Endless Fear

by Adrianne Lee

  “Pierced,” he corrected, softly.

  Her gaze flicked over July’s head to Spencer. Why did it have to matter so much that he noticed her ears were pierced?

  “July picked them out herself,” he explained, wondering at the pain he noticed in her beautiful aqua eyes, hoping he wasn’t somehow the cause of it.

  Coughing away the lump forming in her throat, she returned her gaze to the gift, then looked at July. “What’s this design on the earrings?”

  “Turtles. Like your Turtle Rock. See the sparkly eyes.”

  In that instant, April realized it wasn’t her heart that felt flattened. It was her spirit. Before she came here she’d looked forward to returning to her structured, if somewhat sterile, existence in Phoenix, but these two people had made a difference in her she hadn’t counted on. And now her future stretched before her in Technicolor loneliness.

  * * * *

  At eleven-twenty that night Spencer was still dressed, sitting on his bed, working a crossword puzzle. His thoughts were as fretful as the breezes railing the house. After ten minutes trying to come up with a definition for sixteen down, he decided, the strain was too much. Sleep would be the best cure for what ailed him.

  Setting pencil and paper on the chenille spread, he reached for a shoe lace. A knock at the door stayed his hand. “Who the devil….?” But as he strode to the door, he figured he knew who it was. And he was right.

  Wearing brown-striped pajamas, a brown-and-white robe, and brown leather slippers, Thane didn’t wait for an invitation. He shoved into the room and immediately began to pace.

  Spencer shut the door, leaned against it, and watched his brother traipse the length of the bedroom like a cuckoo counting to ten. It was ironic. Usually Thane was the one with the cool head in a hot situation. Tonight, their roles were reversed. “Why don’t you calm down before you wear a path in the carpet? We know April has the poems. We’ll get them tomorrow when she’s out of her room.”

  The wind complained against the rooftop, groaning with all the irascibility visible on Thane’s face as he ground to a halt and pinned Spencer with an angry glare. “Tomorrow? I don’t intend to give her chance enough to flash those poems around. We’re getting the damned things tonight.”

  Shaking his head, Spencer tried to reason with his twin. “I know it was a shock to discover any of those poems still exist. I felt the same way this afternoon. But you’re not thinking straight. What if she wakes up and catches us searching her room? That’d make her even more suspicious.”

  Raking his hands through his hair, Thane growled, “I don’t care.”

  “Of course you do. Think about Vanessa.”

  “I am thinking about Vanessa. Not to mention her family. They’ll freak-out if any of this crap comes to the surface.”

  Spencer let out a heartfelt sigh. The situation kept growing uglier; all these lies and deceptions. He hated it. The longer he put off telling April the truth, the more rotten he felt. But as his brother had just pointed out, he wasn’t the only one who’d be hurt by such a confession. Damn!

  “Look, I couldn’t very well take them away from her this afternoon. And it’s too risky to do it now.”

  Thane shook his head, as thought he pitied Spencer. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

  The thought of another man, even his brother, pawing through April’s personal things raised his hackles. As Thane started for the door, Spencer caught him by the arm. “Like hell you will. If anyone searches her room tonight, it’ll be me.”

  For six whole seconds the twins glared at one another. Thane blinked first and jerked his arm free. Pulling a large flashlight from the deep pocket of his robe, he slapped it in Spencer’s palm. “Then get going. I won’t rest until those poems are ashes.”

  With that, Spencer found himself standing in the hall, his back to the closed door, wondering how in blue blazes he was supposed to pull this off. He glanced anxiously at his watch. Eleven-forty-five. At least she should be asleep.

  As he started down the hallway, the lights suddenly dimmed, then burned brighter. Realizing the power might go out at anytime, he was glad to have the flashlight.

  * * * *

  April stared at the illuminated bedside clock. Nearly midnight. By now the rest of the family would be fast asleep. Maybe she should wait another hour to be certain. No. There would be no better time to go to the basement, to confront her memories without the chance of outside distractions. Besides, she couldn’t bear to wait a minute more. Every day her memory stayed blocked, the more painful it would be to leave Calendar House.

