Forks, Book Two Read online

“Oh, I told him that you were, erm, getting married.”

  “You did!” Her face lit up. “Did you also tell him he has a very important role in town, that he is a police officer?’

  “Well, I didn’t say it like that but …”

  Her lip started to poke out again.

  “I did tell him he that he is doing a very important investigation and that he’s crazy about you.”

  “Well,” she exhaled and smoothed her hand over her hair. “Was he upset?”

  “Err, um, he didn’t say as much but I could tell it got to him a bit.”

  She seemed to contemplate my bold-faced lie and then she smiled again—a real big cheesy earsplitting one. “Good, serves him right.”

  “Yep,” I agreed, hoping that it would put an end to her interrogation.

  I took another drink of my water and looked around the kitchen. A bottle of wine was open on the counter with two glasses set out. “Is Ken coming over?”

  “Yes.” She leaned forward and looked at the clock on the stove. “Oh shoot! I have to get ready.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Ken’s taking me to the movies.”

  “What are you going to see?”

  “Gone Girl.”

  “Great. Let me know if it’s any good.”

  “I will, honey,” she said in a rush as she quickly poured a glass of wine. “I’m glad you’re home.”

  “Me too, Mom,” I told her truthfully.

  She gave me one last cheesy grin and then headed out of the kitchen with her wine to get ready.

  twenty

  Later, after I said my good-byes to Mom and Ken, I locked myself in the house and headed to the kitchen to make another can of Chunks’ Sirloin Burger soup for dinner. Pulling out a pot from the cupboard, I set it on the stove and pulled the lid off my soup with the built in tab—the latest and greatest innovation for cans. At least I didn’t have to wrestle with the can opener now. I dumped the soup in the pan and turned it on low. Methodically, I pulled out a bowl, a spoon and set them on the table along with a cloth napkin. Mom hated paper napkins—she said they were uncouth—even though I was pretty sure she was using the word incorrectly.

  As usual, when it was storming, the house made creaking, groaning noises while shuddering in the wind. Another black cloud was apparently hanging over my house dumping buckets of rain on top—big surprise. Mom’s radio/cassette player was still on the counter from a few days ago. I pushed the button and Elvis’ voice filled the room with Viva Las Vegas. At least it was better than the groans and creaks the house was making. Opening the fridge, I got out the milk and poured myself a glass to warm while my soup heated. The familiar smell of Chunk’s Sirloin Burger soup filled the air. Pulling my hair up into a messy bun, I sang along with Elvis.

  Elvis and me were in the third chorus of Viva Las Vegas…

  The lights popped off.

  “Dangit!”

  I stood there a moment, getting my bearings and then felt my way down the counter to the junk drawer for a flashlight. I would have used the light on my phone but I stupidly left it up in my room. Reaching the drawer, I pulled it open and felt around inside. The old metal flashlight Mom once used to beat a spider to death was in the back. I pulled it out, dents and all. Pressing the button, a dim beam of light haloed out of the end and then cut off.

  “Piece of crap!”

  I shook the flashlight. It sounded like it had sand inside. After two more shakes, the light popped back on. Luckily there were candles in the drawer from Mom’s intimate dinner, so I grabbed them out and carried the flashlight into the dining room for the holders. I thought about Ken humming that song again but shoved it back out of my mind as quickly as I thought it. There was no point in rehashing that again—at least not now—especially when I was all alone—in a storm to boot.

  Once I got the candles inside, I carried them back in the kitchen. Using a box of matches in the drawer, I lit the candles and set them on the table so I could eat my dinner and save the batteries in the flashlight.

  They lit the room pretty well but I would have preferred something better. But as my mom would say, beggars can’t be choosers—whatever the heck that is supposed to mean. I didn’t get half of Mom’s sayings but they had a way of sticking in my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was an online dictionary out there for old useless sayings or at the very least, a blog with them. I made a mental note to check it out. It wouldn’t be the first time I searched online for what something meant and was always a bit surprised by the origins of some of the sayings. For some reason thinking about that made me remember the conversation I had with Vincent the first time I drove him home and how he said that even books written in fiction were based on some fact. Why would he tell me that? Was he just making conversation or was he trying to warn me about something?

  A floorboard creaked.

  I froze. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I grabbed up the flashlight. “I have a weapon,” I yelled like a crazed person from a bad horror-flick brandishing my flashlight like a sword.

  Another floorboard creaked. It sounded like it was coming from upstairs. Now I wasn’t so sure if I should have said anything because if someone was in the house they now knew I was here too.

  Heart thumping, I searched frantically for a better weapon. Moving over to the counter, I reached over to the butchers block with Mom’s fancy knives while keeping my flashlight trained on the doorway. The sound of metal sliced through the air as I extracted one of the knives from the wood. Cautiously, I stepped forward and then killed the light so whoever was in the house wouldn’t see me first.

  My mind instantly went to Kirk. Was he coming back to do me in? Or was it someone even worse?

