Free Etched by Eliza Dean Page B

me to see you?” she blatantly asked.
    “I don’t want you to be frightened,” he was slow to answer but she felt he was being honest.
    “Why would I be frightened?  You somehow managed to get me down from the tower and made sure I lived through the night.  It doesn’t sound like the actions of someone with ill intent … does it?” she ended it with a question, wondering if she had it all wrong.
    “I ’ve no ill intent,” he answered.
    Susanna slowly turned toward the sound of his voice.  She strained to see him in the darkness of the dimly lit room.  Once again he was barely a shadow, sitting on the floor behind her but yet too far away for her to make out any distinct features.  His legs were stretched out before him as he rested casually against the couch on the far wall.
    “That’s a start,” she said, her heart pounding.
    “Is it?” he let out a chuckle which instantly disarmed her and made her feel a tad more comfortable.
    “I’m not scared … yet.”
    “Best stay over by the fire,” his answer seemed like a warning and sent shivers up her spine.
    Susanna’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, “Why?”
    “It’s probably for the best.  At least for now”
    “I asked you last night who you were, didn’t I?”
    “You did,” he replied, crossing his arms guardedly upon his chest.
    “Did you answer?”
    “I did not,” he replied quickly.
    “That’s not very fair, is it?” she answered like a scolded child.
    “No … it’s not.”
    Susanna tapped her fingers on her arm in aggravation, “Where were you today?”
    “I was pulled away …” his answer seemed purposely vague.
    “Pulled away?” she questioned.
    “I had no choice,” he added, his voice seemingly void of emotion.
    Susanna knew he was being evasive but her desire to know the truth about him was mounting.  And yet, there was a clear voice warning her that maybe she didn’t want to know the whole truth, “I looked for you all over the house and then I went to the dock.” It was an effort to keep the conversation flowing without asking too many questions.
    “You shouldn’t have.  You need your rest . You’re not fully recovered from your fall.”
    It was the most he had said in a single sentence and for the first time Susanna recognized that he spoke with a bit of an accent.  Not a full accent perhaps, but maybe with a deliberate effort to hide one, “You r accent …”
    “I’m American, but I’m originally from Ireland.”
    Susanna was eager to continue the discussion once he gave her an answer, “And you live around the area?”
    “Sometimes,” he was slow to answer and seemed to choose the word carefully.
    “Did Emma and Bill send you here to check on me?  I tried to call her earlier but she didn’t answer the phone.”
    “Emma knows I’m around, she knew I would be here if something were to happen,” his answer, although extensive was still equally ambiguous.
    “She never mentioned you,” Susanna went on.
    “I doubt she would have.”
    Sitting with her legs crossed on the floor, Susanna fiddled with her blanket, “I’ve come here to write a story on the Lighthouse for a magazine I work for . So far, I haven’t gotten much accomplished.”
    “It’s only been three days, you still have some time,” he answered, “And you’ve had a bit of a setback.  Perhaps now that you’re feeling better you can get some work done, as long as you stay out of the tower,” he added, and she thought she detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
    “It was a very stupid thing to do . The door was banging and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I listened to it all night,” she shook her head in acknowledgement.
    “I should have fixed it years ago,” the man answered, his arms still crossed over his chest.
    “Are you familiar with the lighthouse?”
    The man let out what she thought was a slight chuckle, “Yes, perhaps more so than anyone.”
    “Then maybe you can help me with my story, from a