Page 32 of Sanctuary

“But that’s not your whole story. How old are you? It’s been eight years since Impact, so you must have been pretty young to be on the executive track back then.”

“I was. I’m thirty-eight now. I’ve always been a quick thinker and a, uh, creative problem solver. I moved up fast in my career. I’d gotten transferred over here from London when I was twenty-six.”

“Were you single?”

“No. I met my wife shortly after I moved here. She got pregnant, and we were married within two years.”

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “You had a kid?”

“Kids. Twin boys. Hal and Will.” His tone is light. Purposefully distant.

There’s a terrible end to this particular story. I know it for sure. And, as much as I need to know what it is, I’m also terrified of finding out. I couldn’t explain exactly why.

But in response to the resistance, I ask more roundabout questions. “What was your wife’s name?”

“Sarah.”

“What was she like?”

“She was… sweet. She came from a conservative family, and she wanted a very traditional life. She liked being taken care of, but she also took good care of me. I loved her. We would have had a good life.”

“How old were the kids at Impact?”

“They were two. Sarah’s parents died young and left her a hunting cabin near Roanoke. When things got bad in the lead up to Impact, we moved out there and did okay for a while. It was very isolated, and I did well in finding and stocking up food and supplies. For a year and a half, we stayed in the cabin. It wasn’t… as bad as it could have been. We managed to avoid most of the chaos and violence.”

My heart is beating faster now. My throat is tightening. “So what happened?” I ask in a hushed voice.

“Our food ran out eventually.”

I take a shaky breath.

“I went out every day, trying to hunt or scavenge for leftover provisions. But I wasn’t a hunter. I was born to a middle-class family in London. I’d never even held a gun until Impact. I did manage to learn and kill some animals, but the climate killed them a lot faster than I could, and it was hard to find anything. We did all right in the spring and summer because we could grow a few things in a garden, but that winter…”

I gulp.

“We were starving. We gave every scrap of food we had to the boys, but it still wasn’t enough. So one morning I took a rifleand set out, promising I wouldn’t come home until I found us something to eat.” His voice is still almost indifferent, as if he’s speaking about someone else, someone other than himself. “I couldn’t find anything on the first day, but I managed to finally spot and kill a deer on the second. So I…”

He trails off like his throat has clamped down over the words.

“Aidan?” I breathe.

“I returned to our cabin with the deer. And when I did, my wife and boys were dead.”

I make a choked sound. “What happened?”

“I… I still don’t know. Their throats were slashed.”

“What?” I sit up. No way I can keep lying down after hearing this.

“Their throats were slashed. All of them. That’s how I found them.” He’s lying flat on his back now, staring up at the ceiling like I was telling my story earlier. As if staring at darkness and blank space was the only way to get the hard stuff spoken. “And I don’t know how it happened. Maybe someone came by and found the cabin. Forced their way in and killed them in the hopes of stealing food or supplies. Then left when there was nothing there to take.”

“M-maybe. Did it look like the cabin had been searched?”

“No. Nothing was out of place. It was all clean, everything in place the way Sarah always kept it. The boys were in their bed like they’d been sleeping. Their arms were—” He breaks off with a strangled breath. “Their arms were folded over their chests. Sarah was in her bed too. The knife was beside her.”

My eyes are burning. My whole body is shaking. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

His voice is hoarse as he finally turns his head to look at me again. “So I don’t think someone came in and did that to them.”

---