Silver is for Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page B

the room for a window. There‟s one in the far corner, but it looks as though it‟s been boarded up.
    The light flicks off a few seconds later and he leaves, just like that, drawing the door closed behind him. I wait a few seconds, listening at the wall as his footsteps travel down the hallway and into the living room. And then I hear the front door slam closed as though he‟s left.
    I leave too. I get up, open the door just enough to allow me through, and move down the hallway as quickly and quietly as possible. I go to the living room door, but the knob won‟t turn. I twist the lock until it clicks and try the door again. Stil locked.
    “Where are you going so soon?” a voice asks from just behind me.
    I turn around. He‟s standing just a few feet away, but it‟s stil so dark. The only light is coming in through the kitchen window.
    “We haven‟t even met,” he continues.
    He‟s older, maybe thirty or fortyish, with a face ful of hair—a thick and wiry honey-colored beard and a moustache that sticks out on both sides.
    “I have to go. I‟m so sorry. I‟ve made a mistake.” My jaw is shaking.
    “Let me help you.” He stretches his arms and lets out a giant yawn, like he just woke up.
    “I was just looking for someone. I‟ve made a mistake,” I repeat.
    “Who?” he asks, taking a step closer toward me. He‟s wearing a pair of paintsplattered jeans with an old and ratty T-shirt.
    “No one.” My hands behind my back, I try turning the lock the other way. I pul the knob, but it stil doesn‟t budge.
    “Trick lock,” he says, smiling at me. He grabs at his facial hair, giving it a good tug. “Stay a while. Let me take your picture.” He moves over to the sofa to grab his camera just as I pul on the knob and turn the lock, remembering how that‟s the way the trick lock works at my aunt‟s house.
    It works. The doorknob twists, enabling me to open it, to fly out the door and down the steps.
    When I get a safe distance away, I turn to glance back. He‟s stil standing there, still watching me.

seven
    I boot it down the beach strip, eager to get away from him—from his stare and the way he made me feel, like a victim waiting to happen.
    My heart is still hammering; all I can think about is what would have happened if I didn‟t get out, what he would have done. Needless to say, it probably wasn‟t a good idea that I went in there in the first place. It‟s just that those wind chimes, the sound of them jingling just behind me on the porch, reminded me so much of my nightmare.
    When I feel I‟ve gotten far enough away, I stop to catch my breath, to rol my shoulders back and remind myself that I need to find Clara. I‟ve practical y walked this entire beach strip with the ful intention of looking for her, but I haven‟t been looking at all.
    I take a deep breath and start to backtrack toward our cottage, keeping focused the whole time. There are tons of people sunning themselves on the beach. But I don‟t see Clara anywhere.
     
    “Hey, sexy girlfriend,” a voice shouts toward me.
    Amber.
    I look up and see her piggybacking one of the frat guys around on their back porch; it looks like her legs could snap off at any moment.
    “I am so glad to see you,” I shout, heading over to join them.
    “Rough morning?” she asks.
    “The roughest.”
    “Details?”
    “Later,” I say, noticing how Frat Boy is hovering, quite literal y, over her shoulder.
    “Hey there,” he says, extending a leg toward me as though I‟m supposed to shake it. “I‟m Sul y.”
    “And I‟m Stacey,” I say, looking at the scab on his knee, deciding that the last thing I want to do is touch his sweaty skin.
    “That‟s Casey over there.” Sully points with his foot to the guy sitting on the ground in the corner, drinking from a cozy and looking off toward the beach. I didn‟t even notice him there. Though it doesn‟t appear as though he notices me either.
    He hasn‟t looked up from the beach once. I peer in the