“Holy shit!”
I hurriedly reach down, grab the phone and dial Icarus’s number as I run toward the bedroom window. It rings once and then twice. I bite my lower lip.
Answer, Icarus, answer! I say to myself. My heart is beating out of my chest. The killer could be heading into his apartment at this very minute. I can picture him going in the gate and coming up the stairs to his apartment. On the third ring I get even more nervous. Answer it! Icarus where are you? It has only been a matter of seconds but it seems much longer. I start to get a nervous feeling in my stomach. Answer the phone, Icarus!
“Hello,” he answers.
“Icarus get out of there now! Someone just walked by the front window, I couldn’t quite see who it was. He could be coming up the stairs by now. Get out of there now! Hurry! Hurry!”
“Ok!” he yells.
I look up at the window, but he isn’t there. Hurry, Icarus, hurry! I wonder where exactly he is in the apartment, is he close to the window? I am terrified I’m going to see the light flick on in the front room before he gets out of there. I never should have let him do this. If anything happens to him I would never forgive myself for letting him go in there. I knew this was a bad idea!
A chill goes through my entire body when I see what I dreaded: the light going on in the stranger’s front room. He’s in the apartment. Oh my God get out of there, Icarus, get out! I look up at the window and feel helpless. What should I do? I squirm and put my hand to my mouth in fear.
I see him and my heart nearly stops. The killer starts to walk up the little hall into his living room. Icarus is probably in the bedroom just a few feet away! Hurry, Icarus, hurry! Where are you? My pulse is racing. I feel like my heart is going to burst. I hear a crow squawk as it flies by above. I bite my lower lip. Icarus, where are you?
I sigh, then take a deep breath and exhale. I hate feeling so helpless. I take another deep breath and close my eyes for an instant. Where are you, Icarus? When I open my eyes there he is at the window! I feel my heart pounding as I see him climbing out. I see the stranger in the other window looking toward the bedroom. He hears something! Hurry, Icarus, hurry! My heart is pounding so fast I can hardly stand it. I am breathing fast and hard. My palms are getting sweaty.
I see him then hang by his hands out of the window— he is going to jump the one floor down rather than the way he climbed up there. That’s smart— it’s much quicker. I see him leap and it almost seems in slow motion. His shoes make a loud slap as he lands. The killer flicks on the light in his bedroom and quickly goes in. I can see his head looking in different directions. He definitely heard something.
“C’mon!” I say, but in a whisper. “Hurry! Hurry!”
Icarus runs over, ducks and climbs into the window. I quickly close it behind him and hug him. My pulse is racing so fast I can hardly breathe. I hold him tight and rub the back of his head; he is breathing hard.
“Thank God!” I say. “Oh my God, that was so close!”
“Was it him?” he asks, out of breath.
“Yes, the light just came on and I saw him walking into his living room right before you dropped out of the window! It was so close! I thought he was going to catch you— I was dying! I just had to stand here and watch. What could I do? I’m sorry I missed him at the front window earlier. I just saw a blur. I was looking at the pigeons and this crow. I only looked away for a second.”
“It’s ok, it’s not your fault and he didn’t catch me, but damn that scared me too. My heart is going a million miles an hour,” he says. “I thought to myself there are at least a dozen other people in the building it could be that you saw; I thought the odds were it probably wasn’t him, but I was still scared.”
“I know, better safe than sorry, especially when you’re dealing with a killer.”
As we look back up at his windows, he is looking out of the window that was left open. A chill whips through my body.
“Look,” I say. “Oh my God! Holy shit, that was so damn close. Too close.”
I hug Icarus again and he hugs me back.
“You crazy fucker! You scared the hell out of me! I never should have let you do that. What the hell was I thinking?”
We can see him walking around his bedroom; he knows someone was in his apartment and he’s looking around to see if anything has been stolen. But his darting looks are more than just someone who thinks they may have been robbed, they’re the frantic looks of someone who has something they don’t want found. I grab Icarus by the hand and pull him toward the bed.
