Mud Vein Read Online Free PDF Page A

for hours at a time: a drawing of two sparrows that hangs in the living room, the bright red toaster, the keypad at the front door which is the portal to our freedom. Isaac stares at the snow more than anything else. He stands at the sink and looks out the window where it falls slowly.
     
    On day four I am so tired of staring at things that I ask Isaac about his wife. I notice that his wedding ring is missing, and I wonder if he took it off, or if they did. Almost instinctively his fingers reach for the ghost of the ring. ‘ They’ took it off , I think.
    We are sitting at the kitchen table, our breakfast of oatmeal recently consumed. My nails—bitten down to the quick—are stinging. He’s just commented on how large and awkward the table is: a big, round block of wood supported by a circular base thicker than two tree trunks.
    Initially he looks alarmed that I’ve asked. Then something breaks open in his eyes. He doesn’t have time to hide it. I see every last speck of emotion, and it hurts me.
    “She’s an oncologist,” he says. I nod, my mouth dry. That’s a good fit for him.
    “What’s her name?”
    I already know her name.
    “Daphne” he says. Daphne Akela. “We’ve been married for two years. You met her once.”
    Yes, I remember.
    He scratches his head, right above his ear, then smooths what he’s disturbed with the heel of his hand.
    “What would Daphne be doing right now … with you missing?” I ask, folding my legs underneath me.
    He clears his throat. “She’s a mess, Senna.”
    It’s a matter-of-fact statement with an obvious answer. I don’t know why I asked, except to be cruel. No one is looking for me, except maybe the media. Bestselling Author Vanishes. Isaac has people. People who love him.
    “What about you?” he says, turning it on me. “Are you married?”
    I tug on my grey, wind it around my finger, slide it behind my ear.
    “Do you really need to ask me that?”
    He laughs coldly. “No, I suppose not. Were you seeing anyone?”
    “Nope.”
    He folds in his lips, nods. He knows me, too … sort of. “What happened to—”
    I cut him off. “I haven’t spoken to him in a long time.”
    “Even after you wrote the book?”
    I put my crusty oatmeal spoon in my mouth and suck off the hardened oats. “Even after the book,” I say, not meeting his eyes. I want to ask if he read it, but I’m too chicken.
    “He probably has a Daphne, too, by now. You’re not human unless you pair off with someone, right? Find your soulmate or the love of your life—or whatever.” I wave it away like I don’t care.
    “People have a need to feel connected to someone else,” Isaac says. “There is nothing wrong with that. There is also nothing wrong with being too burned to stay away from it.”
    My head jerks up. What? Does he think he’s the soul whisperer?
    “I don’t need anyone,” I assure him.
    “I know.”
    “No you don’t,” I insist.
    I feel bad for snapping at him, especially since I initiated the conversation. But I don’t like what he’s insinuating—that he knows me or something.
    Isaac looks down at his empty bowl. “You’re so self-assured, sometimes I forget to check on you. Are you okay, Senna? Have you been—”
    I cut him off. “I’ve been fine, Isaac. Let’s not go there.” I stand up. “I’m going to mess with the keypad.”
    I can feel his eyes on me as I leave. I stand at the door and start pressing random number combinations. We have been taking turns trying to guess the four-digit code, a pretty stupid idea since there are ten thousand possible combinations, except there is nothing else to do, so why not? Isaac found a pen and we write the codes we try on the wall next to the door so we don’t use repeats.
    We have hidden knives in every room of the house: a steak knife under each mattress, a serrated knife the length of my forearm underneath the couch cushions in the little living room, a butcher knife in the bathroom under the sink, a