From this moment forward, she would be nothing but professional. She’d get used to the way her pulse sprinted when he was near. Who knew? Maybe they could even be friends. After the way she’d dumped him three months ago, she didn’t deserve anything more.
* * *
Trent rolled his car up the long driveway, cringing as the drooping willow branches slid across the surface of his silver Audi, their leafless tendrils squealing across his custom paint job. Crazy Uncle Jack better have had a couple grand stashed in a mattress somewhere in that house to pay for the scratches these overgrown trees were causing to his car. Bertha would need some TLC when he was rid of this place. Hopefully a good buffing would get the scratches out. He mentally moved calling the tree trimmers to the top of his to-do list.
Putting the car in park, he flipped on the windshield wipers to swipe away the fresh flurries of snow, but the futile action did no good. February snow in Michigan was as insistent as his resurfacing feelings for the dark-haired vixen he’d hired as his real estate agent.
Why, exactly, had he wanted to see her again? He’d hoped it would prove once and for all that he was over her. But her deep green eyes and silky black hair had the exact opposite effect. And man, did she have some nerve trying to flirt with him like she hadn’t already ripped his heart out and stomped on it. Every time a string of playful banter left her lips, he got pulled in.
It was all part of her charm. But Tina flirted with everyone, and he’d be damned if he was going to flirt back anymore. If he could keep things between them professional, he might be able to make it out of this with his heart intact this time. There was no way in hell he’d let her reject him again.
He cut the engine and jogged up the front porch steps. As soon as his right foot hit the landing, the rotten wood snapped. His leg plunged through the boards, and he toppled over, catching himself with his hands before a massive splinter sliced through his leg.
“Goddammit. Stupid rotten wood.” He yanked his leg free to the splitting sound of tearing fabric and sat in the door jamb, leaning his back against the door.
“Motherfucker.” His pants were torn from mid-calf to his ankle, and blood oozed from a two-inch gash in his shin. “Can this day get any worse?”
He hauled his ass up and pushed open the door. Maybe fixing the front porch should get the number one spot on his to-do list.
Flipping on the light switch, he turned to the sinister coat rack and waved his finger at it. “I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans. Stay put.” He limped into the kitchen and shook his head. If that coat rack really could move on its own, it probably wouldn’t listen anyway.
He snatched a paper towel off the roll and wet it in the sink. His cut stung as he pressed the make-shift bandage against his shin. Once he got the blood cleaned up, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was just a scrape. The bleeding had already slowed to a manageable level, so he left it alone.
But the rancid stench of rotting garbage wouldn’t leave him alone. If no one had bothered to take the trash out when Jack died, he could only imagine what must be in the fridge.
A severed head. The fingers of Jack’s latest victims.
He jerked the trash bag out of the bin and carried it to the fridge. Resting his hand on the door, he nearly choked on the deep breath of putrid funk he tried to inhale. He braced himself for whatever atrocities he might find and pulled open the door.
Moldy oranges. A pack of green mystery meat that looked like it might have once been ham. A half-empty carton of chunky two-percent milk. Nothing out of the ordinary to make his skin crawl. Maybe crazy Uncle Jack wasn’t as crazy as he’d thought. Or maybe all the body parts were in a freezer in the basement.
He chunked the rotten food into the trash bag and carried it out to the porch before returning to the kitchen. Something still didn’t smell right. He raked his gaze across the countertops until he found the culprit. A bowl of apples sat on the counter, its contents turning into a melted-looking black sludge.
Damn it, he’d already tied the bag shut. There had to be more garbage bags around somewhere. He rummaged through the cabinets and drawers, but he found nothing of use. Where did Jack keep his trash bags? Maybe the pantry?
A quick peek inside revealed a few cereal boxes and some instant oatmeal. Surely he didn’t keep them in the basement with the bodies.
Trent let out a nervous chuckle and eyed the cellar door. The one room he hadn’t checked out yet, and that’s probably where the trash bags were kept. He’d seen enough scary movies to know the basement was always where the monsters lurked. Maybe he should wait until Tina got there and they could go down together.
What was he saying? If it was really as dangerous down there as his imagination made it out to be, he wouldn’t let Tina step foot inside the door. He’d have to check it out on his own. And it was better to do it before she got there so she wouldn’t hear him if he screamed like a teenaged girl.
Of course the door creaked on its hinges as he pushed it open. Horror movie doors always creaked. And it was no surprise he had to stumble halfway down the staircase before he could reach the light switch. With his luck, the bulb would be burnt out too. Then the monsters would descend and suck the life out of him.
He gritted his teeth and flipped the switch. Bright, white light flooded the barren room, and he squinted as his eyes adjusted. “That wasn’t so bad.” He took a few deep breaths to slow his racing heart and descended the rest of the steps to the concrete floor.
A contemporary washing machine and dryer sat against one wall, and a recently updated furnace lined the adjacent wall. Hopefully the modern appliances down here would add a little value to the house of horrors. The ones in the kitchen appeared to be from the 1990s.
