Brian Freeman - The Bone House

'Good.' He added, 'Hey, you want to know something?'

Lala didn't answer. He took her silence as an invitation.

'I miss you,' he said.

She still didn't answer. He heard nothing from her at all. He wondered if he'd crossed the line, or if she simply didn't know whether he was serious. When Lala was still silent, he glanced at the phone and realized that the wind had changed, and his signal had vanished into the frigid air. She was gone.

Chapter Forty-Three

Mark followed his headlights into the driveway and immediately realized that something was wrong. He'd switched on a lamp in the living room before he left the house, but there was no light shining behind the curtains now. The house was dark.

He climbed out of the Explorer and waited next to his truck. He couldn't see. Rain trickled through the tree branches, splattering on the dirt and covering up other noises in the woods. He ran his hands along the damp metal of the chassis, hunting for the handle of the rear door. When he found it, he opened the door and leaned inside and searched on the floor. His fingers closed over the forked head of a hammer. He grabbed the tool by its wooden handle and shut the door quietly.

Mark felt as if he was blindfolded. Night on the island was black under the hood of trees, and the thick clouds made the sky moonless and starless. He made his way with his hands, creeping toward the house. He felt flagstones under his feet, marking the path. When his outstretched fingers found the front door, he turned the handle, which twisted easily; the door was open. He shoved the door inward and clutched the hammer tightly. Squatting, staying low, he crept into the hallway of his house.

He left the lights off. Light painted him as a target. He peered around the wall that led to the living room and could make out the shapes of the furniture. The walls still smelled like fresh paint. The room was empty. He sidestepped down the hallway, his knees bent, and passed the open door to their bedroom on his left. He lingered there, watching and listening, before he continued to the kitchen and then the den. He ducked into the porch and checked the door leading outside, but it was locked and deadbolted. He began to relax, but as he did, a noise startled him. It sounded like the casters of their bed scraping across the hardwood floor, the way it did when he banged the frame with his knee.

Mark retreated toward their bedroom but stayed in the hallway. In the glow of the clock on his nightstand, he could see that their closet door was ajar, which wasn't how he'd left it. He gripped the hammer and sprang off his knees and charged. He leaped across the short space and threw himself past the door into the belly of the tiny closet. His shoulder slammed the wall, cushioned by the fabric of Hilary's dresses.

He heard running feet and twisted around in time to see someone rolling across the bed on their way from the bathroom to the bedroom door. He jumped, and the two of them collided, landing together in a heap on the floor. Something metallic skidded away into the wall. He expected a fight and didn't get one. The person in his arms was bony and fragile. He smelled girlish perfume. He held her shoulders to the ground, and she whimpered as his weight overwhelmed her.

'Don't hurt me, don't hurt me. Christ, Troy, it's me, Tresa.'

Mark couldn't see her face, but he recognized the shape of her body and her familiar long hair. 'Tresa? What the hell are you doing here?'

She almost seemed to be holding her breath as he spoke. It took her a moment to say anything. ' Mark? Is that you?'

'Of course it is.'

Tresa threw her arms around his neck. 'Oh, thank God you're OK. I've been waiting forever. Where were you?'

'I went out to dinner,' he replied. 'Tresa, what's going on?'

She breathed heavily, still holding him. When he peeled away her arms, she touched his face in the darkness with her fingertips. Her perfume filled his nose as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

'Tresa, stop,' he said.

She backed away. 'I'm sorry. I'm just so glad it's you.'

'I'll turn a light on,' Mark said.

Tresa grabbed his shoulder. 'No. Don't. Leave it dark.'

'Why?'

'He could be out there. We can't let him see us.'

'Who?' He thought about what she had said as he landed on her. 'Why did you think I was Troy?'

Tresa leaned against the bed. She held his hand, and her skin was moist. 'I overheard Troy talking to my mom. He has a gun, the stupid bastard. He knew Hilary was gone tonight. He said he was going to sail over here and kill you.'

Mark swore to himself. 'Did you see the gun? Are you sure he really has one?'

'I saw it.'

'Do you know when he was planning to come here?'

'No, but he must be here by now. He must be close by. If he saw you come home—'

'Take it easy, Tresa,' Mark told her. 'I'm not sure Troy's got what it takes to pull this off. It's one thing to think you can shoot someone, but it's different to actually pull the trigger.'

'He'll do it, Mark. You should have seen his face.'

'I understand, but you shouldn't have come here. You should have called and told me.'

'I know, but I thought — I wanted — that is, I figured maybe Troy would listen to me.'

Mark heard guilty embarrassment in her voice. It wasn't just that she was afraid of what Troy would do, or that she thought she could talk him out of it. Mark realized that she wanted to be the one to save him. She wanted to rescue him. That was what you did for someone you loved.

'How did you get here?' he asked.

'I drove my mom's car. I parked it down the road. I didn't think you'd want anyone to see it in your driveway — you know, because of what people would think. I mean, Hilary's not home, and here I am.'

He knew she believed it. See? I'm trying to protect you. Even so, her voice had a breathless quality to it, and he was conscious of the warmth of her body pressed against him.

'Do you know anyone else on the island?' he asked.

'No.'

'I'll take you to one of the motels. You can spend the night there, and you'll be safe.'

Tresa clung to him fiercely. 'No way. I'm not leaving you alone.'

'I'll be fine.'

'No, Mark. I'm staying here.'

She had a childish determination. Part of him wondered if the story about Troy was really true, or if she had made it up as a way to bring them together. He didn't know how far Tresa would go. She'd taken the ferry to be here on a night when Hilary was gone, and he'd found her hiding in his bedroom. He couldn't help but wonder if this was a fantasy, like the sexual encounters in her diary. A fairy tale. It started with him being in danger, and it ended with her seducing him.

Or was she telling him the truth?

'Did you call the police?' he asked.

'I couldn't do that. I don't want my mom getting in trouble.'

Don't call the police. Mark wondered: did she really want to protect Delia? Or did she want to protect herself from another lie? He'd been fooled by this girl and her desires before. He liked her, he felt sorry for her, but he had to keep reminding himself that she'd nearly destroyed his life once already.

'Let's go, Tresa,' he said.

'Wait! Did you hear that?'

Mark listened. The rain beat on the roof. That was all he heard. 'There's no one outside,' he said, but he had the same feeling he'd had earlier. Something was wrong. He looked around the bedroom, trying to pinpoint his anxiety, and realized that the clock on the nightstand was dark. Moments earlier, it had glowed with white numbers.

'Stay right there,' he told her.

He pushed himself off the floor, but despite his warning, Tresa got up with him and clung to his side. Her arm wrapped around his waist. He felt the speed of her breathing as her chest rose and fell like a scared animal. She wasn't acting. This was real.