The Book Club

Chapter 13

Priscilla switched off the light, immediately enveloping us both in a chilly pitch-black. Away from the breezy evening, I'd completely forgotten the reason I'd left my post but I was reminded then in the dark. I let my teeth clatter together as my body reacted to my longing for a coat. I couldn't hear anything and I thought for a moment that we'd both imagined the sliding glass door opening. But then I recalled the hideous shag carpeting that I'd nearly tripped through on my way in. Its thickness hid my footsteps too.

I felt Priscilla draw closer to me. We both drew a breath in as the beam of someone else's flashlight swept over the crack beneath the door. I'd closed it behind me, meaning to uphold Priscilla's clandestine protocols, but in doing so, I'd trapped us. Whether it was the police, a burglar taking advantage and unknowingly attempting to steal from an empty house, or, as the paranoia set in, another seeker of this weird book, I imagined no outcome would be good.

"As soon as he opens the door, you go for the shoulders, I'll go for the legs," Priscilla whispered to me.

We probably had less than a few seconds to discuss it, but I couldn't help but respond to her rather horrific command, "What if it's the police?"

I'd said it too loudly and the light on the other side of the door zoomed over from where it had been pointing, like the Eye of Sauron honing in on a hobbit. Priscilla jabbed me hard in the ribs and I had to stifle a cry of pain, not that it mattered. The one who was pointing that light at the door knew exactly where we were.

"So?" Priscilla spat out. "Go for the shoulders anyway."

She had a marvelous way of shouting commands without letting her voice carry more than a few inches, but I knew that anyone in the house might have guessed what she was planning. Though why I, obviously the weaker of the two of us, had been assigned to tackle. Perhaps I was to take or make the most damage so that she could escape unharmed.

"Pris?" a woman's voice called.

Priscilla clicked on the flashlight again. She had a look of surprise that was mixed with relief. "Is?"

"Pris? Is?" I repeated, dumbly.

The door opened, its oiled hinges a strange concept in this long forgotten house, and a woman I gauged to be about forty stood there, pointing the flashlight directly at us.

"You weren't supposed to make it out here," Priscilla, or Pris as I had come to learn, hissed.

"Well, I did, didn't I?" The woman, Is, had stepped from the carpet over the threshold and onto the wood floor of the once-library. One flat sandal made a cracking sound and a thicker, heavier boot made a hollow thump as she click-clacked over to where we stood. "Who are you?"

"Paul," Priscilla offered, side-stepping around me to stand in front and face this Is, who she apparently knew so well. "Paul, this is Isobel. Isobel is supposed to be recuperating after taking a fall down some stairs back home."

"Did you push her?" I blurted out, leaning forward. Priscilla turned her head and pointed the flashlight directly into my eyes. Isobel wheezed a soft laugh. "I mean...you weren't expecting her to come." I tried to block the light and and Priscilla slowly let the beam fall back to the floor, intending to make me suffer a bit.

"No, I didn't push her. But she thinks someone did," she said.

Isobel hushed her. "Who is this," she asked again. "And why are you just blabbing away?" I could see that she had a medical boot on her left foot and she carried some yellowing bruises on her forehead.