Dark Corners READY FOR PRC (16 page)

A loud, official sounding knock on my front door drew me out of my warm memories of Molly’s and back into my cold living room. I started for the door, then had a terrible thought.  What if it was Sexton coming to harass me again? I hesitated, looking at my watch. Where had the time gone?  It had been nearly five hours since I sat down, though it felt like minutes. It was after six and the sun was setting. The knocking persisted, only louder. I wedged my foot against the door as I cracked it open to see who was outside.

“It took you long enough. I almost had to break in,” Gabriel said when our eyes met.

“Isn’t that illegal?” I opened the door wide.

“Not if you’re a cop.”

“No, I'm pretty sure it is even if you are a cop. I know this is a small town, but there’s still this thing called a warrant.  You kinda should have one before you go into someone’s house uninvited.”

“So
that’s
how it works.”

I grinned back.

“Now what was that call about this afternoon?  I almost came over but—”

“But you can’t drop everything for the girl who cried wolf one too many times.”

“No, because I didn't want to push after you said not to come over. So what happened?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Tell me.” I shook my head. “Do I have to insist?”

I sighed. “All right, all right.”  I ran through what had happened. Maybe it was just my imagination, but Gabriel seemed surprised to hear that I had seen a real face, that I could identify an actual person, not just another phantom.

“You should file a police report. Press charges.”

“I don’t want to cause problems. Besides, I've dealt with the police department enough for one life time.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Not you.  You’re fine, just
them—
the damn good ol’ boys.”

“They’re not so bad. They have good hearts once you get past their rough exteriors. If you don’t want to file a report, though I think you should, I'm at least going to have a come to Jesus talk with him.”

“You could, but you may just piss him off more and make my life even more miserable in the process.”

“No, I recognize his type. Bullies only respond to strength. If he sees you as just some woman he can torment. He’ll never stop.”

“Thank you, Mr. After School Special.”

Gabriel ignored my snide remark. “What else happened today?”

“Nothing. I saw Dr. Livingston, had coffee with some guy that I met a while ago, freaked myself out over a strange car as I was walking home, then had the incident with Mr. Sexton. After that I sat down to write.”

Gabriel's head tilted slightly back and he spoke slowly as if measuring his words.   “Was your coffee date planned?”

“It wasn't a date. I ran into him in the hospital—actually I keep running into him. It’s kind of strange. . . .”

“This guy, where’d you meet him?”

“O’Malley’s.”

“Hmph.”

“Apparently he works at the same hospital as my shrink.”

“That’s convenient.” Gabriel's voice had taken on a new sharper edge to it.

“What?” I had a sinking suspicion that things were about to become awkward between us. I wasn't dating Grant nor did I have any intentions of dating him, but I wasn't dating Gabriel either.

“Don’t you find that odd? What do you know about this man?”

“Not a lot. He seems to know more about me than I do about him, but who doesn't these days? And I really don't find it odd that we ran into each other—I'm bound to run into the same people here.  It’s Hicksville, remember?”

“What’s his name? I can check around.”

“Grant … I can’t remember his last name … Actually I don’t think he ever told me his last name.”

“What does he want?”

“I don’t know. He claims to want to be my friend.” Gabriel looked at me as if that was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard, which pissed me off a little. “Yes, believe it or not, some people actually do want to be my friend even if they aren’t investigating a murder. Amazing, I know.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I shrugged. “Who made you my guardian anyway?”

“Well, if you don’t want help…”

Gabriel was Detective Troy again, but his face held anger beneath its calm surface. Before I could determine how to approach the situation, his phone rang. He answered, but spoke curtly.   His end of the conversation was cryptic, making it impossible to determine what the call was about. He snapped his phone shut.

“I have to go.”

“Fine.”

“Yeah, great.” He walked out the door and probably out of my life.

     I watched his car go and started to feel a little melancholy. Why did I have to be so difficult? Would it kill me to take it easy on someone just once? The same truck that was there this morning was back. I was still on the porch, trying to get a better look, when it started and drove off without headlights. I watched it disappear down the road, trying to convince myself it was just a coincidence, wishing I knew which house the truck belonged to. 

