Towering - By Alex Flinn Page 0,9

I hadn’t read this part. I was sure.

Or had I?

No time to think! My thoughts were interrupted by a knocking on my door, not a desperate knocking like last night, but a calm, businesslike knocking and a chipper voice.

“Wake up, sleepyhead! Everyone must wake sometime!”

It was Mrs. Greenwood. I looked down, found myself still in jeans and a T-shirt from last night. Would she think I was lazy, lock me in a room?

“Are you dressed? I made biscuits!”

I shrugged. No need to prolong the inevitable. “Sure.” I opened the door.

The old lady standing there looked nothing like the one I’d met last night. This one could have been in a commercial for Hallmark cards or stuffing or something, a sweet, blue-eyed old lady in a red dress and white apron. She held a tray with what looked like a Denny’s Grand Slam on it: eggs, bacon, and biscuits. She smiled. She had dimples and all her teeth.

“I let you sleep in. You must have been tired from your journey.” She placed the tray on a small table with a ruffled cloth. “Oh, it’s so nice to have someone to cook for. It’s been years.”

She gave no sign of having met me the night before, much less having yelled at me. In fact, she said, “I see you found your room all right then?”

“Of course. This looks great.” So weird.

“Well, don’t expect room service every day. This is a special occasion. You can’t stay in bed all the time, or soon, you’ll find you can’t get up. I know.”

She must mean when her daughter disappeared, that she’d been depressed.

“Dig in.” She spied the book on the bed. “Wuthering Heights! Do you like gothic novels?”

Being male, no. “I just started it. It’s for school.” This was sooo weird. Had last night been all a dream? But then, how had I gotten in this room, in this bed? Had I been here all the time? Was something wrong with me, even more than I’d imagined?

“When you’ve read a bit more, we can have a nice, long talk about it. And if you enjoy it, I have Jane Eyre and The Woman in White.”

“That’s great.” I’d given up on thinking about this.

“Oh, forgive my babbling. It’s just so nice to have someone to talk to. I’ll let you eat and then, perhaps later, you can help me shovel the walk.”

This was part of the deal, I knew. My mother had said I’d help around the house. I didn’t mind that, but I was weirded out. Mrs. Greenwood gestured toward the tray, urging me to eat more, then left.

As soon as she was gone, I dove for the book. I kept reading. It was long-lost Cathy at the window, and then, as with last night (Had it been a dream?), Lockwood’s cries woke his host, Heathcliff. Heathcliff ran into the room, scolded Lockwood, and then, after Lockwood left, Heathcliff rushed to the window, screaming, “Come in! Come in! Cathy, do come. Oh, do—once more!”

Just as Mrs. Greenwood had.

Clearly, it had all been a dream, a dream born from reading Wuthering Heights while half asleep. The only thing was, I didn’t remember reading it.

Whatever.

I realized I was hungry, really hungry. I hadn’t eaten anything on the train, and I couldn’t remember what I’d eaten before that either. In fact, the past few weeks were sort of a blur. So I wolfed down the breakfast, hoping that food would replace doubt as central in my mind. It almost did. Almost.

In fact, the food was delicious. It had been a long time since I’d really enjoyed food or anything else, but Mrs. Greenwood’s biscuits might have broken the barrier. Maybe coming here hadn’t been a bad idea. At least, I was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt that she wasn’t crazy, hadn’t killed her daughter, and hadn’t creeped me out last night. I mean, did crazy people make biscuits like this?

After I finished breakfast, I walked to the window and opened it to see if the cell phone service was any better (or existed) there. It wasn’t, but the view was pretty. The snow had finally finished falling, and the sky was bright, reflecting blue on the white. I stared at the vast, snowy lawn.

Maybe my mother had been right. For once. It was a new start, a new place, decent food, a friendly old lady who knew nothing about me. I could be anything, anyone I wanted. I could be better.

Then, I noticed something