Chapter Thirteen Goldie
Chapter Thirteen
Goldie
June
“Hey, what’s up?” I say, answering my sister’s FaceTime before something catches my attention. “Hold on, is that an alien behind you?”
Evie laughs. “Yeah . . . his name’s Trevor.”
A green, bug-eyed creature stares at me from behind her, looking like something from an old episode of a show our parents watched—The X Files. Her office is the strangest place. It’s exactly what you’d picture a mad scientist’s lair to look like.
“Trevor, huh?”
She nods like it’s the most natural choice of name without elaborating. It’s so like her.
“Cool, well, what’s up?” I chuckle.
She’s tinkering with something, her feet on her desk as she speaks.
“Mom told me to tell you . . .” She pauses, suddenly more focused on the screen. “Are you at home?”
We’re too much alike to not actually be blood related. I shake my head.
“No. I’m packing up Noah’s kitchen. He already did most of his stuff himself, but I offered to help since he had to work. What did Mom want to tell me via messenger?”
She finger guns me. “That she officially told Joanne—the bitch-face, dirty-rose-growing gardener—the hell off.”
I set the brown packing paper down, my mouth falling open as I squint in thought. “She didn’t say ‘bitch face,’ though . . .”
Evie grins, amused with herself. “Nah, that part was me. But they did have a very rousing, albeit polite, passive-aggressive exchange that was punctuated by silence and long sighs.”
“Stop. I can almost picture it.”
I laugh, resuming my work, and reach for another glass to wrap.
Evie wags her perfectly manicured brows before taking a drink of her soda. “So when’s the big move-in date with the father of my future nieces?”
I sigh, still smiling. “Would you quit? Thankfully, this Friday. Between my lease and his, it was a pain. But it turned out to be perfect because now we have the whole weekend to get settled in.”
She rolls her eyes with the perfect amount of jealousy. “Yeah, and to check out your new, amazing neighborhood.” I wiggle my shoulders in a little dance of celebration as she complains. “You’re such a bitch face that your hot boyfriend snagged a place in Beacon Hill.”
“You can always come visit. You know who else lives in the neighborhood? The giver of that fish next to Trevor.”
She holds up a screwdriver from the many tools on her desk. “Don’t ruin this moment . . . Just let me have it. I was just picturing myself lying on your comfy couch. And if you mention Ruth Bader again, I’ll seek revenge.”
I chuckle again before looking down at the box of dishes. She and Chase are never going to get along.
Evie mumbles as she turns in her chair, blocking the view. “What kind of name is Knievie, anyway? She’s clearly a she. He’s a moron.”
“While I’d love to know how you know the sex of the fish, I gotta go. I want to finish this before Noah gets home.”
She leans into the camera. “Wait, wait . . . last thing. Have you heard anything about the article yet?”
It took me about a month after I submitted it to tell my family about what I’d written. And just like I expected, they’ve been understanding and the best hype squad. My dad even has me mostly convinced to hire someone to look into my birth.
But I worry that when someone wants to hide, they usually stay hidden. Still, it feels too empowering not to try.
“Not a word,” I whine. “And it’s excruciating.”
I dramatically drop my head onto my forearms on the counter. I’m still pouting with my face hidden as I hear her in the background.
“It’s going to happen. I believe. Keep me updated. I mean, if you have time between your wifely duties.”
My head snaps up to her goofy smile. “Shut it.”
I press the end button with gusto without saying goodbye. Because she’s insufferable. She’s lucky I love her.
I slide my phone into the back pocket of my jean shorts as my music kicks back on, blasting in my ears. “‘Wifely duties.’ Is she serious?” I say to myself before humming along to the Chappell Roan song in my ears.
On the upside, I will repay her teasing with a healthy dose of sister karma when she falls in love.
The thought makes me smile as I look back at the empty cabinet, debating what to do next.
I suddenly remember that I left a water glass on his nightstand last night, so I spin, patting my hand on the counter to the rhythm in my ears as I head toward Noah’s room.
But the moment I enter, the lights dim, except they weren’t on. I look around, noticing dark shadows cast over the walls. The afternoon suddenly feels like evening.
My eyes dart to the window, which is now framing angry, deep-gray and purple skies outside. Whatever’s kicked up is arriving in a hurry, because the curtains start billowing and whipping around at the bottom.
“Shit,” I whisper before running to close it.
