The Travelers: Book One (4 page)

It was nice that Albert thought he could make a difference, Gemma mused, but she spent too many futile years trying to campaign for new books, classroom supplies and parent involvement. She knew how to spot a losing battle from a mile away. Being a martyr didn’t do any good if it the sacrifice didn’t actually further the cause.

So, even though it was a nuisance to find the keyhole in her twenty year-old Ford Escort, it wasn’t enough of an inconvenience that she was ready to storm City Hall about it. Like most of Gemma’s neighbors, Albert just had too much time on his hands and was looking for somewhere positive to direct that energy. She knew she shouldn’t make fun of him, even if it was just to herself.

The shrill cry of a cat fight a few streets down made the hairs on Gemma’s arm stand at attention. Her heart raced as another howl of antagonism pierced the quiet night. She took a deep breath and exhaled as she climbed into her well-loved vehicle; there was nothing to get paranoid about. Animals fought all the time…

But what about all of those missing pets?

She rolled her eyes, inwardly scolding herself for giving too much weight to the words of a gossiping old man. She knew better. Gemma took a moment to clear her head; there were too many things out of place lately. Isabel’s absence only propelled her concern into the stratosphere.

She tried to tell herself that she was over-reacting. Without thinking about it, she turned the key in the ignition and pulled out onto the street, her eyes trained on the rear-view mirror. She couldn’t shake this feeling that something was out there, something important. Her intuition wasn’t exactly telling her to turn heel and run, but it was definitely telling her to sit up and take notice.

The drive to Isabel’s was slow and methodical. There was no reason to work herself up into a frenzy about hypothetical situations. Gemma definitely considered Isabel a very close friend, but that didn’t necessarily mean that the other woman shared the sentiment. There could be a thousand explanations for the missed calls and curt text messages.

The Escort slowed to a stop a couple of houses down from Izzy’s. Gemma wondered if she was overstepping her boundaries by snooping around. In her mind, she was doing the right thing; checking on a friend, making sure everything was okay, asking if there was anything she could do — that’s how she was raised. She knew that not everyone shared the same upbringing, though. What could be considered thoughtful by one neighbor could be interpreted as nosy or overbearing by another.

The thought of losing Izzy’s friendship for being too attached made Gemma take pause. She’d never been the type to have many friends so she wanted to be sure not to mess this one up. Moving to a new town was hard enough — being in a new town with no friends would be torture.

She sat in her car for a few minutes, fidgeting with the keys as she tried to talk herself out of imposing on her friend’s privacy. Her leg shook with anxiety as she mulled over her real motivations. Was she really just purely concerned for Izzy’s safety, or was she just bored and lonely?

It all factored in for sure; it was better to be safe than sorry, Gemma decided. If everything at Izzy’s was okay, they would both have a laugh about her Nancy Drew theatrics.

Her feet took her from the safety of her car, down the dark sidewalk, towards Isabel’s home. The snap of a twig breaking made Gemma stop in her tracks; she wasn’t the only one sneaking around Izzy’s. Someone — or something — shuffled across the front lawn. She wasn’t in the position to see anything, still a house away from her intended destination.

She heard far more in the still night than she’d be able to see anyway. Leaves rustling, the front steps creaking, a test of the door…

Gemma’s heart thundered in her chest as she peered around the neighbor’s fence to look at Izzy’s modest little cottage. The lights from the street did little to illuminate the figure that investigated the exterior of the house. Gemma took a few steps closer, being careful to keep her distance and stay hidden in the shadows.

She wiped her clammy hands on the worn denim of her jeans, trying to convince herself to calm down as the large man continued to try to open each of Izzy’s windows. Calling the police was only a fleeting thought in Gemma’s mind; her cell phone was in the car and if someone was trying to break in, the police wouldn’t ever get there in time to stop him.

The hairs on the back of Gemma’s neck stood on end; she knew she should be terrified for her life, but still her feet inched her closer.

The shadowy man reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. The next thing she knew, the front door to Izzy’s home swung open and the man entered with one last look around. His eyes skated over her and Gemma held her breath, so sure that he’d seen her.

Trembling and telling herself she should turn and run, Gemma persevered. The man disappeared within the darkness of Isabel’s seemingly abandoned house and Gemma hurried to follow him in.

The stranger didn’t close the door all the way and it swung open slowly on its hinges revealing the interior. Gemma wondered where all of the neighborhood gossips were now when there was actually something scandalous going on. It figured that she would be all on her own now, without a witness if anything went down.

You’re a big girl
, she reminded herself,
put on your big girl panties and go figure out what’s going on.

