by Unknown
Flipping my long black hair behind my shoulder I slid smoothly into the front seat and turned the key. The car started with a quiet purr and my anger kicked over to adrenaline. It pumped through my veins, a better high than any stupid cigarette could give me.
Rolling down the window I leaned out and grinned at Travis who stared down at me in slack jawed disbelief. “Want to go for a ride, sugar?” I said in my best southern drawl.
“No.”
“Get in, Travis.” It wasn’t a request.
“We are so going to jail,” he whimpered before he ran around the back of the car and more or less fell into the passenger seat. I grinned recklessly as I put the car in reverse and started to glide down the driveway.
“They don’t put straight A students with full scholarships to Princeton in jail, my friend. You’re safe.”
“I don’t want you to go to jail either.”
I glanced over at him. His face was white as a sheet and he had both hands braced against the dashboard, but he was doing it. He was here. I sighed. Damn it.
“What are you doing?” he asked as I tapped the brakes and slid the car into drive at the bottom of the driveway. “Lola? What’s going on?”
“We drove a stolen car, didn’t we?” I said, beyond disgruntled. “Now we’re putting it back. You can add it to your –”
A huge crash from inside the house cut me off mid sentence. Heart pounding, I pulled the car back up to exactly where it had been (more or less) and killed the engine. Travis and I hunched low in our seats. I saw the whites of his eyes flash as he turned his head to glare at me.
“What was that?” he hissed.
“Why are you asking me?”
“We have to get out of here. We have to run. We have to run away and never say a word about this to anyone.”
I sucked on the inside of my cheek, considering our options before I said, “We can’t go yet.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“Because, dummy, if we open up the doors the little lights will go on and he’ll know we’re out here.” It wasn’t something I had thought about until just this minute. I guess part of me always imagined that Mr. and Mrs. Livingston of 233 Turner Street wouldn’t be home when we tried to steal their car. A stupid assumption, since if they were gone chances are they would have taken their car with them. I really needed to think these things through.
Trying not to panic, I sat up just enough to see the front of the house. All of the lights were still out which was weird, because I knew I’d heard something fall over inside. Maybe they had a dog. Or a giant cat. Maybe they weren’t even home.
“What are you waiting for? Just turn the lights off,” Travis said.
I drew in a deep breath. I had really been hoping to avoid this part. Tilting my head back, I glanced up at the ceiling, hoping there would be some kind of switch like there was in my dad’s car. There wasn’t. “I kind of… uh… don’t know how.”
“Lola,” he said in an oddly strained voice. “What are you talking about?”
Oh boy. “I’ve never exactly driven a car before and I don’t know how,” I admitted. Honestly, it was a miracle I had gotten it down the driveway without hitting something. Travis should have been happy.
Silence. And then…
“WHAT?”
“Shut up!” In the darkness I found his mouth and slapped my hand over it. It was a good thing it was dark inside the car so Travis couldn’t see my face was the approximate shade of a tomato. “I wasn’t planning on actually driving it anywhere,” I said defensively. “Are you going to be quiet now?”
He nodded his head, which I took to mean ‘yes’, and I slowly withdrew my hand.
“You’re insane,” he said the second his mouth was uncovered. “Absolutely nuts. You told me you got your driver’s license six months ago.”
“I lied. I don’t even have my permit.”
“Don’t even… No permit… Crazy…” He continued to sputter out random words while I snuck another look at the house. Still no lights. That decided it. The Livingston’s were either asleep or not home. The loud noise must have been made by a pet knocking something over. We were in the clear.
“Let’s go,” I said. I opened up the door and shut it silently behind me, holding extra long to the handle so there wasn’t even a click as it went back into place. The lights inside the car popped on, just like I thought they would. I glared at Travis through the window, lifted my arm, and tapped my wrist, a clear signal that time was ticking away.
Travis, being Travis, scrambled across the center console and spilled out of the driver’s side door, landing hard on his hands and knees. Grabbing his elbow, I hauled him up to his feet. He dusted himself off and straightened up, still angry, but at least capable of talking coherently again.
“I hate you,” he said succinctly.
“Where is your backpack?” I asked, ignoring him.
His head swiveled around as he tried to look over his shoulder.
“You left it in the car, didn’t you?”
“Shut up,” he mumbled.
“Go grab it. I’ll keep a look out. Then we are – did you hear that?” I tilted my head to the side and closed my eyes, trying to pin point the direction of the sound.
“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
“It sounded like… A cry for help,” I decided. My eyes opened. For the first time, I noticed something very peculiar. The Livingston’s weren’t the only ones with all their lights off. In fact, every house running up and down both sides of the street was dark inside. I frowned at Travis. “You really didn’t hear that?”
“I told you I didn’t hear –”
But Travis never got finish what he going to say as a blood curdling scream the likes of which I had never heard outside of a horror movie tore through the night.
CHAPTER TWO
I Knock on a Door
“Did you hear that?” I asked Travis.
“We have to c-call the police,” he stuttered, looking physically ill. I didn’t blame him. I was feeling a little queasy myself. A human being doesn’t make a noise like that unless they’re in some serious pain.
