Taylor pulled Ally’s picture up on his laptop. He knew it would only serve to torture him, but he couldn’t help it. For some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the picture.
He laid down on his bed and set the computer on his stomach. He closed his eyes. Why hadn’t he told her . . .
His mind was foggy with oncoming sleep. Maybe things would be better in the morning . . .
A musical crash jolted him from his thoughts. He sat bolt upright and hit his head on the top bunk. “Ike!” he called. “What the heck was that?”
The only reply was the sound of feet hitting the floor. Putting his hand to his forehead and setting the laptop on the mattress, Taylor made his way out into the hallway. Zac and Isaac were standing by Jessica, Avery, and Mackenzie’s bedroom door.
“What’s going on?” Tay demanded.
“Sh,” Ike hissed. “It came from in here,” he whispered. He motioned for Zac to get behind him and then slowly opened the door and flipped on the light.
“Oh, man,” Taylor breathed, slipping into the room after Isaac. The window was shattered, glass lining the floor. The curtains streamed back toward the door, twisting in the wind, and rain dampened the carpet.
“Who did this?” Zac demanded, keeping a safe distance between himself and the broken window.
“I don’t know,” Isaac said softly. Shaking his head slightly, he turned to his brothers. “Tay, could you go grab a garbage bag or something? And, Zac, get some duct tape. We’ve gotta cover this up.”
“Yeah,” Taylor and Zac chorused, already starting for their objects. They were back in the room within a minute. Isaac immediately began covering up the window.
“Should we call the cops?” Zac asked, eyeing the glass on the floor.
Isaac glanced down at him. “That’s probably a good idea, Zackey.”
“I’ll do it,” Taylor said quickly, starting for the living room phone. He picked it up and held the receiver to his ear. There was no dial tone. He was about to hang it up again when a noise stopped him.
Was that breathing?
Taylor’s hand was frozen, suspended above the hang up button. He couldn’t move. “Hello?” he asked thinly.
No reply. And then, laughing. Heady, hearty laughing on the other end of the phone. It slowly subsided long enough for a hoarse voice to growl, “Strike one.”
There was a click, and then a humming on the line. The other person had hung up.
Slowly, Taylor unfroze and managed to set the receiver back in it’s cradle. Strike one? What could that mean? He rolled his shoulders back to rid himself of the chill that shot down his spine.
He stood up, his legs like rubber. He should tell Ike. Taylor took a shaky step just as something pounded at the front door.
