Reapers - Thirteen Brothers

VI -Prediction (2 of 2)

--XIII--

Vincent's dad was sitting in the living room when we arrived home. The house looked like it had just been overturned by a tornado. And I thought Lindsay's house was cluttered.

Vincent paused before reaching the doorstep, clearing his throat as he did.

I turned to him. "Aren't you coming in?"

He shoved his hands inside his jacket pockets and just stood there looking annoyed. "Depends. Are you inviting me in?" he mumbled mostly to himself.

With a shrug, I said, "Suit yourself," and left him outside.

When I checked for Dad, he was fast asleep in his room.

"The doctors said your dad is just suffering from mild shock," Mr. Sinclair explained. "Just give him time to rest and he would be up and running in no time."

"Thank you." I gave him a smile. "Would you like to stay for dinner? I can cook."

Undecidedly, Mr. Sinclair turned to Vincent as if waiting for his answer. Vincent just tilted his head towards the Cruiser.

"Can't," Vincent shouted from the driveway. "Vlad's waiting at home. He's going to... cry if we don't get there before dark. Right, Archie—I mean... Dad?"

"It's okay." Unexpectedly, I felt a bit disappointed. "You don't have to make up some lame excuse."

I thanked Mr. Sinclair before they urgently left.

As I was tidying up the living room, Dad's laptop caught my attention. The word processor was still open. The cursor blinked on the blank page. I thought he had been up late every night writing his new novel but for some reason he wasn't making any progress.

If he wasn't writing, what had he been up to these last few weeks?

Suddenly the room became very quiet—eerily quiet.

A disturbing creaking sound came from the kitchen.

I heard heavy breathing just over my shoulder; panting almost. Every breath sounded like fingernails grating against a chalkboard. I froze and shut my eyes close, afraid to look over my shoulder. Afraid that someone was behind me.

My own breathing hacked in my throat painfully, my breaths fogging with the sudden chill in the air.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Something ice-cold touched my nape. It felt like... fingers.

Mustering all my courage, I sucked in a deep breath and looked behind me. There was no one there. In fact, I was all alone in the darkness of the living room. There was nothing there but shadows playing on what small sliver of dim light passed through the gap between the curtains. And the icy whiff of withered roses.

My heart almost skipped out of my chest when I saw a word being typed on the computer when I didn't remember touching anything. It was as if the keys were being pushed by invisible fingers.

In horror, I read the word on the screen. "Open..."

I held my breath, cold sweat trickling from my forehead. With trembling hands, I reached out to push the backspace button. But before I could even put my finger on the keyboard, the keys started typing by themselves again.

Open. Open. Open. Open. Open.

All the lights in the whole house suddenly flickered on and off. Then, they went out altogether.