Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy) (7 page)

The man’s blank gaze remained fixed on the passenger side window. 

“I understand,” she said, sighing as she readjusted his head until his lifeless eyes met hers. “You’re speechless. I tried to tell you that my oral skills were to die for, but you didn’t believe me.”

Alexis pressed the shutter button. The camera clicked, made a whirring sound.  She plucked the snapshot from the camera’s hard plastic mouth, watched in fascination as the white-framed square of black changed into the face of the man she straddled. 

“But you’re a believer now,” she said, grinning. “Aren’t ya, Carl?”

She had read
Pet Sematary
twice.

Taught Casper how to fetch his toys.

Finished every page in both coloring books.

Played sixty-two games of solitaire.

Drew more than a dozen caricatures of Casper, Ghost Boy, Burger King Elvira, and The Man In The Van.

Cleaned the bathroom as best she could with a washcloth and shampoo because her father still hadn’t brought home the cleaning supplies she’d asked for six days ago.

All over the course of fifty-eight hours, and she still had three and a half days to go until school started.

Lacey punched her pillow twice before burying her face in it. She remained that way until her lungs began to burn, forcing her to flip onto her back and inhale the suffocating, ninety-two freakin’ degrees air that made her feel as though she was wearing a plastic bag over her head.

She was now positive that Hermit was in fact Hell, and she was trapped there. 

With a groan, Lacey forced herself to stand up. She shuffled into the bathroom, knowing a cold shower would be the only reprieve—albeit a brief one—that she’d get from the heat. She was about to peel off her damp-with-sweat underwear when something on the ground in the side yard caught her attention. Pressing her hands and face against the small window above the commode, she saw what was either a garden hose or a green snake hiding in the tall grass surrounding the house. 

If it’s the former, it’s probably busted.
 

Lacey looked down. Ghost Boy’s face popped into her mind as she examined the nearly snow-white skin covering her body—she was almost as pale as he.

Sun exposure causes premature aging, Lacey. Do you want to
look old before your time? No worthwhile man is going to be attracted to a woman who looks like a raisin. Do you want to end up alone with no one to take care of you?

“I like being alone, thank you very much,” Lacey grumbled, returning to her room. “And I don’t want a man or need someone to take care of me.  So shut the hell up and get out of my damn head.”

Lacey gathered her hair up in a loose ball on top of her head, secured it with a teal scrunchie and then went to the closet. Since she didn’t own a swimsuit she chose a black bra and panty set with Winnie the Pooh Bear’s head all over them. Didn’t really matter what she wore since there wasn’t anyone around to see her. She hadn’t even seen The Man In The Van for almost four days. Not that she’d been looking for him...

Well, not since yesterday morning, anyway.

After he hadn’t returned and the cake, which she’d scarfed down in two days, proved to be uncontaminated, she’d been as convinced as she was ever going to be that he really was just a friendly neighbor—albeit one that gave her the willies.

Chewing on her fingernail, Lacey walked to the open window facing the dirt road. The house backed up to the woods so there wasn’t a back yard she could retreat to. It would be just her luck for him to drive by while she was laying in the front yard in only her underwear. And, if the hose actually worked, in wet, clingy underwear. Wet, clingy, Winnie the freakin’ Pooh Bear underwear.

Did she dare risk practically exposing herself to a stranger just to prove that her mother no longer controlled what she did? And what if he stopped when he saw her and came over to talk? What an embarrassing situation
that
would be.

Deciding to stick with the cold shower, Lacey stripped off her underwear as she returned to the bathroom. She gasped as she stepped under the spray of icy water and then

sighed with pleasure after the initial shock wore off. Lathering up with vanilla-scented shampoo, her thoughts drifted to Clint. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since their argument four days ago, after which he’d started leaving the house before she got up. Coincidence? Doubtful. But she didn’t care...

Well, not as much as she would have before.

Maybe.

Lacey didn’t know because she refused to ponder her feelings on the matter, which was not only pointless but counterproductive. What was the saying? Fake it until you make it? She’d just keep pretending not to give a damn about her father until she finally didn’t. At least she hoped that’s how it would work. People could convince themselves of anything if they tried hard enough. Her father was living proof of that. He still believed that Amelia—

“Stop,” Lacey snapped, giving her cheek a hard slap before turning off the water and climbing out of the shower.

She had to stop thinking about them.

Had to stop thinking.

