First Crush

by Ashley Ludwig

  Corie blew through her raven bangs. “Fine. We’ll check the doors and windows outside to ease your mind.” She turned to Nick. “Tomorrow I’ll feed you like a prince for taking care of my sister.”

  Nick switched from park to drive, grasping for the thin threads of control he was quickly losing. “We’re going straight—”

  “Please.” Natalie’s hand drifted to his on the gear shift. “I’ll sleep better knowing—just knowing.”

  Knowing that it wasn’t the stalker? That some random drunk tasting too much wine jarred off the road and rammed her gate? Nick’s heart tugged at the sight of the girls. Both looked at him expectantly. He was beginning to think that Turner stood for trouble with a capital T. If he had any sense at all, he’d ferry them straight to Mom’s house.

  Instead, he texted Dalton. His brother replied he’d be there in ten, but one look at the girls and he knew they’d never wait that long. Neither one was a wilting flower.

  Nick lifted a warning finger. “Just the outside doors and windows. That’s it.”

  “Agreed.”

  Engine silenced, he pocketed the keys and stepped out into the night. It was pitch black except for the spear of headlights. There were no streetlights, no neon storefronts in wine country. Thin, distant strains of live jazz music filtered through the grove. Somewhere, in another world, there was laughter. Stars peeked from under the reach of olive trees, showing off the cottony wonder of the Milky Way.

  “Flashlight?”

  He rummaged through the glove box and set one in Natalie’s outstretched palm. Flipping it on, she followed its beam down the path without waiting.

  He grabbed another from under the seat, and on second thought, pulled a hammer from his toolkit before following them.

  Chapter 18

  He ran water over his hands, washing away her blood, his work. The stream changed from bright red to crystal clear. Above, the bare bulb chased shadows from the dank, earthen vault he called home. He depended on its thick walls that muffled screams from questioning ears.

  A trooper. That’s how he’d come to think of the redhead.

  She’d given him so much information his head spun. Cursing the lawyer, crying, begging, pleading, but answering all the same.

  She shifted where he’d left her. Her fiery hair was matted with sweat against her neck, and the same silver duct tape that was wrapped around her hands and ankles covered her mouth, muffling her pleas and moans. He needed nothing else from her.

  Still, he left her alive, let the seeds of hope survive within her. For now.

  As soon as the light left her eyes, the bitter sprouts of his remorse would grow. The penance for her death would take longer to pay, maybe an eternity.

  But, no. This year was different. This year would be his last. This was the year of his final harvest.

  The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.

  Rudy was tired of things being taken from him.

  The redhead was a piece to his puzzle that didn’t fit, but she would go back to the earth, just like the rest. And Natalie? Now that he knew the truth about her, thanks to the lovely Valery, he had an entirely different place in mind to bury her body.

  He stepped across the cement floor. The woman’s head was dipped, chin to neck. The bulb threw a spotlight on her battered form. Her once porcelain skin was now mottled with bruises and open wounds.

  It hadn’t taken long to get her to talk.

  He understood now. He saw the tangled web of his life taking a fateful, bitter detour.

  Natalie wasn’t a Turner. She was a Valence.

  They weren’t gone after all. His palms tightened, fingernails leaving half-moons in his skin.

  Fate had led him to Natalie that night at the hospital.

  And you let her go.

  Blinking fast and hard against that truth, he forced air into his lungs. He’d found the girl twice, and he could easily do it again. Natalie Valance was the last of a dying breed, marked for extinction. He would be the one to sever the roots of her life, to set her free.

  He would take her to the oak tree and watch her leave this world. How fitting that he would end it all where it all began. One mistake—a fit of fury against the girl who said she loved him before she lied to him—had thrown him into a quarter century of agony.

  Maybe now, if he did it right, the need to relive that moment would finally go away. It would be fitting, he decided, as he angled toward the whimpering redhead once more.

  Mrs. Valence would die; he would see to that tomorrow. Once she was gone, he’d be able to focus on his true goal. At last he would be finished.

