PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “I messed around under the lookout car and pulled out some wires so it wouldn’t start. That’s how I cut up my hand,” Mason says gesturing at his now goo-covered hand. “I figured when he tried to start it he’d have to call someone when it didn’t work. Who better to call than another Sentinel.”

  “Did it work?” Evie asks anxiously.

  Mason nods slowly. “Yeah. Some other guy drove up and tried to help him. I have pictures, but that wasn’t what really freaked me out.” Mason flinches as I set a large piece of gauze over his cut. “Have either of you seen the Dewalts in a while?” Mason asks.

  Evie and I both stare at him, confused by this sudden change in topics. We both shake our heads. I haven’t seen them in a few weeks. They’re fairly homebound because of their poor health, so it’s not like anyone would really notice if they weren’t seen for a few days at a time.

  “I haven’t either,” Mason says looking pained. “When the first guy couldn’t fix the car, they called someone else . . . and he came out of the Dewalt’s house.”

  “What?” I demand.

  Mason nods. “I think they’re keeping tabs on us from the Dewalt’s house.”

  “What happened to the Dewalts?” Evie asks. His pale skin looks a bit green.

  “I don’t know,” Mason says, “but I’m afraid it might not be good.”

  “We have to tell Mom and Dad.”

  Evie nods. “Maybe Mom can call their daughter and ask her if they’re alright. Say we hadn’t seen them in a little while and were worried.

  “That’s a good idea,” I say. Walking over and knocking on their door is out of the question, even for Mom or Dad. A phone call could at least give us an idea whether or not they’re alive still. I don‘t know them very well, but it makes me sick to think they might have been hurt by these disgusting Sentinels.

  Looking up at Mason, I ask, “You said you had pictures. Where are they?”

  Now Mason is the one who looks green. “I, uh . . . check my phone, but I’m not sure if they’re on their yet.”

  “Yet?” Evie asks. Her forehead wrinkles, because that makes no sense at all. If he took pictures, why wouldn’t they be on there already?

  Evie holds out her hand for Mason’s phone. He won’t look at her as he hands it over. I watch, suspicious, as she taps through several screens in search of pictures. “There’s nothing here,” she complains.

  The sudden buzzing of the phone nearly makes her drop it. The bizarre thing is, it keeps buzzing, and buzzing, and buzzing. Mason’s head drops to his chest. “Check the text messages,” he mumbles.

  Still confused, Evie taps again. I don’t understand why her face screws up in disgust. She looks ready to either throw the phone or hit Mason. She does neither, although depending on what she says, I may not have stopped her from doing the latter.

  “Texts from Robin,” Evie says with a sour expression. “They’re pictures of the Sentinels you were watching, I’m guessing.”

  “Yeah,” Mason says.

  From Robin? The tape I was holding snaps down on Mason’s hand painfully. He hisses, but doesn’t say anything. I yank my hands away from him and hold my hand out for the phone. Evie hands it over dutifully. I don’t look at Mason as I flip through the pictures.

  The blue sedan isn’t the same one we saw watching the house that first time. The guy sitting in it means nothing to me. His average brown hair and eyes match his rather average physique and looks. He wouldn’t stand out in a crowd, which I suppose is the point. I keep jabbing at the pictures, moving on to the next one.

  The next guy who shows up in another car is only slightly more memorable. His dark hair is cut stylishly and his blue eyes are something that would catch a girl’s eye. Other than that, I don’t think I’d remember him five minutes after I saw him. His car doesn’t look familiar either. That makes me a little sick, because it means there are more of these creeps somewhere.

  When I scroll down to the next picture, I gasp and drop the phone on the counter. The blond hair and green eyes staring up at me knock the breath right out of my body. Flashbacks of the night I was attacked skitter through my mind. I wouldn’t have even needed to see the scar to know it was him. I don’t realize Evie and Mason are crowding around me until Evie reaches in and snatches the phone up off the counter.

  “No way!” she shrieks. “I know this guy!”

