The Lance Brody Series: Books 3 and 4

by Robertson Jr, Michael

  But he had to remind himself he was on the verge of delirium. His observations and analysis should not be trusted at this time.

  “Sorry?” Lance asked.

  “The fire? There must be one, right? What with all the ringing.”

  The woman rubbed at her eyes, her fingernails painted a dark blue. Then she blinked hard two or three times and opened her eyes wide, as if taking Lance in for the very first time.

  “Oh, yes, sorry about that, ma’am. I didn’t hear any ringing, so I thought it might be broken.”

  “Do you know the definition of the word ‘insanity’?”

  Lance stared at her blankly, thinking it was much too late to delve into linguistics. He would need more coffee first. “I … sorry, what?”

  “The definition of ‘insanity’ is trying the same thing over and over again, yet expecting a different result.”

  Lance and the woman looked at each other from across the threshold for a moment, the woman looking as if she were coming more alive, and Lance feeling as though he were about to perform a forward trust fall into her arms.

  Then she smiled. A thin, pretty smirk that made you feel at home.

  Lance smiled back, his tired brain picking up on her humor in the situation.

  She laughed, and ushered Lance inside. “Don’t just stand there, come on inside.” She stood to the side and waved for Lance to step in. He did so, first wiping his feet on a welcome mat outside the door and patting the ceramic frog on the head. “Good boy.”

  If the woman thought this strange, she didn’t say as much. Only stood and waited for Lance’s eyes to adjust and then said, “Welcome to the Boundary House. I’m guessing you need a room? Either that or you’re here to rob me and I’ve just made things much easier for you. But I don’t know that many burglars who start with the doorbell.”

  Lance smiled. Held up his hands innocently. “Not here to rob you, I promise. Yes, a room would be great, ma’am. And I’m sorry about the doorbell.”

  She waved him off. “Scared me is all. There’s a switch upstairs I can turn on and off. I have it wired so that the doorbell will only buzz in my bedroom after I go to bed. That way it won’t wake other guests if I get late travelers like yourself. Some kid from the vo-tech school did it. He’s a magician with that sort of stuff, though I’m not sure he completely follows code all the time.”

  Lance’s head was swimming, trying to keep up. The woman was talking a lot. He took in his surroundings, trying to get a sense of the space. He and the woman stood a mere two or three feet apart in a small foyer that was dominated by the staircase heading straight to the second floor. There was a green-and-red rug beneath their feet, atop hardwood flooring that was the color of chocolate, badly scratched and scarred and lived on. More plants here, sitting atop small tables and one hanging from a hook in the ceiling. A grandfather clock was against a side wall, near the entrance to what looked like a den or sitting room, the furniture looming in the shadows. Behind him, another darkened room with a large dining table and a fancy chandelier hanging above. A large wooden hutch full of plates and bowls and saucers stood in the corner, resting until the next meal was served.

  The clock tick-tocked patiently during their silence.

  “I’m Lance,” was what he managed to say.

  The woman stuck out her hand. “I’m Loraine,” the woman said. “Loraine Linklatter. But everyone calls me Lori.”

  Lance smiled and shook the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  The image that exploded in his mind, the memory he’d pulled from Loraine Linklatter at the touch of her hand, nearly brought him to his knees. He gasped, then coughed, as if trying to cover it. Pass it off as nothing.

  “Are you alright?” Loraine asked, startled, withdrawing her hand.

  Lance coughed again for effect, then cleared his throat and smiled. “I’m so sorry. Been fighting a cold. Sometimes it sneaks up on me like that.”

  Loraine nodded, smiled politely. “Would you like some tea before I show you to your room? I’ve got a great decaffeinated lemon that’s delicious. It’ll help your throat.”

  Lance wasn’t sure he even had the strength to bring a teacup to his mouth repeatedly without falling asleep, either dumping it on his lap and scalding his nether regions or landing nose-first in the cup and earning the world record for drowning in the smallest amount of liquid. Despite these thoughts, he smiled and nodded and told Loraine that lemon tea would be wonderful.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  And as Lance followed the woman down a short hallway to the kitchen, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug her.

  He wanted to tell her he was so sorry for her loss.

  8

  The Boundary House Bed & Breakfast’s kitchen was clean and tidy and modern. Though it had the same wooden flooring in need of refinishing, and there was a small water stain on the ceiling above the sink, the fixtures and appliances were almost sparkling new. All stainless steel and metallic and out-of-place-looking among the rest of the older house. The refrigerator even had a large digital screen set into the door that was showing the current weather in Sugar Beach, as well as weekly calendar.

  Loraine Linklatter filled an electronic kettle with water from an oversized sink and plugged it in. “Have a seat,” she said, pointing toward a breakfast nook with bench seating at a small rectangular table.

  Lance walked over and slid in, setting his backpack on the floor next to him.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Loraine said, pulling a ceramic mug down from a cabinet, then opening a drawer and selecting a bag of tea. She set both on the counter and turned to face him. “The kitchen looks like it belongs somewhere else, right? Not this run-down behemoth from fifty years ago.”

  “It’s very nice,” Lance said.

