House at the End of the Street (4 page)

She pushed herself forward, following him into Caitlin Aberdeen’s wide kitchen. A few kids were playing video games in the living room, while a few others were drinking a pink concoction out of plastic cups. The smell of pot wafted in the air. “This is your famine relief meeting?” Elissa asked, raising one eyebrow at him.

“Hell, yeah,” Tyler said, high-fiving a guy with bloodshot eyes. “Last year we gave twelve hundred dollars to a charity. It just came straight off my dad’s credit card instead of us having to beg people for change in the supermarket parking lot. We can party, no hassles, and put it down as community service on our college apps.”

Elissa turned away, not sure whether to be disgusted
or impressed. “I guess it does require a certain smarmy brilliance…” she allowed, staring at the crowd of kids. Maybe Tyler’s morals were lax, maybe he was like every other entitled rich kid she’d known, but this was still way better than sitting alone in her house, wondering if there was some deranged murderer prowling through the back woods.

“Thank you,” Tyler said, bowing slightly. He poured some vodka and pink lemonade into a cup and pressed it into her hands. “Time to get our drink on.”

E
lissa’s head was light from the drinks. She jammed her thumbs into the video controller, steering the car away from Tyler’s, but it crashed into the metal guardrail. She looked around, noticing that the party crowd had slowly devolved into various pairings. A blond girl with a low-cut top was making out with some stoner in the corner. Another couple was sitting on the back porch. She stood quickly, dropping the controller into the couch. “I believe I lost again,” she said, taking in Tyler’s red eyes, and the way he was half slumped on the arm of the couch. “Bathroom break.”

She started up the stairs, holding the railing for support. When she got to the bathroom a redhead was hunched over the toilet, retching. “Sorry,” the girl said. She’d spilled a drink down the front of her tight blue T-shirt.

“Are you okay? Do you need a ride home?” Elissa crouched down beside her.

“I just want to rest,” the girl said, curling up on the thick bath mat. She wiped the sides of her mouth.

Elissa studied the girl, trying to decipher just how drunk she was. She looked in better shape than most of the kids at the party, and whatever she had drunk had already gone into the toilet. Elissa turned the girl’s head to the side and folded a towel beneath it as a pillow, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. She’d check on her in twenty minutes, after she found another bathroom.

She ducked back into the hall, moving past several doors, wondering how many bedrooms one house needed. Wasn’t Caitlin an only child? She started into the master bedroom, searching for another bathroom, when someone grabbed her from behind.

“Hey!” she protested, and then she saw Tyler’s face.

“Tyler, you’re wasted.” Elissa twisted, breaking free for a moment, but then he pulled her toward the bed. He tossed her down on the king-size mattress before he tripped, falling over the edge of the bed and onto the floor.

“So? Where’s your humanitarian spirit?” He stood and lunged for her, pinning her down. He grabbed her right breast with his hand, squeezing it hard. “Ahhhh…there it is.” He laughed.

Elissa turned quickly, elbowing him hard in the face. She
pushed him off, running toward the door. She couldn’t get her cell phone out fast enough. “Awww…calling Mommy?” she heard Tyler whine. He was up, chasing her down the hall.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need a ride, jerk,” she yelled. He reached over her shoulder, yanking the phone from her grasp. They were perched at the edge of the stairs. A few people looked up from the living room, trying to see what was happening. “Give me my phone, Tyler!”

He held his hand high in the air, teasing her. There was a sick smirk on his face and she realized then that she hated him. Whatever first impressions she’d had of him—that he was a little bit of a goody-goody, that he was entitled, that he was a snob—were so much better than what she thought of him now. She’d never been so repulsed by someone in her entire life.

She pushed him hard, knocking him into the wall. Then she jumped up, yanking the cell phone away from him. It was in that moment that her arm flew back, swiping an antique lamp behind her. She turned just in time to see it fall over, smashing into a hundred pieces as it fell down the stairs.

Tyler lunged at her again. She kneed him hard in the crotch until he doubled over in pain. A crowd had gathered at the bottom of the stairs, watching. Caitlin, a short girl with an obvious nose job, pushed through some kids, noticing the broken lamp.

“My dad’s going to kill me,” she screeched, picking up one of the larger teal pieces. “Who did this?”

Tyler pointed at Elissa. “I’m sorry,” Elissa started. “He was—”

“Get out of my house!” Caitlin yelled. The crowd fell back, some laughing. “Now!”

Elissa gritted her teeth. She pushed past them, grabbing her backpack from behind the couch. “No problem,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Caitlin. “I could use some fresh air.” She slammed the door behind her as she started across Caitlin’s massive front lawn.

D
ammit
, Elissa thought.
The point of moving here was to get away from this crap.
Outside, the road was pitch-black. She could barely see beyond the trees. She pulled out her cell phone, scrolling through her list of contacts. Every single name was someone from her old school, her old group of friends, her old life. Her mother was still stuck at the hospital. Her house was miles away, and not a single person inside the one she’d left was sober enough to drive her home—not that she would’ve resorted to begging. She started up the road, moving in the direction of her street. The first droplets of rain hit her bare shoulders.

She hadn’t walked more than thirty feet when a car flew past, a thin spray of mud covering her legs. She scrolled back through her contacts, hovering over Sarah’s name,
wondering if she should try her. Hadn’t her mom said to call her whenever she was in trouble? Didn’t this count as trouble, standing on this unlit road, a strange car just up ahead?

