The Writer by Amy Cross

moment, before finally opening them again.
    Nothing.
    I stare across the kitchen, but there’s no sign of anyone or anything. I wait for a moment, and finally I realize that once again I’ve stopped breathing. Forcing myself to start again, I reach out to shut the door -
    And that’s when I hear Hannah’s bedroom door slowly creaking open.
    A faint smile crosses my lips.
    They’re home.
    Shutting the back door, I head over and grab my phone, switching it on before bringing up John’s number. At the last moment, however, I realize that there’s actually no need for me to call him. He’d just tell me that this is all in my head, that I’m imagining the whole thing and that Louise and Jacqui have been filling my mind with nonsense. Maybe Jacqui’s right, maybe I have let John get a little too deeply embedded in my life. Putting the phone down, I make my way along the corridor, stopping for a moment to look into Hannah’s room. The bed is undisturbed, but I know deep down that she’s somewhere nearby.
    And that’s good. It’s what I want. Having spent so long living in fear, I’ve become used to having them around, even if they’re dead.
    “Goodnight, sweetheart,” I whisper, before leaving the door open as I head to my room.

Five
     
    “I’m surprised you agreed to meet me,” Jason says with a faint grimace as he looks up from the menu. “I thought after our first encounter… Well, I just felt we’d got off on the wrong foot.”
    “I’m surprised too,” I mutter, before correcting myself: “I mean, I just didn’t think… John suggested I should come along, and I thought maybe…”
    My voice trails off as I realize that I’m not quite sure what I’m trying to say. To be honest, I can’t quite believe that I’m actually sitting here in a restaurant with a guy I’ve barely met, but something about the events of the past few weeks has made me feel as if it’s time to make small, tentative baby steps back out into the real world. I guess it helps that there hasn’t been any unusual activity in the house since Louise’s visit almost a month ago, and slowly I’ve been coming around to the idea that I still have a life to lead. Besides, John has for some reason been really getting on my case, urging me to at least give Jason a chance.
    Not that this is a date, though. It’s just a chance to get out of the house for an hour or two. Also, in the back of my mind, there’s a part of me that’s confused about the fact that I haven’t experienced anything strange in the house for a while, in which case maybe I can provoke David into making his presence known. If he and Hannah are still there, of course.
    “John talks about you a lot, you know,” Jason continues a few minutes later, once we’ve placed our orders. “He really cares about you.”
    “I know,” I reply with a smile. “He’s been so kind.”
    “He worries about you, too. I hope you won’t think I’m speaking out of turn here, but I think maybe he sees you as the daughter he never had.”
    “That thought occurred to me too,” I tell him. “John’s such a kind man, and he’s always been so successful with his books. I don’t understand why he doesn’t have a family of his own. Every time I’ve tried to steer the conversation onto that subject, though, he just kind of closes it off.”
    “His books are his life,” Jason replies. “I honestly think he’s happy just holed up in his house and his cabin, writing away all day. I mean, the guy’s output was so rapid in the old days, until he hit this writer’s block a couple of years ago. He was putting out two or three full-length novels a year, and then… I don’t know what happened, but even though he still seems to write all the time, he says nothing’s ready to publish. I can’t imagine how much material he must have produced. I guess one day we’ll all get to read it.”
    “I remember when everything changed,” I continue. “It was a couple of months before