“Thanks, Sam,” I said, trying not to shudder. Up to that point I’d considered spending the night in Jack’s bed, but now the thought made my skin prickle.
7
THE MAN FROM THE BEACH
When I woke up again a couple of hours later it was dark outside, and it took a while for my eyes to adjust, even longer to remember where I was. My entire body had gone numb from lying on the floor of the house, and my back popped as I sat up. The winds outside had increased, whistling an eerie tune through the walls, whooshing down the chimney and blowing an uncomfortable breeze onto my neck. I needed to get warm, and when I peered between the cracks of the boarded-up window, I saw the convenience store was still open.
Once I’d climbed back out the way I’d come in, I crossed the street and went inside the shop, sighing as the comforting warm air blanketed itself around me. As I stood in line behind another customer, waiting for him to pay, I glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost half past ten at night. The cashier wasn’t the man who’d given me the bathroom key earlier, and this woman had pink streaks in her short blond hair, her lips the color of cherries. When she looked at me, she narrowed her baby blue eyes and a shadow of a frown crossed her face, disappearing so quickly I decided I must have imagined it.
“How much for a coffee?” I said, curling my chilly fingertips into my palms. The woman didn’t move, and I pointed to the machine behind her. “Uh, a coffee, please?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. It’s on special. Any size for a dollar.”
“Great. I’ll have the biggest. Can I have the bathroom key first?”
After another attempt at washing the grime off myself, I handed back the scuzzy key and headed to the snack aisle on the hunt for something cheap, the chocolate and pretzels I’d scarfed down earlier not satisfying me in the least. The only other person in the shop was a short, red-haired woman who stood in front of the fridge, a chicken sandwich in one hand, an egg salad in the other, looking like she couldn’t make up her mind. I looked at the basket on the floor behind her feet, filled with bread and packets of peanuts, and there, on the top, sat a phone. If I had a cell phone, I could search for clues about Brad and Rosalie. I could combine those with the name Ash, in case the woman I’d called earlier hadn’t made a mistake, in which case I could try to speak to her again.
I glanced at the cashier, who’d turned her back to us and was talking into her own phone. Sandwich lady had gone for egg salad, and now debated her choices of a pot of fresh fruit vs. veggie sticks. As I walked past her, I casually bent over, snatched the phone from the basket and slid it into my pocket.
“Hey!”
I kept walking.
“Excuse me! You took my phone.”
I froze. Could I make it to the front door without the woman tackling me to the ground or the cashier blocking my exit? Even if I made it outside, where would I go? They’d spot me running to the derelict house in an instant. They’d call the cops, and I didn’t know where else to hide. Besides, I was too exhausted to make it far. Perhaps honesty was the best option. Give the phone back, apologize and leave. I turned, took in the woman’s face. She had smooth, porcelain skin and she’d opened her big green eyes so wide, I thought they might pop out and skitter across the floor like marbles.
“Is something wrong, Fiona?” the cashier called over.
The woman called Fiona said nothing as she stared at me, her jaw dropping. “Ash?”
“No. That’s not my—”
“It’s really you! When did you get back?”
The jingling bells on the front door, and the man walking into the shop, spared me from having to answer. “Hey, sis,” he called over to Fiona once he’d spotted her. “Are you coming, or what? Did you grab some beer?”
“Oh, boy,” she whispered under her breath. “I didn’t want him to see you.”
When the guy looked more closely at us, he narrowed his eyes and walked over, his head perched on a neck larger than my thighs. He had to be close to two hundred and fifty pounds, most of it muscle, and as he approached I saw he had the same eyes as his sister’s. His hair was the identical color, too, although his had been cut short and bristly, emphasizing the enormity of his skull. He ambled up to us, arms swinging by his thick sides, his jaw making sinewy movements as he observed me.
“What are you doing back in town?” he said, more of a snarl than a proper sentence. Who was this guy? And what did he want from me?
I held up my hands. “I don’t know who you are.”
He howled with laughter, and nothing like the genuine kind. “You think you can pretend not to recognize me? It hasn’t been long enough, Asher fucking Bennett.”
“Keenan,” Fiona said before I could answer. “Knock it off. Ash, what’s going on?”
I took off my baseball hat, as if that might lessen their confusion. “My name’s Brad.”
“Cut the crap.” Keenan came closer, making me take a step back and butt up against the packets of popcorn and tortilla chips, which crinkled as they squished against my stolen jacket.
“Really,” I said, feeling trapped and getting ready to take a swing at him if he came any closer. One punch would have to suffice, and better make it a big one so he couldn’t get up quickly enough to
