Status: Updates are sporadic and may occur at whim, but I do try to add chapters regularly.
Silent Nights
Idle Hands
It’s almost noon, and still no sign of the girl. Matt and I have been taking turns watching the street. Nothing much has changed, though. I’m hoping they’ll clear out by tomorrow morning, but I doubt it. Without something else to pull their attention away, they’ll stay there indefinitely.
I walk back into the study and see Anna reading, probably something from one of the bookshelves by the door. I plop down on the couch next to her and snatch the book, a modern translation of The Art of War, out of her hand. She punches me in the shoulder and grabs for the book, but I hold it out of her reach. It’s usually a bad idea to annoy her, but I’m bored and Matt’s not here to stop me.
“Seriously Drew?” she scoffs, folding her arms across her chest in a huff.
“Seriously Anna?” I copy in a poor approximation of her higher pitched voice. She rolls her eyes. “Why are you even reading this?” I leaf through a few pages before tossing in to the coffee table. It lands on top of the girl’s clothes, though, and slides onto the floor with a loud thump.
“Oh, nice going genius,” Anna hisses. She quickly gets up and grabs the book. A couple of the pages are bent and she glares at me before trying to lay them flat. I hear Matt’s footsteps coming down the hall and get up to take a look at the bookshelf. He stops in the doorway and takes a quick look at the scene before leveling an accusing glare at me.
“Sometimes I wonder if you really are the older one,” Anna offers up. I shrug and continue pretending to peruse the books. Matt turns around with a sigh and retreats back down the hall. As soon as I hear him enter the other room I grab the pillow off the couch and toss it at Anna’s head. It hits her in the face and I dart into the hall.
I manage to dodge the pillow. The framed photo across the hall isn’t so lucky. I try to catch it before it hits the floor, but it slips through my fingers. The glass shatters on impact and covers the hallway with shards of glass. A mumble a few choice curses at the noise. In the quiet of the house everything sounds a lot louder. I look over my shoulder at the stairs and hope the breaking glass wasn’t as loud as I think it was.
Matt is standing in the doorway of the other room, this time with his rifle in his hands. His grip tightens when the porch creaks. The door at the end of the hall opens, then, and the girl standing there looks practically livid.
I walk back into the study and see Anna reading, probably something from one of the bookshelves by the door. I plop down on the couch next to her and snatch the book, a modern translation of The Art of War, out of her hand. She punches me in the shoulder and grabs for the book, but I hold it out of her reach. It’s usually a bad idea to annoy her, but I’m bored and Matt’s not here to stop me.
“Seriously Drew?” she scoffs, folding her arms across her chest in a huff.
“Seriously Anna?” I copy in a poor approximation of her higher pitched voice. She rolls her eyes. “Why are you even reading this?” I leaf through a few pages before tossing in to the coffee table. It lands on top of the girl’s clothes, though, and slides onto the floor with a loud thump.
“Oh, nice going genius,” Anna hisses. She quickly gets up and grabs the book. A couple of the pages are bent and she glares at me before trying to lay them flat. I hear Matt’s footsteps coming down the hall and get up to take a look at the bookshelf. He stops in the doorway and takes a quick look at the scene before leveling an accusing glare at me.
“Sometimes I wonder if you really are the older one,” Anna offers up. I shrug and continue pretending to peruse the books. Matt turns around with a sigh and retreats back down the hall. As soon as I hear him enter the other room I grab the pillow off the couch and toss it at Anna’s head. It hits her in the face and I dart into the hall.
I manage to dodge the pillow. The framed photo across the hall isn’t so lucky. I try to catch it before it hits the floor, but it slips through my fingers. The glass shatters on impact and covers the hallway with shards of glass. A mumble a few choice curses at the noise. In the quiet of the house everything sounds a lot louder. I look over my shoulder at the stairs and hope the breaking glass wasn’t as loud as I think it was.
Matt is standing in the doorway of the other room, this time with his rifle in his hands. His grip tightens when the porch creaks. The door at the end of the hall opens, then, and the girl standing there looks practically livid.