Into The Light
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this fic!
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Honey reached over and turned off the lamp by her bed with a quick flick of her thin wrist, casting the room into relative darkness. The only source of light was the thin moonlight that spilled through the window. It had been a fun evening of chatting, snacking, and watching movies, with absolutely no mention of the darkly serious situation hovering over them like a flock of hungry buzzards. It seemed like both girls had made a silent pact to not discuss it, much to their collective relief. "I don't know about you but I am tired!" she exclaimed to Trixie. After fluffing up her pillow a few times, she reclined back against it and yawned broadly. "It's been a long day for both of us. You've got to go to work tomorrow, too."
Trixie copied her and cuddled under her blanket on the guest bed. "I've had a lot of fun," she shared gratefully. The evening had been just what she needed. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so content and normal. Then she glanced in the direction of her home and released a series of happy giggles. "I can only imagine what is happening at my house right now."
Honey laughed with her. "You'll hear about it tomorrow, if I know Mart," she chimed in correctly, with a small shake of her honey-colored head. "He'll have a list of complaints for you a mile long, and probably most of them exaggerated. He'll never let you hear the end of it, Trixie."
"You know my brother extremely well, Honey. I'm already preparing myself for it." Trixie settled back against the thick pillows and pulled the comfortable covers up around her. "I'm happy that I was able to spend the night over here tonight. It was just what I needed. Thanks for inviting me." She covered a yawn. "Sleep well, Honey."
"G'night!" Honey mumbled back, turning her back to Trixie. Her eyes were closed and she was already drifting off to sleep.
Trixie listened to the soothing sound of her friend's even breathing, impressed that Honey could have fallen asleep, and wished that she had the ability to find sleep that easily. Instead, her overly active mind refused to shut itself off. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her hands playing with the fringe on the blanket. Now that she had all the time in the world to think, she kept running through the various events, cataloguing them by time and place, and trying to put her finger on what she was missing. She was close to figuring an important piece of the puzzle out, she could almost feel it, but it was just beyond her reach. Groaning in frustration, she flopped onto her back and tried to achieve at least a mediocre amount of sleep.
The unmistakable vibration of Mart's cell phone interrupted her poor attempt at sleep. Pushing aside the covers, she gingerly reached for the vibrating phone on the nightstand, keeping a close eye on Honey, and doing her best to move quietly and not wake her up. Breathing a sigh of relief, Trixie saw that she was still deep in sleep. Then she flipped open the phone, read the text message and had her feet figuratively taken out from under her. The false feeling of security that she had been living in since she had been given Mart's phone crumbled like a tower built out of thin playing cards. The phone fell noiselessly to the covers, its bright words mocking her.
Pale white moonlight danced across the wall in front of her. She stared at it, the black words from the text floating in front of her face, teasing and taunting her with their boldness. "Thought you could fool me? No such luck. Enjoy your sleepover," the message had read, again from a new and unknown number. Breathing deep didn't help to alleviate the various feelings rampaging through her. Closing her eyes did nothing, either. It suddenly felt like the four painted walls were sinking in. The need to get out of the room was powerful. She threw back the covers and tiptoed as quietly as she could to the door. Taking extra care, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Leaving the door slightly opened slightly, she was thankful to see that she was alone.
Once in the darkened hallway, she leaned against the wall, the damn cell phone in her hand. The urge to toss it against the wall was strong. She didn't. Instead, she turned sharply to walk off the conflicting feelings of anger and fright but only managed to bump into a small decorative table instead.
Flinching against the loud noise of the table slamming against the wall, she reached wildly for the vase of flowers on the top of the table that were about to topple off. "Oh, gleeps!" Trixie cried out, forgetting to be quiet. She managed to hold the vase where it should be, miraculously without spilling any water or any flowers, and looked up, strongly hoping that she hadn't woken anyone up.
Luck was not her friend and had not been for awhile. She didn't need to see who came out of the room when she heard the door open. She knew who was investigating the noise in the hallway. At least the dark of the night wouldn't allow her blush to show. She slowly straightened her body and brought her eyes to meet his, frantically wondering what the odds were about making herself look like a fool twice in one day in front of him.
"What are you doing up? Is everything all right?" Instantly concerned, Jim stepped into the hallway and took the three necessary steps to reach her side.
Trixie made sure that the vase would stand on its own without toppling over. Then she bent down to retrieve the cell she had dropped in her hurry to catch the vase. Wordlessly, she handed over the cell phone to him and waited while he quickly read it. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked beyond him, into his room, and frowned. His bed was still made. The red digital numbers on his alarm clock told her that it was almost midnight. She tilted her head, curious as to why he hadn't fallen asleep yet.
