Veiled

Chapter 6

I don't know how long I lie there in the bed beside Perry, praying for that first show of dim morning light, the sign that you've made it, that you're going to be okay.

It doesn't seem to come though. I can hear Perry's soft snoring and if anything the room grows darker as the night wears on.

Finally I get up, wanting a glass of water.

I slowly ease of bed, careful not to wake Perry. I stand there, trying to figure out whether I should go to bathroom or kitchen, both equally creepy on nights like this, when a light illuminates my face.

I glance at the window that looks straight into the upstairs window of one of the Knightlys' rooms.

A man is staring right at me, backlit by sickly fluorescent lights.

Jay.

We stand there, locked in our gazes, before he breaks the spell, turning around quickly and disappearing into the depths of the house.

Oh no he fucking doesn't.

I don't even think twice. As quietly and quickly as I can, I head for the door and down the stairs until I'm bursting out onto the front lawn. I'm about to head straight over to the Knightlys when I see a man walking down the street away from the houses. He's wearing a dark jacket, hands shoved in the pockets, taking long strides, his head down.

I'm barefoot in just a skimpy white t-shirt and my boyshort underwear (with sugar skulls on them, naturally) and yet I couldn't care less because I hustle over to the street and then start running down it after the man.

"Hey!" I call out my bare feet echoing on the pavement.

He stops, the glow of the streetlight illuminating him in dim orange. He doesn't turn around.

"Look at me," I tell him, stopping a few feet away. "Tell me what's going on. Who are you? Why were you in the Knightlys' house?"

"I'm a family friend," he says, his voice low.

"That's what they all say," I tell him, taking a step closer. Whatever fear I had is gone. I want answers above all else and I want them now.

"Turn around," I tell him.

He doesn't. A hot breeze whistles past, ruffling his hair, glinting blood red in the streetlight.

I put my hand on his arm, somewhat surprised to find him solid, and pull back, turning him around.

He stares down at me and I'm suddenly very aware of how real he is, how tall and well-built, like he's about to pull up a tree by the roots. The sharp bones of his face create shadows in this light, his eyes looking deeper, darker, the hollows beneath his cheekbones carved out.

He's eyeing me warily, not quite afraid just...unsure.

I'm not sure how I look to him, standing here in my underwear. Probably a little of the same.

"Are you a ghost?" I ask him.

Though his face remains stern I see a spark of humor in his eyes. "Your first question is if I'm a ghost? Usually most people leave that conclusion to last."

"You appeared and disappeared from my bedroom," I tell him, surprised at how easy it is to talk to him in real life. "You appear in my dreams. And you should know by now I am not most people."

He raises his chin, not breaking his gaze. "Definitely not."

"So," I go on, "are you a ghost? Because believe me, I wouldn't be surprised. It would be the only thing lately that makes any sense."