Her words immobilize me. “Excuse me?”
She pulls the cardigan around her and heads down the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside.”
Stunned, I follow her downstairs, strangely helpless. A heaviness that feels a lot like sadness settles over me. What has happened to my daughter? Yes, it’s true that many of my clients claim their children become something alien to them once they turn fourteen, but this seems to have occurred overnight. Like Tommy from next door...
I return to the living room, where the television screen flickers with images of cartoon mice running through a field chased by a large, hungry cat. Tinny, carnival music accompanies the scene, and a voice drones on—garbled, high-pitched. The screen flickers, pixelates, and freezes on the cartoon cat mid-pounce. His clamped, jagged teeth take up most of the screen.
The back door beeps as Annalen opens it and marches onto the deck.
I bend over, reaching for the remote, and in my peripheral vision, I glimpse a swath of black material—fur. My breath catches in my throat. Paris’s stuffed cat now sits on the living room couch.
“That’s it, you bastard.” I lunge for it, snatch it by the tail, and carry it outside to the garbage can. I lift the lid and drop it inside, but just before I thrust the cover back into place, I think I see the toy blink. I do a double-take, stare at it. Then I smash the top onto the plastic garbage can and hurry back inside the house.
24
Steel Nolan is easy to find on social media, and I wonder why I haven’t cyberstalked him before. I check the two most obvious platforms and hit pay dirt right away. Both are set to public view, and it’s enough to piece together a few bits of his life.
I scroll down the page. Lots of photos of him with a crew of men, building a deck, putting up gutters, changing out siding.
More pictures highlight various countries with lush palm trees, ferns, koalas, and kangaroos. Shots of Steel by the Eiffel Tower and the Tower of London and in a beer garden in Germany. Photos of various females are scattered throughout his posts. In one of them, a dark-headed woman walks in front of him, looking over her shoulder, smiling. The backdrop is a line of trees and rocks. Another photo shows a blonde woman sitting across from him—her elbows on the table, hands clasped together, a close-lipped smile.
I scan the page, and my eyes rest on the date of the last post. It’s from three years ago. Nothing since then. I return to the first social media account and notice that the pictures and posts stop in November of that same year. Steel Nolan hasn’t posted anything in three years? Why?
“WHAT’S GOING ON OVER there?” Gunnar calls me that night, his tone a mixture of confusion and irritation.
“What do you mean?”
“I got a text from Annalen asking me to pick her up. Two minutes later, she calls me and says, don’t come.”
I didn’t plan on telling him what happened, but now I feel I have to. Annalen is in the living room watching television, and I move onto the deck so she won’t hear me. In as brief an explanation as possible, I tell Gunnar about the locked door, the weird behavior, her insults.
“Does that have anything to do with...” He pauses, apparently looking for the right words.
“Her period starting?” I fill in the blank for him. “I don’t know. Maybe. But it seems an extreme shift in behavior for that.”
“What do you think it is, then?” Gunnar’s voice is low and tight. I know he’s still pissed off with me because of what happened on Halloween.
“I don’t know, Gunnar. Maybe it’s psychological? Maybe she needs to talk to someone.”
“Well, you’re a shrink,” he hisses. “Why can’t she talk to you?”
I sigh. “It’s a little different talking to your mother than talking to an impartial counselor.”
“I don’t understand,” he huffs. “She doesn’t act like this at my house.”
For the second time in two days, anger shoots through me like a flaming arrow. “Goodbye, Gunnar.” I disconnect the call and rake a sound of disgust across the back of my throat. For one second, I thought I could confide in him. Big mistake.
Back inside, I head to the living room to check on Annalen. She sits on the sofa, her school computer on top of her legs. The television plays a reality show with ghost hunters investigating a house. The last thing I want to watch.
“What show is this?”
“The Living and the Dead. There’s this woman, she’s like a psychic, and she goes with a team to investigate these haunted places and find ghosts and spirits.”
“Hmm. Well, you know that stuff’s not real, right?”
Annalen remains focused on the screen. “I know you think it’s not.”
I perch on the edge of the couch. “What do you think?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I believe it.”
“What do you believe?”
“I believe in ghosts and spirits...”
“What makes you believe in them? What proof do you have that ghosts exist?”
She tips her head up, meets my gaze. “I’ve seen them.”
I stand, raise my hands to my hips. “Where?”
“The night the Frankensons were murdered. I told you. Mr. Frankenson came to my room.”
I’d almost forgotten about that. A flashing image of Rich Frankenson standing outside in the street zips through my mind. I still haven’t sorted that out, but I must have seen him right before he was stabbed. Nothing else makes sense.
Not that I want to encourage any of this, but I feel the need to stay on top of Annalen’s interests. “What did Mr. Frankenson say?”
“He didn’t say anything. He just stood there.”
“Are you sure you didn’t dream it?”
Annalen turns her head away from me and gazes at the television. “That’s what you say to Paris all the time too.”
Note to self: Listen more carefully to what my children tell me—whether I believe it or not. I rise onto my toes and try to glimpse her computer screen. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? What’s nothing?”
