Fate's Demand (Twisted Fate, Book 3)

Chapter Four

I dropped Suzie off and went home. She wanted to use our newfound legal status to buy coolers to celebrate our impending trip. So not happening. The celebrating, obviously, since I'd already agreed to the trip if my conditions were met. I wasn't sure if it had something to do with being able to discern when someone was telling the truth, but I couldn't lie. Or break a promise once it was made. If I tried, it was like a siren song in my head that compelled me into confession.

One year, I offered to help our neighbour, Mrs. Seiferling, shovel her walk when it snowed. She had back pain and no family, so it was the least I could do, right? Well, I pretty much had perma-blisters at the ends of my fingertips all winter. It made me think much more carefully about the promises I made afterwards. In the end, I was happy to have done it. Mrs. Seiferling died that summer, alone in her sleep. Personally, I didn't fear death—I'd kicked Death's ass three times already—but dying alone like I had in the woods sent chills down my spine.

The longer I thought about it, the more I realized the consequences of what I'd agreed to could be just as devastating.

I pulled in front of my house and stared at our modest bungalow, sitting in the shadows of the gray clouds above. We weren't rich, but we weren't poor. My father worked as an independent insurance adjuster, so we lived in comfort. My mom... Well, that didn't matter right now. I didn't know the technical term for unhinged, but whatever it was, that's what she'd been labelled.

After unlocking the door and before opening it, I paused. My heartrate began to pick up rhythm. Nobody was home. The lights were all off, and I feared the darkness within. What if whatever these shadows were... What if they were a shadow? Like Brennan was? I licked my lips and tried to keep my thoughts from returning to the night before. Shadows couldn't hurt me. Darkness was everywhere. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in Heaven, so it couldn't be ignored. I am not afraid.

Right.

I still hesitated.

If I can't feel safe here, Raffy is right.

Unwilling to admit that he was correct about my needing to leave, I took a deep breath and pushed on the front door. As soon as it swung open, I immediately rushing around to turn all the lights on. Only after the house was the brightest star on our street did I remember to lock the door behind me—you know you're completely certifiable if burglars, rapists, and whatever other kind of criminals who break into homes are called don't factor into the kind of threat that makes you cower.

In other words, when you jump at your own shadow instead of real danger, you're crazy.

I took my bag and a bottle of water up to my bedroom, calling out for Scruffy. My parents had given me the dog, a tiny little Maltese, when I was ten. He was a good friend. He listened and cuddled without judgement or praise, always prepared to deliver kisses. Above all that, Scruffy was loyal. On the downside, he needed his own stairs to get on the bed with his stumpy little brown and black legs, but that meant he couldn't get on my mom's couches, either. If he were bigger, he'd be able to take scraps from my hand under the table instead of waiting for it to drop on the floor because he couldn't reach, and I'd stop getting caught sharing.

"Scruffy?"

I looked under my bed and the register on the floor under the window, and then downstairs in the kitchen since he loved the heat that was generated from under the dishwasher. He wasn't there. I checked everywhere in the house except for my parents' bedroom—he never went in there for fear of being booted out. There was only one other place he loved to sleep.

Stomping back to my room, I crossed the path on the left between my bed and desk until I stood staring at the full-length mirror hanging on the back of my closet door. Looking around, I narrowed my eyes to check every corner, but saw nothing. I swore I remembered closing the closet before leaving with Suzie.

In defense of my faulty memory, it looked closed. Without having turned all the lights on—including my nightlight—I never would have noticed the crack between the door and its frame. It wasn't even an inch wide. The shadow that had crawled from the darkness within the closet waved its presence as an imprint on the wall. Dark, silent, and deadly. It was a promise of trouble.

"Hey, Dum-dum! Your room is still lit with light!" the little devil on my shoulder cried. The little angel on the other side said, "If you open the door, the light in your room will chase the darkness out." The angel stuck her tongue out, and the devil's tail and lobster-colored horns extended.

Oooh-kay. An imaginary friend—two, if both counted—was healthy, right? If I swiped my mom's meds during a visit, would it get rid of my obvious delusions? Or was it a felony? I couldn't survive jail. All the bars and criminals and shadows with no place to run? At least I could read in the dark without needing a flashlight.

With a shake of my head, I reached out and yanked the closet door all the way open, stepping back a couple of paces so that the light could really get in. Scruffy was there, curled into a ball on the floor, sleeping in the empty spot where the bag hiding in the trunk of my car had been stored. I'd hidden it there before my party, having packed only what I needed that wouldn't be noticed if it was gone.

I wanted to move away, break ties to everyone I loved so they wouldn't be hurt because of me like my mom had. Then I'd changed my mind to wait for college to begin. Now? I had to scratch that plan to go to Heaven. I better be back before orientation day in the fall.

"Scruffy." I made kissing noises in the air and bent at the knees to pat my thigh. "Come on, Scruffy. Come here."

He lifted his head from his paws and blinked. Then he snorted and went back to sleep. One of his best qualities was that he somehow believed he was human—he listened, he played, he slept with you, and he had the attitude of a girl hitting puberty. The whole I-don't-want-to and the you-can't-make-me snark. Today he was poop out of luck, though, because I could and was going to make him get out of the closet—it's not like he was big enough to fight back.

Picking him up, I backed away without turning around, and shut the door with my foot. Amazing. He didn't even stir. I stepped back once more and hit a solid wall as I began to turn.

I screamed.

Scruffy woke with flailing legs and somehow managed to jump from my arms to my bed. He yipped, twirling in tiny little circles, and then dug a path under my blankets to hide from the intruder. That's what happens when you leave the front door open, Dumbass!

I sighed, turning with slow movements. "What do you want?

A/N: A bit of a filler, sorry. Every story had them, and I promise Scruffy matters (along with Aly's inner dilemma about going with 'her boys' for their proposed trip)!