Still Waters (14 page)

Colin came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “Mmm, barefoot and in the kitchen, that’s how I like you,” he said into her neck.

Hannah giggled and her skin tingled from the rush of his breath. “I like
you
barefoot and in the kitchen,” she said, leaning back against him and stretching her arms back and around him. With dry clothes, a piece of bread with peanut butter in her stomach, and several candles placed around the kitchen, her terror in the woods seemed like it had happened years ago, instead of just a couple of hours.

Colin released her and wandered back into the living room. “Going outside for a sec,” he called. The screen door slapped and his footsteps clattered on the back steps.

Hannah focused on the crumbs in front of her and read the recipe again. The cookbook page was yellowed and stained here and there with the long-ago smears of other fruit pies. She squinted at the page. “One peck of blueberries, mixed with the juice of one lemon and a pint of flour.” A
peck
of blueberries? Was that a lot or a little? Did this thing have a glossary or something? Hannah wiped her hands on the rear of her jeans and flipped to the back of the book, then the front. Nothing, but the copyright was 1935. No wonder she didn’t know what a peck was. This book must have been Colin’s grandma’s or something.

Hannah grabbed a glass pie plate from one of the open cupboards, dumped the blueberries into it, and scattered the saltine crumbs on top. There. It would just be an open-faced pie. Kind of like an open-faced sandwich.

She was examining the dials of the old white stove, trying to figure out how to turn on the oven, when the back door slapped again and Colin came in. His face was flushed. Hannah straightened up.

“What’s up? You look kind of red.” She noticed a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “And you’re sweaty. Ew.”

Colin set his camera down on the table. There were slick, wet finger marks on the black case. He blinked and touched his forehead. “Oh yeah. It’s humid out. I think it’s going to storm again.” He peered over her shoulder. “Did you figure this out?”

“No.” Hannah pointed at the dials. “I don’t even know how to turn it on.”

“How about this one?” He twisted one labeled
ON/OFF
. There was a clicking sound, then a muffled
flump
from back inside the oven. Colin straightened up and patted his chest. “Don’t worry, you can thank me later.”

“I will—with open-faced saltine pie.” Hannah scraped the last of the crumbs from the cutting board and dumped them onto the pie.

Colin leaned back on the counter. “Saltine pie, is that what you’re calling it?” He grinned wickedly. “Remember the first time you tried to make me dinner?”

Hannah winced. “Oh God. Flank steak and baked potatoes. Please don’t remind me.” She opened the oven door and put her hand inside. Hot. She slid the pie in. “In my own defense, can I just say that I was insanely nervous?”

Colin’s grin widened. “The potatoes exploded all over the inside of the oven. And—”

“—the steak was still frozen. I remember. And we didn’t know each other well enough to say anything, so we both just sat there, trying to eat it, pretending it was great.” Hannah picked up a blue-striped dishcloth and hid behind it. “I can’t believe you still wanted to go out with me after that.”

Colin reached out and grasped one of Hannah’s hands. “You know how I knew I wanted to go out with you again?” His voice was low and intense, but Hannah didn’t want to look away. She kept her eyes fixed on his shining blue ones.

He went on. “That meal with you was the first time I can remember really talking to a girl who was actually listening.”

Hannah squeezed his hand back. “I even remember you told me how you were a vegetarian for two days in fourth grade because you read
Charlotte’s Web
.” She looked down at their entwined hands. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be buried in the embrace of his arms. She stood up and tugged at his hand, pulling him into the living room, where she collapsed on the old couch. Reaching up, she pulled him down with her.

Colin fell on top of her, and, while giggling, she tried to shove him to the side. “I wanted you to cuddle with me—not squash me!” she gasped. Outside, the wind was picking up again, sighing through the treetops and then rising to a shriek. The glass in the windows rattled.

Colin raised his head, listening. “Another storm.”

Hannah shivered as the light in the room grew darker, and Colin looked down at her.

“It’s okay.” He smoothed her hair and then encircled her with
his arms. For a long moment, the world narrowed to a point filled only with his firm mouth on hers and the rush of his breath on her cheek.

Hannah closed her eyes. Colin’s lips left hers and traveled down her neck to the base of her throat. A tingle shuddered down her spine.

