Free The Dark Ones by Anthony Izzo Page B

house. It’s nice,” Sara said. “No offense.”
    “None taken.”
    “Why did you help me?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Why did you let me come here? I’m a total stranger to you.”
    “I saw someone who looked cold, tired, and wanting a ride. Why do you ask?”
    “People aren’t always so nice nowadays.”
    “There’s kind people around. Just have to dig a little to find them, that’s all.”
    Sara kept waiting for the hammer to fall. For Joanne to kick her out, or say something weird, or pull a knife from the butcher block and threaten her. But she simply read over the papers on the table, writing occasionally and sipping wine as she worked.
    “Is there a bus or train station around?”
    “There’s an Amtrak terminal in Erie, or if you can wait a couple days, I’m going near Buffalo on business. I’d give you a ride.”
    “No, I really need to get there.”
    “How about I take you to the train station in the morning then? You can crash here, plenty of room.”
    She wondered if Joanne was lonely. The house was a good four thousand square feet, a lot of space for one person. Joanne’s finger did not bear a wedding band, and she saw no pictures of a husband or boyfriend. And Joanne hadn’t mentioned anyone.
    “I guess I’ll stay.”
    “Can I ask you something?”
    “Sure.”
    “Did your bus really forget you?”
    Here it comes, she’s going to get weird . “Why do you want to know?”
    Joanne cocked an eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were running away from somewhere.”
    “They forgot me. I was too long in the john.”
    “Okay, then. I’ll show you the spare room. Did you still want to use the phone?”
    “Maybe in the morning.”
    Joanne led her through a family room and upstairs to the bedroom. The spare room had a queen-size bed with a thick white comforter. There was a dresser where she set her suitcase, and a color television in the corner. A row of windows looked out into the backyard and Sara took a look. In the darkness, she could make out maples that climbed the hill behind the house. She flicked the light off, not liking that she could be seen inside. She watched the woods and a few times she thought she saw the brush move, but then thought it was too hard to tell.
    As a precaution, she checked each window, making sure the latch was in place, and then pulled down the shades. To think someone was watching from outside gave her an itchy, tingly feeling on the back of her neck. She changed into a pair of sweats and a Nike T-shirt and slipped under the covers. The first few moments in the bed were spent in nervous anticipation. Outside, the wind hissed, tossing leaves around the yard. A branch snapped. An owl cried out from the woods.
    Soon the noises faded, her eyelids grew heavy, and sleep took her.
    She awoke to the sound of a creaking floor. Sara sat up and looked at the alarm clock. Four fifteen in the morning. She squinted, made out the shape of the dresser and the television. Where the hell am I? It took a moment to come back to her: Joanne, the pretty blond woman. Big house, three-car garage. Kicked off the bus.
    She took her glasses from the nightstand and put them on. Peering at the doorway, she saw only long shadows from the hallway, but again heard the footsteps downstairs. Had Joanne risen early?
    Sara climbed out of bed and padded to the door. She passed through the hallway and stood at the railing, which overlooked a large family room with a sectional couch and a plasma television. The furniture took on odd shapes in the purplish dark, as if the room were filled with alien artifacts rather than everyday items. A wedge of light spilled out onto the hardwood, presumably from the kitchen.
    It had to be Joanne. Sara descended the stairs and crossed the family room until she reached the door to the spacious kitchen. Joanne stood at the sink and flipped the light off. She was peering out the double-hung windows over the sink.
    “What’s the matter?” Sara