Convicted Read online

  Lisa let out a shaky laugh, blowing sticky strands of hair from her cheeks. She crossed firmly to the clawfoot tub and twisted the faucet handles. Water spurted out, hissing and spitting like a bag full of cats before smoothing into a heavy stream. It bonged against the tub's cast iron sides.

  Lisa suddenly thought of that horror movie with George C. Scott--The Changeling--with the little boy drowning in the old iron bathtub. He'd flailed his hands against the sides, banging away, sending the same bonging sound throughout the old house while George wept in his bed for the wife and daughter who'd died.

  In The Changeling, there was also a scene where they taped a séance, playing back the tape later to hear the little boy's ghost whispering his name. Joseph. The thought of it now sent the hair springing up on the back of Lisa's neck, and she shuddered.

  "Lisa."

  She yelped and spun away from the tub, slipped on the old linoleum floor and landed hard. Her shoulder hit the pedestal of the sink, her head the bottom of the sink's bowl. Pain bloomed in both spots at once, and she rubbed them to take away the sting.

  There was nobody in the room with her. Nobody in her bedroom, either, because she could see clearly out the bathroom door to every corner of her bedroom. Unless somebody stood in the narrow space between the open bathroom door and the wall.

  Her gaze instantly flew to the crack in the door, expecting to see a face staring back at her. Jack Nicholson in The Shining, ax at the ready and a big, sneering grin just for her. "Heeeeere's Johnny!"

  There was nobody there. Lisa let out a strangled, shuddering breath and sagged against the tub's rim. The water still boomed. Nobody had whispered her name into her ear because nobody was there. She was imagining things. That was all.

  Just as she reached over to twist the knob that would divert the water from the spout to the shower, a thump vibrated the wall behind her. Her fingers pulled back from the knob and she turned. She had not imagined that.

  This wall backed against the hallway. She waited, tense, the breath growing stale in her lungs, for the thump to come again. It didn't, and when she finally breathed bright spots flashed in front of her eyes again. She forced herself to breath again, slowly, so she wouldn't faint.

  Lisa pressed her fingers against the wall, waiting. Nothing. Behind her, the water splashed. It blocked any sounds she might have heard, but she reasoned it also blocked any noise she made herself. She didn't turn it off, but she did pull out the plug to prevent the tub from overflowing.

  She got up from her crouch, rubbing her thighs to make sure the blood flow hadn't stopped. Her knees felt weak, but that was from nerves. She stretched, her back cracking, then stepped softly through the bathroom door.

  The bang and crash of the water continued behind her, though it was softer in here. Lisa pressed her ear to the bedroom door, listening. She'd finally convinced herself the noise had been nothing, after all, when she heard it again. Not a thump in the hallway, this time, but a more subtle noise and one she couldn't quite identify.

  She strained, trying to hear. Some thudding, muffled through the door and sounding far away. Allegra's room?

  Relief flooded her. Of course! It was only Allegra. Though her sister had moved out, she'd been back before. It must have been her making the noise.

  Lisa's laugh sounded more like choking, and she still felt as though she might be sick. She rubbed her sweaty palms against the denim of her skort, then brushed away the hair from her face. It was just her sister out there, not the ghost of a little boy or an ax-wielding maniac.

  The door stuck when she tried to open it, but a sharp tug finally got it open. Lisa peered out into the hallway, which was now dark. She reached out to her left, just above where she'd felt the thump against the wall, and hit the switch. The hall stayed dark.

  Just down a few feet to her right and across the hall was the closed door to the empty spare room. Now the noises weren't so subtle and their location was identifiable. Someone was in the spare room or maybe Allegra's room.

  "Allegra," Lisa tried to say, but her throat had closed. Despite her self-reassurance that it was her sister in there and not the bogeyman, she could not find her voice to speak.

  She straightened her back, forcing a bravery she didn't really feel. "Who's there?"

  The booming sound of her own voice startled her. She didn't sound afraid. That, in turn, made her confident enough to step out of the bedroom and into the dark hallway.

  Enough light shone from her room to illuminate the door to the spare room. The brass doorknob gleamed dully. Lisa reached a hand to it, then pulled back. This was insane. This was exactly the kind of thing stupid movie heroines did; the same thing that always made her scream at the screen, "Don't go in the basement/deserted alley...spare bedroom!"

  Another muffled thump, then the soft beat of music. It was Allegra. It had to be, if for no other reason than her mind strictly refused to comprehend it could really be anyone else. No ghost, no lunatic. Only her sister.

  Lisa put her hand back on the knob, and turned, stepping through the doorway into the black room beyond.

  "Hello?"

  It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the greater darkness inside the spare room. Squinting, she stepped further into the room, meaning to knock on her sister's door. Before she had the chance, the door to Allegra's room opened. Lisa squinted, turning her head against the blast of bright light pouring out. Blinking, she expected to see her sister's tall frame.

  She saw instead a blank-faced alien. In the next instant she recognized it was no alien, but instead a tall figure wearing a motorcycle helmet. The light shining from behind the figure made it seem to glow. As it stepped toward her, Lisa saw the person not only wore the helmet but the jacket, too.

  Deacon's helmet. Deacon's jacket.

  She knew them both on sight. The ones he'd claimed had been stolen at work. Another lie, because he was wearing them!

  This was her worst nightmare come true. He'd come after her. Before Lisa could run or scream, Deacon reached out and grabbed her by the upper arm. His fingers, even through the thick motorcycle gloves, pinched mercilessly. Pinning her.

  "Let me go, you son-of-a-bitch!" Lisa twisted without effect.

  She kicked out and up, but her position was not good and she couldn't connect. Deacon said nothing, just pinched down on her bare arm. His silence, coupled with the bizarre outfit, frightened her as much as anything else.

  "Let me go!"

  She flailed with her other arm, knocking against the helmet with a loud thunk. Deacon dropped her arm, holding his head and stumbling back. Lisa turned, meaning to run. He recovered faster than she'd thought possible and grabbed the length of her hair.

  Her head snapped back and Lisa went down. Deacon lost his grip as she fell making him stumble forward to land on one knee. Lisa rolled to her knees, seeking to regain her footing, but again Deacon was too swift. As she got one foot beneath herself, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.

  Being on the floor gave Lisa an unexpected advantage. On her back, she could brace herself for another kick. Lisa's foot shot up and out, connecting with Deacon's stomach. With a loud oof, he flew back surprisingly easy for such a large man. She'd never have thought she could move him so far.

  Deacon groaned, bending over at the waist. Lisa lost no time in scrambling to her feet. Once upright, she immediately went back to one knee with a shout of pain herself. Somehow she'd twisted her ankle, and badly.

  Lisa threw a glance over her shoulder. Deacon was no longer groaning and holding his stomach. Now he was reaching for her again. His hands reached for her, still sheathed in the menacing black gloves. He shook his head, rattling the helmet almost as though it were too large.

  Something was wrong. Something didn't mesh, but Lisa didn't have the luxury of time to figure out what it was. Limping, she managed to get to the doorframe where she paused out of sheer necessity. If she took one more step, the pain was going to make her pass out.

  She felt him