Blood Loss. Alex Barclay

say a word,’ said Mark.

      Erica made an expression to mimic his.

      ‘But two bottles – really?’ said Mark. ‘We’ve got snowboarding tomorrow, the championships, the kids …’

      ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ said Erica.

      ‘Emphasis on the “me”,’ said Mark.

      Erica rolled her eyes.

      ‘From the lady with the horror of eye-rolling,’ said Mark. ‘There was an emphasis,’ he said. ‘Subconscious or not …’

      ‘That is not fair,’ said Erica. ‘You know I’m not like that.’

      ‘Do you know something?’ said Mark. ‘Being mean when you’re drunk is a drink problem too …’

      ‘Wow,’ said Erica. Mark wasn’t looking at her. ‘What has gotten into you?’ She waited. ‘Mark, look at me.’

      He did.

      ‘Are you OK?’ she said.

      ‘You’re seriously asking me that,’ said Mark, ‘after everything I just said …’

      Erica’s eyes were alight. ‘Oh my God, I have put up with so much shit from you. For months! Have you any clue? You work late, or you’re locked away in the den—’

      ‘It’s been really busy. You know that—’

      ‘We have sex once a month—’ said Erica.

      Mark looked at her like she was nuts.

      ‘Trust me,’ said Erica. She paused. ‘Once a month … I feel hideous.’

      ‘Hideous?’ said Mark. ‘What the …?’ His face was stricken.

      ‘I’m thirty-nine years old and I feel like a hag,’ she said. ‘My husband barely comes near me. So forgive me for asking if everything is all right. And it’s not just about sex. It’s about you being distant. From all of us. Sure, here we are in a beautiful hotel, but what’s the point? I’ve tried tonight, and no, I’m still getting nothing from you. So, forgive me for trying to get something from a bottle of champagne.’

      Mark said nothing.

      ‘I’m your wife,’ said Erica. ‘I know you. I’m not asking if you’re OK for the hell of it. I’m asking because I know that everything is not OK. I’m asking a question I know the answer to, whether you do or not, whether you’re lying to me or not. I’m giving you an out, Mark. I’m giving you a chance to tell me the truth. Because I know you. And, therefore, I know that something is not right.’ Her chest was heaving. ‘Do you even know the significance of this weekend?’

      ‘What?’ said Mark. ‘Of course I do. I’m the one who’s spent years trying to get a judge to let me have my daughter overnight—’

      ‘You’re not the only one,’ said Erica. ‘I was there too. I was the one who helped to change that judge’s mind, who gave you the stability to—’

      ‘I gave myself the stability,’ said Mark. ‘I’m the one who went for treatment, I’m the—’

      ‘Anyway, I’m not talking about Laurie,’ said Erica. ‘I’m talking about us.’

      Mark paused. ‘Our anniversary is Tuesday. Not tonight. Not this weekend. Seriously, Erica. Did you think I’d forgotten?’

      Erica looked away. ‘I … yes. I did. I’m sorry.’

      Mark shook his head. ‘Why would you think I’d forget that?’

      ‘Because of everything I just said to you. And because …’

      ‘Because what?’ said Mark.

      Erica looked him in the eye. ‘Mark, are you seeing someone else?’

      He stared at her. He took a deep breath. Then he threw his napkin onto the table. ‘I’m going to check on the kids.’

      Ren and Cliff waited as Glenn Buddy held his hand over the phone to talk to a nurse.

      He came back on the line. ‘The vic won’t be ready to talk any time soon.’

      ‘Were there any signs of forced entry at the house?’ said Cliff.

      ‘Yup,’ said Glenn. ‘He broke in the back door. She was alone; her parents were at the movies.’

      ‘And you think it’s the same guy …?’ said Cliff.

       Even though it’s forced entry in the victim’s own home.

      Ren glanced at Cliff, but he missed it.

      ‘Yes,’ said Glenn. ‘Similar build, frenzied, same unwashed smell, terrible breath, stab wounds in all the same places.’

      Ren knew where those places were and it was horrific.

      ‘Anything left at the scene this time?’ said Cliff.

      ‘Nothing that hopped out,’ said Glenn. ‘Our Evidence Response Team’s going through it. And we’re still trying to round up kids from the Kennington party. It’s The Silent Order of the Teenage Freaks …’

      ‘What do you need from us?’ said Cliff. ‘Shoot.’

      Mark Whaley rode the elevator to the third floor of The Merlin Lodge and Spa. He jogged down the dark hallway. He turned the key in the door of Room 304. The sitter – blonde, curvy, sixteen years old – was standing in front of him … naked.

      5

      The restaurant at The Merlin had emptied, apart from Erica Whaley. She sat scrolling through her cell phone, glancing up when her husband appeared in the restaurant doorway, then turning her eyes back to the screen. Mark sat down. His heart was pounding. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples.

      For minutes, they sat in silence. Erica had put away her phone and was staring at the floor.

      She spoke quietly. ‘I don’t want to be this couple,’ she said.

      ‘What couple?’ said Mark.

      ‘I don’t want to be two people staring across a table trying to find the person they fell in love with.’ Tears slid down her face.

      For a long time, Mark Whaley said nothing. Then he reached out and squeezed her hand. Pulling her with him, he stood up and took her in his arms. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I … you’re right. I’ve been … I am so sorry. I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my whole life. I am not seeing anyone else. I am so hurt that you asked. You are my world, Erica Whaley. And anything I have ever said or done that may have made you think otherwise is wrong. I can’t bear it. I can’t bear any of this.’

      Erica pulled back. ‘Any of what?’ she said, squeezing his arms.

      ‘Just … conflict,’ he said. ‘Life.’

      ‘Life?’ said Erica. ‘Life is wonderful.’

      He hugged her tight. ‘Life is wonderful,’ he said over her shoulder, out to the world.

      ‘How are the kids?’ said Erica.

      ‘Asleep,’ said Mark. ‘Let’s stay a while longer – the sitter was in the middle of watching something on the television. I’m sure she won’t mind.’

      Ren Bryce pulled out the top drawer of her desk to get some gum. The list of new psychiatrists she had so enthusiastically printed out at five a.m. the previous month was folded there, as likely to be used as the throat lozenges, the broken watch, and the birthday candles. After all, she was fine.

       Shit – Gary’s email.

      Ren grabbed her mouse and went to