by M. J. Hearle
As she was stroking the tabby’s back, another dash of movement drew her attention. To her surprise, three more cats appeared. One was jet black with sleepy green eyes, another white and very skinny, the third grey and sporting a battle scar on its right cheek. All of them were collarless like the tabby. The cats stood on the threshold of the living room, regarding her suspiciously.
So Blake was a cat lover.
Winter found the notion of him owning so many cats – strays, judging by the lack of collars – touching. It suggested a loneliness that seemed at odds with his looks and personality.
Against the wall near the base of the staircase stood a large oak table and mirror. Surely there would be some paper and a pen in the drawer that she could use. She walked over and began rifling through the drawer, dismayed to find there was no stationery whatsoever. Just dust and a few dead cockroaches.
She slammed the drawer shut in frustration, and her knee knocked against something covered with a thick cloth leaning against the legs of the table. The large rectangular object began to tip over, and Winter only just managed to catch it.
One of the corners of the cloth fell down, and Winter knelt to see what it had been covering: an oil painting. Intrigued, she drew aside the cloth, revealing the entire picture.
It was a family portrait of a beautiful young woman, nursing two small children on her lap – a boy and a girl. Twins, Winter was sure of it! They shared the same sparkling green eyes and angelic features. Winter was no history expert, but judging by the way the figures were dressed she guessed the painting dated from the mid to late nineteenth century.
There was something about the image that seemed strangely familiar, though for the life of her Winter couldn’t put her finger on why. Maybe she’d seen a print of it in an art book. She was drawn to the expression in the mother’s eyes. There was happiness tainted with a sweet sadness that Winter found incredibly poignant. She wondered what the young woman had been thinking about while the artist captured this aspect.
Winter’s breath caught as soft music began playing in the rooms above. She wasn’t alone. The music was strange – slightly muffled and with a distinct hiss, as if being played through an old-fashioned gramophone.
Winter stood up and caught her reflection in the mirror over the table, and was shocked at how fearful she looked. After all, it was just music. There was nothing frightening about someone playing a record. Blake must be upstairs somewhere. He’d probably been in the shower and had just stepped out, which was why he hadn’t heard Winter calling to him.
A smoky voice, accompanied by a lone violin, floated down through the ceiling, sending chills up Winter’s spine. She thought it might be Ella Fitzgerald.
Winter called out again – ‘Blake?’ – but again he didn’t reply. It was possible that the record had drowned out her voice. She moved to the base of the stairs and paused, looking up into the shadowy recesses of the landing. Was she really willing to go up there?
Winter was vaguely aware of a strange sensation at the back of her mind, like a voice whispering to her in a language she didn’t know but whose meaning was undeniably clear. There was something up there, something she had to see . . .
Feeling like she’d fallen into some kind of dream, Winter began to ascend the staircase. She ignored the suspicious gaze of the four cats, who sat at the bottom watching her like a silent Greek chorus. She was halfway up when a voice boomed through the house.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
She whirled around and saw Blake standing in the open front doorway with an armful of groceries. The fat orange tabby ran to where he stood, curling its tail around his left leg. He didn’t pay attention to it, and instead continued to glare angrily at Winter.
Feeling as though she’d been slapped awake from a deep dream, Winter skittered back down the stairs. Her face felt hot enough to ignite into flames.
‘I’m so sorry . . . I heard music upstairs and —’ As if on cue, the music had stopped playing from the upper level, making her look like a liar.
‘What are you talking about?’ Blake demanded.
‘I . . . um . . .’
‘I should call the police!’
‘Please don’t! The door was open. I – I called out before coming in. And —’ Winter was having difficulty getting the words out. How could she explain to him the irrational panic that had driven her inside?
‘Just go, Winter,’ he ordered, visibly trying to contain his rage. His eyes kept jumping past her to the stairs beyond, as though he were looking for someone else. A girlfriend? That’s probably who was playing the music! Mortified, Winter desperately wanted to escape this awful situation, but then remembered the jacket. Maybe it would help to prove she’d come here with the best intentions.
