Don't Forget to Breathe Read online

  I heard him hacking at imprisoning vines in the rear. “What about my idea?” he asked.

  “You’re forgetting one thing. We don’t own the property.”

  “We’ll do it on the sly. Exclusive invitations to select people.”

  “The police will get drift of it.”

  “You’re such a downer, Leo. This is an outstanding opportunity. A haunted mansion and a party combined. Can’t you imagine the possibilities—no limits. We can drink, smoke, do whatever.”

  Trudging up the berm to the tracks, I turned and looked at him. “What was that scungy stuff on the floor and who or what was hanging from the noose?”

  “It was a mannequin wearing my old clothes. I axed the face and body and added red food dye to watery paste to make it look like blood.” His tone exuberant as he described his ploy. “That was real blood on the floor. I got it from the butcher. I told him my mom was making czarnina. That’s Polish duck blood soup.”

  “Yuck. You mean my sneakers are covered in real blood?” I scraped my soles on the train ties hoping to rid them of any blood residue. Then I wondered. “There were dozens of rooms, how did you know I would walk into that one?”

  “Ah-hah—I locked the other doors beforehand, and left open only those two rooms.”

  “You locked the doors?”

  He held up a key with an impish smirk. “Skeleton key. Cool, huh?”

  “Hmm…But how’d you know I’d even end up on the third floor?”

  “You heard me calling you right? That’s how. I purposely led you up there.”

  “When I reached the third floor I heard you say— ‘Up here.’ Leading me to the fourth floor attic. And then you called my name in the opposite direction. How’d you get that vapor to flow up the stairs?” Shedding the light beam at his neck, I glimpsed a cocktail of expressions on his face.

  “You heard me say—Up here?”

  “Yes, Henry,” I huffed, bothered by his outrageous games. “Just tell me the truth, how’d you do it.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You didn’t what?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he reinforced. “And I don’t know anything about this vapor thingy.” He shrugged throwing his arms in the air, a gesture of dismissal.

  “Are you for real?” Not believing him.

  “Just more reason why we have to have a cosmic party at the mansion. That sounds like a ripe trick. I’ll have to figure it out. Or the ghosts can do it for us.” His eyes gleamed at the thought. “By the way, you never finished telling me the tale of Lucien and Monique.”

  In a zigzagging motion over the railroad tracks I shed the light combing the area for my phone. “Just help me find my cell.”

  “You mean you’re not going to tell me the whole story?”

  “I’m going to leave you hanging.”

  He chuckled. “I get it.”

  Disappointed after retracing my path to Tarpon Hill, no cell phone, I said, “Shoot. Now I’ll have to tell my dad.”

  “Hey, maybe he’ll buy you a smart phone with a data package.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it, but that’d be nice.” A thunderous clap rocked my chest. “I wish it would rain already. My heads throbbing from the pressure.” My headache was more than likely due to Henry’s tricks.

  “Love thunder and lightning storms. I once stood outside with a steel rod hoping to get hit.”

  “You are one crazy dude, you know that?”

  He snickered and pulled a joint out of his jacket pocket and lit up.

  “Are you serious? Right here, in public?”

  “No streetlights on Tarpon. If anybody drives by they’ll think it’s a cigarette.” He handed it off. “Here take a hit, it’ll relax you. Take away that headache. Then you can finish the tale of Lucien.”

  If Nona found out I was smoking a joint she’d beat me, but she won’t, at least not by me. So fingering the joint, I managed a drawn-out drag. Following a slow exhale, I retold the tragic end of Lucien and Monique. “Lucien’s mind was crippled from booze and morphine. After he murdered her lover, he tied Monique’s arms and legs to their bed like a prisoner and tortured her for days.”

  “What’d mean by tortured?” he interrupted. “What’d he do?”

  “You really like this torture part, huh?”

  “I want to know how he tortured her.”

  Taking another hit, I wasn’t planning on getting into the nitty-gritty. I said, “He raped her.”

  “You can’t rape your wife.”

