Lineage(46)

“Lance Metzger. That sounds really familiar.”

The indecision that arose with the opportunity was a mile-high wall that flew up in Lance’s mind. His tongue began to work in his mouth, and before he knew it, he was doing something he had vowed from the moment his first novel had hit the mainstream never to do.

“I’m an author, you might have a few of my books here.” Lance’s insides cringed and he mentally began to whip himself for finally becoming something he had always abhorred. He had never used his semi-fame to open doors or gain favor with anyone, especially a woman whom he found attractive. But at the moment the urge to find out more about the woman before him was too tempting, and he shut out the chiding voice in the back of his mind that was calling him every degrading name under the sun.

“Really, what do you write?”

“Horror, mostly. I wrote one that bordered on thriller, but it wasn’t a great fit, and the critics agreed.” She laughed and he thought it was one of the most endearing sounds he had ever heard. It somehow felt right to him, as if he had been waiting to hear something like it for years and everything before had fallen short.

“You know, I don’t think I have any of your stuff, but your name does sound familiar. I’ll have to keep an eye out for you.” She smiled again and slid the book and his card across the counter. The abruptness of the brushoff was palpable and Lance felt himself shrink. Don’t say anything else, just thank her and walk out of here, he thought as he tucked his card away and picked up the bag from the countertop.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” he said, feeling like the biggest lump that had ever walked the earth.

“Yes, thanks very much. Oh, and my name is Mary. You gave me yours, it’s only right I do the same.”

Lance smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mary.”

“You too.”

Without further risk of embarrassment, Lance turned and walked out the front door and into the heat of the day. As the bell dinged mutedly behind him in the store, he shook his head and hurried to the Land Rover. The similarities between Mary and the woman he had seen in his car were undeniable.

As he backed the SUV up and then drove down the street to the northern end of town, he realized that instead of resolving the questions that had been eating at him since seeing the house in his mind, only more had emerged like foreboding ships out of a foggy sea.



Lance checked and then rechecked the fire number on the driveway against the one written on the listing printout. They matched—he was here.

The gravel driveway led from the pavement at a ninety-degree angle. The drive crossed over a set of intersecting railroad tracks and then dropped down into a large turnaround. The circular drive sat on a rough upheaval of ground made decorative by the growth of three small pine trees. The berm hadn’t had a good going-over in years and looked shabby with weeds beginning to grow over the timid grass layering the bottommost area. The drive led away from the road and turned sharply into a thick copse of woods. Oak, birch, and pine all intermingled, making an impenetrable wall that dominated the right side of the highway.

Lance had lost sight of Superior several miles back as the road curved away from the water. Although the real-estate agent had told him over the phone the house was only five miles north of Stony Bay, the turn had still snuck up on Lance as he rounded a hard left.

As he pulled into the drive, he took in the surroundings. The sun filtered in less and less through the crowded trees as he drove farther into the property, bathing the interior of the car in dingy light. Gray squirrels ran and jumped from branch to branch on all sides. The gravel crunched under his tires, and when he rounded yet another corner in the driveway, he finally got his first look at the house.

It loomed solemnly in the middle of a clearing, just as he had seen on the realty website. The grass in the yard looked longer than in the photo and there was an air of disuse about the grounds. The stone of the lower level had darkened with time, and moss of some sort grew in patches here and there in the cool shadows. The logs of the upper floor were beginning to lighten and needed to be stained. Two darkened windows stared him down from the upper floors as he approached, and he could see a few sticks lying like sunbathing snakes on the roof. Another circular turnaround was positioned before the front entry and a twin of the berm at the driveway’s mouth rose neatly in its center. Lake Superior stretched out beyond the house like a dreary drop cloth, its waves rolling over one another in a race to reach the rocky shore first. In its day, Lance thought, it would have been a sight to behold; perhaps a place of envy by neighbors who lived in much less striking abodes nearby.