Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy) (5 page)

Lacey’s eyelids felt like they’d been glued together, her body like it was made of cement. In between her deep breaths came the popping, crunching sound of tires on gravel.

He forgot my cleaning supplies. Nothing to do today...again.

She forced her head to the side and her eyes open. Squinting from the brightness of the golden rays streaming into the room, Lacey looked at the alarm clock. Seven-fifteen. About four and a half hours of sleep. Not nearly enough.

May as well spend the day in bed.

Lacey rolled over, yawning as she snuggled her cheek against the pillow.

Serial Killer Jogger.

She sat bolt upright.

What time had it been when I saw him?

Lacey’s eyes darted to the window a second before she did the same. She looked in the direction the man had come from, but like it was the other way, only a few feet of road was visible before a dense stretch of trees swallowed it. 

Does he jog every morning? Will he stop to check on me again?

Lacey pressed her cheek against the cool windowpane, straining to see something, anything.

She saw nothing. 

Deep inhale, slow exhale as she backed away from the window.

Does he live nearby? How close? Is it just him or does he have a family?

Lacey didn’t know which was worse now—not having or having neighbors. Being alone in the middle of nowhere wasn’t nearly as bad as being alone in the middle of nowhere with quite possibly only one other person who could very well be a health-conscious psychopath. 

Paranoia, party of one—right over here, please.

“Pepper spray,” Lacey murmured, undressing as she walked across the room. “Definitely a must-have.” She swung open the closet door. “Two ca—”

The last word turned into a snort of disgust when Lacey caught a glimpse of her naked body in the full-length mirror she’d forgotten was there. She quickly looked away, anger bubbling up inside of her. Amelia’s second home had been the beauty salon owned by her best friend, a short, pudgy woman named Beatrice who lived to kiss Amelia’s toned ass, which meant whatever she wanted she got—and Lacey did, too.

The facials, manicures and pedicures had been boring but tolerable. The anal bleaching—not so much. After the latter, Lacey had begun secretly referring to their weekly trips as Mortifying Monday’s. And after years of enduring full-body waxes—the first of which Lacey had received on her tenth birthday—her hair had simply stopped growing. Now, every time she saw herself naked, she was reminded of that prepubescent girl who had been willing to do anything for her mother’s approval. And because of it, she hated herself more than she did Amelia.

You’re supposed to be focusing your hate on him, not her or yourself.

“Get with the program, dumb ass,” Lacey mumbled.

She gave her underarms a tentative sniff, pleased when the scent of vanilla filled her nose—a person could skimp on a lot of things but a good deodorant wasn’t one of them. As much as she’d like a shower, there was no way in hell she was going to use the one in the indoor outhouse until she’d thoroughly disinfected it.

Lacey slipped on Tigger underwear, matching socks, a burgundy tank top and denim jeans in a super faded blue and then slammed the closet door, making a mental note to get rid of the mirror even if it meant having to smash the glass.

Her painfully empty stomach rumbled as she stepped into her shoes. Even though she hadn’t eaten in two days, she wasn’t hungry enough to choke down another pack of Ramen noodles. Recalling the little store they had driven by the day before last, she retrieved her keys and money from the purse on the floor next to the bed, slipped them into her front pocket.

Serial Killer Jogger
.

Lacey’s shoes squeaked as she came to an abrupt stop in the hallway. She glanced over her shoulder and into her bedroom, chewing on her thumbnail as she eyed the window.

Chicken shit.

Lacey glared at the nasty commode as she entered the bathroom. She lined the seat with a thick layer of toilet paper, peed for what felt like two minutes straight, and then washed her hands. Took a swig from the bottle of mouthwash stuffed into the small box on the floor. Swished the cool, tingling liquid around in her mouth as she ran downstairs.

