Sydney rubbed her forehead. "Good Lord, I thought he was a stalker--or possibly this hero-killer. Was it really necessary for him to follow us around everywhere?"
"Actually, he started out checking on you just occasionally. But about three weeks ago, he noticed someone sneaking around outside your apartment. So Luis increased his surveillance. He isn't sure if this guy's an obsessed fan or what, but he's been very elusive. Luis still hasn't gotten a good look at him yet." Joe sighed. "When you told me last night about this guy fixated on you and killing heroes, I figured that's the creep Luis has seen."
Sydney just nodded.
Now it made sense why Luis--Number 59--had sneered at her when she'd first glimpsed him. If the guy was a friend of Joe's, he probably thought she was a mega-bitch for leaving her wonderful hero-husband. It was a bit unsettling, but at the same time, she took solace in knowing this Luis person was keeping his one good eye on Eli right now.
Joe pulled the car over to the curb in front of the terminal entrance. Shifting into Park, he turned to her and smiled sheepishly. "So are you mad at me for getting you a bodyguard without asking you?"
Sydney shook her head. "No, it's very reassuring. I'll sleep better tonight."
He climbed out of the car and helped her with her luggage. They embraced, and Sydney kissed him on the lips.
"I'll see you tomorrow--in Seattle," he whispered.
"I hope so," she said, grabbing her bags.
"Kiss Eli for me," he said.
Nodding, Sydney gave him one last smile, and then headed inside the terminal.
Eli's head throbbed so badly, he thought he might throw up.
But he couldn't. There was a gag in his mouth. It took Eli a few moments after regaining consciousness to realize why he couldn't move or feel his arms. Hog-tied behind him, they'd fallen asleep. He lay facedown on the Oriental rug in Demick's study, feeling sick and utterly helpless. Blurry-eyed, he tried to focus on Demick, who stood over him. But Eli was in so much pain, he couldn't lift his head to see Demick's face.
A weird, high-pitched ringing filled his ears. He didn't quite hear everything Demick was saying. He'd mentioned something about his wife not being back for another two hours, and by then, they'll have taken a little drive to Snohomish National Forest.
"It might be months before anyone finds your body there," Demick said.
That part Eli heard--very clearly.
Demick explained how--thirty-five years ago--he'd started having sex with Loretta Sayers while she was still married to Mr. Landau. Their affair had become even more intense after she'd left Landau and moved to Number 9 at Tudor Court. Earl had never caught on to what was happening between his sixteen-year-old buddy and his mother. "I'd come over there and hang out with him. She'd cook us dinner," Demick explained. "Then I'd leave--and a few hours later, usually around one in the morning, she'd meet me at a motel--or sometimes the beach--and we'd fuck our brains out. It was the best, hottest sex I've ever had. We had a damn good thing going. Nobody knew. The closest we came to getting caught was when she occasionally slipped and called me Chris in front of her kid. That was Loretta's pet name for me. She used to call me that in bed."
His face pressed against the carpet, Eli only had a view of Demick's feet and his tan, hairless legs as he paced in front of him. Beyond that, Eli saw raindrops slashing at the big window. The awful ringing sound kept coming in and out while Demick went on about how Loretta had unceremoniously dumped him.
From what Eli could understand, Demick had gone over there to see Earl on a Saturday night. It had been after he'd sent Loretta that card. Every moment he'd caught Loretta alone, he'd begged her to meet him later, but she'd refused. So on Sunday night, he'd broken into the Sayers' town house apartment. He'd known where they'd hidden their extra key outside. And he'd known where Loretta had kept her gun. But he didn't use it on Earl.
"I slit his throat while he was sleeping," Demick said. He stopped pacing. With his foot, he nudged Eli and turned him onto his back. "You wanted to find out what happened, so I'm telling you. Eli." Demick stared down at him. Eli saw that he had a big sofa pillow in one hand and his gun in the other. "There was a lot of blood, and it got awfully messy. Fortunately, I was wearing her dishwashing gloves. If I had to do it over again, I would have smothered Earl with his pillow. It's much neater. He didn't die right away. He struggled for a few moments. But I kept a hand over his mouth. He wasn't able to make a sound. We didn't wake up Loretta down the hall. She was still sleeping when I crept into her room."
