Page 61 of Shiver

Evil always wins—it was his biggest fear and what he’d been fighting against his entire life. “You’re wrong. I won’t be evil’s punching bag and neither will you. We’re going to fight back. We have to. It’s either that or give up and die.”

Devra sighed. “You’re right. Running and hiding isn’t the answer, it isn’t living. You taught me that.”

He held her close, and looked over her shoulder into the deep pockets of the trees where the light couldn’t reach and stifled a quiver of uneasiness, then kissed her. With a little more force, a little more passion to chase away the fear that she was right. Something badwascoming.

Rocks crunched beneath steel-toed boots as someone stepped behind them. Devra drew back with a start, her eyes wide. Quickly, Riley turned. William Miller was standing directly behind them, his watery eyes filled with sadness.

“I think it’s time you two left.”

No goodbyes? Riley didn’t know why he was surprised. He stood, pulling Devra up next to him. “I agree. Thank you for your hospitality. And please thank Mrs. Miller, too.”

Devra stopped in front of her father. “The devil was here, Papa, only he wasn’t inside of me. He’s not in my ‘blood.’ If you can’t find it in your heart to see the truth and help me, the devil might just win.”

Riley didn’t like the surprise that entered her father’s eyes or the certain knowledge that he was hiding something. Something that might just get them killed.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later,Devra pointed to the sign that read Rosemont. Trepidation rose within her as she saw it. She shouldn’t have come back here. There must be a different way. Every person she saw would look at her and think, ‘There’s that crazy girl, the one who killed Chief Marshall’s son.’ She shuddered. She couldn’t go through that again.

Riley slowed as signs of civilization came into view. The whole town consisted of maybe five blocks, with restaurants and stores and gas stations on either side of the highway. He stopped in front of Mrs. Hutchinson’s Bed and Breakfast. She stared up at the gray Victorian with loads of pink gingerbread trim. It hadn’t changed, not one bit.

“I can’t stay here,” she said. “I know this place.”

“Looks like we don’t have much choice.” He pointed to the abandoned Crazy Eight Motel across the street, where several windows were boarded up and a Closed sign hung haphazardly from one hinge.

“At least no one would know me there.”

Riley squeezed her shoulder. “It’ll be all right.”

She smiled at him, got out of the SUV and reluctantly climbed the front steps. It wouldn’t be all right. Nothing had been all right, not for a very long time.

The door chimed as they opened it and walked into the front parlor. The familiar smell of lemon oil assaulted her as they moved deeper into the room, passing polished antique furniture and walking across a worn maroon carpet to a long wooden counter. Her head began to swim and her stomach turned at the heavy lemon smell.

Nothing had changed. The same pictures adorned the walls, the same candy dish sat on the sideboard and Mr. Peabody… She stopped and stared at the tortoiseshell cat lying in his basket. “It’s not possible, is it?”

Riley turned. “What?”

She bent down to touch the cat, mere inches from his soft fur, then stopped herself and quickly straightened. “It’s not breathing.” She stepped back.

“Oh, hello, there.” A woman entered from a back room. “Don’t be alarmed. That’s Mr. Peabody. I couldn’t bear to part with him, so I had him stuffed. Hard to tell, eh?”

Devra stifled a shudder as she looked down at the poor cat. Poor Mr. Peabody stuck forever in this lemon-scented tomb. She tried to wipe the expression of revulsion off her face before turning back to Mrs. Hutchinson. Thankfully she had changed, or Devra was sure she’d run from the room, screaming.

The woman’s hair was now completely gray and cut close to her head, somehow making her appear softer than she remembered.

“We were hoping to get a room for the night,” Riley said.

“Of course you are. Why else would you be here? Here, sign our guest register.” She turned and selected a key off a brass rack behind her. When she turned again, her smile faltered as her sharp eyes perused Devra’s face. “Do I know you?”

“No,” Devra lied.

The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“We’re from Louisiana,” Riley added.

“Hmm, still…something about you looks familiar. I never forget a face.”

Devra cringed under her scrutiny. If she knew the truth, would she let them stay? Would she call Chief Marshall? Would they tie her to the nearest stake and burn her?

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