“Seriously? That’d be cool.” The boys looked at each other, nodded.
“Thanks, Frank.”
“No problem at all. We’re nearly there. Why don’t we go ahead, get your gear in the car?”
He was Frank Blinckenstaff from Olympia. A high school teacher with a wife, Sharon, and a son, Marcus. Of course they hadn’t asked him about Sharon and Marcus—they were too self-involved, too egocentric to care about him. He was a means to an end—but so were they.
“Trunk’s loaded,” he said with a bright, bright smile that sent a skitter of ice down one of the boys’ spine. “But there’s room enough in the back.”
The boys hesitated, then shrugged.
In the end he drove off the ferry and passed the vigilant gaze of the deputy checking cars, looking, he imagined, like a father heading out on a little vacation with his two sons.
Nobody saw him, he thought again. And that was perfect.
He dropped his passengers off and forgot them. They were ghosts, like the students who’d passed in and out of his classroom. Transient, insubstantial, meaningless.
His more important passenger would be stirring soon, he thought, so he’d have to keep on schedule if he wanted to have her, and himself, all settled in before she regained full consciousness.
It was time for the next act.
Excitement frothed in his belly. No one would see him. They would see only Frank Blinckenstaff from Olympia. He drove through the busy village, along the twisting roads and into the park. He had to wipe damp palms on his jeans as he thought of Fiona. So close now, nearly close enough to touch.
He could’ve told the watchful deputy at the ferry she had a few days left. Days to eat and sleep and teach. Days left to wonder. Days left before he repaid his mentor, and made both her and Perry other ghosts who’d passed in and out of his life.
And once that was done, he’d fully become. His own man, at last.
Live or die, his own man.
He navigated the winding roads, easing carefully on the switchbacks, and smiled as the trees thickened. Like curtains, he thought, green curtains he’d keep snugly closed as he worked.
He turned into the narrow drive—wound his way back as his excitement grew till his hands wanted to shake.
He spotted the car in front of the picturesque cabin shrouded by those green, green curtains. His landlady waited, as promised.
He noted the windows were open—airing it out for him. There were planters of flowers on the porch. He’d have to remember to water them, in case she slipped by to check.
As he parked beside her car, she stepped out. He had to repeat her name over and over in his head to make her real.
“Mrs. Greene!”
“Meg,” she reminded him and walked down to offer her hand. “Welcome. Smooth trip in?”
“Couldn’t’ve been smoother. I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here.” He kept his smile pasted on his face as the dog trotted up to greet him. “Hey, boy, how’s it going!”
“Xena and I spruced the place up for you a little.”
“Oh now, you shouldn’t have bothered. It’s just going to be me for a few days. Wait till Sharon and Marcus get here. It’s going to be love at first sight.”
“I hope so. Now we’ve laid in some basics for you. Don’t say we shouldn’t’ve bothered. It’s part of the package. Why don’t I help you in with your things, show you through again. Xena! Come on away from there.”
“She must smell my fishing tackle,” Eckle said as the dog sniffed around the trunk of the car. His voice went flat. He imagined kicking the dog bloody, strangling its master. “I’ll get my gear later. No need to show me through again, Mrs.—Meg. I think the first thing I’m going to do is take a long walk, stretch out my legs.”
“If you’re sure. I left the keys on the kitchen counter, and there’s a list with all the numbers you should need right on the refrigerator. Booklet in the living room has all the information on the cabin, restaurant menus, shops, park information. Now you’re sure you don’t want the cleaning service?”
“We’ll be fine.” He would kill her if she didn’t leave him
“Well, if you change your mind, or you need anything, you just call. Otherwise, enjoy the cabin, and the quiet. Good luck with your writing.”
“What?”
“Your writing? The travel piece you’re going to do.”
“Yes, yes. My mind was wandering.” He let out a
“There’s a fresh pound of beans in the freezer.”
Thirty seconds, he thought. Live or die.
“Appreciate it.”
“I’ll let you get to your walk. Come on, Xena.”
He waited and, because his fingers had begun to tremble, slipped his hands in his pockets while the dog followed her to the car. He watched the dog look back at the trunk, nose quivering.
Kick you bloody, then carve you up and bury you with the bitch who owns you.
He spread his lips in a smile, pulled his trembling fingers out of his pocket to answer Meg’s wave.
And he breathed and breathed, the air charging out of him like an engine as she drove down the lane and disappeared into the trees.
Nosy bitches better stay away.
It took him time to get settled. All the windows had to be closed, locked, the curtains drawn. In the cozy bedroom his chatty landlady had shown him on his previous visit and deemed perfect for his imaginary son, he covered the bed with plastic.
He unpacked, tidily arranging his things in the closet, the dresser, on the bathroom counter while he enjoyed the quiet and the generous space. He’d gotten too used to tiny motel rooms, shabby beds, ugly sounds and smells.
This was a treat.
Satisfied with his preparations and his privacy, he walked back outside. For a few moments he simply stood basking in the quiet, in the peace.
Then he opened the trunk.
“We’re home, Kati! Let me show you to your room.”
She trembled toward consciousness, ill, aching, confused. She felt as though she was floating in some freezing river with slabs of jagged ice scraping and stabbing along her skin. Red and black dots spun in front of her eyes, tilting sickeningly. Through the rush of blood in her head, she heard someone humming. A sudden burning pain in her arm brought on a shocked gasp, but the air wouldn’t come.
As she began to struggle, as her eyes wheeled, the humming stopped.
“So, awake at last. You slept right through your bath. Believe me, you needed it. You’d made a mess of yourself and stank to high heaven. No wonder that idiot dog was sniffing around.”
She tried to focus on the face over hers, but everything about it was too hard, too bright. The eyes, the smile. She cringed away.
“I didn’t have time to introduce myself before. I’m Francis Eckle. But you can call me RSK Two.”
Fear drenched her like sweat, and as she shook her head in denial that bright, hard smile only widened.
“I’m a big fan! And I’m going to give you an exclusive interview. It’s the story of your life, Kati. Just think of it. You’ll know everything, experience everything.” He patted her cheek. “I smell Pulitzer! Of course, it’s going to cost you, but we’ll talk about that. I’ll leave you to settle in.”
He leaned down close to her ear and whispered, “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to enjoy it. Think about that.”
He leaned back, beamed that smile again. “Well, all this excitement has worked up my appetite. I’m going to go down and have some lunch. Want anything? No?” He laughed at his own joke while tears leaked down her
