Things We Fear Read online

  “Tonight? Shit.”

  “Yep, pretty much.”

  * * * * *

  Emily opened her driver’s side door and sighed. Her back tire was flat. How the hell did that happen? She’d have to postpone her trip to Portland. She set her tote bag down on the car’s hood and walked behind the car. She scanned the driveway for any shards of glass, or nails, or anything that she might have run over yesterday on her way in. Nothing.

  Honk.

  She startled at the horn. She turned to find Matt and his Escalade pulled up on the side of the road. For once, his presence was welcomed.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Ah, yeah, well, just a flat. I must have run something over on my way home yesterday.”

  “You need a hand throwing on the spare?”

  She was ashamed to admit that she’d never changed a tire before. How much more damsel in distress could I be? And that she wasn’t even sure if she had a spare. Didn’t all cars come standard with one? She thought so.

  “Sure. That would be great.”

  She watched him pull up on the lawn. He stepped around the back end of the penis extension and smiled. He wore Oakley sunglasses and was dressed in a tight V-neck T-shirt, which she had to admit showed off his nice physique, and Adidas workout pants. Sandaled feet peeked out below.

  “Can you pop the trunk? The spare must be back there, right?”

  “Ah, yeah, sure.”

  Emily opened the driver’s side door again and crouched down at her knees, being sure not to give Matt something to look at. No need in making this any better for the guy. She reached for the latch and pulled it.

  “Yep. Right here,” he said.

  She glanced down at the empty trunk.

  “You just pull this handle and lift.”

  “Hmm. Never noticed that handle.”

  “You never even knew you had a spare?”

  She waited for his Just like a woman comment. It never came.

  “Give me a second. This one comes with a jack, but my Escalade has a power one that’s much quicker.”

  He scrounged in the back of his truck and slid the space-age-looking device under her car frame near the rear tire.

  “I ordered this baby online. See that little wire there.”

  She saw the black leash aimed at the flat, and nodded.

  “I hit this button and that tells it when the rubber is free from the ground. Sweet, huh?”

  “That’s pretty handy.”

  He changed the tire within a couple of minutes and tucked his space jack back in his truck.

  “Well, that should get you wherever you were heading.”

  “I don’t know. Can you drive on the highway with one of those? It looks like a toy wheel.”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t go too far or over thirty-five miles an hour. Where you headin’?”

  “Oh, I was going to Portland to grab some stuff at the mall. Guess I’ll have to put it off.”

  “I could drive you down?”

  “Oh no. That’s okay. Really, you’ve done enough, Matt. Thank you.”

  “You sure? It’s really no problem. I’ve got no plans today.”

  “Nah, I couldn’t. Besides, I need to go get the tire fixed. I think Walmart does it for pretty cheap.”

  “Okay. Offer stands, though. Here.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out his stuffed wallet, and then a card.

  Matthew J. Holmes

  Service Agent

  627-7878

  “Service Agent?”

  “Yeah, it’s really just to hand out my number. I know, it’s another cheesy, macho thing. They had a limited order of two hundred of ’em so I still have half a box at home.”

  “Half? Impressive.”

  “Well, that’s my number. If you wanna hang out, get an ice cream, need another rescue or something. Give me a call.”

  “Thanks.”

  His eyes drank her in one last time. “Well, have a good day. Good luck with the tire.”

  “Thanks again.”

  She watched him drive away. She wondered what the chances were that he just happened to be there now? Must have been at the ice cream shop again. Or maybe he knows someone in the area? She didn’t think to ask. Hmm. The curious case of Matthew J. Holmes, Service Agent, part-time skeez, part-time hero.

  She got into the car and started toward Augusta. If she could get it fixed within the next couple of hours, she might be able to make it to Portland today.

