Stranger With My Face Read Online Free Page A

I reached the curve, however, the salt breeze struck me full in the face, and
     with it came the smells of seaweed and the surf as it swirled around the rocks. Up ahead, perched precariously on its ledge,
     Cliff House was silhouetted against the glare of the afternoon sun. The slanted rays glanced off the windows of my mother’s
     studio with such brilliance the whole upper story seemed formed of dancing rainbows. I wondered how she could work, caught
     in the turbulence of that many-shafted light. Beneath this sparkling crown, the rest of the house looked like a one-dimensional,
     construction-paper cutout glued to the sky.
    Suddenly I had the feeling that I was being followed. I glanced quickly behind me. The road was empty. I began to walk a little
     faster, aware that I was just being silly. I hadn’t heard or seen anything to make me believe there was anyone anywhere around.
     There was nothing on the northern tip of the island except Cliff House, and no one ever came that way unless it was for the
     purpose of visiting our family.
    “You’re paranoid,” I told myself out loud in disgust. “This business with Gordon and Natalie has gotten to you.”
    Still, I quickened my footsteps the way you do when someone is walking too close behind you, and I was almost running by the
     time I reached the path that led to the house.
    I entered through the kitchen, which was just as it had been when I had left that morning, except that my mother had put the
     milk back in the refrigerator and my father had evidently fixed himself some eggs and bacon later in the day. Dad is a night
     person and Mom a day one, so their schedules don’t coincide. Mom goes straight to her studio when we leave the house in the
     morning, and Dad sleeps late and makes up for it by staying up and working half the night.
    Now I could hear the sound of him typing on the computer behind the closed door of his office, and I knew better than to disturb
     him.
    Instead, I climbed the stairs to the living room. Neal was there, sprawled on his stomach on the rug in the square patch of
     light from the west window, sketching.
    “Hi,” I said. “What’re you working on?”
    “I’m designing a castle.” He was frowning, and his light brows were drawn together in concentration. When Neal draws, he is
     totally absorbed. In a moment, though, he lifted his head and looked up at me in surprise. “Did you just come in from outside?”
    “Where else?” I said.
    “How did you get there? I thought you were upstairs.”
    “How could I be upstairs when I’m just getting home from school?” I asked reasonably. “They don’t give half-days to the high
     school students, you know.”
    “But Dad said you were upstairs. He said you didn’t go to school today.”
    “Neal, come on,” I said, “you know perfectly well I went to school. I boarded the ferry when you did. We left the house together.”
    “That’s what I told Dad, but he said you must have started feeling sick and come back.”
    “Where could he have gotten that idea?” I asked in bewilderment.
    “He said he saw you.”
    “Hold on—” I began.
    “No, really, Laurie, he did. He said he talked to you, and you didn’t answer. You kept on going up the stairs to your room.”
    “To my room?” Here was something I could investigate. “There had better not be somebody in my room!” Leaving Neal staring
     after me, I hurried out of the living room and headed for the stairs.

The door to my room was closed, just as I had left it. I turned the knob, shoved it open, and rushed inside.
    The room was awash with the golden light pouring in from the sliding glass doors leading out to the balcony. I glanced around
     quickly. Everything seemed just as it should be. I pushed the door softly closed behind me, and then it struck me.
    Someone had been here only moments before.
    How I knew this, I couldn’t have said. It was simply that her presence lingered like the echo of a voice or a perfume too