“And tell them what? We were about to steal some guy’s car when we heard him scream? No way,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s dumb.”
Travis staggered over to the side of the driveway and sank down on his haunches. “Bad idea,” he said to himself. “I knew this was a bad, bad idea. Lame, man. Really lame.”
“What if we call your mom?” I suggested.
Genuine terror filled Travis’ eyes. “No way. Absolutely not. I would rather go in the house myself.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath and rubbed my hands together. “Let’s do it then. Let’s go. I’ll knock on the front door and you go around back and look in the windows. We can’t just leave without doing anything.”
“I would rather steal the car.”
“Saving a guy’s life from a psycho axe murderer is so much cooler than stealing a car. We’ll be famous. The Livingston’s will probably give us a reward or something.” With one hundred dollar bills dancing in from of my eyes I started towards the front door. It wasn’t far from the driveway and the stone walkway was illuminated with ground lights, making it easy navigate. I heard a loud sigh and then the noisy shuffle of Travis’s sneakers as he caught up to me.
“This is such a bad idea,” he complained. “What if there really is an axe murderer or, you know, a robber or something?”
“Then I’ll use my cell and call the police.”
“Why not call the police now?”
“Because we’re right here.” And we were. The front door loomed in front of me, a silent taunt to go ahead and prove my mettle. I raised my fist to knock. Hesitated. Glanced at Travis. “Go around back and see if you can see anything.”
He looked at me like I was nuts. “Don’t you know the first rule of not getting killed by a crazy axe murderer? You never split up.”
Since Travis w
as the horror movie guru, I decided to take his word for it. “If someone opens this door,” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth, “and pulls me inside you better have my back. Got it?”
“Got it.”
I felt his hand press down reassuringly on my shoulder and I took a deep breath.
Why are you knocking on a stranger’s door after you heard screaming coming from inside, Lola? The rational side of my brain asked.
Because I can, the reckless part replied.
I knocked on the door.
CHAPTER THREE
Travis Doesn’t Listen Very Well
The door swung silently open under the weight of my fist. I jumped back like a scalded cat and bumped into Travis who went flying into a flowerbed. He must have landed on one of the creepy garden gnomes because he released a totally embarrassing high-pitched squeal before he got to his feet and staggered back over to me. From the dim overhead porch light I could see dirt smeared on his left cheek and pieces of grass clinging to his hair. Reaching out I plucked half a petunia from behind his ear and rolled my eyes.
“You would never make a good spy.”
“That’s because I don’t want to be a spy,” he gritted out. “I want to be an accountant!”
“Same thing.”
“It is not the same thing at all! It is the furthest thing… from…. oh.” His voice trailed away. “Hello,” he finished weakly.
I whirled around and couldn’t help but stare. There, standing in the open doorway, was the largest man I had ever seen in my entire life.
He wasn’t large height wise. Rather, he was large all over in the way those wrestlers are on TV. You know, the ones who hit each other with chairs and make lots of grunting noises. His hair was white blond and slicked back from his face with some kind of oil. A leather jacket, totally not PETA approved, enveloped his upper body and came all the way down to his knees. Gold rings flashed on his hands when he crossed his arms in front of his barrel-sized chest and growled, “Can I help you?”
Surprisingly it was Travis who recovered first from the initial shock of seeing a real life giant. “We – uh – heard a weird – uh – noise and we’re just – uh – ”
“Why are you not in your houses?” the man interjected, narrowing blue eyes that were only a few shades darker than ice.
When Travis’ mouth gaped open and closed like a fish gasping for air, I took over. “Where is Mr. Livingston?” I demanded.
“I am Mr. Livingston.” Giant Man grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth that I instinctively flinched away from. I was trying to look him in the eyes, to show him I wasn’t afraid even though his ham sized fists could do some serious damage to my internal organs, but for some reason it physically wasn’t working. I could gaze into his ice blue eyes for half a second before something in my brain short wired and I had to look away. Within seconds my head was throbbing to beat the band and my stomach was doing greasy flips. The man’s smile widened.
“Would you like to come in the house?” he asked, gesturing broadly with one tree trunk sized arm. “You and your companion are not looking well.”
“What?” I gasped in disbelief. Did the guy think I was an idiot? Not that I could really blame if he did. After all, we’d started our little adventure by trying to hotwire a care and now we were standing on a complete stranger’s doormat facing down the most likely candidate for an axe murderer I’d ever seen. “Of course we’re not going inside, who do you take us for complete –”
“We would love to come in,” Travis said.
“What?” I repeated, although this time it came out as more of a strangled yelp. I tried to grab Travis’ arm but he shook free with surprising force and walked straight through the door.
“Travis Robert Henderson, you get out here THIS MINUTE!” I yelled after him.
The man in the leather jacket laughed, winked one blue eye at me, and said, “He is gone now, little girl.”
I didn’t like the way he said ‘gone’. It wasn’t a ‘gone to the store and he’ll be right back’ kind of gone. It was a ‘he has moved to a different country and you’ll never see him again’ kind of gone. I took a wary step backwards. The man’s eyes narrowed. It was a faint movement, almost imperceptible. I retreated another step. His upper lip curled.
