Disturbed

by Kevin O'Brien

  As Paulette drifted off to sleep, she realized that kind of logic made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

  “Mom? Mom, wake up!” Matt whispered.

  Paulette sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. Her son was at her bedside in his Pirates of the Caribbean pajamas, doing a little dance like he had to go to the bathroom. She glanced over at the clock on her nightstand: 3:21 A.M. “Honey, what’s going on?” she asked, her head in a fog. “Is it Brendan?”

  “There’s a man in our room,” he said in a scared, tiny voice.

  Suddenly, Paulette was wide awake. “What?”

  “I saw him sneak in, and now he’s hiding in there,” Matt said.

  Paulette grabbed the pepper spray off her nightstand and climbed out of bed. She was wearing one of her husband’s Tshirts and a pair of panties. Matt clung on to the hem of her T-shirt as she walked across the room. “It’s okay, Matt,” she said, trying to act brave for him. Yet her heart was racing. “You probably just had a bad dream. And sometimes they seem so real, I know. . ”

  Pausing in her doorway, Paulette reminded herself that Matt recently had monsters under the bed, clowns hiding in his closet, and a vampire outside his window. Still, she couldn’t help wondering, What if it’s real this time?

  He hovered beside her, whimpering. She could feel him shaking.

  “Is Brendan asleep?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Matt whined. “I couldn’t see him. The man was standing between our beds.”

  The very notion sent a chill racing through her. Suddenly, Paulette couldn’t get her breath. She started shaking now, too. She thought about telling Matt to go lock himself in her bathroom. But that might just scare him even more.

  “Brendan, honey?” she called nervously. She switched on the hallway light.

  There was no response. Her hands trembling, Paulette took the cap off the pepper spray. She padded down the hall with Matt trailing after her. He still clutched the bottom of her oversized T-shirt. She stepped across the threshold to her sons’ room and flicked on the light switch.

  She stared down at Brendan in his bed. He stirred and coughed a little, but he didn’t awaken.

  Paulette let out a sigh, and put the cap back on the pepper spray. She glanced around the room — with the Mariners, Seahawks, and Sonics posters on the walls and the matching Transformers covers on the beds. The toys and books on their bookshelves were undisturbed, and the goldfish were peacefully swimming around their bowl on Matt’s desk.

  “No one’s in here, honey,” Paulette whispered. “Now, it’s late—”

  “Check behind the door!” he cried.

  “Hush, you’ll wake Brendan,” she said quietly. Obliging him, she peeked behind the door, then half closed it — so he could see no one was hiding behind it. “Okay?”

  “What about under the bed?” he whispered.

  With a sigh, she got down on her knees, and lifted the dust ruffle. “Candy wrappers. Have you been eating candy in bed?”

  “Just on Halloween,” he murmured, sheepishly.

  Paulette gathered up the Reese’s and Hershey’s wrappers, and tossed them in the trash pail by Matt’s desk. “Do you need to go to the bathroom?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Into bed now, c’mon,” she whispered. “You have school in a few hours.”

  Matt climbed under the covers, and she switched off the light. Paulette checked on Brendan again, feeling his forehead to make sure he wasn’t running a fever. Then she came over to Matt and tucked him in.

  “Could you check the closet, Mom?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  Paulette hesitated for a second. Suddenly, she was scared again. She glanced across the dark bedroom at the closed closet door — with a poster of the Seahawks symbol on it. The boys had a fairly large closet. She couldn’t help thinking about the Cul-de-sac Killer. He left the bodies of his victims in closets. Was that where he liked to hide, too?

  She took a deep breath and moved across the room. She took the cap off the pepper spray again, then reached for the doorknob with her other hand. The hinges squeaked as she opened the door. In front of her, she could barely make out the clothes on hangers on each side of the dark closet. They were just black, bulky shapes. Her hand waved at the air as she blindly reached for the pull-string to the overhead light. At any minute, she expected someone to grab her wrist.

