the picture,” Joey said, “but we’re not going to cross . We’re going to go under .”
“What do you think, Bev?” Clare asked.
I wasn’t drunk enough to believe that Joey’s Clintonesque differentiation between cross and under would convince anyone in a position of authority that we didn’t know we were doing something wrong. But I wanted to go inside and get that shoebox filled with letters. I imagined us back at my kitchen table, under the bright overhead light, comparing bona fide samples of Lydia’s handwriting against the mysterious letter.
I needed to know.
“I guess it wouldn’t be such a big deal to go in.” I turned to face Clare. “But why don’t you wait here? Joey and I can get it. We’ll be back in a minute.”
Clare looked relieved, and Joey and I approached the front door. I slipped my key into the lock and pushed the door open without disturbing the yellow tape, which was affixed to the door frame. We got down on our knees and crawled beneaththe X, then shut the door behind us. The house was dark except for a gentle glow from the kitchen, which I knew came from a small florescent bulb over the stove. The only sound was the soft electronic whir of the refrigerator.
“I need to piss,” Joey said.
“Now?”
“While you guys were busy with your margaritas, I drank three cups of coffee. My bladder is ready to burst.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go ahead. I’ll go upstairs and see if I can find the shoebox.”
“Just don’t turn on any lights,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because if anyone outside sees lights go on, they’ll know someone’s in the house.”
“Then you’d better see if you can find a flashlight in the kitchen,” I said. “It’s going to be pitch-black up there.”
I tiptoed up the stairs. I don’t know why I felt compelled to be quiet, but there was an eerie stillness to the house and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were breaking the law, and that if we weren’t careful, someone would catch us.
When I got to the top of the steps, I could make out that the bedroom door to Kenny’s room was open. From where I stood, the interior was black velvet dark. I walked toward it with my hands out like a blind person. At the doorway, I got down on my knees so that I could crawl to the bed without worrying about bumping into anything or tripping. I felt along the carpet until I got to what I knew was the tailored bed skirt that hung from the frame. I lifted it and felt around beneath the bed. Ridiculous, I thought, to do this without a flashlight. Still, I reached my arm all the way under the bed so that my shoulder met the frame and my hand was as close to the other side of the bed as I could get. I rubbed the carpet all the way to the head of the bed. Nothing. I started to work my wayback down toward the bottom of the bed when I thought I heard something creak.
“Joey? Did you get a flashlight?”
Silence.
“Joey?” I repeated.
I heard the sound again and froze. It wasn’t coming from outside the room.
It was coming from the bed.
I listened hard, trying to convince myself no one was in the room with me and that the sound I heard was simply the bedsprings responding to my arm bumping against the bed frame. I replayed the scene from outside. There had been no cars parked out front. If someone was in the bed, they had taken great pains to conceal their presence.
I was on my belly, my ear pressed against the carpet, and my heart pounded so hard I could hear it through the floor. I held my breath and lifted my head. The bed was still. Had that creak been my imagination? I listened and heard something else, something softer. It sounded like steady bursts of air. Wuh-wuh-wuh .
It sounded like…breathing.
Okay, I thought, this is the moment in the horror movie where you scream at the screen, “Get the hell out of the room!” But I was literally petrified. The darkness was so complete and my fear so paralyzing that I couldn’t move even an inch. At
“What do you think, Bev?” Clare asked.
I wasn’t drunk enough to believe that Joey’s Clintonesque differentiation between cross and under would convince anyone in a position of authority that we didn’t know we were doing something wrong. But I wanted to go inside and get that shoebox filled with letters. I imagined us back at my kitchen table, under the bright overhead light, comparing bona fide samples of Lydia’s handwriting against the mysterious letter.
I needed to know.
“I guess it wouldn’t be such a big deal to go in.” I turned to face Clare. “But why don’t you wait here? Joey and I can get it. We’ll be back in a minute.”
Clare looked relieved, and Joey and I approached the front door. I slipped my key into the lock and pushed the door open without disturbing the yellow tape, which was affixed to the door frame. We got down on our knees and crawled beneaththe X, then shut the door behind us. The house was dark except for a gentle glow from the kitchen, which I knew came from a small florescent bulb over the stove. The only sound was the soft electronic whir of the refrigerator.
“I need to piss,” Joey said.
“Now?”
“While you guys were busy with your margaritas, I drank three cups of coffee. My bladder is ready to burst.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go ahead. I’ll go upstairs and see if I can find the shoebox.”
“Just don’t turn on any lights,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because if anyone outside sees lights go on, they’ll know someone’s in the house.”
“Then you’d better see if you can find a flashlight in the kitchen,” I said. “It’s going to be pitch-black up there.”
I tiptoed up the stairs. I don’t know why I felt compelled to be quiet, but there was an eerie stillness to the house and I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were breaking the law, and that if we weren’t careful, someone would catch us.
When I got to the top of the steps, I could make out that the bedroom door to Kenny’s room was open. From where I stood, the interior was black velvet dark. I walked toward it with my hands out like a blind person. At the doorway, I got down on my knees so that I could crawl to the bed without worrying about bumping into anything or tripping. I felt along the carpet until I got to what I knew was the tailored bed skirt that hung from the frame. I lifted it and felt around beneath the bed. Ridiculous, I thought, to do this without a flashlight. Still, I reached my arm all the way under the bed so that my shoulder met the frame and my hand was as close to the other side of the bed as I could get. I rubbed the carpet all the way to the head of the bed. Nothing. I started to work my wayback down toward the bottom of the bed when I thought I heard something creak.
“Joey? Did you get a flashlight?”
Silence.
“Joey?” I repeated.
I heard the sound again and froze. It wasn’t coming from outside the room.
It was coming from the bed.
I listened hard, trying to convince myself no one was in the room with me and that the sound I heard was simply the bedsprings responding to my arm bumping against the bed frame. I replayed the scene from outside. There had been no cars parked out front. If someone was in the bed, they had taken great pains to conceal their presence.
I was on my belly, my ear pressed against the carpet, and my heart pounded so hard I could hear it through the floor. I held my breath and lifted my head. The bed was still. Had that creak been my imagination? I listened and heard something else, something softer. It sounded like steady bursts of air. Wuh-wuh-wuh .
It sounded like…breathing.
Okay, I thought, this is the moment in the horror movie where you scream at the screen, “Get the hell out of the room!” But I was literally petrified. The darkness was so complete and my fear so paralyzing that I couldn’t move even an inch. At
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