The Voyeur Next Door (11 page)

Silence strained for two full heartbeats.

“Not anymore.”

I shed my robe and kicked my panties off after it. Despite the humidity, the air was deliciously cool stroking the wet pool between my legs. I widened my knees, kneeling in the middle of my bed, naked and flushed. My clit, pink and slick with arousal jutted proudly from between bare lips.

“What are you wearing?”

My pulse quickened. “Nothing.”

He made a quiet growl and I nearly had a micro orgasm. A tremor rocked down the length of my spine.

“God, you don’t play fair.”

“I didn’t realize I had to,” I teased, feeling unusually bold.

“You do,”
he said.
“It’s how this is going to work, by both of us playing by the rules.”

“And what are the rules?” I wondered.

“That we both agree that this is what we want. I won’t play with you if you don’t give me the green light.”

Fuck. Did he have to be so noble about it? I felt almost like some sick pervert trying to seduce someone against his will. Damn if it didn’t make me respect him, though.

“You’re right,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

I heard him draw in a deep breath.

“I’m not,”
he said.
“But I made you a promise and I won’t go back on my word. You will call me Monday with your answer and we will go from there.”

We both agreed and hung up. I stayed in my kneeling position on the mattress. My desire hadn’t weaned, but his semi reject had slapped most of the heat down to a mild simmer.

The headache from the day before followed me into morning. I woke up feeling it pulsing behind my eyes. I would have happily stayed wrapped in my blankets and gone back to sleep, but I had promised Gabriel I would help his sister at her school and I still had to hunt down aspirin.

I found them in the junk drawer in the kitchen. I took three with water and then zombie shuffled my way into the shower. The hot water felt incredible drowning my sorrows. I shut my eyes and leaned into the spray. I stayed there for twenty minutes before scrubbing myself dry and pulling on jeans and a loose t-shirt. I bundled my hair up into a knot and grabbed my purse before leaving the apartment.

Saint George’s school for the young and gifted was a cathedral style structure almost an hour away. I had never been there before, but my GPS was kind enough to point out no less than sixteen donut shops along the way. At one point, I actually had to wonder if it was mocking me. But I got there without incident, or relapses, and parked a block away. My keys jingled in my grasp as I made my way down the sidewalk, admiring the looming oak trees shading me along the way.

There was a surprising amount of activity for a school on a Saturday. The wide, arched doors were left open to the hot summer breeze and people kept coming in and out in a flurry of movement. I jogged up the steps and stopped at the top, trying to locate the person in charge.

“Ali!” Gabriel, in all his lumberjack glory, stormed over to me with wide, angry strides. “You’re late!” he snapped in the way of a greeting.

I glanced at my watch. “You said eight. It’s a minute after.”

“Don’t mind him,” came a voice from behind him. “He’s had a pickle up his ass since he arrived.”

Gabriel shifted aside so I could get my first glance of Tamara.

Intense, was the first thought that came to mind. Everything about the girl was sharp and bold. But not with bright colors. Her hair was pale purple that hung in a sleek, shiny sheet around her thin shoulders. Her eyes were an enormous silver that looked even larger with the dark eyeshadow and eyeliner. She wore fishnet stockings under a short, plaited black skirt and a black t-shirt that read:
people like you are the reason why I have a middle finger.
I momentarily wondered what type of school allowed a student to wear something like that, but who was I to judge?

On her feet were thick, clunky boots in shiny leather that went all the way to her knees. Black nail polish adorned each sharp nail, contrasting with her milky-white complexion. She grinned at me and it was all mischief.

“You’re Ali.”

I nodded. “I am. You’re Tamara.”

Her grin broadened and she did a little curtsy. “That’s me.” She swayed from side to side, looking from me to Gabriel. “So, Gabe says you’re going to make my costume.”

I grimaced. “I’m going to
attempt
to make your costume,” I corrected.

“Awesome!” The girl beamed. “I was thinking of making her into like a Goth swan.”

I blinked. “A … Goth swan?”

“Odette,” she said. “Didn’t Gabe tell you which play we’re doing?”

I tried to remember and came up with nothing. “Uh, no, no he seemed to have forgotten that part.”

“Well, I got the lead,” Tamara stated, dramatically puffing up her chest and spearing her hands on her hips. “I’m Odette, you know? The white swan?”

I nodded. “I have a vague recollection of the story.”

“Right. So, I was thinking, we can make her costume black.”

I frowned. “Wasn’t Odile the black swan?”

Tamara stilled. She stared at me with those eyes, filled with disapproval and suspicion.

“So?”

I dared a peek at Gabriel. The man hadn’t said anything since my initial arrival. He stood next to his sister, towering drastically over her by a good three feet. His attire made me question if the guy owned anything other than jeans, white t-shirts and flannel. Also, I kind of wanted to set his boots on fire. A bit drastic, but someone needed to put them out of their misery.

“Well, if you’re Odette, you’re white,” I explained, turning my attention back to Tamara and not the man studiously glowering at his phone like it was personally responsible for the slaughter of his family.

Tamara’s eyes narrowed and I immediately saw the family resemblance. “Are you being racist?”

I could think of nothing to say to that. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. Part of me actually wanted to start edging the hell out of there and pretending I had the wrong place.