  Sitting up, she turned on the table lamp. Soft white light bathed the hardcover version of LaVyrle Spencer’s latest novel, situated within easy reach atop the nightstand. Earlier, she’d tucked the envelope containing the poems between the book’s pages. Quickly double checking, she assured herself it was still there.

  Tossing off her covers, she climbed out of bed and donned her robe and slippers. Armed with a purse-sized flashlight, she cracked the door and scanned the hallway. Nothing but the wind creaking through the old bones of the house. Then why was she shaking?

  Fighting the fear building inside, she forced herself into the dimly lighted passage and shut the door behind her. You can do it, she whispered, but she had to repeat it three times before her knees no longer felt wobbly. As she turned toward the back stairs, she heard footsteps coming along the adjoining hall from the opposite direction. Her pulse braked, then shifted into overdrive. She hurried to the stairwell.

  * * * *

  A trickle of sweat dampened Spencer’s upper lip. He felt like a cat burglar, slinking down the hallway. Although the muted snores interplaying with the soughing wind convinced him that the rest of the household was asleep, every time a floorboard creaked, his pulse tripled.

  As he rounded the corner into April’s wing of the house, he spotted her slipping stealthily into the back stairwell. She must be going to the kitchen for a glass of water or something to eat. He’d have the room to himself for a few minutes. The tightness in his chest eased, but the film of sweat covering his nervous body increased as he ran down the hall and into her room.

  * * * *

  Pressing the flashlight into service, April tiptoed down the stairs. The lingering odor of fried chicken hung in the darkened kitchen and permeated the laundry room, but the cellar smelled of dust and gunnysacks and ripening onions. And her own fear. Swallowing hard, she flicked on the light switch, and let out an uneasy breath as the vivid illumination careened into the room and chased away scary shadows, imagined spooks.

  Glancing across the room, she was surprised to find the door into the basement standing open.

  From inside the belly of the house, the lamenting wind sounded more like an eerie murmur. Trying not to notice, April stepped across the threshold and caught another unexpected sound. Stealthy movement. Rats? The fine hairs on her neck prickled as she flailed the narrow beam of her flashlight into the dark room. She was suddenly too aware of the flimsy protection her gown and robe and her open-toed mules offered, should one of the vile creatures decide to attack. A shudder chilled her middle. Maybe she should leave this until daylight. Her churning insides attested to the idea’s merits.

  No! Before her courage deserted altogether, April flicked on the wall switch. Dull light issued from the ceiling fixture, inadequate for the vast room, causing more shadows than it erased. Ignoring the disquiet riding her nerves, she shuffled past her father’s shrouded, abandoned inventions to the spot where the stairs had once stood.

  Cold seeped through her lacy clothing and raised goose bumps across her flesh. As she lifted her gaze to the shelf that had been the landing, she had the unnerving sensation of being watched. Overhead, the bulb dimmed. April shivered and glanced nervously around.

  The lights went out so suddenly she jolted, flinging the flashlight into the darkness. Helplessly, she listened to it skid across the floor.

  Chapter Nine

  The wind seeme
d louder now, a daunting sigh. Shaking with fright, April fell to her knees and frantically patted the floor in all directions, trying to find the flashlight. A noise to her right stilled her groping hands. Holding her breath, she strained to hear the sound again.

  Were the rats coming after her, drawn to the scent of her fear? Panic climbed up her throat. Stop it! she berated herself. The rats were probably as scared of her as she was of them.

  “Shooooo!” she shouted. “Get away from me!”

  A soft skittering ensued, satisfying her that the bluster had the hairy, long-tailed, would-be assailants scurrying back into their hiding places. With her courage battered, but intact, she resumed her search for the flashlight.

  “Aprillll….” It was not more than a whisper, but it pinned her like a snagged moth.

  Blindly, her gaze arrowed the blackness. “W-w-who’s there?”

  “Aprillll…..” The disembodied voice floated out of the dark, seeming to come at once from no direction and all directions.