After scanning the road, Lacey raced outside. She spit out the mouthwash as she descended the lopsided steps, causing whatever had taken up residence under the porch to scamper when the dark-blue liquid hit the ground. Curiosity getting the better of her, she crouched down to look between the holes of the peeling, gray-white lattice surrounding the porch. There was a flash of white as something zipped across her field of vision with a muted cry. An opossum, maybe? The missing piece of lattice next to the stairs was too small for an adult, so if it was one it had to be an orphaned juvenile seeking shelter from the claws of a world out to shred it to pieces.

Lacey yanked on the thin rotted wood, tripling the size of the opening as a huge chunk broke away. Positioning herself on her side, she peered into the dim hole. Huddled at the back of the porch amongst a string of cobwebs was a solid white kitten, no more than eight weeks old, staring at her with dime-sized eyes of baby blue. 

“I don’t believe I’ve received your rent check for the month,” Lacey said as she inched her hand through the cool dirt. She reached until her arm felt like it was about to pop out of her shoulder and then wiggled her fingers at the kitten almost within her grasp. Its cold pink nose brushed against her fingertips as it came forward just enough to sniff them.

Out of the corner of Lacey’s eye an enormous shadow moved, pulling her gaze from the kitten’s twitching whiskers. Dangling above her cheek was an only slightly smaller version of the giant spider creature from the movie based on Stephen King’s novel
IT
. 

Lacey’s stomach felt like a greasy hamburger sliding off a sizzling hot grill as she looked pleadingly at the kitten. “Just so you know, if that thing falls on me it will be as if I’d never been potty trained.”

After a few hour-long seconds the kitten finally inched forward enough for her to wrap her hand around it. Pulling the frightened animal to her chest, Lacey emulated a sidewinder snake as she slithered far away from the porch before leaping to her feet with a shiver of revulsion. Swatting at her face, she darted back into the house, the mewing kitten wiggling against her as she went into the kitchen to remove a large butcher knife and a dish towel from the box on top of the dining table. 

“Bear with me,” she said as she bolted up the stairs, “I’ve never done this before…but I promise it will be a lot better than where you were.”

Lacey closed the bedroom door so the kitten couldn’t take refuge in another part of the house and then sat down on the floor. “Okay,” she said, holding up the knife, “let’s do this.”

She was about to release the kitten when it shot out of her hand and under the bed in a streak of white. “I see I’m not the only one with trust issues.”

Grinning, Lacey cut a jagged doorway into the empty box and then placed the dish towel inside. Springing to her feet, she wondered if the store sold cat food. If not, she’d have no choice but to introduce the kitten to the depressing world of cheap noodles.

He blinked a few dozen times but the blur didn’t go away; it was like wearing contact lenses made out of plastic wrap. His body felt boneless. Hunger gnawed at his insides like a beaver on a piece of wood. And he was bored. 

No—bored wasn’t a strong enough word. A coma would be more exciting.

Draped across the narrow wooden bench outside the Lil’ Bit O’ Country store, Sammy turned his face toward the sun, wishing it would darken his pale skin so that he didn’t have to look like the walking dead all the time. But it wouldn’t.
Couldn’t.
The only way he could achieve anything other than a pasty white color was to—

Nope, not gonna think about that.
 

The half-eaten candy bar on top of his chest dropped to his lap as Sammy sat up. He balled his fist around it, making the wrapper crinkle, and then tossed it into the trash can next to the bench. Although it wouldn’t be long before he was punished for taking a few bites, he wasn’t ready to go home yet. He wanted to pretend for a little longer that he was just a normal guy chilling out on a lazy Monday afternoon.

Sammy ran his trembling hand over his black Mohawk.
I could dye it blonde. Get some of that fake tan stuff. Blonde hair and orange skin seems to be popular these days.
A weak sigh escaped from between his dry, cracked lips.

Who was he kidding? He didn’t look like he exfoliated with toxic waste or smell like he bathed in raw sewage. Didn’t kick puppies or rob old ladies in his spare time. But none of that mattered. People avoided him like the plague.

