Close to Home

by Lisa Jackson

  Rubbing her arms, she made her way to the Explorer, popped the back door open, and pulled out the large sack of dry dog food for the new addition to the family. Juggling the bag, she pushed the back door of the SUV closed.

  Once again the world went dark, the night black.

  Only a bit of illumination from the windows of the first floor.

  Enough, though.

  She just needed to join the kids inside and push aside any ridiculous notion that there was someone watching her. Following her. Ready to do harm. Those lingering feelings had to be locked away and—

  Craaack!

  A dry twig snapped.

  She whirled to face the sound.

  Her eyes scanned the darkness, imagining movement in the umbra near the garage. That’s where the noise had come from.

  Or was she mistaken?

  Had it come from beneath the cherry tree, where a brittle branch that had fallen to the ground could have been stepped on?

  Or had the sound emanated from the nearby field? Glancing at the fence line, she saw nothing, only the barest hint of once-white rails. Her skin crawled as she peered through the wisps of fog to the night beyond. Ears straining, eyes narrowed, she backed up, one step at a time, toward the house. Surely she was alone out here. What she’d heard was probably just an animal—skunk, rabbit, even a deer.

  Or the dog.

  Maybe the rambunctious dog had never made it into the house.

  So, where was Xena?

  And the kids . . . God help her, they were surely in the house.

  For a second Sarah was certain she wasn’t alone. That someone or something was nearby, watching her every move.

  You’re being silly, There is no malevolent presence,

  She remembered shouting out to the “ghost” upstairs and felt foolish, but her fears at that time had been real enough that they’d propelled her into adopting a dog. This was ridiculous. Of course there were wild animals out here, but so what? She’d grown up with them, whatever they were.

  Lifting the bag to her shoulder, she faced the house again, and as she did, her eyes strayed to the third-floor window of Theresa’s room, and there, through the thin layer of fog and watery glass, she saw movement, the flimsy image of a woman in a white dress.

  Stumbling, she dropped the sack. It hit the corner of one of the flagstones and split open. Tiny kiblets sprayed over the grass and stones, but Sarah barely noticed. Her eyes were drawn to the window and the image behind the gauze of the curtains.

  The ghost?

  No way.

  Her back tensed, and the hairs lifted at her nape.

  In a second the image disappeared, but not before Sarah thought she recognized her daughter.

  Jade?

  She let out her breath slowly.

  This was no otherworldly being, no specter, but it might be her daughter exploring around. Since it was too dark to clean up the mess, she left the spilled kiblets to whatever night creatures would come along and hauled the rest of the bag to the house.

  In the kitchen, Gracie was trying to teach Xena to “shake” on command. So far the lesson wasn’t going all that well. “Use some of these,” Sarah suggested, dropping the bag onto the table. “Maybe you can find some plastic bin to pour it into, as the bag is toast.”

  Gracie dug into the torn sack for a few morsels. All the while Xena’s eyes watched her every move.

  “Jade?” she called up the stairs.

  “What?” But the sound came from the living room, where she found her eldest daughter wrapped in a quilt and multitasking by texting on her phone and watching something on her iPad.

  “What were you doing on the third floor?” Sarah asked.

  Jade didn’t bother looking up. “I wasn’t up there.”

  “You were in Theresa’s old room. Just a few minutes ago.”

  Finally, Jade’s gaze moved from the screen to meet Sarah’s eyes. She shook her head. “I said I wasn’t up there.”

  “But I saw you.”

  “You didn’t!” Jade declared. She stared at Sarah as if she’d gone crazy. “Wait. You actually think you saw me up there? In that room where Gracie saw the ghost?”

  A frisson slid down Sarah’s spine. “You weren’t upstairs?”

  “No.” Flinging off the quilt, she gathered up her electronic equipment and stood up. “Why would I go up there?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe to watch Liam Longstreet and not be seen.”

  Jade made a choking sound. “Oh, God. He just came up to apologize for breaking my iPhone, and yeah, it’s cracked!” she said, holding the screen up for Sarah to see. “It barely works.”

  Sarah nodded, gazing at the phone and trying not to think of the ghost. “I think your dad bought insurance.” Swallowing, she added, “I thought maybe you and Liam might be friends.”

  “Friends? He’s got an ogre named Miles Prentice for a ‘friend,’ and he goes with Mary-Alice Eklund, the biggest two-faced snob at the school. I hate her.”

  “Hate’s a pretty strong word.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I do! She’s making my life miserable, and I really don’t need any help in that department.”

  “Jade, if you give it time—”

  “I’m not taking any more advice from you,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Sarah shook off her distraction and keyed in fully on her daughter.

  “Because you haven’t been honest with me.”

  “About what?”

  “My father.”

  “Your father. Jade,” she began, her tone weary.

  “Is the neighbor my dad?” Jade asked flatly. “Clint Walsh. Were you dating him and broke up when you found out you were pregnant or something?”

  Sarah opened her mouth to answer, but it felt as if she’d been hit in the gut. She wanted to lie her way out of it, but could do nothing more than stand in frozen shock, and that was enough.

