Disturbed

by Kevin O'Brien

  “Everything’s fine,” he whispered between soft kisses on her neck. He’d read somewhere once that it was a woman’s erogenous zone. “Just chill out and relax. . ” He started to unbutton her blouse.

  That was when he heard the noise, too — gravel crunching underfoot. Someone was just on the other side of the windows. “Shit,” Rob said, pulling away from her. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes.” She sat up. “See? I’m not crazy.”

  Rob gazed over toward the darkened windows. Again, he didn’t see anything. But he heard the footsteps retreating. Someone was creeping around out there.

  Sarah squeezed his hand. “What is that?”

  Biting his lip, he reached over and turned off the lamp on the end table so he could get a better look outside. Sarah wouldn’t let go of his hand as he climbed off the sofa. He moved toward the windows — with her hovering behind him. He saw their reflection in the dark glass, and they both looked so scared. Rob studied the bushes alongside the house. They swayed a little with the breeze. “Nobody’s out there,” he told her — and himself, too. His mouth was suddenly dry. He reached up and made sure both windows were locked.

  Rob wondered if Luke or one of his buddies from last night was trying to punk him or something. “I bet you anything it’s a gag,” he mumbled. “Luke’s screwing around with us.”

  “What do you mean?” She followed him as he headed back for the coffee table, where he’d left his cell phone.

  “Check this out,” he said. His hand was a bit shaky as he speed-dialed Luke. If his pal was right outside, Rob would hear the phone go off. Luke’s ringer was the first few bars of Beethoven’s Fifth. Rob crept toward the window again, waiting to hear that ominous tune on the other side of the glass.

  But it was dead quiet.

  “What are you doing?” Sarah asked. “Are you calling the police?”

  Luke’s voice mail clicked on: “Yo, it’s Luke. You know what to do. Talk to you later!”

  Rob waited for the beep. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where are you? Why am I talking to your stupid machine? Call me back, okay?” He clicked off.

  Frowning, he turned to Sarah. “That’s weird, Luke’s not picking up.”

  She was shaking her head. “I don’t like this. You should call the police. . ”

  “Are you nuts?” he asked. “Just because Luke isn’t answering his cell phone?”

  “Because the dead end sign at the end of your cul-de-sac is missing!” she said, edgily. “And because we heard someone outside. Those are both pretty damn good reasons for calling the cops.” She glanced toward the windows, and nervously rubbed her arms. “I just want to go home — only not now. What’s going on out there? I swear to God, Rob, if this is some sort of setup to scare me, I’m going to be so pissed off at you.”

  Rob headed toward the front of the house to make sure the door was locked. She trailed behind him, her hand clutching his belt along the back of his jeans.

  “If it’s a setup, Sarah, I’m not in on it,” he admitted. He prayed to God it was a joke. But obviously Luke wasn’t in on the gag, either.

  At the front door, he discovered he hadn’t locked up after Luke. “Oh, shit,” Rob muttered. He quickly turned the lock and deadbolt.

  He heard footsteps — just on the other side of the door. Someone was coming up to the front porch of the house. Sarah heard it, too. She gasped and grabbed his arm. Rob automatically backed away from the door for a moment.

  The doorbell rang.

  Rob swallowed hard. He stepped toward the door again, and checked the peephole. Someone had their hand over it.

  The bell rang again — and again.

  “Luke, is that you?” he called in a shaky voice. “Stop screwing around, man. Sarah’s scared. . ”

  She was squeezing his arm, almost cutting off the circulation.

  Rob gazed into the peephole again. It was still blocked. “Goddamn it,” he muttered.

  But then he saw his friend take his hand away from the security viewer. Luke was standing so close to the other side of the door that his face filled the viewer. He smiled this weird — almost maniacal — grin.

  “Oh, thank God, it’s Luke,” Rob said. He unlocked the door and flung it open.

  Then he saw the man standing beside his friend. He saw the tears streaming down Luke’s face — and the desperation behind that fake smile. The man held a gun inches away from Luke’s head.

  Sarah gasped.

