Page 97 of Dreadful

Poor planning.

She shifts again, one pale leg appearing briefly before Gage blocks my view.

Perhaps he’ll be the first to go then.

I hold my breath, waiting for another glimpse.

Five seconds.

Ten.

Nothing.

My jaw aches by the time I shift my line of sight across the yard to the eldest Calloway.

Twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds.

That’s how long he’s been outside. Sitting and watching and waiting.

I bet he has a better view.

My thumb presses harder against the focus wheel until the lenses knock softly against the glass.

I freeze.

One second. Two. Three.

Nothing changes across the yard.

I slide the goggles off and set them carefully on the windowsill.

The elastic leaves a band of pressure around my skull that fades as I cross the room.

Fourteen steps.

My bed sits in the corner, exactly where I left it this morning. I lower myself onto the edge and turn the laptop around.

Security feeds fill the screen.

Six keystrokes and the girl fills my screen.

My breath catches. The laptop gives me what the window couldn’t.

The girl is on her hands and knees, long hair falling forward as Gage moves behind her.

I slide from the mattress to the floor and lean closer.

The picture isn't perfect. The resolution deteriorates at night, even with the infrared, and the angle still leaves portions of the daybed obscured.

But it’s better.

Much better.

I increase the feed to full screen.

Her head tips forward, and my pulse beats against my throat.

Gage winds his hand around her hair, and my hand clutches the comforter.