The Waiting: A Supernatural Thriller (9 page)

Silence
hung between them, and Evan struggled for a moment to keep the conversation flowing. It had been so long.

“What drew you
this far up north?” he finally asked.

“I love nature. Loved it since I was a kid. My dad used to bring me up here fishing before he died. I never forgot it. That’s actually his canoe that I use now. I’ve got another, newer one that’s way easier to pilot
, with paddles that don’t slip out.” She paused to smile at him. “But the older one has a few memories attached to it. I usually cruise around the lake when it’s calm enough, good way to detach yourself.”

“I bet. I’
ve never been canoeing before.”

“Really? You’ll have t
o try it sometime, it’s great.”

He nodded.
“So, do you live right in town?”

“No, I’ve got a place on the opposite side of the lake. It’s not anything like this,”
Selena said, motioning to the living room. “But it’s home. How about yourself, are you working in town?”

“No, we’re basically taking care of the place for my friend
, and I do some writing, so I thought I might get a few projects done while we’re here.”

Selena
scooted forward on the couch. “Really? What kind of writing?”

Evan shrugged. “A little of everything. I like nonfiction, editorials, that type of thing. I’ve dabbled a bit with a screenplay but never
pursued it a hundred percent.”

“That’s great. If there’s any
place in the world that you could use for inspiration, this is it.”

Evan nodded. His eyes came to rest on their empty wineglass
es. “Would you like more wine?”

Selena
shook her head and stood. “No, actually I should be going. I didn’t mean to come in and put you through a bunch of trauma. I swear, I was just dropping off the pie.”

Evan laughed and stood as well. “It’s fine. It’s been hard
, but we’re doing good, so don’t feel bad. It’s always awkward to meet new people.”

Selena
walked to the door, and Evan followed her, a mix of emotions running through him. She paused after stepping outside onto the stoop and turned back to him.

“Thanks
for the wine and conversation.”

“
Thanks for the pie.”

“Don’t thank me
till after you’ve tried it.”

Evan chuckled again, looking down at his feet.

“Have a good evening, Evan.”

“You too.”

Selena smiled and walked down the steps. He caught his eyes tracing down the slender curve of her back to the formfitting jeans, and looked away. He moved to go inside, but something froze him where he was. And before he knew it, he called out to her.

“Hey,
Selena?”

She
stopped halfway down the hill and turned.

“Feel free to stop by again.”

She smiled, and he saw her eyes shining, even across the distance between them. She nodded once and then continued to her father’s canoe.

A
n unfamiliar springy giddiness vibrated inside his chest as he returned to the living room. The moment he noticed it, another feeling began to coat the excitement with black bile that shriveled his guts with shame. His eyes went to the ring on his hand, and he stared at it, remembering the words the jeweler told him the day he and Elle had picked it out.
Only thing harder than tungsten carbide is diamonds. That’s a ring to last an eternity.

The excitement gone, the familiar hollow filling him up, Evan walked acr
oss the room to check on Shaun.

~

Dusk approached, and the water became scorched glass beneath the falling dark. Evan took Shaun down to the lake and showed him the art of skipping rocks. There were quite a few perfect skippers, and he picked out the best, trying to get as many hops out of the rocks as he could. He threw until his shoulder began to ache. Shaun sat in his medical seat, transfixed by the sight of the rocks jumping like living things across the water. Whenever Evan would pause to massage his shoulder, Shaun would cry out “More!”—one of the few words he could say with ease.

“That’s all I’ve got, buddy, we gotta go in,” Evan
eventually said.

“Na
!”

“
We have to, it’s getting dark.”

Shaun responded by kicking his feet against the chair and
clawing at the belts that held him in place.

“Shaun, stop, stop,” Evan said, hurrying to his side.
“It’s all done, we have to go up to the house.”

“Na
!”

Evan sighed and tried to restrain Shaun from banging his head against the back of
the chair. “Shaun. Stop,” Evan said, raising his voice.

Shaun froze
. The anger on his face melted into a sob as he brought his hands up to cover his eyes. Evan lowered his head.

Good job, you made him cry again.

“Shaun, Shaun, look at me.”

The boy pulled one wet fist away from his eye.

“Do you want to try?”

Shaun gazed at him but didn’t move.

“Throwing the rocks?” Evan imitated the motion with his arm and then gestured at Shaun. “You try?”

A grin replaced the frown on
the boy’s face.

“Okay, let’s get you out of that chair.”

Evan unbuckled his son and led him down to the water. Keeping him from falling while finding a good rock proved difficult. With one arm wrapped around Shaun’s chest, Evan guided his son’s hand in the motion, releasing the stone at the correct time. The rock hit the water and skipped once before dropping out of view.

“Yay, Shaun! You did it
.”

“More?”

“Okay, buddy, one more.”

But it was full dark by the time they returned to the house
, and they’d thrown so many rocks Shaun could barely keep his head upright. Evan helped him go to the bathroom, brush his teeth, and get into bed.

“That was fun today,”
he said, smoothing Shaun’s hair back from his forehead. “You did good riding in the boat and at the hospital, and I think a couple more times and you’ll be skipping rocks by yourself.” He spoke in lower and lower tones, each word helping to sink Shaun’s drooping eyelids into place. “Mom’s proud of you too.”

