They Know Me

STEALTH MODE

"What the –!" I snapped, "Do you like sneaking up on people – me, to be exact?"

Barely able to hide his perverse amusement over scaring me, the French guy said, "I apologize. I did not mean to cause such an extreme reaction – and, I did not follow. I saw you coming out, and was curious." He looked inside the cemetery, and then back at me. "Is there something inside those charnel grounds that you have found fascinating?"

Too irritated to rationally consider what his sudden appearance could mean for my safety, and annoyed that I'd only burned into my mind how strikingly handsome he was, but not all of the things I'd planned to say to him, I snipped, "No."

"Hmm. I see. You were in there for a while. Perhaps you did not look long enough."

I tried to hide my smile at his flippant reply, but he saw it. He smiled in return. The ice was broken, but I didn't know him, and I didn't particularly want to get to know him. Finally, after an awkward moment of neither of us saying anything, he said, "I will leave you to investigate. Good night."

He started to leave.

"No warnings to stay away?"

He turned. "No. Cortland Bridge and Cemetery Raven both have their mysteries, and both are certainly old, but one is much different from the other." He walked away, headed for town.

Dismissing him as an odd character, I started for home – but then thought about the comment he'd made about seeing me coming out of the graveyard. I looked all around and then into the cemetery. There was no place he could've been to see me inside the graveyard and not be seen, himself! Angry that he'd lied about not following me again, I stormed off down the street back to my aunt's house, damning him the entire way, and myself, for being distracted by him.

When I reached the house, I pushed all thoughts of the French guy from my mind. I had more important things to think about. With only a few options available to me to get back into the house without my aunt knowing, knocking, or ringing the doorbell were out. Either would be freedom suicide. That left only one choice: to try and execute my best stealth mode and sneak in as quietly as I could without her knowledge. I walked to the side of the house to the kitchen door and grasped the knob.

She'd locked it and had shut off the light!

I went around to try the front door. It was locked, too. Defeated, I sat on the top step of the porch to try and think of a good excuse why I'd be out, one she'd accept before I rang the doorbell to be let back in.

I looked up when I heard someone approaching. With his hair slightly messy and looking sleepy, Rhys was headed over in sweats and a shirt. Relieved it wasn't the French guy, I got up to meet Rhys halfway. "What are you doing out here?" I whispered.

"Coming over to see what you're doing. Why are you out here?"

"I was ... out. Do you have the spare key?"

"Uh-huh. Lucky for you, I was getting some water and saw you lurking. I took a guess that you forgot yours." He walked up the porch steps, unlocked the door, and then looked directly at me. "You're welcome."

I rolled my eyes and walked past him into the house. I started to close the door, but Rhys hadn't moved and had an expectant look.

"What?"

"You can tell me tomorrow if it was Cortland Bridge or Cemetery Raven," he said before he left and returned to his house.

I closed the door quietly and crept slowly up the stairs. At the top step, I started for my bedroom when my aunt's door whipped open. Trying to stifle my surprise, I turned. With tired, suspicious eyes, she inspected me. "Ashe, it's the middle of the night. Why are you up?"

Knowing she wouldn't like the truth, I said the first thing I thought sounded almost reasonable, "I woke up thinking I was late for school."

"While it's still dark?"

I smiled. "Yeah."

"Go back to bed. You still have a couple of hours yet." She backed into her room and shut her door.

I went to my room and closed my door. I changed into my pj's and then climbed into bed. I mangled my pillow until my head was comfortable, and then stared at the ceiling, plotting my next meeting with the French guy. It was inevitable I'd find someone who would know him, even if he wasn't a student at the high school. Then, when I saw him again, I'd call him by name ... and demand to know why he was always conveniently where I was.