She closes the lid of the laptop and stands, tucks the computer under her arm. “Just my science project for school.”
“Oh.” Normally, I wouldn’t let the questions end there, but it’s been a rough two days. Right now, I don’t care if she’s watching porn. I just want us to get back on good footing.
“I thought I’d order Chinese delivery tonight.”
Her eyes brighten. “Great!”
And suddenly, it’s like nothing happened. She’s her old self. Chirpy, smiling, chatting with me about school the next day and how excited she is about her science project.
“What’s your project on?”
She pauses. “I don’t really want to say yet. I lost my lab partner, and now I have to get a new one, but I’m trying to convince Mr. Agee to let me do the project on my own.”
“What happened to your old lab partner?”
“He left the class. Suddenly.”
“Oh, that’s too bad.” I cock my head to the side. “Well, let me know if you need my help. I might be able to find you some scholarly articles for your research.”
“I doubt it,” she mumbles. “But thanks.”
I order Chinese food, and we watch old romantic comedies and stream some animated show that Annalen and all of her friends are watching. I find the characters and plot absolutely ridiculous but harmless.
When the last one ends, I stand and stretch, wrenching my arms above my head. It’s getting late. I wonder if Steel is sitting on his patio smoking a cigarette, and I consider going out to check.
Annalen looks up at me. “Mom? Will you make that popcorn that’s so good? You know, the old-fashioned kind your mom used to make for you.”
She means pouring kernels into a pot, dumping in butter and salt, and popping it over the stove. Whenever I make it that way, the girls act like I hold magical power over corn.
<
br /> While I’m setting out the pot and butter, Annalen perches on the stool on the other side of the island and watches me. I want to talk to her about what happened this morning, but everything between us seems normal—better than normal—and I don’t want to rock the boat.
“Mom, you like that guy, don’t you?”
Here we go. It’s starting to make sense—her behavior and attitude—maybe it’s just a ploy for attention. Annalen is the last of my daughters I would expect to act up over my new relationship, but it explains this morning.
“By that guy, you mean Steel?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, I like him.”
We both go quiet.
“Is it because he’s hot?” she asks.
I laugh. “Do you think he’s hot?”
She bobs her head back and forth. “Yeah, I guess. For an old guy.”
“An old guy? He’s younger than I am.”
“Really? Like how much younger?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Four years or so, I guess.” I put the pot on the stove and turn on the burner.
“Paris doesn’t like him.”
“Paris is six. She likes your dad. She wishes we were still together.”
“I don’t wish you and Dad were still together.”
I glance at her over my shoulder. “Really? Why’s that?”
She reaches into the bowl of leftover Halloween candy, grabs a mini Snickers, and unwraps it. “I like the way you are now—without Dad.”
“How am I without Dad?”
She turns her hazel eyes to the ceiling. “It’s like, you breathe now. You’re not always holding your breath like you were when he was around.”
I lean against the counter. “Wow. That’s how you thought I was before?”
She pops the chocolate square into her mouth and chews. “Yeah, it’s like you were really tense all the time. You’re like a different person now.”
A lump swells in my throat. My daughter’s astute assessment of my relationship with her father is not lost on me. I never saw myself like that when I was with Gunnar, but then again, I never thought I’d end up in a torrid relationship with my hot next-door neighbor. I guess I don’t know myself as well as I thought.
The kernels begin to pop, and I swivel back to the stove and move the pot back and forth over the burner. “And what do you think of Steel?” My heart glows just a little. “Do you like him?”
There’s a long pause, the rustle of plastic as she opens another piece of candy. “There’s something wrong with him.”
The little glow in my heart goes out. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with him?”
Annalen sets the second piece of chocolate on the island, and her eyes dart off to the side. “He seems like, really damaged.”
“We’re all damaged, Annalen. All of us get hurt by other people or things that happen to us in our life.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s more than that. He’s like, got a disease or something.”
“What?” I huff out a laugh. “What makes you think he has a disease?” My mind skitters back to a friend from college who got herpes from her biker boyfriend. “What kind of disease?”
The corn in the pot explodes, lifting the lid slightly. I move it in circles faster.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not really a disease, but...” Annalen licks her lips and thumps her chest with her fist. “It’s like it’s in here.”
I eye her fist firmly pressed against her breastbone. “Where? His heart?”
“Deeper.”
“Annalen, what are you talking about?” I’m about to dismiss all of this talk, and I swipe the pot from the burner, waiting to hear the popping subside before I open the lid.
“When I was looking at him that first time you brought him over, he gave me the shivers.” She shimmies her shoulders.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe part of it is because he is so good-looking, but part of it is from something else too.”
I open the lid, and several kernels burst and settle on the countertop. “Annalen, come on. That’s just—I think you and your sisters are misreading him.” I totally understand the first part of her evaluation. Looking at Steel’s perfect smile and ripped body would give anyone the shivers.
Annalen’s eyes meet mine. “I don’t know what it is. But I’m just worried that he’s not the guy you think he is.”
