The shower was working again and had been since he’d promised House he wouldn’t go to Dhaval’s or ask about his mom. A promise he’d kept so far. But for some reason the sink had been draining slowly. Gavin didn’t know much about plumbing, and so he turned to the same source he had when he’d wanted to fix the car: books.
He had a bucket under the trap to catch any mess. He’d managed to get the rusted slip nut off and was in the process of getting the trap disconnected.
“Gross,” he said, wiping at his nose with the back of his gloved hand; the smell was terrible. Trying not to breathe too deeply, he started pulling things from the curved pipe: a Lego, the tire from a Hot Wheels car, some sort of black gunk, and so much hair he actually considered shaving his head. What he wasn’t expecting was the plunk he heard as something dislodged and dropped into the bucket below. He was almost afraid to look.
A key. Gavin stood and closed the door, looking around the bathroom before tugging off his gloves and starting the shower. With the key tucked protectively in his palm, he started stripping down to nothing. Once inside, and with the dark vinyl curtain pulled closed, he looked at the key under the spray.
It was maybe two inches long and silver, with VICTOR SAFE AND LOCK CO. engraved into the side. It didn’t look like any house or car key he’d ever seen—there were no locks to anything in House—but maybe to a safe? Or some sort of padlock?
He didn’t have time to think about it, though. When Piano began playing downstairs, it was time for lunch.
Gavin rinsed himself off and climbed out, careful to keep the key hidden in his hand while he dried off and dressed. Butterflies raced in his stomach, and he tried to tamp down the jittery feeling he got when he felt the sharp teeth pressed to his palm, the metal as it warmed against his skin. This key was critical. The doors on House never locked, and other than the small set he had for the car, he’d never even needed a key before. More important, he’d never held this key before, so unlike with the Lego or the Hot Wheels tire, if it fell down the drain, it wasn’t because he’d dropped it.
• • •
As much as he hated to admit it, Gavin didn’t believe he was ever really alone anymore, even in his “private” bathroom. He was pretty sure House knew all about his plumbing adventures on Saturday, but whether it had seen the key—or even knew the significance of it—Gavin couldn’t begin to guess. It occurred to him, though, that House might decide to keep him locked up again Monday until he handed over the small treasure.
After he dressed for school, Gavin slipped the key into his pocket. He’d spent Sunday reading, finishing a term paper, and working a half shift at the theater. To play it safe, Delilah hadn’t come to visit him once. Everything seemed fine, so in the back of his mind Gavin began to hope that, in fact, House hadn’t noticed the key after all.
But as soon as he walked down the stairs, he knew it had.
The framed prints of his drawings that hung in the hallway had been replaced with photos of him as a baby. He followed the sounds of laughter coming from the living room and found Television playing old videos of him from when he was a toddler. In the kitchen, Curtain reached out to brush his cheek and Potted Plant ruffled his hair. Breakfast was already waiting for him, and as usual when House was up to something, there was enough food to feed an army.
Gavin’s throat grew tight; his eyes burned with sadness and loss.
Maybe someday, a few years down the road, he’d be able to come home at Christmas and be with this unlikely family again. Maybe with some distance, House would understand what it had done and how it had broken everything that had once been so easy.
It had stalked them at the park.
It had terrorized and hurt Delilah.
It had trapped him inside for two days.
And Gavin suspected, deep down, that House was still hiding the truth about what had happened to his mother.
Gavin knew without hesitation that he would follow Delilah anywhere; she was the love of his life. His heart broke as he stared at the familiar and magical spread in front of him—enormous lemon muffins and fluffy scrambled eggs, plump wild berries and House-made peach jam. He knew once he left, he most likely wouldn’t—and couldn’t—ever come back.
