“Well, yeah.Look, this house is a firetrap, and it’s abandoned.High school kids play around in here, and it’s not safe.So I thought I should check it out.”
He nodded.“We’re investigators,and electric flashlights will interrupt our equipment.And if we worked during the day there’d be a whole bunch of gawkers.”He stood stock-still.Rowan could make out dark hair, cut short, and the glitter of eyes.
Gawkers?Like me?Rowan had the totally inappropriate urge to giggle madly.“Look, this is awfully weird.”
“I know.”A shadow of amusement in his voice.“You should hear us trying to explain this line of work to our mothers.”
“What did you say you were investigating?”she asked carefully.
“I didn’t.But I’ll tell you.We’re parapsychology investigators.We’re attached to the University of?—”
That was enough for Rowan.She backed up, gooseflesh rippling all the way down her back and spilling down her legs, prickles of chill running along her skin.Chill and a type of electricity that made her entire body tighten.“Oh.I’m sorry.Nice to meet you.”
“Hey, wait a second,” he began, but she bolted.
She ran down the driveway, clutching her purse and her cell phone, made it through the ramshackle gate and halfway down the block, her heart pounding and her side aching, a stitch grabbing all the way from her left hip almost up to her shoulder.The house on Smyrna Avenue was only four blocks from home.She ran every single one of them, turning right on Ninth Street, running as if the devil was after her, clambering up her own steps and desperately fumbling her keys out of her pocket.It seemed to take forever to get the door open, and when she finally made it inside she threw the two dead bolts and stood, her ribs heaving, gasping for breath, her silent, dark house closing comfortingly around her.Dad must be asleep,she thought, and dropped her purse on the floor next to the door.God, oh my God.Parapsychology.Oh my God.Please, God.Please.
She had been so careful, ever since she’d figured out she was different.She’d avoided anything that might even be faintly considered unorthodox.She’d never even checked out a library book on that sort of stuff, never watched any of the “Unsolved Mysteries” shows or anything else like that.
We’re parapsychology investigators.He’d said it so calmly, too.Hopefully he wouldn’t recognize her.Hopefully none of their “instruments” had done anything funny while she was there like some other electronic things.When she was upset, she could literally short out small appliances.
She’d stay away from that house, now.Completely away.She couldn’t risk it.
The lamp was on, its warm, mellow glow comforting, showing the familiar foyer and the stairs going up, the hall closet’s door slightly open, and a painting of her mother hung on the wall.Everything was normal, familiar, andsafe.Her heart finally slowed down, and she kicked her shoes off, not caring that the careful knot she’d put in her shoelace was flopping back and forth.“That was a close one,” she muttered.
“Everything okay?”Her father’s voice drifted down from upstairs.
Rowan gave another guilty start.She had to clear her throat twice before she could respond.“Fine, Dad.I’ll be up in a minute.”
“No, go and get some dinner.I’m only reading in bed.How was work?”
“Long and embarrassing, Dad.”Searching for a light tone.“Did you figure out what was wrong with Tuna?”
“The starter’s gone.Hilary dropped by, we went to the auto parts store and got a new one.”His whisky-rough voice echoed in the stairwell.“Get something to eat, honey.I’ll be up for a while.”
Hilary had gone to high school with Rowan, and was one of the few people she felt completely comfortable with.“Okay.Do you need anything?”
“Just a good night kiss from my girl.But you eat first, honey.I made chicken soup.”
“Sounds good.I’ll be up in a few.”Rowan picked up her purse from the floor and set it on the table by the front door.Of course they wouldn’t know you’re different, Ro,she chided herself, taking a deep breath and slipping out of her coat.Nobody knows.It’s okay.You’ll never see them again.You’re safe.You did the right thing.
She went down the hall into the kitchen, flipping on the light and blinking.The kitchen was neat and clean—two deep-green bowls drip-drying on the rack, the green countertops wiped, a Crock-Pot sitting next to canisters of flour and sugar.It smelled heavenly—garlic and chicken—and Rowan was suddenly aware she was starving.
Ten minutes later, carrying a tray up the stairs, she had a thought that made her stop and almost drop the tray.How did they get the van on the front walk like that?Another chill raced up her spine.Just forget about it, Rowan.If you just ignore it, it’ll go away.
She made it to the top of the stairs, carried her tray into her dad’s room.
Major Henry Price lay in bed, in crisp blue pajamas, a textbook on military history facedown on his lap.His short, graying hair was slightly mussed, and Rowan smiled at him.“Hey, Dad.How was your day?”
“Oh, I skinned my knuckles on that damn car of yours,” he replied cheerfully, smiling.His bedside lamp with its green shade was set at precisely the right angle.“We should buy you a new one.”
“As soon as we pay off the house, Dad.We’re mighty close.”Rowan set the tray down, then kissed her father’s cheek.He smelled, as always, of lemon after-shave and clean male.“What are you reading about?”
“Oh, just going over some old battles.”Her father’s green eyes followed her as she settled down in her usual chair and picked up her mug of soup.“You look pale, sweetie.Did something happen?”
“Oh, I just had an irrational moment on the way home.Ran four blocks.”Rowan shrugged.“It was a weird day at work, Dad.Even weirder than usual.”
“Well, you were in a mood when you left,” he pointed out, settling his horn-rimmed reading glasses on his nose and returning to his book.“Every once in a while a day comes along where it’s just better to stay in bed.”
