“Get a grip,” she told herself, certain she would turn and find nothing but an empty hall, nothing more than stairs and darkness behind her.
Her brain buzzed with a memory of Gavin telling her that she was safe here, that the house would never hurt anything he cared about. She did her best to remember those words now, as the floorboards creaked again and an almost imperceptible growl sounded behind her.
With a deep breath she gathered her courage, spinning so quickly her skirt twisted around her legs. She blinked, searching up and down the empty hallway, shining her pathetic excuse for a light into each of the empty rooms.
Nothing.
Delilah narrowed her eyes, taking a shaky step forward. Then another.
She was almost certain the table had been much farther away.
This was the same house in which she’d danced and laughed with Gavin only yesterday, she reasoned, walking into his bedroom and closing the door behind her. This was the house she wanted to know, to trust, whose world she wanted to join. Still, on instinct she moved to set the lock, but of course there wasn’t one.
Gavin’s room overlooked the backyard—far from the only lamppost on the opposite end of the street—so it seemed darker than any of the other rooms. Delilah directed her light in front of her, following the white-blue glow to Gavin’s nightstand. She found the candles right where he said they’d be—tucked near the back of the drawer—a yellow disposable lighter beneath.
Needing both hands, Delilah reluctantly set down her phone, saying yet another prayer as the lighter sparked in the darkness. It took two tries, but the wick eventually caught flame, the room gradually lightening as it grew.
As she placed the candle on the table, a sketchbook caught her eye. She picked it up and settled herself back against Gavin’s pillows, opening it carefully across her lap.
The book was heavy and well used, the pages swollen with ink and charcoal. The leather creaked in the silence, long spine brittle with age and years of use.
The first page held a bird drawn so realistically that Delilah couldn’t help but run a finger along the wing, half expecting to feel the downy softness of feathers. There were a few drawings of her: under the tree at school, at the movie theater with Dhaval, listening to Mr. Harrington in English. She felt a wild, possessive rush at the thought of Gavin sitting on this bed at night, drawing her.
The book was nearly full, and Delilah continued to flip through the pages, her eyes growing heavier with each passing minute. Despite her earlier unease, there was something comforting about being in Gavin’s room, on his bed and surrounded by his things. His smell was everywhere. The room was warm and a little humid, and it was easy enough to close her eyes and pretend that he was there now.
She fell asleep almost peacefully, slipping into the softness of flannel and down, feeling as if the blankets were arms wrapping themselves around her. And maybe they are, she thought, just as everything went dark.
? ? ?
Something was wrong.
Delilah opened her eyes with a start, wondering what woke her up in the first place. She blinked into the darkness, her eyes slowly focusing on the bleary shapes surrounding her, on the flickering candle next to the bed.
She shifted slightly, meaning to disentangle herself from the blankets now twisted around her legs and across her torso, when a sound came from somewhere in the dark recesses of the house. It started out small, nothing more than a single, muted thump, and was easy enough to ignore. Delilah closed her eyes and settled back in, waiting for sleep to reclaim her.
But it happened again. And again. Growing louder and more insistent. . . like a heartbeat.
“Gavin?”