Sadie(28)

The Mercedes pulls out of the driveway and there’s no way around starting my own car if I want to follow his. The clock on my dash says it’s a quarter to seven. My palms sweat as the two of us drive down the road. When he makes a turn that puts us on the main street, there’s a small amount of congestion that takes some of the heat off me. Vendors arriving for the farmer’s market. Two cars end up between mine and his and that makes it even better. By the time we’re on the highway leading out of town, I feel less conspicuous, even though the sun’s fully out now, and there are no places to hide. We drive another five miles or so when Silas makes an abrupt turn onto a dirt road that seems to stretch forever nowhere. I stop at the turn, count to sixty, and follow. The gap between us makes me worry I might lose him, so I press my foot on the gas but then I worry that’s going to call too much attention to myself. I ease off.

Farmland surrounds me; untended fields on either side. A world at the end of the world. That’s what this feels like, driving into nothing. I don’t know what the hell he could possibly be doing out here. His car turns left and seems to just disappear, and I almost make that same left, but I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach and I slow down just a little instead. The Mercedes is parked on a side road that’s leading to—a house. From the brief glimpse I get, I can tell it’s abandoned.

Silas is waiting for me to pass.

Fuck.

It’s a mile before I find a spot to park, a small clearing in front of a gate with a NO TRESPASSING sign leading to who knows where. If Silas Baker passes this way, he’ll see my car but it’s a gamble I have to take. I pull the keys out of the ignition, shove them in my pocket and let myself out, hastily locking the doors. It’s already warm out, one of those days you can tell is going to end in air thick enough to choke on. I take a deep breath and then I run, I run the mile back to Silas’s turnoff. By the time I’m just about there, my shirt is soaked through with sweat and I can smell myself. I need a shower. I’ve needed one, but I’ll figure that out later. I creep up the lane, where the Mercedes is in the distance, parked next to the house. Silas isn’t in the driver’s side anymore. My heart beats warily. I don’t know what this is. It’s an easy path up to the house, but I stumble into the long grass and crouch there. Bugs hover at my face, arms and legs before landing on my skin and taking a bite. The grass tickles and scratches my shins. I start forward, my feet moving clumsily along ground that feels as dry as my throat. I keep my ear out for sounds of him, movement, a car starting, but there are none.

I move so slowly it’s an eternity before I’m at the house and the best word I could use to describe the place is rotten. It’s got be over fifty years old. It’s a two-story with a screened-in porch that’s ready to fall in on itself. The front door is barely hanging on its rusty hinges and most of the first-story windows have been covered in particle board, save for one that’s empty, offering a clear view in. The windows on the second story are all uncovered and broken. The house has long been tagged with beautiful and ugly graffiti. Joey loves Andy. A naked woman stretched across the space between two windows. Painted ivy along the bottom of the foundation climbing as far as it can reach. Satan and his forked tongue. A series of watchful eyes. Carrie hates Leanne. Cocksucker.

I reach the broken window and peer in. It’s worse inside than outside, giving way to nature, weeds poking through the floorboards. There’s a hint of a threshold to another room full of garbage creeping out. I don’t see Silas but if he comes through the front door, he’ll only have to turn his head to have a clear view of me.

I listen. Nothing. I move from the window and look for the best place to position myself. I strain my neck upward to the second story and realize that just because I can’t see Silas doesn’t mean he can’t see me. Shit. I shouldn’t stay in one place long.

I’m slowly making my way to the side of the house and I’m almost there when I hear the front door open. I lose all sense of self, safety, and throw myself around it, hear my body collide with the corner of the house at the same time the door falls back into place. I bite my lip, feeling the splintered wood siding dig into my shoulders. He’s there. I know he’s there. The heaviness of the pause that follows lets me know he knows he’s not alone. And then:

“Who’s there?”

His voice is deep, a cool authority running through it and I wait, my palms pressed against the ground. His footsteps sound into all this emptiness—one step, two steps, three steps—and I realize how alone I really am. That if Silas Baker found me here, he could make me scream and only the two of us would hear it.

Mattie, in that orchard, screaming.

A light breeze moves through the grass. It almost sounds like the ocean. If I closed my eyes I could see myself there. I won’t close my eyes.

“Hello?” he asks again. Quieter now.

The wind just—stops.

And then it’s too still.

Footsteps again. The soft crunch of his shoes … working their way toward his car. I don’t exhale until I hear the engine and I don’t move until long after I’m sure he’s gone to wherever it is he goes after this. I stand slowly, the blood rushing back to my numb joints. I lean against the house for a long moment before facing it.

What were you doing here, Silas?

I make my way to the front of the house and carefully climb onto the porch, sidestepping the most rotted-looking parts of it. I hesitate before gripping the door handle, imagining it still hot from his touch even though I know that won’t be the case. I pull it open and step into the house, startling as it rattles closed behind me. I press my fist to my chest, willing myself to calm down.