Page 16 of Indie

I’d only just met this man. The man more years my senior than I really wanted to think about. Yet here I was, agreeing toletting him follow me home. To camp outside my house. And now I hoped he really wasn’t a serial killer. But then, even that couldn’t be more frightening than the thought of Gaz turning up on my doorstep.

I nodded again, my lip smarting from where my teeth gripped it.

*****

The forecourt was laced in shadows, dark and fearsome, but quiet. There’d been no customers for hours, the entire town asleep. Behind me the clock ticked incessantly, counting down to home time, cruelly slow. My eyes drooped, the heavy lids barely able to stay up, and the pounding in my head had taken on the marching beat of the clock.

Outside, two vehicles were parked. My battered, aging car and Indie’s dark van. He was inside somewhere. Asleep, I assumed, because I didn’t know how anyone could stay awake most of the night just watching someone else. And I could barely stay awake myself. It had been days now of snatching a couple of hours’ sleep wherever I could, and sometimes where I shouldn’t. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep at work today, much less be caught napping. I’d sat down with Ste for a minute. We’d been talking, a distraction from the wracking cough that was gripping his chest these days and the distress from it. He’d held my hand as he’d drifted off, and I’d drifted off alongside him.

And now I was so, so tired. To where the thought of trying to keep my eyes open as I drove home was nearly as frightening as what might wait there for me. The tap on the window made me jump, and for a moment I couldn’t focus on the greying hair of the man stood watching me.

“Ready to go home, Spuggy?” his voice was low in the silence of the night, as I slid the window back.

The clock behind me was almost at 5am.

The wind rushed through the open window of the little car. It had been a gamble to even open it a crack, as I wasn’t sure whether I would get it up again, but the danger of me falling asleep was far greater. And so, I drove on through deserted streets; the wind forced into the car, ruffling my hair. Occasionally, the lights from Indie’s van dazzled me, reflecting off the rear-view mirror and temporarily blinding me. Yet there was some sort of comfort in having him right there behind.

Until I pulled into my street of uniform houses. Of painted pebble-dash and dirty brick, of the same doors and same white canopies that hung over the top of them, the only difference the numbers that were screwed onto the front. I hesitated as I pulled the battered car alongside the pavement, examining every shadow for movement, movement that wasn’t the silhouetted thrash of tree branches in an early morning breeze, or the sudden flicker of orange glow from the streetlights that waved in the short gusts.

There was nothing in the shadows, no one hiding in the darkness. Yet still I sat outside my house, staring at the dark unwelcoming windows, the faint sound of a dog barking inside. I needed to get out. To move one leg from the car. One step at a time. But I sat, fear spiralling around in my stomach like a trapped fly. No where to go, nowhere to get out, no stopping, only ricocheting. I shot upright suddenly, the scream stopping in my throat, eyes searching the sound of the noise and not seeing anything.

“You ok, Spuggy?” The voice was muffled. Indie’s voice. The man who had stayed all night watching me work. Who hadfollowed me here to keep me safe and was now going to watch my house all night long. Or at least for a few scant hours so I could get some sleep.

My heart slowed. The sudden thundering against my ribs de-escalating. But all I could do was nod. And swallow the thick wedge of nervousness stuck in my throat. The door cranked open, damaged metal complaining loudly, and a hand held out. For a moment I stared at it, not understanding. Then I slipped mine into his, feeling a gentle tug as he helped me to my feet, closing the door behind me with a clunk.

The streetlight cast gold across his face; the light leaving shadows where it bounded over his facial features. Over the strong jaw and the cleft in his chin. His eyes were too dark to see clearly. Shadowed orbs gazing down on me, silvery stubble covering his face, illuminating gently in the glow, which caught the sweep of thick greying hair over his head.

“Ready?” Indie asked, snapping my eyes from where they studied every inch of his face in the shadows.

“Ready?” I was confused.

“For bed?”

I swallowed, nervousness hitting my stomach hard, erupting into a flutter of something inside of me.

“I’ll check your house is secure, Emmie.” Was that the hint of a smirk on his face?

“Oh. I…yes…bed. To sleep. Erm…” I pointed to the door, cringing at the sudden loss of words.

“After you, Spuggy.”

I nodded, a sudden pang of fear making bile rise to my throat, hesitating for a moment.

“It’s ok, Emmie. I’m right here.” His words drifted across my ear, soft and wispy, and warming.

My feet felt like someone had poured concrete in my shoes, because it took every ounce of effort I had left to take each step towards my front door. My eyes scanning everything for anything out of place. And yet, he was right behind me. With each stride, I could feel him at my back. So close I was almost warm. Pushing the key in the lock, I gave the door a little nudge, a tiny push to check it resisted me, and when it did, I pushed it again, shoving the wood from the frame.

“Just a sec, Emmie.” His voice came from over the top of me again. “Let me check, first.”

Indie moved past me, his body squeezing against mine as he moved through the gap. Touching me. Sliding against me. I closed my eyes and bit my lip, a prick of pain at the cut, but even that didn’t dull these feelings. I was tired. Much too tired.

Chapter Eight

She stood on the doorstep behind me, and I could feel those worried eyes on me, watching me, not sure what she should do next. I felt along the wall as I moved, flicking on light switches, bathing the little house in a warm white glow. I passed through the rooms. The immaculately tidy living room, with worn settees, sagging at one end where someone always sat. A crop of toys lay on the floor. Mismatched dolls sat around a table, enjoying a wordless tea party on broken chairs, the toy table itself sloping to one side where a leg was bent out at an angle. The living room was secure, no sign of anything unusual.

I wandered to the kitchen, the frantic bark of a dog becoming louder. The kitchen was as tidy, but the front of adrawer was missing and another hanging off to one side, half exposing a load of tea towels. The kitchen table was nearly as battered as the one in our chapel and not one of the wooden chairs that surrounded it matched another. I walked past the fridge, my hand loitering on the door. My stomach tightened, a mix of guilt and curiosity battling for dominance.

“Is everything ok, Indie?” Her voice was soft, close, and I turned, seeing her there in the kitchen behind me.