Page 15 of Grotesque
My hand hovered over the doorknob. “Who is it?”
Rule #2: Do not invite guests into the manor.
I didn’t plan on letting whoever it was in, let’s get that straight. Rules or no rules, I had a feeling that whoever was banging on my door wasn’t here for idle chit chat. My gut twisted in agreement.
Something shifted on the other side. “Is Maxine in?” The voice was deep and male. It wasn’t Quint. He had a nice voice, but this…this one sounded smoother. Like honey melting into tea. I should have felt relief but somehow it only made me more anxious. Who the hell just strolls up to someone’s house at night?
And this house of all of them?
Then it hit me, whoever it was maybe didn’t know Grandma Macky had passed. My stomach flipped as I wondered again if they had seen me pleasuring myself to a woman about to be murdered.
“She’s not,” I said.
A shadow slipped past me as the man stepped in front of the window. I tensed, pressing closer to the door. Was he looking in? Looking for me?
“I have something for her. Could I leave it with you?”
“You can just set it down out front.” No way in hell was I going to open the front door.
“I’d prefer to leave it with you. I’d hate for someone to steal it.”
Typical for a man to refuse when you told them no. It didn’t matter which way you formed the words, they never listened.
“I think it’ll be safe out there.”
There was a slight pause and though it made no sense I swear I could hear an intake of breath, like a hiss, before he said, “But are you?”
I looked at the door blankly. Surely, I had misheard him.
“Are you safe in there?”
It felt like someone had knocked all the air out of my lungs, as if something dark and menacing had reached right throughthe barrier between us and yanked it out. This had to be some sort of fucked up joke, a local who knew about Macky’s will and wanted me to fail. Whoever it was wanted to scare me, and they were doing a hell of a good job. Maybe itwasQuint and one of thebuddieshe had mentioned.
“Get the fuck off my porch or I’m calling the cops,” I snapped.
My stomach sank as I realized I had left my phone in the other room.
The shadow flitted to the window flanking the other side of the door. They tapped their finger on the glass. The sound was quiet, barely a whisper of noise, and yet I knew it was the same tapping I’d heard the last couple of nights outside my bedroom window. All the way on the second floor. “You’re not going to call the cops. Not when you seem so eager for a stranger to come in and surprise you.” I didn’t even have time to register the taunt – what it meant – when the doorknob suddenly turned and the door swung inward.
I slammed my shoulder against the wood, forcing it closed, and turned the bolt. I hadn’t noticed it unlock, hadn’t even heard it slide free from its sheath. There must be a key hidden somewhere out front. A key that this obviously dangerous man now had. He could come in whenever he wanted.
“That’s right,” he said, as if in answer. A low, musical chuckle filtered through the cracks around the door. “It would be more polite if you just invited me in.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to give something to Maxine,” he said.
“Maxine’s dead!”
His footsteps paced back and forth and then gradually, they faded. A shadow moved in the corner of my eye. I kept my hands braced against the door as I leaned back, looking down the hallway. A tall silhouette slipped across the floor, making its way toward the living room.
He was heading to the kitchen, to the French doors. I didn’t consider that it could be a trap, that he was possibly leading me away from the front door so he could double back and get in. I bolted to the doors, my blood rushing in my ears.
I skidded to a halt right as he reached them.
Whoever he was, he was tall, lanky even, but broad-shouldered. Dark hair framed his face but that was all that I could see. Even without light casting directly onto him, I should have been able to discern some features. Instead, there was total blackness.
“We can do this all night.” Malice lurked behind the laughter in his voice.