“Thanks for trying to cheer me up,” Gavin said, picking at some fruit. “I know I’ve been sort of off lately, but I got an e-mail from Delilah last night. Before work.” He took a bite and tried to ignore the way the room cooled ever so slightly, bowing at the edges like a breath being held. “She got accepted to a school in Massachusetts. She’s not supposed to leave until August, but she thinks she might go early. I don’t know.. . . I think it might be a good idea.”
House grew still for a moment, the leaves on the tree outside the window unfurling in his direction, like a hand cupped around an ear, waiting. “She even suggested I go with her, but does she not know me at all?” he said, hoping he sounded angry, brokenhearted. “I’m not leaving. This is my home. You’re my family.. . . I couldn’t ever go.” Meaningful pause. “I wouldn’t want to.”
He was actually a little surprised at how easy the lie was and how willing House was to accept it. Even Dining Room grew warm. The lights brightened everywhere, and the hands on Grandfather Clock began to spin wildly.
When Gavin slipped out the door fifteen minutes later, the key was still tucked inside his pocket.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Her
Gavin arrived late. He quickly changed into the clothes Delilah had left in a bag in his locker, and his long, loping strides carried him through the door and down the aisle to his seat. Silence fell over the room as Mr. Harrington stopped speaking while he got settled.
“Thanks for joining us, Mr. Timothy.”
Gavin brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Sorry I’m late.”
“By all means, let us run on your schedule.”
With a tiny apologetic smile, Gavin bent to pull his tattered copy of Ivanhoe out of his backpack. He glanced up at Delilah, who unlike the rest of the class, hadn’t yet turned her attention back to the front of the room, and the look in his eyes grew heated. “Hey, you.”
They hadn’t seen each other all weekend, and Delilah wanted to draw up a petition to make that amount of time apart illegal. Had Gavin changed? Had he been hurt? She worried about him being in the house alone and tried to catalogue even the smallest changes, but she couldn’t seem to make it beyond the way he was looking at her.
“Hi.” She shivered, turning back in her seat and sitting ramrod straight.
She knew they were trying not to anger the house further by spending time together, and she didn’t think she’d ever take for granted again having Gavin back in school. But sitting in front of him was a torture. Especially since once Mr. Harrington started lecturing again, Gavin was leaning so far forward in his seat Delilah could practically feel his breath on the back of her neck.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Lunch?”
“No,” he whispered. “Before then.” The words came out as punctuated spots of warm air on her skin.
She waited until Mr. Harrington turned to the board before angling slightly toward him to reply. “Okay. You okay?”
“Music room.”
• • •
They skipped third period entirely.
Safely in the portable, he said, “I found a key.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“Yeah.”
The significance of this hit her slowly, in layers. First she remembered there were no locks in the house. And second, Gavin had left the house holding it.
“Do you think it knew you had it?” she asked, worrying her lip. “Do you think the house hijacked this?”
He shook his head. “If it knew I had this, it wouldn’t have let me out at all.” He handed it over to Delilah. It was only an inch or two long and very thin, with large, flat loops across the head and a row of small, sharp teeth up one side of the stem. While she turned it over in her p
alm, Gavin used her phone’s Web browser to try to figure out what it might be for.
“It’s not to a locket,” he said. “It’s too big.” He scrolled farther down the page, mumbling, “Not a car, not a house, not a mailbox. . .” But then he sucked in a sharp breath and his head jerked back fractionally. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“A safe-deposit-box key.”
Delilah took her phone from him and looked at the images he’d found. A few looked nearly identical to the key in her hand.
“Do you think it’s from a local bank?” she asked, glancing up at him.
He lifted a broad shoulder in a shrug.
“Do we know if it’s okay to do this in here?” She held up her phone. “Searching and calling? It can’t hear us in here, but we’re using the Internet. What if House—?”
He winced, but when he looked at her, his jaw was tight with determination. “Then it’s too late now. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, just do it.”
