Page 25 of Can't Stop
The way he says my name, so clipped and final, tells me there’s no room for argument here. Even if there were, this is the one time when my femininity can’t get me what I want.
Footsteps stomp across wooden boards nearby, and Dalton and I freeze. Holding my breath, I peer through the shrubbery as Samuel clomps across the porch. He steps to the railing and grips it with his massive hands, leaning over the side and peering out at the darkening sky. I scan his figure for any sign of Van Gogh—a furry tail, the glint of a glassy eyeball—but I see nothing.
“He must have hidden him in the house,” Dalton whispers.
Before I can whisper a response, the door clicks open, and the father steps into the porch light’s glow. “Your brother continues to sleep. I fear we’re running out of time.”
I glance at Dalton and see that he’s just as concerned as I am. His brother still sleeps? What the fuck does that mean? Is he in a coma or something?
“What if she isn’t the one?” Samuel asks.
“Then we kill her and try again.” The father shrugs and checks his watch, as if killing me is as mundane as reading the morning paper. “Dinner is almost ready. Go wash up.”
The men retreat inside, leaving us alone in the bushes once more. Shadows move behind the curtains, and we watch as they travel from room to room. Once the movement stops, we finally ease ourselves from our hiding place.
Stars twinkle in a cloudless sky as we creep across the dewy grass. As we draw nearer to the house, the distant clink of silverware on ceramic reaches our ears, coupled with the murmur of voices. The voices grow louder and clearer as we reach a bright window at the rear of the house. The window is too high for either of us to peer into.
Dalton squats and makes a basket with his hands, motioning for me to use him as a step. I place my foot on his woven fingers, then grip the windowsill as I rise.
The family sits at a large table, with the father and mother seated at opposite ends. The mother wears an angry scowl as she eats. The grandmother’s back faces me, and across from her sits Samuel. His thick forearms rest against the table as he chews.
My eyes scan their surroundings. Dishes filled with green beans, roasted chicken, and various other items line the side table against the wall. A large grandfather clock ticks close to the doorway leading into the dining room. A few taxidermy rabbits sit beside a vase of fake flowers on a shelf.
But I see no sign of Van Gogh.
I motion for Dalton to lower me, and he does. “He isn’t in there,” I whisper.
“We’ll have to search the house. Would we be able to sneak in now?”
I glance up at the window again. “The open doorway presents a bit of a problem, but as long as we don’t go near the dining room, we could search some of the other areas while they eat. I don’t know how much time we’ll have, though.”
Dalton nods. “Maybe we should just find a place to hide until they go to sleep. Then we can search. Quietly.”
It’s not the greatest plan, but it’s better than anything I can come up with on short notice, so I grip his hand to let him know I’m in agreement. He hoists me up once more to ensure everyone is still seated. Once I have that confirmation, he lowers me, and we tiptoe through the side yard.
Using hand signals, I ask if he thinks we should enter the house via the side door. Using hand signals, he motions back that he’s going to throw a fastball. In reality, I have no idea what those signals mean, but I’m going into this house whether he likes it or not.
I hurry up the steps before he can reach out and grip my arm. The door eases open with a high-pitched whine. Every cell in my body freezes as I wait for the conversation to stop, for the forks to cease scraping the plates, but as the noises continue, I finally relax.
“They’re oblivious,” I whisper to Dalton, but he just stares up at me.
Rolling my eyes, I grip his hand and pull him into the house. Shadows wrap around us as we close the door and trap ourselves in the laundry room. A washer and dryer sit silent and still beneath a long white shelf holding laundry detergent and a box of dryer sheets. I never pegged them as a Downy family. They seem more like the Bounce types.
“Stop studying their cleaning supplies and start finding the squirrel,” Dalton whispers in my ear. He gives my ass a light pat, urging me forward.
But my feet are glued to the floor. I’m unable to move as footsteps pound in our direction. We freeze and wait for the sounds to pass. Once things grow quiet once more, we creep toward the door and dare to peek beyond our hiding spot. Across the hall, water runs behind a closed door.
“Someone is in the bathroom,” I whisper to Dalton. “Think we can sneak past?”
He nods, then slips past me and steps into the dark hallway. Holding my breath, I step forward and follow him. I have no clue where we’re going, but we’re going together.
Chapter Fourteen
Dalton
A dust bunny wiggles beside my nose with every breath I take beneath this bed. Rayna snuggles against my side as we try to remain as still as possible. Ma and Pa Psycho snore a few feet above us, but we keep counting the seconds until morning. It’s all we can do at this point.
The snooping started out great. We managed to hit every upstairs room without getting caught, and we planned to sneak back downstairs as they enjoyed dessert. We’d hide until they retired for bed, then explore the downstairs rooms while they slept. Unfortunately for us, they chose to skip dessert. When the elder parents ventured upstairs, we hardly had time to squeeze beneath their bed.