‘Blake, I . . . ah . . . only wanted to return your jacket. It’s over there by the books.’
His eyes flicked to the jacket lying near the journals. He seemed to grow even more angry as though he guessed she’d been snooping through his things.
‘I didn’t touch anything,’ she lied, growing redder by the second. ‘I also came to give you a present. You know, for saving me yesterday.’ Fumbling in her pocket, she silently chastised herself. What’s wrong with me? I must have lost my mind! Her actions had been painfully stupid. Inappropriate. Foolish.
Finding the ticket, Winter held it out to Blake as a peace offering. ‘I thought it would be a nice gesture —’
‘I don’t want anything from you. Just leave. Now.’ This time there was more frustration in his voice than anger. He wanted her gone, and Winter didn’t blame him. First he’d caught her spying on him in the church graveyard, now he’d walked in on her prowling around his house – no wonder he wanted to call the cops! Blake probably thought she was some mentally unhinged stalker, and the scary thing was that Winter couldn’t be sure he was wrong.
‘Okay. I’m going.’ With a trembling hand, Winter left the concert ticket on the hall table, then walked past Blake with her head lowered. She’d never felt so ashamed in her entire life. Once outside, she practically ran to where Jessie was parked, leapt on and turned the key. Nothing happened.
She heard the front door open. Blake probably wanted to yell at her some more. Winter wanted to be dust, to be gone. Her stomach felt as if it was full of battery acid. Any moment now she might throw up.
‘Please start!’ she begged Jessie, turning the key again, but the scooter refused. Now all she heard were footsteps on the grass as Blake walked towards her. Tears of humiliation pricked the back of Winter’s eyes, and she blinked them away. She didn’t want him to see her cry.
Chapter 17
Winter stared moodily out of the window of Blake’s truck. The pale woods lining Holloway Road flashed by in the darkness. Never before could she remember feeling so humiliated and embarrassed. She stole a glance at Blake. Illuminated by the weak blue light of the dashboard, his face remained stony, jaw clenched as though sealing in another angry tirade. She should have just walked off and left Jessie to rust in Blake’s front yard. It may have taken her all night to reach home, but at least she wouldn’t have to endure this gruelling experience. The atmosphere in the truck was oppressive, claustrophobic. In a way she wished Blake would just scream at her some more. Get it all off his chest. Anything but this pregnant silence.
Winter still didn’t understand why he’d insisted on driving her home. This reluctant act of charity was more than she felt she deserved. Her scooter clanked and rattled in the back of the truck, the sound reminding Winter that this was all Jessie’s fault. Twice now, the scooter had been responsible for throwing her together with Blake like some demented matchmaker.
‘I’m sorry,’ Blake said, startling Winter out of her miserable reverie.
She didn’t quite know how to respond. ‘What for?’
‘Yelling at you back there.’ He still refused to look at her, though she could hear the genuine note of remorse in his voice. ‘My reaction wasn’t . . . appr
opriate.’
‘You had every right to yell at me, Blake.’
‘No, I didn’t. I just wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. You caught me off guard. Still, I can’t help but wonder what you were thinking.’
Winter squirmed beneath the question. ‘The door was open. I never would have gone inside otherwise.’
‘It was locked, Winter.’
Offended by the insinuation, Winter took a moment to find her voice. ‘I didn’t break in, Blake.’ She vividly remembered the doorknob turning beneath her touch. ‘I knocked first and then I heard a noise outside and . . .’
Blake now looked at her, frowning slightly. ‘What noise?’
‘Nothing. You’d think I was crazy.’ Remembering his wide-eyed outrage in the house, Winter added, ‘Even more crazy.’
There was no way she could describe the irrational panic she’d felt on his front porch at the sounds she’d heard in the woods, the dark shapes she thought she’d glimpsed moving through the twilight. It was quite likely Blake already thought she was unbalanced without her listing these paranoid delusions. However, the music she’d heard upstairs hadn’t been a hallucination. Winter was sure of that.