According to the woman who answered the call, safe-deposit-box keys from Kansas National were flat-headed and smooth-toothed. The second bank Delilah called didn’t even have safe-deposit boxes available to customers. But not only did the third bank she called, a Wells Fargo two miles down the highway, have keys that sounded identical to the one in her hand, they also told her—when pressed—they indeed had a box under the last name Timothy.
“Do you happen to have the first name?”
“I. . .” The reed-thin voice on the other end trailed off in an exhale.
“Please,” Delilah insisted, before impulsively pushing the speaker button. “Gavin, tell him why we need to know the name.”
Gavin cleared his throat, eyes locked on Delilah’s. “Please can you tell me the first name on the account? We think it might be my mother’s. I haven’t seen her since I was little. I found this key and need to know if it was hers.”
“Why don’t you tell me her name, and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
Gavin closed his eyes, swallowing thickly. “Hilary? I think.”
“You think? You aren’t sure of your mother’s first name?”
“Can you just tell me if it belongs to a Hilary Timothy?” Gavin growled, and Delilah looked up into the storm of his eyes. “I have the key. I have school identification with the same last name.”
“Can you verify the address?” the man asked.
Gavin rattled off his address, and after a long pause, the man said, “Yes. It’s registered to a Hilary Timothy. She opened the account in November of 1999 but has not accessed it since February of 2000.”
“Thank you,” Delilah said, robotically hitting the end call button. She looked up at his face. Gray-blue bruises formed half circles beneath his eyes. His lips seemed even redder than they usually did, against the backdrop of his ashen skin. “That was after you were born.”
“I know.”
“Gavin, we have to see what is in there. Everything I’ve heard about your mom tells me she wasn’t a safe-deposit-box kind of gal, more of a ‘keep everything in my magical trunk’ kind of gal.”
“I know,” he said again.
“There are answers in there.”
He closed his eyes, walked over to the piano bench, and sat down. “I know, Lilah.”
Following him, she sat close enough that he could reach her but far enough to not be touching him. If she touched him, she would want to kiss him, and if she kissed him, she would want more. It was daylight outside, though none of it penetrated into the dark, soundproof room, and anyone could walk in here at any time.
“I had a weird thought the other day,” Gavin said, running a long hand down his face. “What if we get out of here? What if we just run?”
“That’s a weird thought? I thought that was the only thought.”
“No,” he said. “I’m not finished. What if we run and move somewhere new? What if we work our asses off to make ends meet? What if we make it through school working three jobs on no sleep? What if we do all that together, and things don’t work out between us?”
Delilah pulled back a little. “So the risk of a failed relationship makes you think it might be better to just stay in the house forever?”
Gavin chewed a fingernail. “No,” he said around it. “That isn’t at all what I’m saying. I know I’ll want to be with you forever.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied his face, trying to figure out what he was saying. Was he saying it was scary that diving into this relationship had to also mean leaving? The house was possessive to the point of violence—possessed, too, with something dark and awful—but at least it would never break up with him. It would never leave.
“You could just as well fall out of love with me,” she reasoned.
A tiny smile tilted his mouth. “I can’t imagine falling out of love with you.”
“I can’t, either,” she said quietly. “But maybe I don’t get it. What are you getting at?”
Reaching forward, he took both of her hands, engulfing them in both of his. “Lilah, I’m saying that this is the nuclear option. That once we look in that safe-deposit box, there’s a good chance we’ll have to leave that day. House followed us to the park. You felt like it followed you to Dhaval’s. We think we’re being smart—changing my clothes every day, making sure we swap out the cash with Dhaval, trying to do everything we can so we aren’t overheard—but we don’t really know how any of this works. I know we have a plan, but I guess I wanted you to know that you don’t have to do it with me. House might do something really terrible if we try to leave, and we may not have any idea what that looks like until it happens.”
“Gavin—”
“I can leave on my own,” he said, urgently trying to finish his thought. “You don’t have to be in danger because of me anymore.”
Her heart tripped into understanding. “I don’t want you to do this without me.”