  It had never been about the killing. He was driven by the need to fill the hole in his soul that Amanda’s absence created. It was Amanda’s mother’s fault. Marie was the one who’d caused every ounce of his pain. Tomorrow, she would know what true agony felt like.

  Then, his attention would return to Natalie. She was last. He would end his life along with hers. They would rest together—forever—and there would finally be peace.

  Nick followed the sisters to the front door. The ripe earth and warm, humid night air didn’t keep the chills away.

  Natalie turned in the flashlight beam, her eyes as full as the moon above. He stepped in front of her to try the handle. The knob gave easily in Nick’s hand.

  Worry washed a wave across her features as he pushed it open. “Maybe I forgot to lock it?”

  Flashlights speared through the open door into the darkness, sweeping across the floor and into corners. Their steps echoed hollow on the hardwood. All that was missing from the classic horror movie scene was the eerie soundtrack, and his skittering imagination easily filled it in with high-pitched piano notes.

  He held the door open, lingering outside, but Natalie walked in without fear, her flashlight pushing back the darkness.

  They passed the chaos of Natalie’s sorting process in the main living room.

  Corie angled her light over the pile. “We’re going through that again tomorrow.”

  “You can’t keep everything, Corie.”

  “And you can’t just throw everything away.” The sisters went toe-to-toe in the ghostly light. “You have history here, things you should explore—”

  “Just put a pin in it, Corie,” Natalie sniped back.

  “You can’t just push-pin conversations and ignore them.”

  The sisters followed the flashlights’ beams toward the kitchen, and Nick turned to check window locks, his own light shining off the panes.

  This place was a vault. A time capsule. One man died here, and his wife nearly had as well. Their daughter had vanished, and now … there was Natalie. The missing piece, returned.

  But Natalie didn’t see any of that—or the dilapidated structure. By the look on her face and the way she showed the house off to Corie, she was staring straight into the future. She saw what the place could be.

  He tried a light switch at the bottom of the stairs, clicking it up, down, up.

  Nothing.

  Nick thought of the severed wires, the gutted electrical box. He’d allowed Natalie one step closer to danger. If anything happened to her, it’d be his fault.

  Just like Becky.

  “Generator must’ve burned out again,” Natalie guessed.

  “Maybe,” Nick hedged, knowing that wasn’t what happened. He had to come clean. “I think someone was out here on the night Mrs. Valence had her accident. I think they scared her out of her bed. Maybe even pushed her down the stairs.”

  “What?” Natalie’s jaw dropped as she stepped over to him. “You’re just telling me this now?”

  Corie swung her flashlight around and left them bickering in the front hall while she vanished into the kitchen.

  “Come on.” Nick pushed Natalie forward, hand to her back.

  She pulled away. “What else haven’t you told me?”

  The kitchen glowed in the wash of flashlights. Shadows pitched and swung with their beams as Corie angled hers on the s
tove.

  “Look!”

  Natalie turned to Nick, but his expression reflected her own confusion. “What?”

  “Look at this oven, Nat! Do you have any idea what you’ve got here?”

  Natalie tilted her head, not seeing what Corie did in the nightmarish antique oven. “It’s a monster that doesn’t work.”

  “Your sister’s flipped,” Nick said.

  Natalie nodded agreement as they watched Corie run her hands over the machine. She turned burner knobs with nothing but a click, click, and a spark of a struggling pilot flame.

  “This baby retails for nearly five figures fully restored.”

  “So, you may want to stay here? Be my B&B chef? Cook on this amazing oven?”

  Her smile brightened in the flashlight’s glow. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Ladies, we really should—”

  Whump.

  The noise sliced through Nick’s words. Everyone froze.

  Footsteps shuffled upstairs.

  “There’s someone up there.”

  “Stay put.”

  Nick stepped forward, hammer in hand, stalled for a moment by Natalie’s tightening grip on his bicep.

  “We should wait for Dalton.”

