Chapter 5

 

I turned the key in the door to the house and pushed it open. Shanda sat right in front of the door, purring loudly and squeezing her eyes shut, letting me know how happy she was to have me home.

Though it had only been a few days since I left, and Jen had been stopping by daily to check on Shanda, the place smelled stuffy in the warming weather. I walked around, opened a couple windows, and let Shanda out when she scratched.

Tires crunched on gravel outside just as I started to walk away from the door. Alarm ricocheted through my body. At the window, I drew back the curtain a few inches. Relief flooded through me, making me want to slump against the wall when I realized it was just Jen. I had forgotten to call and tell her she didn’t need to stop by. I went back to open the front door for her.

“What are you doing home so soon?” Jen asked, bounding up the steps in a slim skirt, red blouse, and pumps.

How does she do that in heels?

“Things were a little strange in New York,” I said evasively. “Do you want something to drink? I think I have some diet Coke in the fridge, if it isn’t flat.”

I led the way into the kitchen. Jen caught up and studied me, cocking her head one way then the other. “Something’s different. What happened in New York?”

Heat suffused my cheeks. I didn’t respond right away. How much should I say? How much did I want to say?

“Or should I say who happened?” Jen asked insightfully.

I shook my head. “No one. I mean nothing.”

“Yeah, tell that to some other sucker. I’ve known you too long, and I’ve never seen you like this. He has to be something else. What’s his name? Come on, dish.” She went over to the fridge and got out the hot fudge she knew I kept there and stuck it in the microwave, then grabbed bowls out of the cupboard, spoons out of the drawer, and the peanut butter cup ice cream out of the freezer.

I sat down at the kitchen bar and watched her scoop ice cream as I decided how much to tell her. She dumped hot fudge on the ice cream, stuck a spoon in, and handed one bowl to me. “Thanks.”

She sat down next to me at the counter and lifted a spoonful of ice cream. “Dish,” she demanded again.

“Okay,” I acquiesced. “There was a guy there. An ornithologist.”

Jen grinned. “I knew it. What does he look like?”

I squirmed a bit in my seat. Even though he wasn’t there, I somehow hated to admit out loud how handsome I had found him.

“Well, he had really short golden blond hair and piercing blue green eyes.”

“Oh? Skinny? Built? Tall? Short?”

I grinned. “Ha. He was actually an inch or two shorter than me, though he was very muscular.” As we dug into the ice cream, I couldn’t help picturing those arms when I shook his hand the first time or remembering the feel when he held me tight against him. Swallowing hard, I shoved another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.

Jen watched me with a grin on her face. “Oh yeah, you got it bad.” She twisted side to side in her chair and said in a sing-song voice, “Ally’s got it bad for Mr. Bird Man.”

I rolled my eyes. “You are so immature,” I scorned.

She glared haughtily down her nose at me. “Heh, you could use some immaturity, my dear.”

“Whatever.”

All too quickly the ice cream was gone, and I was scraping the bottom of my bowl. I took it to the sink and set it under the tap.

Jen padded over to the sink with her bowl, set it in, and gave me a quick hug. “You deserve somebody. I’ve got to split, I’ve got a date tonight, but I want to hear all about your new man. How about lunch tomorrow?”

“He’s not my man, and yes to lunch. McGinty’s?”

“Sounds good, see you there at 11:30, before the lunch crowd.”

In a whirl, she rushed out the door, and I was alone again. Was that a good thing or not? Feeling out of sorts, disquieted, I decided to go for a walk through the woods to calm my restless spirit. I had developed a little bit of a headache since I’d gotten home too. Maybe some fresh air would relieve it.

I changed into some old jeans, pulled on my hiking boots, grabbed my walking stick and set off, leaving the door unlocked. As the science-fiction writer Spider Robinson said in one of his books, “What if someone came by while I was out and they couldn’t get in?” It wasn’t exactly Nova Scotia, but I was out in the boonies and tried to be helpful if someone got lost while they were out for a hike or something.

There was an old dirt road across from my house. Heavy rains had washed some of the dirt away in rivulets, so the ground was uneven, and rocks of varying sizes could easily turn an ankle. At the bottom of the incline, I crossed a metal grating which served as a bridge over the stream and leaped the wide ditch that separated the dirt road from the old logging trail. The rest of the hike would be uphill.