  “You do?” Mason and I both demand.

  Evie nods frantically. “He was here last week. He fixed the dishwasher. Remember it wasn’t draining and Mom called the repair place? This is the guy that showed up to fix it!”

  “Are you sure?” Mason asks.

  “Positive,” Evie says, still shaking her head. “He gave me the willies, and that scar isn’t something you forget.”

  She drops the phone like it’s contagious when I hold out my hand for it. I set the phone down in front of Mason. “That’s the guy that attacked me in the park.”

  Mason looks up at me, his face ashen. He doesn’t question me. His head falls into his hands. “That’s the guy that came out of the Dewalt’s house,” he says. The agony dripping off each word makes my hands shake. “He’s over there right now.”

  Chapter 28

  Forming Plans

  (Olivia)

  Walking back up to my room after a tense conversation with Mom and Dad, I find it impossible to think of anything but the repair guy turned stalker and attacker. I wholeheartedly agree with Dad instituting the buddy system for the foreseeable future. Knowing those guys are across the street spying on us twenty-four-seven makes me feel sick to my stomach.

  I hate walking around scared. I want them gone, but I have no idea how to make that happen. Knowing how close they are to catching Mason might be helpful. Figuring out why they want him so bad would be even more of a bonus. Admitting I agree with Robin that they seem to have a special interest in Mason makes me want to throw something, but I fear it’s true.

  Mason’s presence crowds behind me and my whole body tenses. He doesn’t say anything. There was a moment when I was bandaging his hand that my anger at him started to calm, but then Robin’s texts came through and stirred it back up.

  “Why did you have to go with her?” I ask quietly. No doubt he can hear the hurt in my voice.

  Mason sighs. “Who else was I supposed to ask? No one was talking to me.”

  Clenching my jaw, I fight with myself on how to answer that. It doesn’t matter that he’s right, that I would sooner poke my eyes out than listen to him. He still should have asked. I deserved the chance to know what he was planning, didn’t I?

  “We could call him,” I say, changing the subject.

  “Call who?”

  I twist my hands together anxiously. “The repair guy. I’m sure he left his card. We could tell him the dishwasher is broken again . . . ”

  “No!” Mason snaps, yanking me around to face him. “Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous, Olivia.”

  “And what you did today wasn’t?”

  “Robin kept me safe. She kept the Sentinel distracted while I worked.”

  Shoving away from him, I say, “Robin! I don’t care what Robin can do. I want those freaks gone! How long are we supposed to live with them next door?”

  Mason blanches and turns away. He shakes his head slowly. “It’s too dangerous. We’ll find another way.”

  “What way?” I demand.

  He doesn’t have an answer. I storm away from him and slam my door behind me. Sleep seems like a distant possibility when I fall onto my bed, but exhaustion sneaks up on me quickly. I wake the next morning face down on my pillow still wearing my clothes from yesterday. Stiff and grouchy, and I drag myself through getting ready for school and skip breakfast entirely.

  I’m up so late and take such a long time getting ready, the kitchen is empty when I wander by. I almost walk right past, but a thought stops me and pulls me over to the drawer where Mom keeps important papers. I pull it open quietly and fish through a container filled w
ith various business cards. I find the plumber, the electrician, the guy that replaced a window a few years back, even Mom’s hairdresser.

  Frustration threatens to boil over when I reach the last business card. Tossing them back down, the force knocks the container to the side. The corner of a green business card peers up at me from under the container. I move it aside carefully, scared and hopeful at the same time, and pick the card up.

  Reliable Appliance Repair

  I palm the card right away and push the drawer shut. Seconds later, sounds of Evie coming down the stairs send me scurrying for the hall. I step out a few seconds before she hits the last step. Mason trails behind her morosely. I grab my keys off the side table and head for the car, forming plans as I go.

  ***

  As I wait for Hayden to show up for lunch, I pull the card out of my pocket and start dialing before I can talk myself out of it. A man picks up on the third ring.

