Midnight Hunter Book One in the Midnight Hunter Trilogy

They went back upstairs to the kitchen, which felt pleasant to Donna after that chilly basement. She followed Trent to a different set of stairs near the living room, and this stairwell was dark and smelled like moth balls. At the top landing, which smelled even more like moth balls, Trent pointed left. Donna knew whose room it was without Trent even having to say, because of the bright daisy painted on the door next to the words “Samee’s room”.

  “Go ahead,” Trent stood back and motioned for Donna to enter the room. “If you can stand it.”

  “Stand it?”

  “It's hideous in there,” Trent replied.

  Donna opened the door carefully and flipped on the light. Bright, yellow walls and window shutters opened wide that would drench the room with sunlight if it were daylight. The room also featured filmy, gauze curtains and bright white high-gloss paint covering the bed frame, the dresser drawers and the ceiling. Donna imagined that during the middle of the day, Samee's room would be bright enough to light a whole city. In addition, the room had a hardwood floor that was also painted high-gloss white and bordered in daisy print applique. Samee's bedspread was yellow flowers against a green field. A lavender mosquito net draped across the bedposts. The room smelled like flowers and felt like summer. Donna poked her head out from the doorway.

  “This room is cute!”

  “It's grotesque,” Trent shaded his eyes.

  “Was it painful for you to paint?”

  He shuddered. “I didn't paint that disturbing scene. Her palette, her problem.”

  Donna exited the room and quietly shut the door. She looked past the stairway to the opposite end of the hall where two doors faced each other and a third set off by itself against the north wall.

  “Where do those go?” she asked.

  “This door goes to the bathroom.” Trent pointed to the one farthest from the stairs. “I'll warn you right now, it's the only bathroom in the house, and just a few days ago, Samee locked herself in it for two hours to style her hair.”

  “Great,” Donna groaned.

  “The one across from it’s a linen closet. And this,” Trent held the final door handle and pressed, “is your bedroom. Well, you and Hunter.”

  Me and Hunter.

  It sounded foreign, and when she stepped in the room, it even felt that way. Chunky cherry wood furniture stood like guards at a castle's entrance. Wall tapestries peppered the place with color, and in the room's center, like a throne, sat an antique mahogany bed. White linen offset the dark furniture to make a powerful statement of opposites.

  Like Hunter and me.

  A stately, built-in fireplace with dragon's head ornamentation hunkered against one wall. Scarlet and black pillows adorned every furnished surface. Thick, gray draperies covered the windows, keeping the room cloistered in darkness. An ancient rocking chair was set in front of a window. There was something about that rocker...

  Donna turned to Trent. “Why is the rocking chair here?”

  “According to Dante, this chair is always next to a window overlooking a grassy lawn. It's where you take your naps and do your sketches.”

  “Sketches...” Donna mused. “Do I sketch in all my lives?”

  “Apparently so,” Trent answered.

  “Huh,” Donna contemplated it. “But how can I look out over a grassy lawn when all the windows are shuttered?”

  Trent indicated toward the window nearest the rocking chair. “Open the drapes on this one.” She parted the curtains and looked out. Sure enough, through the thickness of night, stars twinkled. “Hunter makes sure you always have a sunny view.” Donna's fingers followed the rocking chair's curves. When she sat in it, it didn't protest against her weight, even though it had to be at least two hundred years old. She shifted in the seat until she felt comfortable then she smiled at Trent.

  “This feels right,” she said.

  “It's been a pleasure meeting you again, Donna. Have a good night. I'm going to run over and fix that little problem at your parents’ house now.”

  “Thanks, Trent.” Donna's voice was soft. “It was nice meeting you, too.” The bedroom door creaked when Trent closed it. The latch clicked. Donna relaxed and almost dozed off...until her phone rang and jolted her back. She looked at the screen.

  Dad.

  “Hi Dad,” she said cautiously.

  “Your mother is very upset,” he answered.

  “Mom has a talent for exaggeration. You know that, Dad.”

  “She claims your boyfriend dragged you forcibly from the house. I do know your mother is prone to overstepping the facts, but that is a serious accusation. Do I need to inform the police?” Donna wanted to laugh at the notion that the police would do anything about another blonde girl in trouble.

  “Relax, Dad. Hunter didn't drag me from the house.”

  He took a deep breath, maybe of relief. “Your mother also mentioned you’re pregnant. A baby, Donna? You're in college.”

  “They have daycare on campus.”

  “And then what?” he asked. “Will this Hunter guy still be around by the time this baby is born?”

  “Dad -”

  “I just want you to do something challenging with your life.” If he only knew. Dad took another deep breath then spoke in a lighter tone. “Taking my daughter to the bar for her first legal drink is out of the question because she's pregnant. So why don't we meet for a birthday lunch? Maybe Saturday afternoon.”

  “At Carlitto's?”

  “You bet,” he said, and Donna could hear him smiling. Carlitto's was their place. They'd discovered it when she was five and the two of them had been enjoying a daddy-daughter day – Mom had been “morning sick” all day from being pregnant with Sammy, so it was just Donna and Dad and when Donna had smelled the restaurant from the sidewalk, she’d dashed to the front door and planted her face against the glass. Mr. Giovanni, owner of Carlitto's, had waved at her from inside - he'd looked so jolly with his shiny, pink cheeks and big, funny mustache. So Donna had tugged at Dad's shirt and insisted she was starving to death, even though they'd shared a strawberry milkshake only minutes before. The bell clinked against the door when Dad opened it. The smell of tomato, garlic and sausage was all-consuming. To this day, Donna couldn't smell pizza without thinking about jolly Mr. Giovanni.

  “Welcome to Carlitto's,” Mr. Giovanni had said in a thick accent that reminded Donna of magic. “Are you two hungry?” He'd winked right at Donna and then suddenly, she was famished. “Today's special is spaghetti and meatballs...plus a delicious Italian soda, on the house!”

  “Please, Daddy,” Donna had asked, “can we get spaghetti and meatballs?” Then she'd whispered, “But can we get it at a table instead of on the house?”

  That had been then, and now here they were, sixteen years later, still frequenting Carlitto's like it was the home of an old friend, one where good food and laughter fixed everything.

  Donna hesitated then sighed. “I couldn’t stay under you guys’ roof forever, Dad. You know that, right? I’ll be okay on my own in the world. I won’t die.” Not so long as Hunter can save me from Stephen, anyway.

  Dad chuckled sadly. “In my head I know that, honey. But in my heart, I worry. A parent never gets over the loss of a child. We simply adjust to life without that child, and perhaps it makes us a little more anxious about the welfare of our surviving child. And some parents adjust better than others.”

  “Mom adjusted by never seeing me as good enough.”

  Dad’s tone was melancholy. “Your mother loves you very much, Donna.”

  “She has a strange way of showing it, Dad.”

  “Maybe it is strange. But it’s heartfelt, nonetheless.”

  They said their goodbyes then Donna leaned back in the rocking chair and immediately fell asleep.

  chapter twenty