  Terrified, she scooted backward and bumped against something rough and cold. The wall. Planting her spine to the cold, coarse concrete, she inched higher and higher until she stood erect. The cellar was less than forty feet away. With her heart beating so loudly she could hear it, she took a sideways step.

  “Are you still sorry, April…?” The hideous whisper grew louder, bolder, and this time she was certain it had come from near the cellar door. “Sorry, you killed me…?”

  With surgical precision, the words laid open her worst fear. She couldn’t bear to listen. Clamping her hands over her ears, she wailed, “No! Nooooooo.”

  * * * *

  Spencer discovered the fear of being caught snooping magnified every noise. Drawers creaked louder, floorboards groaned louder, hell, even his breathing sounded louder. But the wind took first prize. It whined across his nerve endings like misplayed violin chords.

  What would his campaign people think if they could see him now, completing phase one on his way to becoming a petty burglar? The imagined uproar soured his stomach.

  Shutting the last drawer in the chest, he strode to the nightstand. He caught hold of the spine of the novel lying next to the bedside clock.

  The table lamp flickered and went out, pitching him into total blackness. Cursing, he released the book and shined the flashlight on his watch. Holy…. He’d been here too long. April would be back any second. Unless…, unless she was stuck somewhere below floors. He hadn’t seen a flashlight in her hand. As a child, she’d been afraid of the dark.

  He swung out of the room and headed down the back stairs. Guided by the strong flashlight beam, he hastened through the dark house and shortly had covered the entire first floor without turning up a trace of her.

  There was only one place more to check. The thought sent a chill through him as he descended the stairs to the cellar, suddenly, inexplicably convinced he’d find her in the basement.

  “What the hell is the little fool up to?” Spencer grumbled.

  Worry slapped against him like the driven slap of his Reeboks on the wooden steps. In the best of conditions the basement was an obstacle course, now…. He shuddered at the thought of what could happen to her in the dark.

  From somewhere below, he heard a muffled whimper. A vision of her tender flesh, crushed and broken beneath one of August’s monstrous metal hulks made his blood run cold. Frantic, he picked up his pace, calling, “April?”

  * * * *

  Too frightened to move, April huddled against the dank wall with her hands hugged to her ears. Still, the sound of someone whimpering reached her, a sound she’d often heard at the sanitarium, a sound usually allotted to her nightmares. Who was making the offending noise? Why didn’t somebody make them stop?

  Out of the darkness a light appeared, growing brighter as it neared, illuminating the way to safety. It was like a lifeline to April. Lowering her hands, she stumbled toward it, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. Almost at once the blinding light was fanning her face.

  She was so relieved to hear Spencer’s deep voice, it didn’t matter that he was shouting at her. She ducked past the flashlight and slammed against him, effectively cutting off his tirade.

  The wind burst from Spencer’s lungs, and for a split second, he swayed precariously off balance. But as April’s arms locked around his middle, he forgot the worry of minutes before, he forgot the poems, he forgot everything, except the sweet feel of her trembling body crushed to his.

  To rid himself of the unwieldy flashlight, he slid it onto the storage shelf next to them, then gently lowered his arms around her and gradually strengthened his hold. “It’s all right, Angel. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  The tenderness of his declaration skimmed the frayed edges of her nerves, smoothing, soothing, as effectively as his fingertips smoothed and soothed the planes and valleys of her back. The chill inside her melted, then evaporated in the wake of a delicious warmth. April tipped her head to see the face of the man who possessed this magic touch, and beheld a glimmer of flame in his molten silver gaze.

  Too aware of the effect she was having on him, Spencer tried to ignore her quickened breath, the intensified rhythm of her heart beneath his palms, the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. But the desire he read in her innocent gaze sent his pulse careening wildly, his self-control to the four winds. Need rose in him with such force and such speed it rocked him to his toes. The next thing he knew, his lips were on her, tasting, exploring, arousing.

