Fear was first. That was natural. She had no idea who it was. She had no idea where they were and she didn't know why they were there. But secondly, and perhaps even more strongly, she was angry. How dare someone come into this house. They weren't supposed to be here. They hadn't been invited here and for them to come into her house and …
The sound of the footsteps above her stopped her thoughts. This was no longer a concept, no longer a scenario to consider. She had to act now. She had to do something. She reached for her purse and reached inside for her phone, the sound of the unexpected ring startling her.
"Nick." She pressed the phone to her face as she glanced towards the stairs and moved further back into the room away from the sight line.
"Phyllis?" This might have a been a new relationship for them, but they had so much history together, that at times it felt as if he'd known her his entire life. Phyllis had gotten him through one of the worst losses he'd ever experienced and they'd created something of a kinship together. He now knew her better than almost anyone did. The instant she said his name, he knew something was wrong. "What's the matter?"
"I …" Her mind raced again. She knew him well – too well. He was probably on his way and telling him this would only lead to recklessness on his part. Nick was fiercely protective of the people he cared about and nothing would stop him from getting to her. She wanted him here, but she needed him safe. "Are you almost home?" She tried not to sound desperate though the tremble in her voice was almost impossible to quell.
"I'm waiting on the food," he said quickly. "You sound weird. What's going on?"
"It's just …" She hesitated again, hearing another sound. She stopped talking, her entire body stilling as she waited for the next move.
"Phyllis?" He repeated her name again as he looked back at his phone screen. The call hadn't disconnected. "Are you there?"
She held her breath. "Just hurry home okay? Please." She pressed the red button and let the air slip through her lips slowly.
"Phyllis!" It didn't matter that he'd now attracted the attention of half the restaurant. Something was wrong and he had to find out what. He waved to the waiter as he stood up. "Cancel it," he called before rushing out into the cool, night air.
He felt sick inside as he looked around the room. It was all gone … all of it. The floor lamp, the framed pictures on the bedside table, the furniture, the artwork their son had created. They had stripped it all away. He had created this home. He had lived in it, loved in it, and lost in it. And now … he had lost it. His eyes drifted over to the duffel bag. Without even touching the zipper, he knew what was inside. It had been weeks since he'd packed the contents and since he'd made the silent deal with himself.
At first he'd been able to convince himself that she was simply too angry and too hurt to hear him out. He'd told himself that after a while, a few days, a few weeks, a month – she'd come to her senses. She'd hear him out. She'd let him see Maxton. She'd begin to understand why he'd made the choices he had. She'd see that he hadn't been trying to deceive her or hurt her. She'd finally get that everything he'd done, had been for the express purpose of protecting her, of keeping their family together and safe. He'd told himself these lies over and over again until the continued disappointment simply became too much and he began to doubt everything he once knew. It had been then that he'd packed the bag, a mix of lighter fluid, cloths, and memories … complete with one other thing – a loaded handgun.
She looked towards the stairs again as she waited to hear the voice on the other side of the line. "Yes," she said softly, her eyes closing in grateful thanks. "This is Phyllis Summers. There's someone in my house and I need some help." She paused as she listened to the response. "No, I … I don't know. I just … I can hear them upstairs and I know it's not someone I know. My boyfriend isn't … He's not here and …" She swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how dry her mouth had become. "414 Woodridge Court," she said as quietly as possible.
"Damn!" Nick tossed his phone into the passenger seat as he pressed down harder on the gas. The unsettled feeling in his stomach only seemed to grow in intensity as he drove down the darkened streets. She hadn't answered his questions when he'd asked if something was wrong. Her evasiveness was telling, but her tone was even more disturbing. She sounded almost … frightened and Phyllis didn't frighten easily.
He replayed every word she said, trying desperately to think of something that might give him an indication of what was wrong. His mind flashed to her conversation earlier about the smell of gas, but he pushed it out of his mind almost as quickly. There was no reason for her to be frightened about that. The tone was far more concerned, far more immediate, almost pleading … desperate.
The traffic light suddenly switched to red and he huffed again. He needed to get to her, to see for himself that she was okay. Deep down, he already knew she wasn't.
One more month and then he no longer had to live with this misery. Yesterday had marked that month. Cameron sat down on the edge of the bed as he looked around the room. There was something almost comforting about finally making the decision. He'd kept the promise, at least the one he'd made to himself. He wouldn't have to hurt anymore. No one would. The insurance would cover everything. They'd all be better off and he could die in this house … just like he planned.