  “Certainly you can,” I said, eyeing him with cynicism.

  “Okay, I get it. Are you making this up just for me?”

  “I read it,”—vocalizing with a lungful of weed—“I don’t know if it’s all true or if the author took privileges. But it’s a good tale. Do you want to hear more or no?” A discharge of smoke slithered past my teeth.

  He removed his glasses, shaking his head. “Hell yeah.” He scrubbed the lenses with the border of his jacket and put them back on.

  I smiled, taking pleasure in taunting him, especially after he shocked me to death. “Lucien wasn’t done persecuting Monique. He carried her body up to the fourth floor attic while lugging his nifty sword.” An enthralled Henry looked at me with probing eyes. Hooked.

  “Once in the attic, he dropped her to the floor and shattered the window overlooking the front yard. He ordered her to jump. Hysterically crying and screaming, she refused. Wielding the sword, he sliced off her arm.”

  Henry coughed out, “Why didn’t the servants help the poor woman?”

  “Really?” I continued with a smug grin. “Again he ordered her to jump. She tried running away and cut off one of her legs.” Reenacting the scene, I hewed the air with my arm. “Yelling obscenities, he promised to cut her into pieces if she didn’t jump. She managed to drag what was left of her bleeding body to the window.” Overplaying my role, I sagged and scuffed my left leg over the sidewalk, groping with my hands. Playing a drama queen, I whispered, “On the night of the blood moon you can still hear her dreadful screams as she fluttered to the ground below.” I smacked my hands together for effect, pleased when Henry’s shoulders twitched.

  I adored retelling the tale to a newbie. “Lucien then reacted like the devil incarnate by rampaging through the mansion, slicing and dicing the servants. Only God knows what besieging maggot drilled into his brain. It was days later, and it’s written the house reeked when Lucien put a gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger.” Pantomiming, I lifted my hand to my mouth, pulling the trigger. My theatrical performance concluded.

  “What a totally repulsive story,” Henry said. “I love it. How did anyone really know what happened?” We shared the joint until it sizzled to a microscopic butt. He let it sink to the sidewalk and ground it with his toe.

  “That’s interesting.” I swatted at a bug buzzing around my face. “One of the servants had Lucien’s illegitimate baby. Unknown to Lucien, the servant eventually made her living quarters in the attic. They were secretively hidden in the tiny enclosed room when all hell broke loose. Supposedly, she bore witness to the entire thing.”

  Henry’s mouth curled.

  “Oh, there’s more, much more.”

  Chapter 9

  “But those stories are for another day.”

  Henry’s jaw slumped. “You mean you’re going to leave me hanging like this?”

  “Exactly.” I loved the cute, vexing look on his face and produced a gotcha smile. “I have to get home. My dad was mad last night when I came in so late.”

  He took out his cell and checked the time. “It’s only eleven o’clock.”

  “Time flies when you’re being scared to death.” We turned the corner onto Westgate. “You picking me up in the morning?”

  “Yep, seven-thirty.”

  I waved goodbye and entered my quiet house. Toeing the heels of my yucky sneakers, I walked into the kitchen and stopped. Crap—Dad’s upper body was sprawled over the kitchen table. Not good. He instantly popped
up. His back hitting the chair, it rocked slightly. “Where the hell have you been? Two nights in a row.” Bloodshot eyeballs fastened on me. “I let you run wild after your mother died. You think I’m blind? All the drugs you were using, getting plastered to forget. I figured you needed privacy and time to heal, but now I’m reining you in kid.”

  “What’s gotten into you?” I tugged out of my hoodie clipping it to a peg behind the door. “I left you a note.” The piece of paper was crumpled in his fingers. “It’s not that late, Dad. Barely eleven.”

  “I don’t care,” he slurred, either from being drowsy or drunk. “I need to know where you are, who you’re with. You got that?”

  “I’m almost seventeen.”

  “Don’t pull the age card on me.” He rose and wobbled, definitely drunk. “If you live in my house, you follow my rules. Got it!”

