For Rye Gavin Gardiner (best book club books for discussion TXT) 📖

thicket. From her vantage point behind a dense mass of overgrowth, she could see two figures through the lit window standing over the counter of a large kitchen. She swept the rain from her eyes and squinted, reaching for the details. It was the same drained woman from the televised press conference: Eleanor Rye.

And him.

Renata could feel the solemnity of Quentin and Eleanor’s words in the movement of their lips. Without warning, the woman threw her hand across the counter sending empty glasses smashing against the wall and the cross around her neck flailing on its chain. She fell sobbing into her ex-husband’s arms. Renata could feel the turtleneck against her face as the woman burrowed into the crook of his shoulder, just as she had done. She could see the sincerity of Rye’s actions in the way he pulled her body into his, stroked her blonde hair, pecked her forehead. This was no game, no experiment. The woman in his arms was no guinea pig.

Renata’s aching hands clenched into fists.

He held Eleanor in front of him and spoke words that caused the woman’s hysterics to abate. As water poured over Renata’s face, she watched the pair gaze silently into one another’s eyes. She knew what was coming, but was still somehow totally unprepared for it.

Their lips met.

Renata stared through the darkness, gouging her palms. Her waterlogged clothes clung to shivering skin as her hands clenched harder. Sparks ignited in her veins and shot through every capillary. She gazed as the rain battered her, fists from above. She felt the rage inside kick like an overdue baby. Something within had awoken from a stagnant symbiosis; what was once dormant now flared with malice.

She watched the couple’s long embrace before Eleanor finally slipped from his arms, kissed his cheek, and left the room. This was her moment.

Renata stood.

She stared as Rye stepped from the side door and stood beneath the overhang, gazing into the rain. It had been hard to tell if he’d seen her when he’d gone to the window to look out after she’d thrown the pebble at the glass, but it was indisputable where his eyes now fell: the trail of tiny, bloodied teeth leading from the side door and down the garden path, glowing in the moonlight like cat’s eyes down a motorway.

He’d reached inside to activate a security light, then stood staring at the trail in horror, trying to make out the blood-spotted white pearls leading down the path, knowing what they were but hanging on desperately to blind denial. He stumbled back, one hand gripping a stone balustrade as the undeniable truth finally hit home. His jaw trembled as his eyes followed the grisly trail, a twisted Hansel and Gretel re-enactment gone wrong, until they met with the dark figure in the shadows. He reached inside to switch off the security light then slowly closed the door, before crossing his arms against the driving downpour and following the trail of teeth to the woman at the bottom of the garden.

Renata, keeping her glare fixed on him, stepped backwards through the rain and behind the vast trunk of a towering elm, leading him further from the house. The distance between them closed. She backed into a brick wall at the foot of the garden, over which red vines stretched like exposed veins.

Rye stood white-faced by the elm, placing a hand against the bark to steady himself. ‘Is…she alive?’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you doing here?’

She rubbed at the pain in her hands. ‘You came to my house, now I’ve come to yours.’ She nodded behind him towards the teeth leading up the path. ‘Those are just a little punishment for your conduct last time we saw each other.’ She reached into her pocket and tossed a single tooth towards him. He leapt back as if it were a live grenade. ‘Punishment for you both, I suppose.’

The giant elm shook overhead as a harsh gale picked up around them. The moonlight lit their faces but little else, two floating, wide-eyed scowls staring each other down in the darkness. The wall of crimson vines was just visible behind Renata, those creeping veins emanating around her. She held her hands out into the rain, scrubbing them like a pre-op surgeon, unflinching as the torrents lashed around her. Rye watched the shadow-cloaked figure from beneath the tree, his chest heaving with quick, adrenaline-fuelled respiration.

‘I need you to do something for me,’ she spoke calmly through the storm. He leant forward to discern her delicate words. ‘It’s O’Connell. I need you to get him to cease his investigation into the disappearance of the girl. I don’t want him bothering me anymore.’

Rye slowly straightened. ‘Maybe I’m happy with him investigating.’

‘Maybe. But if I tell him about your dirty deeds, then you can be happy about it in a prison cell. I’ve seen your operation here, your little search committee. I know you have it in your power to make him stop.’ He stared, unflinching. Renata huffed. ‘Fine, I’ll deal with him myself.’

‘You knew I’d say no.’

‘Yes. I just…’ The corners of her mouth turned up. ‘…wanted to see you.’

He took a step towards her. ‘All right, Renata. I’ll try. But you have to tell me what it is you want out of all this, out of my daughter. Everything I did, I did it for my work. You’re doing this for revenge. What you’ve put Sandie through, she’ll never be the same. I’ll never be the same. Isn’t that enough?’

She ripped a loose strand of hair from her scalp. ‘You know it isn’t.’

A fresh torrent swept over the scene.

‘What do you WANT from me?’ he suddenly yelled through the rain. The figure in the darkness remained still, the whites of her eyes piercing through the night’s blackness. His tone softened. ‘Listen, if I’m responsible for what you’ve become, then you’re