The Sitter (17 page)

39

S
aturday night, about nine o’clock, thunder roared over the house; I stood for a while at the kitchen window, watching lightning crackle over the dune. Sheets of rain poured down, battering the windows, driven by a strong, gusting wind off the ocean.

Heather and Brandon were in bed, but I wondered for how long. I sat in the living room, watching a DVD of
Sleepless in Seattle
, waiting for the storm to wake up the kids and start them calling for me.

I turned and saw Abby and Chip in the front entryway. He pulled an umbrella from the front closet, waited for her to arrange her rain poncho over her dress, and then handed it to her.

Abby had kept her word. I’d had no contact with Chip all day. He had spent the afternoon at his tennis club. When he returned home for dinner, I went upstairs with the kids.

Abby made a lot of phone calls during the day. When Chip was away, she didn’t hide how tense she was. But as soon as he walked into the house, I saw her force a big smile onto her face and act happy to see him.

Now, I couldn’t wait for them to leave for their party.

“Great night for a party on Dune Road,” Abby grumbled. “We’ll probably all float away.”

“After a few drinks, I’ll be floating anyway. I won’t care about a little rain,” Chip said. He’d already had a few drinks. A pregame warm-up, he said. I saw Abby take the car keys.

Chip opened the front door in time to let in a deafening burst of thunder. Abby poked her head into the living room. “We’ll be late, Ellie. Hope the storm doesn’t keep the kids up all night.”

She followed Chip out the door, raising her umbrella. A gust of wind sent the door slamming against the wall. Chip reached in and pulled it shut.

Lightning crackled overhead. The lights dimmed, then flashed back on.

Oh, great, I thought. Just what I need tonight—a power failure.

What I do need is some popcorn, I decided. Or maybe some potato chips.

Thunder roared. I listened for the kids’ cries. No. So far, they were okay.

I made myself some microwave popcorn in the kitchen and poured it into a big bowl. Then I settled down in front of the TV to watch my movie.

“Oh.” I jumped, startled by a tap on the living-room window.

Just the rain?

No. Another tap—hard and loud. I jumped to my feet.

What
is
that?

Another tap. Not the rain.

Tap tap.
Like a fist rapping the glass.

I crossed to the window and tried to peer out, but rainwater had smeared the glass. Nothing but darkness out there—until lightning flashed high in the sky, making the ground bright as day for an instant.

In the flash of white light, I saw . . . no one.

No one there.

A knock on the front door made me jump. A single knock, hard. Then two knocks.

Not the rain. Definitely not the rain.

I stepped to the door and called out in a high, shrill voice, “Who’s there?”

Silence now, except for the steady drumming of rain.

“Is anyone there?”

I pulled open the door. A wave of cold water greeted me. My sweatshirt and jeans were drenched. The porch light was on. It sent a dim triangle of light over the front stoop.

No one there.

I shut the door and locked it, shivering from the cold rainwater.

I glanced up the stairs, expecting to see Brandon staring down at me. But no. Somehow both kids were managing to sleep through this.

Another tap at the window. The side window this time.

Tap tap. Tap tap tap.
A rapid rhythm.

A boom of thunder shook the house.

Then two hard taps on the front window. This time a slapping sound, as if someone was pounding on the window with an open hand.

My heart began to race. My throat felt tight and dry. Someone was out there, running back and forth from the windows to the door. Trying to terrify me? Trying to break in?

A wave of panic washed over my body. I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, waiting, waiting for the next sound, waiting to see what happened next.

I stared hard at two blue candlesticks on the coffee table, stared at them until they became a blue blur.

If I stare hard enough, I can make everything else go away.

No. Another series of taps on the window. Then a few seconds later, someone pounding on the door.

Breathing hard, I ran from the door to the window, following the frightening sounds.

No one. I couldn’t see anyone.

A hard knock on the door. Then three taps on the window by the dining room.

I ran to the window and pulled it open. “Who’s there?” I shouted into the roar of the rain. “Is somebody out there? Please answer me! Who—?” My breath caught in my throat. My whole body tingled with fear.

Another hard boom of thunder—and the lights flickered and went out.

“Oh, no.” I stood frozen in darkness. I slammed the dining room window shut.

