Page 37 of HER: A Psychological Thriller
“Good,” he says. “Because she really needs this. And quite frankly, I really need her to be happy.”
I smile, nod, and down the rest of my drink.
I DON’T WANT to let Ann down, and I want to get away from Paul, so I deftly hand out the invitations as she’s asked. By the time I make it ‘round to Darcy White, she along with Ann and a few other women I don’t know have isolated themselves to a corner in the Bankses’ library. It doesn’t make any sense, now that I’ve gotten a better look at the room, why Ann’s favorite book is on the bookshelf under the stairs instead of tucked away in here where it could be safe.
I’m thinking so hard about this, and about what happened in the garage, and what Ann’s husband said, that I forget I am standing side by side with strangers. I stare too long at the books. I forget to listen to the conversation and to laugh and nod in all the right places. This is what I mean when I say I am not good with people. Books, I can understand. They give up their secrets, eventually. They say what they mean. People rarely do.
Ann leans in and asks me if everything is all right. Her fingertips brush mine. It feels like electricity, a current that is moving too fast. Everything is, in fact, not all right. I want to ask her about what Paul meant when he said she needs this. He couldn’t possibly have meant me, could he?
But I can’t ask her now. Not with everyone around. I’ve just realized I’ll have to develop sharp elbows if I want to get any time alone with her. These women are like vultures, and they’re circling, circling, circling. Mouths move, but I don’t hear anything that is being said. A shrill sound plays in my head, reverberating around, until it’s sharp and relentless. Ann asks me again if I’m okay. Nothing feels okay, but I nod, because people never really say what they mean or mean what they say. I nod because I’ve spotted her first book, the one that Ethan tried to gift to me, and now I am once again thinking too much and thinking leads to bad places.
It leads to places like me wondering who is using who. It leads me to ask myself how I really feel about Ann making me come. It makes me wonder where Ethan is and whether he’s alone. Is he thinking of me? Will he text? It leads to me think about Chet and where things stand between us. How long do I have to keep this going before Ethan catches wind of it?
This leads me to check my phone. I know Ann hates this. But I can’t help myself. It is only when I go to retrieve it from my pocket that I feel the lone invitation still in my hand. I hand it to Darcy. I practically throw it at her, to tell the truth. “It’s an invitation,” I say, because she looks confused. Her expression quickly turns to one of pity as she takes it from my hand. “Thanks,” she tells me. “But I’m really quite busy.”
The room goes quiet, and everyone is waiting for me to respond but my mouth is too dry and my eyes dart toward Ann’s book. This will help you, I hear Ethan say. You can make friends. You can be normal again. You can be like you used to be.
I think what he really meant was: this is how you let me go. Darcy’s words sting, but Ethan’s cut like a razor blade and they’re all colliding with one another. In my mind I picture myself grabbing them in midair, catching them in my fist and squeezing, squeezing until they’ve lost their power. I imagine telling Darcy what I really think. But everyone is watching and waiting, and if I say what’s really on my mind, it will not end well.
Ann takes me by the arm. “Excuse us,” she says, pulling me out into the hall. Her head is cocked and her gaze is transfixed. She leans in and whispers, “What is with you?”
r /> “Nothing. I’m just tired.”
“I need you Sadie. God, I want you. I want you so much.”
I don’t know how to be needed, so my response is stupid and off topic. “Paul knows.”
Her expression doesn’t change, so I say the next most stupid thing. “I don't know what’s keeping Darcy so busy…all I ever see her doing is gardening.”
For a second Ann seems surprised. She recovers quickly. “Let me guess…in nonexistent shorts and a low-cut top?”
“Yes,” I tell her. I have no idea how she knows this. Summer is long gone, and Ann didn’t live on Penny Lane then. “I swear she used to flirt with Ethan.”
She offers a tight smile. It fades fast, though, and then she shakes her head. Her eyes dart toward my shoes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she almost looks hurt. “It’s not polite to gossip.”
A sort of apology rises to my lips. But before it can find its way out Ann says, “Oh, Sadie. Don’t acquiesce for the likes of Darcy White.”
DARCY WHITE’S body was discovered at the bottom of the pool at approximately 1:31 a.m. It was too cold for a swim. It appeared she took one anyway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
HER
She didn’t have to make things so difficult. It’s not as easy as it looks, holding a person underwater. Easier than smothering them on land—sure. Still, I suppose of all the ways to kill someone, it’s the least labor intensive. Unless, of course, the water is cold. Trust me—then it’s pure hell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
SADIE
A person typically drowns in less than a minute. It doesn’t look like it does on TV. Ann knows this, so I know this.
While distress and panic may sometimes take place beforehand, drowning itself is quick and often silent. A person close to the point of drowning is unable to keep their mouth above water long enough to breathe properly and therefore is unable to shout. Lacking oxygen, their body cannot perform the voluntary efforts involved in waving or seeking attention.
The instinctive drowning response is the final set of autonomic reactions in the 20 to 60 seconds before the victim sinks fully underwater. Uncontrollable movement of the arms and legs, rarely out of the water. Eyes glassy and empty, unable to focus. Head low in the water, mouth at water level. Head tilted back with mouth open. To the untrained eye these reflexes can look similar to normal, calm behavior.
In emergency situations, it is advisable to wait for the victim to stop moving or sink before approaching, rescuing, or resuscitating. While the instinctive reaction to drowning is taking place, the victim will latch onto any nearby solid objects in an attempt to get air, which can result in the drowning of a would-be rescuer as well as (or instead of) the original victim.
Ann knows this, so I know this.