Dead Spell (21 page)

It was almost 6:00 and she was sure her mother was looking for her. Probably her uncle was, too. She tried not to think of herself as a runaway, but nothing else fit.

Going home meant lockdown and no shot at figuring out what happened to Harmony or Tom.

“Feeling better?” Adam was stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce and sipping a glass of wine.

She nodded. “I figured you for a beer guy.”

“You figured wrong.” He smiled and handed her a soda.

She set it down on the counter and poured herself a glass of the merlot he was drinking.

“Not exactly a headache remedy.”

Brea took a sip. It was harsh and hard to swallow. “But it should help with the stress right?”

“I guess. Have you ever even had alcohol, I mean more than the glass Moms give out on holidays?”

“I can handle it.”  The doorbell rang. “Want me to get that?”

The window in the kitchen faced the entrance to the parking lot.  A car pulled in and Adam peered between the slats of the closed blinds. Brea’s uncle was trying to look inside.

“No,” Adam said. “I want you to hide and don’t come out until I tell you.”

“Uh…”

“It’s your uncle.” The bell rang again, and again, and then three more times in quick succession. “Go,” Adam said. “He has no legal right to come in here as long as he can’t see anything that proves you’re here.”

Brea went into the bathroom and closed the door, listening to the conversation happening outside.

“Can I help you?” Adam’s tone was a cross between “so good to see you” and “fuck off”.

“Are you Adam Krier?”

“You know I am, Jim. Don’t you remember me? Or my sister, maybe?”

“I’m looking for a runaway by the name of Brea Miller. She’s 16, brown hair…”

“She’s your niece.”

Jim cleared his throat. “Yes, she’s my niece. Someone said they saw her here.”

“Tell
someone
they’re wrong. Brea was a friend of my girlfriend’s—Harmony Wolcott. You know her family, too. I haven’t seen her since Harmony’s funeral.”

“May I come in a minute?” He stepped forward like he expected Adam to say yes, but he stopped him.

“Actually, yes, I do mind. And if you don’t have a warrant, I’d like you to leave, please. I’ve been through enough the past couple of weeks. If I hear anything, I’ll call you.”

The door closed, the deadbolt clicked, and the rest of the blinds whirred closed.

“All clear.” Adam opened the bathroom door. “You can come out.”

Brea felt terrible and embarrassed. “Adam, I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. He has no right to be here. I guarantee that. Your mother must’ve figured out where you were and sent him over. Don’t worry about it.” He pulled her close, resting his chin on her head and breathing in the shampoo that Harmony used to use.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “I see why Harmony loved you.”

“Right back at ‘ya. Come on and let’s eat.”

He plated a heap of spaghetti and sauce on the plate and topped off his glass of wine.

Brea slurped up a forkful, but had trouble using her left hand. After the hot shower, her right hand was throbbing. Sauce spilled down her chin and he handed her a napkin. “I’m a terribly lefty.” She held up her swollen right.

 “You’ve got a mean jab, Brea.” He wrapped a frozen gel pack in a kitchen towel and laid it across her knuckles

“That girl, Rachael, she was asking for it.”

“She’s the one Harmony was protecting you from?”

“She told you?”

“She told me almost everything.”

“It’s about time I stood up to her on my own.”

“Harmony would’ve been proud.”

* * * * *

The night ticked by and the closer it got to time to go to bed, the more tension built between Brea and Adam. It was after ten and the heat of someone finding her had cooled to a simmer.

Whatever lines her mother had drawn, she crossed them.

Lying on the couch next to Adam, she thought about crossing others. Her headache was gone and her hand felt better. His breath against the back of her neck made her body tighten with yearning. She pulled his arm around her so that his hand rested on her breast and shifted to feel him more fully against her.

They stayed like that for what seemed like ever before he worked up to his lips on the back of her neck. He kissed her, gently, and withdrew as if testing her reaction. When she didn’t immediately respond, he did it again, lingering a little longer—holding her a little tighter.

She couldn’t believe what was happening, but she wanted it. She wanted him
.

She rolled over to face him and neither said a word.

His lips were soft against hers, his kiss skilled and passionate encouraging a deepness it didn’t take long to emulate.

He worked his hands up the length of her sliding off her tee and somehow making her feel safe. Nothing about his approach was rushed and she melted under his tender exploration. He slid his knee between hers, spreading her legs and settled on top of her. Her eyes were closed and when she lifted her hands to his face, she felt something warm and gelatinous.