“Get back away from the window,” I tell him.
The way he is looking around is very telling. It’s more than just him thinking someone broke in and tried to rob him. He knows something is up. He not only knows someone was there— he knows someone knows something.
I reach over and flick my light off. It’s quicker and less noticeable than trying to close the blinds.
He comes back to his window and looks out and around. I’ve never seen him do that before.
“That’s no ordinary look,” I tell Icarus. “That’s the look of someone who has something to hide.”
He squeezes my hand in the dark.
“I know, because you’ll never guess what I found.”
The Ring
“Something with blood on it?” I ask.
“No, but something that I’m guessing came from a dead body, and something that can definitely be traced. It’s a ring— a diamond ring.”
He opens his hand and shows me a wedding ring with a decent sized diamond.
“It’s a wedding ring. A woman’s wedding ring!”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, “you think it’s the wedding ring of the woman who was just murdered?”
“Of course, why else would he have a woman’s wedding ring? If it was in the box I might think it was a ring he was going to give someone, but this was just lying in his drawer. They said the woman who was killed was married.”
“Oh I didn’t even know that.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on the case,” Icarus says.
I can’t quite see him in the dark, but I can picture the proud look on his face. He definitely is trying to prove something to me— and I think he has. He’s not just fluff— he definitely has guts and guile.
Thargold walks out of the bedroom and the light goes out, then the other light goes out.
“It looks like he’s leaving. I wonder why he came back and is leaving again so soon?” I ask as I get up and pull down the shade and then turn on the light. “Especially since he looks like he knows someone was in his apartment. You’d think he wouldn’t just leave if he thought someone broke in. And I wonder why he came back so soon anyway.”
“Maybe he forgot something, I don’t know,” Icarus says. “Or he’s convinced himself he just left the window open. It was unlocked that’s how I got in so easy, I didn’t even have to pull out the screen like I planned. But all we have to do now is find out if the body of the woman had her wedding ring on. If she didn’t, then this has got to be her ring, and he’s the killer. I went in there for proof that he is the killer and I think that’s exactly what I got. I’m sure that’s what they’ll find out because that’s not all I found.”
“Oh my God, what?”
“Well, who keeps a saw and an axe in the bathroom closet? I mean, I know we already knew he had them, but doesn’t that seem like an odd place to keep them? Who would keep them there?”
“Someone who is constantly washing blood off of them?”
“Exactly, he must clean them in the shower. That’s probably where he cuts them up too,” Icarus says. “It’s the best place with all that blood. That Norman Bates was no dummy!”
“So Norman Bates you know? That goes even farther back than Get Smart and Agent 99.”
“Psycho is a classic. Everyone knows that movie and The Bates Motel. That movie was so good. You should write a book based on that movie, with a modern day spin.”
“That’s not a bad idea, a
modern day Psycho. Maybe that will be my next book.”
“I love it,” Icarus says. “Norman was very smart about killing that woman in the shower; he just washed the blood away when he was done. Or…his mother did.”
I laugh but it’s nervous laughter. This guy really is the killer, it’s starting to sink in. And Icarus just jumped out of his apartment right as he was getting back home. I take a deep breath.
“This is crazy,” I say. “Damn. This is blowing my mind.”
“I know,” he says, “I feel the same way. It almost seemed like a game of murder mystery at first, it was fun. Now it’s getting more real and way scarier. So do we call the police and ask them if the woman had her wedding ring on? And how do I explain having it?”
“That’s a good question. I didn’t even think of that.”
“Well think of something, you’re the writer!”
“Ok, give me a second. Maybe we could say we saw them in the window kissing and then it seemed to turn into a fight. And when they were fighting her wedding ring fell off and out the window. We can tell them we almost called the police, but didn’t and we are now sure because we heard about a married woman being murdered.”
