She startled up with a gasp. Chris was stooped beside her chair. His and Ollie’s faces were creased with worry. Behind them, the construction worker and the elderly couple were staring at her tattered clothing. The woman whispered to her husband.
Chris threatened them with a police officer’s glare as he helped Makani to her feet. “Your grandma said it was okay to come home with us,” he said. “Why don’t you say goodbye, and we’ll get the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The brothers switched on the Victorian-style lamps throughout their house to maintain the illusion of safety. It had been less than a week since her previous visit, but the creaky loneliness of the old structure had already diminished in Makani’s memories. Now, it felt intensified under the black coat of night. The crumbling plaster walls contained a crawling sort of dread. They were alive with hidden ghouls—ghostly and human.
Makani lay awake in Ollie’s bed, underneath his cold window. The cloud-covered moon concealed the cornfields below. The floral bouquets had been brought in from the car and were bunched together inside the same glass vase on Ollie’s desk. The yellow sunflowers, golden chrysanthemums, red gerbera daisies, and brown corkscrewed twigs were cheerfully autumnal, but the shadows they cast were inky and menacing.
Her attacker—it was intolerable for her to think his name right now—had reduced her to a child afraid of the dark. She wanted her stuffed animals. Perhaps they could have kept her tethered to these more simple fears as opposed to her current reality.
She wasn’t at home, because she couldn’t go home.
A serial killer wanted her dead.
The drugs for her arm were also supposed to help her sleep. Instead, she was paranoid and woozy. In the darkness, Makani became aware of her cut. It hurt. The tightly wrapped bandage was stiff, and it made her feel clumsy. Ollie had lent her a T-shirt and plaid pajama pants. The clothing and bedsheets smelled like his skin, musky and clean and arousing. But they were a constant reminder of where she was and why.
Chris had given his brother the choice of sleeping downstairs on the couch or upstairs on the floor of Chris’s bedroom. Ollie had picked a third option, a sleeping bag in the upstairs hallway. The master bedroom remained empty. It belonged to the spirits.
Ollie’s sleeping bag rustled outside her door as Makani’s ears strained for sounds of the uninvited: Drawers opening. Puzzle pieces snapping. She tried to listen for the tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock, but then she inhaled Ollie’s scent and remembered, all over again, that she wasn’t at home. Remembered that the clock had been broken.
A hooded figure lurched out at her.
She curled into a fetal position to protect herself from the blade. Everything was spinning. She screamed into the pillow.
“Makani,” a voice said.
She scuttled into the corner in fright.
“It’s okay,” the voice said. In the moonlight, Ollie was crouched beside the bed. “You were having a nightmare.” He climbed onto the mattress and coaxed her out from against the wall. Held her as she trembled in his arms.
Her heart was pounding in her throat, but as she stared at Ollie’s thickly socked feet, her confusion reshaped into consciousness. “Do they hurt?” she asked.
“No,” he said softly, and she knew it was a lie. “How’s your arm?”
“Fine,” she said.
They were silent for a long time. When he made a motion to leave, her night terrors surged back like an electrical storm. “Don’t.”
He didn’t.
She lay down on the narrow bed and pressed her body against the wall. He slipped into the open space. He took out his phone, and his face illuminated in aqua blue. Makani was about to protest that she didn’t want to see the news, when she realized he was setting an alarm. “So you can get back into the hallway before morning?” she asked.
Ollie smiled faintly as the light vanished.
With a muted thud, his phone was placed onto the hardwood floor. They pulled up the blankets. There was a gap between their bodies, slender enough for a shadow or a whisper. Makani heard it first. And then she felt it. His breath was warm and vital.
She closed the gap, and they nestled together against the darkness.
It took hours to fall asleep. Whenever her eyes closed, a hooded figure lurched out—an endless loop of the same harrowing second. Ollie shifted and rolled and twisted the sheets, but she was grateful for his presence. She was grateful not to be alone.
When her mind finally succumbed, the sleep was restless and sweaty. And then the alarm went off.
Makani gasped, jackknifing into a sitting position.
Ollie switched off the alarm and flattened the phone across his racing heart. Through the panes of the arched, church-like window, a rosy-orange dawn was breaking over the fields. The first birds of the morning sang to one another.
Makani dissolved into the blankets as Ollie’s legs swung over the side of the bed. Her hand shot out. It clutched his upper arm—that sensitive place, where bare skin met shirtsleeve. He craned his neck to look at her. Her hand crawled up, grasped the cotton sleeve, and pulled him back down. They kissed.
Quiet. Hungry. Desperate.
Ollie broke away first, a few minutes later. She stared at him. Begging him to stay. He shook his head. I can’t, he mouthed.
Please, she said.
“I’ll be on the other side of the door,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Less than an hour later, they gave up on pretending. The air was dewy and cold, and Ollie lent Makani his hoodie for warmth. It comforted her to remain embraced by his scent. When they shuffled into the kitchen, Chris was already in uniform and making coffee. Neither party was surprised to find the other awake. Chris looked as unrested and shell-shocked as Makani felt. Her eyes darted to the cabinets and drawers. They were closed.
How many times had David broken into her house? Her sluggish thoughts tried to recall each separate invasion. It usually happened when they were asleep. Had it ever happened when they were awake? Which was worse?
Squidward looked up from licking his bowl. His tags jangled as he moseyed up beside Ollie and followed them to the sunshine-yellow breakfast table. The seat cushions were upholstered in matching yellow vinyl. Thankfully, Chris hadn’t left behind any folders. Makani wasn’t ready to see the blood spatter inside her own house.
“So,” Chris said. “I got up in the middle of the night to pee.”
Makani and Ollie stiffened.
Chris thunked down an empty mug in front of Ollie. “You’re sleeping in my room tonight, bro.” More gently, he placed a second mug in front of Makani. It was a similar shade of bright yellow, and it contained SpongeBob’s goofy, bucktoothed face. “I refuse to ignite your grandma’s wrath when she gets out of the hospital.”
Their eyes affixed on the Formica tabletop. They nodded.
Chris opened his mouth to say something. He hesitated. “You guys are using protection of some kind, right?”
Ollie buried his fingers in his pink hair. “Jesusfuckingchrist.”
“Answer the question, and we’ll never speak of it again.” Chris paused. “Unless, you need me to buy—”
“Yes.”