Brink of Death

by Brandilyn Collins

  I pulled back the door.

  My eyes stabbed through the hallway, dimly illuminated by a night-light on the wall outside Kelly’s room. No light downstairs.

  Neither Jenna nor Stephen would be bumping around in the dark.

  Fast as lightning, I flicked on the hall light.

  A silent breath dragged down my throat. I looked across to the upper level on the other side of the great room. The door to the first guest room was closed. Stephen must be sleeping. If the Face hid downstairs, he’d have seen the light.

  I pictured myself locking my door, diving back underneath my covers. But the thought of Jenna, alone and unaware, pushed me forward.

  Creeping over the carpet, I felt the fibers crush beneath my feet. Every two steps I stopped to listen. I heard nothing save for the tick-tock of the grandfather clock, echoing off the wainscoting below.

  Kelly’s bedroom approached on my right. The door yawned open like the mouth of a waiting monster. I halted, unwilling to pass it. If the Face hid there, he could spring at my back. Licking my lips, I craned my neck to see what I could of the room. No figure lurked in sight. Gathering my courage, I reached around the door frame to flip a switch.

  Light flooded the room. I pulled my gaze over Kelly’s rumply bed, her desk and chair, her double dresser, the walls full of posters. On my left ran an entire wall of closets, the doors closed. No way did I possess the courage to check inside.

  Kelly’s bathroom was on my far right. I peered through its entrance—and turned stone cold.

  A figure stared, wild-eyed, back at me.

  Electricity sparked from my head to my feet.

  Only then did I recognize my own reflection in the mirror above the sink.

  I brought a hand to my cheek. For a moment all I could do was breathe.

  The bathroom needed to be checked before I went downstairs to the phone and Jenna. The Face could be around the corner or behind the shower curtain. What if he skulked on this floor, where Kelly slept?

  Slinking against the wall, I moved toward the bathroom.

  When I reached the door, I scrunched myself in the corner of its frame, peeking inside and left as far as I could see. Brushes and hair clips and a hand dryer littered the counter between the double sinks. A towel draped across the back of the toilet, haphazardly thrown. Kelly was not the neatest of twelve-year-olds.

  Only the edge of the shower curtain was visible, hanging toward the back third of the tub.

  I eased through the doorway. The folds of the shower curtain melded into the dimmed corner of the bathroom. I could not see what lay beyond.

  My mind’s projector clicked on to a scene from some long-ago horror movie. A

  dark figure shoots from the shadows, his face a twisted mask.

  He raises a large gleaming blade in his hand, ready to slash, slash, slash…

  No, no, no. Stop it, Annie.

  I knew the picture was all in my head. But this time maybe it was true. Within seconds I could be stabbed or beaten to a bloody mess. Or the Face would have a gun, maybe with a silencer. Or he’d kill me with his bare hands, like he killed Lisa. I would crumple in a swift, neat death.

  Stop it!

  I licked my lips. I would check that shower curtain.

  Now.

  Before I could change my mind, I leapt across the bathroom and flung aside the plastic curtain, its rings clanking against the metal pole. I stared at bare tile. No Face. No blue eyes. The sound of the rings reverberated in my ears.

  I nearly collapsed into the tub.Then suddenly I had to leave Kelly’s room. Now that I’d searched it, I couldn’t stand the lingering fog of my own fear. I turned to run over the tile…

  across the bedroom carpet…

  into the hallway.

  I stopped, puffing.

  Peering through the banister about fifteen feet away, I listened. The hall light filtered out over the great room, illuminating the top half of the two massive redwood posts at the entrance to the kitchen. Down below, the kitchen table stood partially visible, and the bottom of the stove island. The wide door to the television room, which shared a wall with the kitchen, was closed.

  Hadn’t it been open when I went to bed?

  That door was never closed when the room was empty.

  Only when someone wanted to watch television and keep the sound from filtering into the rest of the house would it be shut.

  If the Face had slipped into that room when he saw the upstairs hall light come on, would I have heard the door latch?