His throat tightened
, and he inhaled through his nose, blinked the tears away. After listening to him breathe deeply for over a minute, Evan leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

“Night
, buddy, sleep good.”

He left the room and paced through the quiet house
, to the kitchen, putting a mug of water in the microwave for tea. While the unit hummed, he found his laptop case amongst the rest of his luggage and sat with it at the kitchen table. After firing it up, he searched his documents for the last article he’d started, and cringed at the date the document had last been modified: almost two years prior. The disappointment only lasted a minute, and the familiar feeling took its place as he opened it up. It was an article about an Afghanistan veteran who’d run into a burning building to save a little girl, despite the fact that he was a double amputee and had only prosthetics from the knees down. The dates and facts were so old the article was useless now. Evan closed the document and slid its icon into the trash.

The sound of the microwave beeping pulled him from his seat
, and he returned a minute later gripping the steaming mug of green tea. As he sat, he sipped the drink, letting his eyes flow over the half-dozen articles remaining in the document folder—an expose on a salmonella outbreak at a grocer near their house in the cities, a few hundred words about a special-education plan that affected Shaun being cut, and a document titled “Young Cancer.”

Evan deleted the last on the list
, then opened a blank page. He stared at the blinking cursor. He wasn’t a fiction writer at heart, and he knew it. Without a subject, facts, something to research, he felt lost. He’d enjoyed many great books throughout his life, and he never understood how the authors did it. How could you venture into the unknown, no guide or map save the one you drew for yourself? He needed a solid groundwork laid out before typing the first word; anything else felt foolish and immaterial. He sighed, and drank more tea and looked out the dark window, as if trying to pluck a subject randomly from thin air.

A sound snapped him from his trance
, and he glanced around the empty kitchen, waiting. It came again, a quiet snap, once, there and gone, almost like a coffeepot cooling.

Or
a fingernail tapping on a window.

Evan stood and walked to the
back wall, finding a switch near the sill and flipping it on. The backyard and solid line of trees beyond blazed into life with the glow of the floodlight. He cupped his hands around his face, searching the tree line and ground between. Nothing.

The sound
came again, and Evan spun in place, his eyes flitting to the living room. The source was definitely inside the house. After shutting the outside light off, he made his way through the living room, checking behind the sofa and recliners. He threw a glance at the vacant entryway, then walked to the bedrooms.

Shaun still slept peacefully, one arm cocked above his head. Evan stepped fully into the room
, and looked behind the door and tugged the curtains over the bed open enough to see nothing was there.

Tick. Tick.

His spine stiffened and goose bumps flowed over his exposed forearms, onto his back. The sound had come from the kitchen, he was sure of it. The idea of a weapon came to mind, and he mentally cursed himself for leaving his pistol at their home. He hadn’t seen any need to bring it here. Now, it seemed a stupid oversight.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

He walked through the living room, in what felt like slow motion. The air in his lungs became hot and uncomfortable with each renewed breath.

It’s Bob, he’s come back for his things.

Evan looked at the front door, recalling the moment he locked it. Yes, he was sure he’d locked it.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Entering the kitchen, he stopped, his stomach a ball of twisted snakes.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound was coming from the basement. The broken clock was ticking.

“No,” Evan said. He meant the word to be
forceful, but it came out barely a whisper.

That wasn’t a possibility. He was no clock expert, but t
he one downstairs couldn’t run.

Tick
. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Slowly
, methodically, the sound went on, perfectly measured in tempo. Evan found the strength to move to the door, and placed his ear against it.

The ticking stopped.

All at once it was gone. Silence returned.

It heard you listening.

Another wave of goose bumps rolled across his skin, and he forced the voice away. With determination, he pulled the door open and started down the stairs. The darkness waited, liquid and pure, just as the night before. Evan backtracked to the kitchen, his resolve unbroken. He found a flashlight in a junk drawer near the bottom of the cabinets. When he flicked his thumb against the switch, a solid beam of yellow light lanced from the lens. Not waiting for his resolve to crumble, he stepped to the basement door and shone the light down.

The doll stood on the landing.

Evan dropped the light, his mouth opening to cry out, but the need to pick up the flashlight was too great. He bent and fumbled with the smooth barrel, his fingers fat and unwieldy. The whole time his eyes were locked on the darkness, ready to run if he saw movement coming toward him. He picked up the light and pointed downward.

The landing was empty
.

The bare boards stared back. Silence roared in his ears.
He leaned against the doorway, all the strength going out of his legs. He rubbed his eyes.

“You’re fucking losing it,” he said to himself.

Speaking out loud didn’t have the calming effect he hoped for. Evan stepped down onto the first stair, his light illuminating less of the darkness than he liked. Another step. Another. Down. Finally he stood on the landing, and as he turned, he couldn’t help but shine the beam in the direction of the doll. It still stood where he’d placed it, its eyes two glinting sapphires, the duct tape over its mouth.

Evan shook his head. He needed a drink. What was he even doing down here? Making sure an ancient clock with missing pieces wasn’t ticking? He should turn around and go back upstairs
simply to prove he wasn’t insane right now. Giving in to your fears only led to more paranoia. He nodded—

—
and took another step down. Reaching out, he snapped the switch on, illuminating the basement. Everything looked in place. The table before the clock was the same as he’d left it.