  “If it’s the Slayer he’s a cold-blooded killer, Nat. If we get the jump on him—” Nick knew by her wide-eyed fear that she’d never understand. “We could get him. Stop him now, before he—”

  Her clutch was panic-shot as she dragged him back to the kitchen door, shuttling Corie behind her in a protective shield. “If it’s him, he knows we’re here. You don’t have the jump on anybody!”

  “But—”

  “Becky wouldn’t want you playing hero for her.” Natalie held firm to his forearm, her voice sure, unshaking. “She’d want you breathing.”

  Corie frantically pulled on the back door. “It’s stuck!”

  “It did that earlier,” Natalie said.

  “We’re trapped?” Corie’s face turned ghostly white.

  “I can get it.” Nick reached forward, flipping the knob. Nothing. “Must be jammed.”

  More noise.

  The intruder angled down the front staircase with slow, creaking steps.

  “Get behind me.” Nick stepped between the girls and the door as his nerves battled reason. Something wasn’t right.

  “Wait, just wait a sec—”

  In the foyer, an empty bottle fell and rolled. Muffled voices drifted down from upstairs.

  “Stay here.” He held a palm up, cautioning. “It’s all right.”

  Outside, the sudden flash of blue and red was followed by the whoop of a police car siren.

  “Dalton’s here.” He stepped out of Natalie’s grasp.

  She pleaded once again, “Let him check it out.”

  Dalton couldn’t fix this. If he knew his brother … Nick’s stomach dropped. “It’s just kids.”

  “Kids?”

  Nick tossed her his phone. “Call him off.”

  Corie sank against the wall, eyes wide and worried while Natalie dialed. It went straight to voice mail.

  “He’s not answering. Why not just go outsi—”

  “Because Dalton may shoot first and ask questions later.”

  Natalie was on his heels as they shone their flashlights to the foyer and ran with hurried, stumbling steps around the mess she’d made.

  At the bottom of the main stairs, a boy with a crew cut lay sprawled on the ground, clutching his ankle, while a girl hopped into her tennis shoes by the front windows.

  “My dad’s gonna kill me!” The boy shrank against the wall as Nick pinned him with one hand.

  The boy yelped, hands up. “We were just havin’ some fun.”

  “Fun?” Nick shot, menacing as he could manage.

  He’d been that boy once upon a time. He’d brought more than his share of girls to places like this for a bit of fun.

  “Wait here.” With a finger of warning pointed at the kid, Nick grabbed the ringing cell phone from Natalie, knowing Dalton wouldn’t answer.

  This was it. What they’d talked about, dreamed of, plotted. He knew his brother.

  Through the window, he spied the cop. Gun drawn and at the ready, no backup to be seen. Through the thick darkness, Dalton advanced toward the house like a grim reaper.

  “We’re in here, Bro. Put the gun away.”

  “Stay where you are!”

  Nick glanced around the dark room, at the boy sitting on the bottom stair, Natalie protecting the girl in the shelter of her arms. Their gazes met.

  “Do something!” Natalie cried.

  Dalton was ready to serve his own form of justice. He edged up the front steps, arms locked in a shooter’s stance.

  They’d talked about this moment. What Dalton would do if he came face-to-face with the slime who stole their sister’s life.

  They’d stood at Becky’s wake and sworn an oath to make it their lives’ work to find the one responsible. Eye for an eye. Life for a life. It wasn’t long until Dalton joined the police force in hopes of catching or killing whoever was responsible.

  “I’m coming in,” Dalton called, stepping up the final stair. Nick saw the butt of his police-issued handgun still in its holster. Instead, Dalton held a small .38. It was probably unmarked.

  “What the—” But he knew. His straight-edged brother had tipped to the dark side.

  Dalton cocked the action, spoke low into his shoulder mic, and advanced out of sight.

  “It’s all right,” Nick shouted, waving his brother down through the window and then opening the front door. “Stand down!”

  Nick filled the doorway, slicing the air with his hands. At his back, the girl sobbed into Natalie’s arms.