  A chill wrapped itself around my chest.

  My bare feet crushed the carpet in cautious steps, and the great room slid into view. To my right I saw the floor near the kitchen, with its twelve-by-fifteen-foot area rug. Then the top of the armchair where Stephen sat last night. The ends of the couches that faced each other. The edge of the coffee table in the center.

  I reached the landing area and flipped another switch.

  Recessed lighting flowed over the stairs, along the railed hall across from me—which ran half the length of the great room—and the wide walkway connecting that side of the upper level with the stairs. The great room now lay before me, darkness chased away. My eyes swept the entire length, back and forth.

  Only then did I notice that the armchair facing the fireplace sat askew.

  My breath rattled to a stop.

  It took no more than a casual bump to move that chair.

  Wooden legs, even when thick, move easily over a wooden floor. Someone inching through that room in the dark, even a very careful someone, could have misstepped and caused the noise I’d heard.

  My thoughts would not gel. I tried to decide what my father would do. What Vic would do. Would they grab something for a makeshift weapon? Nothing in my or Kelly’s room came to mind. For the millionth time since Vic abandoned us, anger at my helplessness surged through me. A house full of females and one know-it-all teenage son. How could we defend ourselves?

  Heart tripping, I forced my feet to the staircase, then lowered myself down one step at a time, clutching the rail. By the time I reached the bottom, the back of my neck shivered like the skittering of a dozen spiders. I veered for the switch that turned on various table lamps around the room, seeking all the light I could find. The sun wouldn’t have been too much for me at that moment.

  Nothing else seemed out of place. Nothing but that chair.

  And the closed door.

  These alone, with the sound I’d heard, told me the Face had been here. Was probably still here, balanced on the balls of his feet as he leaned against the wall of the television room, fingers splayed and palms open against the wood paneling.

  Waiting for me to open the door.

  Or he was folded down behind the couch or crouching behind the stove island. Maybe he’d whisked on cat feet through the door in the kitchen that led to the garage and airplane hangar. From there he could use a side exit to escape into the night.

  I could not go into that kitchen for the phone. Instead I would wake Jenna. Call 911 from her room.

  My head swiveled to the right. The office stood open, the room dark.

  The Face had rummaged in the Willits’ office.

  Farther down the hall, Jenna’s bedroom door was closed.

  Maybe the Face had already trapped my sister. Who knew what I would find behind that door?

  My fingers scrabbled for the hall light switch. As it flicked on, I froze, listening for any sound from the office in response.

  Silence, save for the grandfather clock behind me. Edging forward, I approached the office threshold. Imagining the Face at the Willits’, opening office drawers, looking through files.

  Whatever fetish he carried would follow him here on his second night of terrorizing Grove Landing. In this nightmare the improbable had become all too real. Never mind that his return to the neighborhood so soon would be a stupid move.

  He’d already broken into one home and killed its owner. How logical a mind could he have?
/>   Something snapped inside me, thrusting me into motion.

  With a gasp I lunged beyond the office, pounding toward the master bedroom.

  Bam!

  I rammed into the door with enough noise to wake the dead—and threw it open.

  Chapter 17

  The door banged against the wall like the blast of a shotgun.

  I smacked on the light switch. Jenna rose up in bed like some pulled mannequin, squinting in the brightness, one hand thrown before her eyes. “Wh-what? What happened?”

  Relief blew over me, then was gone. I thrust the door shut. Locked it. “I think someone’s in the house.”

  Sleep had not yet fully released her. She ogled me, her face paling as the words sank in. “How do you know?”

  “I heard someone bump furniture. And the chair in the great room’s been moved.”

  She absorbed my words, her eyes rounding. Her head swiveled to the yellow light of the keypad on her left. “The alarm’s still on.”

  “I know, but I heard something.”

  She licked her lips, trying to think.

  “And something else—the door to the TV room is closed.

  Did you close it?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he’s in there!”