  “Reliable Appliance Repair, how can I help you?”

  “Hi, this is Karen Mallory. One of your repairman fixed my dishwasher last week. I can’t remember his name, but the dishwasher isn’t draining again.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Mallory. I can send a technician out this afternoon at no charge to rectify the problem. What time will you be available?”

  I gulp, terrified of going through with this. “Any time after three o’clock would be fine, but the closer to three, the better.”

  Sounds of computer keys being tapped echo over the line. “I could have someone there at three-thirty.”

  “That would be great,” I say, “but could you make sure you send someone different. The last guy obviously didn’t solve the problem. I’d rather not have him come again.”

  “No problem, Mrs. Mallory. Alex will meet you at your house at three-thirty this afternoon.”

  “Thank you,” I say quickly and hang up.

  Breathing hard, I struggle to calm myself back down. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to do with the card when I first stuck it in my pocket this morning, but when I overheard Robin asking Mason if they were going to get together to watch the Sentinels again this afternoon, all I had to do was hint at Evie that she should go over to her friend Allison’s house after school in order to have the house to myself.

  Mason’s angry refusal to help me only served to make me more determined to follow through. He did make me reconsider how wise it was to invite my attacker back into the house, though. Requesting someone different still gets me a Sentinel, but one that won’t know I recognize him for what he is. Now I just have to figure out what to say to him in order to get some answers.

  Before I can think on it too much, Hayden slips into the seat next to me.

  “I love that I didn’t have to beg you to sit with me today,” he says with a grin.

  “I’m a girl who keeps her promises.” My smile is small and timid, but Hayden grins even wider.

  Hayden bites into his burger, but his attention is still mainly on me. He eyes my salad suspiciously. “Please don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian.”

  “Huh? No, I just wasn’t very hungry today.”

  He looks unconvinced and pushes his tray closer to me, French fries first. I laugh and take a fry off his plate. He really is a sweet guy.

  “How’s your side feeling?” I ask.

  “Better.” He shrugs the question off. “How’s your face?”

  “Sore, but less puffy at least. These bruises are so gross looking and I keep biting my lip,” I say grumpily.

  Hayden looks over at me . . . at my lips specifically. His lips turn up slowly. “You look beautiful, even with a split lip and bruises.”

  He’s lying, but I appreciate the compliment. When I smile at him he sets his burger down and looks over at me. His fingers twitch, as if they want something, but instead he says, “You should see my side. It looks like my little sister spilled watercolors all over me.”

  “You have siblings?” I ask. I assumed he was an only child after his parents showed up at our house the other night on their own.

  Hayden nods. “Two brothers and one sister. I’m the oldest.”

  “I didn’t know that. I only have one sister, Evie.”

  “I know. I’ve met her. My brother, Matt, is friends with Aaron.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say without thinking.

  Hayden laughs. “Aaron’s actually not that bad. A little immature, but a nice kid.”

  I crinkle my nose in response.

  “My brothers thought the bruises and stuff were pretty cool. Lydia, who’s five, told me I looked like a zombie,” Hayden says.

  “You don’t look that bad.” I chuckle, though, imagining his little sister.

  We go back to eating our lunches then. As I munch on lettuce and French fries, I’m surprised to realize that being around Hayden isn’t nearly as confusing and awkward as it was only a few days ago. It’s actually kind of . . . nice.

  When the bell rings, Hayden grabs both of our trays and carries them to the trash. I wait for him to return before heading out. It’s strange to not have Mason by my side as we stalk through the hallways. I know he’s never far away, but it’s weird to feel so alone. I realize that since I was five I have spent almost every waking minute of my life with Mason. It’s a sobering thought I’m not really sure what to do with.

  As we approach my class, a goodbye forms on my lips, but Hayden isn’t ready to let me go just yet. His hand slips into mine and he pulls me to a stop. Something pushes me to take a step closer to him.