A tiny smile flickered on his face. "I woke her with a kiss on the cheek. Then I put my hand over her mouth and led her into the bathroom. She saw I had the gun. She didn't struggle or try anything. I made her strip and get in the tub. Then I shot her in the head."
Horror-struck, Eli listened to him. He kept wondering what Demick planned to do with that pillow.
"You know, Eli, I'm not proud of what I did. I was sixteen years old, and just went crazy that night." He shook his head. "I can't believe Loretta held on to that letter. For the first few weeks afterward, I kept thinking the cops would find it. Finally, I was able to convince myself it was okay. I haven't had to think about Loretta and Earl for a long time--not until you and your uncle walked into my office yesterday." He sighed, and put the gun down on the edge of the desk. Demick's back was to the window as he stared down at him. "It's funny, but you remind me a bit of Earl. And like I say, if I had to do it over again, I would do it the neat way..."
Demick crouched down close to him. "It'll be easier if you don't struggle."
Just over Demick's shoulder, Eli glimpsed something past the rain-beaded window.
The dark-haired man in the red shirt crept toward the house. Eli watched him grab a wrought-iron patio chair.
Then all at once, Eli couldn't see anything. Demick pushed the pillow down on his face. Eli tried to turn his head away, but he couldn't. It felt as if the man was smashing his nose in. Eli couldn't breathe. He thought he might swallow the gag. There wasn't any air coming into his lungs at all.
Suddenly, he heard a deafening crash. The pillow slipped away in time for Eli to see the patio chair toppling inside the room amid an explosion of glass.
Demick got to his feet, swiveled around, and grabbed his gun from the edge of the desk. To Eli's utter horror, he turned toward him and fired. A shot rang out.
Panic-stricken, Eli tried to roll to one side, but it was too late. He felt a sharp pain searing through his arm.
The dark-skinned man, his dad's buddy--Eli now realized that was true--picked up the patio chair again.
Demick spun around and shot the man. But the bullet didn't slow him down. The dark-haired stranger smashed the chair over his head.
Loretta and Earl's killer fell onto the floor, just missing Eli.
Gasping for air, Eli watched his dad's friend clutching at his side as he reached for the phone. Blood seeped between his fingers. "Operator, I need an ambulance right away," he said, catching his breath. He worked up a smile for Eli and nodded to him.
"You'll be okay, kid. Hang in there..."
"Hey, Chloe, I saw you on the news tonight."
Chuck, her neighbor from downstairs, was coming up from the basement with a load of laundry. Chloe had just stepped into the lobby of her apartment building. It was a three-story, old-world charmer with thirty units. Most of the neighbors knew each other.
And now most of her neighbors--along with the rest of the nation--knew that she'd been on a beach contemplating suicide night before last. Everyone also knew about her unwitting participation in a fraternity dogfight. For the interview, she hadn't said anything about having had sex with Riley, but she'd admitted that she'd been interested in the son of a bitch. Compared to Derrick De Santo's pregnant girlfriend and his rich, airhead wife, Chloe came out as the one least-duped. The way Sydney Jordan had put the segment together, Chloe felt she'd emerged as a hero, and the It's a Wonderful Life spin on her story gave her a newfound optimism.
<
br /> Still, Chloe knew there would be some backlash--mainly people treating her like a mental outpatient. But she'd gotten past the worst of it. She'd warned her mother yesterday about what she'd revealed in the interview. Her mom had called about a half-hour ago, right after the broadcast. "I guess it wasn't so bad," she'd finally concluded. "But you'll start seeing a therapist soon, won't you, honey?"
Chloe had watched the news in a bar, and had been both happy and oddly disappointed that nobody in the place recognized her as the woman up on the TV. She'd had a Cosmopolitan by herself and toasted herself.
It sure beat being dead.
She worked up a smile for Chuck, a sweet, slightly nerdy guy with glasses and receding brown hair. For a while, Chloe had entertained the notion he might like her, but there was no spark.
"So--did I come across as a pathetic loser or a major psycho?" she asked, leaning against the mailboxes.