  Oh God! Why didn’t I ask Ken about Kirk before he left? Somehow with everything going on, I had forgotten that Kirk was still out there somewhere.

  The house shuddered in the wind bringing forth more creaks and groans. Making myself as small as possible, I crouched down near the table with the flashlight in one hand and the knife in the other. The candles flickered on the table. I stayed in the shadows, and watched for any signs of movement.

  twenty one

  Fear had a way of wrapping around a person, suffocating you little by little until you cannot breathe. And it was doing that to me now. The longer I waited, the worse it got.

  I had no idea what time it was or how long I was in the darkened corner hiding out but something finally gave. I wasn’t sure if it was the numbness in my legs and feet, or just because waiting for the inevitable to happen was even worse than knowing what the inevitable was. After I battled with my fear, trying to squash it down and not doing a very good job of it, I couldn’t take a moment more, telling myself that I preferred to meet my doom head on instead of waiting for it to get me.

  The only problem was that I couldn’t get my legs to move—they were numb from crouching down on the floor for so long. Standing again, I stomped my prickly feet on the floor as quietly as I could as I tried to get the feeling back in my legs and feet. The numbness finally subsided and I cautiously shuffled out of the corner with my knife and flashlight still held firmly in my grasp.

  I only made it a few steps when a loud banging sounded.

  Freaked, I dropped my knife. The tip slammed into the floor barely missing impaling my foot.

  The banging sounded again.

  It finally registered in my brain what the banging was. Someone was at the door. Flicking on the flashlight, I leaned down and grabbed the knife. Standing back up, I cautiously made my way down the hall, towards the door.

  The banging increased in volume, the closer I got to the door. Taking a breath, I held the knife in one hand and tucked the flashlight under my arm as I opened the door.

  Even though it was too dark to see, I brandished my knife. “I have a knife,” I yelled through the storm door.

  “Whoa, Tiger, it’s me!” a muffled voice said from the other side.

  “Vince
nt!” A mixture of relief and wariness spread over me simultaneously as I lowered the knife and pushed open the storm door.

  “That’s my name,” he said laughingly, stepping inside.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I was coming to save you.” He raked his hand through his wet hair and water splattered everywhere.

  “From…?”

  “The Boogie Man,” he said in an eerie voice that somehow didn’t faze me.

  “Well, you’re late,” I shot back. “I think he was already here.”

  “What?”

  “It’s stupid.” I adjusted my grasp on the knife, so the blade was pointing at the floor. “I thought I heard someone.”

  “Where?” He stepped forward—his stance defensive.

  “Upstairs,” I told him.

  He took a step forward.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Shush?” He took another step and then stopped. “It’s probably your house.”

  “Vincent, I don’t think my house is trying to get me.”

  “I know,” he chuckled. “Old houses make strange noises sometimes.”

  “Tell me about it. This house sounds like it’s alive.”

  “It could be.”

  “What?” A chill ran up my spine.

  He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “I’m just messing with you.”

  “You are so not funny.” I pushed his chest but he didn’t move.

  “You’re breaking my heart, here.”

  “Yeah, right.” I instantly thought of him kissing Glinda and a surge of jealously shot through me. And then I was annoyed at myself for even thinking about it. “You’re the heart breaker.”

  “How so?” His laughter evaporated.

  “Ah…” Great. Now I opened a can of worms (Mom’s words not mine) and now had no idea how to get them back inside again. “Come on,” I said, pushing his arm from my shoulder. “Let me get you a towel.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Where do you think I’m taking you?” I joked.

  “My best guess would be to your bedroom.”

  “Yeah right. Why would I take you to my bedroom?”

  “So you can have your way with me.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Keep dreaming.”

  “Ouch! That hurt.”

  I laughed again and started walking towards the kitchen. “Did you get caught in the storm?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Come on, be serious. What are you really doing here?”

  “I had a feeling you might need me.”

  “What would I need you for?” My heart picked up pace.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “It was just a feeling.” He pushed his hand through his hair and water splattered everywhere, again. “Can I have that towel now?”

  “Ah…yeah,” I said distractedly, trying to keep from inadvertently stabbing myself. I took three steps and stopped. When I turned, he was right behind me. I shivered even though I wasn’t cold. “Oh, sorry,” I said, turning. “I guess I should turn on the flashlight for you.”

  “Not on my account,” he said. “I can see fine.”

  “You can?”

  “Yeah,” he laughed. “It’s one of my super powers.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said, laughing too. I turned back around and made my way to the kitchen. The candles were still lit and fluttered when we walked inside. The kitchen wasn’t very big but it felt even smaller with him inside. Cautiously, I stepped around him and put the knife back in the butcher’s block.

  “What was that for?”

  “Just a precaution.”

  “Were you going to use it on the Boogie Man?”

  Prickles rose on my skin. “If I had to.”

  Lifting the folded towel off the counter, I handed it to him.

  “Thanks.” His fingers touched mine briefly as he grabbed the towel. I could feel how warm they were even though he only touched me for a moment.