Fresh air—that’s what she needed. Sunshine. New scenery. She hadn’t left the musty house in three days, and except for bathroom visits and the trips she made to the kitchen for morning coffee and a Ramen noodles lunch, she’d stayed in her bedroom.

Lacey’s stomach growled as she threw on clean clothes. Fresh air, sunshine, new scenery—sort of—and something to eat that was not Ramen noodles.

“No—that’s not enough.” A beam of sunlight caught the knife as it paused in mid-swipe, making the silver glint. “Seriously, just throw a big ole glob of the stuff on there.”

The old man—who reminded Lacey of the guy in those old oatmeal and medical supply commercials—grumbled and shook his head as he returned to his hunched over position at the metal table behind the small deli case. Trading the knife for a spoon, he scooped a teaspoon full of mayonnaise out of a jar and then plopped the creamy condiment on to a slice of white bread. He looked at her, his bushy gray eyebrows shooting up.

Giving him a thumbs up, Lacey headed for the drink cooler. Coming from an unknown location, Johnny Cash’s deep voice followed her, singing about walking a line. She’d never been much for country music to begin with and grew to hate the genre when, after Amelia had taken off, it became the only thing Clint listened to. He’d sit in his recliner, whiskey bottle in hand, crooning and weeping along with whatever artist was playing.

You’re not supposed to be thinking about them, remember?

Keeping her gaze on the checkout counter, Lacey managed to make it half-way down the candy aisle before coming to an abrupt stop when she spotted out of the corner of one eye her absolute favorite candy bar.
Big Hunk! They have Big Hunks!
  Snatching two of them, she was about to walk away when that annoying voice inside her head reminded her she was quickly burning through what little money she had left. With a grumble that made the old man’s sound like a baby cooing in comparison, she put the items back.

“That be it for ya?” asked Quaker Oatman as she placed the soda on the counter.

Lacey gave him a curt nod. 

A few seconds later, she flopped down on the bench outside of the store. As she unwrapped her roast beef and Swiss cheese sandwich, Lacey began contemplating her options for employment. Fast food places had the most flexible hours and, because of the online research she did prior to moving to Hermit, she knew that Mount Jackson—the town she would pass through on her way home from school—had a Burger King. Snagging a late-afternoon shift there would be not only convenient but would also allow her to feed her Whopper addiction on a regular basis.

The cow bell over the door clunked as Lacey took a huge bite of her sandwich. If Quaker Oatman was coming out to pollute her air with stinky cigarette smoke, she was going to smother him with plastic wrap.

Furrowing her brows, Lacey glanced to her left and nearly choked.
Shit.
 

Pausing in mid-turn, Ghost Boy’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Oh—hey!”

Lacey’s neck made a popping sound as her head snapped back to its forward-facing position. How the hell had she not noticed him inside the store? The place was barely bigger than a truck stop restroom! Had he been lurking behind a shelf or something?  

Go away, go away, go a—
 

Ghost Boy shuffled to the other end of the not-nearly-long-enough bench. Lacey took a large gulp of soda, washing away the groan tickling the back of her throat. Her legs bounced up and down as she fought the urge to bolt. She had been there first, damn it, and she would not be run off by some baby powder-scented albino! 

If I ignore him maybe he’ll take the hint and leave.

Lacey forced herself to take another bite of her sandwich even though her appetite had vanished.
So much for enjoying my first outing in days.

The plastic bag in Ghost Boy’s hands crinkled as he started pulling out the items inside of it. Taking another sip of soda, Lacey sneaked a peek out of the corner of her eye and almost strangled at what she saw: a bottle of Pepsi, a sandwich, and a Big Hunk candy bar.

Despite the smothering heat enveloping her like an electric blanket turned up to bake mode, a chill ran up Lacey’s back. He
had
been spying on her—there was no other explanation. She could have written off as coincidence Ghost Boy liking the same brand of soda and candy bar, and maybe even them sharing a taste for roast beef and swiss cheese.  But the oozing mayonnaise smearing the inside of the plastic wrapped tight around his sandwich? No—that was too big of a stretch. Minus the Big Hunk she’d grudgingly passed up on, they had identical meals. 

Lacey secretly observed Ghost Boy as he took a small bite of his sandwich.  When she saw a slight crinkling of his nose, her suspicion was confirmed: he was trying to establish a connection with her by making it appear as though they had a lot of things in common. 

You picked the wrong girl, Q-tip. Try anything and I’ll break you in two.

