breathing grew heavier as she started toward the cellar stairs. She didn’t see a light switch near the basement door, so she reached past the doorway and felt around for a switch on the wall. She found it and turned on the light. “Who’s down there?” she demanded.
Slowly she descended the stairs, but only a few steps. The place was unfinished and dirty—with cobwebs between exposed pipes running along the ceiling. There was a dust- and lint-covered washer and dryer, and a laundry sink. Garden equipment, collapsed folding patio chairs, a big, blue plastic kiddy pool, and two bicycles that looked broken leaned against one wall. There was a workbench, cluttered with tools, and a couple of old paint cans. In the corner, where a ceiling light was out, stood the furnace and a hot-water tank. She couldn’t tell if anyone was hiding back there or not. She noticed another door, which was closed. It looked like it might be a closet or a storage room. She didn’t want to go down any farther and check.
Suddenly, she heard a noise above her. The floorboards were creaking. Moira glanced up and saw a shadow move across the cellar doorway. She told herself it was probably those damn moths again—but she couldn’t be sure. If it was an intruder, he could switch off the light down here. Any moment now, she could be helpless, swallowed up in darkness.
Upstairs, a door shut, and Moira jumped. It was too far away to be the kitchen door. “Who’s up there?” she yelled.
No response. But there was more noise. It sounded like they were closer.
Biting her lip, she remained frozen on the stairs. “Goddamn it, who’s up there?”
Someone started pounding on the back door. Moira recoiled at the sound. “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered, tightly clutching the fireplace poker.
She heard the doorknob rattling, and then a muted voice: “Moira! Moira, are you in there?”
It sounded like Jordan. Catching her breath, she raced back up the stairs and saw him on the other side of the window in the kitchen door. He and Leo were wet and shirtless. Leo slouched against his friend as if he were half dead. Jordan pounded on the door again. “Moira, c’mon, let us in!”
She hurried to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open. “My God, what happened?”
“He needs some juice,” Jordan said. Helping Leo into the kitchen, he left their shirts and the bath towels in a heap on the back stoop. “C’mon, buddy.” He sat Leo down at the kitchen table.
Leo appeared dazed. He struggled to talk, but no words came out.
Moira set the poker on the counter and then ran to the refrigerator. Pulling out a carton of orange juice, she opened it and took it to Leo. But he was in too much of a stupor to reach for it. Jordan grabbed the carton instead. “Thanks,” he said. Sitting down next to his friend, he put the open end of the juice container to Leo’s mouth. “C’mon, drink this….”
Moira hovered over them, uncertain what to do. She knew about Leo’s diabetes, but had never been with him when he’d had an episode. She watched the orange juice spill past Leo’s lips and run down his neck to his bare chest. He was shaking.
“Swallow it, buddy, c’mon.” Jordan tipped his friend’s head back and tried to pour the juice down his throat. “Damn, we should have eaten first,” he grumbled. “I wasn’t thinking about his sugar levels. We just got into the spring, and he started to feel woozy….”
Leo started choking and coughing. Jordan got sprayed in the face with some orange juice. He pulled back the carton for a moment. “Okay, ready to take some?” he asked. As soon as Leo stopped coughing, Jordan put the orange juice carton to his lips again.
Leo drank, and his hands eventually came up over Jordan’s. “Atta boy,” Jordan whispered.
Moira fetched a dish towel and wetted one end. She held it to Leo’s forehead for a moment, then dabbed at the spilt orange juice on his chin, neck, chest, and torso. He stopped drinking for a moment. “Thanks,” he gasped. He tried to smile. “Jesus, this is embarrassing.”
“Hey, compared to your attempt at the Macarena at the homecoming dance, this is nothing,” Moira replied, trying to smile.
Leo started to laugh.
“Keep drinking,” Jordan told him. He patted Leo’s shoulder and then stood up.
Moira turned to him. “You got some orange juice on you, too,” she said, dabbing at his face with the dish towel.
“Thanks,” Jordan said, smiling at her. “I got it.” He took the dish towel from her and kissed her hand. Then he wiped off his face.
Unconsciously, Moira touched her hand where he’d kissed it. She noticed Jordan’s lean, muscular physique—and realized his pants were still unfastened in front. He must have put them on in a hurry. She could see a trail of black hair moving down from his navel. He still had a tan line.
Leo cleared his throat.
Moira turned to find him glaring up at her. It was obvious he knew what she was feeling for his friend. He’d stopped drinking and took several long, labored breaths. All the while, he kept staring at her—wounded and disappointed.
Jordan was oblivious. He mussed Leo’s hair. “Well, you know the diabetic drill, stay put for a while and have a little more juice. I’m going to get cleaned up.”
Moira didn’t dare look at him as he started to walk away. She couldn’t look at Leo either. She glanced down at the floor—and the different patterns of dirty footprints on the kitchen tiles. The ones she’d noticed earlier were lost amid the others now.
On his way out of the kitchen, Jordan hesitated and turned to Moira. “What were you doing with the poker?”
Moira shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “It was nothing.”
As he raced through the woods in front of the Prewitts’ cabin, he couldn’t help chuckling. He’d come so close. He’d had her trapped in the basement when he’d heard Jordan’s voice in the backyard: “C’mon, Leo, hang in there….”
Five minutes later, and those boys would have come home to an empty house.
Maybe he should have been angry that his plans were thwarted. But it was kind of exciting almost getting caught. He’d made his escape—out the front door—with mere seconds to spare.
He slowed down and got his breath back. No one was chasing him. No one had seen him.
The girl must have not said anything to her friends. Perhaps right now, she was chalking up her terrible fright to being a stranger in a strange house. Maybe she was telling herself that the sounds she’d heard were the cabin settling or a raccoon outside one of the windows. People thought up all kinds of explanations to avoid thinking the unthinkable.
Tonight had whetted his appetite for Moira. He had to have her now. She’d be alone again soon enough, and he’d get another chance at her.
Deep in the forest now, he listened to his own breathing—and twigs snapping under his feet. The car was parked on a nearby trail.
He hadn’t forgotten about Susan Blanchette. In fact, he was already thinking of a clever way to incorporate this girl into his grand plan for the weekend. He chuckled again when he
