Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [48]
Now for his bedroom. “Just another two minutes, Katie,” I call out. Then I go to the foot of the staircase, flick on the upstairs hall light and head up.
I hurry to his room at the end of the corridor. Along the way, I glance into the other rooms in case he’s inside one of them, waiting to pounce. The rooms are dark. But empty. I turn on their lights and keep moving.
And now I’m at his door. It’s shut tight. “Jason?” I throw it open. What a mess. But no Jason.
I get a panic flash that he’s back down the hall hiding in his parents’ en suite bathroom. I imagine him blocking my exit and—zoom—I fly down the stairs, three at a time, and race out the front door, gasping for breath.
Home free. I fall on the grass and laugh. I feel a bit hysterical from sheer relief.
But it’s not over yet. There’s still the basement—the furnace, laundry and rec rooms. And in the rec room, the pool table, where he said I’d find the memory card and the note.
No problem, I tell myself. There’s lights everywhere now. The front door is open. I have a clear, well-lit escape route.
“Okay, Katie, keep me covered.” It occurs to me I might be giving the neighbors a show. I look across the street, but the living rooms are all either dark or have their curtains drawn. Right. Around here everyone has families, and family rooms at the back of the house to put them in.
I take a deep breath and go back inside. I get to the basement stairs and start down. Something feels wrong. Like I’m going into a burial vault.
“Turn back,” I tell myself.
But my feet won’t listen. That memory card is so close. A few more steps and I’ll have it. That porn of me will be gone forever. Even if this is a set-up, Jason won’t do anything as long as he thinks Katie’s outside.
So I keep going, like one of those zombie babysitters.
I’m at the rec room door. It’s wide open. Inside, everything’s dark. I feel for the light switch, half afraid Jason’s going to grab my hand.
I find the switch. Click. Light floods the room. Good—he’s not here. I start towards the pool table, but there’s nothing. No note. No memory card. Oh god. It is a trap! I shouldn’t have come. And now, from upstairs, the sound of the front door closing. Footsteps. The sound of the basement door closing. And somebody coming down.
It’s Jason.
He enters the rec room slowly, shutting the door behind him. “Hi.” No smile. Nothing.
Don’t show him you’re scared, I think. “So you’re okay. I was worried.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Really,” I stammer. “So where’s the copy of the memory card?”
“There isn’t one.”
“Oh,” I gulp. “Well, if there’s no backup, and you’re okay, I better get going.”
He doesn’t move from the door. “You’re not going anywhere.”
We stand there for I don’t know how long, squaring off. Then I hear myself say, “Katie’s outside. Let me go or she’ll call the cops.”
“Right. I watched through the curtains. You came by yourself.”
My stomach flips up my throat. “Where did you hide when I first came in? I looked everywhere.”
“Behind the furnace. I figured you’d head to the rec room right away, but you’re full of surprises.” His lip twitches. “When you ran out, I went to see what was up. I was right behind the front door when you came back in.”
“Well, ha, ha, ha, aren’t you clever.” I struggle to act sarcastic. “Is that supposed to make me scared?”
A flicker in his eyes. “You’re pretty smart for a dead girl.”
“Very funny.”
But he isn’t laughing.
“Okay, you win. Now let me go. I’ve got that memory card, remember? If I get hurt—”
“If you get hurt, so what? That memory card is history.”
“Says who?”
“Me. You’re too chicken to keep it. Not that I care.