  “I did the math, Mom.” Jade’s chin lifted a bit, and she looked so young, so vulnerable. “Don’t even think about lying.”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she said unevenly.

  “Oh, Jesus. It’s true. I knew it! Oh, God. That guy—that man I’ve never met before, he’s my . . .” She was shaking her head, backing up. “Why didn’t you just tell me? All this time? Why did you make it a big secret?”

  “I didn’t know how to tell you,” Sarah admitted.

  “Does he know?” Jade demanded. “You said he didn’t know.”

  “He doesn’t. No one knows . . . well, your grandmother guessed, but that’s it. I was able to keep it from the family as I was away at college.” Sarah had never felt such remorse. She was dying inside, wishing she could roll back the years, wishing she had come clean the first time Jade had asked about her father. “I’m sorry. It was wrong. I know.”

  “That’s all you can say now?” Jade charged, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. She swiped at them furiously.

  “Jade . . . ,” Sarah tried to move a step closer, but Jade shrank back.

  “When were you going to tell me? And don’t say ‘when the time was right’ because that’s the problem, Mom. It’s never the right time to admit that you’ve been lying for years!” She was nearly shouting, her voice tremulous, her features distorted with her pain.

  God, this was a mess, one she’d created and made worse with every passing day that the truth was hidden.

  “You’re right, Jade. I should have been honest with you and with Clint from the get-go.”

  “Why weren’t you?”

  “Because he and I were already split when I found out. It’s not like it is today, that you can take a pregnancy test the same week as . . . as conception.” She gathered herself. How could she explain that not only had they been broken up for several months, but that they’d gotten together one final time and it had been a mistake? That they’d tried to rekindle something that was gone? That they’d both felt awful; he was dating someone else, and it felt like they’d both cheated? “He
was with someone else, and I didn’t want to make him think he had to come back to me or marry me.”

  “It wasn’t the nineteen fifties!”

  “I know. I had plenty of opportunities over the years to tell you. You asked me, and I evaded, and that was wrong. And the longer it went, the harder it was to admit the truth. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Or yourself.”

  “I suppose. Yes.” She took a step forward. “I’m sorry. Really.”

  Jade shrank away, and Sarah wanted to die inside. “So,” Jade sniffed, “he doesn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Think I’d better,” she said and pulled her phone out of her pocket to punch in the number she’d memorized in her youth.

  “Now?” Jade looked shocked just as, out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Gracie come in, with the dog trotting behind her.

  “No time like the present. Hope he still has the same number.”

  “What’s going on?” Gracie asked, sensing the tension running like a wild current of electricity through the room.

  Sarah held up a finger.

  “Gracie, this is none of your business,” Jade said.

  Gracie asked, “What isn’t?”

  The phone connected and started ringing. Sarah took in a deep breath. She’d thought about this moment a thousand times over the years, planned for it, but now that it was here, she had no idea what she would say.

  One ring.

  Two.

  “Wait!” Jade said suddenly. “Maybe we should wait—”

  Three rings that ended with a distinctive click, and then, “Hello.” Clint’s voice.

  “Hi,” she forced out, her insides quivering as she held her oldest daughter’s gaze. “Clint, this is Sarah. I need to talk to you.” Her legs went weak, but she somehow stood.

  “About the house?”

  “Something else. I’d really like to see you in person.” Jade was shaking her head frantically, trying to stop what she’d started. Gracie’s eyes moved from Jade to Sarah and back again, while the dog, sensing the tension, slunk into the living room to settle in by the fire.

  “Okay,” Clint said slowly.

  “Would now be okay?” Sarah suggested as she drew in a long, calming breath. “I can come over to your place . . . or, if you’d rather, you can come here.”

  Jade was holding up her hands and waving, frantic to change the course of what was about to happen, backtracking like mad, no longer demanding the truth. “No!” she mouthed. “Mom! No!”

  “Is something wrong?” Clint asked, the concern in his voice touching her.

  “No,” she said, her voice softer than she’d hoped, and she cleared her throat. “Nothing’s wrong,” Sarah insisted, as Jade continued to freak out, “but it really would be best if we talked in person.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen.” He hung up, and Sarah, letting out her breath, finally fell into the old rocker.

  CHAPTER 19

  Her ponytail called to him.

  Fiery red and swinging behind her, the thick, straight thatch of hair tempted and teased with each of her footsteps as she hurried down the sidewalk through the fog.

  He eased up on the accelerator, ensuring that his hybrid was traveling slow enough to stay in the electric-power range so that the vehicle nearly made no sound as it rolled along the street. With the headlights off and the fog encroaching, the hybrid was virtually undetectable to human ears or eyes. Not that she would notice even if it was broad daylight and he was gunning the engine of a hot rod. She was either talking on her cell or texting, her mind anywhere but on the deserted street.

  Still, he had to be careful. He didn’t want to nab her when she could scream or text for help to whoever was on the other end of her connection. That wouldn’t do. No. She would have to be disabled, and so would her phone. Immediately.

  This would be tricky. Easing down the street, his foot barely on the accelerator, he felt every muscle in his body become tense. Using his own phone, he texted his partner again. The guy was a bit of a moron, but necessary if he wanted to finish this job. And he did. Badly.

