the dark. He turned his head, surveying the room. The bedside table, the closet, the door, the chair.
The chair.
And the old man was sitting in it. His eyes locked on Silas.
Watching him.
Silas’s blood turned to ice.
The old man drummed his bony white fingers on the armrests: Tap-tappety, tap-tappety, tap.
A choked yell burst from Silas’s throat. He brought his knees up to protect himself and screwed his eyes shut, praying that when he opened them again the old man wouldn’t be there.
He had to be seeing things. He just had to be.
He opened his eyes, peering into the darkness. He’d screwed his eyes shut so tight that it took a moment for his vision to clear.
Tap-tappety, tap-tappety, tap.
His muscles seized.
The old man was still there. Silas couldn’t see detail yet but his shape was in the corner.
Silas struggled for breath. His temples pulsed, his eyeballs vibrated, his heart slammed in his chest. He shivered as the paralysis of fear traveled up his body. He fought against it, leaning forward for a better look.
The old man leaned forward, mirroring him.
No…
A hideous grin broke out on the old man’s leathery face. His nostrils flared, a fan of wrinkles spreading from the corners of his blazing eyes.
For Silas, the terrible truth dawned: this was not a figment of his imagination. His mind was not fooling him. The old man really was there , only a few feet away, as real as anything he had ever seen.
A short, loud cry burst from his lips.
Oona stirred. Lifted her head. “Silas? Are you all right?”
No, I’m not all right , he wanted to say. There’s a dead guy staring at me . But all that left his mouth was a pathetic, useless noise: “N-n-n-n-n…”
A numbness had enveloped his tongue. The horror of helplessness, of being unable to communicate, consumed him. He lifted a trembling finger and pointed.
In a flash Oona was by his side, her hand on his arm. “Silas? What’s wrong?”
“No!” Silas finally exclaimed. “No! No! No!”
He clutched the bedcovers and held them tight. Pressed himself up against the headboard. He wanted nothing more than to look away, but it was impossible. The old guy had snared him, locking him into a stare that Silas could not break.
Tap-tappety, tap-tappety, tap.
16
E ven before she opened her eyes Oona knew that something was terribly wrong.
There was a madness in his abysmal cry, the cry that woke her with a jerk and sent her scrambling to him. It was in his face - the way it contorted as she reached out a hand and touched his arm, sleek with sweat. It was in his voice as he repeated the word no , over and over, curled up against the headboard, shaking uncontrollably.
But most of all, the madness was in his eyes. Wide, wet balls of fear, locked onto something that she could not see.
“Silas, listen to me. You’re safe. Everything’s okay.”
It most definitely is not, a petulant little voice countered. He’s already past the point of no return. He’s cracked.
“Do you understand me? Silas?”
It was impossible to comprehend that this wreck of a man, with a runner of dribble dangling from his trembling bottom lip, was the same strong, no-nonsense policeman she had married seven years earlier. It was as if he had swapped minds with a patient from an insane asylum.
“No!” he continued. “No! No!”
“Silas! Look at me.” She grabbed his wrists. It took considerable force to keep them under control, they were flapping so wildly.
“Oh, God,” he shrieked, his forward stare unbroken. “Oh, God. D…d…d… do you see him?”
Oona followed his line of sight and chanced a brief look in the corner of the room.
There was nothing there. In fact, it looked strangely bare now that the chair had been removed to the spare room. But it was obvious who Silas thought he saw there, and her skin prickled at the thought.
Will I ever sleep again? she suddenly wondered.
She shook him. “Look at me!”
He wasn’t listening, or didn’t
The chair.
And the old man was sitting in it. His eyes locked on Silas.
Watching him.
Silas’s blood turned to ice.
The old man drummed his bony white fingers on the armrests: Tap-tappety, tap-tappety, tap.
A choked yell burst from Silas’s throat. He brought his knees up to protect himself and screwed his eyes shut, praying that when he opened them again the old man wouldn’t be there.
He had to be seeing things. He just had to be.
He opened his eyes, peering into the darkness. He’d screwed his eyes shut so tight that it took a moment for his vision to clear.
Tap-tappety, tap-tappety, tap.
His muscles seized.
The old man was still there. Silas couldn’t see detail yet but his shape was in the corner.
Silas struggled for breath. His temples pulsed, his eyeballs vibrated, his heart slammed in his chest. He shivered as the paralysis of fear traveled up his body. He fought against it, leaning forward for a better look.
The old man leaned forward, mirroring him.
No…
A hideous grin broke out on the old man’s leathery face. His nostrils flared, a fan of wrinkles spreading from the corners of his blazing eyes.
For Silas, the terrible truth dawned: this was not a figment of his imagination. His mind was not fooling him. The old man really was there , only a few feet away, as real as anything he had ever seen.
A short, loud cry burst from his lips.
Oona stirred. Lifted her head. “Silas? Are you all right?”
No, I’m not all right , he wanted to say. There’s a dead guy staring at me . But all that left his mouth was a pathetic, useless noise: “N-n-n-n-n…”
A numbness had enveloped his tongue. The horror of helplessness, of being unable to communicate, consumed him. He lifted a trembling finger and pointed.
In a flash Oona was by his side, her hand on his arm. “Silas? What’s wrong?”
“No!” Silas finally exclaimed. “No! No! No!”
He clutched the bedcovers and held them tight. Pressed himself up against the headboard. He wanted nothing more than to look away, but it was impossible. The old guy had snared him, locking him into a stare that Silas could not break.
Tap-tappety, tap-tappety, tap.
16
E ven before she opened her eyes Oona knew that something was terribly wrong.
There was a madness in his abysmal cry, the cry that woke her with a jerk and sent her scrambling to him. It was in his face - the way it contorted as she reached out a hand and touched his arm, sleek with sweat. It was in his voice as he repeated the word no , over and over, curled up against the headboard, shaking uncontrollably.
But most of all, the madness was in his eyes. Wide, wet balls of fear, locked onto something that she could not see.
“Silas, listen to me. You’re safe. Everything’s okay.”
It most definitely is not, a petulant little voice countered. He’s already past the point of no return. He’s cracked.
“Do you understand me? Silas?”
It was impossible to comprehend that this wreck of a man, with a runner of dribble dangling from his trembling bottom lip, was the same strong, no-nonsense policeman she had married seven years earlier. It was as if he had swapped minds with a patient from an insane asylum.
“No!” he continued. “No! No!”
“Silas! Look at me.” She grabbed his wrists. It took considerable force to keep them under control, they were flapping so wildly.
“Oh, God,” he shrieked, his forward stare unbroken. “Oh, God. D…d…d… do you see him?”
Oona followed his line of sight and chanced a brief look in the corner of the room.
There was nothing there. In fact, it looked strangely bare now that the chair had been removed to the spare room. But it was obvious who Silas thought he saw there, and her skin prickled at the thought.
Will I ever sleep again? she suddenly wondered.
She shook him. “Look at me!”
He wasn’t listening, or didn’t
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