Sarah Benadine is Dead

Chapter XIII, Part II

It seemed to take an eternity, but finally she was at the bottom of the staircase. It was easier to see with the shining moonlight. She stood still for a moment or two, ears perked, waiting to see if anyone roused. She heard nothing. Perhaps if anyone had heard her movement at all they had mistaken it for the house settling.

She slipped into the front hallway and pulled her shoes on. She grabbed a jacket from one of the hooks that hung next to the door and, after a moment's hesitation, headed to the kitchen. There was only one window here, abruptly impairing her vision. She blinked several times, keeping her free hand stretched out in front of her as she ventured into the room. She knocked her hip painfully against the side of the counter but it helped to solidify her position in the room; she groped around the counter with an open palm, trying to locate the basket that kept odds and ends. Her hand at last clipped the side of it and nearly tipped it over.

Her eyes had much adjusted to the limited light by then, and she could pick out silhouettes of objects as she shifted through the contents of the basket, experience leading her to the bottom. There, side by side, were two keys. She grabbed them both, not wishing to waste the time to figure out which was the house key. Stuffing them into the pocket of her jacket, she hurried back to the front door, opened it gently, and slinked like a cat into the night.

The first sight that met her eyes was, of course, Dyer's Park, and it chilled her to see it in the dark this late at night alone. A light breeze curled around her ankles, pulling the bottom of her nightgown to and fro. This was a terrible idea. It was an awful, regrettable, imbecilic idea. And with that knowledge she walked off her porch.

She knew if she was caught she'd be in trouble for breaking the curfew. Of course, she didn't know if there were any police officers patrolling the area after Rudy Potts had died. The curfew was the least of her worries anyway. There was something else that was far more likely to catch her, and it would not be as forgiving as a police officer would be.

She rushed down the path that, at this point, she could've walked blindfolded. It had been a relatively warm day, but the night air was chilly, and the breeze had a bite to it that made Shannon wish she was dressed. She was grateful for the streetlights; they gave a semblance of safety that was at least comforting even if she knew it wasn't real. She did not look towards Dyer's Park. She worried if she did she would see the Follower there: six fingers, broken teeth, cavernous eye sockets, just enough like a human to make it grotesque. Or perhaps she'd see something else, vastly dissimilar to a Follower but equally menacing, biding its time, waiting to go in for the kill.

This was a terrible idea.

She followed Quarry Street up to where Wickersham Avenue crossed it, then turned, heading west. Here she encountered the first house with a light still on, shining into the grass from the front window. Curtains obscured it partway, and Shannon prayed whoever was still awake on the inside wouldn't choose this moment to look out. She made quite a vision, an eleven-year-old girl half-running down the street at near midnight, dressed only in her nightgown and a jacket. She came to the intersection of Wickersham and Stevens when she saw four people headed her way from down the road.

Base instinct told her to run. Back home, preferably, but frankly anywhere would do. Terrible idea, awful idea, idiotic idea—but she recognized the figures coming towards her. She stopped with one foot poised to take off, staring at them with her head cocked to the side, struggling to understand it, though it truly shouldn't have been any surprise.

Ginger, Ollie, Jared, and Dexter had had the same terrible idea she had had, it seemed.

They were close enough that Shannon could see the same surprise register on their faces. Dexter called her name, and they all picked up their pace, spanning the distance in a few seconds. Shannon noticed immediately that both Ollie and Dexter held crosses similar to her own.