Maybe my sanity will fail. Maybe my marriage. All I know is, I don’t feel safe.
But I can’t tell Dev. I can’t tell anyone, because if I let the words spill out, I could lose everything.
I keep telling myself, again and again, there’s nobody left who can find me after all this time. But knowing that doesn’t change the way my skin prickles because Sarah is dead and now all I can think is …what if she should have been me?
I have to try to push through this. Calm down.
Shaded by the cantilevered parasol overhead, the space where I’m sitting is cool. As the moments tick by and the temperature seems to rise further, my eyelids grow heavy from our wakeful night. I fight it at first, but it’s useless. So I allow myself to drift.
When I snap awake, I feel strange. A glance at my watch shows I’ve only had a twenty-minute nap, but my heart is racing, and a dull throb has settled behind my eyes. I blink, confused, my mouth dry. The sun has shifted a little and my feet are exposed and burning. I bend my knees so I’m fully in the shade again and look around.
It takes a few seconds for my brain to catch up. Dev said he was going into town after his run, so he’ll be gone for a good while yet.
I allow myself a couple more minutes to come around. I feel slightly weird but I’ve had one of those deep naps when you wake up unpleasantly startled and disoriented.
Sitting up and rubbing my temples, I glance around, blinking away the grogginess. That’s when I see him.
A man.
He’s standing halfway down the hillside. Far enough away that I can’t discern his features clearly, but close enough that I can see his posture – rigid and deliberate. He’s facing me. Arms raised, and both hands up to his face – and then it hits me.
He’s watching me through binoculars.
My breath catches, and a rush of adrenaline surges through me. There is nothing else for anyone to see up here on top of the hill but Lakeview House and me.
He’s spying on me and something, deep down, is telling me I know this person.
Fight or flight kicks in and I leap off the seat and dash inside, pulling the sliding glass door shut behind me. I feel so exposed, so violated.
I grab a throw from the sofa, wrap it around myself, trying to disappear. I’m breathing so hard, in jagged bursts.
I fumble for my phone, my fingers shaking as I try to unlock it. My first instinct is to call the police. But then Ifreeze. When the implications hit, my fingers hover uselessly over the screen.
If the police come out here again, they’ll ask more questions. And if my worst fears prove to be true, and it’shim, he’ll tell them everything. Dev will get to know everything from a third party, and he’ll never forgive me. He’ll never trust me again.
I pace back and forth in front of the glass, willing my racing heart to calm down. Maybe I’m overreacting. This could be nothing – just a walker. Someone passing by who didn’t realize I was out there. Curiosity. The DreamKey house, with all its rumours, all its allure. People are always gawping at it, and it was empty until a couple of weeks ago when we moved in. It could just be that. The man probably didn’t mean to stare; maybe he didn’t even realize what he was doing until he saw me jump up. He probably panicked and is long gone.
I pull in a long breath, hold it, and release it slowly.
Calm down. Don’t jump to conclusions.
Still clutching the phone, I steal back to the glass doors. I can’t see that nearest part of the lake from here: the slope of the hill blocks the view. To get a clear look, I’d have to go outside again, to the exact place I was when I saw him.
My fingers tighten around the door handle, the weight of dread making my hands clammy. Maybe I shouldn’t go back out, just in case … but I can’t stop myself.
‘He’ll be gone now,’ I mutter under my breath, trying to calm myself down. ‘It’s just a walker. It’s nothim. It can’t be.’
I pull open the glass door and step on to the terrace, the warmth of the decking immediately seeping into the soles of my feet. I feel a bit shaky and unsure as I inch towards the seat, to the spot where I’ll have sight of the place he stood.
When I reach the edge of the terrace, I look down.
He’s still there.
A wave of nausea hits me, hard and fast. He’s not holding the binoculars any more. But he’s staring directly at me as though he was waiting for me to reappear. Like he could read my mind. Like he knows me well …
He raises a hand – so casual, it’s like a friendly wave.
The fact he’s blatantly waited in exactly the same spot is almost worse than him watching me covertly through binoculars. It feels personal now, as if he wants to make sure I’ve seen him. That he knows where I am and, crucially,whoI am.
