Scare Me

by Richard Parker

He nudged his way through the other passengers in the tight thoroughfare. “I’ve landed,” he said loudly, as soon as he heard the familiar, panicked trill of birds the other end. He waited for the line to go dead, but it didn’t. “Can you hear me?” Still the connection wasn’t cut. He lowered his voice. “What am I looking for when I get there?” The caged birds babbled alarm. “If you want me to go on with this, I want to speak to Libby.” The line clunked and the cacophony ended. “Bastards,” he said with enough volume to turn several heads.

  He jogged around trolleys and bags oblivious to protests. Will had told Carla not to book a car this time. A taxi would be quicker and who knew how long he’d be in the state. He joined the line outside the exit for the row of different coloured sedan cabs and got into the white Chevrolet that pulled up.

  “Ellicott City,” he said before he’d pulled the back door shut. He opened his laptop. How much battery power did he have left? He looked up and met the gaze of the driver. He could only see the beanie hat covering the back of his head and his eyes in the mirror. They looked like they’d been peering through smoke for a long time. “Let’s get going. I’m just looking up the details. Get me there in quick time and you can double the fare.”

  The beanie hat nodded and the driver sat up, waggled his buttocks in his seat and pulled out. As they took Route 95 South towards Washington, Will opened the site and put his cursor over the house.

  122 Hebron Street,

  Ellicott City,

  Maryland,

  21068

  He quickly relayed the details to the driver. Should he call the Howard County PD now? But Will had to get into the house before they did. Once they were on the scene he’d never get access to whatever item of clothing he had to secure. And would they arrive in much more time than he would? A family’s lives were at stake though; he had to call the house.

  He frantically searched for a local phone directory. The first one he found required a name. Then he found the Ellicott City reverse address search. He entered the address and zip code details:

  (301) 922-4344

  He dialled the number and listened to it ring before realising it was an engaged tone. He tried the digits again and got the same result. He telephoned Carla and told her where he was headed and to keep trying the number.

  Only then did he register it was getting dark.

  The driver adroitly eased the cab through the evening traffic, but even his knowledge of the back roads couldn’t prevent them from crawling to a stop as they reached the centre. Will continued to redial and only vaguely registered his surroundings. Ellicott City seemed like a model village after the wide expanses of Florida. Traditional house facades were dwarfed by lofty telegraph poles that lined the sidewalks.

  The line remained engaged and Will remembered the burnt food on the barbecue in Kissimmee. He took the gloves out of his jacket pocket and slid them over his fingers. The action made him feel as if he were an assassin himself.

  When the cab eventually pulled up at the address he got out and hurriedly fed some bills to the driver, not taking his eyes off the lit windows of the house. Beyond the low fence he thought he caught movement through the bay window. He double-checked the number on the mailbox: 122, it was the right place. The cab sped off, leaving him alone at the open gates.

  He jogged up the crazy-paved driveway and then slowed, stopping halfway up it as the light from the lounge illuminated him and he could see inside. His breath stumbled in his chest. It was the last scene he expected to be greeted by. A party of young girls with painted faces were playing a Wii game in front of the enormous TV screen on the wall.

  Had he been allowed to arrive in time? He looked back and up and down the street – nobody in sight. Daylight still had a weak grip on the sky, but most of the other homes were glowing from within. It didn’t seem possible that anything could disturb the neighbourhood’s early evening composure

  Was somebody already inside? Or had something gone wrong? Regardless, he still had to attempt to collect an item of Libby’s. He pressed the bell and took a step back, pulling his sleeve down to cover his gloved hand holding the laptop and hiding the other in his pocket. He hadn’t heard it ring over the squeals from the party, but a shape appeared in the hallway and strode to the door.

  “Can I help you?” The blonde girl had her face painted like a tiger.

  “I’m here to pick up my daughter.” If only it were that easy.

  Mystification wrinkled the stripes. “They’re all meant to be sleeping over.”

