Haunted Chemistry
Lindsey R. Loucks
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Lindsey R. Loucks. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Edited by Kaleen Harding and Libby Murphy
Cover design by ARTIST
Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-298-2
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition September 2013
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: The Princess Bride, Laundromat, Foo Fighters, University of Kansas.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For Jesse, who wants to be a ghost-sniffing cat, but there are just too many naps to take.
Chapter One
Laundry can sure be terrifying when you haven’t done it in weeks. I heave the stuffed red bag over my shoulder, Santa-style. The poufy drawstrings smack me in the ear.
“I’ll be right back, Tri,” I call over my shoulder.
The cat bounds down the hallway toward me as though I’ve just announced we’re out of his favorite salmon treats. I swear he thinks he’s part dog. I give him a quick chin rub and he wrinkles his triangle nose, stretching his neck up as far as it’ll go. He squints olive-green eyes at me over his white Hitler mustache. It’s beyond cute on Tri, not so much on Hitler. He swipes at my ankles with an orange-and-white-striped paw as I open the door.
“We’ll play when I get back.” I shoo him into the apartment with the side of my sandal. “Watch your twinkle-toes.”
I haven’t done laundry in this building since I moved in three weeks ago. The landlord said the facilities were downstairs—two washers, two dryers. Hopefully they do more than just eat quarters. My first year in college, I learned how sacred quarters are. No one teaches that in high school, but it’s a life lesson every college student needs to know. These words should be stamped on diplomas: Remember This Always: Quarters Are Sacred.
Gray clouds chase over the darkening sky. A strong wind brushes past my bare arms. The evening is strangely cool for August in Kansas. It can’t rain yet, not until I’m done with my laundry, because I already dried my hair. But if it does rain, maybe it’ll be quick. I shiver and start down the stairs. The iron crisscrosses hum under my sandals, sending vibrations through my toes in a steady rhythm.
At the bottom, a red hand-painted sign on a door reads Laundry. Some of the paint from the sign and the door has crumbled to the ground like pulled snake scales. Three of the six squares of dirty glass at the top of the door are broken. No light spills through from inside.
Thunder growls in the distance. The thought of going down there alone pebbles my skin with goose bumps. I could go to the Laundromat later. I could just buy new underwear and socks and call it good for another week or two. But I’m already here, and a spooky dark basement never hurt anyone. Well, it never hurt me, anyway.
As I take a step forward, the door bursts open. My heart leaps into my throat. I cry out. My cheeks heat at the surprised face of Ian Reese, my chemistry lab partner from last year. His hair has been shaved into a buzz cut, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and those blue eyes that shoot static to where my heart should be. A black T-shirt hugs every dip and curve of his muscles, and his jeans hang from his hips in a sexy peel-me-off kind of way.
Holy. Cow.
“Alexis,” he says with a smile that could melt the sun. “How are you?”
“Ian.” I look away to mentally fan myself. “I’m good. You live here?”
“As of yesterday. I got here late last night.” He juts his chin to his right. “Apartment twelve.”
“Twenty-six.”
He nods. We stand in awkward silence because I can’t think of anything else to say. Our date that never happened mixes with the cool air and hangs heavy with the clouds.
“So, two more years, then we’re done, huh?” he says.
“Then physical therapy school, but yeah.”
“Oh, right.” He rolls his lips together. “Chances are we probably won’t have any classes together this year.”
“Yeah.” I realize I don’t have a bra on under my ripped and tattered Foo Fighters T-shirt. Maybe he won’t notice. “Probably not.” It’s good we won’t have any classes together, though. He’s the reason I got a B in the lab. I couldn’t focus on anything but him. We had some serious chemistry. Yes, I’m a giant cheese ball for even thinking that, but it’s true.
He plunges his hands into his pockets and glances behind him. “Are you going down?”
My mind takes a strange turn while I process his question. All sorts of perverted thoughts run through my head. I would love to go down, thank you very much. The heat in my cheeks intensifies. No, that’s not what he’s asking. If anything, I should be pissed at him, not turned on by his unintentional dirty talk. He stood me up, after all.
“Um,” I say. “Yes, I am going down.”
He scoots to the side and holds the door for me, a hint of a smile on his lips. I wonder if he saw everything I’ve just been thinking written all over my face. God, I hope not.
I step through the doorway with an exaggerated swing of my hips. Always a good reminder for what he could’ve had.
“Uh, Alexis?”
My name on his tongue sounds amazing, but I try not to notice. I turn, the bulk of my laundry bag holding the door open for me. “What?”
He swallows and glances at his black boots. “It’s great to see you again.”
I nod. It’s great to see him, too, but I’m not the one who didn’t show up for our date at the end of last semester and who vanished for an entire summer with no explanation. Maybe he forgot about our non-date, because he sure isn’t trying to explain himself. But why didn’t he call to tell me he wouldn’t be coming instead of making me wait for him?
My bag bites its weight into my shoulder. When I shift it to the other one, the door creaks closed in Ian’s face. I wince. I didn’t mean for that to happen.
“Well.” He frowns through the broken squares in the window. “See you.”