I pressed my back against the wall.

Ellie, don’t panic. Stay calm. It’s just a storm. You’re frightening yourself.

No. Someone was out there. Someone was frantically trying to break in.

And now I stood in total darkness.

Where are the flashlights? I wondered, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Where do they keep them? Where is the phone? Who can I call for help?

Lightning flickered across the sky. Was that a face outside the window?

Yes. It was. I saw a face out there, pressed against the glass.

Oh, no. A hard pounding on the front door.

The lights flickered back on, orange at first, then back to normal. I stumbled to the front door and pressed my ear against the wood. “Is anyone there? Who’s out there?”

The wind howled in reply.

I was shivering so hard, my knees started to fold. I gripped the door. And heard a voice, a soft voice, carried on the wind,
“Elllllie . . . Elllllie . . .”

I let out a cry. And jumped back from the door. My name? Someone calling my name?

A crackle of lightning, so close, as if right in the living room. And then another long howl of wind, like a cry, like an angry cry.

And again, my name, carried in the wind like an angry, bitter threat.
“Elllllie . . . Elllllie . . .”

Panting hard, my dinner rising to my chest, I stumbled to the window and squinted out.

No one.

“Ellllllie . . . Elllllllie.”

A ghostly cry.

Someone is out there. Someone is torturing me. Someone is breaking in.

I’m calling 911.

Will they get here in time? Will they?

I stumbled into the kitchen, grabbed the phone off the wall.

And let out a scream of horror as the back door crashed open.

A man stepped into the kitchen. A black umbrella hid his face.

Rain ran off the umbrella, splashing at his feet. I could see a dark raincoat over dark slacks. I took a step back, my fist pressed to my mouth, holding back another scream.

He lowered the umbrella slowly, shook it, sending a spray of water over the kitchen floor. Then he raised his face to me.

“Chip!” I gasped. “What are you doing here? Why did you come back?”

40

H
e stood the umbrella next to the door. He wiped his shoes on the floor mat. He grinned at me, closing the door behind him.

A sick grin. An evil grin.

I stepped back, my body tingling with fear.

Alone in the house with a maniac. All alone.

Abby’s frightened words from yesterday rushed back to me:
Not again. He’s doing it again!

I gazed around the kitchen, searching for a weapon—
anything
I could use to protect myself. The knife holder was on the counter next to the sink. Behind him. I’d never get there.

What could I use? What should I do?

Should I run out the front? He would catch me before I got very far.

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t you know it? I forgot the wine.” He moved toward me, toward a small, white shopping bag on the table beside me containing two bottles of white wine.

“We were already at the party. Abby made me drive all the way back.”

“Abby’s at the party?” I asked. I pictured her lying dead on the side of the road. He murdered her so he could come back and murder me.

“Of course,” he replied.

I didn’t like the way he was moving toward me. I didn’t like the grin on his face.

I slid around him, edging to the sink. If I could grab a large knife from the holder, maybe . . .

Chip grabbed up the shopping bag. The shoulders of his raincoat were soaked. He turned back to me, and his grin faded. “Ellie, you look so pale. I’m sorry. I didn’t scare you, did I?”

Of course
you scared me, you creep.

You
wanted
to scare me.

And now what’s on your disgusting, psycho mind?

“I heard noises—” I blurted out. “Someone tapping on the windows and—”

He set down the wine. “Are you okay? You look so frightened.”

Oh, no. Please, no.

He walked over to me slowly. His wet shoes squeaked on the floor. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”

His touch made me shudder. He was pretending to be concerned. But his eyes were laughing at me, and his sick grin had returned.

“You heard noises, Ellie? Was it the kids? Did the storm wake them up?”

“No . . . I don’t think so.”

I could smell the gin on his breath. He squeezed my shoulder. He had me trapped against the counter. The knives . . .

Too far to reach.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly. “Are you always afraid of thunderstorms?”

“No. I’ll be okay. Really.”

“Maybe you need a drink.”

“You startled me—that’s all. I’m all right.” I edged closer to the knife holder.

Please take your hand off me.

I glanced at the wood block holder, just a few feet out of my reach at the sink.

