Page 20 of First Love, Second Draft

Thankfully the video was shot from behind, so nobody could see her face. But still. She was a GIF now. A GIF on a deadline.Yee-haw.

10

Monday afternoon Matt balanced a cardboard drink carrier in one hand as he reached for Rachel’s doorbell with the other. If it could even be called a doorbell. More like a cracked fixture that promised electrocution.

Yeah, maybe not.

He opted to rap his knuckles on the door instead. A very gentle rap, since it looked like one solid pound could very well knock the warped door off its hinges.

“Rachel,” he called out. Shoot, the sound of his voice alone might knock the door off its hinges.

He glanced toward the windows, searching for signs of life. Every curtain remained closed. Not that he would’ve been able to see anything past the condensation fogging up the panes.

“Wow, Rach,” he muttered under his breath. “Lovely place you’ve got here.”

His gaze wandered down to the gaping holes in the porch. The rotting floorboards. The uneven stairs.

Man. If he thought the house had looked run-down when he dropped her off late Saturday night—or early Sunday morning, rather—seeing it now in the full light of day made him half-tempted to call Wombat and ask him to tow it off to wherever he’d taken Rachel’s mangled car.

What in the world had Rachel been thinking, moving into a dump like this? She mentioned getting it for a steal. Well, no wonder. Reminded him a little of how Aunt Gracie described her and Noah’s house when they’d first moved in. Except without all the charm and potential.

Mindful of the holes in the rotting porch, Matt stepped down the stairs and set the drink carrier on the front hood of his truck. How long should he wait before he busted the door down to make sure she hadn’t been murdered in her sleep? Because if ever there was a place a person got murdered in their sleep, this was it. On a lonely country lane that gave off vibes ofDeliverance.

He glanced at his watch. Sent her a text. Shehadasked him for a ride to work this afternoon, right?

Since this time of year was his downtime in between mowing season and snow removal season, he’d assured her that he could chauffeur her around for the next few weeks or however long it took to fix her mangled-car situation. Surely he hadn’t dreamed that entire conversation up.

He checked his watch again. All right. It’d been long enough. She wasn’t answering his texts. Time to do something. But since he didn’t actually want to bust down the door, he’d try the back.

After a quick tromp through tall overgrown grass that was definitely in need of his lawncare services, he found two cellar doors in the back. Two creepy-looking cellar doors. The kind that descended down to creepy basements with creepy skeletal remains chained to creepy walls.

His mom never should have let him watch so many horror movies growing up.

Yeah—no, thanks. He’d try a different door.

Climbing up the back porch stairs to the only other door available, he peeked in through a little window that must be above the kitchen sink. Because what he saw was an actually not too terribly creepy kitchen. A little glass mason jar of flowers sat on a small round table, proof that Rachel was at least trying to brighten up her decrepit little homestead.

He knocked on the door. “Rachel?” Tried turning the handle. “Rachel.” Started pounding with his fist. “Rachel!”

Okay, really. She should’ve answered the door by now. Or texted him back. She didn’t have a car. They were at least four miles outside of Alda. Not like she could’ve gone anywhere.

An uneasy feeling settled into his chest like that time he had pneumonia in middle school, making it hard to breathe. Had something happened to her? “Come on, Rachel, it’s me—Matt. Answer the door!”

When he couldn’t hear anything for several seconds other than the hollow plunk-plunk sound of her wind chimes, he gave in to the panic. Something was wrong. Way too quiet. Time to bust in.

He shouldered the door with all his might. It splintered. He rammed into it again. This time it cracked. Once more, and it snapped off the hinges.

After nearly falling onto the floor, he regained his balance and rushed through the kitchen, down the short hallway to the living room. Checked inside a small bathroom. Then headed up the staircase.

“Rachel!” he shouted, taking the stairs two at a time.

He rounded the top of the banister just as he heard a scream.

Which made him scream.

Rachel jumped out of a room, holding a baseball bat. They both screamed again.

It took Matt several seconds to realize nothing bad was happening, except maybe to their eardrums, as he and Rachel continued to stand at the top of the stairs, screaming.

---