Chapter 5 - I Stopped Arguing With the Voice
I will not pretend to describe what I felt, driving home that night beside my husband, knowing what I now knew and having to keep my face still.
There is no word for it.
But underneath the horror, something hard and clear had taken hold, and it was the same thing that had made me a good auditor: once I know a thing is true, I do not look away from it, no matter how much I would prefer to.
For a week, I acted perfectly normal while I prepared.
I bought a small voice recorder, and a hidden camera disguised as an ordinary phone charger — the kind of thing that plugs into a wall outlet and looks like nothing at all.
I did not fully know what I intended to do with them.
I only knew that whatever was being done to me in that house was going to be witnessed, this time, by something that could not be dismissed with a joke about my blood sugar.
And then Diane called, on a Thursday, and asked us to come early that Sunday, because Raymond had invited two important guests up from San Diego.
A chill went straight through me, because I understood, now, that in that house nothing was innocent, and that the presence of guests meant the machine was being pointed at someone — and I had a terrible, certain feeling about who.
May you like
I said yes.
I said yes because the quiet voice, which I was finally obeying, told me that this was the night the whole thing would finally show its face, and that I needed to be there, awake, with a camera running, to catch it when it did.