  His fingers come up and brush my hair back. Worry creases his forehead. “Are you doing okay?” he asks. “You seemed kind of distracted or upset.”

  “Just some stuff at home,” I say quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Can I call you later?” he asks.

  “Um, sure.”

  Hayden chuckles. “Don’t sound so excited.”

  “No, it’s not that,” I laugh, “but you don’t have to ask permission. You can just call if you want.”

  He seems surprised by this, but nods his head in acceptance. “Good to know. I’ll talk to you later then.”

  “Okay.”

  With that, we go our separate ways. I turn toward my next class, but catch sight of Mason watching me from across the hall. He looks positively sick, but I can’t let myself be drawn in by him. Not only do I hope he is sick, I have no intention of talking to him before I follow through on my plan for this afternoon. Knowing him, he’d somehow guess, and wring all the details out of me.

  I yank the door to the classroom open and step inside. The door swings closed behind me, but that hardly means it shuts Mason or the Sentinels out of my mind. I spend the rest of the afternoon distracted by them both.

  After the final bell, I take my time at my locker. I want to avoid watching Mason and Robin head off together, but they pass by me in the hall on their way out. I turn away as soon as I see them, but not fast enough for Robin not to catch my eye. I hate the sad look in her eyes, like I’m the one hurting them.

  I shove my locker door closed and stalk out to the Jeep. Intent on getting a step closer to ridding ourselves of Sentinels, I drive the short trip back to the house. The house seems unnaturally quiet when I walk in. I’m sure that’s just my imagination, but it creeps me out all the same. I busy myself trying to figure out how to make it look like the dishwasher isn’t draining.

  Given how little I know about the workings of dishwashers, in the end I settle for dumping a pitcher full of water into the bottom of the dishwasher and hope it doesn’t disappear before the guy gets here.

  The buzz of a text message distracts me for a moment. I check Evie’s message saying she made it to her friend’s house safely and set my phone down on the counter. A moment later, my heart jumps out of my chest when the sound of harsh knocking shatters the silence.

  Walking toward the door, I try to calm my racing heart, but that proves impossible. The pounding only gets worse the nearer I get. I feel like I am abo
ut to faint by the time my hand touches the door knob. I stand there quaking for probably a full minute before finally turning the handle and opening the door.

  “Hi, can I help you?” I ask. I recognize the guy from the pictures of the Sentinel in the second car. His blue eyes are even more striking in person. They kind of freak me out, to be honest.

  “I’m Alex, from Reliable Appliance Repair. We got a call saying your dishwasher was having trouble again.”

  “Uh, yeah. My mom is running a few minutes late, but she told me to let you in when you got here. The kitchen is right through there,” I say, pointing.

  I’m not about to turn my back to this guy. I wait for him to step inside and start toward the kitchen before closing the door and following him. He doesn’t say much as he walks, but his eyes take in absolutely everything. It’s more than a little disturbing.

  Heart still racing, I sit down on one of the kitchen chairs and watch him get his tools ready. A few minutes later, I have no idea whether he’s fixing the dishwasher or making things worse, but I’ve had enough of waiting.

  “You look familiar,” I say. “I feel like I’ve seen you recently.”

  Alex—or whoever he really is—shrugs casually. “Can’t think of any time we’ve met before.”

  “Are you sure?” I decide to push a little harder. “I think it’s your eyes. They’re so blue. I’m sure I’ve seen them somewhere before.”

  Alex turns to look at me. Something seems to be going on inside his head. I have no idea what, but it makes me want to cringe. He sets his tools down and dusts off his hands. When he sits back on his heels, I begin to wonder if this was a really bad idea.

  “I think I would have remembered meeting you,” he says. “You’re a very pretty girl.”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  He stands slowly and I begin to know this was a really bad idea. I try not to show any signs of fear, even though I want to bolt. Alex steps around the open dishwasher and approaches me slowly. The smile on his face is playing at being seductive. I’m pretty repelled by it, knowing this guy is a killer, but I do my best to pretend I find him appealing.