  The man shoved Luke, and he staggered inside, dropping a grocery bag full of beers. With a clamor, the cans rolled across the front hallway’s Oriental rug and hardwood floor. Luke grabbed hold of the newel post at the bottom of the stairs to keep from falling.

  Rob and Sarah backed away. Rob hoped against hope this was some kind of sick joke — that Luke had hired this icy-eyed stranger and given him a fake gun. But Rob knew his friend wouldn’t drop a six-pack of beer and let it spill for the sake of a gag. And Luke’s tears weren’t an act. In the five years they had been friends, he’d never seen Luke cry.

  The man quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he announced in a calm, quiet voice. He glanced toward Luke. “Get over there with your friends.”

  Nodding, Luke obeyed him — until he and Rob were almost shoulder to shoulder. “Please, man,” Luke said. “Just — just don’t shoot, okay?”

  The stranger aimed the gun at Rob.

  His heart seemed to stop beating. He stood there, paralyzed. Sarah clung to him. He could feel her shaking.

  “Just do what I tell you,” the man said. “And I promise, I’ll be out of here in twenty-five minutes. You’ll have a great story to tell your friends at school tomorrow. Now, I need you upstairs.” A tiny smile tugged at the right corner of his mouth. “We’re going to get those nice designer sheets out of your mama’s linen closet and start tearing them into strips. I want to see how good you are at tying each other up. . ”

  Terrified, Rob backed toward the stairs, taking Sarah with him. With her face pressed against his shoulder, she sobbed quietly. “C’mon, man, you’re scaring her,” Rob pleaded. “We’ll — we’ll cooperate. Just take whatever you want, okay?”

  The stranger nodded. “I intend to.” He nodded at the light-switch plate on the wall by the foot of the stairs. “Is that for the lights down here or outside?” he asked.

  “Both,” Rob said.

  “Listen, please, you’ve got the gun,” Luke said, his hands half raised. “You don’t have to tie us up. . ”

  “I’m not going to tie you up,” the man said — in a gentle, almost condescending tone that some people used on kids. He still had that flicker of a smile on his face. “Weren’t you listening? You’re going to tie each other up. Now, switch off those lights. I don’t want anybody to see me at work down here.”

  He’s only going to steal stuff, Rob told himself. Just do what he says.

  Obedient, he reached over and turned off the lights.

  The front part of the house was suddenly dark.

  “Okay, let’s go upstairs,” the stranger said, with his face now in the shadows. His voice was so calm — almost reassuring. “Don’t be scared. I promise you, I won’t hurt anyone. . ”

  Within two hours, nearly every light in the Sessions house would be on.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It seemed like the start of a crisp, overcast autumn day as Natalie What’s-Her-Name trotted up the cul-de-sac, back from her morning run. Natalie wore black bicycle shorts and a clingy blue top. Molly guessed the thin, thirtysomething ash-blonde might have been a lot prettier at one time, but she had a hard-edged look to her now. For the last six weeks, Natalie had been house-sitting for Dr. and Mrs. Nguyen. She had guys going in and out of the place at all sorts of hours. Jeff had a theory that Natalie was turning tricks in the Nguyens’ house. But according to Lynette, she was a secretary in an ad agency downtown. Whatever, it was unsettling to have strangers cruising up and down the cul
-de-sac — especially after midnight, especially when a serial killer was still on the loose.

  Molly had tried to introduce herself to Natalie a while back. She’d been standing just where she was now — at the end of the driveway. And she’d been retrieving the morning-delivered Seattle Times then, too. She’d spotted Natalie, power-walking up the cul-de-sac — with a baseball hat, a Windbreaker, and the bike pants that showed off her bony ass. Two fingers to the side of her neck, Natalie had been consulting her wristwatch.

  Molly picked up the newspaper, and waved at her. “Hi, I’m Molly!” she called as Natalie approached her. “I’ve been meaning to welcome you to the block—”

  Her lip curled, Natalie glared at her. It was such an annoyed look that Molly fell silent. Natalie pulled her cell phone from her Windbreaker pocket and started muttering into it. Then she continued up the cul-de-sac to the Nguyens’ house.

