“Oh, no—no. It’s nothing. I just… I just caught a bitch of a flu bug.”
Alex froze, wondering if Harry ever swore with this lady, but it was already even too late to worry whether or not he sounded at all like Harry, so he forged ahead before the woman’s suspicions could get any stronger.
“Yeah—” he said, pinching his nose so tightly it hurt. “I don’t know what it is—if it’s the flu or something, but I came down with it last night. I feel like sh—I feel terrible.”
“Oh, honey, that’s too bad,” the woman said. She sounded genuinely concerned, but all Alex could think was—Holy shit, I think she bought it! He wanted to shout for joy, but he realized that he had just started and still had to play it out to the end.
“Yeah, I—I don’t think I’ll even try to go to work today.”
“No, I don’t blame you, not from the way you sound. You should stay right home in bed. God, you don’t even sound like yourself.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m all congested and fevery,” Alex said, trying to disguise his voice even more. “I figured I’d just stay in bed and sweat it out.”
“Do you want me to come over? I can bring you some chicken soup or something once I get home?” Alex thought for a moment, unable to decide how to answer her: if he said no, she might get even more suspicious; but if he agreed, she might arrive at Harry’s house before he left for the Buzzy Bee Motel. That sure as hell would totally fuck things up! To buy himself a little time, he cupped his hand over the phone and started coughing noisily.
“Oh, honey-bear! You really do sound miserable!”
“Uhh,” Alex said, sniffing loudly and making every effort to sound completely stuffed up. “Yeah… yeah, some chicken soup would be nice, but maybe you don’t want to take the chance of catching whatever it is’ I got.”
“Oh, no, honey-bear, I don’t mind… not if I can help you.”
Shit! Alex thought. This was one of those goddamned things he hadn’t thought of, and he didn’t have an alternative. He snorted loudly again and cleared his throat.
“Yeah, how ’bout you come over later—say, sometime this evening. That’ll give me a chance to sleep for most of the day ’n see if I feel any better. Also, you’ll have a chance to unwind after your trip. By the way, how was the… the thing?” He had no idea if she had been on a business trip to a convention or whatever.
“Thing sure is the right word for it,” she said. “I had an absolutely horrible week… especially being away from you, baby! I spent as much time fending off good ole’ Mark Ford’s advances as I did working at the convention. God, that man’s a pig!”
“Uh-huh.”
There followed a short silence as Alex tried to think of something.else to say, but before he could speak, the woman continued, barely missing a beat.
“I don’t want to get going on all that again, but you know I didn’t do anything, baby-doll—especially not with my boss. Uggh! How could I? I’ve been saving it all for you, sugar.” It might have been his imagination, but Alex thought she sounded more disappointed and frustrated than concerned for how Harry “baby-doll” might be feeling.
Fucking women, Alex thought. They’re all alike!
“I just wish you weren’t feeling so bad. The only thing that kept me going all week was looking forward to our meeting at the Bee. You know, maybe I could try to reduce your temperature with that ice-cube-in-the-mouth trick we tried a few weeks ago.”
“Uh, no—not today,” Alex said.
He wasn’t really sure what she meant, but his first thought was that she might be hinting about giving him a blow job with a mouthful of ice. Yeah, that’d reduce the temperature and the swelling, he thought, almost snickering with laughter. Frozen dick on a stick! Then, for a tingling instant, he panicked when he thought that he might have forgotten to make himself sound sick. If he had, though, the woman seemed not to notice as she went right on talking.
“But it’s a good thing you called me when you did because I must’ve overslept. I have to get a move on if I’m going to get packed and catch my plane on time. Oh, I love you babycakes.” She made a series of smacking, kissing sounds into the phone that made Alex’s skin crawl. “And I hope you’re feeling better real soon, honey-bear. And when you do…”
“Umm,” Alex said, hoping he sounded too miserable to respond to anything she might suggest.
“Well, I’ll drop by later today, then, okay? Say, six o’clock?”
“Yeah… six will be fine.”
More than fine! Alex thought.
“Okay, then. I’d better be going now. Bye-bye, lovie. See you soon.” Again, she kissed into the phone. “And as sick as you are, I can’t wait to see you. Bye-bye, honey-bear… I love you!”
“Yeah, bye,” Alex said. “I-uhh—love you, too.”
Before she could start in again with any more cutesy talk, Alex clicked the phone off with his thumb and replaced the receiver. Staring blankly up at the ceiling, he sank back into the couch and let his breath out in a long, slow whoosh. It felt as though he had forgotten to breathe throughout the conversation, and now, as he inhaled, air ripped like a flood of water into his lungs. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands so hard against his eyelids he saw tiny yellow spirals of light that dissolved into the pulsating darkness.
A single thought whispered in his brain and reverberated until it started to grow louder and louder, like rolling thunder. The thought was almost masked by the high, keening sound of laughter, but Alex had no idea if he was laughing out loud or not.
He didn’t care because that single, echoing thought was—I did it! So far. I fucking-A did it!
