Deadly Obsession. Elle James

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СКАЧАТЬ Though she didn’t believe in ghosts and she had big plans for a wine cellar in the basement, Jillian hesitated at the top of the steps. She stared into the darkness, her hand fumbling for the light switch. When she found it, she flipped it and the small yellowed bulb hanging over the top landing flickered once and then glowed to life, providing illumination only halfway down the steps.

      Every scary movie Jillian had seen in high school came back to haunt her. Every lone female who ventured into a dark basement met with a terrible fate.

      The kitten mewed again, startling Jillian into leaving the top landing and taking several steps downward. “Here, kitty,” she whispered, disappointed in herself for her sudden aversion to going downstairs. Why had she let Mitchell’s words affect her? She was a grown, independent, well-grounded woman who’d been living on her own since she left her parents’ house to go to college. She had never been afraid of living alone in the big city, where crime was a given, and being a lone woman meant taking extra precautions to remain safe.

      Since coming to Cape Churn two years ago, she’d never felt the sense of dread that now invaded her body as she crept down the stairs into the basement of her own house. Perspiration beaded on her upper lip, despite the cool dampness of the cellar.

      She could wait to explore the basement until the next day, when there were more people there who could be her backup should she fall and twist an ankle. Or be attacked by a serial killer hiding out, waiting to pounce on her once she descended to the bottom step.

      The cry of the kitten dragged her out of her morbid thoughts and made her feet move, one step at time, to the bottom. If there was a kitten in the basement, it might be in trouble. Perhaps its mother had brought the baby in through one of tiny basement windows and the wind had blown the window shut, thus trapping the poor creature. It could be hungry, maybe even starving.

      The needs of the kitten outweighed Jillian’s fear of exploring the creepy, dark basement by herself. She’d have Mitchell lay in the wiring to lighten up the darkest corners and give new life to the dingy space. But for now, she had to find the kitten and rescue it or leave the house worrying about a little animal incapable of fending for itself.

      At the bottom of the stairs, the chill air of the basement permeated Jillian’s skin, sending shivers creeping across her arms and making the hairs on the back of her neck spike upward.

      All her life she’d had an aversion to dark, dank spaces. In high school, at a slumber party with a friend, they’d played truth or dare. Her friends had dared her to go down in the basement of her friend’s house and stay for five minutes.

      Jillian’s parents didn’t have a basement. Having lived in a town house, Jillian couldn’t remember a time when she had been down in a basement. Accepting the dare, she’d gone down the steps into a dirt basement, where her friend’s parents stored old mason jars, lawn chairs and a couple of bicycles. The place was dark, damp and chilled Jillian to the bone. After the first minute, she must have blacked out.

      She came to with her friend shaking her shoulders, shouting into her face. “Jillian!”

      They’d told her she lay there wide-eyed and shaking, in a catatonic state, neither out cold nor coherent.

      Jillian didn’t remember any of it, except going down into the basement. Her parents came to take her home, her friends more than happy to see her leave, all shaken by the experience.

      That had been eleven years ago. Why think of that now? This basement was constructed of concrete block walls, not dirt. A little cleaning would remove the cobwebs and old crates.

      The chill and the dampness filled her pores. For a moment, she forgot why she was there.

      Then the meow of the kitten penetrated the haze of memory and forced her to lift her feet, to move and find the source of the sound.

      Wrapping her arms around her middle, Jillian shivered, going deeper into the basement. Something moved among the old boxes. Jillian fought the urge to jump up on one of the wooden crates, her mind conjuring images of giant rats. If there were giant rats, they could easily kill the kitten.

      Jillian had a soft spot in her heart for kittens and puppies. She couldn’t leave the animal in the basement. Not even for a night.

      As she stepped away from the staircase, the dull yellow light flickered and suddenly blinked out, plunging her into a darkness so very deep, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

      A soft click sounded above and what little light that had come from the open door above was erased.

      Jillian screamed and spun toward the staircase, her pulse beating so fast it made her dizzy. Her chest seized and she couldn’t drag in a breath to feed her airless lungs. With no sense of what was right or left, up or down, the ground seemed to rise up to greet her.

      * * *

      Armed with directions and a promise to be back with Miss Taylor by dinner, Chance set off. Lowering all his windows, he took the coastal highway back toward Cape Churn. In less than fifteen minutes, he was bumping along a gravel road, wondering if he’d taken the wrong turn.

      Chance couldn’t believe Molly’s friend planned to live on a creepy, isolated road that had seen far better days maybe a century before. At the end of the road, the trees seemed to part and an old Victorian house appeared, tucked into a wooded glen. Like the road, the house had seen better days. The paint was peeling and a couple of the windows were broken. The yard hadn’t been maintained and the porch sagged. A truck and trailer sat in front of the dilapidated structure, the doors wide-open.

      Chance parked his SUV beside the truck and climbed down. His feet had barely touched the ground when he heard the scream. At first he thought it was a figment of his imagination. The setting was perfect for a horror story; perhaps his mind had conjured a muffled scream to add to the ambience.

      “Miss Taylor?” Chance called out.

      No response.

      He climbed the stairs and entered through the open front door, treading softly, holding his breath and listening for any sound.

      Nothing moved. The old house didn’t even creak, as if it, too, held its breath. Chance passed through the wide center hallway all the way to the back of the house, peering through the open doors into what appeared to be a living room, study and dining room. At the other end of the house, he emerged onto the back porch. Lumber lay in neat piles against the side of the house. But there was no one around.

      Chance’s gut tightened. Molly’s friend wouldn’t have abandoned her truck, leaving the truck doors and the trailer wide-open.

      He returned to the entrance and climbed the stairs to the second story. Cobwebs hung from the corners and the wooden floors were covered in a thick layer of dust. This home hadn’t been lived in for a very long time.

      After determining each room was empty, Chance returned to the first floor, passed a stack of clean white drywall leaning against a wall in the living room and entered an old-fashioned kitchen. Some of the upper cabinets had been ripped from the walls, and the countertop had been removed from the lower cabinets, making their remains appear skeletal.

      “Miss Taylor?” Chance called out.

      A plaintive, bleating cry of a small animal, muffled by walls, reached him, and he turned toward a door at the far end of the kitchen.

      Chance twisted the knob. СКАЧАТЬ