While brushing my teeth, I heard the door open downstairs. I went to the railing and looked down into the living room. I thought I saw a shadow move towards the kitchen. With a lack of other options, I quietly retrieved the baseball bat from beneath my bed and crept downstairs. What I would do with it if I caught someone wasn't entirely clear to me. In reality, the intruder would probably take it away from me, or, even worse, use it on me, but right now it made me feel better to have it.

Why did it always have to be the kitchen? I went the back way, hoping to surprise the intruder, peeking around corners with an awful case of butterflies.  It felt like I was in a bad horror movie where the heroine runs to a room without any exits rather than out the door. Except, I found nothing. I searched the entire house, but found no trace of anyone. Coming up from the basement, I heard footsteps upstairs. I rechecked the second floor to the same result. As soon as I started back to my room I heard noises downstairs again, but I was not going to play this game of cat and mouse any longer. I went into my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. If anyone was in my house that was human, he would have to pick the lock or break down the door. If it were a ghost …well, there wasn’t a lot I could do about it, was there? 

I lay in bed, my mind shouting possibilities of all the terrible things that waited outside of my door, watching the door. Finally, accepting the fact I wasn’t going to get any sleep if I didn’t do something, I went into the bathroom. The only thing I could find was Nyquil, but that’d work. I took a hearty dose and headed to bed.

Chapter Nine

The next morning I showered, dressed, and brushed my teeth. Surprisingly there was no residual lag from the cold medicine; in fact, I felt great. I walked into the kitchen, humming. Maybe it would be a good day.

My eyes lifted from the pair of dark brown shoes that stood in the center of my kitchen in slow motion up to the tan chinos. I couldn’t make my eyes move any faster or break the paralysis of the fear that seized my body. My eyes reached the man’s plaid shirt and his strong, meaty looking hands thumbing through my mail as if he had every right to be there. His clothes looked like that of an upstanding citizen, but his eyes were something else. When my eyes finally met his, a sinister smile spread across his handsome face, but never reached those cold, reptilian eyes.

My heart skipped a beat, maybe several. I backpedaled as fast as I could. Turning myself around, I sprinted to the front door, a scream lodged in my throat. The door wouldn't open. I pulled with my whole body, but it stayed firm.

I could hear the man casually walking up the hall behind me. Too afraid to look, I dashed up the stairs and barricaded myself in my room. He meandered up behind me as if he had all the time in the world. His heavy footsteps thudded directly to my bedroom door. Each loud thump was like a hammer hitting my head.  I sank to the floor against the door, pulling my knees into my chest, and covering my ears. The door behind my head vibrated with each slow, deliberate knock. I could not panic. . . . I would never survive if I panicked. The third knock was accompanied by a shrill ringing noise. I wondered if I was screaming, but then I realized the sound wasn’t coming from me….

My eyes popped open, darting around the room for a threat. The fog from my dream stubbornly lingered even as I sat up tangled in the sheets of my bed and covered in sweat. My heart was thumping so hard I could feel the vibrations in my ears. My hands were shaking and chills coursed down my spine. The phone kept ringing. With effort I freed an arm and answered, still groggy and sluggish from the Nyquil.

“Hello?” I said, my voice scratchy, my mouth dry.

“Thinking about me?” someone whispered

I dropped the phone like it was a snake and struggled to clear my mind. Surely I’d misheard. I picked it back up. “What? Hello?”

My frantic reaction was met with a low, deliberate chuckle.

“Who is this?”

“That’s the wrong question, Ella.
Who
I am doesn’t matter. It’s what I'm going to do that should concern you,” the person hissed.  “I like watching you sleep. See you soon.” The phone went dead.

The full weight of terror hit me at once. That was Danny's killer. It was hard to breath. Was he bluffing, or had he been in my house?  Had he seen me sleeping? I grabbed my cell and scrambled out to the porch, not bothering to get dressed. I couldn’t stay in the house a moment longer. I decided Detective Troy was the only person who would give me the benefit of a doubt, but he didn't answer. I sat the phone down on the railing and started walking, not knowing or caring where I was going, but needing to get away. I walked without seeing for a long while in a trance of fear and helplessness. When I finally started to wake from my stupor, I was at the cemetery. I hadn’t visited Danny’s grave since the funeral, because I didn’t want to keep reliving his death. I lingered at the entrance searching for a reason not to go in.