“It could get messy,” he said, and in his eyes she could see he was giving her one last out. “Doing this isn’t the same as just walking down the street and not looking back. We don’t know how far it can follow us.”
“Do you think the house would hurt us where others can see?”
“I don’t know,” Gavin hedged. “But what if it tries? What if it’s willing to play along until I actually try to leave, and then it fights us? Don’t you get the feeling that at some point we’ll have to break inside and. . . kill it?”
She couldn’t believe he was the one to say it. She couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of that full, kissable mouth. But her relief that they had was so immense, it seemed to expand inside her chest. He was well and truly done with it.
“If it comes down to that, I’ll protect you.”
One half of Gavin’s mouth tilted in a grin. “Then as soon as we have enough money, as soon as we have our diplomas, we’re heading to the bank and opening that box, and then we’re leaving town. For now we’re sitting tight. We’re saving every penny, and we’re pretending like you’re leaving for Massachusetts and acting like everything is fine.”
• • •
“Are you going to walk me home?” She stretched on her very tiptoes and kissed his chin. Outside, a drop of rain caught in the branch overhead, fell and landed on her scalp, and the wind whipped her hair all around their faces. “I mean, I’m leaving for the East Coast soon. You have only so many days left with me.”
“I. . . ,” he started, then shook his head, unable to say the words out loud, out in the open like this. He reached up and smoothed her hair behind her ear. “I can’t.”
“Whisper it,” she said. “So soft, so close only I can hear.”
Bending low, he pressed his lips right up against her ear. His words sounded like static, like air and the vibration of his voice deep in his throat: “I’m meeting with Hinkle today to talk about college.”
Delilah pulled away, looking up at the trees overhead—a new instinct. But the world stayed settled: The earth didn’t split open; the
tree branches didn’t thrash out to separate them.
“Really?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Frowning, she asked, “It’s not too late?”
“It is for some, but he thinks we can swing something. My grades are pretty good.”
“Do you have my list? You’ll find something close?”
He nodded.
• • •
Delilah was so focused on the various scenarios—walking into a brick-and-ivy college building hand in hand with Gavin, setting up a home with him in a tiny apartment building, lying on a wide bed, her head on his chest and his voice rumbling against her as he talked for hours—that she failed to hear the fire.
Or maybe that wasn’t quite right. She heard it, but it sounded like crackling leaves and then a flock of birds and then, finally, a haze of gunshots overtaking the town. This was when Delilah looked up and saw the choking black smoke rising over the Hendersons’ house, which meant either their house was on fire. . . or hers was.
She took off in a sprint, her backpack bouncing heavily on her shoulders, slowing her progress. When she turned the corner, she pulled up short, crying out. It was her house on fire, flames flogging the back wall, looking as if it had started on the second floor and spread lower. The blaze didn’t yet reach the ground; it poured from her window like liquid and was only inches from snaring the broad oak in the backyard.
Sirens screamed behind her, and she was nearly knocked over by the force of the fire engines hurling past.
It was mayhem. Firemen everywhere, water and smoke clogging every inch of air. She could feel the soot on her face as the first blast from the hose lashed the house, could feel the water ricocheting back at her.
“Stand back!” A huge hand grasped her shoulder, guiding her behind the fire engine. She looked up into watery blue eyes, an enormous face with red stubble, a nose red from too much alcohol over the years, and breath smelling of nicotine and mint. “Is this your house?”
Delilah strained to look around him, to the house in the distance. “Yes.”
“Where are your parents?”
“I don’t. . .” She closed her eyes, swallowing to catch her thoughts and line them up into some sort of order. The smallest ones first: It’s Wednesday. Mom is volunteering at the library. Dad had a job interview in Emporia. They weren’t home. They were safe. And then the larger ones: How did the fire start, and why is it only my room? She had nothing in there to spark a fire—no curling iron or candles she could have left lit. Not even a night-light left plugged into the wall.
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