Chapter 4
Kadie followed Darrick to the door, stood on the porch watching him as he walked away. “Wait!”
He turned slowly to face her.
“I’m hungry.”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “Sorry. I should have thought of that. Come on, I’ll take you to dinner.”
Kadie grabbed her jacket, then followed him down the street. There were more people out tonight—a middle-aged woman walking her dog, a young couple strolling hand in hand, a tall, blond man who stood out from the others. Kadie stared at him, trying to decide why he looked different from everyone else. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it occurred to her that Darrick had that same indefinable something.
She looked up at him, trying to decide what it was.
“Here we are,” Darrick said.
Drawing her gaze from his face, she saw that they were in front of the restaurant.
He went inside and she followed him, sliding into the booth he chose, reading the menu he handed her.
“Order whatever you like,” he said.
She glanced at the menu, then frowned. “There aren’t any prices.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Feeling like she had fallen down the rabbit hole, Kadie stared at Darrick. Nothing in this place made sense. She was Alice and he was the Cheshire cat, speaking in riddles.
She ordered a Caesar salad, shrimp and rice, and a glass of lemonade. “Aren’t you eating?”
“Not now.”
“Did you mean it when you said I couldn’t leave here?”
He nodded. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it. I don’t want to stay here. I have a life, a job that I love, a family. . . .” She fought back tears of frustration as she thought of her little sister, anxiously waiting for her to return. “I have to go home.”
“You are home, Kadie. The house is yours.”
“What do you mean, it’s mine?”
“Just that. It’s yours for as long as you’re here.”
“How can you give it to me? You said it wasn’t yours. That the people who lived there left in a hurry.”
“So I did.”
“Why would you give me a house?”
He shrugged. “You need a place to stay. Do with it whatever you wish. Buy whatever you need. Groceries, clothing, furniture for the house. Just charge it all to me.”
“I have money of my own.”
“Your checks and credit cards are no good here.”
“I have some cash.”
“It’s no good here, either.”
She had to be dreaming, Kadie thought. Whoever heard of a town where your money was no good? And if they didn’t use checks, cash, or credit cards, what kind of currency did they use? And why was Darrick willing to buy her a house and pay her bills? She was certain it wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart.
Did he expect her to be his mistress? She took a deep breath, hoping to calm the sudden flutter of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. “What do you want in return for . . . for keeping me?”
“Only what you’re willing to give.” It wasn’t an out-and-out lie, but it was close.
Kadie glared at him, her eyes narrowed. “I’m not willing to give you anything.”
He didn’t reply, just sat there, watching her through hooded eyes. He didn’t move, didn’t blink. It was eerie, almost as if he wasn’t human, but a statue.
She felt a rush of hysteria rise inside her. Maybe she wasn’t dreaming. Maybe she was dead. Maybe he was the devil and this was hell.
When the waitress brought her dinner, Kadie pushed it away, her appetite gone.
“Kadie, you should eat something.” His gaze held hers. “You’re hungry and thirsty. You need to eat to keep your strength up.”
Overcome by a strange lassitude, she picked up her fork. She didn’t really feel like eating, but the food was suddenly irresistible, and she ate every bite.
The next thing she knew, she was outside, walking toward her house with no memory of leaving the restaurant.
Darrick walked her home. “Good night, Kadie,” he said quietly. “Just one more thing. Now that the house is yours, be careful who you invite inside.”
And with that enigmatic message, he left her standing on the porch.
Kadie stared after him a moment before going inside. She locked the door behind her, then stood there, wondering what to do with the rest of the night. It was too early to go to bed.
In the living room, she glanced at the clock over the mantel, surprised to find it was almost midnight.
That couldn’t be right, she thought. They had gone to dinner around six. It certainly hadn’t taken her six hours to eat, but a look at her watch confirmed the time. She didn’t know how it was possible, but sometime between dinner and returning home, she had lost six hours. How could that be? She recalled feeling a little disoriented during dinner, eating when she wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t remember anything after that. Had she fainted?