When I turned back, I saw that Chip had followed my glance. He was staring over my shoulder, staring at the knife holder.

A chill tightened the back of my neck.

Did he plan to grab the carving knife now? Is that what he had planned for me? To slice off my head the way he sliced poor Lucky?

You twisted bastard.

What if I get to the knives
first
? Are you thinking about that now? Is that what’s spinning through your sick mind?

He let go of my arm.

“Uh, Abby must wonder where I am. I don’t hear any strange noises now. Do you?”

“No.”

The tapping and knocking stopped when you came in the house. Three guesses what that means.

“At least the kids are sleeping through the storm,” he said, his eyes still on the knives. He picked up the wine bag. “Go back to your movie, Ellie. Sorry I startled you.”

I didn’t move. I stood rigid, pressed against the counter as he picked up the umbrella. He gave me a nod and opened the kitchen door. Then he disappeared back into the rain.

My whole body shuddered. I realized I had been holding my breath. Now I sucked in air, letting it out slowly, trying to calm my racing heart.

Out the window, I saw headlights sweep across the backyard as the car rolled away. Was he really gone?

Did he come back here to kill me?

Did my glance at the knife holder push him back?

I took another deep breath. Then I opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. I popped the top, tilted the can to my mouth, and took a long drink.

I could use a few of these.

I carried the beer into the living room and, still shaky, dropped into the armchair.

And heard a loud knock at the front door.

41

I
set the beer down on the table. I didn’t move from the chair. I sat still, my body tensed, listening.

I heard the patter of rain. The clink of the ice maker in the kitchen fridge.

And then another knock on the front door. Harder, more insistent.

I forced myself out of the chair. Moved on tiptoe to the living-room window, and peered out. I couldn’t see the front stoop. But I saw a dark station wagon parked in the drive.

Someone pounded hard on the door. The doorbell rang.

I stepped up to the door. “Who’s there?” I had to shout over the steady rush of the rain.

“Ellie, it’s me! Open up!”

I pulled open the door. “Teresa! Hi!”

She probably wondered why I threw my arms around her wet rain poncho and hugged her. But, hey—I’d had a long night.

I pulled her into the house. She had three friends with her from her house, two girls and one of the guys I’d met at the club, either Bob or Ronnie, I couldn’t remember which.

“We thought maybe you’d come out with us,” Teresa said. “We’re going to this bar in Hampton Bays. The Drift Inn. It’s supposed to be a wild scene.”

“I can’t,” I said. I motioned upstairs. “The kids.”

“Hey, I love this movie,” one of Teresa’s friends said. She dropped down on the couch. “Check it out. It’s the best scene. They’re at the Empire State Building.”

Bob-or-Ronnie and the other woman moved to the TV. Teresa took a sip of my beer, then pulled me aside. “Are you okay? You look kinda weird.”

“No, I’m not okay,” I whispered. “I tried to call you. I—I have to go. I mean leave. Right away. I already told Abby.”

Teresa’s eyes widened in surprise. She brushed wet tangles of hair off her face. “Omigod. What happened?”

“It’s too long to tell. I—I’m not safe here, Teresa. I’m very frightened. It was Chip. The whole time. I told Abby, and she said, ‘Oh, no—not again.’ He’s a psycho. She admitted it.”

“Oh, wow. Oh, Ellie. I’m so sorry. You’ve got to get the hell out of here. Why are you still here?”

“Abby promised to protect me. She needs time to make arrangements for the kids. I’m going to leave Monday probably.”

“But where are you going to stay?” Teresa didn’t give me time to answer. “You’ll stay at my apartment. May Lin is moving out in September. She’s going to live with her boyfriend. So there’ll be a room for you.”

“But . . . how will I pay the rent?”

“You’ll find a job. No problem.”

I hugged Teresa again. “You’re the best!” I told her. “You’re saving my life. Really.”

I begged them all to stay for a while. I really needed company tonight. But they were meeting some guys at the bar in Hampton Bays, so they had to go.

“Listen, Ellie, call me on my cell,” Teresa said, lingering at the front door. “And get that look off your face. Everything will work out. You’ll be outta here in two days.”

Yes, in two days, I thought.

I can keep it together for two days, can’t I?