He walked deeper into the room and found a plush, red-velvet chair facing a wooden easel. A painting of a woman holding a little girl sat on the easel, and Trent settled into the chair to examine it. He’d never seen either of them before. The woman appeared young—maybe in her twenties—and the child couldn’t have been more than three years old. The woman’s face held a pained expression, and the little girl’s wide eyes stared back at him hauntingly. But even more disturbing—an ominous black shadow occupied most of the background.
His mind flashed back to the shadow monster chasing Tina in his dream. He shivered. It had to be a coincidence. Uncle Jack was a creepy man. A creepy painting in a creepy man’s basement wasn’t too far-fetched. And his dream was simply a symptom of his narcolepsy.
Still, this whole ordeal was a little too weird. This painting too damn freaky. The sooner he could rid himself of this house the better. He needed to get his ass upstairs to wait for Tina, but he couldn’t make himself move from the chair. His body felt heavy; his limbs ached like he hadn’t slept in days. In his mind, he moved to get up but his body wouldn’t respond. Shit.
He leaned his head back against the velvet cushion and closed his eyes. He’d rest here for five minutes. Just a tiny nap, and he’d have control of his body again. Then the new number one on his to-do list would be to pick up the stronger prescription from the pharmacy.
CHAPTER SIX
Tina shook the snow flurries out of her hair as she ascended the front steps of the Victorian mansion. The sour reek of old garbage greeted her, and she crinkled her nose at the offending bag sitting outside the door. She could carry it down to the curb, but by the time she trekked down and back the lengthy driveway, her favorite boots would be soaked. Better to leave it where it lay for now.
She stepped around the foot-sized hole in the landing—Trent needed to fix this front porch pronto—and knocked on the door. Silence answered, so she pressed the doorbell. A deep ringing like church bells vibrated through the building, and she adjusted her scarf against the crisp breeze as she waited.
No answer.
Trent’s car sat next to hers in the driveway, so he had to be here. She pressed the bell one more time and knocked harder. “Trent? Are you going to leave me out here in the c
old all day?”
Nothing.
She pressed her ear against the wood, hoping to hear music or the sounds of Trent cleaning, but silence hung on the other side of the door. “Come on, Trent, this isn’t funny.”
Was he messing with her, or could something really be wrong? Knowing Trent, he didn’t answer the door just to prove a point. He could probably tell by the way she acted that she wasn’t over him, and this was his subtle way of rubbing it in.
Still, he couldn’t leave her standing on the porch all afternoon. She twisted the knob and, thankfully, found it unlocked. Pushing open the door, she tentatively stepped inside and closed it behind her. “Trent?” At least it was warm inside the house.
Slipping out of her coat, she turned to the evil-looking rack by the door. “Mind holding my stuff for me?” She hung her coat and scarf on one of its coiling branches and followed the light toward the kitchen.
Holy moly, this house was unsettling. Dust motes hung in the air so thick she felt the need to swat them out of her way. Central heating chased away any chance for a draft, but goose bumps rose on her arms as she shivered. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching her.
She chuckled at herself. “I’ve obviously seen too many scary movies. Trent?”
Continuing on her path to the kitchen, she paused at the staircase. What was up with that third-floor room? She’d gotten the willies so bad the last time she was in it, she’d darted out before she’d had the chance to examine it. Maybe Trent was upstairs. It wouldn’t hurt to check.
Climbing the steps, slowly placing one foot above the other, she clutched the rail as if it were her lifeline. Something up there called to her silently, drawing her in like a flame beckoning a moth to its warm light. Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she ascended the staircase, pulled by some mysterious force from above, ushered up from below. Her mouth went dry at the sight of the open door, the key still sitting in the lock where she’d left it yesterday.
She hesitated to reach for the key. Would the knob shock her again like it had done before? Only one way to find out.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she gripped the key and slid it from the lock. She opened one eye, then the other, half-expecting a bolt of electricity to shoot from the empty keyhole.
Nothing happened.
“I’m being ridiculous.” She returned the key to the dragon statue on the table and stepped into the room. Oddly-angled, dark gray walls surrounded her. This must’ve been the tower-looking section of the house she’d seen from outside. The shutters over the window looked like they hadn’t been opened in fifty years, and the circular, black rug covering the floor probably hadn’t been vacuumed in just as long.
Tina stood in the center of the room and stared at the wall. The place felt so eerily familiar, her skin crawled. She hadn’t known this house existed until yesterday, but something about this room had her glued to the spot.
She shivered and exhaled, her breath creating a fog in front of her. Did the central heat not reach the third floor? A bronze vent in the corner suggested it did, but the temperature in the room was even more frigid than last time.
The pressure of an icy hand pressed on her shoulder, and her throat tightened. She jerked her head around, her feet still firmly planted to the floor. She was alone.
“What the hell?”
“Help us.” The disembodied voice seemed to echo through her mind. “Please.”
“Oh, no. I’m out of here.” She stepped toward the exit, but the door slammed shut as if a gust of wind had blown through the room. “This isn’t funny.” She reached for the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she jiggled the handle, willing the stupid door to open. It didn’t budge. “Damn it.”
