Chapter 34
The taillights flash as I get to it, like the car can sense the keys nearby.
I glance back at the front door—nobody’s there, nobody’s watching—then pull open the passenger door, gather up the bottom of my dress and do my best to manoeuvre the bustle inside.
I slam the door shut, then duck down a little and reach forward, opening the glove compartment.
My phone is right there, on top of the leather-bound manual.
I hold my breath as I check the screen, willing there to be a Merry Christmas message from Jonathan.
There isn’t one.
Disappointment settles in my stomach. But it’s only Christmas Eve, he might send it tomorrow.
And so I push thoughts of Jonathan aside and tap through to the VHC website, my stomach churning, then glance down through recent posts, scanning for Kenny’s name.
There’s an article from Poland: TEEN CLAIMS TO HAVE BEEN TURNED INTO A VAMPIRE, a nothing article about a home invasion in Kentucky, something about putting vampire bats on treadmills . . . but nothing more about Kenny.
Which should calm me down but doesn’t.
Instead, it seems to fuel the gnawing in my gut; the pending sense of doom. The sense that more is coming, I just can’t see what it is yet. That I’m standing in the eye of the storm.
Stay calm. Act normal.
And there is a little red ‘one’ on my inbox so I tap on it.
It’s from Sally, and it’s a picture of a turkey. The turkey she didn’t want to cook. The text reads: Hope your heart is healing and you’re not alone. Let me know you’re okay?
See? All fine.
I let out a big breath and type back: Away in countryside. It’s . . . interesting.
Send.
I glance back at the house. It’s still just me out here, so I tap through to Instagram and navigate to Jonathan’s profile. He hasn’t posted anything new. Not even a story. Which I suppose is better than posting things and not texting me.
Still, here I am, dressed in a beautiful vintage red dress, and red is my colour.
As I look around at the luxe interior of Oscar’s car, I think: I need to remind him.
I pull up the selfie camera, angle it down at my face slightly, trying to capture the manor through the window behind me, hold up my fingers in a peace sign, smile and take a picture.
And then I upload it to my Instagram stories captioned #christmaseve.
A reply comes in immediately from Es: WOO HOO! Jonathan who???? Where are you? Looks DREAMY! Xxx
Now all I need is for Jonathan to think that too.
I send her a love heart then lock my phone and put it back in the glove compartment, then reach for the door handle to get out, glancing briefly through the window as I do.
I catch a flicker of movement.
There, over by the door.
I duck down a little further and watch a figure hover by the stairs, partially obscured by the potted plants. What if it’s Oscar, looking for me?
But then the figure goes back inside. So I sneak out of the car, pick up the bottom of my dress and take a step towards the front door.
And I’m going to go back inside, but then the figure appears again.
Shit. It’s just a silhouette against the light behind it, but I can tell from the height, the breadth of the shoulders, that the person is probably male. He seems to be looking around.
Oscar . . . I bet it’s him.
I get a flash of the fire in his eyes. Then the way he killed Kenny, just on a whim. He won’t be pleased if he discovers I snuck out with his car keys. It’s better I avoid him. So I turn around and run behind the hedge.