  “Kitchens and bathrooms. Those are the two places people seem to care about the most in a home. No different for guests here, I’ve learned. I mean, sure, they like the bedroom to be comfortable and clean, but that’s easy. But if you can wow them with the bathrooms and the kitchen, they’re more likely to come back. At least that’s my opinion.”

  Lance nodded. “It’s very nice,” he said again.

  The teakettle began to whistle and Loraine quickly switched it off, pouring water into the mug and then opening the tea bag. She dunked the bag into the water once, twice, and then walked over and set the mug down on the table in front of Lance. He took it, thanking her, and began dunking the tea bag some more, watching the water turn a slightly darker shade as it seeped. Images of his mother sitting at their kitchen table doing this very same thing flooded his memory, and he couldn’t suppress the small smile that came across his face. Loraine did not sit across from him in the breakfast nook. Instead, she retightened the sash of her robe—an action that caused Lance to look away out of politeness, not wanting to see something he shouldn’t if there should suddenly be a gap in the fabric—and then she leaned back against the counter, crossed her feet and asked, “Just get into town?”

  Lance sipped the tea. It was too hot and burned his mouth. Set the mug back down and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Just this evening.”

  Loraine tried to do it discreetly—at least, that was the way Lance felt, but he sensed her taking in the sight of him, wondering about his story, why he was here. He was too tired to play twenty questions.

  “Come from the bus station?” she asked.

  Internally, Lance rolled his eyes. He really needed some clean clothes. Everybody was pegging him as a vagabond.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Loraine nodded, and then waited, as if Lance might offer more. When Lance gave her nothing, just sat and sipped his tea and fantasized about the bed that was hopefully waiting for him up the stairs, she probed, “Did somebody suggest you stay here? Was it Barb?”

  Lance shook his head. “No, ma’am. I found the place on my own. Saw the sign on the beach and just followed the path. I did meet Barb, though. She seemed very nice.”

>   Loraine threw back her head and laughed. “She’s a wild one, don’t let her fool you.” She laughed again and added, “But you’re right. She’s a sweetheart.”

  Lance finished his tea in three large gulps, desperate to end this conversation, not out of rudeness but necessity. As he followed Loraine up the creaking wooden stairs, her bare feet stepping exactly where they should after years of practice to avoid the groans and squeaks from the wood, Lance asked quietly, “Anyone else staying here tonight?”

  At the top of the landing, Loraine turned and nodded. “An older couple from Bethesda, just passing through. They should be taking off tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

  Lance climbed the last three stairs, joined Loraine on the landing. “You haven’t told me the nightly price. Do you want me to pay now?”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “You’re tired. Exhausted, actually, from the looks of it. We’ll figure it out tomorrow. I trust you won’t run off.”

  “Thank you,” Lance said.

  The upstairs of the house was square in design, the staircase poking its head up and creating a U-shaped floorplan with lots of doors. Three large windows behind, looking back toward the street, back toward the beach.

  “Bathroom here, and there,” Loraine said, pointing to one door on each side of the hall. “You can have this room.” She stepped to the right and opened the first door on the right side of the upstairs, reaching in blindly and switching on a light. “I’m straight back,” she added, pointing toward the door in the center of the rear of the hall. “Knock if you need anything. I’m a light sleeper.”

  “Thank you,” Lance said again.

  “Goodnight, then.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Loraine headed toward her bedroom and Lance stepped into his, closing the door behind him.

  After all the nights spent in cheap motels, naps in bus seats and, well, the nights spent in the spook farm back in Ripton’s Grove, the bedroom Lance saw now was the equivalent of paradise. Plush carpet still fresh with tracks from the most recent vacuuming, with a large leather armchair in the far corner. A wooden end table with a reading lamp next to the chair along with a small bookshelf holding a number of hardback novels. A full-length mirror in the opposite corner, next to a closet with its door cracked open and an upright dresser whose surface was gleaming from a recent dusting. The air smelled of lemon and potpourri and, just like the front porch, the faintest whiff of mildew.

  But the thing that had Lance most excited, the one object in the room that he would have gladly shelled out every last dollar he had for, was the king-sized bed centered against the wall, positioned below a wide window with thick blue drapes pulled shut. There was an army of pillows and the thickest, most inviting comforter he thought he’d ever seen. He hadn’t brushed his teeth, and he hadn’t used the restroom since the bus station—all that coffee was going to have to come out eventually—but he didn’t care. He gambled that his teeth wouldn’t rot out of his skull after one missed brushing and decided that he’d wait to answer nature’s call when it actually rang.

  He tossed his backpack into the armchair and kicked off his sneakers, peeled off his shorts and hoodie and t-shirt. Tossed half the pillows aside, spilling them onto the floor, and then pulled down the comforter and sheet and slid into the bed. Laid his head back and closed his eyes.

  Lance didn’t know if there was an actual heaven. Didn’t know what waited for the spirits when they left this world. But right now, as far as Lance was concerned, this was the earthly equivalent. There was nowhere on the planet he’d rather be right now than in this bed.

  He opened his eyes.

  Maybe that most recent thought wasn’t entirely true. There was somewhere else. Well … someone else that would have made everything better.

