Page 32 of Our Darkest Summer
We both looked out the window. Right, again. If you had the strength to begin with, it was easier to climb up here than to drag a ladder through all that land.
She wrotesomeone strongdown on the paper.
“And someone who lives in the area,” I said.
The first note was left for us on the same day we arrived, and the letter sent to Joshua had nothing that indicated for us to come within a specific time range. Which could only mean that whoever sent it was always here.
I ran my fingers over the window frame. There were scratch marks in the wood, where it was pried open.
“I’ll look around the house,” I stated, and Kinsley opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “Iwill search the house. Andyouwill get into the bed,” I added, before she could’ve volunteered to help.
“You know you are not my father, right?” She bit back, and the thought made me grimace.
“Well thank the fuck,” I answered.
“What I meant is, you can’t tell me what to do.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
In a normal situation she was right, but when I was the one responsible for her safety, she was very wrong. I scoffed, andleaned into her face, trying my best to appear intimidating. “Get into the bed, Sage, before I put you in there.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Psycho,” she hissed, but still turned to the bed. I couldn’t stop the smile that crawled onto my face. “I’m only getting into the bed because I want to,” she stated, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
That was enough for me, still, for some unexplainable reason, I tipped my head, “Sure,” I said with a mocking edge, which made her scowl.
Until now, I had no idea just how much I missed this.Her. And that sharp tongue of hers. I clenched my jaw and turned to the door, forcing myself to walk out and close it behind me.
My chest heaved and I let my hands linger on the doorknob a moment too long, before I stepped away and went back to my room. I grabbed the old hockey stick from the corner, and as quietly as I could, I made my way to my brother’s room. I cracked the door open and turned on the lights. My eyes shifted over the walls covered with green dinosaurs, before I checked every possible aspect of the room where someone could have been hiding, and made sure the window was locked. I didn’t bother to look around in my parents’ room as the key to their door was still resting in the pocket of my jeans. Instead, I turned toward the bathroom, the only room left on this floor. I only needed to open the door to know it was empty, and I headed downstairs, turning the lights on as I moved.
For a second I thought I heard something and stopped on the middle of the staircase, listening, but there was only deafening silence in the passing minutes so I moved on. There were only three rooms on the ground floor, and the kitchen and the living room could almost be counted as one. Which meant there was only one last place I hadn’t looked; the tool room. I walked the narrow hallway, gripping the hockey stick in my hand—until I reached the first wooden door and pushed it open. The stairwaywas empty, and when I opened the second door; the stillness of the room felt almost heavy. I circled the deck and looked in every corner, but I was alone.
So, someone snuck into the house and then left.Why?
I stepped out of the room and closed the door behind me when a crash came from the living room’s direction. I rushed back up then down the hallway following the sound, which was now coming from the kitchen. I slowed my steps, raising the stick higher before I slowly turned the corner. I took another step and?—
“What the fuck!” Connor shrieked back, almost dropping the popsicle from his hand.
“Fuck.” I let out a sigh, relaxing my muscles.
“What the fuck?” Connor repeated, raising his voice. “Why did you want to take me out with your old hockey stick?” He glanced at the visibly short stick in my hand.
“Someone broke into the house,” I answered and all the colors disappeared from his face.
“I’m sorry, what?” He gaped after a moment, glancing behind his back at the empty kitchen, as if he was expecting someone to jump on him.
“We were in Mom’s old room, looking through some of her things,” I explained, while he sat down to the kitchen island. “And when Kinsley went back to her room, the window was open.”
I placed the hockey stick down on the counter and stepped to the sink to pour myself a glass of water.
“And are you sure it wasn’t Kins who opened the window?” he asked, tasting the popsicle.
“There was also a message left on the stool. Same as the one we found on the door.”
“Oh,” Connor breathed. “What the fuck.” He rested his back against the counter.
“I know.” I sighed, emptying the glass in my hand.
“Maybe it was the cleaning lady. She has a key.”
I frowned. “She’s on paid holiday for two weeks. And she wouldn’t need to break in, because as you said, she has a key…and why would she want us to leave anyway?”
