“Think of it as a tiny computer,” James says. “That you can also call and text people on.”
“Textpeople?” She shakes her head again.
“Nothing nefarious.” He rests his forearms on the window, fingertips dangerously close to Nelle’s. “It’s like sending a letter.”
“Yours was the first letter I’ve ever received,” she says. “I think I prefer that overtexting.”
“I think I preferred handwriting it, to be honest.” James laughs. His voice rings out into the night, and he thinks about how late it is. How frequently he has come to visit Nelle and not once seen any sign of Quill, other than the car out front. Maybe it is worth the risk, just being close to her. Nerve worked up, he asks, “Do you think I could come inside?”
Nelle’s fingers tighten around the windowsill. “You’re the first friend I’ve ever had, James, and if Quill found you in my room, he’d kill you. Or he’d kill me.”
He’d kill us if he found meoutsidethe house, too.James respects Nelle’s apprehension, but he longs to talk to her like on the Fourth. To feel her beside him.
He opens his mouth, “Maybe—”
“You remember how I told you an officer came to our house?” Nelle says.
James leans in closer to her whispering lips. “Because I called.”
“I assume.”
A rat of worry gnaws at his stomach. “Did Quill”—James licks his lips—“kill her?”
“No.But after she left, he made me pay.” Nelle’s glossy stare scorches his shoulder. “He wrote for me to burn my hand on the stovetop,” she continues, fighting a tremor. “As punishment. Every time it healed, I’d have to burn it again.” She’s shaking now, like a tiny dog out in the rain. “For hours.”
“Nelle, if I’d known, I never would have called the police. I thought I was helping, I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t give me sympathy, James. I just want you to understand the kind of monster Quill is. Why you can’t come inside.”
He clutches his shirt, fist over heart. “I understand.”
Low, like an animal, a longcreeaaaakresonates through the night.
Nelle goes rigid.
Around the house, the front door opens, screen slapping. Footsteps move out onto the porch.
Every tree and animal freezes in the midsummer night as Quill bellows, “I Know You’Re Here! I Can Hear You, You Bloody Bastard!”
The birds flap away. James, too, feels the instinct to run. If he goes into the woods, Quill will see him. If he stays, Quill will see him. If Quill sees him, he will hurt Nelle again. Worse this time.
“Let me in,” he says to Nelle. He tries to heave himself up.Shit, shit, shit—
“James, run around the back of the house,” she says. “I promise it’ll be worse if you’re in here.”
Around the corner of the house, a yellow light bobs closer.
“Let me in,” James repeats. “He’ll see me, Nelle.”
Hearing her name snaps Nelle out of her trance. She reaches out with clammy hands. James clasps on and folds over the windowsill, slamming the wind out of his chest before crashing to the floor in a pile of bony limbs. The world goes quiet.
While he gathers his breath, James takes in the room. A bedside lamp, its shade hung with tiny pearls, glows softly. Above the small brick fireplace, a line of tattered paperbacks holds court on the mantel. The walls are papered with two-inch pastel roses.
Nelle pulls the windowpane shut, locks the latch, and straightens the gauzy curtains.
“You can sneak out the back door,” she whispers.
“I might run into him out there. Why don’t I hide under your bed, wait it out?”