  “We have an emergency at home.”

  “Oh, sure.” She nodded and removed her hefty frame from the doorway. “Which one is yours?”

  “The one you’ve probably had most trouble with.” The line came easily, having picked Libby up from her fair share of parties. He stepped into the hall and it smelt of popcorn and pizza. Will put his laptop on the seat of an ornamental armchair as casually as he could and flitted his eyes to the open rooms. In front of him was a door to the kitchen, to his right the lounge where the girls were and to his left a formal dining area with a long, polished table running the length of it.

  “They’re just finishing a vital match.” The blonde strode ahead of him, pinning her short hair behind her ears. “Hope you didn’t try calling the house earlier. We’ve had problems with the phones all evening.”

  “OK if I use the bathroom?”

  “Sure, up on the right. Who am I summoning from the tournament?”

  Will took the stairs before he had to reply. At the top of them he found the doors to darkened bedrooms open, but as he switched the lights on and briefly scanned each one he could hear the nanny ascending. She reached the landing as he was exiting the small guest room.

  “What the hell are you doing up here?”

  “Sorry, couldn’t find the bathroom.”

  But her tiger face was snarling now and she registered the gloves. “Who did you say you’re here to collect?”

  Will brushed past her and descended the stairs. “I’m sorry. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “You bet there has. You’d better get the fuck out of here.” Anger and fear in equal measure.

  Will hit the bottom of the stairs and moved past the lounge where the clamour had ceased. There was no point trying to explain.

  “I’m calling the cops,” she screeched, higher than the kids.

  And that was why. Will turned back to find her standing halfway down the stairs wrestling a mobile from her pocket. He couldn’t allow himself to be detained. “I’m leaving now, wrong party. I do apologise.” He grabbed his laptop and opened the door, trotting back down the drive. None of the rooms had resembled the ones on the site. What the hell was going on?

  From the opposite window Poppy watched Will’s exit from the house and smirked before she used her iPhone to change the address on the configuration page of the website. She waited as he moved away from the lights of 122 and then checked his laptop. He turned and looked directly at the property she was standing in.

  He crossed the street and glanced up at her unlit window from the driveway. She snapped a photo of him with her iPhone and stepped back into the shadow of the room. Teenage decor and trophies surrounded her. Nineteen-year-old Greg had earned a scholarship to Baltimore University and his absence meant he was now the last surviving family member.

  She’d still wanted a connection with him though so she’d slipped on the dark suit she’d found hanging in his wardrobe for a while. He’d probably wear it to the family funeral and she wondered if he’d detect a vague trace of her scent at the graveside. She’d hung it carefully back inside its silver grey PEVA suit cover, but she guessed it would probably end up the property of forensics.

  She left the room. Poppy had upgraded 127 Hebron Street from an anonymous family home to an infamous murder scene, but nobody knew it yet. She speculated about the Ambersons in Florida. Did anyone else now know or were the repercussions of that event still being suppressed for Libby’s sake?
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  She hit the bottom stair as the bell rang. Poppy could almost feel the urgent pressure of Will’s finger as it jabbed the plastic button, but the oranges and lemons chime wouldn’t be hurried. She reached the back door of the kitchen as he rapped the metal knocker. The sound became a light pecking as she crossed the lawn to the back gate.

  She placed her fingers lightly on the latch and flicked it, leaving the gate ajar for him. Poppy paused, wondering if he would pick up her scent there as well.

  The website had definitely specified 122. A cruel trick to convince him he’d made it in time? But how had they known exactly when to change the details? They had to be observing him. Will squinted at the empty cars in the street and then back at the house he’d just left. If the nanny had dialled 911 then he had to get out of sight as quickly as possible. He looked through the front window of 127 and could see the silhouette of the upright piano against a weak glow from a table lamp. There were no other lights on and he hoped it meant the family were out for the evening.

