Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy)

by Davis, Sharon

  As she drove into the three car garage, Alexis struggled to get the female she’d seen inside the Burger King out of her head. Raging within the human had been almost every emotion imaginable except for happiness, Alexis’s least favorite scent and flavor of blood. What would it be like to feast upon the one-woman buffet? She couldn’t get the appetizing thought out of her mind.

  Licking her lips, Alexis turned to the man seated next to her whose bite removed almost half of the Double Whopper clutched between his stubby fingers. “Sorry,” he said after swallowing the large chunk of beef, cheese, lettuce, tomato and bread. “Starvin’ here.”

  “Bon appétit, ma chère. It’s like a pinch of salt and pepper to my V-8.”

  Carl scowled at her as he chewed through another monstrous bite of food. “You like a vegan or something?”

  “Oh, I like them all,” she responded with a wicked giggle. “My brother would argue but I have found it’s true that you are what you eat.”

  The man offered her a wolfish grin. “Then I guess that makes me a pussy,” he grunted, crumbling the burger wrapper into a ball that he tossed onto the floor. He licked a spot of mayonnaise from the corner of his thin-lipped mouth as he leaned in close. “And I’m ready for dessert.”

  Alexis wagged one long finger at him as she resisted the urge to claw out his beady shit-brown eyes. “Not until I get to know you a little better—call me old fashioned.”

  “An old-fashioned prostitute?” He chuckled. “That’s a first.”

  “Escort, Carl. Escort. And unless you wish for me to escort you off my property, you’ll play along. Did I mention that each answered question deducts one hundred dollars off my entertainment fee?”

  Carl flung an arm over the back of the passenger seat. “Then by all means, honey, ask away. Five hundred bucks is pretty steep for a night of—ahem—entertainment.”

  “And as I told you, sugar, my oral skills are unsurpassed. I really could suck a golf ball through a garden hose.”

  “Keep talking like that and you won’t have a chance to prove it,” he grunted as he unzipped his coveralls. After freeing his stiff, slightly crooked penis, he started stroking it. “I’m hornier than a four-nutted Tom cat.”

  Alexis fought to keep the smile on her face as her stomach lurched forward. Greasy take-out again. It simply wasn’t fair. She hungered to sink her teeth into a mouth-watering beefcake studmuffin like her big brother—now that would be a meal she could truly savor.

  Clearing her parched throat, she asked, “Is the little wifey not keeping up with her end of the bargain?”

  “Bachelor for life right here, honey.”

  “Children?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “You close to your family?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “No siblings. Never knew my dad. Mom’s doing her own thing in Florida.” He gave her a sly grin. “One more question and I get you for free, honey.”

  Alexis slithered out of the driver’s seat and onto his lap, straddling him. She removed his baseball cap with one hand, grabbed a handful of his dirt-brown hair with the other and then jerked his head to the left. “Sorry, Carl,” she moaned against his throat as her canine teeth became a pair of razor-sharp, half-inch fangs, “everything has a price.”

  The man was in shock from severe blood loss before he could even begin to register what was happening to him.

  And then, he was dead.

  Licking the blood off her lips, Alexis retrieved the Polaroid camera she’d had since she was a teenager from the glove compartment. “Say cheese, Carl.”

  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?”

  Chapter 11

  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. B
ut 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.

  Chapter 12

  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 fo
r 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.