Right?
Nonetheless, it didn’t hurt her to let Reed know where she was. Deciding that safe was better than sorry, she texted Reed simply:
“Am at the cabin.”
Then she pocketed her phone and, with her uncle’s key, let herself in.
The door creaked on its rusted hinges, and once again Nikki was hit with the dead, musty smell of the place. Outside, the wind buffeted the walls, screaming and howling, rattling the few windows that remained.
Nikki swept her flashlight over the interior. “Effie?” she called, though once again she felt as if the place was empty.
Her stomach roiled a bit as she stood where she imagined Blondell had stood. Fighting with a stranger? She swept the beam of her flashlight over the area under the loft and thought again of her friend who had died here so long ago.
“Effie?” she yelled again. Where was she?
Slowly she moved the beam from the area where the sofa bed had been positioned to the wall where the kerosene lamp had shattered, still a bit of charring visible. She imagined the screams and the broken glass, the bits of fire dripping down the wall and onto the floor as the kerosene spread, miraculously not catching anything on fire.
There were so many unanswered questions. It seemed that the more Nikki learned, the less she knew.
She stared at the spot where Blondell had sworn she struggled with an intruder—in front of the fire—and claimed she’d struck her head on the mantel. The police had found bits of hair and scalp that confirmed that part of her story.
Nikki crossed in front of the cold hearth and climbed the staircase along the far wall. She saw where bullets had been pulled from the wall, where the spindles of the railing had been broken; once again, she saw the spattered bloodstains that were still visible on the wood. Her skin pimpled at the thought of that night, but she kept moving upward, one hand trailing the smooth banister.
On the second level, she had a view of the first floor, and she tried to imagine what the kids had seen.
The empty loft hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been here, of course.
No Effie.
Just her car.
What the hell was going on?
Nothing good.
She felt another chill and thought she heard a soft click, as if a lock were being turned.
She started to call out but held her tongue. What if whoever was opening the door wasn’t Effie, but the person who had left a snake in her car the last time out? Suddenly the stun gun in her pocket seemed like a small weapon.
As if a spider had climbed up the back of her arms, her skin crawled. Turning off the flashlight, all the while telling herself she was a ninny, she strained to hear over the rush of the wind and the scrape of a branch against the siding.
It’s nothing. Just a case of nerves.
Her finger hesitated on the button of the flashlight.
Creeeeaaak.
A floorboard groaned.
Her mouth turned to dust, her throat suddenly dry.
Squinting into the lower level, she thought she saw a shadow move, then realized it was that same skeletal branch near the window, casting an eerie shadow, dark on dark, through the living area.
Time to get the hell out, Effie or no Effie. Something just wasn’t right.
Walking as softly as she could, she reached the top of the stairs, still not turning on the flashlight, when she heard the noise again. Definitely footsteps. She stopped, ready to take another step, but held herself still. Frozen.
“I know you’re here,” a man’s voice called out, and she nearly fell through the floor. Definitely not Effie. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”