Worrying about it had her tossing and turning all night long. It was near dawn when she fell into a troubled sleep populated by white rabbits and Cheshire cats and a frightened Alice who ran through the night, fleeing from an unseen terror with bloodstained fangs and hell-red eyes.
In the morning, Kadie stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She looked pale, the bags under her eyes mute evidence of a mostly sleepless night. She didn’t usually remember her dreams, but she remembered the nightmare she’d had. She had never dreamed about monsters before. But maybe it wasn’t so unusual, considering her bizarre circumstances.
There was nothing to eat in the house. With her stomach growling, she dressed quickly, grabbed her handbag, and headed for the grocery store.
She bought the necessities—coffee, milk, bread, eggs, butter, sugar, flour, salt and pepper, as well as some fruit, mayonnaise, blueberry jam, and ice cream. Thinking ahead to dinner, she added a package of chicken legs and a box of stuffing.
The woman at the register smiled as she rang up Kadie’s groceries. “You must be Kadie Andrews,” she said. “I’m Maricela Romero, but my friends call me Marti.”
Kadie nodded, surprised by the woman’s friendly welcome. She guessed Marti to be in her late twenties, with glossy black hair, brown eyes, and a figure Kadie couldn’t help envying.
“Welcome to town. I hope you’ll learn to like it here. If you get lonesome, some of us meet at the library Wednesday mornings at ten thirty. We have coffee and doughnuts and talk about books and things. Sometimes we go out to lunch. You should come.”
“Thank you,” Kadie said politely. “Maybe I’ll do that.” She bit down on her lower lip, suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of telling Marti that Darrick was paying for her groceries. But it wasn’t necessary.
“I’ll just put this on your bill,” Marti said, handing Kadie a receipt.
Kadie looked at the white slip of paper. There was nothing on it except her name. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought, fighting a rush of hysterical laughter.
“Can I put those in your car for you?” the bag boy—his name tag identified him as Jeremy—offered.
“I’m afraid I don’t have a . . .” The words died in her throat when she saw her SUV pull up to the curb. Groceries forgotten, she hurried outside to confront the man behind the wheel. “What are you doing in my car?”
“Hey, back off,” he said, holding up both hands as he exited the vehicle. “I was just bringing it to you per Mr. Vaughan’s orders.”
“Who’s Mr. Vaughan? And where did you find gas in this town?”
“You’re Kadie Andrews, right? His protégée?”
“Protégée!” she exclaimed. Well, that was a new word for it.
“You must be something special,” he said, his voice tinged with envy.
“Why would you say that?”
He snorted. “You’re the only one in town with a car that runs.” He thrust the keys she’d left in the SUV into her hand, then turned and walked down the sidewalk.
Kadie stood staring after him. Protégée, indeed!
“Shall I put these in your car, Miss Andrews?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Kadie saw the bag boy—who wasn’t a boy at all, but a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties—standing behind her with her shopping cart. “Yes, please.” At least she wouldn’t have to walk home weighed down with her groceries. “Who was that man?”
“Oh, that’s Claude Cooper. Nobody knows much about him, except that he’s a real grouch. Keeps to himself, mostly.”
Thinking that she couldn’t blame the man for being out of sorts, all things considered, she thanked Jeremy for his help, and climbed behind the wheel. After checking the gas tank—it was full—she put the car in drive, and drove straight toward the bridge. It was one thing for Vaughan’s magic, or whatever it was, to stop her. Let him stop a four-thousand-pound SUV!
When she reached the other end of the bridge, she stomped on the gas pedal. And the engine died.
After restarting the car, she put it in drive and pressed gently on the gas. But the results were the same. The engine died.
She pulled her cell phone from her handbag, knowing even before she looked at the display that the battery would be dead.
Shoulders slumped in defeat, she stared at the road that led to freedom. She really was trapped here, she thought dully. Like a rat in a cage.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring into the distance, before she restarted the car and put it in reverse, but the ice cream was melted when she returned to the house.
