After I hang up the phone, another gust of wind blasts across the kitchen table, sending unopened mail to the floor. The papers blow like tumbleweeds, scattering through the hall and into the dining room and living room. As I lean down to gather up the bills and letters, a sharp pain slashes across the top of my hand. I clutch it beneath my breastbone before turning it over and staring down at three slits that bisect my skin. The gashes slowly gape, and blood seeps from the burning marks. Just like a cat scratch.
I’m drowning. Panic drives me to my feet, and I sprint for the front door. Then I run like a madwoman to Steel’s front step and hammer his door like my life depends on it.
33
In the morning, as I stretch out against Steel’s side and fit my head into the space between his neck and shoulder, I breathe, the world slows.
The question turns over and over in my mind. Why did I run to his house? Why not Dawn’s or Gen’s or Linda’s? It was like the blinking light drew me here. What is it about this man that makes me seek him out when I don’t want to?
I observe the arch of the steamer trunk lid at the end of the bed and stretch out my leg, try to touch it with my toe. I need to know what’s in that chest.
“You should just move in,” Steel says sleepily.
I huff out a laugh. “I don’t think that would work. I have four kids, remember?”
“Bring them too. There’s room for all of you. I love kids.”
His stomach muscles contract as he sits up and swings his legs off the bed. I run my finger down his spine, noticing how his vertebrae don’t stick out like most people’s—his back is smooth, all shoulder blades and muscles.
He pushes off and shuffles into the bathroom. Seconds later, the house’s pipes pump water through its arteries. The events of last night return to me like a movie trailer—alarms going off, the cat on the mantel, Agnes in the street. I need to check on her today, make sure she’s okay.
I sit up and move mechanically, seeking my clothes. I hold them up in the lamplight and make a face, reminded that I was wearing filthy sweat pants when I pounded on Steel’s door last night.
I shoot a glance over my shoulder. The bathroom door is closed, and the sound of water spatters arrhythmically against shower tiles.
The gray cat saunters by the doorway and stops, rumbling a low growl. I didn’t know cats growled. The feline darts its tongue out of its mouth, swiping either side of its jowls. Then it sits and calmly surveys me. I start toward the door, determined to skirt around it, but it doesn’t move—its gold eyes look out at me with far too much understanding for an animal.
“What do you want?” I fling my hands at it. “Shoo.”
The cat doesn’t go.
I turn back toward the room, and my gaze lands on the trunk. All three of the latches are open. I check the bathroom door. Yep, closed. My desire to see what’s inside is overwhelming—and this is my chance. I grab the lid and crank it open.
Just like in my dream, a silky black sheet covers whatever is underneath. With a deep breath, I pull it back and stare down into a treasure trove of trinkets and items wrapped in tissue paper, preserved in plastic bags, covered with blankets. I lift one of the pouches and squint through the plastic at a necklace with a gold charm of a person’s name: Michelle. An envelope contains a two-inch snippet of blonde hair. Under the blanket, I find a white shirt box. My hands shaking, I lift it out and remove the lid. The box is filled with ID cards, driver’s licenses, and work badges. I sift through them, my fingers closing over a stack of business cards wrapped with a rubber band and embossed with one line of red text: leviat.com.
My heart drops. The card. Is Steel the one responsible for the videos? Or Tommy?
I release the stack into the box and continue to sort through the trunk. Silkscreen T-shirts, underwear, earrings, a travel book in another language. Souvenirs. A wadded-up piece of tissue paper sits on top of the other items. I lift it, unwrap it. As I look down at the resin figurine in my hand, my stomach convulses. It’s one of the fairies my mother gave me, in perfect condition with the tiniest bit of dirt on one wing.
I recall Steel standing at my back door, holding out the figurines he’d found under the collapsed shed. He’d given me the others, but he’d kept this one.
“I knew they were important to you.”
Steel’s voice is like a knife, and pain ripples through me as I spin around. He stands on the threshold of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, water glistening in his hair, on his skin. I check the door where the cat still sits, licking its paw, blocking me. Steel swaggers into the room, a strange sort of half-smile pulls up one side of his face.
I straighten slowly.
He plucks the figurine from my hand. For once, his touch sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with sexual desire.
He rubs the spot of dirt from the fairy’s wing. “When I found these under your shed, they were all just lying there—all in a row. Nine little figurines. And I realized, this is what she’s looking for.”
An image from the video flashes through my mind—the four girls lying in the dirt—along with fleeting frames of a movie I recently watched about a woman who’d dated Ted Bundy. My throat is dry, but I manage to croak, “What is all this stuff, Steel?”
He raises his head, arches an eyebrow. “I told you this trunk was off-limits.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was unlatched. I’m sorry.”
“Are you? Sorry?”
I nod. “Yes, I shouldn’t have been snooping.”
Steel snickers, air passing through his nostrils. He reaches up, swipes his hand over my hair. I try not to flinch.
Then he takes my fingers, opens them, and places the fairy in my palm. “You can have this back. I have you. I don’t need a memento.”
As he searches my eyes, I worry he can see my fear.
“Is that what these things are? Mementos?”