  * * * * *

  Matt pulled his Escalade in behind the Gary’s Fried Chicken Shack. If he was right, Emily should be passing by any second, heading for Walmart. He was melting that icy shield she carried, one charming lie and staged act of valor at a time. Her car zoomed by between a wagon and a degenerate on a motorcycle. He slid his Oakleys back in place and pulled out onto Main Avenue.

  * * * * *

  “You’re all set, ma’am,” the tire associate said.

  “Thanks, Hank.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Um, one thing,” Emily said.

  “Sure.”

  “Did you find what caused the flat? A nail or glass or something?”

  “Oh, I thought you knew already. Yeah, it was slashed.”

  “Slashed?”

  “Someone stabbed your tire. You should probably report it to the authorities. Could be a one-off act. Some kids vandalizing their neighbors or…”

  “Or what?”

  “Or someone could have done it to your car on purpose.”

  Her spine went soft. On purpose? Who would do such a thing? She didn’t have any enemies, least none she could imagine.

  Hank must have seen the shock on her face.

  “Probably just kids, but you should still notify the police. Other than that, she’s as good as new and ready to roll.”

  Emily paid him, took her keys and the receipt, and parted through the tire shop’s bay doors. She wanted to head to Portland, but she should call the police first. They might need to talk with her. She sank into her car and used 411 to find the nonemergency number.

  The police promised to check the area and have a patrol car do a couple extra rounds today and tonight, but also asked if she had any enemies or people upset with her for any reason. She thought of Matt’s convenient appearance this morning. Weird, but no. No way would he do something like this. Maybe Hank the tire guy was right. Maybe it was just a random act of teen angst. She knew there were teens in the neighborhood. That seemed more likely. Whatever the case, someone had been in her driveway with a knife last night while she was inside unaware. The thought alone ran imaginary spiders over her neck.

  She decided to skip going home. Portland would be filled with tourists and locals. She’d feel much more comfortable in the company of others.

  She threw on her blinker, pulled off Western Avenue and onto I-95.

  Matt watched Emily turn for the interstate. Perfect. Her house should be free for him to inspect. He drove by the on-ramp and turned around at the next gas station. Maybe he’d be waiting for her when she got home.

  Chapter Eight

  “Hello there, Aaron. How are ya?”

  “I’m well, Mr. Hersom. And yourself?”

  “I’m livin’ the life. So long as you don’t get Mary hooked on those books year-round. She wakes me up in the middle of the night to check on the shadows.”

  “Oh, stop it. I do not.”

  Gil laughed. “Well, not every shadow, just the ones that whisper the devil’s secrets.”

  “Listen to you,” Aaron said. “You sure you haven’t been reading them once she falls asleep?”

  “Not me, young man. My Robert Parker books suit me fine.”

  “I’m not familiar?”

  “You ever heard of Spencer?”
r />   “Nope. Must have missed those.”

  “You want to read some good mysteries, Parker’s your man.”

  “I’ll have to check him out.” Aaron ducked back in the door and grabbed the short stack of horror paperbacks he’d brought for Mrs. Hersom. A couple were from his personal library, the other three he’d picked up specifically for her at one of his monthly Goodwill splurges. His budget couldn’t quite handle brand-new books, not if he wanted to stay on budget for his summer getaway, but thrift-store books read just as well as those from Barnes and Noble.

  “Here’s a few. Gil, you’re more than welcome to pick one up too.”

  “Saw enough blood and guts in my day, son. I don’t need any more before these old eyes.”

  “Fair enough. Mary, I hope you’ll let me know which ones are your favorites.”

  “Of course, dear. And thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Beep, beep, beep—beep, beep, beep.

  “Oh, that’s my cell.”

  “Go ahead and get it. We’ll be on our way.”

  “Good night, guys.”

  “Night,” Gerald said.

  Aaron grabbed his phone off the mini nightstand. He’d promised to turn it off for the summer, as per usual, but Emily’s promise to look him up made it next to impossible to do.

  “Hello?”

  “Aaron?”

  “Ms. You—Emily?”

