Page 60 of The Perfect Divorce

“You’re wrong about that. I have forgiven you; I’ve just chosen to forget you too.” I peer at him over the rim of my glass as I slowly sip, my dinner forgotten.

He sits stone-faced and motionless. “I think you’re going to have a hard time forgetting me, Sarah.”

I stifle a laugh. “Oh yeah. Why’s that? What makes you so unforgettable?”

Bob’s always had a God complex. Most narcissists do. He thinks he’s more important, more memorable, more charming, more interesting, more of everything than he actually is.

“Did Adam ever forget about you?” he says, cocking his head. “He didn’t, did he? He thought about you every single day for eleven years while he was locked up in a six-by-nine cell, a cell, unbeknownst to him, you put him in. And he thought about you in his final moments when the little bit of life he had left was ripped out of him, one decompressed needle at a time. So, yeah, Sarah, I think you’re going to have a very hard time forgetting about me.” He seals his thinly veiled threat with a small menacing smile.

“I’m not your Adam, Bob, and you’re definitely not my Sarah.”

“You sure about that? Do you think I didn’t know back then that I needed to have an insurance policy with you? Something to guarantee you couldn’t do to me what you did to Adam.”

I squint, taking in every inch of his face, searching for a tell, something to tip off that he’s lying. But he’s stoic. “You’re bluffing,” I say.

My fists become balls beneath the table, and my heart hammers in my chest so fast and frenzied, it feels like it could smash through my rib cage and leap right onto my plate. I’m sure if it did, Bob wouldn’t hesitate to eat it. I take several short, deep breaths—trying to keep my cool. I don’t know what he has on me. My brain acts like a Rolodex now, going over our memories together, moments when I may have left myself vulnerable. But nothing stands out. I’ve always been careful, but maybe I wasn’t careful enough.

“Then call my bluff,” Bob says. “I’ve been patient with you, Sarah, and I’ve been beyond nice. But we’re past that now. If Stacy Howard doesn’t make a sudden reappearance, my insurance policy goes straight to the police.” He raises his chin, deepening the fire in his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I drain the rest of my wine.

“Sure, you don’t.” He grins, chewing slowly on a piece of steak. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I fiddle with the stem of the glass, rotating it, while my eyes remain on Bob. He shovels the food I bought, prepared, and cooked into his gluttonous mouth—and all I can think now is,I should have killed him when I had the chance.

THIRTY-THREE

UNKNOWN

The sound of whimpering stirs me awake. It takes a moment for me to open my eyes and pull myself into a seated position. Even then, I’m foggy, almost in a daze, like coming to after going on a multiday bender. The whimpering is emanating from the other side of the room, or what I think is the other side of the room. It’s the first noise I’ve heard besides boots clomping across the floor above me, the sound of a bottle of water or plastic-wrapped sandwich hitting the pavement, or the door at the top of the stairs closing. I can’t see the stairs, but I know they’re there.

“Hello?” I call out.

The whimpering stops as though they’ve sucked in a breath, and the room falls silent.

“Is someone there?” I ask.

“Hello?” a shaky, faint voice answers back.

“Oh, thank God. You have to help me. My leg is...”

The familiar sound of a chain dragging on concrete fills the basement. The woman shrieks in a panic. “Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice cracks, and a sob erupts.

“I didn’t do anything to...”

“Let me go!” she screams. At me or at the room, I’m not sure.

“I can’t,” I say. “I’m chained up too.”

I think back to when I first woke up down here. I was completely panicked, disoriented, terrified. I don’t even know how long ago that was. But if I were her, I’d be suspicious of me too.

“Did you see him?”

The woman doesn’t respond right away, but when she finally does, she says, “Who?”

“The man that put us down here.”

“No...” she cries. “Did you?”

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