“Her ring just fell off? And then out the window? That’s pretty far-fetched. Can’t you come up with something better than that?”
“Can you?” I ask. “I think that’s pretty good off the top of my head.”
“I guess,” he says reluctantly. “If he was grabbing her by the hand I guess it could have flown off like that, but it just doesn’t seem that likely. I don’t know if they’ll buy that story.”
I like that he doesn’t always agree with me or like everything I say. I like that he doesn’t pretend to be impressed by me when he isn’t.
“I don’t even know how we go about it,” I confess. “Do we just call 9-1-1 and say we think we have the ring of the woman who was murdered?”
“My friend Jo Ann’s brother is a cop,” he tells me. “I’ll ask her what we should do and how we go about it.”
“Oh, ok, cool.”
“I’ll call her later on my way to meet Santiago and Jaxon at Chaos— although now I’m thinking I should back out of our plans. I shouldn’t just go out clubbing tonight like nothing’s happened.”
“No, you should still go out, it’s Jaxon’s birthday. You shouldn’t miss it, he’s one of your best friends and you all planned this night out. It doesn’t do any good not to. I’m in no danger, he has no clue we know anything. All we can do is get a hold of the police and let them handle it. See what your friend Jo Ann says we should do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. There’s no reason for you to not go out.”
“Well, then you should come too,” he says.
“No, I told you I need to write a little tonight. You go have fun.”
“You need to have some fun too. You hardly ever want to go out.”
“I know,” I say. “See what a boring boyfriend I would be.”
“There’s nothing boring about you. I think it’s pretty damn sexy that you’re a published author. All my friends think it’s so cool.”
“So that’s why you want me to be your boyfriend, now I see.”
“Oh you!” he says with a smile.
Later that night before heading out he tries to get me to come with him one last time.
“It’d be more fun with you. Are you sure you don’t want to come? I feel funny leaving you here with a killer that close by.”
“Go and have a good time. I’ll be fine, it’s not like he knows that we know anything,” I tell him.
”That’s true, but I’m definitely coming back tonight, there’s no way I’m letting you sleep here alone. I should be back by midnight or so.”
I give him the side eye, knowing he never cuts his nights out that short.
“One o’clock at the latest,” he says with a big, intentionally cheesy smile that says you know I’m lying, but you don’t mind do you?
“Are you sure you’ll be back? What if you meet some hot guy?”
“I told you I’m not dating— or screwing —anyone but you. You can say we’re not exclusive all you want, but I’m not interested in anyone else.”
I have to smile. “Ok, I’ll give you a key just in case I want to go to bed before you get back.”
“I’m finally getting a key!” he says as I start to take two keys off my keyring.
I furrow my brow. “Not to keep,” I tell him. “And it’s actually two keys, the silver one is for the front gate and the bronze one is for the front door.”
“Cool, thanks. I’m getting keys! I guess it’s official!” he says playfully. “You’re the best boyfriend in the world.”
I roll my eyes, but he still gives me a kiss. I shake my head and laugh because he knows what I’m thinking and I know that’s why he said it.
“You are too much,” I say with another laugh. “I’ll probably be up anyway because I usually stay up late when I write, so have fun. Tell Jaxson and Santiago I say hi.”
“I will,” he says. He gives me a kiss and a wink and is out the door.
After he leaves, I pull up my latest work in progress on my PC but just stare at the screen. I’m too distracted and can’t write so I decide maybe a power nap will help. I toss and turn for several minutes thinking about the man in the window and the fact that we are now almost positive he is the murderer. Someone who lives thirty feet from me! Should we have already called the police? What exactly do we tell them when we do? We can’t really tell them the truth about how we got the ring. I guess we’ll know better after Icarus’s friend Jo Ann talks to her brother. I sigh and just try to clear my head so I can take a half an hour nap. It isn’t easy to fall asleep, but eventually I do.