  Entranced by the bedevilment he conjured inside her, April moaned and arched into him, kissing him back with dangerous abandon. His mouth was now the master of the magic. Everywhere it touched, alarming blazes kindled. On her mouth, on her cheeks, on her neck. Was this the way it was between all men and women? The wondrous joy exploding inside her body said no. But before she could decide what made this so special, Spencer raised his hands to her shoulders and gently pried a space between them.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice came out in a croak. “I promised nothing would hurt you and I meant it. Not even me.”

  In the dim light of the flash, she could see his eyes had darkened to pewter. She reached to straighten a lock of his chocolate hair, and whispered, “You weren’t hurting me.”

  God, didn’t she realize what she was doing to him? He was only human. And she was such sweet temptation. Once more, he cupped her face in both hands, only this time under extreme duress, he confined his kiss to her forehead. “Not yet, but it was inevitable.”

  Inevitable? The hypnotic rapture cracked and fell away like broken glass. Yes, she thought, one of them would end up being hurt, but her greatest fear was it would be Spencer.

  Without warning, the overhead lights came on. Blinking beneath the harsh glow, Spencer cried, “Voila!”

  “Spencer? Is that you down there?” August shouted from somewhere on the stairwell.

  Dropping his hold on her completely, Spencer retreated three steps and snatched the flashlight from the shelf. “Yes, down here.”

  Wearing a plaid robe and moccasins, her father emerged into the cellar. At the sight of her, his eyebrows shot up. “April?”

  Suddenly aware of her disheveled clothing, her swollen lips, her mussed hair, April gathered her loosened robe back into place, tightening the belt. But she couldn’t conceal a blush.

  August’s gaze went from one to the other. “Whatever are the two of you doing down here?”

  The question took April aback. She glanced at Spencer. Until this very moment, she hadn’t thought a thing of his auspicious arrival in the cellar, but on reflection, it seemed a little too convenient.

  Ignoring the burning look of accusation in her eyes, Spencer said, “I was reading when the lights went out. I came down to see if it was a breaker, but after finding the whole house dark, I figured the storm blew the transformer. As I started up the backstairs I heard someone in the basement and I found April.”

  A tinge of red colored his ear-tips.
He was lying. What had really brought him down here? A qualm twisted her middle. Both men were staring at her, waiting for her explanation. And as much as she hated to, she was forced to tell a lie of her own. “I was in the kitchen getting a drink of water. I thought I heard something crash in the basement—a box or some such. I came to investigate and the lights went out.”

  Almost imperceptibly, Spencer’s brow lifted. Obviously, he didn’t believe her, but her father appeared to accept her story. He said, “Probably just rats. Every now and then, a couple’ll gnaw through the boarded up tunnels and get in.”

  April shuddered. She hadn’t seen any beady yellow eyes, but she’d heard the scudding feet. Or had the sound been created by a stealthier kind of “rodent?” The notion fired an instant need to escape to her cheery, vermin-free room. She kissed her father on the cheek. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

  As April started up the stairs, August nodded. “Yeah, guess we’d better all get to bed. Must be after one.”

  After one? Cripes, Thane might have come looking for him by now. Spencer turned off the light in the basement, then closed the door. Dodging the older man through the stairwell, he asked, “What brought you down here, August?”

  “Helga, actually. Seems the wind caused several restless souls. She noticed the usual night lights were off over here and called.”

  They’d reached the laundry room and were now facing one another. Perplexed, Spencer frowned. “Are you saying Helga’s electricity was still on?”

  “Yep. And she was having a conniption about the frozen canapés. As if they’d thaw by morning in this weather. Women.” He chuckled, then checked the back door lock. “Strange thing though. The main switch was thrown. Never known that to happen. We’d better get an electrician out to examine that box.”

  Dismayed, Spencer winged his gaze to the metal box stuck in the wall opposite the washer/dryer. Was there a short somewhere in the system? Or….? A chill tracked his flesh as the image of April whimpering in the dark basement replayed his mind.. Had someone deliberately tried to scare her? The idea was unthinkable. And yet…it would explain a lot.