  “Yep. Is this a bad time?”

  “Ah, no. Just surprised to hear from you already. I thought for sure I wouldn’t talk to you again until September.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith.”

  “So, are you in my neighborhood?”

  “Sort of. How far is the beach from the Maine Mall?”

  “Not too far. Are you coming out for some sun? We have another hour or so left.”

  “Actually, I was wondering if you knew a good place to get some supper down here?”

  “Is that…an invite or…”

  “Yes. If you know a place, you’re certainly welcome to join me.”

  “Well, do you feel like pizza, seafood or burgers?”

  “I’m not much for fish. What’s a good burger joint?”

  “Don’t laugh, but there’s a great hole in the wall on Commercial. It’s called Ralph’s Burger Dive.”

  “Sounds splendid. Will it show up on my GPS?”

  “Yeah, for sure.”

  “Meet me there in thirty minutes?”

  “Definitely. See you then.”

  Unbelievable. A date. First things first. Shower, shave, ATM. He could get downtown in fifteen minutes. He gave himself ten to get cleaned up and out the door.

  * * * * *

  Aaron was five minutes late. He hoped she didn’t mind. He’d had to park six blocks away. He cursed the Jersey Shore types, who overpopulated the Old Port each night, for hogging all the decent parking spots. The shitheads should all be using cabs.

  Emily was at a booth for two just next to the kitchen door. Dressed in a plain light-blue T-shirt and a striped, knee-length skirt, her natural beauty was stunning. His palms were already wet.

  “Hey,” she said.

  Aaron sat down across from her, a tall glass of beer held his place.

  “I ordered us some beers. Shipyard okay?”

  “Yeah, one of my favorites.”

  He took a sip and licked his lips. “Summer Ale?”

  “You got it,” she said.

  Her smile by the cheesy candlelight uncapped his endorphins. Damn. Don’t fall so fast.

  “So what’s brought you down my way so soon? Couldn’t live another minute without your happy helper?”

  “Sure, if that makes you feel better. No, I was coming down to pick up some summer clothes. I just ended up down here later than I planned.”

  He saw the concern in her eyes. “What is it?”

  “Well, my day got started off a little weird. I was ready to go and went to get in my car and my tire was flat.”

  He took another sip of beer. “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, then Matt Holmes happened by and helped me put on my spare.”

  “Mr. Holmes to the rescue? Mr. Hormones Holmes?”

  “What? Who calls him that?”

  “Just me and Oscar, er, Mr. Romano.”

  “Ah, I see. You’re on first-name basis with the VP.”

  “Doesn’t do me much good, but yeah, we’ve spent a couple Sundays at the Stadium watching football. Anyways, you were saying. Mr. Hormones Holmes to the rescue…”

  “Yeah, so I drive to Walmart and have them give me a new tire and they tell me someone had stabbed my tire. Slashed it on purpose.”

  “Whoa. That’s kind of freaky. Neighborhood hooligans?”

  “Not sure. Cops are going to keep an eye on my street. Make sure they don’t come back. The more I think about it, the more nervous I am. I’m actually considering grabbing a room in town tonight.”

  “Wow. So you think someone targeted you?”

  “I don’t know, but the thought of someone creeping in my driveway with a knife is pinned to the front of my brain. I figure a night away won’t hurt. The police said they would call if they see or hear anything.”

  The waitress, a brunette in her early forties with a pointy nose and her hair in a ponytail, stopped by, took their orders and went to get them each another beer. The place was fairly quiet tonight. Only two other couples, both older folks, were in the place. A couple of guys sat at the bar, nursing pints and watching the Sox.

  They spent the rest of dinner talking about their likes and dislikes—surprisingly, they loved the band Bastille, missed TGIF on ABC and abhorred the new raunchy comedies that seemed to be all the rage—and kept school talk to a minimum. In fact, outside of a short detour about James—the troublemaking tornado that kept Aaron’s plate full throughout the year—they were able to shed their work relationship rather easily.