Lines formed on his forehead. He read the words, felt the impotent anger build up within him again, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself down. She didn't need a display of the famous Frayne temper. "You have got to be kidding me," he complained fiercely, the only outlet for his anger that he gave himself. He tried to study her face but couldn't get a good read on it. Her expression was shadowed by the dark.
"My thoughts exactly." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She pointed to the cracked-open door. "We need to be quiet, Jim. Somehow Honey managed to still sleep through all the noise I just made. She must be very tired." She made a move as if to go into his room.
He took her elbow, halted her, and started guided her down the hall. "Come on," he mumbled under his breath, pocketing Mart's cell phone.
"Where are we going?" Trixie questioned quietly, doing her best to keep up with his longer strides, and throwing an inquisitive glance back at his room, confused. To her, it had been the most logical place to go.
"We need to find someplace to talk," he murmured back, slowing his pace so that she had an easier time of keeping up with him.
"Couldn't we talk in your room?" She gave him a puzzled look.
He stopped at the end of the hallway, in front of a large window, and studied her face. What he found there was complete innocence. She didn't have a clue, that much was obvious. "That's probably not the best idea," he responded, finding it hard not to chuckle at her bewildered expression. He went on to carefully explain, "I doubt if either of our parents would like it overly much. If my parents didn't kill me, I'm sure that yours would skin me alive." He waited for her to start moving again.
She stood still, unable to comprehend what he was trying to explain to her. "But…really? Why?" He didn't answer, only lifted his eyebrows at her, and then she willingly followed along as they went down the stairs. But it slowly came to her, the reason why, and with a gentle slap in the face. Midnight; in his room, unchaperoned, and in their pajamas. Definitely not the best of ideas; certainly not one that either set of parents would condone. "Oh, well, I guess you are right," she finally responded back, with a little tint of wonder to her voice.
"Let's head to the kitchen." It would afford privacy but was open enough that if someone were to walk in on them, it wouldn't look like a midnight tryst, planned or accidental. He led the way and flipped on a single light switch, bathing the area in a gentle glow from the recessed lighting but not flooding it. He went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water, his back to her. "Do you want anything to drink, Trix?" He turned around, didn't hear her negative answer. For the first time he realized that she was wearing simple cotton pajamas. The shirt was bright blue, with tiny sleeves that left a great deal of arm exposed, and ended a hair above the waistband of her pants. The pajama bottoms were striped in vivid blues and greens and were thin enough to mold to the contours of her legs. White anklet socks kept her feet warmed.
Her curls did their well-known dance when she shook her head and took a spot at the small kitchen table. Oblivious to the effect her state of dress was having on him, she took in the large, pristine kitchen. It had been awhile since she had been in it. Somehow, she had forgotten how big it was. Almost three of her kitchens could fit inside it. Stainless steel appliances were lined up, ready to be used, while pots and pans dangled from above. She reached for a napkin and absently played with it, gently folding and unfolding it, until she tore it into two pieces, and thought back to her newest contact with the stalker.
Grateful that she had taken a seat, Jim carefully gauged the parade of emotions that went across her face, correctly guessing the current path of her thoughts. He leaned against the counter, ankles crossed, and gave her the time she needed until she started to share. It took a few minutes before she was ready, as he knew it would.
"I've been doing a little thinking," she finally began, her words slow and deliberate and the napkin shredded into tiny pieces.
"I can see that." Gaze hooded, he waited patiently for more. There was no sense in rushing her. She would get to it, at her own pace. His eyes never left her face, letting her know without words that he was ready to listen.
She smiled at him, and then dropped her gaze as she finally noticed his clothing. A dark green t-shirt that deepened the emerald of his eyes; gray sweatpants that were baggy and covered his long limbs; and bare feet. She forced her eyes to meet his after her perusal, a bit of red to her cheeks, and explained in a halting voice, "It really started at lunchtime, when I was leaving the cafeteria. I started getting this feeling. You know how I get those," she added with a small snicker, aimed entirely at herself. "You see, Jim, I know I've been missing something about all this mess and I've been trying to put it all together."
"What have you come up with?" Although he wasn't that thirsty, he took a sip of his water to give her time to formulate a response.
She slid her eyes away from his while she mentally pieced together the different events. Her finger tapped rhythmically against the tiled table top. "I really believe that I'm onto something here. The text message has confirmed something that I've just begun to suspect."
He took a chair out and sat down across from her, staring intently at her when she came to a stop. "Explain, Trixie."
