Bailey
Tanner didn’t come home last night.
It’s evident as soon as I step through the front door after my night shift at the Wilson’s. At barely past 6:00 in the morning, I should hear him snoring away or bustling in the kitchen getting breakfast ready, but my ears are met only with silence.
“Tanner?” I call, even though I know in my bones that there’s nobody here to answer.
Unease creeps beneath my skin as I hang up my purse on the hook beside the door and kick off my shoes. There’s still no movement in the depths of our home, and as I wander from room to room, I realize that nothing’s changed since I left the night before. The bed’s in disarray, the sheets tangled and the comforter crumpled halfway onto the floor. The dishes in the sink are untouched, food in the fridge uneaten. Emptiness hangs in the air, vacant and suffocating.
Where could he be?
I stop in the doorway to the bedroom. Even my phone is still on the bedside table, plugged into the outlet. After it kept playing that horrible song last night, I had simply abandoned it and run out the door, stopping only to grab my purse and the car keys on the way out.
Maybe Tanner had tried to call me? It’s the only thing I can think of. There might be a text message or a voicemail waiting for me.
I start forward, but then a memory of that horrible face flashes through my thoughts, and a sudden bolt of fear stops me from entering. Could the thing that isn’t Dalton still be here?
I stare into the empty space. Beams of early morning sun filter in through the curtains, chasing away the shadows. Nothing moves.
My eyes fall on my phone. It’s facedown on the bedside table, blissfully quiet.
Steeling myself, I take a step into the room and then another. My heart thrums frantically at the thought that my phone could erupt into that sinister music at any moment as I inch closer and closer.
Finally, I can’t put it off any longer. I reach out and gingerly flip the device over, pressing the button to see if I’ve got any notifications.
Nothing.
No calls. No messages. No word from Tanner.
“Where the hell are you?” I mutter as I tug my phone free from the charger.
I sink down onto the bed and groan at the feeling of the soft mattress beneath my body. Between the nightmares and the long hours I’ve spent awake in the dark, the exhaustion is starting to take a toll on me. I ease myself back so that I’m propped on the pillows. Once I’m comfortable, I type out a quick text to Tanner.
Where are you? Are you okay?
With a quick tap of my finger, I send the message off into the void. Hopefully, Tanner will see it soon, wherever he is. As I scroll through my social media, I decide that I’ll give him half an hour. If I don’t hear from him by then, I’ll try calling.
About halfway through the agonizing wait, I drift off. My dreams are fuzzy with the green haze of the swamp, and when I’m startled awake almost an hour later, I swear I can smell it.
The scent of the mire crawls through the air, and I hold my hand up to my nose as I realize that this is not just some remnant of an inarticulate nightmare. Blinking sleep from my eyes, I squint out at the room.
“Holy shit!” I gasp as my eyes fall on a figure looming in the bedroom door. My heart skips a beat before I realize who it is. “Tanner?”
He doesn’t move.
I sit up, running my hands over my face. The fetid stench of the marsh starts to fade, but the dread that accompanies it does not. My pulse races as I study Tanner’s form lingering in the doorway. He’s dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, and he’s muddy up to his knees as if he’s been wading out in the swamp. His hair is disheveled. To my horror, I notice a ring of angry purple bruises marring the skin of his neck.
“Baby, what happened to you?” I gasp, wrestling my limbs free of the sheets. I want to go to him, comfort him, but a little voice in the back of my head whispers that something is wrong here.
But how could Tanner possibly be dangerous?
I shake the thought away as I force myself to stand on trembling legs and walk toward him.
He remains motionless as I grow near. His eyes, alight with a strange, feverish glint, track my movements. Beneath his shirt, his muscles are tense and straining. His whole body is like a coiled spring, ready to snap at any moment, and I can’t hold back the thrill of fear that reverberates through my limbs.
When I’m an arm’s length away, I stop.
He looks worse up close. If we hadn’t spent so much time together, I’d think that he’d gone on a bender. But I know better than that. Something terrible has happened to him, and I’m willing to bet that it has everything to do with the old Gregory place.
“Who did this to you?” I whisper. I lift my hand to his collarbone, ghosting my fingertips over the mottled bruises there. “What did you see?”