2
On Monday of that week, the “young married couple” who had wanted the apartment so badly still hadn’t made up their minds, so Cindy decided to rent the apartment on Coyne Street. She didn’t want to move in until she had a chance to give the place a thorough cleaning, so early Tuesday morning, right after they handed over a deposit of two month’s rent and signed the lease, she and the kids went to the grocery store and bought buckets, sponges, mops, rubber gloves, and several bottles of Pine-scented Lysol. At Sears, they bought a small vacuum cleaner. From the motel where they were staying until the apartment was livable, she also called the local phone company and ordered a telephone, which was installed two days later, on Wednesday afternoon. With both the lease and the telephone company, she had debated whether or not to use a phony name but had finally decided against it if only because she had no idea how to prove she was anyone other than who her driver’s license and credit cards said she was. She knew, if the state police and FBI were after her, she was leaving such an obvious trail that it wouldn’t take long for them to run her down.
After spending two full days cleaning, the place was ready. Because they didn’t have any furniture, their move amounted to little more than lugging their suitcases and a few bags of groceries up the creaky flight of stairs. There were still plenty of items they had to buy—like oven cleaner and a toilet bowl brush. Over the next few days it seemed to Cindy as though they were heading off to one store or another at least half a dozen times a day. She was writing checks as if there was no limit to her funds.
Throughout the rest of the week, they did a lot more cleaning and then settled into their new place. But even after scouring the place with Lysol, the smell of something rotting still tinged the apartment. It was especially strong in the hallway. Krissy seemed unable not to mention it every time they either went out or came in. Cindy had to keep reminding herself as much as the kids that this was only a temporary situation, and that she had better plans for them once they got their feet on the ground. The kids, she thought, at least seemed genuinely relieved not to be sitting in the back seat of the car for ten hours a day or sleeping in cheap motels and eating every meal at McDonald’s. When she decided to splurge and buy them a small color TV and a Super Nintendo, Billy, at least, seemed fully content. She even ordered a cable hookup. Every evening while Cindy tried to distr
act herself from her problems with the latest Dean Koontz novel and Krissy either played with dolls or colored, Billy would fill the small apartment with repetitive electronic music and random bleeps, buzzes, and muttered curses.
Be it ever so humble…
Early Friday morning, just about the same time Alex was making his phone call to the Chicago Hilton, they went to the local Ames to buy some more sheets and towels and a few other odds and ends. Billy kept pestering her for a new Nintendo game until she finally caved in. As they wandered up and down the aisles, grabbing just about everything that drew their fancy, Cindy started to feel twinges of guilt. She justified spending money so freely as their reward after a full week of hard work, but she didn’t like spending money this way, especially because she still hadn’t had a chance to talk over her change of plans with Harry.
But where the devil was he? Cindy wondered whenever she thought about him and home, which was often. What the hell was he up to? And why hadn’t he called?
She tried to convince herself to say to hell with him! Yeah, she thought for the dozenth time already today as she grabbed several rolls of paper towels from the shelf and threw them into the shopping cart. To hell with him! She could make this work even if she had to do it alone!
It was only when she looked at the kids and saw the deep level of hurt still lingering in their eyes—especially at night, when she was tucking them in—that she couldn’t help but wonder if she really was doing the right thing and saving them instead of hurting them even more!
And she couldn’t stop wondering what was the matter with Harry. Granted, he might be busy with the store, especially if he really was trying to get it in order to sell the place; but, Jesus, the least he could do was call her! If he thought this was some kind of game for her, that she was having fun taking off like this, then the next time she did talk to him, she would make sure to let him know just how much worry and stress she was under.
“You know what?” Krissy said, wrinkling her nose as she walked along beside Cindy. One hand was hanging loosely off the shopping cart’s handle while the other one gripped the edge of Cindy’s jeans pocket.
“No, what?”
“Something’s been bugging me.”
“What, honey? You can tell me.”
“Well… I—I just don’t… don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what, honey?” Cindy asked.
She reached down casually and scruffed the little girl’s hair. It seemed like over the last week, Krissy had started to come out of her shell—at least a little bit. She was smiling a little more easily, now, and several times she had even started an argument with Billy, fighting back and sticking up for herself when she wanted to try the Nintendo game. In a week filled with work and stress, that was one of the few things that actually gave Cindy a slim ray of hope that she hadn’t completely ruined these kids’ lives by taking them away from their father. Their father!
Every time she thought about him, a clear image of Alex would form in her mind, making her blood run cold. The word murderer would shout inside her brain and echo hollowly, and then she would be filled with the cold, hollow sense of loss she still felt for her sister… would always feel for her sister!
“I don’t like the way she’s always watching us,” Krissy said. “I… I see her there almost all the time.”
“Huh? Who’s watching us?” Cindy asked.
She felt a mild ripple of apprehension but didn’t want to let it show as she looked back over her shoulder, thoroughly expecting to see someone—a police officer or security guard, walking purposely toward them.
“That lady… in our apartment,” Krissy said.
Cindy could feel the little girl’s skin go cold under her touch, and she remembered that night in the motel, somewhere in the Midwest, when Krissy had started screaming in her sleep about the lady… the blue lady.
“I—uh, don’t know who you mean, honey,” Cindy said, hoping the little girl didn’t notice the slight quaver in her voice.