She reached under the table, a bundle of nervous energy, and started running her hands up and down her thighs, needing to keep at least part of her body in motion. "I've been going through everything that's happened, filing it away in my mind. As you know, many of the events that have happened have been at my school. It's where I got the note, where I first got the strange feeling that I was being watched, and, of course, where my hat was returned to me."
"You're thinking there's a connection between school and the stalker," he inferred correctly. He leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head, and gave a curt nod.
"There has to be a connection," she insisted strongly. "You'll think so, once I tell you this." Taking a deep breath, the words came out on a rush. "There was no way that he could have known that I changed cell phones. If anything, he should still be calling or texting my old phone, not trying to contact me on Mart's. He shouldn't know about the cell phone switch."
He placed his hand in his pocket, felt the object of their conversation, and then spoke the obvious. "He knows now, Trixie."
"And there's only one way he could have found out," she announced triumphantly, placing her hands on the table and bending forward across it. She grabbed his hand and held on tightly before offering, "You see, Jim, I gave Honey Mart's cell phone number today at lunch. She didn't have it. He had to find out then."
Jim sat back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. He had known the girls long enough to realize that they didn't worry too much about keeping their voices down when they were conversing, either in public or in private. That practice had gotten them into trouble before. It was entirely possible that they could have been overheard. "And now you get a text," he stated slowly and simply.
"Exactly." The puzzle wasn't complete but it was finally taking shape. She was only missing one very important detail: the identity. "He had to have overheard us. There's no other option. Honey, Di and I are never that quiet but you, as well as the rest of the Bob-Whites, know that." Then a new thought hit her, blinding her with its brilliance. Her mouth dropped open before the words came out on a rush. "Oh, my…I feel so stupid," she mumbled, her eyes showing her astonishment. "I wouldn't be surprised at all if the stalker has been eavesdropping on us all along. He could easily have overheard the three of us making plans, like for me riding with Honey last Saturday or planning the picnic at the lake last Sunday, and that's how he managed to show up at those places." She gave a sage nod of her head as it all came together. "Then, as I said before, it's obvious that he heard us talking today about my new cell number and the sleepover."
The torrent of words came to an end. He digested the wealth of information she had given him before asking, "Where were you?"
"In the cafeteria." She thought back but couldn't remember anyone suspicious sticking out. She had spent most of her time focused on Honey and Di and on the wonderful lunch from Wimpy's. "I got there first so I picked a table in the back of the cafeteria. I can't remember anyone being near us, other than a few students who were quietly studying." She wracked her brain but couldn't come up with another adult in the midst. She couldn't even remember the adults on lunch duty.
Jim did not like what he was hearing and definitely did not like the conclusion he was drawing. "If what you're saying is true, then that would mean…"
"That the stalker has to be someone at the school!" Trixie interrupted excitedly. She dropped back in her seat, suddenly mentally exhausted. Pursing her lips together, she was pleased with her deductions but frustrated with herself that she hadn't seen it beforehand. "It's the only logical explanation. I can't see it being a student at all. That would be too far-fetched. First of all, I can't imagine that I would have ticked anyone off that much. Not only that but there's been too much thought and money invested into this scheme. Cash isn't that readily available to a teenager and most of their time is spent on school or their friends. That would have to mean that it would have to be someone on the staff."
She had a lot of valid points. He couldn't formulate an argument against any of them. "There are a lot of employees," he mused aloud, rubbing the fresh stubble that had formed on his chin, and considered her suspicions.
Trixie brushed aside her curls and made a list of the people on staff. "Teachers, subs, guidance counselors, secretaries, paras, custodians, cooks…" She paused to see if there were any others but couldn't come up with any. "I think that's about it." Then she gave a low chuckle. "I really can't see it being one of the regular teachers. I know they have been frustrated with me over the past four years but I can't imagine Mr. Jenkins wanting to stalk me because I suck at trigonometry, can you?"
"Come on, Trix. You're smarter than that." He didn't join in her laughter. He never liked it when she put herself down. Then he thought about the other incidents that could not be connected to the school and brought them up carefully, not wanting to insult her. "But what about the Country Club? You mentioned a few odd things that happened there, like the scratch on your mother's car after your induction meeting. You also told me that you felt watched there, too."
