Chapter 5 Pax
FIVE
PAX
I woke up to a loud scratching that echoed around the turret on the floor above my bedroom and descended the circular stairs. Goosebumps raised their spiky heads on my arms, and I clutched the duvet under my chin. I wanted to hide underneath it and wish away whatever was making that noise.
I reasoned that it was an animal, either on the roof or it had crawled into a space between the walls. But it originated from the turret. If a squirrel got into that space, it’d run down the stairs, looking for a way out. Damn, it would probably come in here.
I leaped up and put a chair under the door handle as I’d seen people do in movies, while begging the universe to make the noise stop. But as I lay in bed and the minutes ticked by, the scratching continued.
I couldn’t sleep, but no way was I venturing up to the turret, not by myself. My imagination was filled with increasingly grim images, most of which involved me screaming.
But I was alone and knew no one in town other than Dray.
I couldn’t call him. He was my builder, not my boyfriend or even my buddy. But he did owe me two favors, one for wetting me with the hose and the other for spilling coffee over me. Was that enough to have him make a house call in the middle of the night?
I nibbled off what was left of my nails and picked up the phone. It was midnight and he was probably in bed, maybe not alone. That image was worse than the pics my imagination conjured up regarding the scratching.
I pulled up Dray’s contact, and I hesitated. Calling your contractor in the middle of the night was weird and inappropriate. But the scratching became louder, and I texted him. I couldn’t bear to speak to him and hear the confusion in his voice before he refused.
Sorry for the late message. There’s something or someone in the turret and I’m freaking out.
I hit send and regretted it. Shit, he’d wake in the morning and think I was bonkers.
But my phone buzzed. Be there in ten.
I threw on clothes over my tee and boxers. He pulled up seven minutes later, and I wrenched open the door before he could knock.
“I shouldn’t have texted you.”
“I’m glad you did.” He had a toolbox in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
Now I felt ridiculous because the toolbox suggested he thought it wasn’t someone breaking and entering. Unless he was going to ask the intruder to help him with repairs.
His hair was as messy as mine probably was, and I resisted the temptation to run my hand through it.
“It might be nothing.” I hoped it was something, because how would I get over the embarrassment of calling him in the middle of the night?
I led him through the dark house, lit only by a lamp near the bottom of the steps. We were breathing in tandem, and a floorboard creaked behind me as we climbed the stairs to the second floor.
The door to the turret stairs was at the end of the hallway. I’d been up there once since my arrival, when Dray was assessing any damage.
“Want me to go first?” He reached around me and gripped the doorknob. His scent assailed my nostrils, and I leaned on the wall, gathering my strength.
“No, I can do this.” The narrow staircase was swallowed in darkness, and when I flicked the light switch, nothing happened.
“It’ll be the bulb.” Dray turned on the flashlight and the shadows parted.
We climbed the stairs together, but the space was narrow, not really wide enough for two people, and his shoulder brushed against mine. I wanted more than a shoulder nudge.
The flashlight beam bounced off the walls, but with Dray at my side, the darkness was no longer creepy.
He flashed the light around the turret windows and the sloping ceiling.
I couldn’t see anything out of place until the scratching started again.
I jumped and Dray put an arm around me, whispering that he was here and everything was fine.
He smelled so good, even in the middle of the night.
His beam lit up a branch that was pressed against the glass. With each gust of wind, it scraped on the window.
A scorching burn spread over my face. “Just a branch?” I said in a small voice.
“The window seal has frayed which is why the noise was amplified.”
“Okay.” I was so embarrassed and glad for the darkness hiding my blush.
“Old houses make weird sounds. I’m glad you called me.”
I glanced around the space and the memories came flooding back. “I spent most of a summer up here when Mom was in the hospital. Dad couldn’t take time off work, so Aunt June looked after me.”
“That must have been scary.”
It had been. “I used to come up here and pretend I was a knight or a wizard and I lorded over my subjects because I had no control over my mom’s illness.”
Dray let me talk and didn’t interrupt.
