by Ash, Lauren
Heavy steps sounded on the deck. Then stopped.
Nothing.
Jenny wondered why he didn’t come around the front.
She tiptoed over to the kitchen window and poked her head up a little. She couldn’t see much, other than the dim light cast by the lantern and a man just standing there on the deck, waiting.
What the hell? It’s midnight. Who the hell does this crap?
She ducked down again as she heard the heavy steps come closer. The kitchen cabinets were momentarily illuminated, the light from the lantern washing over them through the window above her. She froze. Held her breath.
Of all the moments to get an itch! She tried to ignore the horrible niggling above her brow. Why does that always happen to me? Ignoring it, she focused on the footsteps of this outsider blatantly invading her privacy. Charlie! Where are you when I need you? You stupid dog, you should be down here barking. There was no sign of him.
The light faded, and the steps sounded back the other way.
That’s it. I’m not doing this. Like a dog, she scooted on all fours to the island bench and pulled the knife she had used to prepare dinner earlier down off the counter. A smash of glass broke the silence. Shit! I must have knocked a wineglass off the bench. Still on the floor, she crawled the other way, to the front door. “Right. One … two … three.”
As quickly as she could, she leaped up and flicked on the outside patio light. Footsteps thumped off on the other side of the wall as she whipped back over to the window. “Off my property!” she yelled, still brandishing the knife. “Get out of here!”
By the time she made her way back upstairs, the lantern was bobbing out on the dune.
“I’m calling the police,” she yelled, throwing open the upstairs doors again. “Don’t come back here.” She made a series of air swishes with the knife in anger and pulled the glass doors shut, locking them behind her.
Then she checked in on Kip, and went back up to the hex room. She sat down on the bed, her cell phone in her lap. “There was a man on my property,” she said loudly into the silence, practicing what she would tell the police. “He looked in my window, then he left.” She shook her head. Nothing really happened. I’ll just sound ridiculous.
The jangle of her cell’s ringtone made her jump.
Glancing at the screen, she let out a deep breath. “Ron! I’ve been trying to call you.”
“I know, honey. I’m so sorry. Sorry to call so late. It’s been crazy here. I can’t even get into it with you now. I—”
“Oh, Ron. I don’t care. I’m just so happy to hear your voice. I feel like it’s been days.”
“It has. I’ve been working non-stop. It’s just...” he broke off. “I don’t even know. How are you? How have you and Kip been doing? Okay?”
“I’m okay. Well … sorta.”
“What? You sound funny. What is it? Tell me.”
Jenny stood, and paced. “There was a man on the bottom deck, just now. He looked in the window.”
“What? Did you call the police?”
“No.”
“Jenny! Call the police! You need to call them.”
“And say what? Nothing happened. He left. I chased him off with a big knife.”
“A big knife—are you kidding me? What if he had a gun?”
“Well, I guess he didn’t. He ran off.”
“Where?”
“Back down to the beach. He jumped off the dune.”
“How do you know he’s still not out there, waiting?”
Jenny picked up the knife off the bed with her left hand, clutching it even tighter than she had before. Then she noticed the red trail on the floor.
“I’m bleeding.” A sudden terror gripped her.
“Jenny, what is going on? Do you need help? Do you want me to call the police for you?” Ron’s voice rose in pitch.
She looked down at her sweatpants. Please, please don’t let this be a miscarriage. There was no blood. “Oh … I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. You’re not here.” She sat down on the bed, lifted one foot up. Blood. “I’m all alone, even the damn dog didn’t come.”
“That’s not right, Jenny. Charlie hears everything. Where is he? Have you seen him tonight?”
“No. I guess not.” She swiped at her foot.
“Okay, this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to hang up and ... why are you bleeding?”
Jenny picked a shard of glass out of her foot. “I smashed a wineglass. I must have cut my foot.”
“Okay, we’re going to get off the phone. You go take care of your foot and I’ll call the police. Then call me back once they leave, okay? I’m sure they’ll send someone out there. This guy might be lurking about. I can’t be there, but I can help you.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now go! Go!”
“I will.”
* * *
Jenny sat on the toilet with her travel first aid kit in her lap. She always packed one in her luggage, but had never had to use it before. The ibuprofen bottle had expired, so had the painkillers and the anti-itch cream.
“Guess I won’t be using those.”
The wounds were superficial, nothing too terrible. The sting was the worst part of it. She picked out the glass, cleaned the cuts and bandaged her foot, covering it with a sock. She finished just as the knock came.
Red and blue lights flashed around her as she opened the door.
“Ma’am, we got a call. You have a trespasser who may still be around?” A young, rookie and an older, rounder, police officer stood on the deck.
“Yes. He ran off around the back of the house, toward the beach. He had a lantern.”
“Did you see his face, ma’am?” The kid was excited, ready for some action.
Things must be slow on the shore, Jenny thought, taking a closer look at him. He looked in his early twenties; maybe he was still in training. “No,” she finally answered. “He was in dark clothing—a dark trench or slicker, I think? He was tall, a large build. I couldn’t see his face or much else. Oh, and heavy boots.”
“We’re going to take a look. We’ll need you to remain inside.”