IT ISN’T A NOISE OR even a sound that awakens me. It’s a sense of dread. A horrible feeling that someone is standing over me, looking down at me in my sleep. My eyes flutter, struggle to open as though the muscles in my lids aren’t working. But I can move my arms and legs.
Thump, thump. Heavy footsteps.
I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m afraid of what I might see. The scent of stale air and urine wafts under my nose, and my ears perk up to the sibilant sound of breathing through congested nasal passages. Someone is standing by my bed, staring at me.
I jump with the force of a body hit with a defibrillator, and my eyes spring open. The room is dark, but the light from the streetlamp outside is enough to illuminate the wedge of hair hanging over me, the light gray T-shirt. Annalen.
“Annalen, what are you doing?” I whisper, pushing up on my elbows.
The pungent smell of urine is strong, and the realization strikes me that my fourteen-year-old daughter might have had an accident in her sleep.
“He’s been chasing me all night,” she wheezes.
“Who? Who’s chasing you?”
“I can’t get away from him. He’s right behind me.”
I shoot out my arm, grasping at the neck of the bedside lamp and feeling for the knob, desperate for light, trying to keep calm. “Annalen, you’re sleepwalking. You’re talking in your sleep.” Panic fills me as I twist onto my side for a better angle to grip the cord on the lamp.
Her breathing quickens, expelled in little bursts. “He’s right behind me—right behind me. He’s going to take me!”
I yank the cord, flooding the room with a yellow-gold hue.
Annalen seems immobilized by the sudden brightness. Her face slackens, and her eyes—not their usual hazel but black with dilation—appear sunken.
I swing my legs out of bed and touch her arm. Her skin is cold. The carpet under my feet is wet, and as I lift my gaze, I see that her light gray pajama bottoms are dark with urine.
Standing, I drape an arm around her shoulders and lead her toward the bathroom. “Come on, let’s go.” I shake her lightly as we walk. Forget what all the experts say about not waking a sleepwalking person. “Annalen, come on. You’ve got to get out of your clothes.”
Annalen walks out of my arms. At the bathroom door, she turns. “It’s too late. He’s already got me.”
25
Monday morning.
I sit by the window looking out on the street below as the dark sky turns gray. Next door, Steel slams the door to his truck. I watch him back out of the driveway. A pit yawns in my stomach. I feel like I can’t hold onto anything right now, like I’m a visitor in my own life.
I amble downstairs to the kitchen, planning to call the attendance office and let them know Annalen will not be in today.
Just as I dial up the school’s number, Annalen appears, dressed in the black cardigan she wore yesterday and black jeans. She saunters to the island, picks another piece of Halloween candy out of the bowl, and unwraps it. As she meets my gaze, I notice she’s wearing dark eyeliner. I’ve never seen her in makeup before, and the black makes a strange contrast against her pale eyes.
“Mom, why didn’t you wake me up? I’m late. I missed the bus, so can you drop me off?”
I try to contain my surprise. “I was going to let you stay home today.”
She tosses the candy into her mouth and chews. “Why?”
I start to say after what happened last night, but I stop myself. “You didn’t seem to be feeling well last night. You were sleepwalking, having some sort of terrible nightmare.”<
br />
“I feel fine today.”
As much as I want her to say something about the incident to initiate a conversation, she never does, and I don’t want to embarrass her by bringing it up—at least not right now.
“I have an algebra test today. I can’t miss it.”
My shoulders release and I blow out an audible sigh. “Okay. Far be it from me to keep you from school if you want to go.”
AS I WALK THROUGH THE door of Dawn’s house later that morning, her face compresses. “You look awful.”
I laugh. The simplicity of her statement colliding with the complicated tangle of my life suddenly seems funny. She smiles a little too, but her brow lines as she hands me my mug of cream with a little bit of coffee.
“How’s the shed coming along?”
I climb onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and rest my elbow on the granite. “Not finished yet but looking a lot like a shed. Steel says a couple more hours next weekend, and he’ll have finished it.”
She pauses, puts down her mug. “You’ve been with him again, haven’t you?”
I laugh again. My two-night stand seems like the least of my problems. “Okay, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Well, I got my answer, so that’s all I wanted to know.”
“Oh, Dawn. My life is a mess.”
“Well, at least your love life is looking up.”
The smile slips from my face. “I’ve got weird stuff going on in my house. And weirder stuff going on with Annalen.”
Framing her mug between her palms, she leans on the island. “Like what?”
I bury my forehead into my open hand. “I think maybe my house is haunted.” I only half mean it, but the words nearly strangle me.
“What?” she giggles.
I fill her in on everything that’s happened in the past two weeks, the stuffed cat, Paris’s claims, and finally, Annalen.
Dawn’s brow presses lower with each detail.
“You should have seen Annalen’s face, Dawn. It was terrifying. This blank stare and dilated eyes. And then, she peed all over herself, all over the floor.”
The Neighbor: A terrifying tale of supernatural suspense Page 12
