I slid the knife and photo under the mattress and crawled into bed. I could feel my heartbeat everywhere in my body—from my feet to the back of my head. I’m not sure how long I laid there. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe twenty. When I didn’t hear footsteps, I sat up and pushed the curtains aside. I nearly screamed when I saw the ghostly figure standing in front of the house, dressed in a long white nightgown. It was dark out, and it took a few seconds to realize it was Betty. She swayed side to side, staring at the house. I considered staying in bed, but I needed to see what she was doing here.
A few moments later, I was standing in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed me. Her eyes were laser-focused on the ranch like she was seeing something that no one else was privy to. I was about to speak when she started to mumble. I stepped closer, trying to hear what it was she was saying.
“The house is evil. It infects everyone,” she said just above a whisper. “Nothing good happens here.”
“Betty, are you okay?”
She didn’t react. She just continued whispering. “You shouldn’t have come here because now I’m not sure you’ll be able to leave.”
“Betty,” I said again, but this time I grabbed her hand.
She flinched and let out a gulp, like all the air had been sucked out of her body. She blinked several times. I must have come into focus for her because she turned her head toward me almost robotically.
“Grace, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said.” Betty shook her head and took a step back, bringing her hands to her face. She rubbed at it violently like she was trying to wake herself from a bad dream. I was going to tell her to stop but my voice got stuck in my throat. Betty turned and scrambled toward her vehicle.
“Please don’t tell Calvin I was here.”
Before I could clear my throat and ask her what she meant, she was backing her car down the driveway. I stared up at the ranch. It looked different now.
A truck rumbled in the distance. I sprinted back into the house and closed the bedroom door behind me just as the engine shut off outside. When I reached for the lock, it was then that I noticed what Calvin had done. The handle had been installed the wrong way. Instead of locking others out, it would lock me in. It was no longer a bedroom. It was a cage.
Day Nine
42.
Calvin
It was noon and Grace still hadn’t come out of her room. I stood in front of her door three times already, pressing my ear against the wood and listening. It was quiet. I knew she hadn’t left yet because her car was still parked in the driveway with the hood popped up. Joe said he ordered the parts and that one of the guys from the auto shop would be here this evening to fix it. I hoped he wouldn’t show. Albert wasn’t here either. His bedroom door was open, and the bed was made like he hadn’t slept in it last night. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, I filled it with water and chugged the whole thing. I still felt parched, and it seemed like nothing could quench my thirst. Refilling it again, I took a seat at the kitchen table and waited for Grace. My goal was to look nonchalant—like I wasn’t waiting for her—but I’m sure it was plastered all over my face, written in Sharpie: I NEED YOU HERE WITH ME NOW.
Finally, I heard her creaky bedroom door open. Her footsteps were light and then another door closed—the bathroom, I presumed. I considered getting up and waiting outside of it for her but figured that would be too much, so I stayed put. She was already scared and skittish. I unfolded the local newspaper and pretended to read it. The toilet flushed. The faucet ran. You could hear everything in this house. The door opened. Her footsteps were light again but grew louder. Then they stopped suddenly. She was just standing in the hallway, listening. When she appeared in the kitchen, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. Cliché, I know. But it’s true. Grace always took my breath away.
She was dressed in a white T-shirt and black leggings. Her hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. Her makeup didn’t cover the dark circles under her eyes.
“Good afternoon,” I said with a smile.
She gave a tight smile back. “Hey.”
Grace walked to the coffee pot, not making eye contact with me. I turned around and watched her pour herself a cup.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She nodded and took a sip. Grace slid a piece of bread into the toaster and collected everything she needed to make peanut butter toast. Her back was to me while she waited for her toast to be done.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
Grace didn’t turn around. She just nodded again. The bread shot out of the toaster like a jack-in-the-box. She jumped a little. Her muscles tensed, and she took a moment to compose herself. Grace pulled the toast out and slathered it with butter and peanut butter. She was acting strange, but could I blame her? Joe really shook her up, and I wondered what he had said. She opted to stand at the counter to eat her toast and drink her coffee, rather than sit with me.
“Betty’s coming over today to replace the drapes,” I said, trying to get her to talk to me.
Grace just stood there, chewing on her toast—not saying a word.
“Joe spent the night in county jail. They’re charging him with arson. He just can’t stay outta trouble. I told him not to come around here no more.” I sipped my water and set the glass back down on the table.
Grace drank the rest of her coffee and then topped it off. She returned to her half-eaten piece of toast.
“Have you seen Albert?” I asked.
She shook her head and crossed one leg in front of the other.
“Ummmph. I haven’t seen him since last night when the police showed up. Must have spooked him.”
Grace said nothing.
I gestured to a chair. “You know you can sit at the table and eat.”
She shoved the rest of the toast into her mouth and rinsed off her plate. Grace was a feisty one. Picking up her coffee mug, she started toward her bedroom but stopped before venturing down the hallway. Slowly, she turned around.
“The lock you put on my door.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed in an accusatory way. “You installed it the wrong way.” She raised her chin and put her free hand on her hip. “Was that intentional? Are you trying to keep me here?” Her voice had a tinge of frustration in it—mixed with something else. It was fear. Grace was afraid of me.
“No, of course not.” I stood too quickly. The chair reeled backward and hit the floor with a thud.
Grace took a step back. Her eyes went to the porch door and then back to me.
I bent down slowly and picked up the chair. Shaking my head, I looked over at her. The whites of her eyes were on full display.
“It was an honest mistake. I’ll fix it, okay?”
She pursed her lips together. “An honest mistake? Honest? You sure about that?” she asked, cocking her head.
Grace was hiding something, but what was it? What did Joe tell her? What did she find? She was treating me like a stranger—no, worse than that, like I was a danger to her.
“Yes, honest. Like I said, I’ll fix it.”
“You do whatever you want. I’m going for a run.” She stomped toward her bedroom. “One of the guys from the auto shop is swinging by to fix your car tonight,” I called out.