The car stopped several yards away. More rain fell, soaking Elissa’s tank top. The reverse lights came on as the old teal sedan sped backward, screeching to a halt. The passenger window rolled down and the driver leaned over. It took Elissa a moment to realize he was just a little older than her, with short, dirty blond hair and dark brown eyes. “Do you a need a ride?” he asked.

Elissa turned, taking a few steps back toward the house. Wasn’t this the equivalent of hitchhiking? She couldn’t just get in some car with a stranger. “No, this is my driveway,” she called over her shoulder, trying to sound convincing.

“No, it’s not,” the boy called through the open widow. “You just moved in on Sycamore Lane. I live next door.”

Elissa glanced back at the car, taking in the guy’s flannel shirt, the stack of books in the passenger seat, and the golden stubble on his chin, as if he hadn’t shaved in two days. He looked so…
normal
. “You’re Ryan Jacobsen?” she asked.

The boy put the car into park. He ran his hand over his forehead, trying to hide a smile. “I’m sorry.…” He half laughed. “I didn’t mean to scare you. What’s your name?”

Elissa looked down at her cell, unsure whether to press send. Her mother could be there within twenty minutes.
Out of all people, wasn’t this boy—who lived in the same house where his parents were murdered—the last person she should be getting a ride from? “I’m Elissa,” she said. “I’m cool walking, though—thanks.”

She started back out, and the car rolled alongside her. Ryan laughed. “You’re ten miles away from home. Let me give you a ride.”

Elissa glanced at the long, winding road ahead. Just then there was a loud, rippling crack of thunder, and the rain came down much harder then before. Within seconds she was completely drenched. She glanced into the car, where Ryan was still waiting. His head was tilted to one side, as if to say,
Really? You REALLY want to walk?

She clenched her fists together, annoyed at Sarah for having to work tonight, at Tyler for groping her, at Caitlin for throwing her out of the party. Now she was here, standing in the pouring rain, trying to decide whether or not to take a ride from an orphaned loner. Without thinking, she pulled open the door and slid inside, pushing the books out of the way.

They drove in silence for the first minute or two, the windshield wipers providing the only soundtrack. The old car was actually pretty cool, with wide leather seats and a deep dashboard. A few cassettes were stacked up on the seat, as if it were still 1989. A thin gold locket hung from the rearview mirror, and there was a yellow lunchbox on the floor by her feet.

He had a few Hemingway novels beside him, half spilling out of a knapsack, along with a massive biology textbook. She studied him, his small brown eyes and chiseled features. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-one. As she watched him he kept his eyes on the road, not saying anything. Had the Reynoldses been right? Was there something wrong with him? How could he stand to live in that run-down house alone, knowing his parents were murdered there?

The silence was unbearable. The windshield wipers squeaked; the rain came down sideways, pummeling the car. After a few minutes, Elissa couldn’t take it any longer. “So why do you still live in that house?”

Ryan let out a long breath, and Elissa immediately felt guilty. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that,” she tried, hoping they could erase the last minute, just pretend it had never happened.

“You just said what you were thinking,” Ryan offered. “That’s all anybody can think about when they’re around me anyway. My family sent me away when I was seven, and at first that house was all I had left of them. But actually living there has been too hard. I’ve decided to fix it up and then sell it.”

Elissa ran her fingers over the seat, pushing them down into the leather. Why did she have to go there? One minute they were driving in perfect silence, the next they were talking about how his parents sent him away. Still, it
made her feel the slightest bit better than he didn’t enjoy living there. He wasn’t the strange loner the Reynoldses painted him as, lurking about, sleeping in the bed where his father was bludgeoned to death.

Ryan turned to her and smiled. “I heard you singing this morning. It was nice. Are you in a band or something?”

She let out a breath, relieved they were back on track. Her looked different—kinder, sweeter—when he smiled. “Yeah, I played guitar a lot back in Chicago,” she explained. “My dad is in a band too, though I hardly ever see him. He’s always on tour.” She rifled through the cassettes in the center console, seeing if he had anything worthwhile.

“Man, these are old.” She laughed, looking at the worn labels, some from the 1980s. “You gotta get some new music.”

Ryan smiled. “This car was my dad’s. Those were his.” He looked at her for a long beat, noticing her the way Luca had all those months before. His eyes ran over her lips, her soaking wet tank top, the curly blond tendrils that were now stuck to her wet cheeks.

“So, are you and your mom here in Woodshire to stay?” he finally asked.

She looked away, noticing the Magic Eight Ball key chain dangling from the ignition. She reached for it, her hand just inches from his leg. She turned it over and smiled. “All signs point to yes.”

Ryan laughed, and for the first time she wondered if
there was something more to him, this boy who everyone described as a loner. He kept glancing sideways at her, then back at the road, until the car rolled to a stop in her driveway. They sat there for a minute before either of them spoke.

“It’s so quiet here,” Elissa said, rolling down the window to get some fresh air. The rain had finally stopped. Ryan cut the headlights and they sat alone in the dark. “Not like where I used to live.”

“It’s even quieter at dawn,” Ryan said. He adjusted himself in his seat, moving just the slightest bit closer to her.

“What are you doing up that early?”

“I sit out back, and I just write. Mostly stories. It feels easier. I like that time of day, because everyone is still asleep, it’s like all the best thoughts haven’t been taken yet.” He turned to her, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Do you know what I mean?”