  Dalton released the action and pocketed the pistol as Nick palmed his thighs, dragged in a breath of relief. “Just some stupid kids partying.”

  Dalton lunged inside. He looked so much like Dad with that impenetrable expression. He shone his Maglite into the dark room. “What happened here?”

  “We’re fine.” Natalie brushed the girl’s hair out of her eyes. “Everything’s fine.”

  Nick crossed his arms as he filled his brother in. “Front door was unlocked. We found them upstairs.”

  Dalton nodded, his mouth a thin line of disappointment. “Tom. Sheila. This is breaking and entering. Gotta take you in.”

  The girl gave a mewling cry as Dalton pulled Tom up by the arm.

  With a hum and a buzz, the lamps suddenly flickered to life. Corie let out a little victory whoop somewhere in the hall off the kitchen.

  At the sound, Dalton’s attention swiveled, his free hand reaching for his service piece, but Nick waved a staying hand. “Natalie’s sister. She came in tonight, remember?”

  Dalton remained wary as the girl in question rounded the corner. She stepped over a pile of magazines, gypsy skirt swishing around her ankles.

  “Let there be light! I found the breaker box.” Corie sank to a chair arm, turning her dark eyes across the haphazard piles of keep, donate, and toss. Hands dragging through her hair, she asked Natalie, “This is what you call organizing?”

  “It’s a system.”

  The sisters’ nerves showed through their well-practiced banter while Nick’s own thoughts reeled.

  Breaker box.

  Shredded wires.

  A break-in with no sign.

  He caught his brother staring at Natalie’s sister. Corie added calm, peace, and light to the volatile moment.

  “Dalt?”

  His brother didn’t answer. He just watched as Corie explained her search for and discovery of the fuses, totally mute. He hadn’t seen a look like that on Dalton’s face since he proposed to Katie—certainly not since Katie rejected him six months later.

  “Nick?” Natalie’s voice pulled his attention away from Dalton. “Hand me that?”

  Looking where Natalie pointed, Nick plucked an old handkerchief off the linen pile. Natalie helped the teen wipe away the raccoon ey
es her dripping mascara had created.

  “You’re not taking those kids to the station, are you?” Corie’s focus on Dalton was laser hot and ready to fire.

  “They were breaking and entering.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s my sister’s house. What does she say about it?”

  All eyes turned to Natalie.

  “They shouldn’t have been here, but I don’t see any damage . . . How did you get inside?”

  “I had a key.” Tommy sniffed into the sleeve of his letter jacket. “I found one of my dad’s old keys.”

  “He wanted to show me where he saw the ghost … and I …” Sheila snuffled into the handkerchief. “I let him b-bring me out here.”

  Dalton’s chin lifted. “Tommy’s father used to keep an eye on the place for the Valences.”

  “He had a key?” Nick and Natalie’s attention caught in silent communication. How many other keys were floating around out there?

  “You made a mistake tonight, but it could’ve been worse.” Natalie squeezed the girl’s hand. “Much worse.”

  With hiccupping sobs, Sheila nodded.

  “May we have it back, please?” Corie stepped around heaps of old coats and held a waiting hand out to the gangly teenager. He fished around in his pocket for it and then placed the slim metal key in her palm. Her voice was calm and serious as she closed her fist around it. “And tell your friends this house isn’t a place to party anymore.”

  “Got it.”

  All eyes fell on Dalton. Dumbstruck no more, he was regaining his footing. “Fine. I’ll escort them home. Talk to the parents.” Dalton guided the kids out the door, and Nick remembered all too well what that felt like: humiliation, fear, relief.

  Dalton helped them into the back of the waiting cop car. Tom’s eyes filled with crocodile tears.

  “I won’t come out here again, I swear.”

  Yeah. He knew that kid. He was that kid, back in the day.

  Dalton shut the car door with a click.

  Nick leaned down to the cracked window. He stared into the boy’s wide-eyed worry and sent a weary smile heavenward.

  “Be careful who and what you swear to, kid. You never know who’s listening.”