I am in my bed, just as I was when I fell asleep. I mumble something in my sleep, toss and turn, and then sit up in my bed and look up toward his window. The light is on and I see a shadow of movement. I hear the faint sound of paper being folded. It’s an odd sound to identify, but I’m sure that’s what I heard. I look above the window and past the top of the building into the dark sky. It’s pitch black. I look back at the window and the light goes out. I look back up at the dark sky to the sound of large wings flapping but can see nothing. I imagine a large bat in my mind, but by the sound of the flapping it would be bigger than any bat in existence. I quickly close my window. I hear a bird of some kind squawking. That makes me feel a little relieved, although it would have to be a huge bird as well— maybe a raven?
I notice there is a small nightlight on near my front door. I crinkle my forehead at the sight of it. It has never been there before. Did Icarus put it there because he was worried about me? That’s so sweet. He’s making it hard for me not to fall for him. He was anxious about me being here alone and put a little nightlight in. I smile to myself at the thought of that, but then remember I was there when he headed out, he didn’t do it then and I don’t remember seeing it earlier— or ever. Where the hell did this nightlight come from? For a moment I am confused. For some reason it reminds me of spending the night at my grandmother’s as a kid. She always had nightlights in the halls and bathroom. The warm feeling that gives me quickly fades as I feel a cold chill as if a door has been opened somewhere letting in the cold night air. I squint and look toward the front door and the nightlight. It is quiet, but then I hear the front gate slam shut downstairs. The sound of footsteps getting louder as they come up the stairs makes me shudder. Is it the killer? I picture a dark shadow of a man creeping up the stairs. I pull my covers tight around me.
The footsteps get closer and closer. My heart starts to race. I’m scared and am not sure what to do. I know the door is locked so I’m thinking just be quiet and don’t make any noise. Don’t let him know you are here.
The footsteps stop for a moment just as they near the front door. I brace myself expecting him to try and break in. My eyes zoom in on the door knob, expecting him to tr
y turning it from the other side. What will I do if I see the knob turning? I should have already called the police, but I’m frozen in fear. I take a deep breath and try to keep myself calm, but my heart is thumping. I look to the door and just above the door knob I see the chain lock is off! I always chain lock the door but there it is just hanging straight down. I must have forgotten to do it after Icarus left. My heart sinks as I try to retrace exactly what I did when Icarus left. I spend most of my time by myself and am used to automatically locking the door when I come in, but did I remember after he left? Suddenly it hits me—of course I didn’t put the chain lock on, Icarus couldn’t have gotten in if I did. I hear a few more footsteps as they reach the front door. I take a deep breath. It is suddenly still and quiet. I feel like I should be running or calling the police, but I am scared stiff in my bed pulling the covers around me like a little boy with visions of the boogey man. I feel absolutely frozen in fear. I can feel tightness in my chest. My mouth feels dry.
As I breathe in and hold my breath in anticipation, I expect to hear the rattling of the door knob, but instead I hear that odd noise again, like paper rustling— being moved or folded. I peek from my covers and curiously look toward the door. What is he doing? I am startled but not scared— more puzzled —when a folded piece of paper is slid under the door. I crinkle my nose. I look over at it almost in disbelief. I sigh with relief, but at the same time am totally baffled. What the hell? The killer is leaving me a note? Why would he do that? I wonder what it says. Then it hits me. It’s a trap. He’s still there at the door, waiting for me, standing on the other side— waiting to pounce —maybe with a knife or his axe. I shudder at the thought. My mind flashes to him with a bloody axe, chopping up his victims. I see the axe rise high in the air, and then come down— a scream —and then blood splattering. The axe rises again with blood dripping from it, and then down again. Blood splatters everywhere. I then see him with a saw, starting to cut up a bloody body. I shake my head and try to wipe the images away. I look back to the note. He just wants me to come over to the door to read it so I’ll be within striking range.
Window Watcher Page 6
