And if he was asleep, it was safe for her to sleep.
She felt her muscles relax.
And then she heard it!
A faint creaking sound, so soft she almost missed it.
Had it come from inside the house? Maybe not. Maybe it came from outside. Maybe one of the huge old maples had a cracked branch and—
It came again, and this time there was no mistaking it. The creaking had come from inside the house.
Angel froze, willing her heart to remain calm so its throbbing wouldn’t drown out any sound that might betray whatever danger was creeping through the house.
Again she waited, straining her ears, unconsciously holding her breath.
Nothing.
Maybe she’d been wrong — maybe she hadn’t really heard anything at all! Maybe whatever it was had come from outside. Slowly letting out the breath she hadn’t known she was holding, she once more let herself relax.
And the sound came again.
This time she was certain it was right outside her door, and she had to fight to keep the scream that was building in her throat from erupting.
But maybe she should scream! Maybe she should scream as loud as she could, so her mother would wake up and—
Then she remembered what had happened when she tried to tell her mother about what her father was doing. And tonight, her father would just say he’d been worried about her and was listening to make sure she was all right.
And her mother would believe him.
Biting her lips, she held back her cry.
And heard the soft click of the door opening.
The squeal of its hinges as someone pushed it open.
The wind cleared the clouds away from the moon, and a silvery glow flooded through the window.
And Angel saw the same figure standing in her doorway that she’d seen standing in the road in her dream.
But she was awake now, and it wasn’t a dream, and even though the figure was wearing the strange black coat with the wide collar and lapels and didn’t even look like her father, she knew that it
She could feel him looking at her, feel his eyes peeling away the blanket and the sheet, stripping off her pajamas.
She clutched at the covers, holding them as tight around her neck as she could, but still felt as if she was lying naked on the bed, with her father gazing at her.
The figure moved, stepping into the room.
The figure moved closer, and once again her heart was racing, and she shrank back into the pillows and prayed she could just disappear and—
Long fingers with cracked and torn nails closed on the bedding, and Angel felt it being pulled away.
Now the hand was reaching for her pajamas.
Just as the fingers were about to close on the thin material that covered her breast, she focused her mind the way she had that afternoon and visualized her father hurtling through the door.
But instead of flying backward as he had that afternoon, this time her father only hesitated.
His hand trembled in the air a few inches in front of her.
In the dim silvery light spilling through the window, she could see him struggling.
Then his hand came closer.
Angel shrank back and concentrated harder, closing her mind to everything but the image she visualized of her father being pushed away, pushed out of the room, pushed to the top of the stairs, and then—
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the hand reaching for her breast began to move away.
She could see it trembling again, see her father once again struggling against the unseen force. But this time she held her concentration, focused her mind so utterly on the one single image that she no longer even saw her father, or the room around her, or even the light of the moon.
She felt herself tiring, felt every muscle in her body begin to ache as if she’d been running for hours.
The image in her mind wavered.
She struggled to regain it, but it was too late.
Exhausted, she let go of the image. It was as if all the tension in her body were released at once, and as a muted cry escaped her lungs, her head collapsed into her pillow and all her muscles suddenly turned to jelly.
But when she opened her eyes, the dark figure of her father was gone.
She was once again alone in her room.
The door was closed.
The wind outside had died away.
The light of the moon was once more suffusing the room with a bright silvery glow.
And the house was silent.
Angel waited, listening for any sound at all that might betray her father’s return. Finally, after several long minutes, she slipped out of her bed and went to the door.
Opening it a crack, she peeked out into the hallway.
At the far end, her father was sprawled in a heap, as if he’d passed out just as he reached the top of the stairs.
Almost certain he wouldn’t awaken for the rest of the night, she silently closed her door and returned to her bed.
And this time she slept. But she didn’t sleep until close to dawn.
Chapter 39
YRA SULLIVAN NEARLY DROPPED THE FRYING PAN full of scrambled eggs as she turned away from the stove and caught sight of Angel for the first time that morning. For a moment she was too stunned to say anything as she gazed at the black-clad figure that stood framed in the doorway. Angel’s face was made up exactly as it had been on Saturday for the party at the country club, her skin a ghostly white, her eyes enlarged with shadow and liner, her lips the deep glistening red of blood. Myra could only gape, and then her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, but no words came out. Tearing her eyes away from Angel, she turned to Marty.
And saw that his face was almost as pale as Angel’s. His gaze was fixed on Angel, and his features were twisted into a look of such utter terror that for a second Myra thought he must be having a heart attack.
“Marty?” she finally managed to say. “Marty!”
It wasn’t until she spoke his name for a third time that Marty reacted to his wife’s words, and then it was only to rise unsteadily from the table, backing away so quickly that the chair behind him tipped over with a crash. “Get her away,” he said, his voice shaking. “Get her away from me!”
Now it was her husband Myra was gaping at. Had he gotten so drunk last night, and been left so hung over this morning, that he didn’t even recognize his own daughter? “For heaven’s sake, Marty, calm down — you look like you’ve seen a ghost! It’s only Angel.”
The shock of Angel’s appearance receding as quickly as it had washed over her, she pursed her lips and turned back to her daughter. “What on earth are you thinking of?” she asked. “You practically frightened your father half to death. Now go upstairs, change your clothes, and take off that ridiculous makeup. Of all the—”
“It’s not ridiculous, and I’m not taking it off,” Angel said, sitting down at the table and pouring some orange
