Chapter 13 Chloe
CHLOE
Theo Shorn doesn’t come back. I wake up the next morning to warm sunlight falling across my face, my office chair jammed up under my bedroom door knob. Something tells me that wouldn’t have actually kept him out, but it’s undisturbed, regardless.
I send a quick text over to Penelope.
Just checking in. I’m fine. No sign of him.
Then I leave my phone sitting on my bedside table and go downstairs to investigate.
The house feels like it did last night: quiet and empty.
I forgot to close the curtains when I came back inside, and the living room is flooded with hot sunlight.
Through the glass, the lake ripples with miniature waves, and the sky is an endless, cloudless blue.
It looks nothing like it did last night, when it was all just empty darkness.
I fix a quick breakfast, granola and yogurt and slices of the plump, juicy peaches I picked up from the little farm stand that sits on the highway between here and Pinella. Brew a cup of coffee. And then, because it’s what I’ve done most mornings since I moved in, I take it out on my patio to eat.
It’s nice out. The sun is warm on my skin, but the breeze blowing over the lake is cool. As I eat, I watch the thick wall of trees across the water. The wind makes their leaves shimmer in the sunlight, but there’s no sign of Theo Shorn. Or of anyone.
There is a strange, hollow knocking sound, though. I hear it occasionally, and I think it’s an animal at first, maybe a squirrel hunting for nuts in one of the oak trees growing on my property. But when the wind gusts, it gets louder. And it isn’t coming from the direction of my yard, either.
It seems to be coming from the lake.
My breath quickens, although I wouldn’t say I feel afraid, exactly. I reach instinctively for my phone, only to remember I left it upstairs.
“Hello?” I call out softly. No answer.
I get up from the table and take a few steps forward, trying to follow the sound. There’s a distinctive pattern to it: the wind gusts, and the knocking echoes a couple of times, then fades. Wood on wood, that’s what it sounds like.
And it sounds like it’s beneath my pier.
I jump off my patio, into the damp, marshy grass that rolls into the lake. I’ve never been down here, and I know it’s stupid, what I’m doing. At the very least, I should have Penelope on the phone with me. Or her sister.
But I keep creeping forward, hand out on the pier for balance. There’s another particularly strong gust of wind, another round of knocking. And this time, I see what it is.
A boat.
There’s a boat tied to my pier.
It’s not Oliver’s boat. This boat looks a lot older, the red paint so worn down it’s almost pink. When the wind blows, the rippling waves push it up against the pier post.
I suck in a breath of air and lift my gaze to the crowd of oak trees growing up around my yard. Is he still here, lurking somewhere? Watching me right now?
I swallow, but it’s hard to be scared in the bright light of morning. Especially when I wasn’t all that scared last night.
An idea hits me, then. Probably a stupid one. But if he’s over here, on this side of the lake—
What’s stopping me from taking this boat to his side of the lake?
My heart pounds against my ribcage. If he’s watching me, he might try to stop me from taking the boat. Then I can get him on the phone with Penelope and Callie. But if he isn’t here, if he isn’t paying attention, it’s a chance for me to snoop around. To learn more about him.
It’s stupid, I know. But I’m going to do it anyway.
I slide down to the waterline and drag the boat out into the open, then step inside.
The whole time, my skin prickles, and I glance over my shoulder, expecting him to emerge out of the shadows like he did last night, staring at me through his long, pale hair.
But he doesn’t. The trees watch me. There’s no sign of anyone else.
I settle down on the bench and pluck at the rope until it comes loose.
Then I push myself off with one of the oars, hard enough that a wave catches me and drags me out to the water.
I row toward the peninsula, the oars rising and falling.
I glance over my shoulder again, but there’s no sign of him. There’s no sign of anyone.
Even though this boat is older and bigger and heavier than Oliver’s, I have a better sense of how to work the oars now, and I make good time to the peninsula.
When I slide up into the shallows, I step into the water and drag the boat up onto the shore, grateful that I threw on flip flops instead of real shoes when I came outside this morning.
That gratefulness is short-lived, though, as I turn toward the trees.
“Fuck,” I murmur, walking sideways along the treeline. Everything is so dense and overgrown, and I think back to what my realtor told me. Ticks. Rattlesnakes.
Unkillable murderers.
I don’t turn back, though. I mean, I’m here now, and some dark, throbbing curiosity pushes me forward until I find that barely-there path to the cemetery. I figure that’s a good place to start. Oliver said Theo lived in a cabin, and it would make sense that this old trail would lead there.
