by name on the floor in front of her. The colors corresponded to years, which meant that over the last six years, Paul had paid to have eighteen women stalked.
Or worse.
Claire did not tell Lydia that this was likely the tip of the iceberg. While they were out in the garage, she had remembered the storage room in the basement under the main house. Claire had forgotten about the room because she’d only seen it once when they first moved in. This fact would probably sound unbelievable to Lydia, but the basement was huge. There was a screening room, a full gym, a locker room with sauna and steam room, a massage room, a wine cellar, a billiards room with both a pool table and a ping-pong table, a guest suite with full bath, a caterers’ kitchen at the base of the elevator, a stocked bar, and a seating area large enough to comfortably accommodate twenty people.
Was it any wonder that Claire had forgotten about a room the size of a jail holding area?
Paul was too organized to be called a hoarder, but he liked to keep things. Claire had always chalked up his collections to having lost everything when his parents died, but now she was seeing a more sinister motivation. He’d built shelves downstairs in the storage closet to hold the many plastic file boxes that he’d been filling since his time at Auburn. When they’d first moved into the house, he’d shown Claire the artifacts he’d kept from their early years—the first birthday card she’d ever given him, a note scribbled on paper that recorded the first time she’d ever written him the words “I love you.”
At the time, Claire had found his collection awfully sweet, but now all she could think about was that there were dozens of boxes down there, and that three women a year for the last eighteen years would mean fifty-four more folders filled with fifty-four more unspeakable violations.
There was one file that Lydia would never see. Her sister was disturbed enough by the contents of the folders. If she found out that Paul had done the same to her, there would be no going back.
“Are you all right?” Lydia looked up from the report she was reading. “Do you want to go lie down?”
“I’m fine,” Claire said, but her eyelids felt heavy. Her body was so tired that her hands were trembling. She had read somewhere or heard somewhere that criminals always go to sleep after they confess their crimes. Concealing their bad acts took up so much energy that having the truth laid bare brought on a deep, sweet sleep.
Had she confessed to Lydia? Or had she just shared a burden?
Claire closed her eyes. Her breathing got deeper. She was awake—she could still hear Lydia greedily thumbing through pages—but she was also asleep, and in that sleep, she felt herself dipping into a dream. There was no narrative, just fragments of a typical day. She was at her desk paying bills. She was practicing the piano. She was in the kitchen trying to come up with a grocery list. She was making phone calls to raise money for the Christmas toy drive. She was studying the shoes in her closet, trying to put together an outfit to wear to lunch.
Through all of this, she could feel Paul’s presence in the house. They were very independent people. They’d always had their own interests, done their own things, but Claire always felt reassured when Paul was close by. Light bulbs would be changed. Faults would be cleared from the security system. The remote control would be deciphered. Trash would be taken out. Clothes would be folded. Batteries would be charged. Big spoons and little spoons would never mingle in the silverware drawer.
He was such a sturdy, capable man. She liked that he was taller than she was. She liked that she had to look up at him when they were dancing. She liked the way she felt when his arms were around her. He was so much stronger than Claire. Sometimes, he would pick her up. She would feel her feet lift off the ground. His chest felt so solid against hers. He would tease her about something silly, and she would laugh because she knew that he loved hearing her laugh, and then he would say, “Tell me you want this.”
Claire jerked awake. Her arms flew up as if to ward off a blow. Her throat felt scratchy. Her heart clicked