The Red Hunter(14)

“Really?”

“Call the police if—”

“If what?” Raven’s voice went up a worried octave.

“If—anything.” She tried to keep her voice low, calming.

Claudia had no intention of waiting in the bedroom, hiding. No. She’d come too far for that. She wasn’t even sure what she’d heard. Inside or out? In the basement or the attic? She closed the door on Raven, waiting until she heard it lock. Then she stared down the dark stairway. She paused, listening. Just the wind outside, moaning, strong enough that the windows rattled.

She’d read an article once about how a predator had lay in wait in a woman’s attic for days, biding his time until she was alone in the house, listening to her through the ceiling. He’d snuck down from the opening in the closet, raped and killed her in her own bed. This story had haunted Claudia for days, the idea that he’d been up there, listening to all the private moments of her life before he ended it. It came back to her now, but she pushed it away.

Claudia headed down the stairs, slowly, still shaking, flipping on lights. The doors to the outside and the basement were locked; she saw that right away. No windows broken. Pretty quickly, she was reasonably sure that there was no one inside. Her heart rate slowed. Whatever she heard must have been outside, she thought.

The truth was—and she was surprised by this and a little ashamed—that she was already narrating it, thinking about how she’d write it for her blog. Things that go bump in the night! Something like that. Once upon a time, she’d have been paralyzed with fear, barricaded in a room with Raven, waiting for the police. Time, enough of it, fades everything like hot sun on cloth, even the worst trauma—if you let it. She thought her therapist would applaud her bravery, if not her judgment. In the years after the attack, Claudia had wanted so badly for the world to be okay again, and eventually it sort of was.

“Mom!” called Raven.

Raven came halfway down the stairs, her black hair up and wild, her sleep shirt, a giant purple tee she’d gotten when they saw Wicked on Broadway last month, shifting down to expose her shoulder. Her eyes were red, glistening on the lashes. “I called the police.”

“You did?” Claudia was surprised. Raven was not so tough after all.

“I was scared.”

“Okay,” said Claudia, reaching for her. “Better safe than sorry.”

Raven came to her and wrapped her arms around tight, holding on, sinking in like she used to do when she was small, as if she wanted to close off all space between their bodies. Claudia grieved the physical intimacy she used to have with her daughter, the heat of that little body, the silk of her peaches and cream skin, the smell of her hair. When they’re small, they’re part of you, on you in bed, showering with you, climbing onto your lap, holding on to your leg. Slowly, slowly, they start to move away, and if you love them, if you want them to feel safe and free to explore the world, you have to let them go. Mostly.

“We’re okay,” said Claudia, relishing the feel of Raven in her arms. “We’ll wait for them to come. I’m not going into that basement alone.”

“No,” said Raven, shaking her head. Claudia looked at the door, still bolted from the outside. “No way.”

It was a horror movie basement—huge, more dark corners and shadows than spaces where the light reached, bulbs hanging from wires that dimmed and brightened mysteriously, cold spots and boxes full of she didn’t even know what. The electric in the house was old, needed a total overhaul—which Claudia could not afford—so that explained why the lights in the house were always browning out. But it seemed like there was an energy to it. Things went dark at odd moments—like when Raven was having a tantrum, or Claudia was alone in the house, wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into. It would be just like the lights to go off when she was down in the basement, alone and terrified. The thought made her shudder.

There was so much work to be done there. There had been some flooding last year, so there was water damage. And two of the beams had come down, which apparently didn’t compromise the house, according to the engineer that had been out. Still, he’d said, I wouldn’t spend a whole lot of time down here until you shore up those areas You never know what else is going to come down. He’d pointed out some cracking in the other beams. Maybe that was what had made the noise. Perhaps another beam had come down.

And there were so many boxes down there, old furniture from a past tenant, just junk. There was a workbench, rusted tools, an old exercise bike, clothes, papers, books, a box of old toys. Claudia had no idea who any of it belonged to, why it had just been abandoned down there. There had been multiple tenants on the property since her father bought it. But no one had lived there in more than ten years. Who just left a house with all their stuff and never came back? Claudia could spin out a hundred dark scenarios, but now was probably not the time. Sorting, donating, selling, junking all that stuff—it was all on her ridiculously long “to do” list.

But there was something about the basement that repelled her. She couldn’t be down there alone, and Raven hated it, too. So they’d been avoiding it.

Claudia and Raven huddled on the stairs together, baseball bat beside them, afghan from the couch wrapped around them.

“I’m sorry about today, Mom,” said Raven. “It’s just hard sometimes. To just ignore people and the things they say.”