“Yes. Mementos. Trophies. Like all of my treasures in the basement, except these are even more special.” He slumps down onto the end of the bed, hangs his hands between his knees, looks down at the open trunk.
“Why do you have all these things? People’s IDs?”
Steel reaches down and pulls out the plastic bag containing the necklace with the name charm. “Michelle,” he says softly. “I’d almost forgotten about this necklace.”
“Who was she?” My mouth trembles.
He lets the bag slide through his fingers back into the trunk. “A girl I met—years ago. In Richmond. We spent the night in a motel.”
“What happened to her?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know. It was just one of those things.” Bending over, he picks up a ring and holds it between his thumb and forefinger. It looks like an antique. A white, iridescent stone sits in an ornate setting. “A girl I met in Australia gave me this. Just outside Alice Springs, near Uluru. You ever been to Australia?”
I swallow. “No.”
“The Outback is truly amazing. Miles and miles and miles of nothing. Just desert, wild horses, kangaroos. It’s really like that, you know.” He slants his eyes to the ceiling. “It’s a good place to get lost. And if you do get lost, there’s a chance that no one will ever find you.” He flips the ring back and forth between his fingers. “We shared three days of camping out, hiking, and a lot of sex.”
I try to breathe in slowly. “Sounds dangerous.”
He meets my eyes. “It is. In more ways than one.”
“What happened to the girl?”
He shrugs again. “She died.”
“What?” My heart seizes.
“Everyone dies, Claire. Eventually.” He gazes up at me, his face tranquil for a moment before breaking into a smile. “I’m just kidding. I don’t have any idea what happened to her. Again, it was just a fling.” He drops the ring back into the trunk. “So now you know my secret. These are all my spoils. Nearly twenty years of my life is in this box.”
“You consider Michelle a spoil too?” I motion t
o the gold necklace. “The girl you met in a motel? The girl you met in Australia?”
He rocks back, grasps his knee. The towel falls away. “Yeah, in a sense.”
I force the words from my lips. “And what about me?”
“You’re something different.”
I shake my head, look away, and point at the cards. “What are those?”
He reaches for the stack, holds them up.
“What is leviat.com? I found one of those cards in my car, and I went to the URL. I’ve been getting web pop-ups and dreams and visions ever since. Is that from you? Are you sending me the videos?”
Chuckling, Steel stands in front of me and places his hand under my chin. “Yes, and no.”
I back away.
“Oh, Claire. You should never, never have gone to that website. But you probably know that now.” Turning away from me, he swats the top of the trunk, and the lid falls heavily. Then he latches it.
Standing there, my mouth hanging open, I feel rooted to the spot. “You have to tell me, Steel. I saw these in the Frankensons’ house too—on Tommy’s desk. And now, all of this shit is happening to me. I have to know what I’m dealing with.”
Slowly, he raises his eyes to meet mine. “All that you are, all that you have, is now mine.”
Panic explodes in my chest. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?
His lips turn up into a slow smile. “You’re about to find out.”
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” I blurt as I take one step back and then another.
Steel says nothing, and he doesn’t blink. “I’ll send one of my guys over to finish up the shed tomorrow rather than wait until the weekend.” He grabs his jeans off of the chair and pulls them over his hips. “I’ve got a busy week. And an even busier weekend.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I try to keep my voice calm. “I’ll have someone else finish the shed.”
“No, I finish what I start.” He swipes his hand over his mouth, shakes his head. “It always comes to this. I just thought—hoped—I’d have a little more time with you before...”
“Before what?” My voice squeaks out of me.
He advances toward me again, and I stumble backward, my shoulders contacting the wall.
“You should go, Claire.” His voice is a whisper.
“What are the videos, Steel? And why did Tommy have the cards too?”
“Tommy had the cards because I gave them to him.”
“Why?”
“Because he was searching for power in his life. Power over the past, power over the future. He was ready.” His eyes darken. “You weren’t.”
“What does that mean?”
“You should go right now.”
I look down at the cat in the doorway. “Tell your cat to get out of my way.”
“You’re afraid of a little cat?” Steel slants his head and whispers to the animal, “Gaan.”
The cat stretches and wanders down the hall.
I lunge for the door, but as I reach the staircase, tall, spindly shadows stretch and grow out of the banister railing, blocking me from descending.
“Oh, Claire, before you go...”
With a barely stifled sob, I turn to face him again. His frame fills the doorway. Now, when I look at him, I’m not sure what I ever saw in him. His face is a little too long, and with the shape of his beard, too pointed. His voice is whispery and doesn’t sound anything like the sweet, attentive man who offered to rebuild my shed.
“There are evil things attached to that website, Claire. Things I was introduced to a long time ago. Things Tommy Frankenson met too.”
“What kind of things?”
“Things that wanted my soul. Things that wanted Tommy’s soul. And now, they’re going to want yours.”
I stagger backward, glancing over my shoulder at the shadows. They’re still there, but I’m willing to risk them rather than stay here with Steel.