Yes, it was foolish. Yes, it was probably dangerous. But, even considering all of that, Gemma just couldn’t resist the pull of the mystery surrounding Izzy. Who was this strange man? What was he doing breaking into Izzy’s house? Should she confront him? What if he had a weapon? Would he even need a weapon? He looked to be considerably larger than her, both in height and bulk and could easily overpower her.

Perhaps she should just call the police and hope that all was well.

Still, her feet pulled her forward, into the house. A floorboard creaked underfoot and Gemma didn’t know if she caused it or if the other person had. She held her breath for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t come investigate.

When the coast seemed clear, she continued onward, trying to figure out what the man was doing in Izzy’s house without being detected by him.

Of all the stupid things you’ve done Gemma Marie Fellings, this has to take the cake
, she scolded herself as she peeked around the doorway that led into the kitchen.

The shadow was getting closer, growing larger. She was sure that she’d been spotted, but before he was completely in view, she scrambled to find a place to hide, her heart racing in her chest, thumping wildly in her eardrums.

Footsteps grow closer and she held her breath for fear of detection. She pressed her back against the wall, only the barest sliver of light peering through the crack of the pantry door she cowered behind.

She couldn’t hear anything for a moment; then in a thunderous roar her pulse raced through her veins drowning everything else out. His shadow darkened the crack of the door and Gemma closed her eyes tight, wishing more than anything in the world to teleport away from here.

Chapter 3

The empty house felt so creepy; everything was quiet and still in its place. Izzy’s coffee mug was still in the sink, laundry was still in the machine and the kitchen table was littered with dried petals that had long since fallen from the once charming bouquet at the table’s center.

Something was definitely wrong, but Carson just couldn’t place his finger on it. Truth be told, he didn’t really know his sister’s habits too well, but he didn’t think she would just up and leave without telling so much as her employer.

Isabel had always been the good girl. The one to keep her nose to the grindstone and work hard while no one paid her any attention. Carson took the opposite role: he was the trouble-maker, always finding himself in a sticky spot, needing his baby sister to bail him out. After a while, Izzy decided she’d had enough of it and cut Carson out of her life completely.

He took the opportunity to straighten himself out a bit. He still found himself in the occasional awkward spot, but more often than not, he came out unscathed. It had been years since they’d spoken, but Carson always kept a close eye on Izzy. Whether she liked it or not, he was always going to be her protective older brother. It was his job to make sure she was safe and taking care of herself.

He’d apparently failed in his duties. He tried to be subtle in how he checked on Izzy. He didn’t want to draw her ire anymore than he already had. Carson was sure that she’d wished him death a hundred times. No need to give her a reason to make that a hundred and one. It only came to his attention the day before that Isabel hadn’t been to work in nearly a week. As far as Carson knew, she enjoyed her job and didn’t have any reasons to desert it.

Of course, Carson didn’t know that much about her life. He didn’t know any of his sister’s friends or even if she had a boyfriend or not. He tried his best to keep up to date on her life, but sometimes his own got in the way.

He’d been on alert long before learning about Izzy’s disappearance. Carson knew that something weird was going on in his hometown. Some of his neighbors were acting strange, there was a sudden surge in vandalism and petty crimes and something in the air just felt
wrong
.

He couldn’t place his finger on it, though, so Carson hadn’t taken the time to voice his concerns with any of his friends. There was no reason to alarm others if it was all in his head. A deep breath had Carson’s nostrils twitching. It was strange — the moment he entered Izzy’s house, everything seemed more vivid. He smelled everything from the passion fruit dish soap to the sweet decaying scent of potted plants in need of water. There was something else… something soft and sweet he couldn’t place.

His hearing was more acute, too. Maybe it was just being in this spooky empty house with adrenaline coursing through his veins. It was probably easier to hear the dripping shower head and the soft hum of the refrigerator when there were no other sounds to distract him.

Carson heard something else though, it took him a moment to fixate on it, but it was… It couldn’t be, but yes, it was — breathing. Someone else was in the house. He glanced around frantically for an improvised weapon, but didn’t find anything. His pulse sky-rocketed as he debated between offensive and defensive strategies. He could sneak out without detection, but he would also be leaving without any answers. If he stuck around, he might learn something, or he might end up with his ass kicked.

He took a deep breath. For Izzy, that was just a chance he’d have to take.

He turned on his heel, trying to remain as soundless as possible. Maybe the other person in the house didn’t know he was there. Maybe he still had the element of surprise on his side. He stalked through the house as if he were searching for his prey. The breathing he heard became more rapid, more pronounced, and then it stopped.

Carson’s head cocked to the side, grasping for the smallest sound. And then there it was.