"Don't you see?" She bounced in her chair and tapped his forearm again, rejuvenated. "There's a connection between the school and the Country Club. There has to be! The stalker has to either work at both places or he must work at the school and be a member of the Country Club. It's the only plausible explanation. You can't be on the Country Club premises unless you are a member or an employee. And it proves once again that he overheard our plans. He would have known that Honey, Di and I were working at the Country Club. He would have known that we had our induction meeting last Sunday. He would also have known about our weeknight shifts, too." She recalled the flash of something she had seen during her work night, as well as the loud crash she had heard. It was certainly starting to come together. "That only leaves the tire incident unaccounted for," she whispered lowly. Biting her lip, she considered what she knew about the event but couldn't find anything conclusive to tie it to either the school or the Country Club.
He contemplated her reasoning but couldn't come up with a single flaw. She was making a lot of sense. "All right. We'll share this with Sergeant Molinson in the morning, when we tell him about the newest text message. Then he can start pulling the employee records from both places, as well as the guest list from the Country Club."
A new thought blinded her with its possibilities. "There may even be a correlation between the records and his investigation into my files." She was practically beaming with excitement. All the pieces were fitting together so neatly. "Wouldn't that be wonderful? If all goes well, maybe we'll know who it is by tomorrow night."
'Wonderful' was not the adjective he would use to describe the situation. "I wouldn't pin my hopes on that," he warned her but was impressed with her ingenuity. Only Trixie could get so excited about piecing together the events of a person who was stalking her. "But I can picture the rest of what you are saying very clearly, Trixie. For what it's worth, I think you're right on the money."
She grinned at him, pleased to have his approval. Now that she had a clear path ahead of her, she felt much better and more equipped to deal with the situation. "I'm glad you agree with me. I already know what Sergeant Molinson's going to say, though. He's going to try and poke holes in my theory. Can't you already hear him trying to say that it could be someone else listening in on our conversations?" Pretending to be the sergeant, she uttered in as deep a voice as she could muster, "Now, Miss Belden, there's always the slim chance that there's a student acting as an informant." Then she collapsed into an almost uncontrollable fit of giggles. "But I don't see that as a viable option. Do you? It has to be an adult and it has to be someone at my school. I know it, Jim. I can feel it."
He could, too. He had a strong suspicion that she wouldn't be going back to school, once her parents heard her thoughts, especially after Sergeant Molinson agreed with her. She would be completing her work from home until the issue was resolved. "Well, we have a good plan of action here, Trix. We'll go upstairs, try to get some sleep, and call Sergeant Molinson in the morning. He'll take it from there."
She practically bounded out of her chair, feeling much more buoyant now than she had when she had left her bed and read her newest text. Clapping her hands together, she announced happily, "This is so exciting, Jim. I only wish that Sergeant Molinson would let me help him search through the records. I know without a doubt that I would be able to find the connection immediately."
Stunned, Jim stopped and stared at her. There really wasn't much that could keep her down, not for too long. He shouldn't be surprised. He had known her long enough to realize how effervescent she really was. "He won't even let you look at your own files," he responded teasingly. "I seriously doubt if he'll let you get your paws on confidential personnel information."
One of her sleeves slid down. Carelessly, she reached up and tugged it back up her shoulder, her blue eyes twinkling with mirth. "You're right, as usual."
He didn't hear her. He had caught the movement, saw the bare skin of her shoulder before she had covered it up, and came to the quick realization that had him swearing inwardly at himself. She wasn't wearing a bra. Of course she wouldn't be. Women generally didn't wear them to sleep in. That was a piece of information he could have done without. He didn't know if he could take much more and had to fight the sudden urge to bang his head off the wall.
"Jim?" A question in her voice, she placed her hand on his arm and waited until he looked down at her. It was odd for him to be the one daydreaming. That occupation was generally left to her. "Did you hear what I said?"
He forced his eyes to remain on hers, and not to roam towards two tempting points southward. "Sorry, Trix," he apologized, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.
"That's okay," she quickly assured him, not insulted in the least. She flicked off the light and walked out of the kitchen. "I was only wondering what time would be a good idea to call Sergeant Molinson."
"First thing in the morning. He'll be able to get started right away. He'll have to get the okay to look through the records first." It took a moment but he was able to answer her. Then he followed her out of the kitchen, intentionally staying a step behind her as they made their way back up to the second story of the large house. "Wait here," he ordered her when they reached the bedrooms.
Trixie couldn't stay behind. She took three impulsive steps into his room, forgetting that it was best for them not to be in a bedroom together, and curiously watched his every movement. She was unable to keep silent. "What are you doing, Jim?"
He whipped his head around, although he shouldn't have been surprised that she had followed him into his room. She was Trixie, after all. He held up his cell phone and charger, which he had just unplugged, and approached her. "I don't want you to be without a cell phone, not with everything that's been going on. You can have mine, Trixie."
