by Tanith Morse
“Oh,” he said simply. “How do you feel about that? Do you miss your dad?”
“What is this, twenty questions?” I quipped.
“No,” he chuckled. “It’s just that I want to know more about you. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“No, I guess not,” I replied, “but it feels kind of one-sided. After all, I know nothing about you, either, so I’ve got some questions of my own.”
He put down his knife and fork. “Okay, shoot.”
I glanced around, then said softly, “Okay. For one thing, you still haven’t answered my original question.”
“Which was?”
“Why do you wear a ring over your tattoo?”
“Oh,” he said, laughing. “Is it really such a big deal?”
“No,” I admitted, “but it sounds like you don’t want to answer.”
“Okay, it’s simple,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “My dad bought this ring for my birthday, and since I don’t really like jewelry, sometimes I wear it and sometimes I don’t. When I do wear it, it fits best on my middle finger, which just happens to be the same finger as my tattoo.”
“Oh,” I said, somewhat disappointed.
He smiled again. “I’m sorry. Were you expecting something more exotic?”
I shrugged. “I just thought maybe you were part of a secret society or something.”
“Secret society?”
“Yeah, you know, like the gangster tattoos they have in prison. I heard some people wear them inside for protection.”
Lee raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You thought I was in prison?”
Flustered, I quickly replied, “No, of course not.”
Lee laughed again. “Sorry, Sam. I wish my life was that interesting, but sadly, I’ve never been in prison.”
I felt my cheeks reddening. If I was trying to impress him, I wasn’t doing a very good job. I took a gulp of tea, then changed the subject.
“Have you spoken to Becky lately?”
“No, have you?”
I shook my head. “I was surprised she wasn’t with you at the party on Friday.”
“Why? We never planned to go together.”
“I thought the two of you were—”
“An item?” Lee said, laughing heartily. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Well, it’s just that you seemed very—”
“Look, Sam. Becky’s a nice girl, but we’re just friends.”
I nodded thoughtfully. There were so many questions. I wanted to know what he thought of me. I wanted to know why he’d invited me to the gallery. But somehow I couldn’t get the words out.
Slowly, Lee ran his fingers down the stem of his wine glass, his dark eyes hypnotizing me. Then he raised the glass to his lips, never breaking eye contact, and took a long drink.
I looked down and tried to focus back on my plate.
“What are we doing afterward?” he asked.
“What was that?” I mumbled.
When I looked up, Lee was staring at my mouth. As I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, he suddenly squinted his right eye and covered it with his hand.
“What’s wrong?” I frowned.
“Nothing. Just my contact lenses acting up. Excuse me.”
He got up, still covering one side of his face, and rushed off in the direction of the restroom. I hadn’t noticed that Lee wore contacts.
Downing the last of my tea, I gazed out the window at the rain and wished I could stay warm and cozy in the Winchester forever—away from the storm and my troubles.
When Lee returned he seemed flustered. “Shall we get the bill?”
I noticed that his eye was bloodshot from rubbing. I glanced at his plate. He’d barely touched his food.
“Don’t you want to stay a bit longer?”
“No, I should be heading back. I have some things to do.”
“Did you manage to sort out your contact lens?”
“Yes, thanks,” he said, putting on his baseball cap.
Then he signaled for the waiter to bring the bill. After looking it over, he pulled a roll of fifties tied in a rubber band from his pocket and counted out a huge wad of notes. I wondered briefly if it was dangerous to carry so much cash. I also wondered why he hadn’t just paid by credit card.
“Do you want me to give you a ride home?” he asked as he put his jacket on.
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, a bit disappointed that the day was coming to such an abrupt end.
I could have spent all day in Lee’s company, but I knew the drive home in the afternoon traffic would take at least forty minutes, so that was some consolation. Oddly enough, it took us almost that long just to find his car. Lee said he’d parked somewhere behind Sloane Square station, but he couldn’t remember the name of the street, so we had to trail around for ages looking for it. Eventually, we found his Lotus five minutes before the meter was due to expire.
I was about ready to collapse from exhaustion as I slid into the passenger seat. The interior of the Lotus was warm and smelled of expensive leather and lavender air freshener.
As we started home, neither of us spoke for a while. I kept my eyes on the road, watching the wipers dance back and forth across the windshield. Lee turned on the stereo and flipped through the tracks until he settled on what sounded like Irish folk music being sung in an odd language I’d never heard before. It was haunting and hypnotic, evoking images of blue skies, emerald fields, and merriment from centuries long past.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Lee asked, breaking into my daydream.
“I love this music,” I murmured. “What is it?”
“The album’s called Inagoul.”
“Ina what?”
“Inagoul.”
“What language is that?”
He hesitated, then admitted, “I don’t know. The CD belongs to a friend of mine.”
“Well, whatever it is, I like it,” I said. “It sounds very traditional.”