He raised his head, gazing at her steadily, and something about the determined look on his face told her that he wasn’t going to say it. He was going to wait for her. She thought this would upset her, but instead the words bubbled up to her lips, like water from a spring. She took a small breath. His eyes—calm and patient—fixed steadily on hers, holding her in place. Her lips parted. “Colin,” she managed.

“Yeah?” His voice was almost a whisper

The words rose up in her throat, crowded her lips and teeth. “Colin, I—”

Her words were cut off by a massive crash from outside. The picture window rattled violently in its frame. Hannah screamed, bolting upright. Outside, the sky rolled black and angry. Through the window, Hannah could see towering gray thunderheads scudding in across the lake, where the pine trees now formed a jagged, forbidding barrier.

Suddenly lightning split the sky, striking the lake. The wind whipped the trees around the house, raining down twigs and small branches. Hannah must have let out a whimper because Colin placed a comforting hand on the back of her neck. “It’s just a storm.”

“I know. Are there tornadoes around here?” She tried to sound relaxed, but another clap of thunder shook the roof, followed immediately by a bolt of lightning. The storm was getting closer. On the windowsill, the lone candle sputtered in the holder, then died, leaving the room in darkness.

Hannah scooted closer to Colin, burying her head in his chest.

“Hey, come on, it’s okay,” he comforted her, stroking her hair. “At least we don’t have to worry about the power going out.”

“Ha-ha,” Hannah mumbled into his chest.

Then thunder cracked and a massive purple-white flash filled the room. The air was suddenly full of electricity. Hannah could feel her skin prickling and for an instant thought that she’d been struck by the lightning. She shrieked and cowered against the couch cushions. “What was that?” she half screamed and half gasped. She pushed herself up and swiped her hair out of her eyes.

“I don’t know.” Colin was breathless too, sitting up and looking around. “I think lightning hit something really close.”

“Like the house?” Hannah’s voice rose with a touch of hysteria. “Is it on fire?”

“I don’t know.” Colin rose to his feet. Hannah could hardly hear him over the din of the rain pounding the tin roof. “Do you smell smoke?”

Hannah sniffed anxiously. “No … but there’s some kind of draft.” She hugged her arms. Cool, damp air rolled through the room, as if a door had been opened somewhere in the depths of the house.

Colin rose from the sofa. Hannah clutched at his hand. “Wait, don’t leave me here!” The room flickered like a strobe as lightning flashed constantly. Hannah could hear the house creaking above the rush and rustle of the leaves.

Colin gripped her arm. “Come on. Something happened in there.” He indicated the back of the house. The entrance to the hall was as black as an open throat, waiting to swallow them up. He lit a candle beside the couch and cupped his hand around the flame.

Hannah grasped the back of Colin’s shirt as they crept down the long hallway. The door to the child’s bedroom was open and flapping. The cold air curled around Hannah’s ankles and brushed her face like trailing fingers.

Colin peeked through the doorway, a little at first, then all the way. He held the candle high. “Damn!” he exclaimed over the howl of the wind.

Hannah peered over his shoulder and gasped. In the dim light, she could see a huge tree branch, at least two feet in diameter, crashed through the window over the desk. Wet green leaves and twigs were all over the floor. The desk itself was overturned and the top almost split in two. Rainwater splattered the navy comforters on the twin beds pushed against either wall. Papers, pencils and little toys were hurled everywhere.

“Colin, look.” Hannah pointed to the base of the branch, poking out of the window. Long black char marks ran vertically up the wood. The end of the branch was black as charcoal.

Colin inhaled. “Struck by lightning.”

They stared at each other wide-eyed, and Hannah exhaled with a shaky laugh. “Can we go home now?”

They backed out of the room, and then Colin reached out and closed the door firmly. He steered Hannah down the hallway toward their bedroom. It was so dark that she could barely see her own feet.

The storm noise seemed quieter somehow in their room. Maybe because there was just the one small window. Hannah curled up in the middle of the bed as Colin struck a match and lit the bedside candle. He lay down beside her, and the yellow glow deepened the shadows of his face. Hannah yawned, her eyelids drooping. The soft old comforter seemed to envelop her in warmth. The storm had lessened and the rhythmic drumming of the rain was almost hypnotic now. She sighed and turned over, pressing her back against Colin.