  Vincent pressed the towel to his face and then slid it over his hair.

  “So, how’d you get here?” I leaned back against the counter.

  “I was out for a walk.” He finished drying off and set the towel back on the counter.

  “In the rain?”

  “Yeah, I like the rain.” He shrugged.

  “Who doesn’t around here,” I muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  He glanced at the stove. “Did I interrupt your dinner?”

  “You didn’t but the power did.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Not that much. Soup out of a can is kind of a crappy dinner.”

  “Where’s your mom?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the sink.

  “She’s out with Ken.”

  “Hot date?”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Do you mind if I sit a minute?”

  “No. Go ahead.”

  He walked over to the table and removed his jacket. “Can I put this here?”

  “Sure. It won’t hurt that chair.” I hated that chair. It was ugly and one of the legs was crooked. If you didn’t sit in it right, you would end up on the floor. Mom said it had character. I told her it was a piece of crap.

  His lips tilted up at the corners. “I don’t’ think it’s that bad.” He laid his jacket over the back.

  Startled, I looked at him. “What’s not that bad?”

  “The chair.”

  “Why would you say that?” I felt like he read my mind.

  “It’s the way you said, that chair. I’m guessing you don’t like it.”

  “That’s true. I don’t. Mom got it from a garage sale.”

  “You have something against garage sales?” He looked like he was biting back a laugh.

  “Yes. No,” I flustered. “I don’t know. It’s just an ugly chair.” Why were we talking about chairs?

  “How about this one? Can I sit here?”

  “Of course. That one isn’t so bad.”

  “I think it looks like a fine chair.” He pulled out the chair I had been sitting in, which was my favorite out of all the mish-mashed chairs Mom had bought and sat down. “Feels comfy.” He wiggled his bottom and I couldn’t help smiling.

  “It is,” I agreed.

  Leaning forward, he braced his arms on the table. “So how’s it going?” he asked casually still looking amused.

  “It’s going.” I pulled out a chair catty-cornered to his and sat down. His face was illuminated in candlelight—he looked really cute with wet hair.

  “Is everything okay?” His brow hitched up a notch.

  “Yep, it’s great.” I fanned my face. “It’s kind of hot in here.”

  His eyes twinkled. “If you say so.”

  What was that supposed to mean? I shifted uncomfortably.

  “You want to switch?”

  “No this is fine.”

  “So where have you been?”

  “I had to go back home.” I moved my empty bowl to the end of the table.

  He gave me a questioning look. “Home?”

  “Oh, back to Maryland,” I said. “I had to go to my brother’s birthday party.”

  “You have a brother?”

  “He’s my half-brother from my dad’s second marriage,” I explained.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “Not really,” I admitted.

  “Why not?” He leaned forward and his wet hair fell down over his brow. I had a sudden urge to push it back.

  “It was more of a babysitting thing with a bunch of prepubescent boys.” I made a face.

  “I take it was not a conducive combination for fun.”

  “Not really.” I jiggled my foot nervously.

  “You nervous?”

  “No. Why?”

  “No reason.” His lips tilted up again.

  The rain made sharp pinging noises on the glass. “Wow, the rain’s
really coming down,” I said stupidly.

  “I would think you’d be used to it by now.”

  “Yeah, I know, but when I’m alone, especially at night, it’s really creepy.”

  “Well, good thing I showed, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I answered honestly. “So what were you really doing out in the rain?”

  His expression turned guarded. “I was coming to see if you were home but then I changed my mind.”

  “Why?”

  “I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me.”

  My heart sped up. “Why would you say that?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just a feeling, I guess.”

  “Well, I am glad you came over.” I pushed away from the table and stood up. “You want something to drink?” I walked over to the fridge.

  “What do you have?”

  “Water and ginger-ale,” I told him as I pulled out a bottle of water for myself.

  “I think I’ll have you instead.”

  His words whispered over me, like he was right behind me. I spun around but he was sitting right where I left him and he was smiling.

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said almost wistfully.

  “Ah…” I flustered not sure what to say.

  “I’ll take whatever you’re having.”

  “Water it is.” I grabbed another bottle and shut the fridge. I set the waters on the table and sat back down.

  “So, what did you do all weekend?” I asked changing the subject as I took the lid off my water.

  “Not much.” He took off the lid to his bottle and took a sip of his water.

  “No hot dates?”

  “You weren’t home, so no.” This pleased me more than it probably should. Then I remembered I saw him kissing Glinda and my elation turned in on itself.

  “Where did you and Glinda disappear to Friday?”

  “Oh, that.” His expression became pensive. “We were checking out the lighthouse.”

  “Did you hear any screaming?” I asked remembering what he said about there being ghosts.

  “No, but I heard something else.”

  “What?” I sat forward.

  “I heard Viktor yelling at you.”

  “Oh, that.” I leaned back. I tried to act like it wasn’t that big of a deal but my face burned, giving me away. I couldn’t help wondering if he somehow saw us kissing too.