Tamara burst out laughing. “Chill. I’m screwing with you. Seriously though, I want like black wing tips, or something.”

Wing tips?

“Just what kind of costume do you need?” I wondered, feeling genuine panic starting to swell in my chest.

“I need two, actually,” Tamara said breezily. “One as a swan and one as a girl. I want something awesome like
The Black Swan
with
Natalie Portman
. Can you do that?”

No!

“Isn’t there somewhere online—?”

“It has to be handmade,” she interrupted. “It’s like fifty percent of our grade.”

“No pressure.” I muttered. Then sighed. “Okay, well, we should measure you, or something. I guess.”

Tamara nodded like that had been her idea the whole time. “Everyone’s downstairs.”

With a wave of a slender hand that sent light sparking off the many silver rings adorning each finger, she guided us down a long hallway lined with lockers on one side and wide, bay windows overlooking a courtyard on the other. It ended at a set of metal doors that opened to a series of stairs winding downward. We trudged down three until we reached the end. Silence was thicker in the basement. Sharp strobes of light punctured the pool of shadows making residence in the stone corridor. Someone had thought to brighten the place up by painting a cheerful mural of rainbows and children frolicking playfully over a lush landscape of green grass and dandelions. I would have bought it, if the children hadn’t reminded me of hostage victims trying to put on a brave face.

“Like it?” Tamara caught me staring.

“It’s…”
Spooky…
“Really nice.”

She stopped walking and turned to face the painting with her hands clasped loosely at her back.

“I painted it,” she said proudly, but with a hint of dismay. “I call it
Purgatory
. See, all the children are told to believe they are in a beautiful, safe place, but in reality, they’re all stuck in an illusion.” She turned bland, gray eyes on me. “They’re waiting to be judged.”

I liked her. Her morbid fascination really spoke to my soul. Even if I was slightly creeped out.

“Stop messing with her,” Gabriel muttered, still fiddling with his phone.

“I’m not messing with her,” Tamara defended hotly. “It’s my rendition of how I see school.”

“I like it,” I said honestly.

Tamara shot her brother a haughty smirk that he didn’t notice, before twirling on her clunky heel and flouncing onward.

The flat, stone walls ended at a sharp turn that delved even deeper into the bottomless void that seemed to be the school’s basement. There was only one dingy bulb illuminating this section and it dangled midway between us and the metal doors at the far end. My survival instincts immediately sat up and took notice of what could potentially turn out to be where I was captured and used to perform a series of horrific acts in order to survive a macabre maze of death. I also knew that if it came to that, I would most likely sacrifice Gabriel in a heartbeat to get out.

I glanced sideways at the man in question and found him peering down at me with an accusation that made me flush.

Crap. Had I spoken out loud?

“Is your phone working?”

“My phone?” I muttered a bit stupidly.

He held up his like I really was an idiot. “Yeah, you’re phone.”

I had to dig it out of my bag, which was a task considering I couldn’t see inside. The whole process turned into a scavenger hunt that ended when I located my flashlight and clicked it on.

“Why are you carrying around a flashlight?” Gabriel was nice enough to ask with a dryness I did not appreciate.

“The question is, why aren’t you?” I shot back. I located my phone and glanced at the screen. “No signal.”

Gabriel sighed, turned to his sister and gave her the glower usually reserved for me. “I can’t stay down here,” he told her. “I’m expecting a call.”

“On a Saturday?” Tamara replied in a great exaggerated lift of her finely penciled eyebrow. “Seriously? Who works on a Saturday?”

“Your dad,” Gabriel reminded her.

“Yeah, but have you met him?”

Gabriel ignored the question. “Look, this is important.”

“So is my education, apparently,” Tamara stated loudly. “I’m all for flunking and living the rest of my life in your basement as a starving artist.”

“I don’t have a basement,” Gabriel reminded her. “And you’re not flunking. Just hurry up.”

He delved into the darkness without waiting for a response.

I waited to make sure nothing jumped out of the shadows and ate him before following with Tamara taking the rear.

The low hum of chatter greeted us at the threshold. I couldn’t see around the wall that was Gabriel’s enormous frame blocking the doorway, but either there were people inside, or it was haunted by the spirits of the other idiots that willingly ventured into the bowels of hell.

“Will you move?” Tamara snapped, shoving at her brother’s back.

Gabriel edged in deeper, but not very far. There was just enough room for Tamara to slink past, but I had more body than a gangly teenager and there was no graceful way to squeeze in without rubbing into him. My body liked the idea. The cheerleaders were in full horny hump mode. My brain was more reluctant.

“I can’t walk through doors,” I mumbled loudly so he couldn’t miss the sarcasm dripping from my voice.

He shot me a frustrated glare from the corner of his eye, but thankfully got the hint and moved further away.

The room was one large, open space crowded by no less than forty people of varying ages broken into three groups. The men on the right. The women on the left and the teenagers all clustered around the door. It was like a high school dance gone horribly wrong. Yet the peeper in me perked with greedy exhilaration at all the faces, all the stories that came with those faces and me, smack dab in the middle of it all. The sensation of being a kid at Disneyland wafted through me and I nearly squealed. The pervert in my head did a series of pelvic thrusts and parts of the Macarena before I quieted it down.