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Sylvia
“Wake up.” My eyes flutter open at the sound of Rhett’s voice. “It’s time.”
Like a startled puppy, I frantically right myself on the couch, my wine-muddled brain taking its sweet time to regain consciousness.
I fell asleep. Despite promising myself I wouldn’t, I freaking fell asleep.
Rhett is hovering over me, his face in blurred focus. He is a vision, bright, alert, fresh as a daisy—aside from the jagged claw marks on his cheek.
“I’m—I fell asleep.” I stutter, stating the obvious.
I’m embarrassed. How much wine did I drink? The last thing I remember is topping-off my second glass, pretending to watch the news while secretly watching Rhett pore over my mother’s death folder.
“What time is it?” I turn my cheek in fear of rancid morning breath.
“It’s midnight. I figure we could go to the house now and find a spot to just sit and watch for a while.”
“Okay. That sounds good.” I push myself off the couch, a woozy wave sweeping through my body. My head feels like it’s caught in a blender. I chide myself for drinking. “Give me just one second.”
I hurry to the bathroom, check my reflection. I look like a heroin addict. My eyes are red, swollen, and rimmed black from the mascara I’d applied hours earlier. My hair limp and stringy. One strand is stuck to the side of my mouth where I must have drooled while I slept.
I grab a box of wipes from under the counter and remove the mascara streaks from my face. I quickly brush my teeth, my hair, and pull myself together. After a few squirts of body spray, I grab a sweatshirt from the hamper and yank it over my Janis Joplin tee. I don’t need to walk outside to confirm that the temperature has dropped with the night. The chill in the house is enough.
Rhett is pacing by the bathroom door when I step out.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
We drive to Deep Shadows in silence, me swearing off a headache, Rhett tense as an iron rod. The cab is thick with anticipation as we chase down our first real clue.
Rhett reaches over and clicks off my headlights as I drive past the iron gates, punctuating the secrecy of this clandestine op.
Just me and my ex-con… Nothing to see here.
I slow while my vision adjusts to the darkness. Wisps of clouds have moved in while I slept, long and thin, like bony witches’ fingers stretching across the moon.
The Taylor home is completely black—not a single light on.
“Where do you want me to park?” I ask.
“There’s a shed behind the abandoned house. Park behind it.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw it earlier.”
Slowly, I inch into the driveway at the end of the cul-de-sac, careful not to wake the old man next door.
“I can’t see the shed.”
“Keep going.” Rhett grabs the wheel, guiding the Jeep as we round the back of the house.
Sure enough, an outline of a small structure sits a few feet from the edge of the backyard. Luckily, my compact Jeep hides easily behind it.
I turn off the ignition. The night is still, silent, not even a whisper of a breeze through the copse of oaks around us.
Rhett climbs out. “We need to get a clear view of the house while we wait.”