“Get out!” His command thunders as if projected through a megaphone. The harshness of his voice is like a lash across my back. I run through the shadows, down the stairs, into the foyer. I grab my purse and keys off the floor and rush outside, where the cold rain pelts my face and blends with my hot tears.
34
I need to talk to Dawn. I need to unpack everything that’s happened.
For the second time in less than twelve hours, I sprint, barefoot and shaking, and land on a neighbor’s doorstep.
As she swings the door open, Dawn’s countenance falls. “Claire, what—come in.” She waves me inside, and I pad with wet feet into the kitchen.
Linda is here too, standing by the island, sipping her coffee. She pulls the mug away from her lips, her eyes widening.
“I’m sorry,” I pant. “Sorry to intrude.”
Dawn grabs a towel out of the laundry room and slings it over my shoulders. “Claire, it’s okay. Deep breaths. I’ve never seen you like this. And why are you barefoot?”
She pours me a cup of coffee, and I sit at the kitchen island, shivering as I lift a foot and dry it with the towel.
Linda’s gaze settles on me. “Were you attacked?”
I cup my hands around the mug and draw a drop of the hot coffee into my mouth. “Something—something terrible happened last night at my house. And then this morning, something even worse happened at Steel’s.” I palm my face. “Steel tells me—I don’t know, he holds on to souvenirs of the women he’s slept with, and something evil wants his soul...”
Trying to relay what just happened between Steel and me is like trying to talk after a shot of Novocain. My jaw shakes, my teeth clack together, and I know my words aren’t making any sense.
“Wait, slow down.” Dawn raises and lowers her hands. “What?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “He’s—something is not right with him.”
“Like all men,” Linda raises her eyebrows and sips her coffee.
“No. There’s something really wrong with him. Annalen tried to tell me, Paris tried to tell me. I think he may have had something to do with the Frankensons’ deaths.”
Linda’s eyebrows shoot up. “Hyo was right.”
Dawn and I both look at her.
“My mother-in-law says to me the other day, ‘Jin Hee, your friend is in trouble. You should help her.’” Linda sips her coffee. “I just thought it was her usual crap that she spouts.”
I scrub the edge of the towel across my forehead. “What did she say?”
Linda puts her hands on the edge of the island and leans in. “She said she’s been seeing gwishin, basically ghosts, spirits of dead people, wandering around your yard.”
“What?” My voice shrills. “When? Walking around my house?”
Linda nods and then waves her hand. “Yeah, but don’t worry. She says stuff like that all the time.”
I plant my face in my palm. “I called a psychic, and she came to the house the other day. But she said she didn’t see anything.”
Dawn juts her head forward. “You brought in a psychic?”
I nod. “She said there are no spirits in my house.”
“Maybe she’s wrong,” Linda says.
I take a slow breath. “Has Hyo told you anything else?”
“Look, I don’t know, okay? You know my mother-in-law is a little loopy.” Linda shrugs.
I want to grab her, shake out all the information that she so calmly doles out—little nuggets that could save my life.
“But,” she adds, “every time Hyo sees Steel, she claims he has a dokkaebi with him.”
“What is that?”
Linda raises her eyes to the ceiling. “It’s like a goblin. They’re not human spirits. In terms of—they’ve never been human. According to legend, they can change shape, and they’re thought to be attached to objects. Supposedly, anything that has ever been stained by human blood can create a dokkaebi. But these spirits can appear to you as a friend, and then they show their true selves.”
“Oh, shit.”
I shudder.
Linda purses her lips. “But, you know, it’s just Korean folklore.” She puts her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
35
“Can I come over and talk to Hyo?” I try to keep the panic from my voice. “I’d really like to hear what she has to say about all of this.”
Linda laughs. “Why do you think I’m here, enjoying some time to myself this morning? No, she’s visiting her sister in Winchester. But she’ll be back in a few days for Thanksgiving.”
Linda soon heads home and leaves me in her wake, trying to keep my head above the waves of distress.
Afterward, I sit in the kitchen and watch Dawn place canned biscuits on a metal baking sheet.
“You know my father was an exorcist,” I say.
“What?” She raises her eyebrows. “No. I had no idea.”
I bob my head. “I saw him do it once.”
“That must have been...”
“Terrifying. Yes, it was. I don’t tell many people about it—about what he did. By the time I was in middle school, he’d quit the church altogether.” I drag my hand through the tangles in my hair. “My mother felt he had somehow ‘caught’ something when he was involved in the exorcisms. She said performing these rituals wore him down and eventually turned him into someone else. He began to exhibit reckless and unfaithful behavior. He couldn’t cope with the things he’d seen and heard.”
One of Dawn’s cats paws at her leg. She reaches into a cabinet behind her and takes down a bag of dry food. “That must have been hard on you.”
My gaze sinks to the soiled knees of my sweatpants. “I convinced myself that my father was a victim of mental illness. I convinced myself that these things didn’t exist—that all of the people he supposedly exorcised of demons were actually mentally ill.”
Dawn pours brown kibble into a shallow bowl and places it on the ground.
I rub my hand harder over my face. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
“You’re thinking about your house?”
The Neighbor: A terrifying tale of supernatural suspense Page 16