“Yeah.” With a sigh, I watch him walk away. I’ve missed our group study sessions where we’d always sit next to each other and accidentally nudge each other’s knee or foot. I’ve missed how easy it is to be with him. I’ve missed him. He doesn’t seem like the type who wouldn’t call to say he couldn’t make it. But he didn’t.
I shake my head hard to keep the pity party tears from coming, and face the basement. A single lightbulb dangles from a string at the bottom of the stairs and sways gently back and forth. Shadows hover at the edges of the glow and deepen into black ink in the far corners. My breath hitches in my throat just looking down there, but I’m not sure why, exactly. Basements have never bothered me before. Even the cellar back home doesn’t freak me out. But this one feels…I don’t know. Off, somehow.
The wooden railing is coated in a thick layer of dust. I move my hand down it and take a step. The boards under my feet groan. A spiderweb tugs at my fingers. I shake it off and take another step.
The air smells dank and stale, like not many people have had th
e pleasure of breathing down here. A steady hum sounds from the left—probably Ian’s clothes in the dryer.
Behind the lightbulb, there’s a wall of storage cupboards. Each one is about three feet wide and three feet tall with padlocks hooked into the latches. They’re the perfect size for the local serial killer to store his latest victims.
Stop it. We don’t even have a serial killer in Lawrence. No one’s been murdered since last Christmas when that guy knifed another guy, and that happened clear across town.
I make it to the bottom of the stairs and dash toward the washers and dryers. Everything goes into one washer. I don’t bother to separate lights from darks because I don’t care that much. A swirl of soap goes on top, and once the lid is closed and quarters are inserted, rushing water drowns out the quiet hum of the running dryer.
Movement to the right catches my eye. One of the storage cupboards slowly swings open. It takes a second for what I’m seeing to sink in. I shrink back. My heartbeat jumps.
The open cupboard door bounces against the one next to it before it stops. I will myself to breathe. These things happen in drafty old basements. Maybe the padlock hadn’t been secured. Or maybe someone is in there. I dig my fingernails into my palms to still the nervous quiver in my stomach. I have to get out of here, but my feet are frozen to the concrete floor. I twist my fingers around the bottle of soap and dart my gaze from the cupboard to the stairs. I’m a fast runner, sixth in the state my senior year of high school. My track scholarship helped finance KU. If my feet will move, I can make it out.
Swallowing hard, I manage to take a step. My scalp prickles. I watch the cupboard so hard my eyes burn. Another step. The hairs lift along my arms. It feels as though someone is watching, waiting to leap out. I sprint for the stairs. Terror wells in my throat. I take the steps three at a time and erupt through the door.
Arms. They reach for me.
“Alexis.” Ian’s face is close to mine, eyebrows pinched together. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
I’m shaking under his grasp on my shoulders. My breaths come quick and loud. “The cupboard,” I whisper. “In the basement.”
“Stay here.” He disappears through the door.
Blood roars through my head. My fingers worry at the soap lid, unscrewing and screwing, as if they have a will of their own.
The door creaks open, and Ian comes out. “I didn’t see anything but an open cupboard.”
“So it was open? I didn’t imagine it? Was anything inside?” The words tumble out before I can make sense of them.
“Just boxes.” He rubs his hands on his pants, eyes never leaving mine, and steps toward me. “What did you see?”
“The cupboard. It opened by itself.” The words sound crazy, even to my ears. I reach for him, a plea to believe me. “I swear it opened by itself.”
“Okay.” He folds his hand over mine and squeezes gently. “I believe you. Maybe it wasn’t latched all the way.”
“Maybe.” I nod. “I’m sorry, Ian. I’m not usually so irrational.”
“I know. You got spooked.” His thumb slides across my knuckles, sending a thrill through my body. “No need to say you’re sorry.”
I look at the door and sigh. “I still have to go down there later to put my clothes in the dryer, though.”
“Well, I could do it.” He shrugs. “If you want. I have to get mine anyway.”
“Can you handle the sight of all my lacy underwear?” Oh my God. I can’t believe I just asked that. Fright must do weird things to my mouth filter.
He grins. “I think I can handle it.”
I look away. The thought of him putting his hands on my underwear melts warmth through my stomach. Especially the underwear I’m wearing now. I glance at the laundry room door to sweep the thought from my head. “I appreciate the offer, but…maybe…could we just walk down there together?”
“Sure. Can we hang out at your place while we wait, though? My apartment’s pretty empty.”
I tap my thumb on the soap handle, frowning. It seems risky to let him in and set myself up for another rejection. The last thing I want to do is get hurt again, but I allow myself a single nod. Besides, I don’t want to be alone right now, and Tri won’t be interested in listening about open cupboards if he thinks it’s time to play. “You can meet Tri.”
“Tri?” He tilts his head, eyebrows drawn together. “Is that a roommate?”
