Things We Fear (4 page)

Chapter Eight

“Hello there, Aaron. How are ya?”

“I’m well, Mr. Hersom. And yourself?”

“I’m livin’ the life. So long as you don’t get Mary hooked on those books year-round. She wakes me up in the middle of the night to check on the shadows.”

“Oh, stop it. I do not.”

Gil laughed. “Well, not every shadow, just the ones that whisper the devil’s secrets.”

“Listen to you,” Aaron said. “You sure you haven’t been reading them once she falls asleep?”

“Not me, young man. My Robert Parker books suit me fine.”

“I’m not familiar?”

“You ever heard of Spencer?”

“Nope. Must have missed those.”

“You want to read some good mysteries, Parker’s your man.”

“I’ll have to check him out.” Aaron ducked back in the door and grabbed the short stack of horror paperbacks he’d brought for Mrs. Hersom. A couple were from his personal library, the other three he’d picked up specifically for her at one of his monthly Goodwill splurges. His budget couldn’t quite handle brand-new books, not if he wanted to stay on budget for his summer getaway, but thrift-store books read just as well as those from Barnes and Noble.

“Here’s a few. Gil, you’re more than welcome to pick one up too.”

“Saw enough blood and guts in my day, son. I don’t need any more before these old eyes.”

“Fair enough. Mary, I hope you’ll let me know which ones are your favorites.”

“Of course, dear. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Beep, beep, beep—beep, beep, beep.

“Oh, that’s my cell.”

“Go ahead and get it. We’ll be on our way.”

“Good night, guys.”

“Night,” Gerald said.

Aaron grabbed his phone off the mini nightstand. He’d promised to turn it off for the summer, as per usual, but Emily’s promise to look him up made it next to impossible to do.

“Hello?”

“Aaron?”

“Ms. You—Emily?”

“Yep. Is this a bad time?”

“Ah, no. Just surprised to hear from you already. I thought for sure I wouldn’t talk to you again until September.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.”

“So, are you in my neighborhood?”

“Sort of. How far is the beach from the Maine Mall?”

“Not too far. Are you coming out for some sun? We have another hour or so left.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you knew a good place to get some supper down here?”

“Is that…an invite or…”

“Yes. If you know a place, you’re certainly welcome to join me.”

“Well, do you feel like pizza, seafood or burgers?”

“I’m not much for fish. What’s a good burger joint?”

“Don’t laugh, but there’s a great hole in the wall on Commercial. It’s called Ralph’s Burger Dive.”

“Sounds splendid. Will it show up on my GPS?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Meet me there in thirty minutes?”

“Definitely. See you then.”

Unbelievable.
A date. First things first. Shower, shave, ATM. He could get downtown in fifteen minutes. He gave himself ten to get cleaned up and out the door.

* * * * *

Aaron was five minutes late. He hoped she didn’t mind. He’d had to park six blocks away. He cursed the Jersey Shore types, who overpopulated the Old Port each night, for hogging all the decent parking spots. The shitheads should all be using cabs.

Emily was at a booth for two just next to the kitchen door. Dressed in a plain light-blue T-shirt and a striped, knee-length skirt, her natural beauty was stunning. His palms were already wet.

“Hey,” she said.

Aaron sat down across from her, a tall glass of beer held his place.

“I ordered us some beers. Shipyard okay?”

“Yeah, one of my favorites.”

He took a sip and licked his lips. “Summer Ale?”

“You got it,” she said.

Her smile by the cheesy candlelight uncapped his endorphins.
Damn. Don’t fall so fast.

“So what’s brought you down my way so soon? Couldn’t live another minute without your happy helper?”

“Sure, if that makes you feel better. No, I was coming down to pick up some summer clothes. I just ended up down here later than I planned.”

He saw the concern in her eyes. “What is it?”

“Well, my day got started off a little weird. I was ready to go and went to get in my car and my tire was flat.”

He took another sip of beer. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, then Matt Holmes happened by and helped me put on my spare.”

“Mr. Holmes to the rescue? Mr.
Hormones Holmes
?”

“What? Who calls him that?”

“Just me and Oscar, er, Mr. Romano.”

“Ah, I see. You’re on first-name basis with the VP.”