  To this day, Molly still didn’t know if the sneer was directed at her — or at whoever had phoned Natalie at that moment. Molly tried not to take it too personally. Just the same, she never made another effort to introduce herself to Natalie. They nodded to each other on occasion, but that was about it.

  Molly didn’t even get that now. She waved at Natalie, who glanced away and ran past her — toward the Nguyens’ house.

  “Yeah, good morning to you, too, Nat,” Molly muttered — almost to herself. Rolled-up newspaper in hand, she paused near the start of the driveway. “You’re a real sweetheart. . ”

  Molly wasn’t too crazy about her other new neighbor, either. A forty-year-old widow named Jill Emory had moved into Hank and Frank’s house. She had a little boy and worked at the Art Institute of Seattle. Plump, with tawny, auburn hair, she’d seemed down to earth. Molly had hoped to connect with a fellow art lover. But Jill was in Human Resources and pretty much a cold fish — at least, toward her. However, she’d instantly bonded with Lynette — and Angela, who still made her presence felt on Willow Tree Court.

  Molly really missed Henry. She still felt so isolated and friendless. Jeff seemed to go out of town on business even more frequently. And whenever she started to feel close to Chris or Erin, they’d spend another weekend with Angela and come back treating her like a housekeeper they barely tolerated.

  Glancing next door at Kay Garvey’s house, Molly noticed the fallen leaves scattered across the front lawn, some blowing over onto their driveway. The real estate sign was still standing. It had gone up with the SOLD placard already on it. There had been an offer on the house before it had even gone on the market during the summer. A divorcee with no children had bought the place, but she’d yet to show her face on Willow Tree Court. Her name was Rachel Cross. Molly knew, because she’d already gotten a few pieces of her mail by mistake last week — some junk mail, but also what looked like a personal letter from someone in Portland.

  For now, the house next door stood empty.

  Molly had blamed herself for letting Kay go home so intoxicated that night six months ago. Of course, Lynette Hahn and Angela just had to get in a few jabs about that. At Kay’s funeral, Molly had overheard Lynette telling the mother of one of Madison’s classmates: “Everyone knew Kay had a drinking problem. At parties, I always used to get some coffee in her before sending her home. Poor Kay, she needed a real friend looking after her that night. . ”

  Apparently, Kay had at least one more glass of wine at home before tripping and hitting her head against the nightstand in her bedroom. Madison found an empty wine bottle beside her mother’s body on the bedroom floor. Her mother had passed out and bled to death.

  On her Facebook page, Courtney Hahn had provided all the details about her BFF’s mother’s death, and said, “We all have to be real supportive of Madison right now.” Courtney texted several friends from Mrs. Garvey’s wake, and she loaned her cell phone to a friend and had her snap a picture of her comforting Madison at the cemetery. She featured the photo on her Facebook page, too.

  Molly attended the funeral and thought Courtney’s behavior was obnoxious. Lynette’s other two children, Carson and Dakota, were extremely bratty, too. One of them got a case of the giggles in the cemetery. Lynette didn’t seem to notice.

  Jeff kept telling Molly that she was in no way responsible for Kay drinking too much that night. “You were supposed to walk her home and tuck her into bed?” he’d asked, incredulous. “It’s not like you let her drive home drunk — and I’ve seen Angela and Lynette do just that several times, because they didn’t want to leave a party early. Don’t listen to those bitches. . ”

  Jeff had talked to Angela about that mystery man in Chicago, the one asking all those questions. Angela insisted she knew nothing about it. Molly didn’t believe her for a second. She e-mailed Doug at the art gallery, and apparently the nosy guy had never come back. She was pretty certain Jeff’s little talk with his ex had inspired her to call off her private detective.

  Molly felt very lucky to be married to such a sweet, considerate guy. Last night Jeff, Erin, and she carved pumpkins together. Even Chris had gotten into the act at the last minute, helping Erin with her jack-o-lantern.

  She turned and looked at the carved pumpkins by their front door, a reminder of how good she had it. Molly just wished she had some close girlfriends who could tell her what it was like in the first trimester.

  Jeff didn’t know yet. The home pregnancy test had come up positive on Wednesday, and she’d made the doctor’s appointment for the coming week. She’d tell Jeff once she got confirmation from her doctor.

