Love Me If You Must

12

I stared at the propped-open window and remembered the body I’d imagined beneath the concrete. I wondered what I’d see if I peered through the glass into the cistern. Human features twisted in suffering? I fought a swell of vomit at the idea . . . Behind me in the yard, the ancient catalpa tree groaned.

Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, I told myself.

A car clattered across the tracks. From a nearby garage came the hum of an automatic door opener. The sounds of everyday life prevailed over the dizzy whirl of my brain. There had to be a rational explanation for the stick in my window, if not for the face in my cistern.

I peeled my feet from the pavement and spun toward Brad Walters’ house. He was the last person in that cellar. He’d better have good justification for the piece of wood that made my house accessible to any crazed axe-murderer in Rawlings.

I banged on Brad’s front door three times with my fist. The sound of my impatience made me take a step back. I didn’t want Officer Walters to think I was some hot-tempered psycho-chick, at least not until I had definite proof that he was behind the open-window incident. Then he’d get a piece of my mind.

I concentrated on my air intake while I admired the tidy exterior of Brad’s home. Bright white trim and dark gray shutters accented cheerful yellow siding. The grass was cut back from the smooth sidewalk, and a row of cone-shaped evergreens lined the front of the house. I looked down at the cement porch beneath me and made a mental note to tell Brad he’d better fix the cracks or potential buyers might count it against him. I couldn’t fathom why he hadn’t replaced the porch the same time he’d had the sidewalk done, which was no doubt within the last couple years.

A faint thudding came from inside the house. I looked toward the door just as Brad opened it. If it hadn’t been almost lunchtime, I would have sworn he was still in his pajamas. He wore a sleeveless white tee and clingy black sweatpants. His hair stuck up on one side like it had recently been mashed against a pillowcase. One of those sleep-induced lines ran down his cheek, and that moist area on the side of his mouth could very well be drool.

One bicep, thick as the pillars holding up my front porch, blocked the doorway. My eyes traveled over the hump of solid muscle. Funny, Brad hadn’t seemed so huge with clothes on.

I tried choking out a hello. Instead, my mouth dropped in dumb awe.

What was wrong with me? I’d seen plenty of well-endowed Uniforms before. I’d seen big, bare-muscled hunks on TV. There was no reason to stare at a man’s body just because it had obviously been put to good use. And let’s face it, I was hitting middle age. I shouldn’t even blink twice at the sight in front of me. I took a step back.

“Everything okay?” Brad asked.

“Ummm . . .” I knew I was here for a reason, I just couldn’t think of it at the moment. I looked at my feet. A crack led up to the door, then branched back in two directions, like a big arrow pointing at Brad, saying, “He’s the one. He’s the one.”

He was the one, all right. Now I remembered what I was here for. I put my hands on my hips. “Everything is not okay. When you walked through my house the other night, you somehow missed the log propping open the basement window. Anybody could have gotten in there. I’m lucky I didn’t get my throat slit in my sleep.”

“Whoa.” Brad crossed his arms. “What are you talking about? What log?”

“Not a log, exactly. More like a stick. But either way, that window isn’t secure. And I want to know why.”

Brad ruffled a hand through his hair. “Hang on. Let me get dressed.”

He shut the door, leaving me alone on the porch. I stared at the six panels of glossy white. If it had been my house, I would have asked him inside. I felt a little put out having to wait here, especially since I hadn’t yet grabbed my winter coat out of the trunk of my car.

I sat down on the first step and scrunched up to keep warm. Directly across the street, the railroad tracks stretched east and west. Behind them lay an unkempt field of grass, then began the first buildings of downtown.

I shook my head. The inferior view coupled with the ear-blasting trains that ran rampant through town would definitely count against poor Brad upon resale. He’d have been smart not to get shackled with the home in the first place. But hey, not everyone was as house-savvy as me. At least my house had a row of shade trees hiding the railroad tracks. And if I were lucky, the next owner wouldn’t even notice the tracks until the papers were signed.

I wondered how Brad had ended up in Rawlings. Where had he grown up? Why had he become a cop? Why wasn’t he married?

I sighed. Maybe I should have said yes to his dinner invitation. He seemed like a nice enough guy, even if he was a Uniform. He’d probably just wanted to welcome me to the neighborhood like he’d said, not quiz me on my pathetic past. In fact, Brad didn’t even seem to care that I’d done time. That alone said heaps about his intentions. If he were looking for a long-term relationship, he sure wouldn’t pick me.

I leaned on my hands and sighed again.

Yep. I was safe with Brad.

The door opened and I turned to see him dressed in work boots, blue jeans, and a gray sweatshirt. Though he still looked built, his jaw-dropping features were now safely covered with fabric.

“Why don’t you show me the problem,” Brad said, coming down the steps.

When he got to the bottom, he turned and looked at me. Tall as I was, my head only reached his shoulder.

“By the way, your hair looks great,” he said.

I touched my new do, suddenly appalled by its lack of length. It seemed anybody could see right to my core without those fluffy flyaways to hide behind. And though Brad’s eyes had appeared dull brown on Halloween night, they were definitely sparkling with x-ray vision today.

I pursed my lips, determined not to be sidetracked by eye color observations. Especially since there was a pair of beautiful blue ones waiting to take me out Friday night.

“Follow me.” I led him up Railroad Street to the edge of his property, then angled through the crackled-white picket gate onto my own land. I kept close to the fence line, which was thick with out-of-control weeds and infant trees mixed with a border of daylily greens. Jan Hershel apparently hadn’t cared much for gardening. The unsightly mess could only come from years of consistent neglect. I was tempted to take a rototiller to the whole yard and start fresh.

But the grounds would have to wait until after I brought the gasping-for-life Victorian back to health. I halted on the pavement and pointed to the basement window. Brad moved past me and knelt down, squinting at the weeds and dirt surrounding the foundation. He stared at the stick in the sill for a minute, patting his fingers to his lips.

“It’s nothing more than a twig, really. I’m surprised you even noticed it. Let’s have a look inside.” He stood and walked toward the back porch.

“You don’t need me down there, do you?” I called.

He gave me a wry glance. “You’d probably know better than I would if anything is out of place.”

He was right. I hustled after him, though I dreaded another glimpse of the cistern and its gruesome contents. At the mere idea, my breath flew into hyperdrive.

We crossed the kitchen and neared the cellar door, my only goal to make it downstairs and back without losing my cool.

Nearly gasping, I slid back the bolt.

What was I so afraid of? It wasn’t as if there was really a body in the cistern. The most we might find besides lumpy concrete would be a little dirt if someone had tried crawling through the window.

I stood aside and let Brad go first.

We approached the bottom. Each riser yelped, as if screaming a warning.

I shot a glance at my feet, convinced that someone was hiding behind the staircase. I could almost see a gnarled skeleton hand grabbing for my ankle through the open space at the back of the step.

My ears started to ring.

I gripped the rail.

All I could think about was jumping piggy-back onto Brad.

Before I could act on the impulse, Brad reached the concrete and pivoted toward me.

“Tish.” The urgency in his voice had me convinced some ghoul was ready to attack.

I whipped around on the narrow step, ready to defend myself from whatever supernatural force came at me through the staircase.

The momentum from my spin carried me to the opposite rail and my hip bounced off the ancient wood. Flailing, I tried to catch hold of a rail or beam but grabbed only air.

Time shifted into slow motion as I tipped backward. Through the steps I got a clear view of the stony cistern. The window above it flashed strobe-like as each riser crossed my line of vision. Brad grabbed at my arm, but I fell through his grip.

I heard a thud and realized I’d landed spread-eagled on the basement floor.