Reckoning Page 5

  One of my favorite things to do is roam through Yesterday’s Treasures, our neighborhood antiques store. I’m tempted, but decline. “No, thanks. I want to get started on my English so I don’t have to do it tonight.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you in a little bit then.” She kisses my forehead and heads back inside.

  “What’s with the house next door?” I call after her. “I noticed somebody mowed the lawn and the sign’s gone.”

  She sticks her head back out the door. “I was wondering the same thing. I think maybe it finally sold, although I haven’t seen anybody over there. I’ll give Liz a call when I get back. See what she knows.” Liz Fullerton is a realtor and one of my mom’s closest friends.

  A few moments later, I hear the sound of her car engine start. It rumbles noisily, then fades into the distance.

  I continue sitting in the chair, wondering about our potential new neighbors before my thoughts return to my great-great grandmother, and why my mom never shared any of this information before. And why the fate of a woman three generations, half a continent and an entire ocean away suddenly seems so important.

  Only later do I realize that I completely forgot about Rachel’s car.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The week ends without further incident. Although the girl in pink has not made another appearance, I choose seats away from the windows, keeping my thoughts firmly focused on schoolwork. I even manage to get in a few hours of dreamless sleep each night, which leaves me hoping that recent events have been nothing more than a series of random occurrences.

  Liz wasn’t able to tell my mom much about our new neighbors, other than the house was sold two weeks ago to a Michael and Carlotta Ambrose from Brockton, Massachusetts. They paid slightly less than the asking price and completed the transaction in cash. I wonder what kind of people pay cash for a house. Maybe they are into the fix-and-flip – invest a little sweat and money and, three months later, sell it for a profit. It’s a common practice in my neighborhood.

  Dad comes home on Friday, and over dinner at my favorite Asian restaurant, I relay the news about Rachel’s car. I get the I’m-really-not-surprised, slightly bored reaction that I expected. I talk about Rachel having a job and earning her own money. I even throw in hints of increased responsibility and valuable work experience, and the fact that she won’t need to rely on anyone to get her places. But I’m sure it falls on deaf ears as they just nod and mumble something about the dangers of teenage driving. I save the subject of the Jeep for later.

  Pushing scattered grains of fried rice across my plate, I eye my dad across the table. He’s always been athletic and in good shape, usually getting in a round or two of golf whenever he is home. Sports to him are what the news is to my mom. But he looks tired. There are dark circles around his eyes and deeper creases between his brows. His light brown hair is graying along the sides. I wonder if the constant traveling is wearing him down. Or if there is something else going on I don’t know about. Maybe a trip to Scotland would be good for all of us.

  Returning home, mom and dad settle into the living room to watch television, while I head to my room. I feel restless, as though I have an overstock of energy and nowhere to put it. I wish I could go for a run, but it’s too dark out, and I’ve just eaten. Grabbing my drawing pad and colored pencils, I sit cross-legged on the bed. Alecto curls up beside me, purring contentedly.

  The light from the lamp reflects off the dark mahogany furniture, softening the pale yellows and greens of the wall paint and comforter. I let my mind wander, thinking about Rick and everything that’s happened this week. I draw random designs, my hand moving across the paper without conscious thought. Several minutes later, I lay the pencil aside, and stare at the page.

  I’ve drawn the girl in pink, her dress swinging with her movements, her long hair whipping to the side. But rather than the athletic fields at school, I’ve sketched a background of trees. Dark and ominous, the pine branches interlaced into a thick canopy. I stare at it, lost in thought, something about the picture making my stomach clench with tension.

  My cell phone buzzes, making me flinch in surprise. Almost gratefully, I toss aside the drawing pad and grab the phone from my nightstand. I have a new text message. I smile. It’s from Rachel, double-checking on the gem show.

  Are u sure about tomorrow?

  I text her back, thinking maybe I should go just to keep my mind occupied. But I stick to my original decision.

  I’m sure. Have fun. Call me when you get back.

