on wooden floorboards scrape through my brain. All I need now is the ‘ka-ka-ka, cha-cha-cha’ of Halloween’s theme and the scene would be set.

My fingers find purchase on the side of the sink, and I’m certain I’m going to hurl. Ten seconds comes across as ten minutes. When did Rocco get to my feet?

“Oh, you’re still up.”

I spin to face Malice, equal parts scared shitless and relieved. “Am I not meant to be?”

“Everything okay?” He closes the space between us, concern etched in his features.

“Fine.” I wave him off. “Just came to get a drink, actually.”