In ten minutes they pulled into a driveway belonging to a small, single-story home. "You have to say I can come in," Abby suddenly piped up. "You have to say it: you can come in."

The driver looked puzzled, but he acceded to Abby's request: "You can come in," he said.

[ Kyle, Lee. 'Chapter 2: Denver.' Let Me In 2. FanFiction Net (2011) ]

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

Marshall-Shadeland, Pittsburgh, PA.
January 2nd, 1984.

7:43pm

"You can use the phone in the kitchen."

He had allowed her in. He couldn't very well turn away a neighbor, despite their never having met. Dad would box his ears! He did not want to handle dad were he to find that his son had turned away a girl who had neither a coat nor shoes and was locked out of her house.

Yet he didn't want her here. She was going to be in the way. The practice needed to happen tonight.

He reached around her brusquely and shut the front door.

"Oh, ok. Thanks," she said with a stolid countenance. Standing barefoot on the circular braided rug inside the front door, her head slightly tilted and her eyes wandering the interior, he watched as she took in the atmosphere of his house, seemingly smelling, hearing and sensing all at the same time.

She trailed behind him through the house's small interior. He was not sure what to do. Hopefully she would be gone soon. The basement needed to be set up. If Dale were here, well, right, this wouldn't be a problem.

Arriving at the phone, mounted on of the wall of the kitchen, he turned to her. The house's lighting revealed she had a quiet comeliness. The manner by which the hood and her hair wrapped her face plus the shape of her eyes caught his attention. He wanted to look at those eyes but without her knowing.

He decided they betrayed uneasiness. In turn they made him uneasy too. Initially they were focused on him but then moved away. They continued to take in his house, his kitchen. Yet they were saying something else. He could not yet interpret what the emotion might be. Perhaps it was fear – fear of being in a stranger's house or having to resolve being locked out and thus at the mercy of someone she didn't know. That seemed likely but even so it didn't fit the look on her face.

A series of thumps above them heightened the uneasiness. It was his sister Amy moving about her room. His visitor stood at the entrance to the kitchen and warily eyed the ceiling. Then she glanced back at him, almost fearful.

"I better go."

"No. Stay." He made sure to catch her eye before continuing. "You can use the phone." He moved passed her and into the front room so as to give her some space. Turning, he watched as she lifted the almond colored receiver from its holder. Its height on the wall was just an inch or two above her head.

He realized his action was cutting off her line of escape. Not that she needed one. But if she did, he was now in the way. Perhaps she perceived the same thing? No, her face continued the same steady look. Her eyes alternated between him and the ceiling. Again he felt she was sensing the house.

Don't parents, he wondered, tell their kids not to go into stranger's houses?

Better yet: don't parents tell their kids not to allow strangers in? Yes, and that was his mistake, he decided.

"Thanks," she said and turned to one side focusing now upon the phone in her hand. The phone's long cord, dangling to her bare ankles, swung with her movement.

While she dialed he returned to the front door. He felt a relief in not being near her. Peering out, he saw no sign of Dale. Randy decided to open the door and leave it ajar in hopes he might yet show up.

The sound of the rotary action of the kitchen phone stopped. He stood by the front door looking through its window. Another car drove by but without slowing down. He needed Dale to be here.

Realizing the number of strokes she had dialed didn't make sense, he left the door and went back to see what she was doing. She was probably stealing something in the kitchen.

"No one is answering," she said as he approached. Her expression was not what he expected. She reached and put the phone back into its wall cradle. He wondered why she didn't look dejected. Rather she made her statement and did so without any emotional accompaniment. It crossed his mind that something else might be going on. Perhaps she is running away and so doesn't really want to talk to her parents. Yet, he decided, if she were running away or was a runaway something as obvious as shoes wouldn't have been forgotten.

No, she was locked out. Clearly not very smart. Pretty… pathetic. He couldn't let this go and decided to dig a little bit.

"So, what happened... that you got locked out?" He enjoyed adding a condescending edge to his voice.

"I- I was sleeping. I-" She was interrupted by more noise from above. It was nothing, simply Amy shutting a drawer; however, it was somehow putting this girl in distress. "When I got up it was dark and I didn't see or hear anyone," she continued, looking back to him. "I ended up out front looking for them. I didn't mean it?" She scrunched up her face as she ended with the question.