  Jenna shoved her fingers into her bangs, elbow hanging in the air. Her eyes darted to the windows, as if she strained to read the truth in the blackness beyond.

  “I came to see that you’re okay, since you’re on this floor.

  We have to call 911. And then, Jenna, you have to come with me. I didn’t check every place.” Panic mounted at the realization of what I’d failed to do. A locked door now stood between me and the intruder—and my kids were on his side of it. “I have to get to Kelly and Stephen! What if he’s gone upstairs?”

  My sister snatched up her bedside phone. “The deputy sheriffs can’t be far; they’re patrolling the neighborhood.”

  “I know, but I can’t hide in here, just waiting; I have to go see the kids.”

  Jenna punched in three digits. I stood like a zombie.

  Wanting to sprint upstairs to Kelly. Unable to move.

  “This is Jenna Gerralon on Barrister Court out at Grove Landing. Across the street from where Lisa Willit was killed last night. We think somebody’s in the house. Please send help.” She started to hang up, then pulled the receiver back to her ear. “No, I won’t stay on the line. And don’t use a siren!”

  She banged down the phone and jumped from bed. “Okay.

  What’ll we do? Think, Jenna!”

  She jerked around to stare at the drawer of her nightstand. Then she yanked it open and fumbled inside, withdrawing a small handgun.

  “What is that?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “I know, but I mean…where’d you get it?”

  “I found it on the shelf of the closet when we moved in.

  Must have been Dad’s. After last night I decided to keep it by my bed.”

  I shrank away from it as she approached. “Is it loaded?”

  “No. I didn’t find any bullets.”

  “Then what—”

  “Annie, shut up, will you? If someone’s here, he doesn’t have to know it’s not loaded. Maybe it’ll buy us a minute or two.”

  She urged me away from the door. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the gun, her knuckles whitening around it. I’d always been scared spitless of guns, but not Jenna. A year before, she’d gone with her boyfriend at the time, an ex-marine, to a firing range—and she enjoyed it.

  “Okay.” She straightened her back. “We’ll head right for the front door and open it. A deputy sheriff will be here any minute. They can search the house.”

  “But Kelly and Stephen!”

  “If that guy is here, it’s for burglary, not to kill. Just like at the Willits’. He’s probably hiding. If he’s not fled already, with all your bumping around.”

  I still couldn’t think. “What about the alarm? If we open the front door, it’ll go off.”

  She gave me a look. “Annie, we’ll have a full minute to deactivate it. Besides, if it goes off, that means it’s still working. And if it’s still working, nobody’s in the house in the first place.”

  My eyes slid to the yellow light. It gave me no comfort. I knew what I’d heard.

  Jenna squeezed my arm. “Stay right behind me.” She eased open the door, the gun up and pointed in her right hand. I clutched the back of her pajama top as she skittered down the hall, not even stopping to check the office. We hit the entrance to the great room. I slowed us both down by looking over my shoulder. If the Face hid in that office, I was the one he’d get to first.

  We edged across the great room, not making a sound. Past the built-in stereo cabinets, past the first couch and the armchair. The final couch loomed on our right, the perfect hiding place. Jenna hesitated, then reached back and pushed my fingers off her pajama top. Her muscles gathered. She wound both hands around the gun, then leapt forward, gun pointing to the darkened area behind the couch. I held my breath.

  Her shoulders relaxed. “It’s okay.”

  Jenna hurried to the front door, fumbled with the lock and threw it open. A high whine filled the room. “The warning! Go turn off the alarm.”

  “I can’t remember…What’s the code?”

  “Dad’s birthday. Go!”

  She shoved me and I pivoted toward the kitchen, the high pitch fizzling in my ears. How could anyone think with that noise? What if I couldn’t deactivate the system fast enough and the alarm went off and woke the neighbors? They’d be scared to death.

  I slapped on the kitchen light and headed for the keypad.

  In the back of my mind I still couldn’t believe the Face wasn’t somewhere in the house, hiding. I’d heard him. As my fingers touched the keypad, I twisted to glance at the island, half expecting to see him rise, to feel his breath on my neck.