  She found the string and pulled it. The closet light went on. Paulette glanced around. “It’s all clear in here, honey. Nothing to worry about,” she announced — to both her son and herself.

  Paulette kissed Matt good night, and he asked if she could leave the hallway light on. “No problem,” she whispered. “Now, get to sleep — and no candy in bed.”

  Paulette figured she wasn’t going to fall asleep now. Her heart was still pounding furiously. Maybe a hit of brandy and about fifteen minutes of infomercials would calm her a bit.

  She headed downstairs, and checked the front door dead bolt again. In the kitchen, she tested the back door. It was still locked. She switched on the TV in the family room, and glimpsed some before-and-after photos of a middle-aged woman whose crow’s-feet, eye bags, and turkey neck had miraculously vanished.

  Paulette set the pepper spray on the kitchen counter, and she poured some brandy into a jelly glass, filling it halfway. She took a belt. It burned a little, but she immediately felt better. How did she let herself get so scared?

  She glanced out the kitchen window — at her neighbor’s house, a two-story Colonial. The lights were on. People were still up next door in Larry’s house. If she’d known that, she might not have been so nervous earlier.

  Standing at the window, Paulette took another swig of brandy. She was wondering if Larry’s girlfriend Angela had her two kids over tonight — the sweet little girl and that cute teenager. Was he the one who was up so late?

  But it wasn’t just one window with the light on.

  “Oh, Jesus, all the lights are on,” she whispered.

  The jelly glass slipped out of her grasp and broke on the floor. But Paulette didn’t look down at it.

  She was staring at a tall, shadowy figure darting past the lights from Larry’s front window.

  He was running away from the house.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When the phone rang, Molly automatically looked at the digital clock on the microwave oven. She wondered who would be calling at 7:04 A.M.

  In her T-shirt, sweatpants, and thick wool socks, she was at the stove, craving a verboten cup of coffee and heating up some SpaghettiOs for Erin’s lunch thermos. Both Chris and Erin were up and getting dressed. In about fifteen minutes, they’d be eating their cereal at the breakfast table, and the TV in the family room would be blaring. Molly had been cherishing the quiet — until the damn phone rang.

  She thought about screening the call, but figured it might be Jeff. He was due back from D.C. late tonight. Maybe he was getting an earlier flight.

  Without looking at the caller ID, Molly snatched up the phone on the third ring. “Yes, hello?”

  “Is this Molly?” asked the woman on the other end of the line.

  “Yes. Who—”

  “Molly, this is Trish, Angela’s sister,” she explained hurriedly. “I need to speak with Jeff.”

  “I’m sorry, Trish,” she replied, a bit mystified. She’d heard both Chris and Erin talk about their Aunt Trish, but Molly had never spoken to her before. “Jeff’s out of town. He’s in Washington, D.C. He’s due back tonight. Can I give him a message?”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “Trish?” Molly asked.

  “Angela was killed last night,” she said in a shaky voice. “She was murdered — along with Larry and his daughter. The police say it’s one of those cul-de-sac killings.”

  “What?” Molly murmured. “Good Lord, no. . ”

  She told herself it was a joke — or maybe she hadn’t heard Trish right. But she listened to the quiet sobbing on the ot
her end of the line. Her legs suddenly felt wobbly, and she put a hand on the kitchen counter to brace herself. “Trish, I–I’m so sorry. . ”

  “Listen, could you track down Jeff and let him know?” she asked. “You — you’ll have some police coming by this morning. I’ll try to make it over there later in the afternoon to see Chris and Erin. Tell them I love them. . ”

  “Oh, Trish, I’m so sorry,” she repeated, a hand on her heart. “I just had lunch with Angela yesterday. I can’t believe it.”

  Angela’s sister was sobbing on the other end of the line. “I have to go,” she said. Then she hung up.

  Dazed, Molly listened to the line go dead. She finally clicked off, and then dialed Jeff’s cell number. She started pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Angela’s children were upstairs. How was she going to tell them their mother was dead?