“He’s coming.” That same damn voice rolled through her head, and every hair on her body stood on end.
“Who’s coming?” She scanned the empty room and turned back to the door. “Trent?” She banged against the wood. “Trent, the door’s locked. Can you come up and let me out?”
Silence.
Where the hell was he?
The icy hand gripped her arm as the chill of dread crept up her spine. “He’s here. Get out.”
“I’m trying.” She definitely didn’t want to stick around to find out who he was, but the damn door wouldn’t budge. “Trent,” she screamed. “Let me out!”
“It’s too late.”
Electricity pricked at her skin as a static charge filled the room. The air grew thick. Heavy. A suffocating presence descended on her, squeezing the air from her lungs.
A familiar sense of fear sent ice racing through her veins. She’d felt this presence before. “Trent!” Her voice squeaked as she screamed, her frantic pounding on the door shooting sharp pains through her clenched fist.
The light bulb overhead popped, sending sparks raining down on the rug, casting the room in darkness. But not total darkness. Enough light crept in through the shutters for her to see the inky shadow pouring from the floorboards, billowing like smoke. Blacker than black.
Her final scream caught in her throat as the shadow began to take form. Pressing her back to the wall, she squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath.
* * *
Trent’s eyelids fluttered open at the muffled sound of someone calling his name. He lifted his head from the cushion and rubbed at the crick in his neck. As his eyes adjusted to the light, the haunting gaze of the little girl in the portrait stared back at him.
“Trent!”
Was that Tina calling his name? “Damn it, how long was I out this time?”
“Let me out!”
“Tina?” He darted up the stairs, her screams growing louder as he approached the third floor. What on Earth was she doing in that room again? He yanked on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge.
A blood-curdling scream sounded from inside the room.
He slammed his shoulder into the door, splintering the jamb with a loud thwack. A ray of light from the hallway cut through the center of the darkened room, chasing the shadows away like a receding fog. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. It had dissipated quickly, but from the corner of his eye, the billowing shadow looked like the one from his dream.
It couldn’t have been. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea that the monster from his nightmares could be real.
He put a hand on Tina’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Tina peeled herself off the wall and shot through the doorway, dragging him by the arm behind her. Visibly trembling, she wrapped her arms around herself and cut her gaze between the room and him. “The light burned out, and the door locked. I thought I saw something.”
“What did you see?”
She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight feature before stepping back into the room. Shining the beam across the walls and floor, he found no trace of the smoky shadow or anything else that might have spooked her. He shoved the phone into his pocket and returned to the hallway. “The room is empty.”
She stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. “It wasn’t.”
“Did you see a ghost?”
“No.” She ran her hands through her hair and smoothed her sweater down her stomach. “It was just the shadows.” She straightened her spine and flashed a half-smile, but with the way her bottom lip trembled, he couldn’t help but take her in his arms.
“Hey. You’re okay.”
She slid her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. The sweet floral scent of her hair wafted through his senses, and he closed his eyes. God, she felt good in his arms.
“That room creeps me out every time I go in it.” She lifted her head and held him with her deep green eyes. “Thanks for busting the door down to save me.”
“My pleasure.” Of course, if he hadn’t fallen asleep in the basement, she never would’ve been locked in the room to begin with. He needed to start that new
prescription sooner rather than later.
“My hero.” She dropped her gaze to his mouth.
He swallowed. He needed to let her go. To walk away from this situation before he did something he’d regret. But he couldn’t seem to move his hands from around her waist. Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lips, and his knees nearly buckled.
He would not kiss her. He would pry his arms from her tender curves, turn around, and walk away. That would be the smart thing to do.
She drifted toward him. He needed to pull back, but he couldn’t make himself move. Her breath warmed his skin. Her lips brushed his. Softly. Tentatively, as if she were asking his permission. He wanted to tell her no. To leave with his heart still intact. But when her velvet lips brushed his a second time, he couldn’t hold back.
Sliding his hand up her back to cup her neck, he leaned into the kiss, drinking her in, reveling in the taste of sweet mint on her tongue. She was as soft and warm as he remembered, and everything about this moment felt so right.
She pulled away and pressed her fingers to her lips. “I’m so sorry.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Don’t be. Just don’t do it again.” His heart couldn’t handle another rejection from a woman like Tina. He turned and started down the stairs. Space. He needed to put some distance between them before he let himself fall for her again. “You’ve got some info for me on the value of the house, right?”
“Yes.” She followed him down the steps. “But Trent, I really am sorry about what happened. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Nothing happened. Let’s talk about the details downstairs.” Maybe if he kept telling himself nothing happened, he’d eventually believe it.
In the living room, he paused and gazed out the window. The snow flurries had stopped falling, but a soft layer of white blanketed the front yard and the hoods of their cars. A stark contrast to the blacks and deep reds Uncle Jack liked to decorate with. If Trent didn’t know any better, he’d wonder if the man were a vampire.
To Stop a Shadow (Spirit Chasers Book 2) Page 5
