Come and Find Me A Novel of Suspense - By Hallie Ephron Page 0,17
times a day. Diana grabbed Daniel’s walking stick and went to the door. Dr. Lightfoot had recommended that she acclimate herself to the outside world again, building slowly, a little each day. So at least once each morning, she pushed herself out of the house.
The first time she’d tried it, a few months earlier, she’d made it as far as the front steps. Breathless, her heart hammering like a crazed bird trying to get out of her chest, she’d turned tail and burst back into the house, slammed the door, the urge to hide driving her body into a protective crouch.
Now her goal was to breach her own electronic fence once a day. She put her hand on the doorknob and counted down from ten. When she got to zero she took a deep inhale and pulled the door open, pushed open the storm door, and stepped outside. The skim of sweat on her forehead and at the back of her neck turned cold, but she welcomed the sensation, and the smell of smoke from someone’s fireplace and the feel of dew as she touched the railing.
Next door, in the driveway of a big Victorian that the new owners had painted mauve, pale yellow, and gray green, her neighbor had the back door of her car open and was loading her toddler into a car seat. The woman had a long solemn face and dark hair, early Cher. She glanced over and waved. Diana waved back. The woman got in the driver’s seat, started the car, and drove off.
The scent of exhaust lingered as Diana gazed at the empty spot in her neighbor’s driveway, then at the closed door of her own garage. One day she’d actually get in her own car. Take a drive. Maybe even have the courage to introduce herself to her neighbor.
For now, just taking a walk in her own backyard was challenge enough.
Diana took a deep breath. She left the porch and stepped into the driveway. Crossing her arms to fend off the chill from outside and in, she began to walk the perimeter of her property. Focus on what’s outside not inside, Dr. Lightfoot had suggested. The lawn was patchy and stringy, pale purple crocuses that had probably been planted by her mother decades ago were pushing their way up in front of bushes alongside the house. The quince bush was budding, and farther on, the tiny yellow blossoms on the witch hazel were already starting to open.
When she reached the back of the yard, she took a step beyond her own property line. She knew she’d breached the invisible electronic fence and the Klaxon would be going off in her office, alerting no one. She turned and looked at her house. All the window shades were drawn. The dark green paint around the windows was beginning to peel.
She beat back the urge to sprint back to safety. Instead, she reached into her pocket and pried open the lid of the container with her thumb, tipped it until she felt a pill in her palm. Tiny and white, it was no bigger than the birth-control pills she’d once taken daily. Just rolling a pill between her thumb and forefinger calmed her.
She slipped the pill back into the container, picked up a small stone from the ground, and completed her circuit. Back at the door, she placed the stone alongside others she’d lined up in the grass by the door, each marking another step forward, another time she’d breached the boundaries of her property and made it back alive.
She was squatting, counting stones—there were over fifty of them—when she noticed a dark limousine coming up her street. It reminded her of the limo she and her girlfriends had rented to carry them, dateless, to their senior prom. And the lecture the driver had given them about the hundred-dollar deposit he wouldn’t return to their parents if any of them threw up. But a morning limousine wouldn’t be picking up girls for a dance. More likely the passengers would be mourners on their way to a funeral.
It slowed to a crawl in front of her house. Diana ducked inside and locked the door behind her. She lifted the shade of one of the front windows and watched, shivering, as the car paused in front of her house, and then accelerated and continued on its way.
Chapter Nine
By the time Diana returned to her office, GROB had given up waiting. The chat window was closed.