The Waiting: A Supernatural Thriller(61)

Evan stepped back and shut the door, a thought striking him. He’d heard the mineral-spirits can hit the floor, but where was it? Where was the spilled thinner that should’ve assaulted his nose the moment he walked down here? He bent his knees again and looked under the table, sure he would spot the can on its side. Evan stiffened, one hand braced against the cement for balance, his neck craned down, his eyes wide— —as he stared at the mineral spirits can in the corner beside the workbench. His mouth opened, and a word tried to come out. Instead, it stayed on his tongue and resounded in his head.

No. No. No. No.

Evan stood, the unreal quality of a dream surrounding him as he walked around the length of the table and moved to where the can sat. Bending down, he touched the cap, tight with rust on its spout, the cobwebs clinging to its top, unbroken.

Dizziness washed over him, and he staggered away from the corner. The basement swayed as if though rested in the middle of a titanic teeter-totter. Evan moved with it, the unreality of everything compounding at once. His mind strained at its bindings, stretching them, forced by the incongruence of what he’d seen.

“It didn’t happen, it didn’t happen, I’m not here right now,” he said, taking the first step on the stairs.

The pleading sound of his voice scared him; it was hollow and detached, the voice of an automaton going about its commanded task. He shut off the lights with a swipe of one hand and trudged up the stairs, his left forearm sliding along the wall to keep him upright.

The air in the kitchen smelled wonderful compared to that of the basement, and he hauled in several deep lungfuls before turning off the last light and shutting the door behind him. Evan moved through the house on numbed feet, the feeling growing steadily up his legs, as if he’d stepped on bed of Novocain syringes.

Without thinking about it, he stripped his bed of blankets and pillows and laid them down in Shaun’s room, only inches from his bedside. He collapsed onto the floor, the blankets barely padding the hardwood, but the relief of being next to Shaun more than offset the discomfort.

One of Shaun’s hands dangled off the bed, and Evan reached up to place it back under the blanket but stopped. He held it in his palm, closing his eyes as he did. He fell asleep that way, as the darkness in the east bled to gray.





20





Evan sipped his coffee and watched Shaun across the table.

The simple act of feeding Shaun his morning cereal grounded him, anchoring his mind in the normal, keeping his thoughts from returning to the night before. Evan clamped a hand on to his forehead and rubbed his temples. Nothing had happened last night, nothing. There was no gun, the mineral-spirits can wasn’t moved, there was no man. He sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes before draining the rest of his coffee.

“Wawee?” Shaun asked.

“What, honey?” Evan said, sitting forward.

Shaun furrowed his brow and tried to point toward the bedrooms. “Wawee?”

Evan glanced in the direction and then turned back. “I don’t know what you want, buddy.”


Shaun’s eyebrows drew down, and he struck the cereal bowl with one hand, causing the spoon to fly free. Milk and soggy flakes spattered the table, and a few dollops landed on Evan’s thigh.

“Shit! Stop it, Shaun,” he said, grabbing Shaun’s flailing arm.

“Wawee! Wawee!” Shaun cried, tears beginning to run down his cheeks.

Evan stood and hugged his son’s arms tight to his body.

“Shhhh, honey, stop, you’re going to hurt yourself. Don’t, don’t, don’t.”

The boy continued to struggle, but his movements became less frantic, and gradually he lapsed into simply crying.

“I know, buddy, I know it’s hard. I’m sorry I can’t understand sometimes.” Evan looked at the kitchen counter and saw the iPad there. “Do you want your iPad? Flash cards?”

He grabbed the slim case and held it out to Shaun. Shaun shook his head.

“Na.”

“Okay, okay, buddy.” He set the device down, and his shoulders sagged. “Let’s just get ready to go.”

~

They left the island in the pontoon half an hour later, the day warm but muddled with shining silver clouds in the sky. Evan began to steer toward the little marina on the mainland, but a thought struck him like a hammer.

A boat.

If Becky’s father had really come to the house last night, he would’ve come in a boat. Evan scanned the shoreline on the west side of the island. No crafts jutted out into the water, and from what he could see, none were pulled up into the woods.

“Let’s take a little side trip, buddy,” he said, turning the pontoon south.

They cruised over the calm water, around the end of the island, the little clearing with the fire pit coming into view after a few minutes. When they rounded the heavily wooded southeastern side, Evan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Small waves lapped against rocky shore. He could see no boats anchored along its edge. To be sure, he throttled up and cruised the entire length and turned left, until he could see their dock again.

A strange relief came over him, followed by a layer of fear on its heels. Not seeing a boat made him believe that nothing had happened the night before, but the absence of one confirmed the cold inkling that had been with him all morning.