Klickitat by Peter Rock Page A

shadow slid out across the yard, away from the house, so smooth and fast, startling me as it disappeared into the blackness under the trees.
    I pulled the curtains closed again, just a sliver between them so I could see out, so someone out there could not see me. I watched, and at first there was nothing, or the way that everything was so still made it hard to see the pale face lit by the moonlight, surrounded by all the dark trees and shadows. Bluish white, turned up to the moon. I knew right away that it wasn’t Audra—the body was too stocky, too thick. Then a hand came up, bare and white, waving and slowly motioning for me to come outside. It was a person, standing there, waiting for me.
    I stepped away from the window, into the hallway; careful of the floor where it squeaks at the top of the stairs, I went down into the kitchen. My jacket was on its hook, my rain boots by the back door. I put themon, then slowly opened the door and stepped outside. It wasn’t too cold, and the moonlight shone down, making the grass look soft silver as I went, my black shadow dragging alongside me.
    When I reached the darkness beneath the trees, I turned in a circle, squinting, alone.
    â€œVivian.” The voice was a whisper, a man’s whisper, and I couldn’t tell where it came from. “Vivian.”
    The second time, just as I figured it out, he slid silently down from a tree, ten feet away, and stepped close to me.
    â€œWho are you?” I said.
    â€œWe need to get away from here,” he said.
    â€œIf I scream, my dad will come. Their room is right there.”
    â€œAudra’s waiting.” He wore a black sweatshirt, black pants, so only his face and hands were easy to see.
    â€œWhere?” I said. “Why is she not here?”
    â€œCome,” he said, still whispering. “We have everything you need. Follow me, but not too close.”
    I followed him under the trees, almost tripping onbushes and roots, and then between two houses, onto the street a block away from ours, Klickitat Street.
    The sidewalks glowed, the moon bright and round above. We walked like that, with him half a block ahead, like we didn’t know each other, until we were far from our neighborhood, on streets I didn’t know. No one was out at all, in the middle of the night, no one driving their cars or anything. I had been waiting for this—I felt it, I realized it. I wasn’t really thinking about what I was leaving behind, I was mostly just ready to start, to be with Audra again, to see what she’d found. And then the man turned and stopped walking and waited for me to catch up, so we could walk together, side by side.
    â€œOkay,” he said. “Are you all right?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThis is good,” he said. “Don’t worry. I know about you, I have a feeling—”
    â€œWhat do you know about me?”
    â€œI’m just really happy you’re with me,” he said. “You’re going to help us.” He wasn’t whispering anymore, and his voice was low, gravelly, lower than any voice I’dheard. Like it should belong to a man three times bigger.
    â€œWhere are we going?” I said. “Where’s my sister?”
    â€œDon’t be afraid.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    As we walked, for a moment there was only the sound of my boots on the sidewalk. I saw that he was barefoot, and walked on the lawns of the houses that we passed, right along the edge of the cement. His dark hair was cut short, his skin pale in the moonlight, his nose thin and sharp. He probably weighed more than I did, even though he was shorter. It wasn’t just that I was wearing boots and he was barefoot. His arms were longer than mine, though, swinging with his hands that looked too big on the end of his arms.
    â€œIn Audra’s room,” I said, “are those your hands that are traced on the wall?”
    â€œYes, they are,” he said.