The Reaper (6 page)
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice weak and feminine. “We don’t believe in guns. We’ve talked about this.”
“Yeah, and look how many kilometers we are from town.” He walked around the car. “Someone came into our house and burned a rat in our oven. We’re so far out of town that the local sheriff offers us his personal services if we need a cop. Tell me that doesn’t spook you just a little.”
“There are two things that have me spooked. One was the rat in the oven. And the other is you, right now.”
He walked up beside her and slid the top of the gun until it clicked. “Well, Tessa, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to get used to it. I will protect you and this house, and I won’t allow you or anyone else to dictate to me
how
I choose to do that protection.”
He walked past her and disappeared inside.
What the hell has happened to my Eric?
She found him in the kitchen checking to see if the window over the sink was secure.
“Where did you get the gun?” she asked.
“Officer Clayton had an extra in his trunk.”
“What?” she asked and then slapped her forehead. “Are you serious? That was smart, real smart.”
He stopped sliding his hands along the frame and turned to her. “What does that mean?”
“Tell me what happened in town.” She crossed her arms. “Everything.”
“Okay. The real estate agency was closed by the time I got downtown. With all the tourists in town for the long weekend, it took forever to get to the library. It, too, was closed. I missed it by five minutes.”
“Then what?”
“Officer Clayton pulled up in his cruiser and asked me to get in. I did.”
“Why? Did he have an issue with you or is this his way of making friends?”
Eric raised both hands and said, “I have no idea. He said I looked scared, so I told him about the rat. He offered the weapon and I took it. Coming from a cop, I thought it was safe.”
“This is insane. You didn’t consider my feelings—”
Something snapped upstairs, and the house shuddered with the bang.
Her eyes wide, Tessa whispered, “What was that?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
Eric ran past her, the gun held high. Tessa was still scared about the cop’s gift of a gun. If Eric shot someone and ended up in court, there was no way a member of the RCMP would take the fall by admitting he offered a weapon to someone as untrained as Eric. Something was wrong with Clayton. Had to be.
Why would he give Eric a gun?
She ran into the back storage room and opened three different boxes until she found her old video recorder.
She could hear Eric calling for her to come upstairs.
“In a minute,” she shouted.
“
Now,
” he yelled back down.
What the fuck?
She opened the tape drawer and saw it held a VHS tape.
Whatever is on this tape is about to be erased.
She grabbed the cord and plugged it into the back of the recorder as she ran for the stairs. When she got to the top of the stairs, she saw why Eric had called her.
She gasped and almost dropped the recorder.
“Who did this?” Eric asked. “Did you?”
She shook her head in an exaggerated twist back and forth. “Never,” she whispered.
“How did it happen?” Eric asked, his words coming out in tight, short beats.
“What? You don’t think I had anything to do with this, do you?”
“Look, Tessa, I drove into town and when I come back, the room you were painting is ruined. Unless we have company, you did this. And don’t suggest otherwise. Unless you really want to get crazy and say this house is haunted, but we both know that’s not the case.
We
don’t believe in that shit.”
She stood, stunned at what she saw and at Eric’s words. His tone hurt her. Eric had never talked like that before, and now he stood in their new home with a gun in his hand. For the first time in a long time, Tessa felt real fear.
“Eric, we should leave.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You know, you’re a real fucking joke. How could you say
that?
” Spittle flew from his mouth at the last word. His face reddened and the sclera of his eyes lost their white to a red hue. “Someone is fucking with us, and you want to leave. Give me a fucking break!”
“I’m sorry. Please stop shouting.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he screamed and stormed past her.
What’s happening to us? This morning when we arrived with the paint and set up, he was so happy.
We
were so happy. What has changed?
Tessa stepped into the master bedroom and looked at the first coat she had spent seven hours applying. It had bubbled up and flaked off like she’d tried to paint the side of a barbecue. Flakes of charred paint lay around the room at the bottom of every wall that had been covered.
The original wooden wall showed through in all its ugly brown and black surface. The room had lost the smell of paint too.
Only the faint odor of burnt hair remained.
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About Jonas Saul
Jonas Saul is the author of the Sarah Roberts and The Kill series. Visit his website,
www.jonassaul.com
for upcoming release dates. Jonas lives in Europe with his wife, author Kate Cornwell.
Contact Jonas Saul
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