"Thank you." She accepted it, touched by the offer, and unable to refuse it. She held it up, finding the whole scenario to be oddly, entertainingly humorous. "It's too funny. I feel like I'm playing a game of musical cell phones right now. First mine, then Mart's, and now yours."
"We'll let everyone know about the switch tomorrow…well, later today," Jim corrected himself after noting the time on his alarm clock with a great deal of shock. It was after one o'clock in the morning. They had spent well over an hour together.
"No one is going to be able to keep up with it," she informed him. "No one. By the time this is all over we're going to need our own Bob-White phone book, just to get in touch with each other!" Giggling, she turned to him and gave him a light hug. It was a simple thing, something she had done countless times, and nothing unusual. At least, not to her. "Thanks again, Jim."
He stiffened before his arms slowly wound their way around her, pulling her close to him, all the while thinking about the delicious things he would like to do with her in the privacy of his room. It wouldn't take much. A close of the door, a quick tug of the hand, and then there would be a stumbling dance before they would tumble onto his bed. Jim played out what could happen in his mind but knowing it would be impossible, not without having his honor torn into tatters. He reluctantly settled for second best; the feel of her body against his, and gathered her even more tightly against him. Dropping his head on top of hers, reveling in the soft, silkiness of her curls, he refused to give in to the tantalizing images flirting around the corners of his mind. Instead, he gave a soft kiss to the top of her forehead before he knew what he was doing.
Trixie felt the pressure of the kiss, as well as the tightness of the embrace. She held on, her arms resting around his waist, just as tightly, just as long, and felt her heart start to beat out an erratic rhythm while her eyes grew to twice their normal size. Holding hands was nothing new. Neither was sharing a hug. But nothing in their repertoire was similar or had prepared her for an experience quite like this. Something seemed to be changing, something seemed to be different, but she didn't have the experience or the confidence to know what. It left her a little breathless, a little unsure, but also a little excited. As she laid her cheek against his chest, she could almost hear the whispering sound of a page turning, as if they had left behind the familiar and the old and entered a new and unchartered chapter in their relationship.
Eventually he drew back, knowing that if he held on any longer that they may very well end up on his bed, and to hell with his promise to his parents. But he had to still have some form of contact. He kept his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. "We should probably try to get some sleep. We'll need to get up early to call the station." His voice sounded husky to his own ears.
"Right," she got out past the mush her brain had turned into, vaguely recalling that she needed to talk to the sergeant about her something important, and shaking her head in agreement. "Yes. Sergeant Molinson. Phone call." Somehow the ability to string together a full sentence was beyond her capabilities at the moment.
She was too adorable. His thumb rubbed a series of small circles on her back before he broke contact. "Try to get some sleep, Trixie. You've got a busy day ahead of you."
Trixie closed her eyes. It seemed easier to uphold her end of the conversation without looking at him. "It won't matter. I've started to learn how to function without it. I'm not going to get much sleep tonight, anyway," she informed him, gripping her new cell phone and charger, and took a few steps to the door.
"Me, neither," he answered quietly back.
Trixie was brought up short. She turned back to look at him, an incredulous expression on her face, and saw the truth in his eyes. "Really?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He made his feet stay where they were at. It was safer all around. He didn't know what would happen if he touched her again. "I haven't slept well for the past few nights, either," he admitted wryly. "I can't imagine why tonight would be any different."
He had trouble sleeping. Because of her. Good Lord, she wondered to herself, could the revelations of the past few minutes be anymore damaging to her equilibrium? "I'm sorry about that, Jim," she whispered softly.
"Don't be, Trix. It's not your fault." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, all the better to keep from reaching her again, and brought an end to their midnight conversation. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah. In the morning." She sent one last, confused look toward him, her head tilted endearingly to the side, and the stalker the furthest thing from her mind. "Good night, Jim." She stepped through the doorway.
He moved then and closed the door, slowly letting out a small gasp of breath at the same time. Leaning against the back of the door, he glanced up at the ceiling, unsure whether he should be proud of upholding his honor or damned for not taking advantage of the situation. Either way, he wasn't getting any sleep and it had absolutely nothing to do with the current dangerous situation she found herself in.
She stood on the other side of the door, her eyes staring at it, and her mind the most befuddled she could ever remember it being. "What happened in there?" she whispered aloud, remembering the thrilling feeling of being in Jim's arms and the sweet pressure of the unexpected kiss on her forehead. She wished she knew the answer. Walking with deliberately slow steps, she entered Honey's room and climbed back into bed, her busy mind searching out the answers to a new and much more delightful puzzle.
