He’s going to hate the song I just wrote.
Really fucking hate it.
But he’ll have to get behind it anyway. It’s just that good. If “Gatekeeper (aka Mircropenis)” isn’t a hit, I’ll eat a box of guitar picks.
“Colette?” I call softly, not wanting Chip to realize that I’m back from the studio until I talk to Colette first. I want to warn her about the impending explosion before Chip listens to the rough cut of the song I just sent to his Dropbox.
But I’m answered only by silence and a faint creaking from overhead, making me think Chip must be up in one of the empty bedrooms working. Colette might be up in our room, too, but I don’t want to risk climbing the stairs and alerting Chip to my presence.
Instead, I grab my cell from the kitchen counter, intending to text Colette, to find I have an unread message.
A long one.
From her…
I had to go. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye, but I figured that would be awkward with Chip here. I’ve had a wonderful time, and I care about you so much, Zack, but the more I think about it, the more it seems dangerously foolish to keep heading down this path. It isn’t fair to you or me, and it would be especially hard on a child born into this strange situation.
We can talk more when you get back to town if you want, but for now, you should concentrate on your music.
You have such an amazing gift. I can’t wait to hear what you come up with next. I believe in you so much, and I know you’re going to make a record that blows everyone away.
I wish you all the success and happiness in the world, and I’ll never forget this trip. These have been some of the best days…ever.
Love, Me.
My first thought is that I love that she signed her text like a letter.
The second is that I love her, too, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting her go without a fight.
I jog for the front door, only to nearly run headlong into Chip, who’s standing in the semi-darkness by the base of the stairs, quiet and creepy as hell.
“Shit, Chip,” I say, my breath rushing out. “Where did you come from?”
“I heard something upstairs,” he says in a hushed voice. “On the fourth floor, I think. Is someone else staying in the house?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s…” I hesitate but decide honesty is the best policy, even if I’m sure Chip won’t believe me. “Colette and I have both heard things, too. Apparently, they have friendly ghosts in residence. That’s what the caretakers told us, anyway.”
As expected, Chip gives a derisive snort. “Yeah, well, the caretakers are to going to be pretty fucking surprised when they realize they’ve got squatters in their attic.” His gaze lifts to the ceiling, his eyes narrowing. “No, you know what? I bet they know exactly who’s up there. They’ve probably got a relative living in the attic rent-free while they charge guests for the entire house. Have you been up to the top?”
“We took a peek earlier this week, but there wasn’t anything there but boxes of Christmas decorations and some old toys. If someone’s living up there, they’re doing it without disturbing the dust.”
“You’d be surprised how some people can live,” Chip says, his lip curling. “Like that movie, the one with the guy who was hiding in the bomb shelter under that family’s house. He was right there, living right under their noses, sneaking out to eat their food at night, ballsy as hell. People like that will do whatever it takes to get a free ride. Just goes to show how careful we all need to be with security right now.”
I’m not sure that was the moral of that particular movie, but I have more important things to do than debate the politics of income inequality with Chip. “Colette is gone. You have any idea why?”
An innocent expression flickers across Chip’s face, but it doesn’t fully take hold, and his gaze remains fixed on the ceiling. “No clue. I’ve been answering my emails. Though, now that you mention it, I might have heard the front door closing, but I was so focused on the noise upstairs I didn’t—” He breaks off with a sharp inhalation and continues in a whisper, “There. Did you hear that? Footsteps. Heavy ones. Ballsy as fuck.”
I hold my breath, listening with half an ear. “No, I don’t hear anything,” I say after only a few seconds, needing the truth from Chip. He’s not wiggling out of this one without giving me a straight answer. “Are you sure you don’t have any idea what’s going on with Colette? Did you talk to her when you came back inside?”
His shoulders bob. “I may have said hello or something, but I was warned not to bother her, so…”
“So?” I challenge.
His eyes flick to my face before returning to the ceiling. “So I didn’t.”
He’s lying. I can tell.
I’ve seen Chip in meetings with record executives, working them to get a better deal, and he struck me as an excellent liar. But he’s distracted right now. Or maybe he’s simply not bothering to put any effort into being convincing.
Maybe he got what he wanted from this trip—Colette out of the picture and me in the studio, writing the kind of music he thinks I should write—and he sees no reason to keep up the concerned collaborator act.
Either way, I have to find Colette. She can’t have gone far. She doesn’t have a car, and there aren’t any taxis in Little River. There was a bus stop by the post office, but surely, the buses have stopped running for the day, and she doesn’t know anyone in town other than Nancy and Jed.
I head for the back door, deciding Nancy is the best place to start looking for information.
“Where are you going?” Chip asks, sounding alarmed.
“To talk to the caretakers,” I say, adding as an afterthought, “to see if they can give us any more information about the noises in the attic.”
“Good,” Chip says, his shoulders relaxing. “I’ll stand guard here. Make sure no one tries to sneak out. I wouldn’t put it past these people to have some kind of alert system in place to warn this guy to bail when people get suspicious.”
I make a vague sound of agreement. I’m positive Chip is being paranoid, but I don’t want him to know that I’m going after Colette. He would try to stop me, I’m sure, and even though I wouldn’t let him, I’d rather not be slowed down by a pointless argument.
Outside, the evening air is cool, and the faint bluish-pink glow of dusk hangs in the air. The first stars are flickering to life overhead, and soon, the world will be dark in a way it never gets in the city. And while that’s amazing for stargazing, at the moment, it’s more scary than anything.
If Colette decided to take the trail into town, there’s no way she’ll be able to get there before night falls. And while I’m not too terribly worried about bears or wolves or the other predators prowling the hills this early in the evening, I am worried about her wandering off the trail and getting lost.
Or running into a human threat.
A group of sketchy-looking men was hanging out by the general store in town today, drinking beer in the back of a pickup truck and shooting Colette the kind of looks that made me want to whisk her away to a tower somewhere, far out of harm’s reach.