Page 107 of The Silent Note

Heart racing, I run to the foyer, thinking Grey might have forgotten her keys. The sound of the rain slamming the roof gets louder when the door opens to reveal a delivery guy.

Disappointment is swift and severe. I don’t bother hiding my sour expression as I look the delivery guy up and down. He’s dressed in rain-spattered khakis and a grey shirt beneath a plastic raincoat. A black hat is pulled low over his head, crushing his black, chin-length hair. Lightning flashes behind him, illuminating his slender frame like a spotlight.

I’m not surprised by his presence. Since Viola and Cadey came to live with us, they’ve been internet shopping like it’s an Olympic sport. I could probably build a fort with all the boxes that get thrown in the storage shed.

Robotically, I extend a hand to collect the package from him.

My palm hangs in the air.

Waiting.

A second passes.

Rather than handing me a box of makeup or organizing shelves or whatever crap Cadey and Viola spotted on social media, the delivery man moves in.

Unease claws at me, sharpening my attention. In the breadth of a heartbeat, I look him over again. Black cap. Long, black hair. Downturned head. Rain coat.

Normal.

Except…

Right beneath the collar of his uniform shirt, there’s a black line. Almost like a tattoo creeping out of his chest.

The guy takes another step toward me.

Thunder claps through the evening sky.

I step back, my eyes dropping to his hands.

They’re extremely pale.

But that’s not what gets me.

It’s the fact that those hands are empty.

He’s not here to bring my packages.

Time slows down until it’s crawling, sluggish and thick. The stranger reaches for something under his coat, his muscles lean and his movements so practiced that I know whatever’s about to happen will be over before it begins.

I react clumsily, shifting backwards. It’s instinctual. The leftovers of a survival instinct, reaching back from a time when humans had to hunt monsters twice their size.

A noise comes from inside the house. Something like a door knob turning. Footsteps thudding.

Someone’s coming in from the garage entrance.

Grey?

I mentally return to that nightmarish moment when Grey’s brakes got cut and she lost control on the highway. I remember the way the black car came out of nowhere and crashed into her, crushing the metal frame of her truck like chewing gum. I taste a hint of the blood that flooded my mouth as I bit my tongue while watching her car flip off the road.

No. Not again. Never again.

Shifting strategies, I grab the knob and try to shut the delivery man out, but he slams his hand against the door to keep it open.

The footsteps get closer.

My heart squeezes in an acidic vice.

I look back, like an idiot, switching my gaze from the creepy delivery man to the person that I hope like hell isn’t Grey.

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