by Ania Ahlborn
That’s when her door flew open and the overhead light blazed to life, nearly scaring her to death.
45
* * *
THE LIGHT CLICKED on just as it was supposed to. The power to the house hadn’t been cut. They must have removed the lightbulbs from the downstairs fixtures, Lucas thought. They must have done it to conceal themselves, so that I wouldn’t see them, because they’re still here in the goddamned house.
“Dad!” Jeanie gave him a glare. “What are you doing? Get out of my room!”
Lucas shot a look around the place, the high pitch of panic ringing in his ears. She’d been reading or writing or doing whatever she had been doing by nothing but the glow of her computer screen. She had jumped up like she was hiding something. But there was no time to ask what she had shoved beneath her bed the second he had barged in.
“Come with me,” he said, and grabbed her by the arm. There were strangers in the house. God only knew what they wanted, how demented they were, what they were capable of.
“Ow, Dad, stop!” Jeanie struggled to free herself, but Lucas refused to loosen his grip. They moved down the stairs, his kid nearly stumbling behind him. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Where are we going? Stop pulling me, Dad. I’m going to fall!”
Lucas avoided the living room, veered left into the foyer, and yanked open the front door without disarming the alarm. The system began to beep, warning them that if they didn’t punch in the correct code, the entire house was going to scream bloody murder in T-minus thirty seconds. He pushed Jeanie out the door and stopped, realizing he’d left his cell phone on his desk.
“Don’t move,” he told her.
“But—”
“Do what I say!”
Jeanie immediately stiffened at his tone, a soldier coming to attention.
He ran back inside the house. The furniture was still awry, still threatening to collapse to one side or the other and send the coffee table crashing into their flat-screen TV. Lucas darted into his study and snatched his phone off the desk. He stopped for only half a second, his stomach pitching once again. Every picture on his corkboard was hanging upside down, as if hammering home the point . . .
You’re not alone in here.
And maybe that was why he had snapped at Mark the way he had. Maybe he hadn’t been himself. Maybe . . .
Don’t be stupid.
He met Jeanie outside just as the house alarm began to wail. Jeanie slapped her hands over her ears, protecting herself from the mind-numbing pitch. Lucas caught her by the shoulder and directed her away from the house only to stop short.
“Holy shit.”
“What?” She turned to look at him, then spun around to try to see what he was seeing. “What?”
“The car,” Lucas said flatly.
Jeanie turned her attention to the gravel driveway and gaped. And while he couldn’t hear her clearly above the blaring of the alarm, he could still make out enough, and that’s what assured him that he wasn’t losing his mind.
“Shit,” she said—possibly the first time he’d ever heard her curse. “The car,” she said. “Dad, where is it? Where did it go?”
46
* * *
Wednesday, September 1, 1982
Six Months, Thirteen Days Before the Sacrament
SHE HAD BEEN wrong.
Wrong about everything.
Wrong about them.
It happened during a switcheroo—they still made her go. It didn’t matter if she was pregnant. Robin stayed behind with Eloise while the group piled into both Avis’s and Maggie’s cars. Maggie drove her Volvo. Gypsy drove Avis’s hatchback. Just recently having learned to knit from Lily, Avis had wanted to stay home and work on the tiny sweater she was making the baby for winter, but she said nothing when they told her to get ready. Nearly four months pregnant, she squeezed between Sunnie and Lily while Jeff took the front seat.
The house Jeff picked out was beautiful. Overlooking the beach, it had the biggest picture windows Avis had ever seen. She tried to imagine it during the day while the rest of the group milled about, wondered if, perhaps, the couple had a baby. If they did, maybe she could pocket a few onesies and a couple of toys. But when she wandered too far away from the group, Jeff called her back. And so she stood in front of the enormous window and stared out into the darkness, wondering what it would be like to be a mother. Would she be allowed to stay home to take care of the baby then? Or would Robin or Maggie be regulated as the babysitter while Avis was forced into a life of crime?
