Paying the Piper

Sixteen: Fox of a Different Color

By Thursday, my ankle was doing a lot better. The swelling had receded, and the pain only twinged when I tried to go faster or turn it in directions it wasn't ready for yet. The color had faded from a vivid blue and purple to a duller black and navy.

Thursday was also the day Dad got an emergency call to help with someone's dog that had gotten hit by a car. He was on the phone with Mom, gathering his vet bag at the same time.

"No, I can't wait. The dog was hit by a car, Lorie. It's not like the owners are asking me to trim its nails." He paused, rubbing his temples. "Despite what happened the other week, she's not a child anymore. I think we can trust her to stay home alone." He glanced over at me, where I was working on homework at the table. "Looks like she has enough homework to keep her inside for at least another two months." He winked at me before turning around again.

I tapped my pencil against my chin, mind too scattered to focus on the limit I was solving. Mom was having dinner with a new friend she had made at work, but it sounded like she was ready to return home since Dad was called in to work. Would I ever gain her trust back?

Dad finally wrapped up the call and shrugged into his coat. As he slipped on his shoes, he said, "Despite what it may have sounded like, I did convince her she could finish eating before heading home. You'll be here, diligently working on your homework the whole time." He fixed me with a look. "So you're not going to make a liar out of me, right?"

All I had done for the past few days was sit at home, doing homework. When I finally quit doing homework, I read or wrote or watched TV. And my life before getting lost in the Potomah had hardly counted as thrilling. But evidently I was a walking risk.

"Of course not. Now go. That dog needs you."

Dad flipped me a thumb's-up and then left out the back door. I resumed working on the limits, even though my head was still a muddled mess that couldn't make sense of the mathematical topic. Groaning, I slumped forward, letting my head fall into my crossed arms on the table.

"Why do I need to know this?" I muttered to myself. When would I ever use limits in my life as a functional adult?

Then I heard a click. Raising my head, I found myself suffused in darkness: the light had clicked off.

"Mom?" I called, wondering if she had opted to leave dinner early despite Dad's assurances on my good behavior. Maybe she had flipped the switch without realizing it was already on.

But even as I thought that, I knew it wasn't right. I heard nothing. No one had entered the house—at least, not anyone who would bustle in without a worry about making the regular amount of noise.

Maybe it was just the circuit breaker. Dad had had to go downstairs and flip the switches a couple times since we had moved in. Something with the wiring wasn't right, and we kept overloading the circuit. That was as much as I understood, anyway.

But being plunged into sudden darkness reminded me of some hauntings I'd heard about, where the ghosts use all the energy around to manifest. And then it reminded me of Quentin's (and Cale's) words earlier in the week: that I was cursed.

"Stop scaring yourself, Faye," I told myself. First I had to find a flashlight. Then I could figure out the circuit breaker after that.

Our entire house rested in darkness, and the sun had set over an hour ago; outside offered little substitute light. I knew the floor plan layout well enough that I didn't need to be able to see every step, but I still bumped into door frames I misjudged before my eyes fully adjusted to the darkness. Finally, I reached the kitchen and pulled open the drawer where I remembered seeing a flashlight.