“He’s a cat,” I say. “I got him at the end of the school year.” After our non-date and my best-friend-slash-roommate moved away because she’d been dumped one too many times, I threw a pity party for myself because it seemed I wasn’t worth anyone’s time or effort. It’s the same feeling that’s hung around my shoulders since childhood when Mom left. When Ian didn’t show and Elizabeth moved out, I decided I’d had enough abandonment in my life. My pity party involved a slow evolution into a crazy cat lady with the adoption of Tri. “Do you like cats?”
“Uh.” He scratches his cheek. “Depends on the cat.”
“He’s part dog, so…”
Ian laughs. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine, then.”
I look at our hands twined together. His skin feels rough, especially the tips of his fingers. He must still play guitar. I never got a chance to hear him play, and this shoots an ache into my chest. “You don’t have to wait with me.”
He closes the space between us and tucks his free hand under my chin. “I want to.” A pained expression passes over his face, and then he smiles.
His nearness snags at the air in my lungs. My mouth opens, but I can only nod. We head up the stairs. He doesn’t try to take his hand from mine, and neither do I. Maybe that means he feels a tingling stir in his stomach, too. I hope he does.
Gray clouds have washed over the setting sun. The wind has picked up, tossing the ends of my stick-straight hair into my face. I sweep it out of the way and notice that Ian’s sharp blue eyes are watching. A smile twitches his lips, and he turns away. I do, too, and wonder at what he might be thinking, what he thinks of me, why he didn’t show at the club my favorite band, One Blue Chuck, was to perform.
Sometimes I’d catch him looking at me in lab, even in the middle of our experiments. He’d caught me doing the same thing, too. Our graduate teaching assistant banned us both from the sulfuric acid because neither of us could pay attention.
I root through my pocket for my keys as we near number twenty-six. “So, what were you doing outside the laundry room when I came bursting out? Did you forget something?”
“Uh…” He slips his hand from mine. “I was going to…” He clears his throat and rubs the back of his head. “I was going to ask you on another date and promise to show up this time.”
I push my lips together and zip the key in the lock. Is this the part where he apologizes and gives some sort of lame excuse? Because I’m not sure I’m ready to go there.
“Oh” is all I say, and he follows me inside.
He looks around. “It’s just like mine.”
It’s sparse in here since I’m a practical girl, but cozy. A couch sits in front of the television. Original impressionist artwork painted by the guy downtown hangs above the couch. A single plant soaks up the remaining daylight from the balcony window. The smell of my chicken Alfredo dinner lingers in the air.
“It’s nice,” Ian says.
“Thanks. Hey, Tri,” I call. “Come meet Ian.”
“What’s with his name?” Ian asks.
“Well.” I kick off my sandals and look around for the cat. He’s usually springing toward me as soon as I walk in the door. “I got him at the humane society, and one of my friends who works there has a four-year-old daughter who named him Triable. She was trying to say triangle because he has triangles all over his head. My friend shortened it to Tri, and now that’s the only name he answers to.” I slap my legs and make kissy noises. “Come here, Tri.”
“Ah, I see. So he’s a dog dressed in a cat’s triangles.” Ian slides me a grin. “I like dogs
.”
I snort out a laugh, but it fades fast. Still no Tri. Then I hear it—a low growl. I follow the sound. It grows louder the closer I get to the kitchen. I gasp when I see the cat, and my hand flutters to my mouth.
He’s crouched in front of a lower cupboard door near the far wall. The cupboard door is open. My chest tightens.
Tri’s ears are folded back. The hair along his back spikes up. A growl that ends in a hiss spits from his mouth. I’ve never heard him do that before. The sound makes me shudder.
I turn to Ian, who stood right behind me, and point to the cupboard. “It wasn’t open when I left.”
He brushes past and steps slowly toward Tri. The cupboard door blocks whatever might be inside. I know I didn’t leave this one open, and Tri has no reason to open it, though I don’t doubt he could if he wanted to. I follow Ian.
He stops a good distance from Tri and bends over to peer inside the cupboard. “It’s just appliances.”
Tri peels back his lips to bare needlelike teeth and hisses. It’s obviously not just appliances in there.
I march past them both and look inside. Ian’s right. Nothing else is in there. I slam the cupboard closed. “What is happening? What’s with these cupboard doors opening? Tri…” I reach down to soothe him, but he scuttles off. “Why are you freaking out?” Frustrated tears prick my eyes.
“Hey, calm down.” Ian wraps a thick arm around my shoulder and pulls me close. “Maybe Tri opened the cupboard. Maybe he saw his reflection in the toaster or something.” His fingers rub strength into my back.
“Maybe.” I don’t believe it, though. Something opened both cupboard doors, the same something that frightened Tri. I know it. I just don’t know what it could be.
Ian presses a kiss to the top of my head. It’s such a sweet gesture, it distracts me from the swirl of thoughts in my head. His body is nothing but lean muscle and molds to mine almost perfectly. I inhale his scent, a musky cologne that pumps my blood faster.
Ian is in my apartment. It doesn’t seem possible, though I’ve dreamed about it more times than I care to admit. We did much more than a one-armed hug in my dreams. My skin grows hot. The air shifts and charges, exploding fire in every part of us that touches.
Haunted Chemistry Page 1