The girls picked through a well-stocked pantry and a meticulously organized refrigerator while Kenzie and Noah eschewed their redecorating for a more artistic approach. Rather than moving the furniture around, they chose to stack it as high as it would go. With a coffee table on top of a chair on top of a couch on top of a rug, they cackled as the tower of furniture began to tip. They had the stack perfectly balanced when a slash of headlights cut across the living room wall.
They froze like deer, their gazes darting from one shadowed face to another. All eyes stopped on Jeff. Avis hardly heard what he said, deafened by the thud of her anxious heartbeat, but she could read his hand gestures well enough.
Stay quiet, don’t move.
It was late. The home owners were more than likely coming back from dinner. The group could only hope that the occupants had had a little too much to drink, that they’d go upstairs without so much as looking in the direction of the living room. If they did, the group of intruders would be left to sneak out undetected. But the longer they waited for the home owners to come inside, the less likely an easy exit seemed.
They could hear a couple arguing before they ever unlocked the front door.
“Oh, of course,” a woman’s voice snapped. “Let’s just give them all our money, shall we? Screw it, let’s sell the house, sell all our possessions, live in a cardboard box in their driveway. Would that make you happy?”
Avis’s stomach twisted with the familiarity of the fight. She’d spent her youth listening to her parents throw barbs that were almost identical. With so much money between them, she never understood why they clashed over something they had so much of. She still didn’t understand it, and doubted she ever would.
“I don’t need that to make me happy.” A man’s voice. The sound of keys hitting a sideboard. “You shutting up about what I do with our finances, that would make me happy.”
“Oh, because I’m useless, is that it?”
“Well, you’re damn well not fucking useful, Claire.”
A moment of enraged silence.
A light flicked on in the foyer.
Avis gritted her teeth. She suddenly needed to go to the bathroom more than she had in her entire life. She felt woozy and hot. The baby didn’t like all this stress.
“If my staying home is such a burden, you should have opened your stupid mouth when we were discussing whether I should go back to work.”
“Work?” A harsh laugh. “You mean that Avon shit you sell? You call that a job, Claire? Really?”
Another light went on.
Avis took a deliberate step away from the shard of light that cut across the hardwood floor. The ocean roared behind her, invisible in the darkness beyond the window.
“Well, I apologize that I didn’t become a scumbag lawyer like you . . .”
“Scumbag,” the man muttered. “Right.”
“Right!” Claire barked back. “I think you’re a scumbag, Richard. I think you’re a prick.”
“Good.” Another mutter.
“Great.” A chirp in return.
She could sense Richard stalking through the hall toward the kitchen, toward the living room it opened into. One flip of the switch and they’d all be exposed. She held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut, bit her lips to keep herself quiet. On the opposite side of the room, Jeffrey l
ooked more impatient than worried.
“Let’s end it, then,” Claire said, stalling Richard’s trajectory toward the kitchen.
“What?”
“I said, let’s end it,” she said coldly.
Avis tried to imagine how the woman looked. A short, professional haircut, probably blond. Slender, lots of makeup, the kind of person who steps into the house and immediately pulls off her high heels. It took her a second to realize she was picturing her own mother, prim and proper despite her anger, still pretty in light of her features twisted by fury. She didn’t want to be like her mother. She’d prayed nearly every night for God to help her raise her child right, to not be harsh and critical and uncaring, to not repeat history.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Richard said. Avis pictured him lifting a dismissive hand at his wife. She hated him despite not knowing who he was, hated him for how completely smug he sounded. Just like her father. Just like them both.
“Ridiculous?” Claire’s voice inched up an octave. “Why, because you think I don’t know you’re sleeping around? Is that what makes this so ridiculous, you piece of shit?”
Avis’s thoughts jumped to Maggie. To Jeff. Her mouth went acrid, like an invisible hand had stuck a penny beneath her tongue.
