Page 11 of The Perfect Design

I make it to the top of the staircase, my hands full of newly folded blankets, sheets, and my spare comforter, when I come to a dead stop. I watch my attic door, which should have been locked, slowly inch its way open.

Why is this happening, again?

Yes, I said again. I’ve been finding it open for weeks now.

Is my house haunted? Could that be a real possibility?

Is there someone in there? A vagrant maybe? A serial killer?

“Oh, get a grip, Tori!” I scold myself.

What do I do though?

With a deep breath filling my lungs, I gear myself up to go take a look. I’ll take one for the team and be that girl. You know the one in the horror movies that goes upstairs when she hears a noise. Or runs into a basement when the knife-wielding killer is right behind her.

I really should probably lay off the crazy movie watching. It’s starting to get to me.

I inch closer to the door. God knows I have no sense sometimes.

My heart was pounding so hard but I couldn't stop myself.

I reach out with one hand, my fingers digging into the comforter I hold with the other. Like it is going to protect me or something.

I won’t lie, I’m praying the whole way that I’m not about to die.

I swear if a ghost of something weird is in there, I am moving out. Today. I don’t even care if I lose money. I need peace of mind and right now, I have none of it.

As the door inches open more and more—by itself, mind you—my heart rate doubles; triples. Let’s be real. I am one second away from either collapsing or crapping myself. With my fingers brushing the handle to pull it open fully, that’s when it happens.

I get the fright of my life.

A large streak of white comes barreling out of the opened doorway, yowling with a familiar gray streak behind it.

Even though it registers what it is…I am not necessarily proud of what happens next. Not only do I let the clean laundry go flying, I scream like I am being murdered by some masked man. And, again, not a fine moment, but with the excitement, I may have wet myself. Only a little. You know those muscles need a little tightening after a kid and well…they have a mind of their own.

I am trying to get my head wrapped around what just happened when I hear footsteps thundering up the stairs.

I start to yell at the big ball of gray fur, my big tomcat, Loki.

“You furry bastard! Get out of there.” He’s run into the hallway closet, which is only open because I’d left it open a few minutes ago so I could put the rest of the laundry away.

I can hear yowling and hissing, but the fact that I may have to change my underpants right now has me pissed off. No pun intended. I flip the light on and storm inside.

“Cat! I will make you sleep in the barn!”

He has another, slightly smaller cat—the white streak—pinned to the ground, its fur raised as it hisses back at him.

“Loki Oswald, stop being a bully.” I reach down and snatch him up by the scruff of his neck. “You hear me, stop that. You scared me to death, you know. You big idiot.” I glare at my cat even though this wasn’t really his fault. I’m the one who reacted badly.

A hand touches my arm, and I spin, shrieking. I find Ian watching me, concern and amusement in his gaze. Mack and the few dozen men all in the hallway behind him are looking around, like they are just here for no good reason.

I sigh, pulling the cat to me. “Shit.” What else can I say? “Sorry.”

“You alright?” Ian’s deep voice soothes my frazzled nerves. His hand cups my neck, the fire in his gaze has me giving him a soft smile.

“I’m fine. Stupid cat scared the ever-loving crap out of me. I thought he was a ghost or a serial killer ready to strike me down. Least it wasn’t aliens.” I snort out a laugh at the looks on their faces. “Come on, boys, y’all aren’t too naive to believe we are the only beings here, are you?”

“Not at all.”

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