“Doesn’t do me much good, but yeah, we’ve spent a couple Sundays at the Stadium watching football. Anyways, you were saying. Mr. Hormones Holmes to the rescue…”

“Yeah, so I drive to Walmart and have them give me a new tire and they tell me someone had stabbed my tire. Slashed it on purpose.”

“Whoa. That’s kind of freaky. Neighborhood hooligans?”

“Not sure. Cops are going to keep an eye on my street. Make sure they don’t come back. The more I think about it, the more nervous I am. I’m actually considering grabbing a room in town tonight.”

“Wow. So you think someone targeted you?”

“I don’t know, but the thought of someone creeping in my driveway with a knife is pinned to the front of my brain. I figure a night away won’t hurt. The police said they would call if they see or hear anything.”

The waitress, a brunette in her early forties with a pointy nose and her hair in a ponytail, stopped by, took their orders and went to get them each another beer. The place was fairly quiet tonight. Only two other couples, both older folks, were in the place. A couple of guys sat at the bar, nursing pints and watching the Sox.

They spent the rest of dinner talking about their likes and dislikes—surprisingly, they loved the band Bastille, missed TGIF on ABC and abhorred the new raunchy comedies that seemed to be all the rage—and kept school talk to a minimum. In fact, outside of a short detour about James—the troublemaking tornado that kept Aaron’s plate full throughout the year—they were able to shed their work relationship rather easily.

“Dinner’s on me,” Aaron said.

“Nope, I called you. This one’s on me.” She placed her card on the table.

Aaron leaned back and raised his palms in the air. “Okay, boss. If that’s the way you want it. I never fight free food.”

“You can get me back when I come down to your beach.”

That smile again. Her face seemed built to beam. Her brown eyes sparkled in the candlelight and her nose crinkled just slightly. It was almost too goddamn cute.

“Supposed to be pretty nice tomorrow. Hotter than today even.”

“You need to see me again so soon?”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“C’mon. I love the smell of this city. Let’s walk around town for a bit.”

* * * * *

The cops were doing ride-bys at forty-minute intervals. Matt checked the timer on his smartphone. It was nearly 10:00 p.m. and Emily hadn’t come home yet. Not that he’d planned on doing anything terrible to her tonight. He just wanted to see her. He’d planned it all out in his mind as he broke in through an open window in the backyard.

He figured the closet with the winter jackets just off from the short hallway would be his best spot to hide. From there, he could see into her bedroom at his left and the living room at his right. He would hear the key jiggle at the front room, the door open and her sandals flap across the nice cherry floor. Maybe her keys would cling and clang down on the glass coffee table or maybe clunk down on the round butterfly tablecloth that was spread over the rectangle wood table in the kitchen. There would be the soft thump of her purse on the floor and her sauntering approach toward the bathroom to her bedroom. He would catch a whiff of either her perfume or shampoo as she waltzed by his hiding place. After a few minutes of winding down with a Corona Light (he checked, she had three left in the fridge) or a quick shower (she only had a stand-up shower, no tub) he would watch her slink into the bedroom, drop her clothing to the floor and crawl into the comfy queen-sized bed in the center of the room. He would masturbate inside his pants and when he was certain she was a sleep, he would tiptoe out of the closet, down the hall and back out through the rear window of the little spare room at the back.

That daydream had been well over an hour and a half ago. He was beginning to worry. Had she met someone down in Portland? Matt didn’t have Emily Young pegged as the one-night-stand type of girl, but, hell, he’d been wrong about some of these young, fresh-meat teachers in the past. Janice Yelts being the worst. She’d played the hardcore, strict-scholar type better than most. She’d thwarted every one of his come-ons, each and every attempt at nonscholastic banter. Never even rolled her eyes or gave him a response of any sort for his long gazes in her direction. She was a fortress. Until the night he’d bumped into her at Gritty’s Pub three towns over in Chetsville. It was the last weekend before summer vacation. She tried to hold up the façade, but caved rather quickly. Two shots in, and they were out on the small dance floor. She ground her leather-skirted ass against his dick just as he pressed it right back her way. She exploded in bed. Hell, he hadn’t had sex that good since. She’d submitted to him so easily that night. If only they could all be so compliant. Ms. Yelts moved away right afterward. He was certain she’d pulled up roots and wound up someplace else where she could reset her uppity façade. He knew better.

