Page 109 of Eldritch

She settled at the office desk and tried reading after he settled on his couch. Fatigue caught up with her three hours later. She needed to stay awake a little longer.

She ventured into the kitchen and grabbed the easiest source of caffeine. A can of diet cola. Returning to the office, she noted he hadn’t moved an inch. She sat at the desk in the less comfortable chair, understanding that if she sat on the couch, she’d be tempted to sleep. Despite this, she nodded off.

A shifting movement sent a zing of alertness through her. She jerked and opened her eyes. Clarice stood in the wide-open doorway.

Taggert stood behind Clarice and slightly to the woman’s left, a wide smile plastered on his face. He gripped a big handgun in his meaty right paw.

Chapter Eighteen

A few times in Sybil’s life, she’d experienced alarming disquiet. She’d suffered oppression and pain, both physically and mentally with bullies in school, and with her own parents she’d undergone oppression and disapproval. Nothing quite prepared her for the sheer dread that settled into her mind, her heart, and down to her bones. A shiver raced over her skin, her stomach tightening into a knot almost as unforgiving as the vice of alarm contracting her throat.

“Hey, darlin’.” Taggert drawled his words, emphasizing his Killeen, Texas accent with a vengeance. “I’m back to get what’s mine.”

Dressed in white outerwear that looked designed for an Arctic Circle expedition, Taggert reminded her of one of those survivalists on reality television. He undid the fastenings on the hood over his head and pushed it back.

She wanted to spit his name out in disgust. To rage at him to get the fuck out. She throttled the words, unwilling to put Clarice and Doug in danger so that she could express anger. Yet the burn of fury rose so high she almost choked on her rage.

Taggert moved around Clarice and lifted his gun, and her gaze snagged on the unusual size of the weapon, the intimidating force of the barrel. Her heart picked up speed, her breath coming faster. She wrestled with self-control, unwilling to give the bastard the gratification of seeing her lose control.

I’ll be damned if you’re going to break me, you piece of shit.

Sybil realized the heat inside her. Her body feeling so heavy she could barely move. Her resentment surged, and she drew in yet another breath to steady herself.

Outside, the wind roared against the house.

Above their heads…

Creak. Creak. Creak.

It almost sounded like footsteps. Coming from the center part of the room. From the ceiling above.

“Jesus,” Taggert said, his gaze flicking to above Sybil’s head. “Would you look at that?”

Clarice’s gaze went over Sybil’s head as well.

“The chandelier,” Clarice said. “I’ll bet that’s been happening a lot since you’ve all been here, hasn’t it, Sybil?”

“What?” Sybil knew what the woman meant, but the shock of realizing Clarice knew…now that took Sybil off guard.

“Freaky,” Taggert said, his gaze coming back to Sybil with frightening intensity. “Your chandelier is swaying.” He looked at Clarice. “Maybe this shitty old pile is falling apart. It looks like hell. But I suppose that’s Sybil’s fault, isn’t it? She never could keep a house worth a damn.”

Sybil’s heartbeat went into overdrive again, her body flooded with a desire to grab something heavy and rush Taggert. To bash him until he became a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. She glared at him with every fiber inside her vibrating.

The room went silent. Deeply, eerily silent as she centered all her focus on him. He caught her gaze. She didn’t flinch and kept her eyes locked to his chilly stare.

I hate you. I fucking hate you, Taggert. Rot in hell.

Ridiculously, Sybil was reminded of one of those times she’d been on a walk in her neighborhood when she was a teenager. She’d just gotten off the bus at her stop and had a block more to walk before she reached home. Respite had flooded through her because she’d escaped one boy who liked to torment her. She glanced back once to make sure he hadn’t followed her. But no, it wasn’t his stop, and the bus driver probably would have yelled at the kid if he'd tried to get off the bus early. As she’d walked, her eyes had welled with tears and she’d wiped them away with anger, livid with herself, with the boy and the entire world. Her body had pulsated, on the brink of exploding like a supernova. A moment later, the steady breeze ruffling her hair had halted. Birds in the trees had choked off their song.

She’d come to a stop on the sidewalk. No traffic sounds.

No sound.

In that moment, she’d heard a furtive movement. Perhaps a footstep. She turned swiftly.

Her tormenter had stood not twenty feet behind her, an ugly smirk plastered on his pugnacious features. She’d pinned him with a scowl filled with loathing. Hoping he could feel it. Hoping it ate him alive from the inside out like a parasite. One moment, he wore a self-confident expression, and the next, someone snatched it from him. His eyes had widened a little as apprehension and discomfort had replaced his sneer.

He’d moved back. One step. Two. He turned and ran.

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