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Whispers of the Dead

Page 37

by K.M. Mixon

He doesn't reply, like he's not ready to share that part of his story.

Alright, then.

I swallow. I've never been good with words; I've always been better with action, more so the use of my body as a weapon when the world around me feels out of control.

I know it's a defense mechanism, and I also know it's because of my past.

Elias pulls into a parking spot outside of a theatre, and my brows furrow as I look up at it. Crimson Falls is a very small seaside town that looks like it stepped out of another century, so it's not at all odd that the theatre fits the bill.

Cinema, plastered in bold letters, blinks on the building, its red, dingy paint peeling with each gust of wind.

"We're going to a movie?" I ask him.

"It was the only thing I could think of on short notice, but if you think it's silly..."

"No! I don't think it's silly at all; I wasn't expecting it."

I notice how uncomfortable he looks, as if he really wants my approval but doesn't know how to feel about enjoying it. It makes me wonder if he’s usually more assertive.

The moment in the French restaurant's bathroom would suggest so.

"You can pick. I don't mind watching whatever you want to see."

Because he said I could, I picked a random romantic comedy film for us to watch, not realizing how tense things would feel between us when the spicier scenes played out on the screen.

When the movie’s over, I slide back into his car beneath the afternoon sun that’s slipping lower in the sky.

It gets dark early now, which does me no favors when it comes to the haunted house I now reside in.

“There’s a really good Chinese food spot on the way out of town. There isn’t much in the way of seating inside, but my place isn’t far from there if you’d like to come over for a bit before I take you back.”

Back.

Back to the estate that’s blending into my nightmares and becoming my torment in the waking hours, so that I never know peace anymore.

“I’d like that.”

None of the broody, overbearing Elias I met in the restaurant has reared its ugly head; instead, he’s been kind and respectful.

I could tell he didn’t like my movie choice, but he endured.

After we grab food, he drives us into an unassuming neighborhood, where he pulls into a very non-bad-boy-looking house with a picket fence and manicured lawn.

“You live here?” I ask him.

He cuts the engine. “No. We’re going to break in.”

I can’t tell if he’s kidding as I slide out, holding the food bag he’d dropped into my lap after going into the Chinese restaurant and ordering for us, which I thought was very presumptuous.

I wait behind him as he unlocks the house and opens the door, letting me enter ahead of him, then click on the light behind me as I step inside.

“It’s not much, but it’s home. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?” He snickers behind me.

“It’s very nice.” The interior is spotless and beautifully decorated, with dark colors that blend seamlessly with the mahogany floors.

“Here, we can eat in here.” He leads me into the dining room, where a gorgeous farmhouse table sits, and I wonder if he ever uses it.

The home has a distinctly masculine feel, as if I might be the only female to have ever set foot inside.