GT: Silk Snare Chapter 5

Freddie gingerly set his things down in the entry, careful not to make enough noise to alert anyone. How late was it anyway? He'd told his cousin he'd be here by nine, but his plane had been delayed and then with the long drive- he'd been so absentminded, he hadn't even thought to text her. Pulling his phone out to check the time, his brow furrowed: 11:54 PM. The two women were no doubt asleep already. With a disappointed sigh, he pocketed his phone and scanned the dark house. He had wanted to see Lottie the moment he arrived, if only to silence the anxiety in his gut, but it was too late to disturb her now. Gathering his luggage, he started up the stairs to his normal room, the one his aunt always reserved for him when he came to stay on business and holidays, the one he'd spent more than half his life in.
He stepped inside, ignoring the darkness as he took his luggage to the closet. He didn't need the light on, he knew the walkway between the bed and the dresser and the plush chair in the corner in his sleep, and he didn't want to disturb anyone with the light anyway. Moving to the bed, he sat on the covers and pulled his shoes off, setting them on the far side of the nightstand. The moon cast soft shadows across the floor as he moved, dragging off his gray, zip-up hoodie and tossing it on top of his shoes. Exhaustion seeped into his muscles, after a long day of travel and worry, and he shrugged his shoulders, trying to release the stress that had clung to him for the last two days. At least this wasn't a business trip.
Collapsing onto the bed, he lay with his eyes closed for a several moments, comfort inking through his ragged frame, as his tired muscles melted into the mattress and he deeply inhaled the familiar scent of rosemary and fresh linen. It was good to be home. He sighed contentedly, turning onto his side and clutching the extra pillow at his head, but something was amiss, for as peaceful as his muscles felt, sleep would not come, and his eyes slowly opened, just as his gut wrung hungrily. When had he eaten last? His mind reeled. Dinner on the plane- he'd taken not but two bites when his stomach declined the third, too full of unease to fit another spoonful. Now that he thought about it, almost every meal for the past two days, since he'd received the news of his aunt, had been practically the same.
Rolling out of bed, he ambled down the hall, half-asleep and half-ravenous. It seemed now that he had safely arrived and not found his aunt being wheeled out of the house on a stretcher, his appetite had come back full force, demanding back-pay for all the meals he had skimped out on. He gripped the railings in one hand, as he made his way down the flight of wood-floor stairs in the dark. One of his socked feet slipped from beneath him, sending him flailing onto his backside and down a couple steps before he caught himself. He winced, more at the thunderous crash, than at the pain shooting up his spine. He waited for his pounding heart to slow, as he gingerly reclined back on the steps, one hand grasping the railing and one gripping the edge of the step that dug into his back. He huffed, working to put out the ire in chest at his own clumsiness and praying he hadn't woken anyone. How many times had he run up and down these stairs as a child and never once slipped or tripped? But of course, tonight of all nights. Wiping a hand down his tired face, he pulled himself up and carefully made his way to the bottom. His stomach growled fiercely and he gripped the front of his t-shirt in one fist. At least Lottie kept a stocked kitchen.

~

I surged from sleep, eyes wide, heart pounding through my chest. I could still feel the remnants of a thunderous rumble running through me. My chest rose and fell, as I frantically glanced all around me. Where was I? My mind reeled, resurrecting memories of lying awake in bed, wandering into the pantry, making camp in the box of Oreos. What was that? A footstep- a slamming door? Or had it only been a nightmare of a tremor that shook me from my sleep? What time was it? My heart raced as my every nerve seemed to go haywire, my mind screaming, Run. Don't move. Run. Don't move. Quieter pounding reverberated through me, slowly but surely getting closer and heavier with each breath I took.  I needed to get out now.
I clambered to my feet, the top of my head touching the thin, plastic-y wrapper that covered the box, as I carefully snaked my fingers through the opening and peeked through the slit. Still dark. The pantry door was still closed at least. But not for long. Someone was coming. Any moment now. I could feel their footsteps quake harder and harder. My heart throbbing in panic, I forced myself to begin the climb. If I didn't move now, I would be caught. A ribbon of light suddenly outlined the door, as a low click wafted through the humongous wooden panel, muffled and quiet. My insides hitched at the sound, stopping me with my feet dangling below me, my arms outstretched across the box in front of me. I couldn't be seen, not again, the familiar terror raked through me with merciless claws and I blanched beneath it. I floundered frantially on the edge of the box, kicking and groping to pull myself up.