‘Was that your girlfriend upstairs?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Playing the music?’
The question appeared to throw him. ‘I live alone,’ he answered after a long pause. ‘The music you heard was the radio.’
The radio? That didn’t make sense. Why would a radio start playing and then shut off all by itself? Blake didn’t seem willing to talk any more, so Winter was left to dwell on these troubling questions the rest of the way home.
The moment Blake pulled up in front of Winter’s driveway, she was reaching for the door. She couldn’t wait to be free of the tension in the car, which hadn’t abated despite his apology. But before she could escape, Blake gently took her arm.
‘Winter, wait.’
The touch of his fingers on her skin sent a tingle of pleasure through Winter, and all at once she was no longer eager to be gone. Intrigued, she saw conflict troubling his handsome features. Something was on his mind.
‘I don’t think you’re crazy, Winter.’
Disarmed by the admission, she took a moment to respond. ‘Oh. Good to know.’
There was clearly something else Blake wanted to say, but the words were eluding him. Or he was holding himself back. Winter wanted to reach over and touch him, take his hand, do something to let him know it was okay to talk to her, but the moment passed. Blake forced a small smile. It was a weak effort to cover up whatever tormented him.
‘I’ll get your scooter,’ he said and stepped outside, leaving her baffled. That first moment she’d spied Blake in the graveyard, Winter had sensed he carried a secret sorrow within him. This mystery was part of his allure, adding depth to his beauty, making it difficult for her to cast him from her mind. Despite everything that had transpired between them, glimpsing that secret in Blake’s eyes rekindled her curiosity. She still wanted to know him; however, there was every chance he no longer wanted to know her.
As Winter hopped out of the truck, Blake was wheeling Jessie to the foot of the driveway. He rested the scooter on its stand and turned to face her, his green eyes sparkling in the dark. Only yesterday afternoon he’d been standing in more or less the same spot, looking at her with a similar intensity.
The balcony light flicked on, bathing them in its weak yellow glow. Both of them glanced up to see a shadow move behind the curtain: Lucy. Winter’s nosy sister was sending a not-very-subtle message that they were being watched.
‘Well, I guess this is goodbye,’ Winter said, watching his face for a sign – any sign at all – that this wasn’t goodbye. That he forgave her for what happened this afternoon and wanted to see her again. Instead, her hopes sank as Blake reached into his jacket and pulled out the concert ticket.
‘You should take this back.’
‘Okay.’ Winter gingerly plucked the object that had caused all this turmoil from his hand. ‘I’m sorry for . . . everything.’
Blake dismissed her apology. ‘Forget it.’ He nodded towards the ticket. ‘It was a nice thought, Winter. Maybe you can give it to one of your friends?’
Winter didn’t know what she would do with the ticket. Burning it came to mind.
‘See you around,’ Blake said, his eyes meeting hers one last time. That conflict was still there, as well as something else – remorse, maybe? Then again, that might be just wishful thinking on her part. Winter watched Blake climb into his truck and drive away, and then pushed Jessie back up to her garage, resisting the urge to kick the scooter on her way out.
Chapter 18
As she walked upstairs she could hear Lucy on the phone in the kitchen, the conversation too low for her to make out any words. Winter was just grateful her sister was distracted. She started tiptoeing down the hall —
‘Winter?’
Dammit! Lucy must have heard her footsteps. ‘What is it?’
‘Phone for you. Hold on a second, Jas, she just walked in the door.’
Jasmine was the last person she wanted to talk to right now. With a reluctant sigh, Winter went to take the phone from Lucy.
She placed the handset against her ear, turning away from her sister. She was worried her face would reveal too much.
‘Hello?’
Jasmine sounded as if she was eating something on the other end of the line. In between mouthfuls she managed to blurt out, ‘You know why I’m calling. Talk to me.’
‘It’s not a good time, Jas.’
‘What do you mean? What happened? You sound weird.’
