Read Online Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1) by Adam Nicholls - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adam Nicholls
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though it was a long way in the distance and divided by fields and trees. The hill they had laid on was to the left. Blake's eyes landed on the gravel where the car had been and followed up towards the distance.
The sudden glimmer of sun stung his eyes.
He winced.
What was that?
He looked again. His heart ran wild and his legs began to tremble. The familiar silver Audi was coming back, drawing closer to the house.
'Greg!' he called, running out of the room and onto the stairs. 'She's coming back!' He went from room to room, pushing the doors open. He had no time to savour the memories that lay behind each one. If Marcy caught him in her house, there was no telling what she would do with that information. Blake headed downstairs, taking two steps at a time. He burst into the kitchen without slowing down, but Greg was nowhere to be seen.
He felt the sweat begin to brew at his brow, and he suddenly felt weak with nervousness. Blake had barely had time to check the rest of the rooms, when he heard the front door open. Footsteps echoed through the hallway. The front door slammed shut only seconds after, and for one moment, the house was in utter silence. The footsteps started up again. They came closer, louder. Blake realised that his fingernails were digging into his palms. The kitchen door handle turned, the door began to open. A hot wave flushed over him.
How could he talk his way out of this one? The short answer: he couldn't.
The door was halfway open. He could see the edge of a hand pushing it from the side, but then it stopped. Blake held his breath, though he didn't know he was doing it. The door held for seconds, and then, after hearing Marcy tut under her breath, it closed and the footsteps rang back across the hall.
That was too bloody close!
He wanted to turn around and high-five Greg, but he wasn't there. He still had no idea where the man was. What if Marcy found him in another room? He knew he should probably stay put, but if Marcy came back then he was screwed. Besides, he had to find Greg–that man would know exactly what to do.
His hands were shaking as he stepped forward and pressed his ear against the door. There was nothing but silence. He turned the handle and pulled the door open slowly, its creak high-pitched. He had to be careful - very careful - but he also had to be quick. Knowing he had not yet checked there, he crept across the hall and dove straight into the reading room. There were memories here, too, but mostly memories of being shuffled out by a father who was too irritated at the fact that he had been disturbed.
The shelves were twice as tall as he was, and even higher than the last time he had seen them. Blake closed the door behind him and took a quick peek between the two aisles of bookshelves, thinking that he would slip his shoes off and get sucked into a book if he had more time on his hands.
'Greg?' he called in a loud whisper.
Nobody replied though, so Blake moved back to the door, opened it, and crept across the hall in time with the grandfather clock's tick-tock-tick. The floor made squeaking sounds on the soles of his shoes, making him wince each time. He was just at the door of the dining room when it suddenly opened. Blake froze, grinded his teeth and prepared to kiss goodbye to life as he knew it.
But then Greg stepped out of the room.
'We need to go back…' Blake began, but then he took a closer look at the man. 'In–why is there blood on your sleeves?' He didn't know for sure if it was blood, but when it came to this man, it was the first thing he associated with him.
'Let it go, kid,' he said, pushing the heel of his hand out to keep him away.
Something didn't seem right. The blood was one thing, but Greg had an air about him which suggested extreme measures of guilt.
'Let me in.'
'I said no.' His hand came out to stop him.
Blake had had enough. No longer considering the noise he was making, he tried to push past. Greg grabbed him by the arm, twisted it
The sudden glimmer of sun stung his eyes.
He winced.
What was that?
He looked again. His heart ran wild and his legs began to tremble. The familiar silver Audi was coming back, drawing closer to the house.
'Greg!' he called, running out of the room and onto the stairs. 'She's coming back!' He went from room to room, pushing the doors open. He had no time to savour the memories that lay behind each one. If Marcy caught him in her house, there was no telling what she would do with that information. Blake headed downstairs, taking two steps at a time. He burst into the kitchen without slowing down, but Greg was nowhere to be seen.
He felt the sweat begin to brew at his brow, and he suddenly felt weak with nervousness. Blake had barely had time to check the rest of the rooms, when he heard the front door open. Footsteps echoed through the hallway. The front door slammed shut only seconds after, and for one moment, the house was in utter silence. The footsteps started up again. They came closer, louder. Blake realised that his fingernails were digging into his palms. The kitchen door handle turned, the door began to open. A hot wave flushed over him.
How could he talk his way out of this one? The short answer: he couldn't.
The door was halfway open. He could see the edge of a hand pushing it from the side, but then it stopped. Blake held his breath, though he didn't know he was doing it. The door held for seconds, and then, after hearing Marcy tut under her breath, it closed and the footsteps rang back across the hall.
That was too bloody close!
He wanted to turn around and high-five Greg, but he wasn't there. He still had no idea where the man was. What if Marcy found him in another room? He knew he should probably stay put, but if Marcy came back then he was screwed. Besides, he had to find Greg–that man would know exactly what to do.
His hands were shaking as he stepped forward and pressed his ear against the door. There was nothing but silence. He turned the handle and pulled the door open slowly, its creak high-pitched. He had to be careful - very careful - but he also had to be quick. Knowing he had not yet checked there, he crept across the hall and dove straight into the reading room. There were memories here, too, but mostly memories of being shuffled out by a father who was too irritated at the fact that he had been disturbed.
The shelves were twice as tall as he was, and even higher than the last time he had seen them. Blake closed the door behind him and took a quick peek between the two aisles of bookshelves, thinking that he would slip his shoes off and get sucked into a book if he had more time on his hands.
'Greg?' he called in a loud whisper.
Nobody replied though, so Blake moved back to the door, opened it, and crept across the hall in time with the grandfather clock's tick-tock-tick. The floor made squeaking sounds on the soles of his shoes, making him wince each time. He was just at the door of the dining room when it suddenly opened. Blake froze, grinded his teeth and prepared to kiss goodbye to life as he knew it.
But then Greg stepped out of the room.
'We need to go back…' Blake began, but then he took a closer look at the man. 'In–why is there blood on your sleeves?' He didn't know for sure if it was blood, but when it came to this man, it was the first thing he associated with him.
'Let it go, kid,' he said, pushing the heel of his hand out to keep him away.
Something didn't seem right. The blood was one thing, but Greg had an air about him which suggested extreme measures of guilt.
'Let me in.'
'I said no.' His hand came out to stop him.
Blake had had enough. No longer considering the noise he was making, he tried to push past. Greg grabbed him by the arm, twisted it
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