Still, it’s not easy getting to the cemetery again. My flip flops snag on the overgrowth, and I keep feeling the forest whisper across my skin. But I push on, and when I catch sight of the clearing and the rough, overgrown graveyard, I breathe a sigh of relief.
I pick my way through the grass until I find Theo Shorn’s grave. The name is there, clear in the dappled sunlight. So are the dates: 1943-1960. I do the math backward in my head. He would actually be 82 this year.
My skin prickles again, and I run my fingers over the rough stone, my chest tight.
Penelope did explain a little bit of it to me, what Callie is.
How she’s not really human, how she can die and come back to life, something she’s already done once.
A perfect predator, Penelope told me the night of the attack, holding me while I sobbed and shook in the apartment bathtub.
You don’t have to be scared of her. But there are others out there.
And you should stay far, far away from them.
Clearly, I’m not good at following instructions.
I rise up to standing and spin around slowly. Then I see it. A small gap in the trees. Another path, this one a little clearer than the one that brought me here.
It may be more defined, but it’s darker, the way it weaves into the woods.
The trees are thicker overhead and block out any of the warming light of the sun I felt in the cemetery.
But since it’s easier to walk, I move more quickly, ducking under wayward branches and pushing aside loops of ropy vines.
Then I feel something. A presence.
I stop, my heart hammering. The woods ripple around me, but I don’t hear anything. No footsteps. No breaths. Well, aside from my own.
It can’t be him. I took his boat.
Can’t it?
I push forward, more slowly this time. My footsteps sound like thunder. And I still feel it, that presence. That prickling on the back of my neck like someone’s watching.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice low and tremulous. “Theo?”
I stop in the middle of the trail and listen. Tree branches blow around overhead, getting entangled with each other. Warning signals go off in my body: this is stupid why did you steal his boat you didn’t even bring your phone you fucking idiot you need to get out of here
I whirl around to go back the way I came—
And there he is, his huge form blocking the path.
I shriek and stumble backward and slam into a nearby tree. Theo watches me with his icy blue eyes. He’s swept his hair back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, which just highlights the sharp lines of his cheekbones.
“I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “I was—I just—”
His eyes burn into me.
“I brought your boat back,” I say. Then, remembering myself, I sign it too.
Theo studies me for a second longer. Then he lifts his hands and signs, “You didn’t call the police.”
I drop my mouth open, not sure how to answer. My first thought is not understanding how he could know that, followed by another thought reminding me that if he is like Callie, then he’s not human. Maybe he can sense things.
I shake my head no.
“Why not?”
I take a deep breath. This deep into the forest, there’s no wind, even though I can hear it, blowing across the tops of the trees. Theo stares at me, waiting. He’s changed his clothes, I notice stupidly. A fresh grey T-shirt that stretches across this thick chest. Dark jeans. Heavy black boots.
“You were on the phone last night,” he says. “Who?”
The damp, stifling heat makes me feel swoony. “A friend,” I sign. “I think she’s like you.” I can’t remember the sign he made, although I try my best, clapping my wrists together and swiping my fingers through the air.
It’s good enough, though. I see it in Theo’s face, the way his expression hardens. “She calls herself a Hunter,” I say out loud.
Theo takes a step toward me, his steps heavy but quiet, even in the underbrush. I press against the tree, the bark rough through my shirt.
“You’re not a Hunter.” He uses his sign for it. “You’re human.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He stops a few inches from me, and I think of last night, how his mouth felt on my mine.
“How do you know her?” he asks.
“I’m friends with her sister.” This time, when I talk to him, my hands don’t shake so much. “She’s human.”
Theo tilts his head a little, as if to say, Interesting. I breathe out.
“Why did you come here?” he asks.
Sweat beads on my forehead. Drips down my neck.
“I wanted to know about you.” But that’s not the truth, not really. When I pushed his boat into the water, part of me had hoped he would come after me. Drag me into the grass and kiss me again. Touch me in that rough way I’ve always dreamed about.
Shame floods into my cheeks, but Theo only stares at me. I wonder just how much he can sense what I’m feeling. It’s an unsettling thought.
So just to be safe, I tell the truth.
“I wanted to see you,” I sign, my breath too shuddery in my throat to speak anyway.
Up until this moment, his face had been unreadable, even in the soft, dappled sunlight. But now, it changes. Surprise brightens in his eyes. His lips part. His hands lift and hover there, like he doesn’t know what to say.
“And now I’ve found you,” I sign. “So maybe we can talk?”