Grim Reaper 01 - Embrace the Grim Reaper

and holding her shoulder. When she saw nothing, she crept to the back door. She was relieved to find the door unlocked.
    She entered what looked to be a mudroom and closed the door quietly behind her. Tiptoeing her way through the space and into the kitchen, she went through the house, checking each room on the first floor. Eric was not there.
    She climbed the stairs, sticking to the edges, where they were less likely to creak, and paused on the landing. Three rooms. All with wide open doors.
    Eric was in the first one. He lay, fully clothed, diagonally across his bed, his mouth open, his face relaxed in sleep. She went in and placed her hand over his mouth. His eyes flew open, and he sat up, pushing her hand away.
    “My God, Casey, where have you been ?”
    She sat on the bed, next to him, feeling the warmth of his sleep on the sheets. “I’m sorry. I just…I can’t get into this kind of thing with the police.”
    “ This kind of thing ? Exactly what does that mean?”
    She blanched.
    “I’m sorry,” Eric said. “I’m sorry. It was self-defense. I know that. They know that.”
    “Do they?”
    He looked at her for a long moment before climbing out of the bed and going to the window, where he put a hand on the wall and peered out into the yard. He looked fragile in the moonlight seeping through the window. “You do realize you killed him.”
    “Yes. Yes, I do.”
    “I didn’t think—”
    “I didn’t mean to, Eric. He was just so strong, and coming at me so hard, and so fast.”
    He turned back toward her. “I know. I told the police.”
    “But Eric, you weren’t there.”
    “Yes,” he said. “I was.” The look in his eyes brooked no argument.
    “I can’t ask you to lie for me.”
    “You didn’t. You haven’t. But I know what happened.”
    “Do you?” She remembered his wild eyes, staring at her across the sidewalk. Across the bodies.
    He was silent for a few moments. “I thought so.”
    He came back to the bed and sat next to her. He took her hand, studying her fingers. She left her hand in his, feeling nothing from him but a childlike fascination as he ran his own fingers along hers.
    “Leila knows who you are,” Eric said.
    Casey froze.
    “She wouldn’t let it be. She looked and looked until she found you.”
    Casey pulled her hand from his. “Did she?”
    “She used your first name, assuming that, at least, was true. She got the librarian to tell her the name on your driver’s license, and the issuing state.”
    Oh, Stacy, you dumb man .
    Eric turned toward her. “And now I know. I know , Casey Maldonado.”
    Casey wrapped her arms around her stomach, hugging herself. She stood. “I have to go.”
    “No!” He jumped up and got between Casey and the doorway. “You can’t run away just because I know.”
    “Oh, really? And what exactly is it you know , Eric?”
    “About your husband. Your…your son.”
    Casey hiccupped. “You don’t…you can’t know .”
    “You can’t keep running away, Casey. You’ve got to face it.”
    She jabbed a finger in his chest, and he winced, holding his hands up to defend himself. “I have to face it? Do you even understand what it is I have to face? ”
    “I thought—”
    “They’re dead, Eric. Dead . They died in front of my eyes. Exploded into a million pieces, while I was thrown clear. Twenty feet away, into a clump of cattails. I should have been in there with them. I should have…”
    She feinted toward the door, but he caught her elbow and spun her back, crushing her to him, his arms around her, pinning her own arms against her body. She fought at first, squirming, kicking, trying to take his feet out from under him, but he held fast, not allowing her leverage.
    “Let me go!” she cried into his chest. “Let me go! ”
    Eric lifted her off the ground and carried her, still fighting, to the bed, where he fell onto it, holding her beneath him, his height and weight enough to keep her captive, his legs on top of hers, not giving her a chance to get into a position to fight back. She screamed and cried, picturing Reuben, Omar, Ricky, her mother…Lillian and Rosemary, the woman with the bad hair…Eric, and Ellen…even the dead man she’d left on the sidewalk.
    Eventually she shuddered, and stopped, her breaths coming in gasps, her face, and Eric’s, wet from tears.
    Eric kept his weight on top of her, watching her face, until he dropped his forehead gently onto hers. “Can I let you go now?”
    “No. No, don’t let