like feelings, sensations.
She looked out the window. It was getting dark.
She turned and hurried downstairs, to the living room.
Like a lot of old houses, the living room could be closed off from the rest of the house by a wooden sliding door. At the moment, the door was shut.
It was a struggle, but she finally managed to get the door open enough to squeeze her body through. Once inside, it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.
Dust, cobwebs, the smell of mildew. Under the soles of her shoes, grit and dirt. Definitely not a used room. In the center was a small wood-burning stove with a chimney pipe that ran toward the ceiling before making a forty-five-degree turn and heading out a wall of flowered wallpaper.
There was a couch. Maybe dark green. Maybe wool. A couple of chairs. A coffee table made from an old door. At the end of the room was an upright piano. Next to that, a draped sheet. She crossed the room and lifted one corner of the sheet, dust billowing.
A guitar. An acoustic guitar held upright on a metal stand.
Nothing surprising. Eddie used to be with a band.
He would have equipment. She just couldn't understand why he kept it all shut away, why he didn't use this room.
What was she doing? Had she totally lost her mind?
There were no clues here because nothing was going on. Enid had just dropped everything and left with some guy. It wouldn't be the first time.
Get out.
Maddie was about to turn and leave when, from outside, someone whistled and her breath caught.
She heard footsteps. On the porch.
"What are you so excited about, Murphy?"
Eddie was back.
The way she'd come in was the only way out.
And she'd left the door open.
She looked around the room, and dove to a pair of dark drapes hanging from ceiling to floor. She moved them aside, choking on the dust. A window.
She braced her hands against the framework and shoved. It didn't budge. She shoved again.
Painted shut. Or swollen from the humidity.
The screen door slammed.
"What's the matter, Murphy?"
The dog whined.
"Is something wrong. Is—"
Silence.
He'd spotted the open door.
Maddie slipped behind the curtain, legs shaking, heart thundering in her chest.
She could hear his slow measured footfall coming her direction, echoing against the wooden floor, stopping. A dog whine. Murphy shoved his head behind the curtain, his nose wet and cold against her bare leg.
Maddie swung around. This time, she threw the weight of her body against the window. Her hand shot through the pane, glass shattering. The impact loosened the window. She shoved it open and dove through.
Chapter 12
Fell on Black Days
Following the intruder, Eddie dove through the window, rolling as his knees hit the ground. Then he was up, running through the twilight, toward a flicker of movement and the sound of someone hauling ass.
He may have let a lot of things slide in his life— his eating, his social skills, his mind—but one thing Eddie could still do was run.
He flew, hair whipping his neck, arms pumping, his stride long as he hurdled tangled brush and downed trees.
The scum who'd broken into his house was no competition.
Eddie lunged.
His hands made contact with soft skin. His face caught a whiff of hair.
Her.
The moment lasted long enough for him to step outside himself. He visualized them both, kind of floating before they crashed to the ground. He rolled, carrying her with him in an attempt to absorb the impact while at the same time keeping the weight of his body from crushing her.
Always a gentleman.
And it didn't hurt that she ended up sprawled across him, his groin neatly positioned between her warm thighs. He had two thoughts almost simultaneously: It felt good to hold her again; she'd been after something from the beginning.
And she was still after something.
She surprised him by screaming. She was always surprising him. That single note carried with it volumes of meaning.
Panic. Confusion.
Terror?
Had he detected actual terror
She looked out the window. It was getting dark.
She turned and hurried downstairs, to the living room.
Like a lot of old houses, the living room could be closed off from the rest of the house by a wooden sliding door. At the moment, the door was shut.
It was a struggle, but she finally managed to get the door open enough to squeeze her body through. Once inside, it took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.
Dust, cobwebs, the smell of mildew. Under the soles of her shoes, grit and dirt. Definitely not a used room. In the center was a small wood-burning stove with a chimney pipe that ran toward the ceiling before making a forty-five-degree turn and heading out a wall of flowered wallpaper.
There was a couch. Maybe dark green. Maybe wool. A couple of chairs. A coffee table made from an old door. At the end of the room was an upright piano. Next to that, a draped sheet. She crossed the room and lifted one corner of the sheet, dust billowing.
A guitar. An acoustic guitar held upright on a metal stand.
Nothing surprising. Eddie used to be with a band.
He would have equipment. She just couldn't understand why he kept it all shut away, why he didn't use this room.
What was she doing? Had she totally lost her mind?
There were no clues here because nothing was going on. Enid had just dropped everything and left with some guy. It wouldn't be the first time.
Get out.
Maddie was about to turn and leave when, from outside, someone whistled and her breath caught.
She heard footsteps. On the porch.
"What are you so excited about, Murphy?"
Eddie was back.
The way she'd come in was the only way out.
And she'd left the door open.
She looked around the room, and dove to a pair of dark drapes hanging from ceiling to floor. She moved them aside, choking on the dust. A window.
She braced her hands against the framework and shoved. It didn't budge. She shoved again.
Painted shut. Or swollen from the humidity.
The screen door slammed.
"What's the matter, Murphy?"
The dog whined.
"Is something wrong. Is—"
Silence.
He'd spotted the open door.
Maddie slipped behind the curtain, legs shaking, heart thundering in her chest.
She could hear his slow measured footfall coming her direction, echoing against the wooden floor, stopping. A dog whine. Murphy shoved his head behind the curtain, his nose wet and cold against her bare leg.
Maddie swung around. This time, she threw the weight of her body against the window. Her hand shot through the pane, glass shattering. The impact loosened the window. She shoved it open and dove through.
Chapter 12
Fell on Black Days
Following the intruder, Eddie dove through the window, rolling as his knees hit the ground. Then he was up, running through the twilight, toward a flicker of movement and the sound of someone hauling ass.
He may have let a lot of things slide in his life— his eating, his social skills, his mind—but one thing Eddie could still do was run.
He flew, hair whipping his neck, arms pumping, his stride long as he hurdled tangled brush and downed trees.
The scum who'd broken into his house was no competition.
Eddie lunged.
His hands made contact with soft skin. His face caught a whiff of hair.
Her.
The moment lasted long enough for him to step outside himself. He visualized them both, kind of floating before they crashed to the ground. He rolled, carrying her with him in an attempt to absorb the impact while at the same time keeping the weight of his body from crushing her.
Always a gentleman.
And it didn't hurt that she ended up sprawled across him, his groin neatly positioned between her warm thighs. He had two thoughts almost simultaneously: It felt good to hold her again; she'd been after something from the beginning.
And she was still after something.
She surprised him by screaming. She was always surprising him. That single note carried with it volumes of meaning.
Panic. Confusion.
Terror?
Had he detected actual terror
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