“In the apartment next to us. What, haven’t you seen her?”
Cindy bit her lower lip and shook her head.
“Every time we’re going either up or down the stairs, she’s there in the door. There isn’t much light inside her apartment. It sorta looks like she has just the TV on, and it makes her face look all… all weird.”
A shiver raced up Cindy’s back. They had been so busy all week, and running in and out of the apartment so much, that she hadn’t even considered if there was someone living in the other apartment on their floor. At least so far she hadn’t seen anyone or heard anything, even late at night. Was there really someone there, or was this more of Krissy’s fanciful imaginings?
“Have you seen her?” Cindy asked.
“Uh-huh. Almost every time we go up the stairs, she opens her door, just a crack, and peeks out at us. I only see, like, her one eye, but she just stares at us… at me, I think.”
“If you haven’t really seen her, how do you know it’s a lady, then?” Cindy asked. The chill was getting worse. She wished she could blame it on the store’s air-conditioning.
“Cause I can see her hair… she has blue hair.”
3
As Friday morning slipped slowly toward noontime, the tension winding up inside Alex was getting so bad he really thought his head might explode. More than anything else, he wanted to slug down a beer or two just to steady his nerves. But he knew that once he started drinking he might not be able to stop.
Shit, no! he told himself. I can stop drinking whenever I want to… I just might not fucking WANT to.
He knew the last thing he needed right now was to blunt his edge, which was honed razor-sharp after only a few hours of sleep and more than his usual amount of morning coffee. Just like talking this morning to that woman—he still had no idea what her name was—he was fearful that something might come up that he hadn’t thought about.
He had to be able to think fast.
Before heading out to Portland, Maine, he had to wrap up one or two more things. The next on his list, after a short phone call from the phone booth in front of the Big Apple at the corner of 30th and Cedar, was a quick trip over to Harry’s house—for one last look around and to do a little something he thought might be necessary.
He looked up the number for Harry’s hardware store in the directory and then dialed it. After two rings, someone answered the phone. It sounded like a young kid. Alex asked to speak to Harry without offering his name. He piled it on thick, using a phony Southern accent, which at least was easier than trying to sound like he was sick with the flu.
“I’m sorry,” said the sales clerk, “but Mr. Toland is busy with a customer right now. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Y’all have any idea when he’ll be done?” Alex asked. He still hadn’t been asked to give his name and was hoping he could railroad the rest of this conversation without having to.
“Well—I dunno for sure,” replied the young man, sounding as though it was taking him quite a bit of effort to pull all of these salient facts together. “He said something about going out and not being available until sometime in the afternoon. Say, could I ask who’s calling?”
Damn! Alex thought. He had a story ready but would have preferred not to use it, just in case he somehow got caught up in a lie.
“Sure thing. This here’s Hank Wallace. I’m a salesman for Owens-Cornirg.” He let his voice drag on every other word, hoping the accent was convincing. “Yah see, I just took over this here sales territory last week, and—well, I don’t have my ’pointment book handy, but I thought for sure I had a meetin’ scheduled with Mr. Toland for late this morning, for, uh—” He checked his watch and saw that it was already a quarter past eleven. “I think it was for ’leven o’clock, but I’ve been running a little late, here, and cain’t make it for least half an hour, Could you leave Harry that message, that I’ll be by just as soon as I can?”
“Well, yeah, sure,” the clerk replied, �
�but I think Harry said something about not wanting to—”
“I’d ’preciate that, son,” Alex said, speaking over the young man. “I’m none too familiar with this here city and just got a little mixed up is all. Tell him I’ll be there as soon ’s I can.”
With that he hung up quickly. He checked the coin return to see if his quarter had dropped back out, then got into his car and drove straight to Harry’s house. He knew he should still be very cautious about being seen anywhere near the house—especially if what he had planned to do today really did happen—but the alternative was to be as bold as brass, and just pull into the driveway and walk into the house like he fucking-A belonged there.
Why the hell not?
So that’s exactly what he did. He pulled up to the top of Harry’s driveway and stopped right in front of the kitchen door. Before getting out of the car, he pulled on the pair of rubber gloves he’d gotten from under his kitchen sink. After digging the house key out of his pocket, he got out and walked quickly to the side door. His hand shook as he slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door knob twisted in his hand. He opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it quickly behind him.
Moving swiftly, he walked over to the telephone answering machine. His first impulse was to smash the shit out of the machine, but then he thought better of it. If things got fucked up—or even if they didn’t—and the police came around later, a broken answering machine might look a little suspicious. Instead, he followed the wire down to the outlet on the wall and loosened the plug, jiggling it just enough so the machine shut off but the plug was still in the socket.
“There,” he whispered, satisfied that if Harry’s lover tried to call, she wouldn’t be able to leave a message. There was no telling what she might want to say to “baby-doll” before she came over with her kettle of hot chicken soup and her mouthful of ice cubes.
Satisfied, he was about to leave but happened to glance at Harry’s appointment calendar on the counter. A telephone number, written in red ink and circled at the top of the page, caught his eye. It had an area code of 207.
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