“You do not want to come in the house with your friend?”
I noticed his grin was a little more forced now. He almost looked… confused. As if he couldn’t understand why I had not followed Travis through the doorway. “You come out here,” I challenged, spreading my arms wide. “You want me? Come and get me.”
He didn’t like that. One booted foot stepped across the doorway. I braced myself, ready to run, but with a hiss of pain he snatched his foot back. Tiny curls of smoke swirled up from the leather toe.
“What the hell…” I breathed, staring at his boot. He snapped his teeth like a feral dog and again they glinted in the moonlight. This time I saw why.
Silver. He had fangs of silver.
I recoiled with a little shriek of alarm and landed hard on my butt. “TRAVIS!” I cried desperately as I scrambled to my feet, knocking garden gnomes over left and right. “TRAVIS, GET OUT HERE!” My heart was pounding like a drum inside my chest. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Didn’t want to believe it.
Grinning lewdly, the man ran his tongue across his top lip in a provocative gesture that turned my stomach. “Best run along home, little girl. You cannot save your precious Travis now.”
“Who are you?” I demanded. I almost said ‘what’ are you, but I stopped myself just in time. Take it easy, Lola. He’s just a freak with fake teeth. Get a grip.
“I have gone by many names. I have been many things. Come inside,” he coaxed, his blue eyes filled with cunning. “Come inside and I will tell you everything you want to know.”
I actually took a step forward before I stopped myself. Part of me wanted to go to him. Part of me yearned to walk right into the house and the let the door close behind me. That was his power, I realized with a shudder. To create action with a mere suggestion. To coerce with an idea. That was why Travis had gone so willingly into the house. In his mind, there had not been a choice.
“I’m calling the police. I’m calling the police and they’re going to come and arrest you.” I dug my phone out of my pocket and dialed 9-1-1. The man slouched against the side of the doorframe and watched me, his expression bored.
“Hello?” I said when I heard the click of someone answering my call. “I need to report a – um – a kidnapping! At – uh – 233 Turner Street. There is a man here and I think he’s dangerous and he–”
The laughter cut me off. It cackled through the phone, raising every hair on the back of my neck. A woman’s laugh, high pitched and cruel. When the laughter stopped she whispered one word before the line went dead.
Run.
CHAPTER FOUR
Cowardly Lola
I ran.
I left my best friend behind and I ran for my life, not stopping until I reached my apartment complex. Gasping, shuddering, retching up long strings of saliva, I doubled over and clutched my knees. The ugly, six-story brick building I’d called home for the past eighteen months loomed in front of me. There wasn’t a doorman or a concierge, just an old keypad that didn’t work and a thick metal door my key always got stuck in.
My dad and I lived on the third floor in one of the smaller units, not that there were any that could be considered big. I heard shouting as I climbed the stairs – if you thought for a second there was an elevator, you haven’t been paying attention – but instead of frightening me the raised voices, one male, one female, were reassuring.
Tara Yates in 2B and her dirt bag baby daddy fighting again. It was annoying as hell, but it was normal and right now I wanted normal more than anything else in the world.
The familiar smell of cigarettes and cat piss followed me down the hall as I reached the third floor, nursing a side cramp and a seriously dry throat. My dad was spraw
led on the sofa with the television on mute when I stepped inside our cramped, four room apartment. We greeted each other like we always did: he with a grunt, me with sullen teenage silence.
One of the best things about having a dad who didn’t give a shit was that, well, he didn’t give a shit. He also didn’t notice things, like the fact that I was sticky with sweat and covered in dirt from when I’d fallen during my mad sprint through the darkness.
I closed the door behind me. Locked it, just in case. My eyes adjusted quickly to the dim lighting, allowing me to see that the apartment was a mess.
No big surprise there.
Cartons of takeout food sat on every available flat surface. The tan carpet was coated in a layer of grime no vacuum cleaner known to man could remove. The chair next to the dilapidated sofa my dad had picked up for free on the side of the road was stacked three feet high with old car magazines.
Normally coming home to such a disgusting mess would have turned my stomach, but since my stomach was already flipped nine ways to Sunday I didn’t even pause to yell at my dad for not using a coaster for his beer can before I sprinted past him and into the kitchen.
It was worse in here. The linoleum counters were barely visible beneath random piles of crap. The sink was full. Something white and slimy was congealing on the stove. I didn’t see any of it. My attention was on the phone hanging up next to the wheezing refrigerator. Yanking the black receiver off the wall I dialed Travis’ home number and closed my eyes.
About three blocks away from the Livingston’s house – and whatever the hell that thing was inside it – I’d tried to call Travis, but I must have dropped my cell. I should have gone back and looked for it. Hell, I should have gone back for Travis. But I didn’t. I didn’t because I was a coward, and I was afraid – no, I was terrified – of what would have happened if I stayed a second longer.
The desire to go inside that house… It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It pulled at me from the inside out, and I knew if I hadn’t left when I did I wouldn’t have been able to leave at all.
