Another Intruder

Erica bolted into the den, sputtering angrily. “Luke, what are you doing here?” she demanded.

Startled, Luke took a step back from the desk, his face bright red. “Hi, Erica. I—uh...”

“What are you doing here?” Erica repeated, stopping a few feet in front of him, glaring at him, her fists angrily pushed against her hips.

“Sorry,” Luke muttered uncomfortably. “I was just—leaving a valentine for Rachel.” He held up the square white envelope he had in his right hand.

“Huh? A valentine?” Erica lowered her eyes to the card. “But why did you sneak in?”

“I—I didn’t want to disturb anyone,” Luke explained, his face still scarlet, his expression guilty, embarrassed. “I mean, I saw you studying so hard and I guessed Rachel was asleep. So I was just going to leave this and scoot.”

Erica studied his face, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. “You scared me to death,” she said, exhaling loudly. “If I was a cat, that would’ve been all nine lives.”

“Sorry,” Luke repeated softly. “I didn’t mean to. Really.”

“You feel guilty, don’t you,” Erica accused, crossing her arms in front of her chest, locking her eyes on his.

“Huh? Guilty?”

“Yeah.” She refused to soften her gaze, even though he looked away. “Guilty. Guilty about Rachel.”

“Give me a break, Erica,” Luke said, pleading.

“Do you know what happened to Rachel after you stopped coming? Do you have any idea how devastated she was?” Erica cried.

“I—I can’t talk about it,” Luke stammered. “I still care about Rachel, but I’m with Melissa now. Here.”

He tossed the valentine at Erica and ran past her out of the den, into the hall and out of the house without looking back once.

♦ ♦ ♦

Across the street Melissa was playing perhaps the most boring game of Scrabble in the history of the universe. “Daddy, can’t we quit?” she begged. “You’re ahead by four hundred points because I’ve had nothing but vowels the whole night!”

Mr. Davis chuckled, leaning over the table, his eyes lowered to his line of letters. “That’s not why you’re losing, Beanpole. You’re losing because I’m a good defensive player. You have to have a strong defense in Scrabble. Most people don’t know that.”

“Don’t call me Beanpole,” Melissa grumbled. “You know I hate it.” She shoved her letters around on the holder, frowning. “Want me to call you Fatso?”

Mr. Davis raised his head abruptly. “Don’t you dare.” He was a big bear of a man, weighing around two hundred pounds, and was very sensitive about his weight.

“I can’t make a word,” Melissa wailed. “All I have are O’s and U’s.”

Mr. Davis glanced at the score sheet. “Okay, Melissa. We can quit. You always were a poor loser,” he teased.

Melissa uttered a cry of frustration and shoved the board across the table causing the pieces to tumble out of place.

“Loser cleans up,” her father declared, grinning. “I’m going to watch the news. It’s nearly eleven.” He pushed himself away from the kitchen table and, after stopping at the refrigerator for a snack, headed into the den to join Melissa’s mom.

Grumbling to herself, Melissa cleaned up the game, then headed up to her room.

Two hours later she was still struggling to fall asleep. Forcing her eyes to remain closed, she tried to think pleasant, soothing thoughts. She pictured Luke. His shy smile. The way his light brown hair curled just above his ears. How cute he looked in his silver-framed glasses.

She tried counting sheep. Fluffy white, four-legged cottonballs. She pictured them hopping over a low fence, just like in the cartoons.

Whoever thought up counting sheep as a way to get to sleep? she wondered. What a dumb idea. Did it ever work?

She tried counting puppy dogs. Then she tried to clear all the animals out of her mind and concentrate on nothing at all. Sheer nothingness.

Clear, white nothingness. Soft nothingness.

She had just about drifted off to sleep when she heard a loud thump outside her window.

“Huh?”

She sat up, instantly alert.

“Hey!”

Am I asleep? Am I dreaming? Melissa asked herself uncertainly.

No.

Someone was there, outside her window. Balanced on a tree limb.

Gaping in fright, Melissa could see someone out there, blocking the light from the street lamp, arms at the sides of her window.

“Who’s there? What’s happening?”

She tried to move, tried to scramble out of bed.

But fear had paralyzed her. She could only raise her hands to her face.

Then her window was pulled open.

A dark figure dropped into her room with a groan, landing heavily on the carpet.

“Oh!”

Melissa opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

He advanced toward her, arms stiff at his sides, a shadow moving in shadows.

As he came near, his face loomed out of the darkness. His eyes were cold, his features set.

“Dave!” Melissa cried in a tight, frightened voice. “Dave, stop! What are you doing?”

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20