  I sign off with LULAS, the love-you-like-a-sister acronym Rachel taught me, and hit the send button. Turning the drawing pad upside down, I turn on my stereo, keeping the volume low so it won’t disturb my parents.

  I glance out the window, the reflection of my computer screen glowing in the glass. I can just see the outline of the empty house next door, the white trim shining softly in the moonlight. I start to turn my head away, when something catches my eye. The side of the house growing lighter, then darker. Confused, I peer closer. It happens again. I look for car headlights or anything that could cause the glowing effect, but see nothing.

  I leave my room, wanting to ask my mom if she’s forgotten to tell me our new neighbors have moved in. But they’ve both fallen asleep, my mom half covered in a blanket on the couch, my dad snoring gently, the TV remote still clutched in his hand.

  Remembering the tired look on Dad’s face, I leave them to their slumbers and head back through the kitchen, stepping out onto the back patio. A half-moon glows between thin clouds. The trees rise like tall, dark shadows at the rear of the yard. The fence stretches into the darkness, dark gray and weather-beaten. The knots in the wood look like black splotches on a faded canvas. I shiver as the cool night air settles on my skin.

  The light glows again, then fades. Stepping across the flagstones, I edge my way closer to the fence. Peering between the slats, I look for trespassers. Maybe neighborhood kids messing around with a flashlight or lighter. But the backyard is empty.

  Creeping forward, I ease the gate open, just enough to peek through. The side of the house is dark, and for the moment, the light is gone.

  A rumble of thunder spreads across the sky. Looking up, I see heat lightning flashing on the horizon. The thought crosses my mind that maybe the strange light had been nothing more than lightning. But I know it wasn’t. It had definitely come from the house.

  The light glows on and off again and, suddenly, I know the answer. It’s coming from the basement window. I tense, wondering if someone is in there. And why they would be turning the light off and on. I glance around, but the place looks deserted. No cars or moving vans parked in front. No sound or light anywhere. Except the window.

  I slip through the gate and step quickly to the side of the house. The bricks are cold against my hand. Dropping to my knees, I creep to the window. Old leaves crunch softly beneath me, sending up an odor of damp soil and compost. Something sharp jabs my palm and I flinch.

  “Damnit,” I whisper, examining my hand for any sign of injury. But there is only a small indentation near the base of my thumb. I run my hand along the ground, looking for the source – a small stick from our ash tree, the ends jagged and torn. Tossing it aside, I move forward. Headlights sweep past me, and I freeze, exhaling slowly as the car continues down the street.

  I ease my head nearer to the window and look inside. The light flashes on again, and I squint against the sudden illumination. The glass in the window is old and dirty and partially covered with low-hanging ivy. But I can see old carpeting, brown and tattered, and roughly plastered walls. Two boxes and a dusty floor lamp are pushed against one wall. A shelf with too many coats of white paint contains bottles of detergent, bleach and old paint cans. I turn my head, trying to see more, but the light abruptly goes off, plunging the room into darkness.

  I hear footsteps coming down the sidewalk followed by some sort of metal clinking sound. I hunch down in the shadows, hoping I won’t be seen. From the way I’m position
ed, I could easily be mistaken for some kind of peeping tom or burglar. I imagine the police showing up and the embarrassment of trying to explain myself.

  A dog trots by, straining at its leash. I hold my breath, hoping it won’t notice me. Hoping it won’t bark. But it is absorbed in whatever scent it is following and keeps its nose to the sidewalk. It’s owner follows, several feet behind.

  The sound of the leash fades into the distance and I breathe a sigh of relief. Turning back to the window, I move my head further down, waiting for the light to go on again.

  Sudden thoughts of a Hollywood horror movie flash through my mind: Staring at a darkened window. The light flashing on again. A horrible, blood splattered face staring back at me.

  Don’t be stupid, Kat. I shake my head, reminding myself that things like that don’t happen in real life.

  I hope.

  The light flashes on again and I tense. But there is just an empty room, like before.