He stared at her hard. So she had wandered outdoors by herself and allowed the door to close behind her. He was not sure he wanted to believe her. If she had a name it had better be Freak.

She met the challenge of his stare. Her face fell back to the prior plain expression and she glared back. Anew he took in her stance and demeanor. He had been wrong about interpreting her as being uneasy. Only in the moments of her reacting to Amy's noises was she actually uneasy. For as strange as this girl was and as stupid as her story was, what she projected was confidence. Somehow this entire encounter was not upsetting to her in the manner he kept thinking it should be.

"I can go, if you want."

"I need to set up things in the basement," he informed her, ignoring her statement. "We can try the phone again in a couple minutes." She nodded.

He moved to the basement door and opened it. Freak followed along quietly.

The light switch for the basement was on the wall inside the entry. He flipped it on as he stepped through and started down the stairs. The wood steps, descending a dozen or so treads to the cement basement floor and flanked on one side by the concrete wall of the house foundation, were well worn. Randy heard her on the steps as she started down behind him, heard the creak of the worn railing as her hand moved along it. But then he was distracted by the scattered band equipment. The drum kit was assembled but the guitars were still crated, following last night's New Year's Eve event. He needed to unpack these, find the cords and return the amps to the positions they used here for practicing.

The guitar cases were easy to lift and swing to their spots. He grabbed the mic stands and their bases and hauled them into the center of the room. Next he pulled the packing box away from the basement's rear bulkhead entrance and opened the cardboard flaps. All the loose items were inside.

Randy's head danced with images of last night. He, Dale, Joe and Sam had played here in the basement many times. But last night was the first time they had tried it together, on stage, for real. The moment had been electrifying. Suddenly the talk of becoming a band was serious. The other kids at the club had been excited by their songs. When they had finished everyone was jumping around, cheering for them, asking when they were going to do it again. Even Cassandra, with her beautiful eyes, had come over and told him how great they sounded. She was the last person he figured would pay him a compliment. However amidst all the noise she had been right up next to him, smiling and yelling encouragement in his ear. That moment had made the entire evening worth it. He had experienced a rush of excitement in having her so close to him, in her rising up onto tip-toe so as to get close. At midnight, that magical moment when the world ticked over into 1984, he searched for her, hoping for a little bit more of the impossible. But he couldn't find her.

A minute later, with his hands full of rolled cables, he came back to the present. He realized his little guest had not made a sound. He had forgotten about her. Randy glanced back at the stairs, some ten feet away. She was there, watching him intently. Her dirty bare feet stood on different stair treads. The hood of her sweatshirt was still worn over her head yet he could see her face. It was clear she had been there for a while, standing motionless in a crouch, two steps down from the top. Suddenly all his focus was on her. The Peter Frampton tune they had sung last night and that had been replaying in his head came to an abrupt halt. There was nothing but silence. She locked eyes with him, her face set in a very determined look. Then one arm began to reach upwards along the wall. Between the two of them, it was the only movement. Their eyes remained locked; her intensity demanded it. His mind raced ahead and realized where her hand was going: she was going to turn off the light.

"Don't!" he barked at her. Freak's hand stopped. It pressed against the cement wall behind her and her fingers splayed along its roughness. She didn't break eye contact with him. All he could see were those eyes. Those eyes. Yes it was confidence - a grim, cold confidence - they were projecting. He did not understand what her motivations might be or if he was right in suspecting her intention. But the hairs on the nape of his neck rose and a twinge crossed his chest from shoulder to shoulder. Amy was two floors about him, out of earshot. Nobody else was in the house. He suddenly grasped he was alone, isolated, with this girl between him and any escape.

Slowly, deliberately, her hand renewed its course, upwards.

Without warning a loud crack erupted above them. They heard the front door strike the wall as it was flung fully open. A voice boomed "Hey, hey, hey, hey!" Four loud steps swept over Randy's head and a presence rounded the corner into the basement entry. The girl flinched and moved down a step. "Woah!" announced the newcomer, coming to a halt, "Who do we have here?"

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