"None of the above," Chuck replied. "I really like the way you were so honest. And c'mon, you're a hero. I think you did great."
"Well, thank you," she grinned. She got her mail out of the mailbox--mostly bills. "I hope you'll tell everyone else in the building the same thing when they're talking about that nutcase, Chloe, in 307."
She started up the stairs.
Lugging his laundry basket, Chuck followed her. "I think they're just happy all those reporters stopped hanging around outside the building this morning," he said. "Then again, maybe they all haven't gone. I saw some guy lingering around earlier tonight. Hey, by the way, I Tivo'd the broadcast. Want me to save it for you?"
Chloe paused on the second-floor landing. "Well, thanks, Chuck," she smiled. "But Sydney Jordan gave me my own DVD copy."
"I'm saving it anyway," he said. Then he started down the hallway. "Take care, Chloe!"
"You, too!" she called to him. Then she continued up to the third floor.
Stepping into her apartment, she flicked the hallway light switch. But nothing happened. In the darkness, Chloe hesitated before moving into the living room and switching on the lamp. She saw her computer monitor's fish-tank screen saver was on. She almost always turned off the monitor before stepping out. Something wasn't right.
Chloe wondered about that man Chuck had seen lingering outside the building. And she remembered Sydney's warning about stalkers.
Warily, she checked the kitchen and tried the back door. It wasn't locked. She'd locked up before leaving earlier--she was almost certain. Yet it didn't look as if the lock had been tampered with. Chloe opened the door and glanced out at the back stairs: no one. Leaving the door open a crack, she went to investigate the rest of the apartment. She peeked into the hall closet, then headed toward her darkened bedroom.
She stopped dead. Chloe thought she saw something move in there. Maybe it was just her own approaching shadow. She hesitated for a moment, and thought about running downstairs and getting Chuck.
All at once, a figure emerged from the darkness in her bedroom. Chloe saw the outline of a man.
She started to scream.
The man lunged at her, pinned her against the wall, and covered her mouth with his gloved hand. "Don't let out another sound or I'll fucking kill you," he growled.
Trembling, Chloe eyed the gun in his other hand.
He pressed his face against hers. He was wearing a ski mask, but she still felt his warm breath swirling in her ear.
"Strip for me," he whispered.
Sydney's flight was delayed. She waited in the boarding area with her laptop plugged in. She was checking the various news coverage of this morning's sniper attack at the El station. Everyone was still calling it a gang-related incident.
She thought about the Bitch-Sydney envelope with the El pass inside it. The killer had broken his pattern this time. He'd given her his clue before going after his prey. She wondered why he'd done that.
They finally announced that boarding would soon begin.
Sydney was about to switch off her computer when she noticed a new e-mail from [email protected]. The subject heading was "Good-bye."
She clicked on the e-mail, and the standard caution came up about not opening the e-mail if she didn't know the sender. Sydney figured she knew Chloe pretty well now, so she opened it. A cartoon figure popped up on the screen. It was a little girl looking like a Kewpie Doll. She sported a red bikini and stood knee-deep in wavy water. A cartoon sun was smiling down on her. Then the waves started to rise until only the Kewpie Doll's eyes and the top of her head were above the water. Sydney gazed at the e-mail subject again: Good-bye.
"Oh, my God," she whispered. "Chloe's next. He's going to drown her..."
"Please...please...just take whatever you want and leave me alone," Chloe whispered.
Trembling, she stood naked in the empty tub. She tried to cover herself. He kept looking at her, up and down. And all she could see of him were his eyes through the two holes in his ski mask.
In his gloved hand, he held a gun to her head. "Get down on your knees," he growled.
Chloe obeyed him.
"Turn on the water," he said, crouching down so they stayed at eye level. "You're going to fill up the tub. Make it a comfortable temperature, Chloe. No need for it to be as cold as that lake water the other night."
Kneeling in the tub, she stopped covering her breasts for a moment so she could turn on the water. She heard him chuckle behind the mask. He gently grazed one of her nipples with the tip of his gun.
"Cut that out, asshole!" she growled, tears in her eyes. She covered her breasts again.
