The Spite House(36)



Before sunset, he went back into town to use a computer at the Degener Public Library. He found no meaningful search results for any variation on the term “Degener memorial.” He then moved on to read some of Emily Steen’s work available online. From what he saw of it, she was an ally from before people commonly used the word “ally” in that fashion. That didn’t guarantee that her written words were sincere, or that she was the same person now. Still, he might have misjudged her. He should have let her talk. Or maybe his instincts were right and he’d been smart to stonewall her. How the hell could he know, one way or the other?

He wished Tab was with them. She would tell him not to think too hard about all the things he didn’t know or couldn’t know, and focus on what he knew. What he could be sure of. Focus less on what could go wrong, more on what could go right. He could imagine her saying it, but it wasn’t the same as hearing it. Even if she was there to tell him, it might have bounced off him given all that had gone wrong in the last year and a half, and the fickle nature of the one thing that had gone right.





CHAPTER 15



Dess



When she woke up that morning, the silence startled her. She saw her father on the floor, her sister at the other end of the sofa, but didn’t hear either of them breathing in their sleep. Dess checked on Stacy first, saw her chest rising and falling even though she made no sound. Next she checked on her father, who was doing the same. He didn’t flinch when she approached, showed no sign he heard the sound of the sofa creaking when she got up. He was just asleep. Nothing to be worried about. Still, how quiet he was disturbed her. Like he was pretending he wasn’t awake, lying in wait. Maybe he was.

She rubbed her eyes. What the hell was she thinking? Why would Dad do that? Yes, he’d talked with her about sneaking out. It was remotely possible he was baiting her to try again, looking to catch her in the act, but that wasn’t his style. He wasn’t a schemer.

Well, he didn’t used to be. By necessity he’d become a bit of one. That was how they’d gotten a head start out of Maryland and how they managed to get as far as they were now. Scheming, planning, lying, and deceiving, they’d been at it for months. It was hard to imagine Dad deciding to turn that energy against her now in the hopes she’d spring the trap just so he could prove a point.

No, she was overthinking this. Even under normal conditions people slept differently in a new place. This house didn’t come close to qualifying as normal. After what happened yesterday with the bathroom door, and then what happened last night, it was no wonder she was paranoid. The house was making her feel that way. She needed to get out for a minute. Get some air, get a run in.

That meant going back to the third floor to get her shoes. She looked at the stairs and was emboldened by how ordinary they looked. Not even a hint of a goose bump rose on her. The daylight helped. Her single-mindedness helped more. The same thing that motivated her to take that offer to run errands for strangers got her going now. If something had to be done, then it had to be done. Thinking on it for too long was just going to raise doubt and invite fear that, while valid, results in inaction.

She was up the stairs and in her room before thoughts of last night could make her hesitant. She slipped into her shoes without lacing them—deciding to do that downstairs. Passing through Stacy’s room, she grabbed a sheet of paper and crayon so she could leave a note for her father, in case he woke up before she was back. She didn’t plan to be gone long. One lap around the property, into the valley, past the orphanage, and then circle back. Maybe take a second lap if she was feeling good. Given the sleep they’d lost last night and how hard her dad and Stacy seemed to be sleeping now, Dess thought she might get back before either of them woke up.



* * *



The wind picked up a bit as she descended the hill and entered the valley. It was welcome, given how warm the morning was, but it made the surrounding woods a little loud for her liking. She didn’t know if there were any animals to be concerned about in the Texas Hill Country, and guessed that if there were, Dana Cantu would have warned them. Still, she didn’t like the idea of a coyote or even a large stray dog stalking her under cover of rustling trees, so she stuck more to the open field. That put her closer to the orphanage.

From the spite house, it looked far more dilapidated than it did as she approached it now. It was evident that Miss Houghton had landscapers take general care of the area, but Dess didn’t expect the orphanage to be almost habitable. It looked like someone had repainted the orphanage’s main house just a few years ago. None of its windows were broken, there weren’t any shingles missing from its roof, the walls weren’t cracked, and the front door …

There hadn’t been a front door when she looked at it a few minutes ago. She couldn’t be wrong about that; she remembered the black space where the door should be sort of making it look like the building was screaming. That had pushed her to run closer to the trees before the thought of stealthy lone predators or strays pushed her toward the field and orphanage. There was a front door now, though, large, closed, and like new.

She slowed a little and kept her eyes on the buildings as she rounded them. Something else wasn’t right. It went beyond the buildings not quite looking as run-down as she expected, or the strange business with the front door. She tried to view it like a puzzle that she was overthinking, something with a solution so simple it’s almost a cheat. Pa-Pa Fred had told her a riddle like that when she was a kid. “A man has thirty-six sheep. Three of ’em die. How many are left?”

Johnny Compton's Books