Another pause, another loud exhale. Finally, Richard retorted with a clipped “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” His shadow filled the mouth of the hallway.
That’s when he stopped, as if sensing that something was off.
“Don’t know what I’m talking about,” Claire murmured. She stomped up the stairs, leaving Richard alone on the ground floor.
Avis’s gaze darted to Jeffrey, who lifted his hand in a silent gesture.
Don’t move.
He’d gotten demanding these past few months, especially after Avis had lost it on him. He’d been less patient, more distant. A lot like her dad.
Through the darkness, she watched Maggie reach out and catch his hand in her own.
Blood. She was tasting blood, having bitten down on her lip hard enough to cut through the skin.
The glint of Gypsy’s cross caught her eye. Maggie was wearing it.
She’s not one of us.
Suddenly, a scream was clawing up her windpipe. Enraged. Scorned. You’re supposed to love me, she thought. You aren’t supposed to be like him, not like my dad.
Scumbag Lawyer Richard was still standing motionless in the hall, staring into the darkness of the living room. He was trying to see through the shadows that veiled the familiar. The wait was agonizing, the pause lasting an eternity. Avis wanted him to hurry up and flip on the light. At least then she could bolt from her spot and throw herself at her former friend. She wanted to tear Maggie’s hair out by the fistful and shove it down her throat. I’m carrying his baby, you bitch!
Finally, Richard moved.
The living room lit up in a blaze of light.
For a second, Avis couldn’t see.
The darkness makes us blind.
When Avis finally regained her vision, she was distracted by how young Richard looked—maybe a little older than herself, tall and handsome in a rumpled suit. Nothing like her father.
Richard’s gaze was frozen on the stack of furniture, as though too preoccupied to see the people standing static in his living room and kitchen. When his attention finally shifted, he looked right at Avis.
Her stomach dropped.
“Who the fuck are you?” His inquiry seemed to be exclusively pointed at her.
Gasping, she opened her mouth to speak.
Nobody. I’m worthless. I’ve never been anybody and I never will be. I’ll never belong anywhere. Not here, not there, not like you and Claire.
Richard shifted his weight to the left, toward a black telephone mounted on the wall.
“Wait.” Deacon stepped forward. He held his hands palm out to show that he was unarmed, that he didn’t want anyone to get hurt. “Before you do that,” he said, nodding toward the phone, “just let us make a quiet exit. We leave empty-handed, you don’t have to spend hours with the cops.”
Richard stared at Deacon as though he was seeing a guy in a pair of cowboy boots for the first time. It was a perplexed, almost mystified look, one that was utterly confused by what he’d just heard.
“We don’t need any trouble,” Deacon said. For a moment Richard appeared to be considering the option. But then his attention wavered, his gaze paused on the precarious stack of furniture in the center of his living room. The inevitable spark of violation ignited somewhere deep inside his guts.
“Are you fucking kidding?” He glared at Deacon, shooting down the offer with a sneer. “Who the fuck are you people? Look what you’ve done to my house!”
“It’s just stuff,” Sunnie whispered, her words clear in the temporary lull. Richard veered around, his eyes wide, his indignation growing by the second.
“It’s my stuff, you bitch.”
“Hey.” Deacon continued his steady approach, which was clearly making Richard uncomfortable. “There’s no need for that.”
“Yeah.” The word rolled off Gypsy’s bottom lip in a sultry growl. “Scumbag.”
“Richard?” Claire.
Avis chewed the inside of her cheek. She wanted nothing more than to get outside, to escape the scene, to protect the tiny person growing inside her. Maggie was still holding Jeff’s hand. She was looking right at Avis, as though challenging her to make something of it. Or maybe it was just Avis’s imagination. Unbalanced. The intoxication of fear, the shock of being caught.
“Stay upstairs!” Richard yelled up to his wife.