Turning at the waist to pick up the bottle of soda next to him, Ghost Boy caught Lacey watching him. He gave her a tiny but warm smile and then, to her surprise, looked away instead of speaking. He took a sip of soda, his nose wrinkling again as he swallowed hard. He recapped the bottle and then set it down beside him.

She heard a low rumbling. Thinking it was her stomach, Lacey took another bite of her sandwich. As she washed it down she heard the sound again, only this time louder, and it wasn’t coming from her.

“No,” Ghost Boy mumbled, not looking at her as he placed one trembling hand on his belly, “that’s not embarrassing at all.”

Lacey almost grinned at that—until she remembered he was up to something and she still had no clue as to what that something could be.

Just leave, stupid...and if he tries to stop you run over him with your scooter.

Ghost Boy managed another small bite of his sandwich followed by another sip of soda before throwing both items back into the plastic bag. He came up off the bench like something had bit him on the ass and then ran to the scratched and dented black bicycle leaning against the massive oak tree next to the store. With his skinny legs pumping faster than Lacey would’ve thought them capable of, he shot out of the parking lot, the plastic bag in his hand swinging wildly. She caught glimpses of white through the spaces between the trees lining the asphalt road as he flew down it. “He really does look like a ghost,” she mumbled.

After polishing off her sandwich and soda, Lacey stuffed the trash into her plastic bag. She was about to stand up when something in her peripheral vision made her pause. Her eyes darted to the Big Hunk next to her on the bench. 

She frowned. 

The candy bar had been right there beside him, in plain view—there was no way Ghost Boy could have accidentally forgotten it. Lacey snapped her narrowed gaze back to the road. He had left it behind on purpose...for her.

Lacey shot off the bench, kicking up dirt and gravel as she stormed over to her scooter. What the hell was it with strangers bearing sugary gifts around here? Was it like a freakin’ town rule or something? They should have a sign:
Welcome to Hermit—we’ll kill you with diabetes.

He wanted to die. He hated what he was, hated what he had to pretend to be, hated living.

Sammy prayed—probably a pointless action since the one he poured his heart out to was also the one who had cursed him—every night for the courage to end his miserable existence, hoping that God would choose to show him a little mercy.

So far, He hadn’t.

Sammy leaned forward, his nose almost touching the mirror on the back of the oak dresser as he glared into the cobalt blue eyes of the abomination staring back at him. The less blood he consumed the darker those eyes became, and if he stopped feeding they’d eventually turn black...

But then he would also begin to die, his veins slowly drying up over the course of six days, six hours and six minutes. An excruciating event, it was the only reason he was still alive, the coward that he was. Sammy couldn’t imagine the desperation his mother must have felt to have been able to go through with it. The hunger, weakness and fatigue from drinking only four pints of blood a day was almost more torture than he could bear, but it reminded him that he was part human. And unlike Zane and Alexis, he didn’t want to forget that...

Even though he had learned quick, fast and in a hurry that there was no physical benefit to being half-human. That side was there only to dish out punishment whenever they denied their fallen angel half, turning them into slow, weak, pale creatures with impaired senses and a never-ending pain in their gut.

Of course they got to enjoy all the unpleasantness of being part human, like hair growing all over the place—did everyone have that much pubic hair?—and sweating, which made him even more paranoid in public since their kind couldn’t smell anything but blood. It was the reason why he took a lot of showers and had a dresser drawer filled with nothing but spray deodorant and baby powder; he avoided cologne since he couldn’t tell how much was
too
much of the stuff.

And their reward for eating and drinking was nausea, vomiting, gas and explosive diarrhea. 

Sighing, Sammy sat down on his twin oak bed. He pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms tight around them and then rested his chin on one bent knee. His gaze drifted to the candy bar on top of the black comforter. He’d planned on offering it to the girl after he’d finished his soda and sandwich, telling her that he was too full to eat anymore. But he hadn’t made it through a tenth of his food and drink before he’d had to leave, and not a moment too soon, either—he ended up crapping his pants before he’d found a private enough area in which to take care of business. And then he’d had to go home to clean up before going back to the store, only to find the girl gone.

He hadn’t been surprised. He didn’t need to be able to detect the emotion in her blood to know that she hadn’t wanted him there in the first place—it had been written all over her face. But then again, she hadn’t bolted when he’d sat down next to her, or left before he had, so that was progress, wasn’t it?

