The Spider Catcher (Redemption by A.L. Tyler Book 1) (19 page)

Chapter 20

The Gillespie residence was dark and quiet.  In the still pre-dawn glow, there were no lights on in the windows, and there was no noise from the kitchen.

She hadn’t woken up when he carried her back, and when he set her down on the doorstep, it didn’t register that he was becoming particularly bold. He was gone again before she could even yawn, sitting in a dew puddle on the wooden stoop before the front door. When she stood up, wiping her wet hands off on the front of her pants, she realized that Acton hadn’t taken her back to the bar to change; it meant that she would need to go straight to the shower when she went in, and find something to do with the clothes.

In her groggy stupor, the idea of the window came to her mind. Acton would come to her window during the day, so if she put the clothes out on the sill, he was sure to find them. Looking straight up the side of the house, the depth of the sky nearly made her fall over backwards.  She still didn’t know how he was getting to the window, whether it was flying, climbing, levitation…

Reeling forward and gripping the doorknob, Ember clutched at her stomach as a wave of nausea overtook her. She nodded her head furiously as it passed, hoping that Gina had made something good for breakfast—she was only eating twice a day now, once at the bar at night and breakfast in the mornings, and the alcohol and hypnosis always made the cramps worse.

Turning the knob and stepping inside the house, and even in the still, dead dark, Ember knew there was something wrong.

It was a feeling, akin to what one feels when they suddenly realize that he or she is dreaming.

“Mom?”

Nothing had changed inside the house. The furniture in the living room was exactly as it had always been, and there were shoes and coats hung in the entryway. In the kitchen, there were dishes drying on a towel by the sink, ready for breakfast, exactly where Gina had left them after dinner the night before.

But all of the knives were gone. Ember ran to the stairs. “Mom! Thalia!”

They weren’t in their bedroom, or in Nan’s, or in the room that had formerly belonged to Ember. However, she noted that Gina had taken the mattress from Nan’s room and moved it back into Ember’s bedroom.  She supposed that meant she was moving back into her former accommodations.

Driven by the sudden rush of adrenaline, and without regard for the smell she was likely trailing through the house, she opened every single drawer in her mother’s room.

If they had left willingly, they hadn’t taken any clothes with them.

She went back to her bedroom, aghast, and collapsed onto her bed. There weren’t any linens on it; she supposed she was going to have to get the sheets and make the bed herself. As she adjusted her pillow under her head, her hand came back out with a small package—a note wrapped around one lone kitchen knife.

Good luck. Lock the doors. Thalia

Ember frowned miserably, holding the knife in her hand as she ran her finger over Thalia’s neat scrawl. Locking the doors wasn’t likely to help much, if it helped at all.  It was probably something that Gina had done to make Thalia feel safe, when she hadn’t ever had any real safety to offer her. Ember hadn’t realized that she had taken them for granted, or how much she had counted on the safety net her mother provided, even if she was wrong about Acton.

She went downstairs and heated a bowl of soup on the stove, eating alone in the dead silence of the house. Nothing creaked or banged; no sounds of footsteps or rocks against the window made her jump. It was just Ember, sitting beneath the yellow glow of the lamp that hung over the kitchen table, vapors of soup steam drifting in front of her as she stared out the kitchen window.

Dark was turning to dawn, and with the heat and moisture of the hot soup in front of her face, all she could think about was lying with Acton next to the spring. She could remember the feel of him, pressed up next to her, and his cold breath on her cheek and whispering in her ear. She had woken with him curled around her, his cold, wet forehead pressed against the back of her neck, and his hands tucked under her shirt, splayed wide against the smooth skin on her stomach.

He must have left her to swim at some point, unless it was the steam or dew collecting on his skin. He was always cold and wet in the mornings, and his hands were clammy unless he kept them pressed against her; she was beginning to wonder if he was a reptile.

When she was done, she took her bowl and spoon to the sink and rinsed it off, and set them on a towel to dry, just the way that Gina always did. She went upstairs and got the linens for the bed, made it, and then changed into nightclothes. There was no warmth in the bed, and she knew it was because she had made it herself.

In the absence of her mother’s silence, and Thalia’s footsteps, quiet as a mouse creeping down the hall to check on her, she had the sinking realization that silence was all that awaited her when she left. The dream of the place that she wanted to go home to had been shattered; there was no place of warmth and noise to welcome her. She would never dream of coming back to this house.

At the age of ten, one of her teachers had gotten her a toy puppy for her birthday. She had wanted a real dog, but loved the toy all the same; she had given it a name and slept with it next to her pillow. It was the kind that ran on batteries and did a jump flip. One day, it had fallen out of her bed, and one of the legs had broken—the little dog couldn’t flip anymore. It couldn’t even stand right. She had kept it because it was her dog, and she couldn’t throw it away like it was a piece of trash, because she still loved it, but she had hidden it in a box where she couldn’t see it anymore. Looking at her puppy, with its sad broken leg, only made her want to cry.

The house, and her bedroom, felt that way now. She wanted to put it in a box to keep it safe, and never have to look at it again. Having nice things was only a tragedy waiting to happen. Everything eventually broke.

Sometime later, Ember sat up and realized that Acton had left her another spider on the window ledge, with a new note tucked beneath the jar.

A friend to keep you company.

Clutching the knife to her chest, she didn’t sleep at all that day. She only watched the little spider crawl and stop, and crawl and stop, feeling the seamless edges of his jar. There was no way out.  Ember wanted to tell him that she wasn’t going to hurt him.