  There was no way he could get inside via the oak panelled door or front window without attracting further attention from the neighbours. He hurried back onto the terrace and along the red-bricked townhouses, looking for a way into the back of the property via an adjacent street. Three gardens along he came to a gravel track between driveways lit by a single lamp that had a cluster of moths pinging against it.

  As he strolled down it a young woman was coming the opposite way. As she passed under the lamp he could see she was carrying a canary yellow clutch purse against her chest. He absently thinned his mouth in the automatic gesture of friendly assurance. Her pronounced bottom lip tightened in response, but her dark eyes only darted momentarily to meet his. As she moved by him he turned left into the narrow lane.

  Brambles were only just falling back into place after the woman had brushed past them and they tapped his shoulder and snagged the denim of his jeans. The smell of urine pricked his nose. He counted to the third gate and found it off the latch. This lapse of security seemed less foreboding than the lights being off at dusk. Either the occupants were actually out or no one was able to turn them on.

  He pushed the gate the rest of the way open and looked up the lush, long lawn to the back of number 127. He could see the back door was open as it had been at the house in Florida. The black aperture seemed to shrink away from him as his instincts tried to restrain him from taking another step forward.

  Libby’s beads felt heavy around his wrist as light birdsong filled the silence. He strode up the centre of the lawn, his eyes darting to the tall row of conifers either side of him, trying not to contemplate the entrance until he was at the back step.

  The sprinklers at the flower borders squirted to life and the rotating plastic and low hiss sounded like a warning from a coiled snake. The kitchen interior delineated itself as he reached the doorway.

  When he stepped inside he saw Libby.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Libby and Luke were positioned where they could immediately be identified as soon as Will switched the light on. A cluster of snaps covered the wall in front of him. A family of five sharing the same fair hair and toothy smiles grouped together across the years the images represented. Libby and Luke’s faces were in a matte black frame at their centre.

  He placed his laptop quietly on the counter and moved towards it. The photo was screwed into the wall by a bracket in the middle of the top edge. It was a recent shot; both of them smiling, cheeks pressed together and Luke concentrating as he’d held the camera at arm’s length and took the picture himself.

  He briefly considered they might actually know the people in the house, but the frame’s position was too contrived. It was also not big enough to occupy the considerable gap it filled and he could see the outline of the much larger frame that had originally hung in its space. It was clothing he was to collect. Libby and Luke had been fixed in place to remind him who was at stake.

  He hurriedly absorbed the rest of the room. There was the grand mantel with teenage fantasy artwork taped to the green tiles. Above it was a professional photographic portrait. The parents had three sons, one of them nearly an adult, the other two he estimated to be early teens. None of them were vaguely familiar.

  The chairs were at angles to the table as if the occupants had recently pushed them out to leave. The dishwasher door was open and a half-load of dirty plates had been stacked inside. Two large silver bowls were piled high with dog food and biscuits. Where was the family pet now?

  Will listened for signs of movement. The fridge purred, but there was another sound. At first he thought it was the beat of his own heart, but realised there was a muffled knocking coming from beyond the kitchen. He edged into the hallway. The aroma of stale incense was in the air and he looked along the runner carpet to the front door.

  The doors to his left were open and the last dregs of evening light struggled through each. There were no windows in the hallway so the neighbours opposite wouldn’t be able to see him there. Switches were to his right and he quickly flicked them all down. The bulbs buzzed as they illuminated the closed door beside them. The knocking was coming from behind it.

  He pulled on its gold handle and it popped open. He was looking into the interior of a dark utility room. He grazed his glove on a rough cement wall as it sought a switch and found a string to pull. It clicked loudly, strip lights strobing the interior before pinging on. He faced a rack of detergents and fabric conditioners as well as a selection of brightly coloured tennis bats, skittles and a chewed, orange Frisbee.

