Silent Harbour

Chapter 10: Henri

The weather deters my plans to confront the uninvited guest at Peter's house. I remain seated in the car and watch small tendrils of light pierce through the heavy curtains that frame the house's front windows–the only confirmation of the intruder's presence beyond the shadows. In the living room, the chandelier flickers to life. Moments later, it is extinguished, and another room lights up until, one by one, the lights go out, and the house is engulfed in darkness once more. Only one source of light remains, which is coming from the upstairs bedroom overlooking the side yard.

I turn up the volume on the radio to drown out the noise of the pouring rain. The beautiful acoustics of Iron and Wine filter through the car speakers. We could really use some sunshine in this town right about now. Even if it doesn't bring us hope like the song suggests it will, I've just about had it with this forsaken weather. Lost in thought, it takes me a second to realize the station has already started playing a new song. My eyes flicker up to the room occupied by Peter's houseguest, only to be met with a dark window. It is a school night.

I glance at the clock on the dashboard. It reads 11:43. I'm suddenly aware of how late it is. I should already be in bed, but my mind is whirring. I opted for the lengthier return route home to allow myself the chance to think about what I had just witnessed. I can't seem to wrap my head around it. What kind of person attempts something as risky as a B&E only to crawl into the nearest bed and have a snooze? From how Henri entered Peter's house with such nonchalance, it appeared this hadn't been the first time. He'd almost certainly been there before. Had he been following Peter home from school and somehow obtained a copy of his house key, or had he been invited in before? Did Henri know more about Peter's private life than he was letting on?

The rain still hasn't let up when I pull into my parents' driveway. I shut off the car's engine and toss the keys onto the passenger seat. Maybe if I wait just a few more minutes, I won't have to risk getting soaked during the sprint to the front door. I repeat this stupid notion a couple more times, and before I know it, 20 minutes have passed. If anything, the weather's taken a turn for the worse.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, grab the keys, and brace myself for the 5-meter dash. Besides a near-fatal skid across a patch of mud at the bottom of the porch steps, I reach the front door unscathed. I quickly remove my soaked jean jacket and muddied shoes and toss them into the corner of the foyer to be dealt with tomorrow morning. It's wishful thinking on my part, but I'm too exhausted to rectify it.

For once, I'm grateful for my slobbish ways because I never bothered to put away the blankets, I accidentally knocked onto the floor in my search for the aforementioned jacket earlier in the morning. I gather the blankets and wrap them tight around my body, using my last remaining ounce of energy to get myself into some dry clothes and will away thoughts of Henri, Annabelle, and Peter. But, of course, the thoughts fester all through the night.

**********

Finding the willpower to get up in the morning is a beast of its own because I'm well aware that the lovely heat I've entrapped in the blankets overnight will starkly contrast with the cold waiting for me outside the cocoon. I remain in bed until the last possible moment before rushing through my ill attempt at a morning routine. In the time it takes for my coffee to brew, I brush my teeth, comb my rat's nest, and toss on a sweater and trouser set that is questionably work casual at best.

I don't know what spirits possessed me yesterday when I volunteered to cover another teacher's tenth-grade study hall supervision duties for first period, but here we are. I set up shop at one of the tables inside the school's makeshift cafeteria-turned-auditorium and silently observe as students trickle in and sign their names on the attendance sheets I've laid out in next to me.