I leaned back, relishing the soft, comfortable feel of the padded leather. The music was like a lullaby and soon the melody, combined with the rhythmic beat of the windshield wipers, lulled me into a semi-conscious state. For the first time in ages, I felt completely at ease—safe and content.
“I liked the way you looked at the party,” Lee said softly.
“What?” I asked, half opening my eyes.
“I liked the way you wore your hair Friday night. It looked really pretty.”
I smiled. “Thank you. It was just a bit of hair gel and a jumpsuit I borrowed from Mum.”
“Well, whatever it was, I liked it,” he whispered, his eyes still on the road.
Swallowing hard, I sank deeper into the seat. Lee knew exactly what he was doing, and he was clearly enjoying toying with me.
“Look,” he said. “We’re running low on fuel. Keep an eye out for a gas station, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, leaning forward.
Moments later, we were approaching a Shell station. Lee got out and started to fill the tank. As he did, I noticed a black Ford with tinted windows pull up beside the next pump. There was nothing remarkable about the car, but something about it left me feeling uneasy.
“Do you want anything from inside?” Lee asked through the window before he turned to go pay the bill.
As I shook my head, I could still see the black Ford sitting with its engine running. Nobody got in, nobody got out. It was as if the driver was waiting for someone or something.
When Lee returned, he’d bought us each a Red Bull and a Snickers bar.
“Thanks,” I said with a smile.
“No problem.”
As Lee steered us back onto the main road, I peeked in the rear view mirror and saw that the Ford was still parked where it had been.
“So, where exactly in Elmfield do you live?” Lee asked.
“Roseberry Avenue.”
“That’s near the town hall, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s right. Where do you live?”
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“An apartment overlooking Elmfield Park.”
“You’ve got your own place?”
“Yeah. My parents are working in Lebanon for six months, so for the time being, I’m on my own. I wanted to go with them, but I had to stay behind to finish my studies.”
“What are your parents doing in Lebanon?”
“They’re working on a documentary for the BBC. Dad’s a film director, Mum’s an editor. They run their own production company.”
“That’s fantastic!” I enthused.
“Yeah, I suppose,” he said, “although I hated it sometimes when I was a kid—all that traveling and moving around. We never stayed in one place long enough to settle.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
He looked at me. “You do?”
“Sure. When my parents divorced, Mum changed jobs so many times that we never stayed in one place either. It’s hard to connect with anyone when you’re always on the road. You always feel like an outsider.”
“I can certainly relate to that,” he murmured.
As a bridge came into view, I suddenly felt a deep shudder, and I instinctively turned and looked in the rear view mirror again. I was shocked to see the black Ford behind us.
“Lee,” I said quietly, “maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I think that car’s following us.”
He glanced in the mirror. “You mean that black Ford?”
“Yes. I saw it parked at the gas station.” When Lee didn’t respond, I quickly added, “Of course, I could be wrong.”
“What makes you think they’re following us?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.”
Suddenly, he hit the accelerator and we shot ahead at a high speed.
“Hey, slow down!” I shouted.
Looking in the mirror, I was horrified to see the Ford in hot pursuit. I hadn’t been hallucinating. It was really happening.
“I’m going to try to shake them,” Lee said firmly, quickly turning onto a side street.
We swerved at the next corner, then the next, until we reached a cul-de-sac, where Lee hit the brakes and pulled the Lotus to the curb. For a few moments, we sat in silence, listening to the sound of our breathing as the windshield wipers continued to slap at the rain.
“Do you think we lost them?” I whispered.
“I don’t think so,” Lee said softly, nodding his head in the direction of the black Ford as it turned into the cul-de-sac and pulled up a short distance behind us.
Lee turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Okay, I’m going to sort this out right now.”
“Be careful,” I hissed.
Lee got out and strode confidently toward the Ford, but as he approached, the car suddenly backed up and then sped away. Within seconds, it was gone.
“What the hell was that all about?” I asked as Lee eased back into his seat.
“I have no idea,” he said, buckling his seatbelt. “London’s full of crazy people.” He glanced at me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, and I could sense that Lee was deeply troubled about something.
For the rest of the drive home, we rode in silence, listening to Inagoul. By the time we pulled onto my street, I was falling asleep again. It had been an exhausting day, and I was bitterly disappointed that it had ended on such a sour note. The car chase had blackened Lee’s mood and he’d barely looked at me afterward—though, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why.
“Thanks for everything,” I muttered as I unfastened my seatbelt. “I had a great time—overall.”
“Is this where you live?” he asked, looking up at the building.
I nodded wordlessly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t been very good company. You’ll have to excuse me, but my mind’s all over the place, what with college and stuff. There’s so many things stressing me out. Don’t think it’s got anything to do with you. I really did have a good time today.”
My arms fell limply into my lap. “I enjoyed it, too.”
Only then did I look over at him. His cap was pushed back enough for me to see his face. His dark eyes held the same intense expression I’d seen earlier at the restaurant. His lips looked so inviting that I had to struggle mightily not to lean over and kiss him, but I managed to control myself—though just barely.