In the two seconds it takes for me to get there, the rain’s already pouring like a seam has torn and all the water’s bursting from heaven. I grip the wood frame, flecks of white paint chipping off the old wood, just as thunder booms.
“Jesus,” I breathe out, having to use a lot of force to shove the pane closed, but not before whips of water hit my face. “I should’ve left the nail in.”
I told Noah there was something wrong with that window. Makes sense why someone had tried to permanently close it. More thunder clicks just as I remember that the small window above the kitchen sink is open too. So I spin, heading out in a hurry as I wipe the rain from my cheeks.
But as I turn the corner, I scream, a loud guttural implosion of shock and fear. The AirPods in my ears fall, bouncing to the floor as my hand darts out in front of me to protect myself.
A man stands like a statue in the doorway, eclipsing the view behind him, partially shadowed as water drips from his T-shirt onto his work boots.
My chest heaves as his almost-black eyes stare back at mine. And it’s terrifying. Because they’re dead, no life behind them. Even the way he blinks is methodical.
“Hi. Why are you in my house?” I say cautiously, but he doesn’t answer.
Or react.
Chills explode over my body as my heart pounds like it’s trying to escape. Silence permeates the space between us, louder than the faint chorus of music still playing on the ground.
His presence feels like a blanket of fear, and it’s suffocating. The thunder claps in the sky, making my shoulders jump. But not his.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, almost monotone. “Didn’t mean to scare you. The door was open,” he offers coolly, motioning to it. “And your cat was outside.”
He lifts Princess Peach from beside him, kissing her head. What the fuck.
I draw my brows together, wishing he’d let her go. Because no, my door wasn’t open, and my cat wasn’t outside. She never leaves the house now.
Everything inside of me is in panic mode.
There’s a man in Noah’s doorway. And I’m alone.
He’s lying, and there’s no way I could fight him off.
Fuck. I can feel my chest rising and falling faster as I take a slow step backward, the pressure on the ball of my foot sinking to my heel. But his eyes jump to my feet as his head tilts, his large hand roughly stroking the cat. I freeze.
Can I make it out the back door? I just need to stay calm. Play it cool.
A small, forced smile peeks out on my face, making the heavy breaths through my nose loud enough for me to hear.
“Thanks for bringing her back,” I rush out, pointing to the floor. “You can just put her down there.”
“It was probably unlocked,” he says, not letting go of the cat. I frown, confused and really freaked out. “Your door . . .” he adds as if reading my mind. “These old houses do that . . . open easy. If you don’t lock them, a good gust of wind will swing it right open.”
I want to be relieved, but there’s something off about this guy. Still, I nod, trying to feign nonchalance.
“Okay, yeah. Good tip. I’ll make sure to pay attention to the locks better.”
My pulse is throbbing, beating so fast I can feel it on my neck.
He takes a small step inside, making the metal threshold creak under the weight of his foot. I blink faster.
Stop him. Now. He can’t come in!
“I just cleaned the floors,” I rush out loudly.
His eyes bore into mine, all the shadows from his face removed, giving me a better look at him. He has deep pox scars all over his gaunt cheeks and an angular jaw, like someone who could’ve been handsome once, but life got to him.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just . . .”
Anything else I was going to say is lost because fight or flight is kicking in, and I think I’m a “scared in place.”
His voice is so level, as if he’s detached or void of emotion.
“You really should be more careful. You never know what could happen to the things you love.”
As he says it, Princess meows hoarsely, and too quietly, like he’s squeezing her. My lips curl under my teeth as I try not to cry or run because all I want to do is make sure she’s okay.
I reach into my back pocket, hand around my phone, trying to remember how many times to press the side buttons to call for emergency.
Goddammit. I should’ve paid better attention to everything. Not just the phone instructions but to Noah as well. He’s so adamant about locking the doors and windows. I didn’t listen. I don’t even remember if I locked the door behind me when I came in.
The wind howls outside, and he turns his head, so I take the opportunity to take another few steps backward, repeating myself from before. “Hey, thanks again. Really. You can just set her down.”
But he doesn’t. He hums a quiet laugh, making my blood feel ice cold.
His eyes shift back to mine slowly before they narrow, and he holds her out to me—by the scruff of her neck.
“Come get her . . .”
The taunt makes me shiver, and a small, broken cry stutters from her. Because his grip on the back of her neck is so harsh her fangs are bared as she hangs limp.
“Wouldn’t want to get your floors wet,” he adds with an uneasy, treacherous smirk.