Sammy forced himself to stand, legs trembling like that of a newborn colt. He swept a lazy gaze over the forest surrounding the cabin-turned-store. Leaves rustled from the critters underneath them who, unlike he, had a purpose. Birds chirped merrily as they sat on skeletal limbs that resembled his own.

He hopped off the cement porch and onto the gravel parking lot, which didn’t look like it could accommodate more than five cars at a time. As he began kicking the larger rocks, Sammy wondered if Gus, the grumpy old man who owned and operated the store, would get a visitor today. He hadn’t had a single one yesterday.  The day before either. How did he stay in business with no customers? Maybe Gus was rich and didn’t need the money. Maybe he had bought the store only because he had gotten tired of being at home all day and wanted someplace new to hang out. Maybe—

Sammy frowned as an unfamiliar noise broke through his random thoughts. 

Yee-yee-yee-yee-yee!

Cocking his head, he listened so intently he feared his eardrums might burst from the exertion.

YEE-YEE-YEE-YEE-YEE!

Scooter, Sammy thought, right before it shot off the asphalt road and into the parking lot, rocketing straight toward him. He shrieked and sprang backwards seconds before it fishtailed to a stop in the exact spot he’d just been standing.  “Fleas on mice!” he gasped, looking up from the dirt on top of his boots to the driver.

His chin hit the dirt. 

A newbie!

Sammy’s heartbeat quickened as the girl climbed off the scooter. “Hi!”

Without a word or a glance she stormed off, the long waves of her caramel-colored hair bouncing and glittering in the bright sunshine. She charged the door like she was going to go through it without opening it first. As she reached for the doorknob the missing person flier taped to the 2’ x 2’ window in the door caught her attention, making her catch air instead of the brass handle. She stumbled forward with a harsh intake of breath followed by a few colorful words that would have made Sammy blush if he were capable of doing so. The cow bell above the door clunked as she yanked it open and then bolted inside.

Sammy’s heart felt like a machine gun going off in his chest. The first new face in over a year, a rare opportunity to present himself as something other than a science experiment gone awry, and the best he could do was say “Hi” and then just stand there staring at her like a dirty old man peering through a gap in the curtains of a teenage girl’s bedroom. 

He was going to blow it. Again.

Cupping his hands around his eyes, Sammy pressed his face against the slightly larger window beside the door. When he spotted the girl looking at the cat food, a seed of hope was planted inside him. 

She has a pet. That means she likes animals. If she likes animals, she has to be nice. Mean people don’t like anything, especially not animals!

So what if it hadn’t been the best first impression? He hadn’t thrown up like the last time (the victim’s scrunched up expression of revulsion had reminded him of a Shar-Pei puppy) so it was miles away from being the worst. 

Sammy brought his hand up to his chin. He had to think of something to say. Something original. Something cool. Something witty.  

He cleared his throat. “Heeeeeeeeeey!”

No, no—too Fonzie-ish.

“You come here often?” he asked the window with a toothy grin.

Definitely not—sounds too much like a pick-up line that will probably result in a can of cat food being shoved up my nostril.

“Greetings and salutations!” he said, raising an eyebrow. Wasn’t that what the cool guy said in the movie with all those chicks named Heather? But then again, if she’d also seen the movie she’d know the cool guy turned out to be a psycho at the end.

“Better not go there,” he murmured as the girl moved to the checkout.

The seed of hope became a ten ton boulder of flames in the pit of Sammy’s stomach. A sharp pain signaled the start of its quick, burning descent through his intestines and into his bowels. Horror filled him as he backed away from the window with his skinny white ass cheeks clenched so tight he could have cracked a walnut, stopping only when the scooter prevented him from any further movement. 

Oh no...I’m about to do something worse than throw up. Something much, much worse.

Sammy sprinted toward the woods as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Roughly seven feet in and he was clawing at his zipper. He shoved his pants down around his ankles and squatted just as a stream of molten lava shot out of his ass. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

Of course that would be the one thing he was able to feel.