She heard him snicker, "Huh, feisty." He stood up straight. Keeping the gun trained on her, the man backed away to the toilet, then lowered the lid and sat down. "Do you know six hundred and ninety-one people drowned in bathtubs last year?" he asked. "Of course, a lot of them were infants and toddlers. But adults drown in bathtubs, too."
The lukewarm water was now up past the backs of Chloe's legs.
"Sometimes people slip, hit their head, and drown--in only two feet of water," he continued. "It's a lot like that woman on the beach. She got hit on the head and nearly drowned in Lake Michigan. But you rescued her. You know, if you hadn't saved her, I wouldn't be here with you right now. Are you still glad you played hero, Chloe?"
Past the sound of the tub filling, Chloe heard the phone ring in the living room. The man obviously heard it, too.
"That--that's probably my neighbor downstairs," she said. "He knows I'm up here. If I don't answer, he'll figure out something's wrong. He'll be knocking on the door next."
"Shut the fuck up," he hissed. "Turn off the water."
The pipes let out a squeak as she turned off the water. She could hear the answering machine click on: "Hello, this isn't really Chloe, but an amazingly lifelike recording of my voice. Leave a message and the real me will call you back."
The beep sounded. "Chloe? Chloe, it's Sydney, are you there? Please, pick up. It's urgent. I'm going to keep talking until you pick up. I just tried your cell, and there wasn't an answer there either. Listen, I think you're in danger. I'm calling the police next. Someone just sent me an e-mail on your account. It--it's thirty-five minutes old. I think he might have broken into your apartment and sent it from there..." She hesitated, and then the tone of her voice suddenly changed. "I...I'm now talking to the man who sent me that e-mail. Are you still there? I want to talk to you. Do you have the guts to talk to me? Why--"
The beep sounded again, cutting her off. "End of message," announced a recorded voice.
Wide-eyed, Chloe stared at the man in the ski mask. She continued to cover herself. "Who are you?" she asked.
"Turn the water back on," he said.
But Chloe didn't move.
Finally, he stood up and turned on the water. All of a sudden, his hand shot out at her and he grabbed Chloe by the hair, almost snapping her head back. He brought his covered face close to hers. "I can smell the alcohol on your breath. They'll say you were drunk..."
"No, wait!" she shriek
ed. "Please, no!" Her screams echoed off the tiled walls.
Still holding onto her scalp, he slammed her head against the faucet.
Dazed, Chloe slumped into the water. It started to turn pink from the gaping wound on her forehead. He continued to hold her by the hair, and pushed her down toward the water.
The dunking revived her. Chloe struggled, clawing at his face, trying to scratch at his eyes. She pulled his mask halfway off, blinding him.
Then she heard Chuck's voice calling out: "Chloe? Your back door's open! I heard a scream. Chloe, are you okay?"
The man in the ski mask hesitated, pulled his mask up over his eyes, and glanced toward the front hall. He let go of Chloe's wet hair, shoved her against the tiled wall, and then scrambled to his feet.
Chloe heard her neighbor running down the corridor. "Chuck!" she screamed. "Watch out, he's got a gun!"
Still trying to adjust his mask, the stranger barreled down the hallway.
"Hold it!" she heard Chuck yell.
There was a clamor, and then footsteps--racing toward the back door.
"This is the final boarding call for Flight 59 to Seattle," they announced over the speaker.
"Are you sure she's okay, honey?" Sydney asked. Clutching the phone to her ear, Sydney glanced over toward the boarding gate, where a few stragglers were still checking in.
"I just got off the phone with a cop who was at the scene," Joe told her. "They took Chloe to the hospital in an ambulance. It looks like she'll need some stitches in her forehead. Otherwise, she'll be okay, they assured me of that. The good news is that both Chloe and her neighbor got a halfway decent look at the guy. That's a start." Joe paused. "Did they just announce the last call a minute ago?"
"Yes," Sydney said.
"Then you better skedaddle," he said. "I'll try to find out more--and get a description of the guy. See you tomorrow in Seattle. Take care, sweetheart."
The man in seat 17A was one of very few people still awake on the darkened plane. But he kept his overhead light off. He liked sitting there in the shadows, planning.
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