It doesn’t seem wise to leave yet. I drive over to the far side of the lot, point the front end of the car toward the road again, and kill the engine. And then I just sit there, trying to get my breathing to return to normal and watching for black cars. I see a couple of them drive past, but nothing seems suspicious about them.
Finally, when I’m feeling fairly confident that I’m safe, I fire up the engine again and slowly ease out onto the road, making a right turn. I cover the short distance to the house quickly, checking the rearview mirror every few seconds. No one appears to be following me. I reach Ash Street and approach the house, but end up driving by it until I make sure the black car isn’t in the vicinity. The only vehicles in sight turn out to be the ones parked in driveways for the night. A block farther along, I do a three-point turn, head back to the house, and pull into the driveway. The house on the right looks empty—I’ve had the impression since I’ve been here that the residents must be away—but there are lights on upstairs in the one to the left. After fishing the house key from my purse, I dash from the car, unlock the front door, and hurry inside.
I left several lamps on downstairs, so I can tell immediately nothing is awry, at least in the living room. I bolt the door behind me and proceed cautiously into the dining room and then the kitchen. No cold spots, no unexplained lights burning, no phantom smell. Returning to the living room, I peer out the front window into the street. It’s still empty. I walk around the room, tugging all the muslin curtains closed.
I make a cup of chamomile tea and sit with it at the kitchen table, trying to calm myself. The house might not be up to any crazypoltergeist-like stunts right now, but my nerves are frayed from what happened on the road. It’s possible the other driver was just some dick trying to scare me to death, but there’s also the chance his plan was to run me off the road. He might have spotted me pulling my car out of the club parking lot, saw that I was female and alone.
What if the person was after mespecifically? A memory suddenly slides to the front of my brain: my mentioning to Tori that I was having dinner with Ava at the club tonight. Did she tell Liam, who decided to follow me? His car is black, I remember. I should never have revealed my plans. By now they might have even found out where I’m staying.
I reach for my purse across the table and dig out my phone to check for messages. There’s a text from my mom saying she hopes I’m doing better, and also one from Megan, asking if I’m free tonight for a phone call. I shoot her an apologetic response, saying I’ve been up to my eyeballs with work and promising to reach out soon. I miss hearing her voice, but I’ve been reluctant to call her after our last conversation. I know she meant well, but I don’t want her discouraging me from what I need to do here.
There’s still no word from Sam. I’m at a loss as to what my next move should be, especially since I only have a few days left on my rental. I have the option to extend but I hardly want to do that if things are at a standstill.
Out of habit, I also do a quick check of my inbox, and my stomach sinks as I notice an email from the father of the entitled and obnoxious young client I spoke to on Zoom earlier.
Keaton shared with me how poorly the session went today,he wrote.It’s obvious to me that the two of you aren’t a good fit, and I suspect you agree. I know there are six more sessions to go on the contract, but I think it’s only fair for you to releaseKeaton from this obligation and reimburse me for the outstanding sessions. Please get back to me as soon as possible.
Though there’s no one to hear, I let out a scream of frustration. This could mean the loss of close to two thousand dollars, money I already deposited in my bank account. I could certainly fight the father on this—we have a signed contract, after all—but if I do, I might end up needing to bring in a lawyer. And it would also increase the likelihood of the father bad-mouthing me with people in both his professional and social circles, or his bratty kid trashing me on social media.
And I’ve got no one to blame but myself. I didn’t stay engaged during the second half of the session and I allowed the kid’s obnoxiousness to get under my skin.
After checking all the windows and doors, I trudge upstairs, wash up in the bathroom, and slip into my pajamas. It’s only when I pull back the bedspread that I realize I’m not going to feel comfortable sleeping up here tonight. The smoky smell might be gone, but now it’s the driver I’m scared of. What if itwasLiam, and despite my maneuvering, he managed to follow me all the way here?
I grab the bedspread and pillow and troop back downstairs. At least this way, I’ll be able to hear if someone is snooping around the house. After making up the couch again, I flop down, pull the spread up to my waist, and close my eyes. Though my back will ache again in the morning, I know I’ll feel safer here.
It takes a while, but somehow, miraculously, I finally drift off. When I stir, I sense in my gut that I’ve only been asleep for a few minutes.
This time it isn’t a smell that’s woken me. It’s a sound. Something scuffling outside, near the stoop area.
Holding my breath, I squint, peering through the dimness toward the front of the room. It’s possible it’s only a skunk or raccoon outthere, wildlife Clarissa mentioned I might hear at night. The porch light is on, but because I closed the curtains earlier, I can’t see outside.
Suddenly a form appears behind the curtain on the window next to the door, the shape of a man’s upper body. He’s standing right there on the stoop.
22
ILAY FROZEN ON THE COUCH, TOO SCARED TO MOVE. CAN THEperson on the stoop see my outline through the curtain? Does he know I’m only a few yards away?
As freaked out as I am, I know I can’t simply remain motionless, hoping he’ll be sucked back into the night. I pluck my phone from the coffee table, slowly slide off the couch, and tiptoe across the room. As I near the door, the form shifts slightly, as if he’s been startled by the movement.
“Who’s there?” I call out, my voice breaking between the two words.
No response. But the body shifts again, now moving closer to the door.
“Who’s there?” I call again, louder this time. I tighten my grip on my phone, wondering whether to call 911.
“Kiki, it’s me.”Sam.
I exhale, feeling the tension loosen. I unbolt the door and swing it open. Sam is standing on the other side of the screen, illuminated by the glow of the porch light, and wearing nice jeans and a perfectly pressed cobalt-blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows.
“Did I wake you?” he asks quietly, eyeing my pajamas.
“No, I hadn’t fallen asleep yet,” I say, though it isn’t quite true. “Were you juststandingout there?”
“I’d been about to knock, but since I didn’t see any activity, I thought you must be in bed. I was debating whether to leave you a note.”
“Do you want to come in?”
“Sure,” he says, stepping a few feet into the living room. “Sorry to be so late showing up. My research associate was having trouble with some data, and I ended up staying in New York longer than planned. Then I had to drive directly from the city to an event back here.”