The logging trail had passed through these woods for far longer than I could remember and had become a course for water when it rained, keeping the path relatively free of debris over the last ten years. The trees were mainly pines, dropping needles that crunched softly underfoot. Occasionally a tree would come down over the path, and I came out with a chainsaw to clear it. I’d taken a course in using chainsaws from a local outdoor supply store.

I stopped for a moment, closed my eyes, and inhaled deeply. The spicy smell of the trees and the moisture in the air made the evening perfect for relaxing. So why am I not relaxed? I took another deep breath, filling my diaphragm, inhaling through my nose slowly, holding it, then releasing it even more slowly. I did that five times, trying to force my body to relax. It didn’t work. I opened my eyes. Hyperaware of my surroundings, I was momentarily dazzled by the sunlight filtering in through a gap in the trees.

Things went quiet as I stood there, like birds sometimes do when something unusual approaches. The sun still shone down, and a slight breeze ruffled my hair, but something was definitely off. I caught a very faint whiff of something acrid, like creosote. Turning in a slow circle, I peered into the trees and undergrowth. I stopped and listened, but still nothing became apparent. Not liking this, not one little bit.

Taking a different tack, I started jogging uphill toward the light, then slowly increased my speed until I burst out of the top of the trail, into the field, at a run. I slowed to a walk, breathing heavily.

Adrenaline now coursed through my veins as well, but I still had a headache. I skirted the edge of the field, occasionally looking back to the trail head as if expecting something to come bounding out. One of the hounds of hell? Perhaps.

The birds began to sing again. I followed the edge of the field around to the entrance onto the main road and started back down the hill toward my house. A hawk wheeled overhead so I stopped to watch him. I could almost feel his pleasure in the wind and the sun and the power of his own wings.

As I walked down the hill, I caught the glint of sun off the windshield of a car parked in back of my house. Had Jen come back? I shielded my eyes and saw a silver sedan. Not Jen’s. Somebody with a hurt bird? It was possible. I wanted to hurry, but at the same time, the incident in the woods had spooked me. I continued walking at a leisurely pace, watching for any sign of the car’s owner.

As I came around the corner off the main road onto the dirt one, the car started up. The feeling of being hunted returned in a rush. I stepped off the road into the thicket of trees, where a chicken coop of weathered gray wood had stood until a couple years before. The car went down my driveway and turned left. It sped up before it passed the side road so I couldn’t see who was in it.

As the car crested the hill and its sound receded into the distance, I began to feel foolish. Had I really just hid from someone who might have come to my house for help? I sighed and stepped out of the bushes onto the packed dirt of the road then walked around the back side of the house. Shanda joined me, scrabbling and then leaping down from an apple tree. I didn’t see any note when I got to the side door.

She preceded me inside. In the kitchen, I was assaulted by a strange smell, like rotten eggs. “What the hell?” Shanda had already turned around and started scratching to be let out again as if she’d forgotten something important she had to do. Had whoever it was been inside? I let her out, then opened the rest of the windows to air the place out.

The smell was most pronounced in the kitchen, but there was no spot of concentration. It hung in the air, like pipe smoke. I didn’t find anything out of place as I inspected my home, so I made sure the doors were all locked. Somebody had come into my home, somebody who had smelled distinctly odd, and not left a note.

The smell reminded me of something which set off alarm bells throughout my body, yet I couldn’t remember what. There was a wall between me and the memory that I couldn’t see over. I kept searching for it, like a word on the tip of my tongue. I finally put it out of my mind, knowing when I concentrated on something else, it would come.

For better or worse, the memory returned that night. As I lay in bed, my mind free to wander, I realized where I had smelled that distinctive scent before. My eyes popped open. It had been as a child, the day the man had come to the door, pushed his way in, then grabbed me. The smell had remained even after I killed him.

I turned on the lamp and sat up in bed, hugging my knees to my chest. I hadn’t thought of this stuff for so long, pushing the memory away to please my parents. It was like Matt’s validation of my story had made it okay for me to remember. The phone on my nightstand beckoned. I could call Jen. Or I could call Matt. The number was still stored in the history of my phone. Somehow, I had the feeling he wouldn’t mind if I called, no matter the time.

I jumped as Shanda padded into the room. When she leaped onto the bed, I pulled her into my lap, finding a measure of comfort in the soft gray of her fur. I laid down with her next to me, but it was a long while before I got back to sleep.