Chapter 87

Hunter shed his clothes as he mounted the back stairs, letting the muddy garments fall where they may. He could put them in the laundry later. After all, who was here to criticize his housekeeping? Naked, he strode the short distance to his bedroom and went into the bathroom, where he switched on the shower and waited until it was steaming, then stepped under the spray. He reveled in the feel of the hot water beating down on his head, washing mud and bits of grass down the drain. He looked down at his hands and saw they were red and abraded from his fall.

The shower handles squeaked as Hunter shut off the flow of water. While the showerhead dripped its last few dribbles behind him, Hunter stood, listening. The silence of the house was disturbing. No longer did he hear the sound of the rain beating on the roof, nor the wind or the chirping of birds outside. He didn’t even hear the perfectly normal and mundane creaks of the old house.

There was nothing.