She knew the only thing he would understand was being let free. She couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Much later that day, with the golden slants of final sun coming through the tiny window in the bathroom, Ember changed out of her nightclothes, filled the bathtub with water, slid in, and waited. She listened to the dead air inside the house, wondering if there had ever been any life here. Thalia’s bright hope was stifled by Gina’s grim reality, and everyone else was dying in the jar that was Tulukaruk.

The air knew it. It was stale, and so different from the buzz that surrounded her at school. There were bright colors in her dorm, and mementos, science projects, photographs, and the smells of food and hygiene products. None of that was on Tulukaruk, except in the false semi-dream world that the demons could make. Gina had sucked the life out of everything.

The front door creaked. He was back.

As slow footsteps climbed the stairs, she sank lower in the water. They stopped outside the bathroom.

“Em, if you’re naked in there, you’re going to want a towel.”

Ember sat straight up in the tub, and then made a mad dash to grab a towel before he could open the door.
“Asher!”

She had the towel mostly around her body when he came in wearing a grin.

“Sexy.” He winked.

Ember rolled her eyes as she tucked in the towel and shoved him toward the door. “Get out, you creeper! Where’s Acton?”

“Ah. I see. You intended for Acton to find you in the nude?”

He laughed as she blushed madly, shoving him until he cleared a path for her to reach the hallway.

“He’s not that into you, Em.” Asher said, following her slightly too close as she went to get clothes from Thalia’s dresser. “Not that way, anyways. Acton only likes skin when it’s cut and bleeding.”

She glared over her shoulder, shutting her bedroom door firmly in his face. “Why didn’t Acton come?”

“He doesn’t like it here.” Asher said through the door. “It freaks him out. I’ve never been inside this house…”

She changed in small fits and jerks, shutting the door again every five seconds as Asher turned the knob and gave it a light push. When the door stayed closed, however, she really started to panic. She yanked her shirt down over her head, folding her ears painfully in the process, shooed her spider out the window, and then threw open the door. He was gone.

“
Asher!”

“Who’s room is this?”

Ember spun to see Asher gently tapping at the little mirror hung on the wall in Ethel’s bedroom. When he looked over and saw Ember’s wide-eyed stare, another grin spread across his face.

Ember knew something was about to happen. “Get out.”

Asher looked back at the mirror, and in her mind, Ember saw it happen—the mirror was about to shatter into a million sparkling shards. But Asher frowned slightly, shaking his head as if to clear it, and put his hands firmly in his jeans pockets as he looked back at Ember.

“Ethel’s room?”

Ember nodded. Asher nodded back. He went to the other door—Gina’s room—and cracked it open, peering inside. Shutting the door, he looked back at Ember, and then a loud clap made her jump. Asher was gone.

Heart racing, Ember looked over the railing and down the stairs, and was checking Ethel’s room again when Gina and Thalia’s bedroom door popped open. Asher came out, sighing in satisfaction.

Looking at him, and then at the bedroom door, Ember gave Asher a sidelong gaze. “What just happened?”

“Nothing.” Asher smiled. “Let’s go. Acton’s waiting.”

Turning to him, Ember closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Acton doesn’t…he’s not…”

“Acton has only ever had one other, that I know of.” Asher crossed his arms. “Still does, to hear her tell it. She’s not too happy about you.”

“She thinks—I’m not—”

Asher held up a finger to her lips. “Hush hush, Em. Acton is waiting, and it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks. Acton’s going to do what he’s going to do. You don’t want to do your hair, or put on makeup or something?”

Ember swallowed, shaking her head. “I haven’t really got any.”

Raising a hand to stroke an imaginary goatee, Asher flashed her another smile. “No matter. Let’s just go.”

He grabbed her hand and started for the stairs.

“Um…”

Asher stopped, looking back at her expectantly.

“I need to eat something.”

“Em,” Asher said, caught between amusement and disappointment. “Come here for a moment.”

He dragged her back up the stairs, and stood her in front of the bathroom mirror. Shifting uncomfortably, Ember watched her eyes dart back and forth between her reflection and Asher’s.

“There’s no food in here,” she said flatly.

“Matter of opinion.” Asher replied. “Look at yourself. Your hair is stringy.”

Ember rolled her eyes. “It’s not stringy. It’s wet.”

“You look like a drowned rat.” He corrected. “And further, you look miserable. Em, you’ve caught an eye that’s hard to catch. Show a little pride. Or at least try to leave an attractive corpse.”

She frowned at herself in the mirror. “Fine. Get me—”

Asher had placed the scissors in her hand before she could finish. She stared at them, and then looked back at him.

“I’ve never done this—”

Snip.

She stared at the place in her hand where the scissors had been. Her eyes darted to the floor, where a lock of hair four inches long had just landed on the beige tile.

Snip, snip snip—

Ember’s jaw dropped open. Her hands flew to her head. “Stop!”

Looking into the mirror, she saw that he had cut her hair into a short bob. At least, that was what it most resembled.

“You’d better let me finish.” Asher laughed as he twirled the scissors in his hand. “Unless you like the mullet look.”

Too surprised for words, Ember grabbed at the hair left on her head, and then grabbed fistfuls of the castoffs on the floor. They were real. He had cut off her hair.

Snip snip snip—

Ember flailed her hands around her head to stop him, and then wrenched the scissors from him. Eyes wide and jaw still hanging open, she turned back to the mirror. Her hair was uneven in places, and Asher was definitely not a stylist, but it wasn’t horrible. She glared at him.

“No one will mistake you for Thalia now.” He gestured at the floor. “If you want to pay Isaac back for that book, you could give him this. Now, let’s go see about feeding you.”

Following him down the stairs in a daze, Ember couldn’t stop reaching for her hair, and shaking her head. It felt so light that she had trouble believing that a little hair could make such a difference.