  Heading N on Claymore. X st. Dixon. B ready.

  This would only work if his friend came through. Thankfully, there were no storefronts or cameras on this side street, and traffic was pretty much reduced to cars from the neighborhood.

  God, she was a beauty. He knew. He’d found her picture in a yearbook left in a local coffee shop. He’d swiped it and used it to peruse more pictures and narrow his hunt, then with the names and personal information in the yearbook, he’d gone onto the social media Web sites and learned more. When he searched for a girl outside of the public high school, he used facial recognition software and applied it to Facebook and Twitter and Instagram until he found the girl he wanted and downloaded her information.

  There were so many to choose from, but he had to pare down his list. He’d sworn to himself that he would wait another day or two, letting the heat from Rosalie’s disappearance cool a bit. He’d also waited in order to pluck two or more at a time, but he believed in fate, and it was as if God had placed this perfect specimen in his path for a reason.

  He needed more girls, and he felt the clock ticking, time running out.

  This one, Candice, filled the bill in so many ways: long legs with great calves, thick hair, nipped-in waist, nice tits, high cheekbones, and a smile just recently released from braces. She was smart, a good student, but quiet and, more important, deeply religious—a nice balance to the wild, foul-mouthed Rosalie. Candice would be the meek one.

  He craved a cigarette but made himself wait until afterward, when she was cuffed and shackled. Then he could relax a little. Enjoy a smoke. Maybe a drink. After she was tucked safely in her new home, a stall labeled Lucky because he thought he’d been lucky finding her.

  In fact, he was surprised to find her alone.

  Now that one girl had gone missing in Stewart’s Crossing, the town had been warned and was taking note. He’d seen the posters tacked on bulletin boards and telephone poles, witnessed the AMBER Alert aired on the local news when he was watching his television, and heard the chatter in the local coffee shop.

  Everyone in Stewart’s Crossing was on edge and a little warier than they had been. Rosalie Jamison’s disappearance had not gone unnoticed, and his hopes that people would think she was just another teenaged runaway had died. Even that buffoon of a sheriff had made a plea on television just this afternoon for information about her. And her parents, losers though they were, had come forth as well, the mother breaking down before the cameras, the father from Colorado looking shell-shocked as he’d tried to comfort his weeping ex-wife.

  So he should lay low.

  Wait it out.

  Let the story die.

  But he couldn’t. He was quickly running out of time, and obviously the hype over Rosalie’s disappearance wasn’t dying down as rapidly as he’d hoped, so he’d have to risk another abduction. Then maybe he could take a few more on Halloween. After that, get the hell out of Dodge.

  But for now, opportunity was knocking, and he was about to respond.

  A reply text came in: See her.

  His heartbeat increased, and he wrote: Let’s do this.

  In position.

  Wait til she’s off the phone then it’s go time.

  He inched the car closer and was amazed she didn’t sense the vehicle.

  Too wrapped up in her conversation.

  As if God were on his side again, she suddenly pocketed her phone and started to cross the street, then realized for the first time that his car, with its lights off and making no sound, was within a few feet of her. She looked in his direction. Panic rose on her face, and she leaped back as he flashed on his lights, blinding her, just in time for his friend to grab her.

  She started to scream, but it was too late as a big hand was suddenly over her mouth and squeezing her nostrils closed as she was pushed toward the
car.

  Perfect!

  He rammed the Prius into park, threw himself out of the vehicle, and rounded the rear end within seconds. Opening a back door, he allowed his friend to wrestle her inside, where the handcuffs and gag were waiting. She struggled, fighting and kicking, but it was no use. His friend climbed into the back with her, subduing her and enjoying every second of it. He could see the light of anticipation, the thrill of overpowering the girl, register on the smaller man’s face.

  “Don’t hurt her,” he warned as he slammed the door shut. Once behind the wheel again, he took off, keeping to the speed limit on the side streets, avoiding as many other vehicles as possible, and finding the road that led upward through the hills. “Did you hear me?” he snapped, glancing back. “You know the rules. No bruises.”

  “But she’s soooo nice,” the other man breathed, no doubt sporting a boner that wouldn’t quit. He was still lying atop her, and he was grinding.

  “Don’t touch her.”

  “But—” His voice was raw, breathless, and she was mewling, trying to scream despite the gag.

  Shit. “Just don’t!” He stopped the car on the hillside, set the emergency brake, and once again rounded the car to open the back door. Sure enough, his friend was on top of the girl, humping like crazy, sure to mess his jeans. “Get out!”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  “Oh, fuck!” As the traumatized girl quivered and cried, he climbed off her. “I was just—”

  He kicked the door shut, and it locked automatically as he grabbed the lapel of his partner’s dirty jean jacket in his fists and slammed him up against the car. “You were just gettin’ your damned rocks off! Jerking off on her! That’s not part of the deal.” He yanked hard on the lapels and tossed the idiot against the car. “Leave her alone. All of them. We’ve got a job to do.” Then, in disgust, he added, “Get in the car.”

  “Jesus, man . . .”

  “Do not use the Lord’s name in vain again!” he hissed, then as the guy started for the door, kicked him hard in the ass.