Glass Houses

“See?” Shane turned back to the counter and started cracking eggs into a bowl. “Told ya.”

“Traitor,” Eve sighed, and poked at the frying bacon with a fork. “Fine. So. How was Linda last night?”

“Laura.”

“Whatever. Not like I have to remember a name for more than one date, anyway.”

“She bowled a one fifty.”

“God, you’re such a disappointment. Share, already!”

Shane smiled tightly down at the eggs. “Hey, not in front of the kid. You got the note.”

“Kid?” That hurt. Claire dropped plates on the counter with a little too much force. “Note?”

Shane handed over a folded piece of paper. It was short and sweet, and signed “Michael”…and it told them that Claire was underage, and that the two of them were supposed to look out for her while she was in the house.

Cute. Claire didn’t know whether to be pissed or flattered. On reflection…pissed. “I’m not a kid!” she told Shane hotly. “I’m only, like, a year younger than Eve!”

“And girls are much more mature.” Eve nodded wisely. “So you’re about ten years older than Shane, then.”

“Seriously,” Claire insisted. “I’m not a kid!”

“Whatever you say, kid,” Shane said blandly. “Cheer up. Just means you don’t have to put up with me telling you how much sex I didn’t get.”

“I’m telling Michael,” Eve warned.

“About how much sex I didn’t get? Go ahead.”

“No bacon for you.”

“Then no eggs for you. Either of you.”

Eve glowered at him. “Prisoner exchange?”

They glared at each other, then swapped pans and started scooping.

Claire was just about to join in when the front doorbell rang, a lilting silvery sound. It wasn’t a scary sound, but Eve and Shane froze and looked at each other, and that was scary, somehow. Shane put his plate down on the granite countertop, licked bacon grease from his fingers, and said, “Get her out of sight.”

Eve nodded. She dropped her own plate onto the counter, grabbed Claire’s wrist, and hustled her to the pantry—a door half hidden in the shadow of the awkwardly placed refrigerator. It was big, dark, and dusty, shelves crowded with old cans of yams and asparagus and glass jars of ancient jellies. There was a light with a string pull above, but Eve didn’t turn it on. She reached behind a row of murky-looking cans of fruit and hit some kind of a switch. There was a grating rumble, then a click, and part of the back wall swung open.

Eve pushed it back, reached in, and grabbed a flashlight that she handed to Claire. “Inside,” she said. “I’m going to turn the light on out here, but try to keep that flashlight off if you hear voices. It could show through the cracks.” Claire nodded, a little dazed, and crouched down to crawl through the small opening into…a big empty room, stone floored, no windows. A few spiderwebs in the corners, and loads of dust, but otherwise it didn’t look too bad.

Until Eve shut the door, and then the darkness slammed down, and Claire hastily flicked on the flashlight, moved to the nearest corner, and knelt down there, breathing fast and hard.

Just one minute ago, they’d been laughing about bacon and eggs, and all of a sudden…what the hell had just happened? And why was there a secret compartment in this house? One with—so far as she could tell—no other entrances or exits?

She heard distant voices, and hastily thumbed off the flashlight. That was bad. She’d never really been afraid of the dark, but dark wasn’t really dark most of the time…. There were stars, moonlight, distant streetlights.

This was pitch-black, take-no-prisoners dark, and she had the ice-cold thought that anything could be right next to her, reaching out for her, and she’d never see it coming.

Claire bit down hard on her lip, gripped the flashlight tightly, and slid down the wall until her searching hand found the rough wood of the door she’d come in through. A little light was leaking in around it, barely a glimmer but enough to ease the pounding in her chest.

Voices. Shane’s, and someone else’s. A man’s voice, deeper than Shane’s. “…standard inventory.”

“Sir, there’s nobody living here but what’s on the roster. Just the three of us.” Shane sounded subdued and respectful, which didn’t seem like him. Not that she knew him that well, but he was kind of a smart-ass.

“Which one are you?” the voice asked.

“Shane Collins, sir.”

“Get your third in here,” the voice said.

“Well, I would, but—Michael’s not here. He’s out until tonight. You want to check back then?…”

“Never mind.” Claire, straining her ears, heard paper rustling. “You’re Eve Rosser?”

“Yes, sir.” Eve sounded respectful, but brisk.

“Moved out of your parents’ house—eight months ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Employed?”

“At Common Grounds, you know, the coffee—”

The man, whoever he was, interrupted her. “You. Collins. Any employment?” Clearly talking to Shane.

“I’m between jobs, sir. You know how it is.”

“Keep looking. We don’t like slackers in Morganville. Everybody contributes.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll keep it in mind, sir.”

A brief pause. Maybe there had been a little bit more smart-ass in Shane’s response than there should have been. Claire deliberately slowed her breathing, trying to hear more.

“You left town for a couple of years, boy. What brings you back?”

“Homesick, sir.” Yes, it was definitely back in his voice, and even Claire knew that was a bad thing. “Missed all my old friends.”

She heard Eve clear her throat. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I’ve got work in a half hour…?”

More paper shuffling. “One other thing. Here’s a picture of a girl that disappeared from her dorm last night. You haven’t seen her?”

They both chorused a “No.”

He must not have believed them, because he didn’t sound convinced. “What’s in here?” He didn’t wait to hear a response; he just opened the outer door of the pantry. Claire flinched and held her breath. “You always leave the light on?”

“I was getting some jam when you rang, sir. I probably forgot to turn it off,” Eve said. She sounded nervous. “Sorry.”

Click. The light in the pantry went out, taking what little there was seeping through the door with it. Claire barely controlled a gasp. Don’t move. Don’t move. She just knew he—whoever he was—was standing there in the dark, looking and listening.

And then, finally, she heard him say, “You ring the station if you see that girl. She’s got herself in some trouble. We’re supposed to help her get straightened out.”

“Yes, sir,” Eve said, and the pantry door shut. The conversation moved away, became softer and softer until it faded into nothing.

Claire switched on the flashlight, covered it with her hand, and pointed it at the corner—only a little light escaped, just enough to convince her that no evil zombie was sneaking up on her in the dark. And then she waited. It seemed like a long time before there were two sharp raps on the door, and it swung open in a blaze of electric light. Eve’s stark white makeup and black eyeliner looked even scarier than before.

“It’s okay,” she said, and helped Claire out of the hidden room. “He’s gone.”

“Oh, the hell it’s okay,” Shane said behind her. He had his arms folded across his chest, and rocked back and forth, frowning. “Those assholes have her picture. They’re looking for her. What’d you do, Claire? Knife the mayor or something?”

“Nothing!” she blurted. “I–I don’t know why—maybe it’s that they’re just worried because I didn’t show up