  So far, the morning sickness wasn’t too bad at all, just a few mild bouts of nausea. She hadn’t even thrown up yet.

  Still, she felt sick to her stomach when she thought about having to see “those bitches” in just a few hours. They were having another Neighborhood Watch potluck at the Hahns’, a Saturday session. Jeff would be missing it, the lucky stiff. Chris had a swim meet this afternoon, and that took precedence. But Angela would be attending again. The same cop as last time, Chet Blazevich, was making a return engagement as their guest speaker. Molly kind of looked forward to talking with him again.

  Of course, the handsome cop wasn’t coming there to socialize — or flirt with her. It was all about neighborhood safety.

  As far as Molly knew, the last cul-de-sac killing had been over two months ago. In her current condition, she felt even more vulnerable. She couldn’t help thinking about Sharon Tate, the victim of a ritualistic murder while in the last stages of pregnancy. Molly remembered reading that Sharon’s baby had been a boy. She tried to blot out the thought, but with this maniac out there, the same thing could happen to her and her unborn child.

  Was it too much to hope — after two months with no murders — that perhaps this killer had moved on or died? This was the longest he’d gone without killing someone. Molly had actually stopped checking the NO OUTLET sign at the beginning of their block every day. She’d stopped obsessing about it.

  Now she had something else to obsess about, something good — a baby on the way.

  With a contented sigh, Molly headed toward the house. She started to unroll the newspaper and suddenly stopped dead. As she stared at the headline, a wave of nausea swept through her:

  3 TXEENS SLAIN IN ANOTHER

  CUL-DE-SAC KILLING

  An hour before the Neighborhood Watch potluck, Molly was alone in the house. Jeff was dropping Erin at Debi Donahue’s birthday party on the way to Chris’s swim meet.

  Sitting on the tiled floor of the master bathroom, Molly listened to the toilet flush. The last time she’d thrown up had been two years before — as a result of some questionable shrimp she’d eaten at the Bounty Buffet in Alexandria. She’d almost forgotten how horrible it felt after vomiting: the burning in her throat, the bilious taste in her mouth, the shakiness, and the awful sensation that she just might hurl again.

  Her mother used to give her Saltines and 7UP when she was sick to her stomach. Did that help for morning sickness, too? She missed her mother so much
right now. She still felt nauseous, but rode it out.

  She hadn’t had this problem until two hours ago. Seeing that newspaper headline triggered something. Before stepping inside the house, she’d paused at the front stoop and scanned the story on the front page. The murdered teens were Chris’s age, two boys and a girl. The girl’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace Manning of Federal Way, had become concerned when their daughter, Sarah, hadn’t returned home from a friend’s house by midnight — and on a school night, too. Sarah hadn’t answered her cell. Mr. Manning had finally called one of her friends, and learned Sarah was at the house of a new boyfriend, Rob Sessions, whose parents were out of town. Mr. Manning got the Sessions’ address from his daughter’s friend and drove to the house on Laurel Lane. He noticed all the lights were on.

  When no one answered the door, Mr. Manning phoned the police. Officers found the front door unlocked. The bodies of the two boys were discovered, bound and gagged, in the master bedroom closet. They’d been stabbed repeatedly. Sarah Manning’s body was in a guest room closet. Her hands tied behind her, she’d been strangled and stabbed.

  The Seattle Times reported that the DEAD END sign at the start of Laurel Lane was missing.

  When Molly had come inside with the paper, Jeff had noticed right away that she looked sickly. “You okay, babe?” he’d asked, staring at her. He’d stood at the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into the WORLD’S GREATEST DAD mug Erin had given him last year. “Jesus, you’re white as a ghost. . ”

  Her hands shaking, she’d shown him the newspaper. Molly had felt sick for the rest of the morning, but managed to keep from throwing up until just now. She’d vomited three times in a row.

  Unsteadily, she got to her feet. She gargled with mouthwash and splashed her face. In the mirror above the sink, Molly could see she was starting to get some of her color back. She took a few deep breaths, and then sprayed the place with Glade. It didn’t quite eliminate the vomit odor. Instead, it merely smelled like someone had puked in a pine forest.