~

Freddie surveyed the kitchen, squinting and rubbing his eyes in the bright lights. He headed for the fridge but stopped, catching sight of the jar of peanut-butter on the counter. That sounded good, but with what? He tiredly gripped the jar by it's lid, letting it swing in his grasp, as he turned and started toward the pantry, his mind working on what he might pair with it: crackers, pretzels. What else went with peanut-butter? Then a thought came to him- Oreos.
He stepped into the pantry, peering over the shelves and scanning, scanning, scanning until he finally found it. The package of Oreo cookies. The lid was a little disturbed, no doubt his cousin had been in them a few times in the last two days. He scooped up the tray, turning on his heels and heading back into the light. A loose cookie slid around inside as he walked, until he reached the marble counter, setting the tray and the jar down beside it. In all honesty he couldn't remember the last time he had done this, but it had been too long. Unscrewing the lid, he set it off the to the side and moved to open the plastic-y wrapper slit on top of the cookie package, but a familiar voice halted him with a start.
“Frederick Leslie Pierce.” Her voice was low and tired but it made him jump all the same. His cousin Kat stood in the doorway, with her arms crossed and her hip sticking out, a dark smirk on her weary face. In this state, she was the spitting image of her younger self, the spit-fire teenager he grew up with. He found himself smiling sheepishly, but it seemed to be contagious because a warm smile bloomed across her face as well, despite the fact that she tried to smother it. “I thought we were getting robbed.” He could only smile, knowing full well it was only going to spark her ire. Her expression began to simmered.
“I tried to be quiet,” he offered, working to smother the grin tugging at his lips. She shifted her weight, unamused,
“Quiet as an elephant right?” He snorted softly, pushing the peanut-butter toward her a little. She glowered, “You're not seriously trying to smooth this over with peanut-butter, are you?”
“And Oreos,” he offered, his brows raised incredulously. She sighed, letting her shoulders sag. “Come on,” he gestured her over, patting the counter in front of him, “Here, I'll get you one.”
He peeled back the lid to the cookies, ignoring the broken one, as he reached into the back to get her a fresh one. She took it from him, taking a bite as she sent him dagger eyes that said this changed nothing, but he knew it would keep her at bay until she wasn't so tired and grumpy. He snorted softly and turned to take one for himself but he stopped, something in the box catching his eye. A small, blue sewing pin, laying on it's side in the tray, among crumbs of a broken cookie, that now, after further inspection, almost looked as though a mouse- or something- had been eating it.
“What's that?” Kat suddenly asked, leaning forward to see.
“A sewing pin,” he answered, before reconsidering it, but it was too late.
“What?” she leaned forward, but he plucked it out before she could reach for it.
“Maybe,” he stalled, his mind reeling to some excuse he might make, had he not shared an exchange with a fairy a week and a half ago. “Maybe it was in her sleeve- or on her pin-cushion wrist band- and it fell off.” Kat shook her head,
“She so absentminded lately, she's going to hurt herself.” Freddie didn't like that thought of Lottie, sounding so elderly and scatterbrained, especially when he knew where the pin had come from.
“It's just an odd mishap,” he offered, dropping the pin in his pocket and taking a cookie out from himself. “Could've happened to anyone.” He dipped the cookie through the peanut-butter, and leaned forward on his elbows. “How is she?”

~

I winced as my dry throat stuck and I swallowed, trying to quiet my frantic breaths. How stupid had I been? How foolish- foolish- foolish- I cried in my head, pounding it on the wall with each word. I needed to turn around, to see if they had seen me, to see if indeed a being stood in front of the pantry shelf, peering inbetween the boxes where I now hid, completely and utterly cornered. A shiver ran up my spine and I grimaced, flinging myself around and plastering my back to the wall. The light that had flooded the room and sent me diving between boxes a moment ago, was now all but gone, leaving me once again shrouded in darkness. I had barely made it out of the box, tumbling onto the pantry shelf, before the door had swung wide open. I trembled against the wall, suddenly afraid of the dark, grimacing in shame and frustration. The one night I do something so stupid, as to fall asleep in the pantry, in a box of cookies. I forced myself forward, as muffled sounds wafted through the door.
I padded carefully out of my hiding place, peering around the corner and all over, to make certain it was safe to come out. A voice floated through the door, familiar, feminine, stopping me in my tracks, but not familiar enough to recognize. My ears pricked longing to hear what was going on. Had they seen me? What time was it? It couldn't be morning already. Suddenly, a familiar male voice, rumbled through the wood, muffled and low, and sending terror icing through me. It wasn't him. It couldn't be. I was being paranoid. He said a few weeks. It hadn't even been two yet. Pulling myself away, while I still had the chance, I made my way to the back of the pantry where I had come in, lingering at the doorway in denial and unease, as my brain argued with itself. Impossible. I was sleep deprived, half-starved, paranoid, and still half-asleep. I started back home. It wasn't him.