  Jeff wasn’t picking up. It went to voice mail. Molly impatiently waited for the beep. “Hi, honey, it’s me,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. “Can you call me as soon as you get this? It — it’s very important, okay? Thanks. Bye.”

  Even though she’d worked there for nearly two years, she couldn’t remember the number for the Capital Hilton in Washington, D.C. So she retreated to Jeff’s study, got online, and found the number off the Hilton website. From the cordless phone in his study, she called the hotel and asked for Jeff Dennehy’s room.

  It took the operator a minute. “Could you spell that for me, please?”

  Molly spelled it out. “He’s there for a pharmaceutical convention,” she said.

  There was another silent lapse. “We don’t show a Jeff Dennehy staying here. And we don’t have anything on our schedule this week for any pharmaceutical or medical groups. Are you sure you have the right Hilton? This is the Capital Hilton on Sixteenth Street Northwest.”

  “Yes, that’s the one I want. I—”

  Molly heard a beep on the line, the call-waiting signal. “Just a second, please. .” She glanced at the caller ID screen and saw Jeff’s cell number. She put the receiver back to her ear. “Never mind, I’ve got him on the other line right now. Thank you.”

  As she clicked on the call-waiting button, she heard one of the kids coming down the stairs. “Jeff?” she whispered into the phone.

  “What’s going on? You sounded pretty grim on that message. Are the kids okay?”

  Molly hesitated. She could hear the TV go on in the family room. “The kids are okay — for now,” she said carefully. “It’s Angela, honey. Trish just called. Angela’s dead. She and Larry and his daughter were murdered last night. The police — they think it’s a cul-de-sac killing.”

  She heard a sigh on the other end of the line. “Oh, my God. .”

  “I think the police are supposed to be over here pretty soon,” Molly continued. “I just got off the phone with Trish about five minutes ago. I haven’t said anything to the kids yet. . ”

  “Molly!” Erin yelled from the kitchen. “My SpaghettiOs are burning! And I can’t reach the Cocoa Puffs!”

  She turned and saw Chris treading down the front stairs with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He wore a wrinkled blue shirt and jeans. He glanced at her. He must have seen something was wrong from the expression on her face. “Is that Dad?” he asked.

  With the phone to her ear, she nodded. “Chris, could you do me a favor? Could you turn off the stove in the kitchen, and move the pan? And then could you get Erin her cereal, please? I’ll be there in just a second.”

  He frowned at her. “Is Dad okay?”

  She felt like such a coward, but she just nodded. She waited until Chris headed toward the kitchen before she got back on the line with Jeff. “Honey, are you still there?”

  She heard muffled crying on the other end of the line. She swallowed hard. “Jeff, honey, what do you want me to do?”

  “There are Snap, Crackle, and Pop pencil pals inside this unopened box of Rice Krispies,” Chris announced as he sat down at the breakfast table with his little sister. “I’ll trade you them for the remote.”

  Erin thought about it for a moment. He’d already poured her a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, and she was watching some inane preteen situation-comedy on ABC Family or the Disney Channel, he wasn’t sure. He just knew that all the kids looked like catalog models and none of them could act worth shit.

  “ ’Kay,” she said, at last. She set the remote on the lazy Susan and gave it a gentle spin. Then she went back to eating her Cocoa Puffs.

  “Thanks,” Chris said, grabbing the remote. He switched over to news for the latest sports.

  He was trying to feel normal again after all the weirdness that went down the day before yesterday. He’d already replaced the combination lock on his locker. He’d had no desire to borrow Molly’s bike lock. The less he had to do with Molly right now, the better. He just couldn’t get over the fact that her brother had shot those people.

  He really wished he’d been able to get out of the house and away from her for an evening. Apparently Larry and Taylor had canceled their field trip, so his mom hadn’t been alone last night after all.

  Right now Molly was in the study on the phone with his dad, whispering and acting weird.

  Chris poured himself some Rice Krispies, and then fished the little packet of pencil pals out of the box. “There you go, kitten, knock yourself out,” he said, pushing the packet across the table at his little sister.