  “Dinner’s on me,” Aaron said.

  “Nope, I called you. This one’s on me.” She placed her card on the table.

  Aaron leaned back and raised his palms in the air. “Okay, boss. If that’s the way you want it. I never fight free food.”

  “You can get me back when I come down to your beach.”

  That smile again. Her face seemed built to beam. Her brown eyes sparkled in the candlelight and her nose crinkled just slightly. It was almost too goddamn cute.

  “Supposed to be pretty nice tomorrow. Hotter than today even.”

  “You need to see me again so soon?”

  “I’m just sayin’.”

  “C’mon. I love the smell of this city. Let’s walk around town for a bit.”

  * * * * *

  The cops were doing ride-bys at forty-minute intervals. Matt checked the timer on his smartphone. It was nearly 10:00 p.m. and Emily hadn’t come home yet. Not that he’d planned on doing anything terrible to her tonight. He just wanted to see her. He’d planned it all out in his mind as he broke in through an open window in the backyard.

  He figured the closet with the winter jackets just off from the short hallway would be his best spot to hide. From there, he could see into her bedroom at his left and the living room at his right. He would hear the key jiggle at the front room, the door open and her sandals flap across the nice cherry floor. Maybe her keys would cling and clang down on the glass coffee table or maybe clunk down on the round butterfly tablecloth that was spread over the rectangle wood table in the kitchen. There would be the soft thump of her purse on the floor and her sauntering approach toward the bathroom to her bedroom. He would catch a whiff of either her perfume or shampoo as she waltzed by his hiding place. After a few minutes of winding down with a Corona Light (he checked, she had three left in the fridge) or a quick shower (she only had a stand-up shower, no tub)
he would watch her slink into the bedroom, drop her clothing to the floor and crawl into the comfy queen-sized bed in the center of the room. He would masturbate inside his pants and when he was certain she was a sleep, he would tiptoe out of the closet, down the hall and back out through the rear window of the little spare room at the back.

  That daydream had been well over an hour and a half ago. He was beginning to worry. Had she met someone down in Portland? Matt didn’t have Emily Young pegged as the one-night-stand type of girl, but, hell, he’d been wrong about some of these young, fresh-meat teachers in the past. Janice Yelts being the worst. She’d played the hardcore, strict-scholar type better than most. She’d thwarted every one of his come-ons, each and every attempt at nonscholastic banter. Never even rolled her eyes or gave him a response of any sort for his long gazes in her direction. She was a fortress. Until the night he’d bumped into her at Gritty’s Pub three towns over in Chetsville. It was the last weekend before summer vacation. She tried to hold up the façade, but caved rather quickly. Two shots in, and they were out on the small dance floor. She ground her leather-skirted ass against his dick just as he pressed it right back her way. She exploded in bed. Hell, he hadn’t had sex that good since. She’d submitted to him so easily that night. If only they could all be so compliant. Ms. Yelts moved away right afterward. He was certain she’d pulled up roots and wound up someplace else where she could reset her uppity façade. He knew better.

  Thinking of Ms. Yelts even now had him harder than a coal train. He checked his phone: 10:39. The police would be by any second. He’d wait for them to do their pass, masturbate in Emily’s bathroom and then make his exit. Ninety seconds later, that’s just what he did.

  He jogged across the main drag and skidded down the wooded hill behind Charley’s Used Cars. At the foot of the hill near the old walking trail, his Escalade awaited. He ditched the black leather gloves, pulled down his black hood and discarded the sweatshirt altogether in the backseat. He started the SUV and drove up the curvy dirt road that led to the back of the auto parts store. He wanted to wait for her to come home, but he was afraid of what he might do if she rolled up with another guy. But who? Plus, the cops would notice his vehicle out here.

  He flicked his headlights on, turned onto Maine Avenue and headed home.