“Did you want a towel? Because I only have two, and the other one is still on my car seat.”
“No, thanks. I’ll go and change. Leave you to it.” He turned to walk inside, his shoulders and arms bunched tightly. I could feel the tension radiating from him. What was that about?
Slumping onto the bench seat beside the door, I let out a muffled screech when I saw that I wasn’t alone.
“Hi.”
“Letitia,” her name came out with a hiss. “Where have you been? You asked me to help you and then you buggered off without a word.”
“I’ve been with you the whole time. Sorry about the whole Felicity incident. That must’ve been rough.”
That niggling worry I felt when I saw Flick so messed up came back to pinch me under the arm. Where it hurt. I mentally rubbed it to make it go away, but it lingered, wanting more attention.
“Are you going to tell me more about what you need me to do? What did you say your brother’s name was? Linc?”
“Lee.”
“Lee. What sort of trouble do you think he’s in, and what can I do about it?”
She sat with her heels balanced on the edge of the seat, arms hugging her knees, and eyes staring through the lattice screen of the veranda. “Something bad is going to happen. I just need you to be his friend so that when the time comes, he’ll choose the right path.”
“Doesn’t he have other friends that can help him out? Why me?”
Be his friend? I baulked at the idea. How was that going to help? Goose bumps peppered my arms as icy air drifted around her. Her energy felt suppressed, dark. I wondered if it was this place. The thought started to put me on edge. She continued to stare blankly ahead.
“Where can I find him?” My voice cracked with concern.
Maybe I was too late. I didn’t like the heaviness blanketing the air around her. Why was I even worried? I didn’t know this girl, and I sure as shit didn’t know her brother. I hadn’t even begun to figure out how to help her, or where to find him. We’d barely even spoken because she disappeared out of my life almost as soon as she wrought havoc on it. My legs jiggled as I tried to justify backing out of a promise. I hated to admit it, but I felt a connection with this spirit. She got to me, made me like her. She made me re-think my purpose. Maybe I could start to see my curse as a gift. Maybe I could be more like my granny.
Letitia unfolded herself and walked straight through the wall behind the bench, into what was now my bedroom. I squinted at the empty space left behind. Wow, that’s annoying. I got a vague idea how crappy my aloof behaviour was for the person on the receiving end.
Pulling out some things from a box, I went inside just as Brad emerged from his room in dry clothes. “Home, sweet home.” He grinned. I sucked in a breath, failing to respond. Too busy noticing the photos on the hallway wall behind his head. Photos of Brad, photos of Letitia, photos of Brad and Letitia. Photos of Brad and Letitia, and their parents, I assumed. Now that I saw them side by side in photos, I could see a family resemblance. Turning my head to the left, I saw the previous occupant of my new bedroom sitting patiently on the bed.
From the distant end of a tunnel, Brad’s voice told me the furniture was his Gran’s. I interrupted him with my splintered question. “Did you have a housemate before?”
“This was my sister’s room. Tish died seven months ago.” I gaped at him. “I mean, not here. In a car accident,” he rushed to reassure me.
I looked back at the bed, and she waved at me. “Hey, roomie.”
Ignoring her, I took a closer look at the photos in the hall. Brad watched me, biting his lips. “I’m sorry to hear that. Life has its head in its arse, sometimes.”
He snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”
“Thanks for bringing my stuff up. Do you mind if I have a shower?”
“No worries.”
I smiled, closing the door as he watched through the narrowing crack, never taking his steel gaze off me.
Ronnie
“I thought you said your brother’s name was Lee?”
“That’s what I call him. Short for Bradlee. I found it hard to call him Brad, because I associated that name with a movie star or two. Mum called him Lee as early as I could remember, so that’s what I call him.”
I had to sit on the bed because my legs had turned to jelly. The room suddenly felt like a padded cell. My mental health day had turned into a mental slap.
My nose registered the smell of carpet shampoo, and a dampness under my toes. I looked down, noticing the threadbare tracks between the furniture and several splotchy stains. It wasn’t The Ritz. I didn’t care. My head was elsewhere. Remembering my soaked-through state, I jumped up off the bare mattress, collecting my scattered thoughts until they snowballed into a mass of anger and betrayal.
Shoving