  Whoa, since Mom died he’d changed, and booze only made it worse. “Got it.” It was better to agree than to disagree when he was like this. “I’m going to bed.”

  Striding by, he circled my arm with his fingers. “Who were you with?”

  “Just Henry.” His whiskey breath stung my nose.

  “I don’t like him snooping around here.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “You don’t even know him.” His drunken eyes watered. “Dad, why don’t you go to bed? We can talk about this tomorrow.”

  “There’s no debate. You mark my words.”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  “What do you mean by that punkass remark?”

  “I’m not being a punkass. I said okay. I understand.”

  He freed my arm and staggered to his bedroom. His volatile behavior had been getting unpredictable, one day caring and the next hyper. I couldn’t handle his changeable personalities. If Mom were here—but she wasn’t.

  I went into my bedroom, trying not to think about it.

  Forty-five minutes later, I ballooned back the covers. Ready to snuggle into bed when I heard a tap on the window, I couldn’t believe it. Henry was pestering me again. I switched off the lights and hoped he’d get the hint. He didn’t.

  Minutes of consecutive tapping, I grumbled and kicked off the covers. Garbed in a skuzzy tank top and tiny boxer shorts and cussing under my breath, I zipped up the blinds and froze.

  In all his glory, inclined on my house—Becket Kane.

  Glad for the dark room, I hoped he couldn’t see my grunge look. With a flip of his hand, he instructed me to open up. I leaned into the glass and made another mental note—lubricate window frame. It grated up a few inches.

  The wind had kicked up, and his golden hair pranced about his head. He said, “May I make an observant suggestion? You should ensure the blinds are completely closed before changing your clothes.” His mouth stretched nicely into his cheeks. “I tried not to watch, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t peek.”

  Mortified—where’s the cape of invisibility when I needed one?

  He shoved long strands of hair out of his eyes. “Reggie gave me your cell number, but I couldn’t get through.” A lightning bolt split the sky and thunder roared, the clouds decided to burst and a mantle of water flooded down.

  I weighted my shoulder into the frame and tugged the glass up. “Get in before you get drenched.” In a graceful swoop, Becket was in my bedroom and he helped me shut the window from the sleeting raindrops.

  A waterslide of unruly hair dripped into his eyes. “Thanks, but I’m getting your floor wet.” His hands thrust the hair off his forehead plastering the strands to his head.

  I raced to the chair and gathered my comfy robe and chucked it in his direction. He caught it and looked at me with an amused glitter in his eyes. “What do you want me to do with this?” he asked. “I’m not wearing your robe.”

  Switching on the light, I said, “Use it to wipe up the floor.” I tugged at my top and boxers hoping they’d magically evolve into something tolerable.

  I tried not to gawk as he mopped his face with my robe, then he crouched to the floor to suck up the water. Rising to his full height, I felt dwarfed, and my room suddenly became extra small. He bunched my robe into a ball.

  My attempt to sound carefree was pitiful. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” And took the robe from his hands and threw it on the floor next to the doorway.

  “Ah, she speaks.”

  Becket appeared unruffled, like jumping into a girl’s bedroom window after midnight was common. He gave my room a once over, his eyes landing on me. “Clean.”

  After Mom died I inherited her clean freakdom and took that as a compliment. “Want to sit until the rain subsides?”

  “In your bed?” He purred with sarcasm. “Leo, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

  “Um…chair. Sit.” Words ejected from my mouth as heat torpedoed into every nook and cranny of my body.

  He stifled a grin and shoved off his jacket and sneakers. Hearing my intake of breath, Becket smirked. He raised his arms expressing innocence. “They’re wet and dirty. Don’t have a conniption. I didn’t want to get mud all over your floor.” In stocking feet he padded to the chair and sat. “Relax, Leo.”

  Ashamed by my timid-ass stupidity, I backtracked and sat on the edge of the bed. I crossed my ankles and noticed his gaze traveling the length of my legs.

  “Nice.”

  “Nice what?”