  Taking a deep breath, I lean in, trying to find the source of the light. I can see a doorway, and another darkened room beyond. It appears empty. I pull aside an overhanging vine and look closer, hoping there aren’t any spiders lurking in the window well.

  And then I see it. A bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, the socket dangling and wires exposed. The screws must have fallen out, or someone worked on it and never reattached it. The bulb starts to flicker, stuttering, as if not receiving full power. I wonder if there’s a short in the wiring, and if it’s serious enough to cause a fire.

  Or if there’s someone in the house messing with the electricity.

  I glance up. The dining room window is directly above me. Rising slowly, I peer through the glass. Although the house is dark, the streetlamps cast just enough light through the front window that I can see the room is empty. The house has the same floor plan as ours, so I can’t see the kitchen or the bedrooms, but there is no light coming from that direction.

  Thunder rumbles again. The clouds have thickened, spreading quickly across the sky, blocking out the moon. I can smell rain.

  I drop back down to my knees, watching the light bulb sputtering feebly. I change the angle of my head, trying to get a better view, but I can only see what looks like the rounded edge of a hot water heater. I glance toward the other basement window, but it is covered with some type of blind or curtain.

  Sitting back in defeat, I shrug. It has to be just the wiring. Maybe the approaching storm is making the electricity freak out. Or maybe it’s mice, chewing on the wires. I’ll mention it to my mom in the morning, just to be on the safe side.

  I cast one last glance at the window and my stomach leaps into my throat.

  A shadow moves across the far wall. The light abruptly goes out, but I am frozen in place, my heart pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. My mind scrambles for a logical answer, blaming it on a trick of the flickering light. Or my imagination working overtime. I’m caught between wanting to look again and fleeing back to the safety of my room. What if it isn’t something logical? What if there is someone in there?

  And what if they have seen me?

  Go! Just go! My brain urges me to action, but my limbs have suddenly refused to work.

  I hear a noise behind me. A fat raindrop lands on my arm and I gasp, my heart threatening to burst from my chest. Squeezing my eyes shut, I clench my jaw. The gate is only a few steps away. I’ll make a run for it. I tense, ready to spring.

  Something brushes against my leg and I stifle a scream.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Alecto!” I nearly sob in relief. “What are you doing out here?”

  She mews softly in response. Scooping her into my arms, I dash back through the gate, pushing it securely closed. “How did you get out?”

  I hurry back to the patio, finding the answer as I approach the back door. In my efforts at sleuthing, I have left it open just enough for her to slip through. Mentally kicking myself for being so careless, I go back inside, double-checking the deadbolt before I head to my room. Placing Alecto on the bed, I peer out the window. The house next door is dark. No glowing. No flickering. Either the light bulb has given up its feeble attempts at illumination or the wiring has stopped shorting out.

  Or someone has taken care of it.

  No, I tell myself. Stop overreacting. There is no one in there. Whatever shadows I thought I saw was just my eyes continually readjusting to the light.

  My stereo is still playing. Some annoying bass-heavy dance rhythm that makes me feel even edgier. I turn it off, my ears straining for any sound from beyond the window. My computer glows like a headlight, and I turn that off, too. Pulling down the blind, I hurriedly change into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a gray tank top. Diving beneath the covers, I reach for Alecto. She curls herself into a ball against my neck. My pulse beats erratically, but I take slow, deep breaths.

  I hear the wind rushing through the trees. There is a blinding flash of lightning, followed by an enormous crack of thunder that shakes the windows. Rain splatters against the glass. Lightning streaks across the sky, pulsing with electric intensity. Seconds later, the rain begins, pelting down in wind-driven torrents.

  I burrow further beneath the covers, stroking Alecto’s soft fur. Apparently the storm has roused my parents as I can hear them heading to bed. The floorboards creak, water turns on and off, doors gently close. I lay quietly, trying and failing, to draw a sense of comfort from the familiar sound of their movements.

