Page 116 of The Spider & the Storm

Stormy took a step back, her hand still in mine. I opened my eyes to see hers narrowed, studying my face with concern.

“You okay?”

A twig cracked somewhere to my left, and my heart leaped into my throat as my eyes darted in that direction, but still, I replied, “Yeah, I'm good.”

“You sure? Because I'm not gonna lie—you don't seem good. Like, at all. What’s wrong?”

My hand squeezed around hers in forced reassurance while I kept my stare on that spot for two beats of my heart until I realized it was likely nothing but an animal. My lungs deflated, the gust of air passing through my nose, and I looked to Stormy's backseat. There were several large bags stuffed in there and another couple in the front passenger seat.

“Is there anything in the trunk?” I asked, intentionally avoiding her question.

To acknowledge that I wasn't okay only made it that much morenot okay.

Her dubious gaze remained on my face for a moment before she slowly turned away to acknowledge her things. “No, this is it.”

“All right.”

It took only a few minutes to get everything loaded into the bed of the truck, and I tried to not concern her with my paranoia. But it was difficult to not spin around at every abrupt noise, and after the third snap of my head in the direction of a hooting owl, Stormy had decided definitively that she was not convinced by my feeble attempt at a tough-guy act.

“Okay, listen.” She held her hands up, palms out, after we put the last bag into the truck bed. “You are seriously not helping me to feel good about sleeping in a fucking graveyard, even if I do really like you and I've spent all day looking forward to playing house for a little while. So, can you please just tell me what the hell is going on before I throw all this shit back in my car and check back in to that hotel?”

For good measure, I glanced behind me once more before nudging my chin toward the cab.

“Get in, and I'll tell you.”

So, I told her about the man across the path from my truck. About how he'd taken off the second I apprehended him and how I'd lost him in the darkness of the graveyard. I chose not to divulge the details that I believed he could've also been the one leaving me personal, sacred mementos scattered around the vicinity of my house, only to avoid rattling my bones even further when I'd been shaken enough.

When I was finished, I glanced sidelong at Stormy as we neared the security guard's office, expecting her to lookas terrified as I felt. But instead, she only wore the look of understanding and sympathy.

“Do kids break in here often?” she asked quietly.

I furrowed my brow, eyeing the door to the structure no bigger than a large storage shed. “It happens sometimes, but this guy wasn't akid.” I shook my head, allowing his image to fill my mind. His leather jacket and hood. “This was a full-grown adult.”

“Okay. But … is it at all possible that he could've been homeless?” she offered, her green eyes taking on the serenity of a spring breeze. “Or I don't know … a junkie maybe? I mean, I didn’t see him, so I couldn't say for sure, and I'm not trying to defend him for breaking in. But … when I was younger, and I …” She rolled her lips between her teeth, hesitating with a deep, hard swallow. “We used to find secluded places to do shit, you know? So, what's more secluded than a cemetery after hours?”

There was a sympathetic glint in her eye that begged to reach out and touch my heart, and I almost allowed it. I almost brushed the incident off. But her experiences must've been a lot different than mine because what I knew of breaking and entering was pain, terror, and too much fucking blood. This place was meant to be sacred; it was meant to be safe. Was I really doing my job if I allowed anybody to jump the fence and take up residence? No. And nothing was going to change my mind about that … not even the way her tongue poked out to touch the hoop hugging the center of her bottom lip.

“I hear what you're saying,” I finally replied after a few seconds went by, my tone soft but firm. “But I'm paid to care for this place, not some random guy who's probably out there, leaving his cigarette butts all over the place.”

Stormy sucked in a deep breath, her gaze holding mine. An unspoken argument heated her irises, and I thought she might fire back at me. I hated confrontation. I hated fighting. And what did it say about us and whatever future we might have if we were incapable of getting through a few days without throwing verbal bombs at each other?

But then she exhaled and nodded, her anger defusing. “No, you're right,” she said, no amount of reluctance or resentment in her voice, and I nodded in reply.

We exited the truck to knock on the security guard's door. I had met Max a small handful of times during my years here, but for the most part, we were ships in the night. His shift began when I was typically winding down for the day, and he kept watch as I slept. Never had I been given a reason to come to him, nor had he had one to bother me. But now, here I was, knocking on his door and anxiously awaiting his answer.

It swung open, and there he stood, a man of about my age and height but with the build of a wrestler who'd started to let himself go and a crew cut that did a sufficient job of not drawing attention to his receding hairline.

“What can I do for you, Chuck?” he greeted, all business from the start. His gaze swung to Stormy, huddled at my side, and he nodded a silent hello.

I resisted the urge to despise Ivan for doing the introductions years ago.

“Hey, Max. I was just wondering if you took care of the guy who was in here after hours.”

Max narrowed one eye at me and crossed his arms over a barreled chest. “What guy?”

“I came out of my house about an hour ago and saw a man across the road from my truck,” I explained. “I tried to chase after him, but he got away. I assumed you had seen him on the surveillance footage.”

Max rolled his lips beneath his teeth and took a moment to think. “No, man. I've been watching the cameras all night. I haven't seen anyone.”

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