Thumpthump. Thumpthump.

A heartbeat.

But he had to be insane if he thought he could actually
hear
another person’s
heartbeat
. That certainly wasn’t normal.

Thumpthump. Thumpthumpthump.

He took another step toward the sound, trying to pinpoint its origin.

The breathing was back, now shallow and fast. Whoever the other person in Izzy’s house was, they were terrified. He may not have the element of surprise, Carson thought, but at least maybe he still had the upper hand?

A quick shadow caught his gaze and — against all of his self-preservation instincts — he moved toward it, creeping slowly, trying to keep as quiet as possible.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.

Carson’s heart matched pace with the stranger’s.

He walked past the pantry door before realizing that the sound was coming from behind it.

Taking a deep breath to steady his hand, he reached out, hand closing on the knob. Anxiety and anticipation made his forehead break out in a cold sweat. He braced himself for what he might find behind the door and pulled it open.

The closet was darker than the kitchen, which was dimly light by street lamps, but his eyes adjusted more quickly than usual, allowing him to see the woman huddled in the back of the pantry.

She was definitely
not
his sister. He didn’t recognize her, but it was dark; maybe in the light… His hand reached blindly for the switch in the unfamiliar house.

His hand was batted away and before he had time to respond to the assault, Carson was being hit repeatedly over the head with a broom. He retreated as fast as his feet would carry him backwards in the cramped kitchen, his arms shielding his head and face from the never ending blows.

“What. Did. You. Do. To Izzy?!” The woman shrieked, each word punctuated with a smack on the side of his head with her new weapon.

Carson’s ear exploded in red hot pain and his super hearing was lost to a high-pitched ringing.

“Jesus Christ! Knock it off!” He howled, the broom-wielding madwoman backing him into a wall.

He had been so busy trying to protect himself that he never took the time to look at his assailant; in the brief glimpses of her he got in between dodging her wild swings, Carson realized that the girl had no idea what she was doing. She was acting out of blind fear and hysterics.

“Calm down!” He yelled again, trying to deflect the broom.

“Why? So you can make me disappear too?!”

He’d had enough. He didn’t know what she was going on about, but he wasn’t going to try to talk to her about it while she kept attacking him.

In one swift movement, Carson’s arm shot out, grabbed the broom handle mid-swing, and held it there firm.

The look of dismay on the woman’s face made Carson’s lips twitch in a smirk.

“Let go!” She grunted, trying — and failing — to wrestle the broom back into her grip.

“So you can keep beating me like a dirty rug? No thank you,” he replied, amused that she was using all of her might to wrench her weapon free from him and he was using only minimal effort.

Finally, she gave up, exhausted, realizing that Carson was leaps and bounds stronger than her. There was no point in trying to fight with him anymore. He could easily over-power her if he wanted to and she knew that she had to just let go.

Tears welled up in her big brown eyes and something in Carson shattered; he wanted to make all of those tears go away and he didn’t even know who this woman was.

“Who are you?” She asked sternly, frantically trying to swipe away the disobedient tears that fell from her eyes.

Carson’s eyes bored into her as she tried once more to wrench the broom away from him. He finally pulled it free of her grasp and tossed it across the room. He held up his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.

“You win, okay?” He said, side-stepping her to turn the lights on.

For a moment, they both blinked as stars burst before their dark-adjusted eyes.

“I have no interest in hurting you,” he added, still keeping his hands in plain view. His right ear still felt like it was on fire and she’d managed to get a few decent scratches in with the old straw bristles. She might deserve a little retaliation, but he wasn’t even angry with her.

“You still haven’t told me who you are and what you’ve done with Izzy!” She started to back away from him, her eyes darting from side-to-side like a cornered mouse; she was looking for an escape route.

That wasn’t something that Carson was willing to let happen at that moment. This woman knew his sister and therefore might know something about where she was. He couldn’t let her out of his sight.

“I haven’t done anything with her. I’m looking for her, just like you are.”

“H-how… how did you know I was looking for her?” She stuttered, her confidence faltering.

Carson crossed his arms across his chest and raised his eyebrows, giving her an incredulous look.

“Really? You’re snooping around at night hiding in pantries and I’m supposed to think you’re throwing her a one-woman surprise party? You’re not exactly a mystery, sweetheart.”

She clenched her jaw, trying to bite back a sassy response, even as her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink.

“Gemma,” she corrected.

“Gemma? You’re a friend of Izzy’s?” Carson didn’t remember the name, but he also wasn’t completely up-to-date with his sister’s social life.

“Yeah… and you are?” She asked for a third time.

He held a hand out to her.

“Carson; Izzy’s brother.”