The Girl from Widow Hills - Megan Miranda Page 0,20
my rush to leave, or the bulb had finally burned out, like Rick had been warning. He was always telling me to replace the lights, the smoke detector batteries, before they went out on their own. When I cut the headlights in my drive, I wished I’d listened sooner.
Seventeen steps to the front porch. A faint glow through the bushes, from Rick’s place. I used the light from my phone to guide the path. Walking up the porch steps, I heard something scurrying in the bushes.
Three steps to the front door. I stomped my feet, like Rick had taught me, to let them know I was here. Let the animals know I’m not small, I’m not prey, but something to fear.
Key in the lock; door shutting behind me. When I stepped inside and flicked the porch light, meaning to scare whatever nocturnal animal might be lurking, it remained dead. Instead, I turned on every light inside, until all I could hear was the electrical buzz of an overhead bulb.
It was the solitude that made me do it. The quiet hum inside after the noise of the bar. The fact that Bennett was still hung up on his ex-girlfriend, probably laughing with her even now; and Elyse had the bartender, Trevor, just starting something new; and Cal was so good-looking he was probably a sociopath; and Rick wore a wedding ring but lived all alone.
It was my head, and the way it was making me feel, disconnected, circling some darkness.
I went to the fridge, poured the last of the wine bottle into my glass. Then I opened up my messages and sent Jonah a text—Thinking of you, too—because it was the truth, and that had to count for something.
THE SOUND OF A chime jolted me from sleep. I reached out an arm on instinct, in the direction of my bedside table. But my knuckles hit on something rough, too close.
A chill, my eyes adjusting to a dim light, trying to orient myself. And then I heard the rest: the crickets, the leaves rustling overhead.
That dim light between the bushes, coming from Rick’s house.
Something chimed again, and I followed the noise, looking down. It was the noise of an alert on my phone—a missed call. I must’ve brought my phone with me and dropped it.
It was buried in shadow now. Hand at the tree again—the rough bark of the trunk—but something felt sticky, like tar. I held my hands close to my face. My palms were too dark, like they were coated in dirt. I rubbed my fingers together, and they caught.
This time the phone started ringing, and I moved closer, hands held in front of me to block the jagged branches, tripping over a log before I reached the sound. Knees in the hard dirt, my palms stinging. I placed my hand on the log to right myself, but it was too soft.
A snake, my first instinct. I scrambled away before my mind even had time to process.
But the shadow hadn’t moved. The phone kept ringing. I pushed myself to standing, stepping closer. I nudged the shadow with my bare foot, feeling the familiar roughness of denim this time.
And then silence.
My head swam in a sudden rush of understanding. I moved the branches of the bushes aside to be sure: the shape of a torso; arms; the back of a head.
A man.
A sound escaped my throat. I stepped back. Closed my eyes. Took a breath.
Sometimes, when I wake, the two worlds combine—the dream and reality. An echo of one in the other. And so it’s possible the body is a figment, and I can walk it back, retrace my steps, climb backward into bed, and in the morning there will be nothing here, just a lingering sense of doom. A shudder as I walk to my car; the ghost of a memory.
But it’s the wind that made me sure. Moving the blades of grass in a symphony over my toes, something greater than my imagination. A chaos beyond the reach of my mind.
My eyes shot open, burning in the night wind.
How long had I been standing here? How long ago had this happened?
I looked down at my hands again, understanding without seeing—they were red.
Behind me, the front door gaped open across my yard, a darkness inside.
But when I started running, I instinctively headed the other way. Passing the body in the yard. Through the tree line. Tripping over the hedges as I ran. For Rick’s.