A house that was, in reality, a prison. She was never going to get out of here, she thought bleakly. Never see her parents, or her sister, again.
By Wednesday morning, Kadie was heartily sick of her own company. She had spent the last four days rattling around the house, rearranging the furniture for want of anything better to do, reading the books she had brought with her until the words blurred on the page.
It might not have been so bad if the house had been equipped with a TV, a radio, or a computer, but there were no connections to the outside world.
Deciding to take Marti up on her offer, Kadie showered, ate a quick breakfast, and walked to the library.
The gray-haired lady at the front desk looked up. Taking off her glasses, she smiled at Kadie. “You’re the new one, aren’t you? Kadie?”
“Yes.”
“Are you looking for a book? As you can see, we have a large selection.”
“No, thank you. Marti invited me to visit her readers’ group.”
“Oh, of course, they meet in the back room. I’m Brittany Thomas,” the librarian said. She gestured at a door to the left of the desk. “They meet in there.”
“Thank you.”
“Hold on a second, hon. Marti made up a list of addresses for you. so you’ll know who lives where.”
“Oh, that was thoughtful of her,” Kadie said, taking the list the woman offered.
Squashing her nervousness, Kadie opened the door and stepped inside.
Marti and six other women were seated at a rectangular table. They all looked up when Kadie entered the room.
“Kadie!” Marti exclaimed, rising. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Thanks.”
Kadie took a seat at the end of the table amid a chorus of “Pleased to meet you’s” and “Welcome to our group.”
“Let me introduce you to the others.” Starting with the woman on her left, Marti introduced the group.
Shirley Hague was middle-aged, with short, curly brown hair, brown eyes, and a faint scar near her hairline.
Leslie Miller looked to be in her early twenties, with long, straight black hair, dark brown eyes, and skin so pale it was almost white. She wore a bright red scarf around her neck. So did several of the others, Kadie noticed.
“We’re discussing one of Stephen King’s books,” Marti said, when the introductions were complete. “
Salem’s Lot
. Have you read it?”
“Actually, I have,” Kadie said. Funny, she had finished reading it just a few weeks earlier. “Scared me half to death.”
Murmurs of agreement ran around the table.
“What did you think of Mr. Barlow?” Rosemary Holmes asked. She appeared to be in her early fifties with short gray hair and gray eyes. She regarded Kadie through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.
“Pure, unadulterated evil,” Kadie answered without hesitation.
Chelsea Morris nodded. “I agree! I slept with the light on for a week after I finished that book.” Chelsea was rail thin, with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes.
“He made the vampires seem so real,” Kadie said. “I almost started to believe they truly exist.”
“And when Ben Mears destroyed Barlow. . . .” Nancy Dellenbach shivered. The plump woman with long, wavy, red hair touched the red silk scarf she wore around her neck. “I’ve often been tempted to try it when Nolan or one of the others come to my house,” she said, her green eyes flashing. “But I just don’t have the nerve.”
Pauline Stefan nodded. She was a lovely woman, with clear blue eyes and long brown hair she wore tied in a ponytail. Like Nancy and Leslie, she also wore a bright red scarf loosely tied around her neck. “I know what you mean. They’re so much stronger than we are.”
“Wait a minute,” Kadie said. “Are you saying . . . ?” She shook her head. What she was thinking was impossible. They were just messing with her.
“You don’t know, do you?” Rosemary asked.
“Know what?” Kadie felt a sudden uneasiness as the women exchanged glances.
“Maybe we shouldn’t tell her,” Pauline said.
Chelsea leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “She needs to know.”
“Know what?” Kadie repeated, her unease ratcheting up a notch.
“Morgan Creek has a lot in common with King’s book,” Nancy said, fiddling with the ends of her scarf.
Kadie shook her head. “I don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” She frowned. “Does it have anything to do with the reason why I can’t leave?”