“I will.”
They began their search, Jenny watching them impatiently from the window. The only encounter she’d had with the police before was a one-and-only speeding ticket—and even that wasn’t her fault, or so she had convinced herself. The truth was that she sped all the time. Did this guy do this all the time? A chill went through her.
The officers stopped, focusing intently on something down on the dunes. When they left the dunes, heading down to the beach, Jenny lost sight of them until they reappeared farther down the shore, heading in the opposite direction.
“They have a trail. I know it.” She paced, fidgeting with her cell phone. Eventually, after what seemed like an hour, she decided to sit.
KNOCK, KNOCK. KNOCK, KNOCK.
Jenny startled awake. What? I feel asleep! She sat up in the rocking chair, recalling the situation and trying to determine whether it had all been a dream. With a yawn, she got up and opened the door to two very wet policemen. It was not a dream.
“Ma’am, we found a trail, but the tide eventually washed it away.”
“So I didn’t imagine it,” she murmured.
The rookie officer cocked his head in confusion. “Excuse me, ma’am? We found very large boot prints. They were very clear.”
“Oh nothing, nothing. I’m just happy you found something. Don’t mind me, I’ve been here alone now for a few days. You see my husband had to go back to work.”
“Yes, we know. He called us.”
Jenny nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s right. Sorry. I’m just so exhausted. With all of this nonsense going on ... I don’t know what to think.”
The older officer put a hand on the doorframe. “We don’t think you need to worry, ma’am.” His tone was serious but reassuring. Whoever it was has left. No signs of him.” He shone a flashlight toward the win
dows. “No signs of forced entry. But we want you to call immediately if he comes back. He’s probably just a prowler, looking to see if the house is vacant or something. Do you have any sort of home protection?”
Jenny racked her brain, thinking of the knife. “Uh ... my dog?”
“What sort of dog is it?” the younger officer asked.
“A dachshund.”
They both just looked at her.
“Do you have a gun?” asked the older cop.
“No. No gun. I don’t know how to use one anyway.”
“Your dog may warn you of an intruder, but you should be prepared. Maybe you should consider installing an alarm system? Just call us if you notice anything unusual or suspicious. We’ll write up a report tonight and do the rounds by here for the next few weeks. How long will you be staying, ma’am?”
“You can call me Jenny. What are your names?”
“I’m Sheriff Browning,” the older officer answered, and then gestured to the rookie. “This is Deputy Mott.”
“Nice to meet you both. I’ll be here another week or two. I may go home early. I haven’t decided.”
“In any case, we’ll be about if you need us. Here’s my card with my office number if you think of anything.”
A crackle from the radio in the police car indicated it was time to go; some other emergency. Jenny shut the door behind them, locked and checked all the doors and windows, checked on Kip, and went right to bed, falling into another blank, dreamless slumber.
***
By the time she awoke, the morning had almost passed. Jenny found Kip downstairs on the sofa, devouring a box of cereal, half of which had been spread all over the living room floor. The carpet had acquired a new, polka-dotted pattern of Cheerios.
“Kip! You’re a rascal, come here.”
Kip smiled and continued eating. Jenny walked over, picked her daughter up and flung her over her shoulder. “Here, I’ll add some milk to it.” She set Kip down at the table.
Kip continued to eat while Jenny fixed herself some fried eggs on toast.
“Ten o’clock. What kind of time is that to wake up?” she asked, more to herself than the toddler.
Kip, too busy eating, ignored the question.
“Next time I sleep in, I want you to come get me. You hear me? Come get Mamma.”
Kip nodded. “Mamma.”
“You shouldn’t be up all alone down here. You could get into God-knows-what?” Jenny glanced at the knife on the counter, which she had forgotten to put back, and the glass still littering the floor. “Jesus!”
“Jesus.” Kip repeated.
“Don’t say that, Kip. Don’t say what I say; that’s the last thing you should do.”
“Jesus,” Kip said again, aware she was in some sort of trouble.
“Okay, okay. It’s my fault and I know it.” She looked around the room again. “This place certainly isn’t toddler proof.”
She swept up the glass and then, in between bites of egg and toast, examined the room and moved anything breakable out of the reach of small sticky hands. That included every fragile beach ornament Gerry had collected over the years.
“There, I think that’ll do it for now,” she said, wondering what she was going to do about the uncovered power outlets. Don’t let her stick anything in those outlets, okay Mrs. Coggington, she thought.
The place suddenly looked a lot emptier.
“Don’t worry,” Jenny reassured her daughter. “I’ll get you some toys while I’m out. Mrs. Coggington is coming to baby-sit you today. You two can play and watch some movies together. I might even bring you back some ice cream when I come home. That reminds me: I left your diapers in the car. I’ll be right back okay?”
Kip nodded and carried on kicking her feet against the dining table chair.
She slipped her flip-flops on at the door and hurried out onto the porch. “Ouch! What now?” Dazed, Jenny looked up to see a black lantern swaying from a hook above the door.
“Huh?” She looked around; there was no sign of anyone or anything. Reaching up, she unhooked the lantern and took it back inside, shutting and locking the door behind her. There was something wrong. She could feel it. The lantern certainly had not been there before.