  The storm continues unabated, before finally heading slowly east. The rain eventually subsides to a gentle patter against the roof. But even in the peace of the ensuing silence, sleep eludes me. Long after midnight I’m still staring into the darkness, thinking about the basement window.

  _________

  After a few hours of restless sleep, I get up early on Saturday. Although my bed is warm and comfortable, the promise of a beautiful morning and invigorating run in the park is too much to resist. And I desperately need the physical exertion to help clear my head. Images of the strange events of the past week buzz through my head like a swarm of angry bees.

  After two circuits around the park, I return home, glad that I’d gone out early. The exercise helped and I definitely feel better. I take a deep breath, lifting my face to the cloudless, blue sky. I love the atmosphere after a good, soaking rain. Last night’s storm has left everything damp and cleansed, a pungent, earthy aroma still hovering in the air. Puddles of water dot the street, and the leaves of the trees and shrubs glisten in the sunlight.

  Picking up the newspaper, I toss it onto the porch swing, adding my iPod and earphones. As my breathing slows to a more even rhythm, I lean over to stretch my calves and hamstrings.

  “Hi. You must be Kat.”

  I whirl around in surprise, squinting into the sun. A tall, dark-haired man stands on the sidewalk, backlit by a halo of golden light.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. I think he is smiling, but I can’t be sure in the blinding glare.

  “That’s OK. You didn’t,” I lie, lifting a hand to shade my eyes.

  “I just moved in next door.” He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m your new neighbor.”

  My new neighbor? Just moved in? When? The middle of the night? The questions run through my head, one after another.

  “Oh,” I say. I know it’s a lame response, but I don’t care. My instincts are on full alert. I’d finally convinced myself that the house had been empty last night, even peeking in the window again this morning to reassure myself I was right. With my courage bolstered by the cold light of day, I’d started to feel foolish about the whole thing.

  But now I start having second thoughts, and a shudder runs through me. What if he’d seen me? I remember the shadow and my eyes flick involuntarily to the basement window.

  “I got in really late,” he says, as if sensing my unspoken question. Or maybe my suspicions are evident on my face. “Or really early. Depending on how you look at it.” He grins again.


  I nod, unsure what to say. Then suddenly something he said earlier sinks in. If he’d just moved in last night, or the early hours of this morning, how did he know my name?

  “Sorry,” he says, apologizing again. “I guess I should explain.”

  I move to the right, trying to get the sun out of my eyes, but it doesn’t help.

  “I met your mom a little while ago, and she mentioned you. So when I saw you, I figured you must be Kat.” He pauses. “I like the name. Kat. It’s nice.”

  “Thanks. It’s short for Katriona, actually. With a ‘K’.” Why did I say that? Like it matters.

  “Cool. It’s not a name you hear very often.”

  I shrug, trying to think of a way to politely excuse myself. Something about the guy makes me uneasy.

  “Sorry,” he says again. Does he always apologize this much? “I should introduce myself.” He steps forward, moving up the walkway, stopping in front of me. Now that he is out of the glare of the sun, I can finally see him clearly.

  My jaw nearly drops in surprise. He is gorgeous. Probably six-two or three, with wide, muscular shoulders, narrow hips and a flat stomach that I have no doubt ripples with muscle. He is dressed in black jeans and shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, the buttons open enough to reveal a white tank top underneath. His hair is dark and straight, falling in soft layers just past his collar, flipping up slightly on the ends. Stray pieces fall across his forehead. His face is a perfect oval with high cheekbones and a thin, straight nose. Slim, supple lips smile tentatively at me. I look up into a pair of piercing deep blue eyes.

  “I’m Lovell Ambrose,” he says. His voice is smooth as silk.

  “Lovell,” I repeat stupidly, placing the emphasis on the second syllable, just as he had.

  “Yeah, I know,” he grins sheepishly. “It’s a crazy name.”

  “No!” I protest, mentally kicking myself. Way to make a great first impression. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just…I’ve never heard that name before,” I finish weakly. Although it’s the truth, I hope it sounds better to him that it does to me.