Thinking of Ms. Yelts even now had him harder than a coal train. He checked his phone: 10:39. The police would be by any second. He’d wait for them to do their pass, masturbate in Emily’s bathroom and then make his exit. Ninety seconds later, that’s just what he did.

He jogged across the main drag and skidded down the wooded hill behind Charley’s Used Cars. At the foot of the hill near the old walking trail, his Escalade awaited. He ditched the black leather gloves, pulled down his black hood and discarded the sweatshirt altogether in the backseat. He started the SUV and drove up the curvy dirt road that led to the back of the auto parts store. He wanted to wait for her to come home, but he was afraid of what he might do if she rolled up with another guy.
But who?
Plus, the cops would notice his vehicle out here.

He flicked his headlights on, turned onto Maine Avenue and headed home.

* * * * *

Emily didn’t know if it was the buzz from their last round of pints at the karaoke bar or if she actually had wanted to do it all year, but she fought back the gravity-powered urge to kiss Aaron as they parted.

“So, tomorrow? Lunch on the pier?” he said.

“Definitely.”

“Good night, Emily.” He kept the space she’d left between them.

“Good night, Aaron.”

She turned and stepped up to the hotel doors. She glanced over her shoulder as the automatic doors slid open. A cool blast from the air-conditioned lobby brought her inner thermostat (whether from the alcohol or Aaron’s laugh) back down a notch. Aaron stood by the telephone pole plastered with neon-colored show flyers and waited for her to get safely inside. A gentleman. She smiled and stepped ahead, and right into another woman coming out.

Oh my God.

“Sorry, young lady. I didn’t see you there,” a male voice said.

“It’s quite all right…
ma’am
?” Emily said from the concrete. The he/she with dirty-blonde locks and a short blue dress pulled her up with ease.

“Okay, hon. You have a good night,” he/she said and scooted on clickety high heels down the cobblestone street.

Emily dusted herself off. Aaron was still there.
Of course.
She gave him a thumbs-up even though she wanted to hide her face in her hands.

“It’s Portland,” Aaron said. He held his arms out to his side and began to walk down the sidewalk backward. “See you
mañana
.”

Part of Emily wanted to laugh, part of her wanted to cry. She settled for the middle ground, smiled, and headed inside.

“Are you all right, madam?” Richard, the elderly gentleman at the desk said.

“Just fine. Thank you.”

Emily walked to the left of the desk and to the elevators. Tonight with Aaron was wonderful. She was a little disappointed that they’d not kissed, but it also gave her something to look forward to when she saw him tomorrow.
Don’t get all googly,
she warned herself. Her walls were weak. She hadn’t felt so
open
with a guy since Eben. Her buzz whispered about how nice it was to feel that way again.

The elevator reached the fifth floor with a soft
bing
. She stepped out onto the beautiful, plush maroon carpet and went straight to her room. Inside, she slipped out of her flats, pushed them under the bench with her bare feet, pulled the elastic from her hair and combed her fingers through her long, dark locks. She unshouldered her bag and set it at the end of the king-sized bed and caught her reflection in the mirror to the right of the television. Her curves would be on full display for Aaron tomorrow. She hadn’t brought a swimsuit, but she would remedy that in the morning.

On a whim, she crossed the room and opened the door to the minifridge.
Empty.
Rats.
Her buzz would be fading too soon. She wasn’t ready to tighten back up. She wasn’t a big drinker, but she thought another beer would be perfect before bed. She dialed the front desk. Richard informed her that they had a selection of beers and wines in the shop just off the lobby. She grabbed a twenty from her wallet, stepped back into her flats and ventured down for a six-pack of whatever they had.

“Right over there, madam,” Richard said. He directed her to the far corner.

“Thanks.”

She stepped into the small shop. Under the fluorescent shine, a six-pack of Heineken Light called to her. She grabbed the overpriced beer from the cooler and turned and bumped into a man in a dark-blue, button-down shirt and khaki shorts. For a millisecond, she was certain it was Matt Holmes. An impossibility, but…