“Richard, what’s happening?” Claire obviously wasn’t good at taking orders. She came down the hall and exhaled a gasp. Her eyes were wide, stunned at the strangers standing throughout her kitchen and living room, most of them still as Greek marble. “Oh my G—who are you?” She glared at Deacon. “What do you want? Get out of here, all of you! Get out before we call the police!”
“No,” Richard said. His upper lip curled in a defiant sneer. “They aren’t going anywhere.”
“What are you talking about?” Claire shot him a look. “Tell them to leave!” she insisted, but Richard shook his head.
“Look what they did to the living room. They’ve damaged our personal property. This isn’t kid’s stuff, Claire. This has to be reported.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Rich!”
“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Deacon said again.
“Then you shouldn’t break into people’s houses,” Richard shot back.
“We didn’t break in,” Clover muttered.
“Yeah. The sliding glass door was open,” Gypsy purred. “Almost like you wanted us to walk right in.”
Richard gave Claire a furious look. Apparently Claire had a habit of leaving doors unlocked.
“Fine,” Deacon resolved, “go ahead and call the cops, but we’re leaving anyway.” He motioned for the girls to start making their way toward the door. Young Sunnie was the first to scamper into the foyer. Clover and Gypsy took their time to saunter past the home owners, their heads held high. Maggie remained where she was, her hand gripping Jeff’s. Avis, still by the giant window, happened to be the farthest from the hall. She was left to bring up the rear. But it seemed that when she reached Richard, he realized he was letting all of his suspects go. With the phone clutched in one hand, he grabbed Avis as she passed, jerked her away from the boys, and looped the phone wire around her neck in a quick, fluid motion.
She cried out in surprise, struggling as Deacon and Kenzie lurched toward him.
“Don’t!” Richard warned. “I’ll choke her, you shitheads. It’s my right! You’re trespassing and I’m protecting my wife and my property. I’m a lawyer. I know what’s what!”
Deacon lifted an arm to keep Kenzie at bay.
&nb
sp; “Leave her alone!” Noah yelled. “She’s pregnant!”
“Good,” Richard countered. “All the more reason for you assholes to not do something stupid. Now, all of you, sit the hell down.” He waved the phone receiver at the only couch that had been spared of Noah and Kenzie’s stacking game. Deacon gave Richard a defiant glare. When Noah and Kenzie looked to Jeffrey for guidance, Jeff—still standing in the kitchen, still holding Maggie’s hand—nodded.
Do what he says.
Deacon’s fingers curled into fists, but he followed his two brothers across the room.
“Oh, so you’re the brains of the operation?” Richard asked, peering at Jeff. “You too, pal. Move it!”
“Sure,” Jeff said, lifting his shoulders up in a nonchalant shrug. “Not the first time I’ve been arrested, man. It’s cool. Just let me take her with me.” He pushed Maggie toward the hall where the other girls waited. She gave him a hurt look of rejection, but Jeff had far more pressing matters to attend to. He stepped around the kitchen counter and steadily approached Avis, Maggie all but forgotten behind him. The cord was tight around Avis’s neck. She could smell onions on Richard’s breath. Onions and the mellow smoothness of an after-dinner Scotch.
“She’s fine where she is, pal,” Richard said, tightening the cord the closer Jeffrey came. But Jeff refused to back off. Out of the corner of Avis’s eye, she saw him draw out a knife. It was huge, the biggest one he’d managed to pull from the knife block on the kitchen counter.
Avis’s eyes went wide.
Claire bleated a little scream.
Richard tensed.
“Hey, all right, all right!” Richard unlooped the cord from around Avis’s neck, as though backing off would cause Jeff to forget the whole thing. “Just calm the hell down! You want it to play out that way, then just go.” He’d suddenly changed his mind about the cops. “Get the hell out of here. Leave us alone.”
“Well, you see, we already gave you that option, Dick,” Jeff said. “And then you had to threaten my unborn child, all in the name of a precious couch.”