Read Online Wildwood Road by Christopher Golden - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Golden
Tags: Fiction
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basement, it only made sense to take advantage of the added room.
His stomach gave a sudden lurch and Michael burped softly, then scowled at the bitter taste in his mouth.
“Shit,” he whispered. His legs felt weak and he slid to the cold floor, the hammer taking a chink out of the concrete.
Come find me.
“What the hell?” he asked aloud.
As if in answer, the door at the top of the stairs opened. He could not see Jillian from where he sat, but he could feel her there.
“Michael?”
“Yeah?” He was careful to keep his tone flat and emotionless, just like hers. Like walking across a field of land mines, hoping to get to the peace that lay on the other side.
“I have to go to the cleaners and to the bookstore to pick up the book the club's reading next month. I thought I'd bring the costumes back. I've got them all together, but I can't find your hat.”
“Is it in the car?”
“I don't know,” came her frosty reply. “Is it?”
The muscles tensed across his back. It took great restraint, but he said nothing. The only thing he could do was hope that he could remember more of what had happened the night before, and wait for the lingering bitterness and awkwardness between them to blow over.
With a sigh, Michael climbed to his feet and trotted up the stairs. As soon as she saw that he was coming, Jillian retreated into the kitchen and busied herself unloading the dishwasher. He paused a moment to stare longingly at her back. If he just reached out now to touch her shoulder, to give her a moment of tenderness, he could probably put an end to the issue right there. But he couldn't, not yet. His own anger was still too fresh. It didn't matter if he was angry with Jillian or with himself. It needed time to fade. Soon enough, one of them would defuse the whole thing.
I'm sorry,
he thought, wishing he could communicate with Jillian mind to mind, so she could feel what he felt, and maybe make better sense of it than he could.
He went out through the kitchen door and into the garage. As soon as he found the hat he would go in and put his arms around Jillian at the sink. He would kiss the back of her neck. She would stiffen up at first, resisting him. Michael could almost see it playing out in his mind. But then he would whisper to her how sorry he was, how much he loved her. He would tell her the truth, that he had helped her to the car, but not carried her, and that would settle her nerves. And then, at last, he could share with her his fear that someone had drugged him, and the images that were plaguing him every time he closed his eyes, even for a moment.
The dream he'd had. The nightmare.
They never locked the car when it was in the garage. It just wasn't that kind of neighborhood. Wasn't that kind of town. Up here in the Merrimack Valley, there were probably people who still didn't lock their front doors. The Danskys weren't willing to go quite that far, but the garage seemed safe enough.
Michael tugged open the passenger door and the hat was there, on the floor of the front seat. He reached in to retrieve it and saw that it was misshapen.
For an instant he thought Jillian had stepped on it that morning, getting into the front seat.
Then that aluminum taste returned to his mouth and he sagged against the open car door. He squeezed his eyes shut and he could
see
her, there in the car. He could see her foot coming down on top of the hat. The little blond girl on the side of the road, silhouetted in the glare of his headlights, about to be run down. Then in his car. Lost. Alone.
No, not lost.
“Right there. Turn right there.”
“You recognize this street?”
Clutching that black felt hat in his hands, Michael began to remember.
CHAPTER FIVE
All day Michael had moved silently through the house, the air heavy with the tension between him and Jillian. Each time he felt the urge to reach out, to smooth things over, his body and mind felt sluggish, as if frozen by the chill. It was ridiculous. He
His stomach gave a sudden lurch and Michael burped softly, then scowled at the bitter taste in his mouth.
“Shit,” he whispered. His legs felt weak and he slid to the cold floor, the hammer taking a chink out of the concrete.
Come find me.
“What the hell?” he asked aloud.
As if in answer, the door at the top of the stairs opened. He could not see Jillian from where he sat, but he could feel her there.
“Michael?”
“Yeah?” He was careful to keep his tone flat and emotionless, just like hers. Like walking across a field of land mines, hoping to get to the peace that lay on the other side.
“I have to go to the cleaners and to the bookstore to pick up the book the club's reading next month. I thought I'd bring the costumes back. I've got them all together, but I can't find your hat.”
“Is it in the car?”
“I don't know,” came her frosty reply. “Is it?”
The muscles tensed across his back. It took great restraint, but he said nothing. The only thing he could do was hope that he could remember more of what had happened the night before, and wait for the lingering bitterness and awkwardness between them to blow over.
With a sigh, Michael climbed to his feet and trotted up the stairs. As soon as she saw that he was coming, Jillian retreated into the kitchen and busied herself unloading the dishwasher. He paused a moment to stare longingly at her back. If he just reached out now to touch her shoulder, to give her a moment of tenderness, he could probably put an end to the issue right there. But he couldn't, not yet. His own anger was still too fresh. It didn't matter if he was angry with Jillian or with himself. It needed time to fade. Soon enough, one of them would defuse the whole thing.
I'm sorry,
he thought, wishing he could communicate with Jillian mind to mind, so she could feel what he felt, and maybe make better sense of it than he could.
He went out through the kitchen door and into the garage. As soon as he found the hat he would go in and put his arms around Jillian at the sink. He would kiss the back of her neck. She would stiffen up at first, resisting him. Michael could almost see it playing out in his mind. But then he would whisper to her how sorry he was, how much he loved her. He would tell her the truth, that he had helped her to the car, but not carried her, and that would settle her nerves. And then, at last, he could share with her his fear that someone had drugged him, and the images that were plaguing him every time he closed his eyes, even for a moment.
The dream he'd had. The nightmare.
They never locked the car when it was in the garage. It just wasn't that kind of neighborhood. Wasn't that kind of town. Up here in the Merrimack Valley, there were probably people who still didn't lock their front doors. The Danskys weren't willing to go quite that far, but the garage seemed safe enough.
Michael tugged open the passenger door and the hat was there, on the floor of the front seat. He reached in to retrieve it and saw that it was misshapen.
For an instant he thought Jillian had stepped on it that morning, getting into the front seat.
Then that aluminum taste returned to his mouth and he sagged against the open car door. He squeezed his eyes shut and he could
see
her, there in the car. He could see her foot coming down on top of the hat. The little blond girl on the side of the road, silhouetted in the glare of his headlights, about to be run down. Then in his car. Lost. Alone.
No, not lost.
“Right there. Turn right there.”
“You recognize this street?”
Clutching that black felt hat in his hands, Michael began to remember.
CHAPTER FIVE
All day Michael had moved silently through the house, the air heavy with the tension between him and Jillian. Each time he felt the urge to reach out, to smooth things over, his body and mind felt sluggish, as if frozen by the chill. It was ridiculous. He
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