Page 30

Sam stopped his car at the end of the driveway, parallel to the road, so he could pull out at a moment’s notice. The curtains hung shut, the glass so dirty that even if they’d been open, Sam doubted anything within would have been visible. Potholes littered the driveway on the way to the house, and Sam stared at it, confirming to himself what he’d already decided.

His dad wasn’t coming back here.

Sam couldn’t make him. Not to a place that made his gut clench with unease and fear just to look at. It didn’t matter if this was the home where Sam had grown up. The home where the only fleeting memories of his mother were set: a warm hand brushing back his hair, soothing him with gentle words as Sam cried because he’d slipped on a wet garden stone and hit his head on a planter.

Sam had been more upset by the broken planter than his hurt head. He’d hardly registered the ache at all, distraught that the planter he’d painted for his dad’s birthday was destroyed before he could gift it. Sam shut his eyes, focusing on the warm hand. The voice. And he realised with a throb in his head, as if he’d hit it once more, that the voice was male; it wasn’t his mom soothing him.

It was Eric reassuring him that it was okay, that they’d get him another one for Sam to paint and not to worry. Eric had cried too, upset that Sam was upset, though he was trying his best to be a strong older brother for him.

Even as the headache bloomed larger in Sam’s head, he dug out his phone and tapped through the icons, found his way to Eric. Not by reading. He’d not been able to read a word for days now. But Eric was the second last person he’d called, thanks to Mary, and Sam knew that his name was at second on the list. He hit the call button.

“Hey,” Eric answered on the first ring. “Hey. Thanks for calling me back. Everything kept going straight to voicemail. I was worried.”

“I was out of signal range. Sorry about that.”

“No worries. I just wanted to double-check what time you wanted to meet tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah. We said afternoon, but does that mean twelve, or closer to lunch?”

Eric didn’t forget, Sam realised abruptly. He didn’t make plans he had no intention of seeing through.

“Do you remember when we were younger that we got Dad a planter for his birthday? I painted it, and then I accidentally broke it?”

A pained groan crackled through the speaker. “Do I remember you splitting your head open? I’ll never forget that, Sam. It still keeps me up at night. Seriously. I get stress dreams about it. Just ask Ivan – wait, you remember?”

“I thought it was Mom I remembered helping me,” Sam said. “But thinking about it, I realised it was you.” She’d died when he was four. He wasn’t carrying around a large planter pot at that age.

“Can you remember nice things about me too?” The hopeful note in Eric’s voice brought to mind Austin’s smile.

“You used to cut the crust off my sandwiches.” In Sam’s memories, that was his mom, but the memory morphed into a male figure. A doting brother.

“Yeah.”

“And you’d hum me to sleep when I’d come and bother you at night.” The image of his mom dissipated, and it was Eric. Eric rousing with a sleepy ‘Come here’ and making room for Sam next to him in his bed.

“I wouldn’t say you bothered me.”

Sam dug in deeper. Into every recollection he had of his mom and found with each internal prod that the image of his mom dissipated and it was Eric. Scattered memories of Eric disguised as recollections of his mom.

Hidden, so that they couldn’t be stolen.

Sam opened his eyes, a sense of something lurking washing over him. He looked to the window. To the curtain that was pulled back, and the grey shape standing half-concealed. Sam’s heart thudded hard in his chest. For a moment, he thought it was about to give out, but the muscle endured, pulsing fear and adrenaline through his system beat by painful beat.

Fear loomed over him like a great ferocious wave, cresting high and insurmountable.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come visit up here next weekend?” Eric asked.

Sam dragged in a ragged, unstable breath. He knew, didn’t he? That’s why he came here and parked at a distance. Far enough away that he could start the engine and drive away if he needed. Why he’d let Jasper come with him to this world with his sword. He reached for the golden knife, touching the warm metal resting against the hollow of his throat.

“Sam?”

“I think there was a monster on the boat when you were a kid,” Sam said.

Silence.

The curtain dropped, the shadow disappearing behind the drapes. Panic jolted through Sam, and he dropped his phone, losing it as he twisted the key. His mom’s ancient car choked, but like it had a thousand times before, the reliable engine caught.

Through the roar of the engine, a fine, high-pitched sound reached Sam’s ears. His gaze jerked to the garden gate; he’d recognise that squeak anywhere. He saw a broad back. Shaved black hair.

Sam looked on, confused. Gary?

Gary was the intruder? Had Sam been imagining monsters where there was a man?

As he disappeared into Sam’s garden, he saw the bright red of a gasoline can.

Sam cursed under his breath, foreboding filling him to the brim. Beneath his foot, his phone buzzed. Dread coiled inside him, and Sam wanted to drive away. Leave. Let Gary do whatever he wanted with that gas can and get himself to safety. Because Sam knew it wasn’t Gary. Because the thing in his house scared him, and Sam wasn’t scared of Gary.

Sam shoved the car door open with a curse. He snatched his phone up from his feet and sprinted toward the garden. “Gary! Look, I don’t care what you’re planning to do, but it isn’t safe here.” Sam wildly tapped on his screen, trying to hit the answer button for Eric’s incoming call. He missed it as he shoved open the garden gate, which announced his presence with an ear-piercing squeak.

In the middle of his garden were half a dozen gasoline cans, and Gary was bent, adding another to the stack. He froze as Sam pushed open the gate, black eyes jumping to him. Surprise flitted through his expression, then anger, and then it all flattened out. There was something ominous about the way he straightened to his full height.

Sam stopped at the gate, but he directed his eyes toward the kitchen window. Unlike the windows at the front of the house, this one was impeccably clean. Sam always wiped both the inside and outside when he was home so his dad could watch the birds flying around the apple trees. That clean glass revealed an empty kitchen.

“Gary,” Sam said, controlling his voice. “We have to go. There’s someone dangerous in the house.”

Gary stared at him.

“I won’t even call the guards on you. I swear, I’ll forget all about this. We just need to go,” Sam insisted. Anxiety prickled over Sam’s skin like a physical sensation, his clothes feeling unbearably uncomfortable. He was hyperaware of the way his hair stuck to the back of his neck, overly conscious of his loud breaths, could feel how wide his eyes were.

Sam’s phone buzzed.

Automatically, Sam looked at it. Gary lunged forward. Sam jerked his head up, retreating a step, but he was too slow to dodge Gary’s charge. Sam raised both arms, only for them to get batted aside as Gary tackled him. They crashed into the garden wall, and Sam stumbled, falling sideways. His head cracked hard against the decorative garden stones lining the pathway, and he went still with a pained groan.

His eyes were open, but he couldn’t see anything, his vision blotted out in spots of white. Lethargically, he raised his arms, mumbling, “We have to go.” Or the slurred equivalent. Gary lifted himself from the ground next to Sam. Sam’s vision swayed into focus as Gary climbed to his feet.

The garden gate squeaked.

Gary turned toward it.

Sam’s vision blacked out, then back in. Someone loomed above him. The sun slid straight into his eyes from above, turning them into only an outline. Sam couldn’t distinguish anything but a hand reaching for his face.