For a few moments, I lingered, wanting to prolong our time together as long as possible. I desperately wished he would say something that would give me a chance to stay—but he didn’t.
Finally, I opened the car door. “Thanks again. I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Definitely. Today’s been great.”
Either he was purposely playing dumb or something had happened that I didn’t know about. Without saying goodbye, I turned and darted down the stone steps. I fumbled for my house keys, listening for the sound of him driving away. Only after I was satisfied that he was gone did I step inside.
Why hadn’t he asked for my phone number? Why hadn’t he arranged another date? Had I done something wrong? With a sigh of frustration, I slammed my fist against the wall, sending a jolt of pain through my hand.
Then I stormed down the corridor to my room and flung myself on the bed. For a long time, I lay mulling things over, trying to make sense of it all. Lee had given me such mixed signals that I had no idea where I stood with him.
“This is why I don’t do boys,” I muttered to my empty room. “I hate all these mind games.”
Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling. In the past, one of my counselors had told me that I needed to control my temper. Perhaps she was right.
At that moment, I heard the front door slam. I called out, “Mum?”
There was no answer.
“Mum, is that you?” I repeated.
Still no answer.
Slowly, I got up and peeked into the corridor to see where the noise had come from. Perhaps I hadn’t shut the door tightly and it had gotten caught by the wind.
Then I felt an icy draft, as if a massive refrigerator had just been opened.
Cautiously, I made my way to the front door. It was locked and bolted from the inside, which meant it couldn’t have slammed. Trembling slightly, I went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I needed something to calm my nerves.
After a shot of caffeine, I started to feel a little better, telling myself that I was being silly and that there had to be a logical explanation for the noise. Maybe it had been a neighbor coming home. The sound proofing in old houses was never very good. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the ominous feeling I’d had since seeing the black Ford and the sense that I was being watched. Could it be the driver had followed me home?
Then there was a loud crash behind me. I spun round and saw that one of the plates had fallen off the rack and smashed onto the floor. With shaky fingers, I got out the dustpan and swept up the pieces.
I went back to the front door, double checked that it was locked, and then inspected every window of every room of the apartment. When I was satisfied that I was alone, I returned to my bedroom and tried to do some homework, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t concentrate. Since childhood, I’d possessed an ability to sense when something bad was about to happen—and I knew that something was out there, waiting.
SIX
Omen
I wasn’t looking forward to seeing Becky again. I knew she’d want to discuss what happened at Taffin Carter’s party, and I still hadn’t gotten my story straight. Sure enough, she made a beeline for me first thing Monday morning, as the class waited for Mr. Maine to arrive.
“My god, Sam, where have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve been trying to get through to you all weekend!”
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I was a bit hung over, so I switched off my phone.” I glanced at Frasier’s empty desk. I hoped he was okay. “So how’s your migraine?” I asked, changing the subject. “Hannah said you weren’t feeling well.”
Bu
t Becky wasn’t letting me off that easily. “Never mind about that. Hannah said she saw you dancing with Lee at the party. How could you do that to me? You know how much I like him!”
“Hannah’s lying,” I snapped. “We just talked, that’s all, for about ten minutes before Frasier’s accident.”
Concern shadowed her face. “Oh my gosh, I heard about that. He fell down the stairs, right? Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. At least, I hope he is,” I said as I glanced again at his seat.
Frasier was now seven minutes late. It was so unlike him that I began to worry. I opened my bag and began unpacking my books and a pen. I could feel Becky’s eyes boring into me like an electric current.
“So, are you saying that you didn’t dance with Lee?” she probed.
“Yes! I don’t know why Hannah told you that. She must be trying to stir up trouble.”
Becky’s face broke into a smile. “It’s all right, Sam, I believe you. I just needed to be sure you were still on my side.”
A wave of relief washed over me as I realized she’d been bluffing the whole time. With all the other crazy stuff going on in my life, the last thing I needed was a major fall-out with Becky.
“It’s a shame you didn’t come to the party,” I said. “It was fun, until Frasier’s accident.”
“I know, I’m so sad I missed it,” she pouted. “I was ready to leave my house when suddenly I got this terrible headache. Honestly, it was so bad that I had to lie down the rest of the night. In the morning I felt fine again. It was so weird. I’ve never had a migraine before. Oh well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”
“I guess not,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear. Then I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, “How are things going with Lee anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” she sighed. “He’s so hard to read. Sometimes he acts like he’s really into me and then he suddenly goes all cold. For example, I’ve asked for his number many times, but he keeps putting me off. He says he lost his cell and is waiting for the phone company to send him a replacement. That was two weeks ago, so I’m not sure I believe him anymore.”
“Yeah, that does sound a bit strange,” I agreed. My thoughts took me back to the party and I distinctly remembered seeing Lee use a cell phone to dial the taxi. So Becky is right. Lee is lying to her. But why?