Sammy sighed again.
She probably thinks I’m nuttier than a forest filled with nothing but hickory trees.
He couldn’t blame her though. He had run off without a word, his stomach making squishy, rolling sounds the entire way. Oh God—had she known what was wrong with him? What he’d had to go do? Sammy groaned as he covered his face with his hands.

If only it were possible to die from embarrassment. 

“That is the last time I clean up your shit, baby brother!” Sammy snapped his head up and found Alexis leaning over him, both hands on her slender hips. “And I mean that literally—the washer was a disgusting mess!”

“It’s not like you can smell or even feel it,” he murmured. “And I was going to clean it when I got back from the store.”

Alexis grabbed the candy bar and then whacked the top of his head with it. “You are not human!”

Turning at the waist, she slung the candy bar. “Hey!”  Sammy barked, leaping off the bed. “That was mine!”

He ran across the room, retrieved the Big Hunk from inside the wastebasket next to his desk. Clutching the candy bar to his chest, he whirled around to face Alexis. “And a part of us is human!”

“Speak for yourself.” Smirking, she ran her hands down the front of her skintight, blood-red sports bra and exercise shorts. “No human could achieve this level of perfection.”

“If you stopped feeding you’d look just like me.”

“And I’d be a fool—just like you.”

“I’d rather be a fool than a monster.”

“And how’s that working out for you, baby brother?” 

“Go away,” he grumbled, returning to his bed. 

“Now what kind of big sister would I be if I abandoned you in your time of need?”

“The only thing I need is for you to leave me alone.”

Alexis shook her head as she sat down beside him. “You need to be accepted. To fit in. For others to look at you and see a normal boy of seventeen and not a freak of nature.”

Sammy blinked at that; it was as if she was reading his mind. But that wasn’t possible—his kind had no such powers. And they couldn’t detect emotion in each others blood either, so how...

“I read your diary,” Alexis said with a mischievous grin.

Sammy gave her a tight-lipped, narrow-eyed look that he hoped would convey the hate he had for her.

“And I’m sure Zane would be thrilled to know that you’ve written down all of our dirty little secrets,” she said in a foreboding tone.

Sammy’s eyes widened. For some reason, Alexis loved to piss off Zane, and she now had information guaranteed to make him go ballistic. “Please don’t—”

Her witch-like cackle cut him off. “You should see the look on your face!” 

Hate? No, that wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how Sammy felt about his siblings.

Alexis patted him on his thigh. “Chill, baby brother. I’m not going to tell him.”

“Why not?”

She stood up, crossed her arms over her chest as she took a step back. “Look under your mattress.”

Sammy jumped off the bed, lifted the mattress and gasped. He spun around to face Alexis. “Where’s my diary?”

“The charred remains are in the trash can next to the garage.”

“Damn you!”

Propelled by a burst of rage, Sammy flung himself at Alexis, who was there one second and gone the next. He slammed face-first into the floor as a sharp, hot pain exploded in his stomach. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he tried to breathe through it even though he knew there was only one thing that would ease his suffering. 

From seemingly far away, Sammy thought he heard a voice and then footsteps but couldn’t be sure over the pounding of his pulse, which made it seem like his heart was inside of his throbbing head instead of his tightening chest.

He was jerked up into a sitting position a moment before something warm and wet touched his lips. Sammy forced his watery eyes open and saw red. Seemingly of their own accord, his mouth flew open and his hands up to grasp the white plastic cup that was pressed against his lips.

No, no, no!

Gulp, gulp, gulp. 

Stop, stop, stop!

With a sharp gasp, Sammy threw the empty cup across the room and then pushed himself off the floor. He managed only two steps before he fell. He crawled to the open window, the blood racing through his body like liquid fire. Digging his fingernails into the wood frame, he rested his cheek against the sill and waited for it to be over. 

“Have you made the connection yet, baby brother?” Alexis asked, crouching next to him. “The longer you go without blood, and the less you consume of it when you do feed, the more painful your body’s initial reaction to it will be.”

“No shit,” Sammy grunted.

“And that’s exactly what you look like.” Alexis shook her head as she stood up. “I’ll bring you another cup.”

“Don’t bother—I won’t drink it.”

“You will unless you fancy spending another evening locked in The Room.”

Sammy’s heartbeat quickened. “You wouldn’t,” he breathed, pushing himself up.