  Slurping at the bottommost dregs of fuel in his reserve tank, Lance had to practically kick his body into a sitting position to reach over and fumble with his shorts to find his cell phone. He pulled it free of his pocket and then repositioned himself back into the bed, wrapping himself tightly in the comforter and letting the pillow swallow his head. He used one hand to flip open the phone and click on his text messages. Found the contact he wanted and then used his thumb to peck out his message.

  He pressed Send.

  HER

  (I)

  The small studio apartment above one of Westhaven’s three—yes, three—antique shops was nothing more than a square room with her bed in one corner, a tiny area that served as the living room, kitchenette along one wall, and a bathroom with a shower stall so narrow she had to monitor her carb intake just to make sure she could continue to bathe.

  It wasn’t much.

  But for Leah, it was all she’d ever wanted.

  It was hers.

  After the motel had burned down, she had been certain her father would want to rebuild the place. It’d been in his family a long time, after all, and Sam was a prideful man. Who would he be without the motel? Without proudly telling everyone his daughter ran the place with great efficiency and professionalism, even though he’d never said as much to her?

  Turns out, the fire was the best thing that’d ever happened to them. The insurance check was large—not win-the-lottery large, but might as well have been for a blue-collar paper mill employee who’d spent a lifetime living just on the upside of paycheck to paycheck. Her father had looked her in the eye two days later, as they’d stood together in the parking lot taking in the sight of the ruble and charred remains, and said, “We don’t need this anymore, do we?”

  She would always remember that look. How his eyes had looked softer and … was it happiness? Relief? She would remember the way he’d looked at her because she hadn’t seen him look at her that way since before her brother had disappeared.

  That was when she knew they would be alright again.

  All because of the night of the fire, and the boy who’d shown up and changed their lives forever.

  Lance.

  God, she missed him. Some people might think her silly for being so infatuated—dare she say “in love”?—with somebody she’d only gotten to know over the span of a handful of days, but Leah had never been one to care too much about what other people thought. From the first moment Lance had walked into the lobby of the motel, as she’d been behind the check-in counter after just finishing mopping the floor, she knew he was different. In some ways she didn’t yet understand, but also in the best of ways. She could feel an energy, a connection between them. Despite all this, she’d still been surprised at how quickly she’d fallen for him. She’d see him again. She kept telling herself that. He’d had his reasons for leaving, and she had to respect them.

  Leah lifted her arm and reached for her laptop’s trackpad, clicking the NEXT EPISODE button on the Netflix page. She only had three episodes left of season two of Stranger Things and was wondering if she could stay awake long enough to power through. It was getting late, and she had the breakfast shift at the diner in the morning.

  Just one more, she thought.

  From her nightstand, a beautiful wooden table her father had built for her after she’d told him she was getting her own place, her iPhone’s screen lit up and the speaker played a quick snippet of the Ghostbusters theme song, along with “Who ya gonna call?”

  It was the alert tone she’d assigned to Lance.

  A joke, she thought. Though she wasn’t entirely certain he would find it funny.

  Her face lit up and her heartbeat quickened and she rolled over, nearly knocking her laptop off the bed to grab the phone. She unlocked it and read the message.

  Are you awake?

  She typed back: I am. I may have an addiction to episodic science fiction thrillers. Translation: I’m binge-watching Stranger Things on Netflix even though I have to be at work in six hours.

  Lance: What’s that about?

  Leah had seen glimpses of this sort of thing from Lance in their brief time together, especially the outdated flip phone he carried with hi
m and seemed perfectly content with. He was damaged, in a way. Although maybe that was too strong a word for it. It was more like he was out of tune with most of the current world. Pop culture things that Leah assumed everybody had at least heard of, Lance was honestly in the dark about. Oblivious.

  Though she couldn’t fault him. She had to assume she’d be a little out of tune with the world too if she spent so much of her time with one foot in another. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what that might be like. Was so curious as to what Lance’s childhood had been like, how a person was supposed to develop, or be developed, while they carried around with them such a secret, such an alternate way of life.

  I think you’d like it, she typed. It’s about a group of young kids who have to fight off a supernatural evil to save their friend and their hometown. It’s funny at times, and visually stunning. Sort of like you (wink).

  She would have used a winkface emoji instead, but she was afraid it might cause Lance’s antique phone to crash.

  Lance: I know it’s late and I’m exhausted, but I’m pretty sure you’re flirting with me.

  Leah: You’re very smart, too!

  Lance: I do try.

  There was a long break between messages then, and Leah wasn’t sure if Lance had decided enough was enough, had fallen asleep, or was typing out a longer message that was made even more time-consuming because of his ancient phone without a proper keyboard. Her eyes were starting to get heavy, as well, and she closed the lid of her laptop, resigning to have to finish her show the next day. She was going to send one last message, a simple Goodnight, I miss you, but thought that might sound a little too much like boyfriend/girlfriend material. Not that she would have minded that, but she was still unsure what Lance and she actually were. His reaching out to her recently, after those first few weeks of radio silence, and the brief text conversations that had followed, had only further reignited the spark she felt for him. But this was a process she was going to have to let Lance lead.