Behind Closed Doors by Skye Warren

Author:Skye Warren [Skye_Warren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Skye Warren, Rochester, 1001 Dark Nights, contemporary romance
Publisher: Evil Eye Concepts, Incorporated
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Marjorie

It’s dark out in front of the house. Trees from the woods take up the grass. They’re all shadows, looming above. My father stands outside in the moonlight. The breeze ruffles his hair. A crack in the woods like a branch snapping draws his attention. “It’s time to go inside, sweetheart,” he says.

“Are you coming?”

His hand comes down on my shoulder. There’s another crack in the woods. He bends down to my level. “Run,” he says. “Get inside. Run.”

I run as fast as I can to the front door and go inside. It locks behind me, but Dad isn’t there. He was supposed to come with me. My legs don’t carry me fast enough to the living room window.

“Dad.” I tap my fingers on the window. “Dad.”

He doesn’t hear me. It should be quiet enough for the sound to carry. He’s not that far away. Dread squeezes my stomach. Why is he out there? The best place to be is inside. Behind the locked door. He should be in bed. Sleeping. It’s late. That’s what my parents always say to me. I need to get good rest so I’m ready for the morning. Being in the front yard all night is not how you get good rest.

What is there to run from?

I tap on the window again. “Dad?”

A black car pulls into the driveway. The headlights are off. That’s not safe, either. They could hit him. It would be hard to see without any headlights. The front door opens, and a man climbs out. Another man comes from the backseat. Two more. The car doubles in size. My dad keeps one hand in his pocket and puts the other one out, palm facing them. He’s talking to them. I can’t hear what he’s saying.

They get closer to him. That can’t be right. My dad is a big, powerful man. Why would anyone want to surround him like that? No one needs to bother him this late. It doesn’t make any sense. The car’s features keep changing. One second it’s boxy. The next second it’s got curved lines and looks newer.

My dad’s in trouble. That’s what trouble looks like. It looks like being in a crowd of men in dark clothes. But why? He’s never done anything to these people. He’s just my dad. He stayed out too late, that’s all. It’s past bedtime.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” I say through the window. “Stop. Dad. Come inside.”

He backs up one step, but there’s a man waiting behind him. When my dad turns his head, I can see that he’s still speaking. His mouth moves and moves. The other men are speaking, too. They’re all talking. There’s no way they can hear each other. They won’t be able to understand if they keep interrupting him like that.

“Listen to him,” I demand, but the glass keeps my words inside with me. Anger and fear twist together in my gut. It’s rude to talk over people. It’s rude to ignore my dad. They can’t just come here to the yard and do this.

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