Maybe I should leave it? She picked up the police officer’s card from the kitchen table and looked at the number.
“Where’s my phone anyway? And where’s Charlie? Charlie? CHARLIE!” There was no sign of the dog. “Kip, have you seen Charlie?”
“Charlie,” Kip replied.
“No honey. You haven’t seen him?” My phone. The dog. What next? she thought. Oh, and the psycho stalker. Don’t let me forget that guy.
Jenny searched every level, from the bottom floor to the family and guest bedrooms, through the master bedroom, and even the hex room, all with Kip in tow. The phone was nowhere to be found. Neither was Charlie. In the hex room, the journal still lay on the bed. Jenny picked it up.
This house is cursed. This beach is cursed. Why did I ever come here? I must leave. I saw him the other day. It’s like he’s following me everywhere. What might he do? It’s creepy. This place is cursed.
“I’m starting to think so, too,” Jenny admitted. “What do you think, Kip?” But Kip wasn’t there.
“You too, Kip? I don’t want to have to look for you.” She rubbed her face, and then, feeling a light cramp, rubbed her belly. “And you in there,” she whispered. “You just stay right there where it’s quiet and warm.” The cramp intensified. “No, no … don’t even think of it.”
Jenny sat down on the bed and put her feet up. “Kip!” she called. “Honey, come upstairs. Charlie!”
She wished Ron were there. I’m being selfish, she admonished. People are hurt, dead even. I’m just tired alone—that’s all.
But she didn’t want to be alone. She hoped Molly Coggington would arrive soon. “Kip,” she yelled again. “Come cuddle Mamma. Come on, my little curly-haired girl. Come get me.”
The cramping refused to ease up.
There’s a side I’m supposed to lie on when this happens, isn’t there? Or is that just when the baby gets big? She pursed her lips, trying to remember, and then took a deep breath and rolled over on her side anyway. I should tell Ron. Jenny rubbed her belly, remembering the day Kip was born. That wild, crazy day.
She had been in bed when her water broke at one in the morning, soaking the bed. Jenny had risen quietly and showered and then poked at Ron, who’d leaped out of bed and run around like a madman.
“Where’s the hospital bag?” He’d rushed around, shouting where’s this, where’s that. Everything had been right there, on the dresser. She smiled, remembering. Ron had always been like that, never been able to find a thing. They’d rushed to hospital. Kip had been born after two hours of pushing—
Jenny put a hand to her temple then sighed deeply. “Maybe it will go quicker with you?” She rubbed her tummy again. “But you have to stay in there to find out. It’s far too early, little one. Far too early.”
“Mamma?”
“Oh, Kip! Come here and snuggle me. Come on. Up on the bed.”
“I love oo, Mamma.” Kip snuggled her head into Jenny’s chest.
“I love you too, Kim,” she said, and sudden tears sprang to her eyes.
* * *
Voicemail—again! He’d called five times already, leaving only one message. And she had promised to call him back after the police left. He’d even called them back, and they’d reassured him everything was fine. So why wasn’t she answering her phone?
What if something has happened? asked the panicked voice in his head. “She’s fine … she’s fine,” he muttered, reassuring himself. Someone would have called if there was something wrong.
The coffee was dirty brown, muddy tasting. Ron could not concentrate. Things were still wild out there on the dry dock, and between calls from his boss and all the yelling, he had yet to get away to get hold of Jenny.
“Come on, pick up. Pick up,” he w
illed her. All he got was her pleasant voicemail message, followed by the uncaring beep. “Dammit, Jenny! You need to call me. I’m worried about you. Maybe your cell died? Just call me as soon as you can.”
He downed the rest of his cold coffee, crumpled up the cup, and dropped it back on the table. “What to do? What to do?”
Calling the police again seemed extreme, but what if something really had happened to her?
They would have called me. Surely they would have notified me? Still pondering his options, Ron dialed a different number.
“Busy Bee Meadows, Marilynn speaking. How may I help you?”
“Marilynn, I’m glad it’s you.”
“Pardon me?” She didn’t recognize his voice.
“I’m Gerry’s grandson, Ron. I was in a few days ago.”
“Oh yes … I remember now.”
“Listen, I had to leave Rocky Shores. I got called in for work. Is everything okay with Gerry?”
“I’m not supposed to get into the details over the phone. I can tell you generally but not specifically, as per your mother’s request.”
“My mother? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you filled me in on Nana’s condition.”
“Actually, she would.” Marilynn sounded sympathetic. “We notified her of Gerry’s change in condition and your visit. Rachael is Gerry’s power of attorney. She requested that we not divulge any details to other family members.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“You can’t tell me what’s going on over the phone? That doesn’t make any sense at all. Anyway, listen, what I called about is ... is there any way I can call Gerry’s friend?”
“Which one?”
“Oh, I can’t remember the name offhand.”
“Mrs. Coggington? Or Barney?”
“Mrs. Coggington—that’s the name. Do you have a number for her?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t have a number.”
“Fine. I’ll find it. Who’s Barney anyway?”
“I can’t give out that kind of information.” Her tone became tight again.