  “Annie, turn it off!”

  I swiveled back toward the wall, feeling the keypad beneath my fingers. Telling my mind to think, think! Dad’s birthday. Six digits. Why hadn’t I changed the code to something I’d remember better? My thoughts locked up. I stared at the white numbers.

  “Annie!”

  “Okay!” I scrunched up my face. Thinking, thinking. Then punched in the code.

  Silence.

  I sagged against the wall, unable to move.

  “What is going on?” Stephen’s sleep-husky voice gruffed from the upper floor. Seconds later Kelly’s fearful “Mom?”

  drifted down from the other side. I stumbled into the great room and swiveled my head from one child to the next. Jenna trotted past me into the kitchen, hiding the gun.

  “Don’t worry,” I called up, as if they’d believe the words after one look at my face. “Some detectives are going to check out the house, that’s all. You’d better come down.”

  I heard Jenna yank open a drawer. Standing on the other side of the island, where Kelly could not see, she shoved the gun inside.

  Kelly’s widened eyes followed the sound, then sprang back to me. “What happened?”

  Stephen gave me a disgusted look. “This better be good.”

  Headlights washed over the kitchen window.

  “The deputies are here.” Jenna crossed the great room, heading toward the entryway. “You two come down,” she commanded Kelly and Stephen with barely a glance. Her terseness was enough to push them into movement. Kelly started down the stairs and Stephen stumped across the walkway to follow her.

  “Don’t let me forget to get that gun later,” Jenna whispered in my ear. “I don’t want the kids to find it.”

  I nodded, gathering my wits. A part of me still could not believe we were safe. The closed door of the TV room loomed on my right. My mind flashed images of the Face, trapped and desperate, behind it.

  I hurried to Kelly as she hit the bottom of the steps. She reached for me, looking so vulnerable, her expression solemn and worn. One thin strap of her baby blue pajama
top had fallen off her shoulder. I pushed it back up.

  Jenna opened the front door. Car doors slammed; feet pounded against the front walk and up the porch steps.

  Within seconds another patrol car pulled up. Across the street a light flicked on in the Willits’ house, soon followed by the one on their front porch. My heart sank. We’d awakened Dave, no doubt nearly stopping his heart. It was the last thing I’d wanted to do.

  “I think maybe it’s okay,” Jenna told the first deputy to arrive. The other three soon gathered, scanning first through the door, then along the perimeter of the house, as they listened to her rapid explanations. “The alarm was activated, so I don’t know how anyone could have gotten inside. Still, we heard something.”

  We. Jenna was sticking by me. Maybe she wasn’t going to strangle me quite yet.

  Kelly pressed against my side. Stephen’s feet thwunked across the great room floor. He leaned against the back of a couch, surveying the deputies as they came through the door, their eyes still darting, as if they were eagles searching for prey. Anxiety flickered across his face, chased away by a nonchalant sniff when he saw that I watched him.

  Two of the deputies I recognized from the previous night.

  Chetterling was not with them.

  “You all go outside and wait,” a tall and wiry deputy commanded. “We’ll check every corner of the house.”

  We obeyed.

  Dave appeared on his front porch, still clad in the khaki pants and shirt he’d worn that day. Had he been to bed at all?

  He hurried down his steps and across the street, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and dread. I met him at the curb, spilling my apologies, assuring him it was probably nothing.

  He looked toward our house, watching as a light flicked on in the office. “Better safe than sorry.”

  I knew his curt words reflected no anger. He simply did not have the energy to say more. “Is Erin…”

  “She’s still asleep. On the floor of my room.”

  I drew what comfort I could from that. We huddled outside, waiting for the deputies. “Stephen, did you close the TV—room door?” I asked.

  He shrugged that he couldn’t remember.

  “He’s the one who probably moved the armchair, though,” Jenna offered, “the way he threw himself into it last night when we all were talking.”