His watery eyes darted to the store door.
Don’t come out yet, please don’t—

The cow bell clunked and Sammy yelped, almost falling over in his haste to waddle behind the massive oak tree he had used to steady himself as his ass had become a flamethrower.

With furrowed brows and lips pressed together so hard they looked as white as he, the girl shoved one of two plastic bags into the compartment under the seat and then tied the other to the back of her scooter.

Sammy frowned. Was she mad because he’d talked to her? Wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. He sniffed the air. Just as he’d expected, his senses were too impaired from malnourishment for him to be able to get a read on her emotions through her blood.

As she sped out of the parking lot Sammy’s heart sank so low he thought it might drop out of his ass, which he swiped with a giant green leaf before standing up. Maybe she had bad vision and hadn’t seen him standing there. Maybe she was hard of hearing—or even deaf!—and hadn’t heard him speak. Maybe she’d been taught by her parents never to talk to strangers, which was good advice considering there were a lot of monsters out there posing as humans…he should know, he lived with two of them.

Returning to the bench, Sammy wondered as he stretched out on it whether the girl lived in Hermit or if she was there visiting relatives. She looked to be his age, so if she had moved there then he’d probably see her again at school. He groaned as a wave of nausea crashed through him. If he got a second chance with her, he couldn’t blow it. He was tired of being alone, of having no one to talk to and nothing better to do than play video games and hang out at the store.

It was pathetic.

He only hoped that the girl hadn’t already written him off as pathetic, too.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor with her hands pressed against her stomach, Lacey suppressed a gag as she watched the kitten attack the mushy mound of salmon-flavored cat food like piranha on a capybara. “Take my advice, kitty—don’t overdo it.”

She scrunched her face up tight, moaned. Four candy bars and two cans of soda hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

Lacey took deep breaths as she stroked the kitten’s soft, white fur. After the urge to vomit finally passed, she swallowed hard and then said, “So...any ideas for a name?” The face of the unnaturally white boy from the store popped into her mind. “I know it’s not original but how about Casper?”

The kitten looked up, licked a glob of food off its chin, then turned its attention back to the plate of food. “You don’t care what I call you as long as I keep the food coming, huh?” 

Lacey chuckled as she stretched out on the floor, lacing her fingers behind her head. “Ghost Boy,” she whispered, wondering if he was an albino. What started out as humming soon turned to singing: “There was a boy with black hair, he gave people quite a scare, with his white face and clumsy grace, to speak to him you wouldn’t dare.” 

She giggled. “That’s pretty good, actually...”

After turning up the stereo volume Lacey grabbed a pen and a tablet of paper from the stack on top of the desk and then sat down on the bed. She scribbled the lyrics to her “Ghost Boy” song diagonally across the blank page. Flipping onto her stomach, she began sketching his face as she sang along with Kevin Rudolf’s “Let It Rock”. After she’d finished it, she held up her drawing for a closer inspection. “Looks like you gave the world your middle finger a long time ago, GB.” 

Tossing the notebook aside, Lacey rolled on to her back. “Baby powder,” she muttered. “That’s what he smelled like—baby powder.” She rolled her eyes. “Looks like some kind of punk rock biker and smells like a baby.” 

She snorted laughter as Casper, with the aid of the comforter, climbed up the side of the bed. Curling up next to her, he settled down for a nap. “Oh, so you like me now that you have food and a warm place to sleep, huh?” She gave the kitten’s round belly a soft pat. “No hard feelings though...at least you’re honest about it.”

Lacey sighed. If only humans were as easy to read. A person’s true motivation usually stayed hidden until it was too late, unlike an animal’s—with them, what you saw was what you got, which was why she preferred their company. “People suck,” she told Casper. “Just remember that and you’ll be okay.”

Yawning, Lacey closed her eyes. Lack of sleep plus a sugar overload was as effective as a tranquilizer, and she felt herself drifting off within seconds.

What if the Serial Killer Jogger shows up again?

She pushed the thought aside, too tired to worry about him...

Or anything else for that matter.