  “Thanks, Chris!” she replied. She ripped the packet open with her teeth.

  He was reaching for the milk to pour over his cereal when he heard the newscaster on TV. “Breaking News this morning from a cul-de-sac in Bellevue,” a pretty Latino reporter announced grimly. Dressed in a red coat, she stood in front of a swarm of police cars with their lights flashing. They partially blocked any view of the house in the distance. “Three people are dead in what police sources here say has all the earmarks of another cul-de-sac killing. The identities of the three victims are being withheld for now, but I can tell you that two of the victims are adults — one male and one female. And the third victim is a teenage girl. The last time the Cul-de-sac Killer struck, three teens were slain in Federal Way. This is a quiet street in a family neighborhood—”

  Chris hit the mute button. He didn’t want his little sister traumatized by this grisly news report. He was about to switch channels when he glanced across the table at Erin. She didn’t seem to understand the gravity of the news story. Smiling, she scratched the top of her blond head, and then pointed at the TV screen. “Look! Isn’t that Uncle Larry’s house?”

  Chris turned toward the TV. From the roof and the location of the trees, the house behind that pretty reporter might have indeed been Larry’s. But it couldn’t be. No, so many of the houses in those Bellevue subdivisions looked alike.

  Yet Chris unsteadily got to his feet. He looked at the TV, and that roof of that two-story Colonial — so much like the one he’d slept under every other weekend for the last few months. He kept thinking of the reporter’s description of the Cul-de-sac Killer’s latest casualties: a teenage girl, and two adults — one male, one female.

  Chris told himself that they would have heard from the police by now. But then, that was why the names were being withheld. The families still didn’t know.

  With the sound muted on the TV, he could hear Molly down the hall in the study, whispering to his dad on the phone. He couldn’t make out the words, but she sounded so worried — even panicked, as if she might have just heard some disturbing news.

  Chris started toward the front of the house. He saw Molly step out of his dad’s study. She held the cordless phone to her ear. Biting her lip, she gazed at him with pity. “Honey,” she whispered into the cordless. “I’m going to put Chris on.”

  He numbly stared at his stepmother. He couldn’t move.

  She handed him the phone. “Chris, your dad needs to talk to you.”

  For the next few hours, all Molly could think about was holding on until Jeff came home. It was a grueling, sad
nightmare. When she and Chris had sat down with Erin to tell her that her mother was dead, the six-year-old didn’t just cry, she shrieked at the top of her voice — as if she were being attacked. It seemed to take forever for Chris to calm her down. Every time Molly even touched her, Erin went into a fit — maybe it was because Molly had been the one who had actually told her that her mother had been killed. Chris rocked her to sleep in the rocking chair in her room, the same chair that had once been her mother’s.

  Two plainclothes police detectives arrived around ninethirty. Molly had barely enough time to run a brush through her hair and throw on some jeans and a sweater. Chris talked with them at the breakfast table. Meanwhile Molly made them coffee and screened calls. The phone wouldn’t stop ringing. One of the calls was from her doctor’s office. She was being charged for missing her appointment. She didn’t bother arguing with them.

  Another call was from Lynette. Apparently Trish had her number, too. Lynette said she was coming over with some lunch for them in a couple of hours, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Molly didn’t argue with her, either.

  Chris told the police that he hadn’t seen his mother in over a week. He hadn’t noticed anything unusual the last time he’d stayed at Larry’s house. Once the detectives were finished with their questions, Chris retreated to his room and shut the door.

  Molly was so frazzled by the time she sat down with the two cops, her thinking was muddled. She told them about her lunch with Angela the day before. She thought they’d want to know about the strange, threatening calls Angela had gotten on her cell — from that woman. But she didn’t know much beyond what Angela had told her. To Molly, it seemed totally unrelated to the cul-de-sac murders. She’d read all there was to read on those killings, and at no time was it mentioned that any of the victims had been threatened beforehand.