“No, but
he
would,” Alexis whispered, facing the door just as Zane walked by it. He stopped in mid-stride, his ice-blue eyes latching onto Sammy. “Big brother,” she chimed, “we were beginning to think that you had been kidnapped!”

Ignoring her, Zane stormed over to Sammy and seized him by the chin. “When did you last feed?”  

“J-Just a few m-minutes ago,” he stammered. 

Zane’s eyes blazed as they searched Sammy’s. “How much have you had to drink today?” 

Sammy swallowed hard. He didn’t want to be locked in there with them. Seeing their faces, hearing their pleas...it was more than he could bear. “Only two pints but—”

Zane’s nostrils flared a moment before two streams of air came out of them with enough force to bend the first gelled point of Sammy’s Mohawk, making it flop against his forehead. “I was going to have another cup,” he blurted, panic making his already feminine voice sound even more like a teenage girl’s. “I was going down to get another cup!”

A tick started in Zane’s chiseled jaw.
Crap—I’m supposed to have four a day.
“I was going to have the last one before I went to bed!”

“Two pints in the morning and then two in the evening, Samuel. That was our agreement.”

Sammy wanted to ask what difference it made when he had them, but decided to not push his luck. Willing to say and do whatever he had to in order to stay out of The Room, he said, “You’re right and I’m sorry. I’ll have an extra pint tonight to make up for it, okay?”

Running a hand through his hair, which, unlike Sammy’s dull locks, was as dark and shiny as a pure black onyx stone, Zane expelled a harsh breath. “Now,” he ordered, pointing at the door. “And you will have
two
extra pints.”

Sammy obeyed, silently cursing his cowardice all the way down to the basement.

I instructed you to destroy it, my child.

Alexis undid the belt that kept the black leather journal closed, ran her fingernail down one chalk paper page tinted with gold. “I don’t see why you’re so worried,” she whispered. “Even if someone managed to break-in when no one was here, they wouldn’t get far...isn’t that right, Judge?”

The deep-set, dark eyes of the Caucasian shepherd sitting next to the bedroom door met hers. Assertive, strong-willed and courageous, the breed’s original purpose was to protect livestock. Now he guarded his family, and anyone who wasn’t a member would instantly be made aware of the dog’s aversion to strangers as well as his canines, which put the Nikolas’ to shame.

All evidence must be destroyed,
Blodbad continued as Alexis traded the journal for one of the many Polaroids spread across the scarlet red silk sheet adorning the queen-size bed.
All evidence, my child.

Alexis ignored him. She had no intention of discarding ten years worth of souvenirs when no one would ever see them. She blew a kiss at Carl’s picture and then placed the journal and all the photos inside a metal security box, which she then put inside the open heating duct. After replacing the wrought iron vent she moved the oak dresser back in front of it just as she heard a single, loud knock.

“Alexis, I wish to speak with you.”

“Le grand frère,” she replied as she stretched out on the bed, “I am indecent.”

“That is an understatement. Now open the goddamn doo
r
.”

With a loud sigh, Alexis sauntered over to the door, which she yanked open. She pointed to Zane while looking at Judge. “Sic.”

The woolly mammoth nuzzled Zane’s leg before sitting down next to it. A smirk lifted one corner of her brother’s mouth. “He knows his master.”

Alexis rolled her eyes as she placed her hands on her hips. “If you’re here to nag me about Sammy, I’ll say it for the millionth time: I am not my brother’s keeper.”

Sneering, Zane swept a disapproving gaze over her red, caged mesh cutout chemise. “Your sense of family and fashion are equally atrocious.”

With a slow twirl to model her Frederick’s of Holly wood get-up, Alexis replied, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You would.”

Alexis sprawled out on the bed. “Why does what I wear bother you so much, big brother? Does the sight of my body make—”

“You draw unnecessary attention to yourself dressing like that.”

Alexis expelled a throaty, seductive laugh. “You have to bait the hook if you want a bite.”

Zane turned away to close the door with his fist. After a subtle shake of his head, he all but growled, “What was the greatest stretch of time that you went without feeding?”

“Twenty-three hours,” she stated with pride. “Sixty minutes more than you.”

Zane’s brows furrowed as he faced her. “When?”

“Last month. The day after you celebrated your thirtieth birthday with a test of will.” She grinned. “Mine was stronger.”

Zane didn’t look impressed, but Alexis didn’t care; she’d beat him and that was all that mattered. “And what were your senses like afterward?”

“I don’t know...somewhat muted, I guess.”