“The truth,” he utters. The words hang between us as I struggle to understand what he means. Finally, he breaks his preternatural stillness and wraps his arms around me, pulling me forward until I’m flush against his broad chest.
My body melts against his. Even the swampy smell that clings to his shirt doesn’t deter me. I close my eyes and snake my arms around his middle, enjoying how solid he feels in my embrace.
Remembering the promise I made to myself the previous evening, I tell him, “I talked to Layla yesterday.”
His muscles stiffen. “Layla,” he parrots. It’s not a question. He says the name wistfully, as if recalling an old friend. Once again, unease blooms in the pit of my stomach, though I can’t quite pinpoint why.
“She asked if we want to come visit,” I continue. “I…I think we should. I think we should go.”
Tanner’s arms contract around me, his grip tightening. “We can’t,” he pushes back in a flat tone. “I have to finish the house.”
“No,” I insist. “Let Jose take over. I just want to get out of here, Tanner. Something happened yesterday, and… I just want to leave.” When he doesn’t respond, I add, “Please.”
“Please,” Tanner repeats, mockery dripping from his voice. “Please, Tanner, just drop the biggest fucking job you’ve ever had because I’m scared.”
Hurt and confusion shudder through me at his words. This isn’t like him at all. He’s never been mean to me, never disrespected me like this before. I plant my hands on his chest and push away from him, but his arms are looped around me in a vice grip, and all my efforts get me nowhere.
“Let go of me,” I plead, hating how small my voice sounds. It’s a stark reminder of how much bigger than me Tanner is. Before, I’ve always found the way his frame towers over mine to be mouthwatering. But now, I’m starting to realize that he’s a lot stronger than me, and that thought quickly sours into fear as I begin to struggle against him in earnest.
“Now why would I do that, Bailey?” he sneers. His eyes are cold, betraying no trace of the man I know. His grip on me is crushing, and no amount of thrashing seems to make a difference.
“Tanner, please, you’re hurting me!” I cry.
Ignoring my protests, he tightens his arms around me even further before picking me up and tossing me easily onto the bed. Air rushes from my lungs as my back hits the mattress. I struggle to catch my breath while Tanner advances on me, his eyes hungry.
“We’re not leaving,” he snarls. “You’re mine.”
The phrase isn’t a new one. How many times has that tumbled from his lips in the throes of passion? But it had been a promise then, not a threat. The way he says it now, laced with poison and possession, injects icy fear into my veins.
Tears stream down my face as Tanner looms over me, staring at me with feverish intensity. I struggle to sit up. I need to get away from him. This isn’t the man I love. Something’s happened to him to make him like this, I’m sure of it. Whoever is standing in front of me, it’s no longer Tanner.
I won’t let my mind fill in the rest of that thought.
I manage to stand as he grabs me again, this time gripping me hard by the upper arms. Before I can react, he crushes his lips against mine in a painful kiss.
Terror urges me to catch his bottom lip with my teeth and bite down hard.
“You little bitch!” he roars, pushing me away from him. Blood runs down his chin, and in that moment, he no longer looks human. He rushes toward me, and without even thinking, I ball up my fingers against my palm and swing my arm with as much force as I can muster.
My fist connects squarely with his left eye. The noise is wet and sickening, sending a roll of nausea cramping through my stomach. Pain blossoms in my knuckles and wrist as Tanner reels backward, howling like a wounded animal as his hands fly up to claw at his face.
I don’t wait to see what he does next. Instead, I dart out of the room toward the front door. I’m somehow still holding my phone from earlier in my left hand, and I grab my purse and keys on the way out. I can hear Tanner behind me, crashing around in the bedroom, but I don’t stop, not even to put on my shoes.
Barefoot and cradling my throbbing hand, I let my panic carry me to my car. I gasp from the pain in my injured limb as I struggle to turn the key in the ignition. Part of me braces for the engine to stall or for that fucking song to blast over the radio, but neither of those things happen. The vehicle starts with ease, and the only music that greets me is the peppy beat of a pop song.
A sob of relief escapes me as I back out of the driveway and pull onto the street. I don’t look back until I’m halfway down the road. One glance in the rearview mirror fills my heart with horror.
Tanner, blood streaming from his lacerated lip and covered in bruises, is standing in the driveway, glaring at me with fathomless eyes as I speed away from him.
But I know that’s not Tanner, not really.
Not anymore.