Shoulders slumped in defeat, she stared at the road that led to freedom. She really was trapped here, she thought dully. Like a rat in a cage.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring into the distance, before she restarted the car and put it in reverse, but the ice cream was melted when she returned to the house.
A house that was, in reality, a prison. She was never going to get out of here, she thought bleakly. Never see her parents, or her sister, again.
By Wednesday morning, Kadie was heartily sick of her own company. She had spent the last four days rattling around the house, rearranging the furniture for want of anything better to do, reading the books she had brought with her until the words blurred on the page.
It might not have been so bad if the house had been equipped with a TV, a radio, or a computer, but there were no connections to the outside world.
Deciding to take Marti up on her offer, Kadie showered, ate a quick breakfast, and walked to the library.
The gray-haired lady at the front desk looked up. Taking off her glasses, she smiled at Kadie. “You’re the new one, aren’t you? Kadie?”
“Yes.”
“Are you looking for a book? As you can see, we have a large selection.”
“No, thank you. Marti invited me to visit her readers’ group.”
“Oh, of course, they meet in the back room. I’m Brittany Thomas,” the librarian said. She gestured at a door to the left of the desk. “They meet in there.”
“Thank you.”
“Hold on a second, hon. Marti made up a list of addresses for you. so you’ll know who lives where.”
“Oh, that was thoughtful of her,” Kadie said, taking the list the woman offered.
Squashing her nervousness, Kadie opened the door and stepped inside.
Marti and six other women were seated at a rectangular table. They all looked up when Kadie entered the room.
“Kadie!” Marti exclaimed, rising. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Thanks.”
Kadie took a seat at the end of the table amid a chorus of “Pleased to meet you’s” and “Welcome to our group.”
“Let me introduce you to the others.” Starting with the woman on her left, Marti introduced the group.
Shirley Hague was middle-aged, with short, curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a faint scar near her hairline.
Leslie Miller looked to be in her early twenties, with long, straight black hair, dark brown eyes, and skin so pale it was almost white. She wore a bright red scarf around her neck. So did several of the others, Kadie noticed.
“We’re discussing one of Stephen King’s books,” Marti said, when the introductions were complete. “Salem’s Lot. Have you read it?”
“Actually, I have,” Kadie said. Funny, she had finished reading it just a few weeks earlier. “Scared me half to death.”
Murmurs of agreement ran around the table.
“What did you think of Mr. Barlow?” Rosemary Holmes asked. She appeared to be in her early fifties with short gray hair and gray eyes. She regarded Kadie through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
“Pure, unadulterated evil,” Kadie answered without hesitation.
Chelsea Morris nodded. “I agree! I slept with the light on for a week after I finished that book.” Chelsea was rail thin, with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes.
“He made the vampires seem so real,” Kadie said. “I almost started to believe they truly exist.”
“And when Ben Mears destroyed Barlow. . . .” Nancy Dellenbach shivered. The plump woman with long, wavy, red hair touched the red silk scarf she wore around her neck. “I’ve often been tempted to try it when Nolan or one of the others come to my house,” she said, her green eyes flashing. “But I just don’t have the nerve.”
Pauline Stefan nodded. She was a lovely woman, with clear blue eyes and long brown hair she wore tied in a ponytail. Like Nancy and Leslie, she also wore a bright red scarf loosely tied around her neck. “I know what you mean. They’re so much stronger than we are.”
“Wait a minute,” Kadie said. “Are you saying . . . ?” She shook her head. What she was thinking was impossible. They were just messing with her.
“You don’t know, do you?” Rosemary asked.
“Know what?” Kadie felt a sudden uneasiness as the women exchanged glances.
“Maybe we shouldn’t tell her,” Pauline said.
Chelsea leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “She needs to know.”
“Know what?” Kadie repeated, her unease ratcheting up a notch.
“Morgan Creek has a lot in common with King’s book,” Nancy said, fiddling with the ends of her scarf.