Rachel Caine - Fall of Night

She needed a hug, but she settled for extravagant air kisses from Eve, and a movie-star fond smile from Michael, and then she logged off to face the empty, cold house that had less personality than a broom closet in what she still thought of as home: the Glass House.

Still not sleepy, Claire unpacked some posters, unrolled them, and pinned them up on the walls. One was a gift from her parents, a poster of Hawkeye from the Avengers movie, because they knew she thought he was cute, and she wanted that bow and arrow, badly. A couple of her favourite band posters. Another movie one-sheet, this one from The Hunger Games . Katniss was cool, and again, she coveted the bow and arrows. Definitely of use in her normal life. Well, life before MIT …

She froze in the act of pushing the thumbtacks in on that one, because she heard the downstairs door rattle. Then, a knock.

Claire slipped down the steps, careful to walk on the edges near the banister to avoid creaks, and risked a quick peek out through the peephole. She expected loathsome Derrick, but what she saw surprised her – a group of people, boys and girls, talking among themselves.

And in the front of the group was Nick, who’d walked her home.

She unlocked and swung the door open. ‘Hey, Nick,’ she said. ‘Guys.’

Most of them smiled at her. A few were too deep in their own things to bother. Nick’s smile was especially bright.

‘Hi, Claire. Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but we were on our way to crack some books at the coffee shop. You like coffee? And books? I figure you would, since you enrolled here, and it’s kind of a prerequisite.’

‘That’s his idea of logic flow,’ one of the girls said – a cute African-American girl, wearing a knitted cap with earflaps and dangling yarn balls. She rolled her eyes. ‘No wonder he needs to crack books, because he sucks at critical path. I’m Kass, by the way.’

‘Hi, Kass. Um, thanks, Nick, that’s really nice of you, but I – I’m waiting for my housemate. We’ve got dinner on tonight. Maybe some other time?’

‘There’s a party later, is what Nick the Quick is failing to mention,’ one of the other boys said. He was a weedy kid about Shane’s age, very self-assured and hipster-chic with his tight, too-small buttoned sweater, jeans with the hems turned up, and pork-pie hat he’d probably stolen from the character on Breaking Bad . ‘So you should blow off dinner and come with.’ He had his arm around a plump blonde girl who had pink streaks in her hair and matching cat-eye glasses, and a retro cotton-candy-pink dress. ‘Right, Sarah?’

‘Right!’ she agreed, and grinned. ‘We might get tattoos, too. I was thinking about a dragon.’

‘Tattoos,’ Claire said, and pretended to think it over. ‘Well … that sounds fun, but honest, I have to stay home. You guys have a good time. And Nick—’ Never going to happen , she wanted to say, but she couldn’t, in front of his friends. Which was probably why he’d brought them, to be honest. ‘I’ll see you later, okay?’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘One more time: study, books, party, tattoos. Sold?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘But thanks. Have a good time.’

‘Oh, we will,’ the other boy said, and kissed Sarah, who giggled. ‘Your loss, Tex – what’s her name again?’

‘Claire,’ Nick said, still watching her. ‘Her name is Claire.’

‘Right. Well, mine’s Robert, but everybody calls me Drag. Don’t ask.’

‘I won’t,’ she said, and stepped back over the threshold. ‘Good night. Be safe, you guys.’

‘You too!’ It was a chorus, and the group wandered off with their backpacks and enthusiasm, and for a moment, she badly wanted to change her mind and join them. Just be part of something again, and not stuck here in the dark.

But she closed and locked the door, and went back upstairs instead.

No Liz. Claire did her e-mail, called her parents, and finally changed into her pyjamas. She was worried enough by that time to call Liz’s cell, and got an answer, finally.

Liz was drunk. Epically. From the sound of it, she was either at a bar, or a very noisy party. Claire couldn’t get much out of her except that she wasn’t planning on coming home soon, and yes, she’d take a cab.

‘Everybody’s having fun but me,’ Claire muttered, and threw her cell onto the nightstand in annoyance as she wrapped the covers tight. She turned the lights off, and tossed and turned, unable to sleep for the unfamiliar creaks and pops of the old house.

She slid out of bed and padded downstairs to the kitchen without turning on the lights, opened the fridge and pulled out the carton of milk to pour herself a glass. She’d just put the milk back and shut the door when she heard the sound of the front door opening, and almost said, How drunk are you, anyway , but something stopped her.

Something subliminal that she didn’t realise until a full ten seconds later: she hadn’t heard a car, or Liz stumbling up the steps, which she assumed Liz would be doing.

This was utterly quiet.

Claire grabbed her milk glass and backed away into the narrow pantry closet, where she crouched down, bathed in the aroma of old spices; there were some big packs of toilet paper and paper towels in here, bought from some big-box outlet store, and she quickly moved them in front of her, just in case. She hadn’t shut the pantry door completely, so she knew she’d see when the lights came on …

But the lights didn’t come on. Instead, she saw the glow of a flashlight sweep across the kitchen, and then the pantry door whipped open and the flashlight bored straight in. She ducked behind the wall of paper towels, and after a heart-stopping second, the flashlight moved away, and the pantry door swung shut.

It was all done so quietly .

Claire waited until she heard the stairs creaking, and then moved the paper wall out of the way to move to the doorway. She couldn’t see much, but she thought the kitchen was empty. Whoever it was had gone upstairs; she heard footsteps overhead, so they’d gone into Liz’s room.

Derrick?

The thought made her heart race, and she slid a butcher knife out of the block, just in case. Shane had taught her the right way to knife fight, but that didn’t mean the idea didn’t terrify her; if Derrick got his hands on her, she was done. He was too big, and too crazy.

Stay away, Liz. Just stay where you are.

Claire picked up the kitchen phone and got a blessedly clear dial tone. She dialled 911 with shaking fingers, and whispered the information to the operator that she was hiding in the kitchen with a knife, and there was someone in the house. The operator sounded unimpressed, but professional about it, and promised the police were on the way, and to hide until they arrived but keep the phone on.

Which Claire intended to do, but then she heard a man’s voice from upstairs, and static, like there would be on a walkie-talkie. She edged to the kitchen door, looking up at the stairs, and saw a black-clothed man walk out of her room, and another come out of Liz’s. She ducked back inside and flattened against the kitchen wall, but it didn’t seem like either of them had spotted her.

One of them was talking. ‘—Nothing. Nobody home, and we didn’t find anything. Looks like a normal college girl to me, sir. She’s got Hunger Games on the wall and textbooks and clothes, not a lot else here. Bed was unmade but she’s not here, we looked. Went through all the boxes, nothing … no, sir, I’m sure. She’s probably out with friends.’

He was talking about her . And this wasn’t Derrick, not even if Derrick had brought a friend. This sounded calm and professional. The two men came down the steps and went out the front door without pausing, and closed it quietly behind them.