  A motor buzzed and vibrated and the smell of damp and detergent crept cold up his nose as he stepped into the room. It was L-shaped and he turned left, finding two washing machines tucked away at the end, under the recess of the stairs. One was chewing clothes through grey water and something inside it sporadically bumped the cylinder. He could see the dark shape of something nudge through the froth at the glass. As he moved towards it, the drone of the chest freezer to his right suddenly cut out.

  He bent his legs in front of the portal and squinted through the dirty foam. Colours flashed and he waited for the knocking sound again. As if on cue, the machine stopped and started draining. He got a glimpse of a blue, rubber sole as it dropped from the top of the drum into the shiny dark clothes below. It was one of a pair of crocs and he assumed the other was buried beneath the rest of the load. He stood as the machine started filling again and turned to leave.

  He knew he wouldn’t be able to pass the chest freezer. Halted beside it, examining its slightly rusted lid. Cold water rushed through the pipes behind him as he estimated the white unit’s depth and what could be fitted inside.

  Despite the small fibre of hope he’d entertained, he knew the family hadn’t gone out and left the back of the house open.

  He gripped the lid handle and heaved it quickly up. Frozen meat greeted his eyes, trays of chops, bags of drumsticks and an enormous turkey all leaking white vapour. He peered down into the mist as the draught from the lid’s motion sucked some of it out. Burgers and unidentifiable meat frost bitten and stacked high next to bags of corn and green vegetables; just the staples of a healthy American family. He let the lid drop heavily back into place.

  He returned to the hallway. He hadn’t seen anyone in the lounge when he’d peered in from the window outside. But he’d been looking across it and the floor had been below his line of vision.

  It was one large through-lounge and he’d be able to take in the whole room by stepping through either open door. He stood in the frame of the first he came to and a board cracked as he crossed the threshold.

  There was nobody in evidence, not arranged on the quilted throws of the couches at either end or lying on the Moroccan rugs. A clock ticked somewhere, but he couldn’t see it. He had already turned to face the stairs.

  He started to ascend immediately, his shoes pounding the mauve carpet runner and the white painted wood sounding like it was splintering with every step. If he stoppe
d he knew he wouldn’t climb any higher.

  When he reached the top he couldn’t believe how dark it had got. A block of solid darkness filled the pane at the end of the landing and he quickly flicked down the switches he found to his left. The light revealed a dark shape lying underneath the window.

  It was the dog, a red setter, curled tighter than it should have been if it was sleeping. Carla used to own a similar dog. She’d called him Apollo. He’d been one of the first rescue dogs she’d taken on. He walked towards it, but stopped at the open doorway to his left. It was a tiled wet room. Apart from a few towels piled on the floor, it was pristine.

  He moved closer to the coiled pet and peered in the next. A boy’s room, monster trucks and glow stars on the wall, duvet tangled at the foot of the bed. He advanced and found another similar – AC/DC and glamour girls as sexual as they were allowed to be by monitoring parents.

  The room beyond, on the opposite side of the landing, obviously belonged to the eldest, lots of books and a dusty rowing machine. University pennants also signalled why it looked more like a guest room than a son’s daily retreat.

  He reached the dog and the final doorway. The red setter’s head was crooked into its body and he could see solidified vomit on its fur. Poisoned first to make sure whoever had targeted the family wouldn’t be disturbed?

  Will didn’t need to go into the parents’ bedroom. A large mirrored wardrobe reflected the entire interior. The bed had been stripped, the mattress bare and naked pillows piled on the floor. No sign of anybody.

  Will looked slowly past the dog under the window to the second flight of stairs. It was a process of elimination, but what about behind those tall, mirrored wardrobe doors? His eyes caught something at the landing pane, a pale shape within the slab of night.

  He moved his face closer to the glass so he was peering past the yellow reflection of his surroundings. He was looking into the back garden and there was a light mass at the end of the lawn, not six feet from the wooden gate he’d just entered through. It looked like people crouching against the brick wall there.