  “Legs, you have nice legs.”

  “Thanks.” Flattery will get him everywhere. I lifted my knees up to my chest and held them in place with my arms. Aware of my self-consciousness, his lips spread in a rakish smile.

  Following a clumsy silence, I said, “The rain will let up in a minute.”

  “In a hurry to get rid of me?” His eyes were cool and alluring, fringed with black lashes, abnormal considering the paleness of his hair. No wonder every girl in school drooled when his name was mentioned.

  “It’s late,” I said for no reason other than to break the awkwardness.

  He blasted me with a righteous smile. “Have to get your beauty rest, eh?” His smile contagious, I countered with a grin. In a detached manner he shelved his right leg over his left by the ankle, looking completely laid-back. “You should smile more often, it suits you.”

  Knowing full well my hair was in chaos, I scuttled fingertips into my head, quelling the rats nest.

  “Like I was saying before the storm,” he said. “I tried calling you—”

  “I lost my phone.”

  His chin lifted in a partial nod. “After I dropped you at home I meant to make a specific date for that cup of coffee and it’s been bothering me.”

  “If you really want that cup of coffee, it’s too late now.”

  “You’re getting the sarcastic gist.” He scratched his nubby chin. “Tomorrow, after school.” Becket, embodied with self-confidence like he knew my answer would be a dreamy eyed yes.

  “Can I let you know tomorrow?” I sucked at my puckish reply.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes, tomorrow.” Hah…he assumed I’d be all over it. A trifle victory. “I have second period lunch. Can you meet me in front of the cafeteria around 11:30? I might have cheerleading practice.”

  His eyes narrowed, mulling it over. “Sure. That can happen.” Moving his lean legs to the floor, he stood and slipped his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “The rain is letting up. I’d better get out of here so you can get some sleep.” He wedged on his sneakers.

  I joined him by the window, but kept a fair space between us. Before I had a chance to grip the sill, he beat me to it. He veered toward me and tilted close, his breath touched my cheek.

  “Sorry for this impromptu visit. But to tell you the truth, I kind of liked it.”

  Mesmerized by his eyes, my body quivered from head to toe, I thought for sure he was going to kiss me. Instead, he swerved to the window and was gone in a heartbeat.

  Chapter 10

  I had to call Nona, Becket Kane was ju
icy news.

  “Damn.” I didn’t have a cell phone. Checking the digital clock, my body waned in tiredness. As a substitute to reaping a tête-à-tête with Nona, I decided to slip into bed. My juicy news would have to hold until tomorrow.

  I rolled from one side of the mattress to the other claiming my comfort zone. From a fetal position to my back, side, stomach, the room felt oppressive. Dragging myself to the window I thrust it open a few inches and watched my reflection smearing in the dark glass from the onslaught of water. I leveled the blinds to the sill, and thanks to Becket, doubled checked for any peep holes and hopped into bed. I conked out instantly…

  Lucien Court. Across the street, the scorched cavity of the old Perkins house. My eyes drift past the Lucien Estate.

  Standing at my front porch. Sunshine sparkles on dollops of red.

  In the kitchen. Carrot shavings. A pot on the stove furling steam.

  “Mom?” Nothing.

  In the living room. A trail of red on the staircase.

  Apprehensive toe steps. A storm of panic.

  At their bedroom door. It glides open.

  A body—fanning hair— blood—puddles and puddles of blood!

  Arms band me. Thrashing. My nails claw flesh, screaming. A sweaty palm filters my cries. Oh my God— I know who it is…

  “Leo.” Dad rocked my flaying body. “Leo. You’re alright. It was a dream.”

  Winded, my eyes widened to a bleak room. Feeling like a ball of sweat, I pronged fingers over my temples sweeping layers of hair. “Dad,” I squeezed his name past the lump in my throat, “I’m okay.”

  “You haven’t had one of these in months.” He held me by the shoulders and examined my face.

  “I know.” My senses reeled still smelling blood. “I walked by the house yesterday.”