“You still know how to hot-wire?”
When Dhaval had come home from visiting his cousins in California, he’d e-mailed Delilah, bragging about how one of them had taught him how to hot-wire cars. Judging by her gasp and the way Vani’s eyes widened, her son hadn’t filled her in on that part of his vacation.
“Sure do,” Dhaval said, grinning proudly.
“House has the keys, so you’ll need to get the old car started. Gavin and I are going to get the hell out of town.”
? ? ?
They parked at the curb, and Delilah stepped out. The damp leaves on the ground looked like bruises, blue-gray against the drab concrete sidewalk. The once-lively yard was silent; there was no breeze, no bobbing, reaching vines; there were no birds in the trees anywhere near it, no sounds of life other than the terrified pounding of her own pulse in her ears.
She looked up at the looming building in front of her. All at once she had the impression of looking at two separate houses: the brilliant structure it might have once been and the crooked, gloomy monstrosity it had become. The house was dark and heavy, and the thick, putrid air outside gave the impression of waterlogged wood, cracked cement, and dried-up grass.
But the details of the house itself were hidden behind a haze of fog, and she had to step closer to get a better look. The house came into focus when she was right there, barely two feet from the iron gate, which opened easily beneath her hands with a piercing groan. Darkness sealed up behind her as she stepped onto the paved walkway, and Delilah’s confidence curdled. As she walked in, the once-thriving yard looked exactly like it would if it had been left untended for two decades. There was no green lawn, no yellow. There were no flowering trees or beds full of blooming tulips. Everything was brown. The house was run-down, dilapidated, as if all of the life—like the birds—had simply vanished.
But Delilah knew better. She knew everything had simply gathered inside, waiting.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Him
The first thing he’d noticed was blue sky. Not that a blue sky this time of year was out of the ordinary—it was spring, after all—but on this corner, looking down the tree-lined street to where House stood, the blue above him stood out.
The sky above House was always dotted with puffs of dark smoke, even in summer. A steady spiral continually emanated from Chimney and dissolved away as soon as it reached the clouds. Today, however, at barely seven in the morning, every inch of the world above House was as black as night, as if something hateful had stained the sky and the morning sun was unable to penetrate the shadow.
The ground was littered with leaves and fallen branches that crunched beneath the rubber of Gavin’s bike tires as he braked to a stop. Even in the strange, early-morning blackness, he could tell there was no smoke billowing from Chimney because there was no fire. There was always a fire. House never did anything without a reason, and Gavin knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was that reason. House was waiting for him.
The sun had just started to filter through the neighbor’s trees, and though he could feel the warmth of it beginning to seep into the back of his dark hoodie and warm the tips of his ears, Gavin shivered in the eerie chill surrounding his home. He had no idea what he would find when he opened that door, but he knew it was time.