“Han? The pie?” she heard him say, as if from a great distance.

She couldn’t respond. Sleep was too close. Dimly, she felt him get out of bed and return a moment later.

“I took it out,” he said. “Han? You know before, when we were laying on the couch … you were saying …”

But she never heard the rest of his words because sleep had risen up and pulled her down into velvety blackness.

Hannah opened her eyes. At first she didn’t know why she’d awakened. Then she heard it—a scratching sound coming from down the hall. She tensed, listening for a minute, but the sound didn’t return. Hannah relaxed back onto the pillow, flinging her arm over to the other side of the bed. But instead of the sleeping body of her boyfriend, she hit only rumpled blankets. She raised her head. Colin was gone.

“Colin?” she whispered to the empty room. No answer. The silvery moonlight poured over the bed, but the dresser was only a dark bulk in the corner. The door to the hall stood partly open.

Hannah swung her feet over the edge of the bed and then paused. The house was utterly still. Maybe Colin was just in the bathroom. She strained her ears for the sound of the toilet flushing or water running or anything.

Nothing. Outside the window, she could hear the pine trees talking softly to themselves in the night breeze. Faintly, eerily,
the laughing call of a loon rose from the lake. Hannah shivered. She forced herself to lie back down and pulled the sheet up around her shoulders. Colin was … out by the car? Maybe he was getting something?

At three o’clock in the morning, Hannah
?

She fumbled for the matches and, lighting the bedside candle, climbed out of bed and padded to the door, clad only in Colin’s
LEXINGTON 5K
T-shirt and her underwear. “Colin?” she called out into the hallway. No answer.

“Colin!” she said again, louder. The air in the rest of the house was cool and fresh. It still smelled vaguely of damp leaves. Hannah was about to dart back into the bedroom for her sweatpants when she heard the scratching sound again. “Colin? Is that you?” she called, going toward the scratching. Dumb question, of course. Who else would it be?

The door to the child’s room was partially closed. Hannah could see the edge of Colin’s foot as she approached, holding the dripping candle high. “Hey, what are you doing? It’s freezing in here,” she said as she pushed open the door.

Colin was kneeling on the mud-smeared floor in front of the broken desk, wearing khaki shorts but no shirt. A candle burned on the floor beside him. The tree limb poked through the broken window, its leaves still green, but now hanging dispiritedly from the branches. Colin held a handful of rumpled, rain-spotted papers in his hand. He looked up at the sound of her voice and Hannah recoiled, staggering back a few steps until she hit the door frame, which she grasped for support.

Her boyfriend’s face was utterly slack, as if all the muscle tone had gone out of it. His mouth hung open a little, drool collecting in the basin of his bottom lip. His eyes were empty, as if he’d gone blind. But what was scariest of all was the utter lack of expression, the perfect blankness, as if someone had passed his hand over Colin’s face, erasing it and leaving only eyes, a nose, and a mouth.

Hannah gasped, feeling the blood draining from her face. Her hands went cold. Involuntarily, she took another step back. Her foot hit something hard. A coffee cup rolled a few inches across the floor. It must have been lying there awhile because a damp brown splotch had already settled into the floor, partly staining the old blue rug.

“Colin?” she whispered.

He stared at her—through her—as if she weren’t there. A little thread of saliva dangled from his bottom lip.

“Colin!” She started toward him, her mind already spinning.
Was he sick? Did he get bitten by some animal?

Hannah knelt at his side. He remained still, his gaze directed toward the door, as if she were still standing there. She shook his shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?”

Was he sleepwalking? She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. Slowly, like a broken marionette, his head swung around. His eyes, two damp smears of blue, looked in her direction. But he wasn’t focusing on her.

“Colin, what’s wrong with you?” She had to restrain herself from screaming the words. Suddenly the old warning never to
wake a sleepwalker flashed through her mind. They could have a heart attack or go insane, her mom always said. Oh my God, and she was trying to wake him up. Horror made her hands tingle. Shakily, carefully, she rose to her feet. Colin seemed not to notice her movements. He remained in the same position, kneeling on the floor in front of the papers, his head turned, staring at the opposite wall.