A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(45)
She, the beloved. I, the rejected. She, a part of my father's household. I, thrown off his property. She was the north pole of a magnet and I, the south. When I found myself in her field, the pull was irresistible.
I followed her past a fountain, down a row of boutiques, and into a coffee shop. I slipped behind her in line and inhaled her expensive perfume. I listened to the lilt of her voice and felt the warmth of the smile she bestowed on the barista. She was so confident, so happy. A diamond—three and a half or four carats—sparkled on her left hand. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.
I fell under her spell that day. I couldn't get her out of my mind. At first, I only followed her on social media. I attended her wedding on Instagram, then her honeymoon. When the flurry of photos subsided, I began to follow her car.
I trailed her from the dance school where she worked to her house. Once I knew where she lived, I would show up on the street whenever I could. In this way, I learned where she shopped, worked, ate, and played. On five different occasions, I drove behind her to our father's house in Laguna Beach.
One night about a year ago, I sat in my car across the street from her home. From my dark, solitary perch, I could see her through the windows of that bright, open space. I watched her the way I had when she was a girl.
It came to me then. Literally. It came to me. I wasn't looking for a counter-spell, an antidote. I didn't believe there was one.
It was getting late. She was sitting at her kitchen table reading. I hadn't seen her husband through the windows in a while. I assumed he'd gone to bed. I was tired and thinking about doing the same, when she stood.
She walked to the doorway of the kitchen. The room went black. In a second, she reappeared in the dining room, crossed it and disappeared into black again. The vision repeated in the office. Then the living room. I watched her disappear again and again.
When the last light was extinguished, my mind was illuminated. She must disappear for me to become visible. She was the black hole, the vacuum. She had sucked all my light and all my worth into herself. That was when I began to make plans.
The streetlights popped on up and down Cliff Drive. The sun had set while I'd sat reminiscing. It was now dark enough for my errand. An older couple with a little thing on a leash that looked more guinea pig than dog strolled down the block. I waited until they turned the corner.
I hefted the black bag from the passenger side of the car. It clanked. The sound echoed down the quiet street. I looked around, but didn't see anyone. I calmed myself with the thought that people in this neighborhood were used to the noise of divers and their equipment. I had to up my game regardless of the risks.
Sunday had been a roller coaster of emotions. I'd been so happy with the way my little present turned out. I'd had enough time to stage it without arousing suspicion. Everything had gone flawlessly.
Imagine my dismay when the open house went forward as if nothing had happened. I'd been so sure Gwen would collapse from the horror of it all—that she'd run away and never look back. She showed strength I didn't know she possessed.
I had to come up with a new, more aggressive plan. My mind spun in a hundred directions, until it landed on the traps. There is nothing like bodily harm to put a crimp in things. I didn't care who was injured, although the idea it might be my sister was delicious. A dancer's body is her bread and butter. It would be fun to snatch the food out of her mouth for once. But anybody would do.
The traps were old and rusted and looked as if they'd been left out in salt air for years. They could have been planted by a deranged old man bothered by raccoons and opossums. No one could be sure. And I liked that.
I wanted Gwen to wonder if a corporeal being was behind these attacks, or if they were some trick of the house itself. Had the house drawn cockroaches like a corpse draws maggots? Had it trapped a small rodent in its stovepipe like a carnivorous plant captures an unsuspecting bird? Had it beckoned a homeless man and filled his muddled head with ideas of feline death? I smiled and reached for the gate.
Light. Bright. Blinding. I was caught.
I spun around, naked and exposed, in the glare of the spotlight. Any moment I expected the shriek of a siren.
But nothing came. When the pounding of heart calmed, I heard crickets chirping again. The blood cleared from behind my eyes, and I saw the source of the light. There were three halogen lamps hidden in the foliage of the front yard positioned to illuminate the entrance.
I moved into the shadows and stood very still. In a few minutes, the lights clicked off. Until this point, I'd looked at this as an adventure, a game of wits. Now I was angry.
CHAPTER THIRTY
"How many bedrooms did you say it has?" Susan Langdon—upper-middle class, fiftyish, surgically enhanced—wanted to know.
"Technically four. The downstairs office counts as one and there are three up," Gwen said. It was Thursday morning, and she'd shown the Sailor's Haven property every day that week. It's funny how things came in waves. After the Pauls walked away from the deal, there'd been no action for at least ten days. Suddenly everybody and their sister wanted to see it, not that she was complaining.
"I really want five, but this place is so nice." Susan stuck a French manicured thumbnail between her front teeth. "Can we look upstairs again?"
"Of course." Gwen led the way up the carpeted steps. The Frobishers were coming home next week. She'd almost given up on her goal of having an offer waiting for them, but now she had renewed hope.