“Aunt June would bring our lunch up and we’d just be. She didn’t try to remove my fear, but she’d listen and hold me until I could move past it.”
“She understood what you needed.”
Tears stung my eyes. “I keep expecting her to walk in with a crystal she swears will fix everything.”
Dray looked around the turret. “Maybe she left you something better than a crystal.”
“Huh?”
“This place. You have a home and a new life. You can reinvent yourself if you want, but June has given you the opportunity to do it.”
Maybe she had. Leaving me the house set me on a path to meeting Dray.
“The view's good at night from up here.”
Without saying anything, we slid onto the floor with our backs against the wall. The window looked out over the lights scattered in the distance and the stars beyond.
“I used to make wishes on stars up here. Aunt June told me the universe was listening.”
“What did you wish for?”
I hadn't thought about it in years. “To feel like I belonged somewhere.” I’d never fit in with the kids at school because I said the wrong thing, wore non-trendy clothes, and never understood their kid jargon.
I glanced at him. “What about you? Did you make wishes as a child?”
Dray didn't answer right away. “I’ve been wishing for the same thing for eight years.”
Eight years was very specific, and it was eight years ago I got my tattoo.
We were sitting close enough that our shoulders touched. My tattoo was warmer than the rest of me, and though I was getting used to that, I hadn’t come up with a reasonable explanation for why it was happening.
“This place suits you. You seem lighter than when you arrived.”
“Maybe it's not just the place.”
Shoot, did I just say that? I could pretend I was talking about Arthur’s food or the fresh air.
He turned toward me and our lips were inches apart.
His gaze lowered to my mouth. Every heartbeat echoed in my head, and I so wanted to close that distance.
Dray’s hand moved to cup my chin, but he pulled away and I was tempted to yell, “Whatever you were going to do, do that.”
He mumbled about needing to go but he’d be back later to cut the branch. He leaped up and was down the stairs while I was still on the floor. His truck starting up rumbled in the distance, and I put my head on the floor and curled up.
I stayed where I was until dawn. I touched my lips because I’d been expecting a kiss and I was disappointed. The house was so empty without him, and my tattoo was achy. But he showed up in the afternoon with a chainsaw and a ladder, as well as his trusty box of tools.
“Let me know if you need anything,” I called from the porch and went inside to tackle more of the unpacking. I made it through one box before wandering up to the turret, which wasn’t intimidating in the daylight, and apart from spiders building their webs, I was alone.
Dray had cut the offending branch and was on the ground pruning the bushes. I shouldn’t be staring at him, it was a little creepy, but I leaned against the window watching him work.
Today was warmer than the previous few days, and Dray’s shirt was drenched in sweat. He was partly hidden by the foliage as he wiped his brow with an arm and yanked off his shirt. His chest belonged in a fashion magazine or on a runway.
Shit. I gripped the window ledge as my legs threatened to give way. The room spun around, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
On his left shoulder in black, red, and orange ink was a tattoo of flames and greeny-blue scales.
It was the same one that was hidden under my sweater.
But that couldn’t be right. The foliage was creating shadows and I was imagining it.
The angle was wrong. That had to be the reason I was seeing things.
I pressed my face against the glass like I used to as a kid, but Dray was in full view and so was the tattoo. Placing a hand on my shoulder, the warmth underneath seeped into my palm as I tried to fathom what was going on. His tattoo was identical to mine, with the same colors and curves.
This wasn’t possible. People didn’t get identical tattoos. No, they did when they chose them from a book or the internet. But Dray’s was in the same place as mine, and the style was identical, as if they’d been done by one person.
I backed away from the window and put a hand to my heart, telling it to calm down. After almost tumbling down the stairs, I went into my room and searched online for the meaning of matching tattoos, but nothing much came up.
I dredged up memories of Aunt June saying there was no such thing as coincidences as the skin under my tattoo sizzled. I considered jumping in the shower but a knock sent me reeling against the dressing table.
Dray had his shirt back on when he told me he was done.
“Are you okay?” He squinted at me.
I mumbled that I was tired, and he left, saying over his shoulder he’d get a new window seal. I was glad when he was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.