She opened her eyes and screamed as her fingers sank into the right side of his brain.

36
.

Brea couldn’t explain the hallucination other than to blame Tom. His attacks were unpredictable and as her and Adam looked for a second flashlight and a make-shift weapon in his truck outside of the Maple Street house, she could only keep apologizing.

“I’m really sorry to do this to you.” She held their one flashlight while Adam searched under the truck’s seat for a second. “I just have to find out what’s going on.”

Adam smirked. “It’s not exactly where I thought this night was headed, but creepy ghost hunting it is.”

His sense of humor made her feel some better.

He found the other flashlight and a switchblade under the driver’s seat and handed them to her.

“How are we going to crack that basement door?”

“Carefully and while looking up.” He held up a small hatchet. “I haven’t used this thing since camping like five years ago. Ready?”

Brea followed the light on the gravel driveway, the stone crushing beneath her feet. She breathed in the smell of chimney smoke from the houses in the distance and tried not to think of home. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The door was already open.

Adam pushed it a little wider. “Did you leave it like this?”

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head “no”. “I shut it behind me.”

“Charity? Are you in here?” Adam panned the sinking living room floor with the flashlight. His voice echoed. “Charity, it’s Adam and Brea. Are you here?” He went inside. “Watch your step and stay near the edge.”

“What do you think I was doing?” Brea kept her back to the wall and crept across the living room wall like she was walking a skyscraper’s ledge.

“One quick sweep of the place, a look in the basement, and we’re out of here, agreed?”

Now that she was back here, Brea wished they waited until morning. “Fine, you work on the door and I’ll look and see if Charity’s here.”

Brea started in the kitchen and moved to the garage. “Charity? Are you here?” She swept the room with the flashlight. The cover was off the IROC; if Charity wasn’t here, she or someone else had been. “Charity?” She walked around the car and stepped back up into the kitchen.

 “Anything?” Adam tried prying the basement door before resorting to the hatchet

“No, nothing, but the car’s uncovered.”

“Car?”

 “You never went in the garage?”

“No, because Charity never hid out there. This isn’t my hang out.”

“Well there’s an IROC under the car cover.”

“Sweet.”

“I don’t think she’s here. Are you going to be able to open that door?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see for shit. If I can’t get it easily, it’s going to have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Here, let me help you.”

“You’ve taken one to the head already today. Wait for me in the living room where it’s a little safer.”

Brea stepped over the threshold. The air went ice cold; colder, even, than it was outside. A breeze whipped through her hair and two hands pressed into her back. “Adam.” She screamed and something shoved her into the middle of the living room floor. Her feet crashed through two of the boards and she felt the hot, wet trickle of blood down her legs. “Help.” she screamed. “Help.”

Adam came running, but couldn’t easily reach her. “Hang on.”

She slipped further through and grabbed the edge of the throw rug he was standing on. “Please, help.” Her flashlight crashed to the basement floor and she started to cry.

“Grab my hand.” Adam got on his knees and hooked his foot into a hole under a sturdy piece of molding.

She stretched as far as she could and fell even further. “I can’t reach.”

He crawled as close to her as he could get and the whole floor caved, sending them both to the cement below.

Pieces of the living room fell on them like heavy rain: flooring, basement ceiling, chunks of brick from the decomposing fireplace mantel. Something crushed Brea’s left arm and she screamed. She turned her head. The moonlight shining through the basement window revealed the legs of the blood-stained chair.

“Adam, are you all right?”

He didn’t answer.

“Adam, answer me. Are you ok?”

There was a loud crack. A shadow swept in fast, pressing against her, crushing her chest.

Everything went black.

37
.

Brea watched history unfold around her. Pat Benatar played in the background as Charity said goodbye to the last of her guests. The house was filled with cigarette smoke and the smell of stale beer. A keg was tapped in the living room and red, plastic cups were everywhere.

“Great party, Charity. We looked for Tom, but we couldn’t find him. Tell him we said thanks, would you?”

Brea watched in retrospect, transported to Tom’s last night. She was omniscient and floating like an out of body experience, but her mind was anchored to the present, to the broken down house where she was trapped and dying.

“Tom?” Charity walked around looking for him. She was drunk and staggering. She reached in the medicine cabinet and took out her pills. “Shit.” They were empty. “Tom, where are you?”