The Beast of Barcroft Read Online Free Page B

toilet and flushed.

Chapter 3
    M ONDAY, N OVEMBER 10
    Ben slept poorly that night. Actually, he was not sure if he had slept at all. It was hard to tell where his groggy wakefulness ended and the nightmares began. The attack replayed over and over in his mind and he rose early Monday morning before the alarm, irritable and with a headache.
    The dog was not there to greet him. It was happening all over again, he thought. It had taken months for Ben to adjust to life without Rachel and now not even Bucky was there to distract him. His mind, lethargic and aching, raced back to the last time he saw her, right here in this room.
    It was morning on an early summer day and already sweltering, the air so still and humid it draped over the neighborhood like a shroud. She stood by the open door, silhouetted by the bright light streaming into the room. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a quick and practical ponytail, ready for the business at hand. She was athletic and tall, tall enough that whenever she had worn heels, she had him by two inches. Compared to her lithe figure, his looked compact, bullish. And his expression was always stern—even when he did not intend it to be—while her features were open and welcoming. With the sunlight, he had to squint to discern them now. As if she were already fading.
    Bucky sniffed her hand and she patted his head absently. He must have thought they were all going for a walk.
    “You didn’t have to take off of work, Ben. I could have loaded all of that.”
    He shrugged. It was a task, albeit one he despised and disagreed with entirely. That was his way: He always put his head down and plowed through anything unpleasant. This was no different. However, there was nothing left to do now. Her little Honda was overflowing with bags and lamps and pillows and picture frames. It could take no more. When he finally met her gaze, he saw tears in her eyes.
    “Oh, you’re crying now?” he spat, suddenly angry. He fought to keep his face from contorting in contempt. “Don’t forget, this was your idea. All of it.”
    If he drew her into an argument, maybe she would step away from that bright door. Maybe she would stay longer.
    “I’m so sorry, Ben. I tried. I tried so hard.”
    She wasn’t taking the bait. It was maddening.
    “You’re bailing, Rachel. When I need you the most. Call it whatever you want to call it,” he said, pointing at the door, “but this is fucking
desertion
.”
    “I’ve begged you for months to snap out of it.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and cleared her throat. “Don’t act like this is unexpected.”
    There,
he thought,
that’s better.
You can’t win an argument unless you argue. He might still win.
    “I thought it was a rough patch. I never thought you were serious.”
    “Ben, last week I heard you yell ‘Fuck!’ from the kitchen and when I ran in, I saw you picking a fork off the floor. A
fork
! No mess, nothing broken,
no big deal,
but you bellowed like your foot had been caught in a bear trap.”
    “I told you, I had seven things going on at once—”
    “You’re always pissed, yet you’re never present. And you always have an excuse. That’s just the latest example.” She shook her head. “I actually thought you were hurt.”
    He flung his arms wide. “I am hurt!”
    Rachel breathed a heavy sigh. Bucky, realizing a walk was no longer in the offing, trotted to the empty spot in front of the fireplace, circled once, and flopped down with a sigh of his own.
    “I loved your father too, Ben,” she said. “I miss him too.”
    “Don’t invoke my father when you’re walking out the fucking door.”
    She slung her overnight bag over her shoulder.
    “I’ll be back this weekend with my girlfriends to pick up my furniture. Please make it easy on everyone and don’t be here.”
    She turned.
This is really happening,
he thought.
There are no arguments left to win.
He swallowed hard.
    “Don’t go.”
    She turned around.
    He gritted his