I scream and try to move back, but whoever it is has got their arms tight around me. They throw themselves forward and we topple over onto the floor with a painful thud. Hands seize my collar and I'm struggling, kicking and screaming and trying to throw them off. It's not good. They're stronger than I am, and I'm pinned to the floor.
"Laura?" It's a girl's voice, Lynch's voice. I open my eyes and now I can make her out in the dark, her face caught between expressions of fear and guilt, as if she's been caught doing something wrong. She releases me, stands up off me, offers out a hand to help. I ignore it and stand. "I'm . . . I'm so sorry," she says haltingly. "I thought . . . I heard someone moving around and I thought . . ."
My back hurts where I hit the floor. My heart is running a mile a minute from the fright of it. But it's only Lynch, and she didn't mean any harm.
"Are you angry?" says Lynch.
I glare at her for a moment, and then relax. "No. It's okay. Really. You just got scared."
"I'm sorry," she says again, and she really does sound it.
"Don't worry, I'm fine."
For a while there's silence. We're both standing apart from each other, gathering ourselves, adjusting our clothes. Eventually, Lynch asks, "What are you doing here so late?"
I shrug. "Felt like a walk. Felt like talking to someone."
"Okay," says Lynch. And then there's the silence again, but this time the ordinary, awkward kind of silence that crops up in any conversation with someone you don't know too well.
"Who did you think I was?" I ask, to end the quiet.
"Just . . . someone. A man. Someone I think might be looking for me."
"So you're on the run then?" I say, meaning it to be a joke. But then Lynch doesn't say anything in reply and I realise that I've hit closer to home than I thought. "You are, aren't you?"
"I'm not a criminal," says Lynch, sharply. "Nothing like that."
"It's okay," I say. "If you don't want to say you don't have to."
Silence again for a little bit. Then Lynch says, "Thank you. For the food and stuff."
"You found it then?"
"Yeah."
"I'll bring some more tomorrow night."
"Thanks." There's a pause, but a more comfortable one this time. We're adjusting to each other's presence. "So," says Lynch. "Who is it I remind you of?"
I take a deep breath, and wonder if I even want to tell her about Darren. But then, why else did I come here if not to talk? Looking straight at Lynch in the darkness of that empty house, I say, "You remind me of my brother."