‘I’ll call you later, okay?’
‘No you won’t! Tell me what’s going on. Did you or did you not take the ticket out to Blake?’
Out of the corner of her eye, Winter watched Lucy pouring herself a tea at the kitchen bench, and noted the suspicious lethargy in the act. Ever the stickybeak, Lucy might as well have pulled up a chair next to Winter with a pad and pen so she could take notes.
‘Hang on a second, I’m just going outside.’ Glaring at Lucy, Winter took the phone out onto the front balcony. Once she was sure Lucy couldn’t hear them, Winter hissed down the phone, ‘You want to know what happened, Jas?’
‘By the tone of your voice I take it things didn’t go so well?’
‘You’re a genius. I went out to see Blake, just like you told me to. It was a complete nightmare. I made a fool of myself.’
‘Why, what do you mean? He didn’t take the ticket?’
‘No, he didn’t take the ticket. Thank you so much for pushing me into one of the worst experiences of my life.’
‘I didn’t think —’
‘You never think, Jas. You just bully people into doing what you want.’
‘That’s not fair, Win.’
The rational side of Winter knew this was true, but there was so much pain percolating inside her that she needed to fire it at somebody, and Jasmine was an easy target.
‘Look, I’ve gotta go.’ It would be best to get out now, rather than risk being crueller to Jasmine.
‘Okay.’ Jasmine went silent for a moment before saying softly, ‘Winter, I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m sorry too. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Winter hung up the phone. She’d probably owe Jasmine an apology in the morning, but she was too churned up to worry about it now. She shouldn’t have taken the phone call to begin with. In the distance she could see the hulking silhouette of Owl Mountain against the star-sprinkled sky. Looking at the mountain, Winter was struck by a sense of foreboding. As though some dark fate awaited her up there.
She shivered in the night air, bothered by the sudden drop in temperature. A cold breeze rose out of nowhere and began to blow around the house. The naked bulb lighting the balcony flickered erratically, as though affected by the cold change. Frowning, Winter watched it swinging back and forth in the wind. She was suddenly gripped with the unnerving conviction that she
wasn’t alone any more. It was less strong than the sensation she’d experienced outside the old Velasco place, but just as disturbing.
Slowly she turned, regarding the darkness beyond the balcony railing warily. Part of her wanted to escape inside, but she’d already given in to that irrational impulse once today. It was time she got her emotions under control. There’s nothing out there! She repeated this to herself again like a mantra, trying to expel the creeping unease. It wasn’t working. If anything, the longer she stayed here the more exposed and vulnerable she felt. The spooky flickering light overhead only increased her dread. Still, she wouldn’t run inside, if only to prove to herself that her fear wasn’t worth acknowledging. With affected composure, she turned around to walk inside when a loud meow at the end of the balcony startled her. A cat was crouched on the railing, watching her. An orange tabby. It meowed a greeting again.
Winter breathed a deep sigh of relief. Her instincts had been right; there had been something in the darkness watching her – a fat, old cat. As abruptly as it had appeared, the wind died down. Even the balcony light stopped sputtering and resumed its persistent dull glow. Just some faulty wiring and a quick change in the weather – nothing to get so worked up over.
Shaking off the remnants of her creeping paranoia, she wandered across the balcony to greet her stalker. ‘What are you doing here, puss?’
The cat merely blinked and licked its whiskers in response. Now she was closer, Winter was surprised to see that he looked exactly like the tabby she’d seen at Blake’s place. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? It would have taken the little fella all night to travel from Holloway Road to Winter’s house. Unless he’d hitched a ride in the back of Blake’s truck of course.
‘How about some water?’ she asked the cat, studying him closely to see if she could recognise any markings that would confirm his identity as Blake’s cat. The big orange M on his forehead certainly looked familiar. The tabby also shared the affectionate manner of the one she’d met earlier in the afternoon. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he leapt eagerly into her arms. Laughing as his whiskers tickled her face, Winter carried him inside.