“Naw… No way,” she whispered, dismissing the idea with a quick shake of her head. If the police or FBI were onto her, they sure as hell wouldn’t resort to break-ins; they’d come knocking on the front door and then politely present her with a warrant for her arrest before slapping the handcuffs on her wrists.
“Ahh, to hell with it,” she whispered as she eased the door shut behind her. She twisted the doorknob, giving it a few strong pulls to make sure the lock still held and then, satisfied, picked up her groceries and walked into the kitchen. She was still feeling tense so before she put away the few things she had bought, she sat down at the kitchen table, sighing heavily as she leaned forward and rested her head in her hands.
It had been one hell of a morning!
After seeing Krissy off to school, she had gone straight to the principal’s office and talked to Mrs. Castine about yesterday’s incident. Although she had tried not to say or do anything that would send up a red flag for Mrs. Castine, she had let her know in no uncertain terms just how upset she had been that the school officials would have allowed a little girl to wander away from the school unobserved.
“What if she had been kidnapped or hurt?” Cindy had asked Mrs. Castine repeatedly, cringing inwardly and hoping it didn’t show every time she said the word kidnapped. “What if she had gotten lost, trying to find her way home, and something had happened to her?”
What if—? What if—? Nothing had happened, but she knew she could drive herself crazy thinking about all the what-ifs.
She realized that she was laying a lot of her own fears and anxieties onto Mrs. Castine, but she couldn’t help it. What had happened to Krissy yesterday threatened her on a deep, subconscious level. She had finally left the principal’s office after agreeing that she would come to the classroom every day to pick up Krissy, rather than wait for her out in the car. Cindy didn’t like that idea because it seemed to set Krissy apart from the rest of the kids, drawing more attention to her, but anything was better than going through the kind of panic she had experienced yesterday when, for nearly half an hour, she hadn’t been able to find her.
“Goddamn it all,” she whispered, staring blankly at the kitchen wall and shaking her head.
Sighing again, she got up slowly and began unpacking the bag of groceries. She lined everything up on the counter before starting to put things away. She carried the gallon jug of milk over to the refrigerator, swearing softly when she opened the refrigerator door and the light didn’t come on. When she knelt down to place the jug on the bottom shelf, her hand bumped against the shelf above it, and the shelf came down like a guillotine, banging hard against her wrist. She hadn’t let go of the milk jug’s handle yet, and as she jerked back with a cry of pain, she pulled the jug forward. It slipped from her grasp and, spinning around, hit the floor with a loud thump. The plastic cap popped off, and a fan tail of milk shot out across the floor, splattering across Cindy’s thigh.
“Shit!” she shouted.
She quickly righted the milk jug, but it was already too late; a comma-shaped splash of milk covered the floor and her left leg was saturated. Muttering angry curses, she grabbed some paper towels from the sink and wiped up the mess. Then she recapped the milk jug, which was now almost half empty, and, after making sure the refrigerator shelf above it was secure, carefully replaced the jug on the bottom shelf. She’d worry about checking out the burned-out light bulb later, she told herself as she headed down the hallway to her bedroom to get some clean clothes. She walked into the back room where the washer and dryer were, peeled off her pants, and sputtering more curses, tossed them into the washing machine.
3
Jesus Christ, I couldn’t have planned this any better if I had wanted to, Alex thought, snickering softly as he crouched inside the closet in the laundry room. There was a damp aroma of mildew in the close darkness that almost gagged him, but he smiled as he listened to the angry sounds Cindy was making as she moved about the apartment. He almost laughed out loud when he heard her start swearing away like a pirate.
Well, well, well… you must have had a little surprise or two… sounds like you’re out in the kitchen.
He wished there was some way he could see what was going on out there, but he knew he had to lay low for now. There was that little problem of how long he would have to stay in here so she wouldn’t see him.
He cringed when he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Thin trickles of sweat ran down his sides and a sheen of perspiration formed like dew on his upper lip. He jumped involuntarily when he realized that she had entered the laundry room. He craned his head forward, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but saw only a blurred hint of motion. Through the angled slats of the closet door, something dark—it looked like a twisted pair of jeans—sailed through the air and hit the inside of the washing machine with a loud, ringing metallic sound.
No, no, don’t look in the closet, sweetheart! Don look in the fucking closet! he chanted mentally when he saw her shadow shift across the laundry room floor, coming closer. He held his breath until it hurt. After a few anxious seconds, the shadow shifted away, and he listened to her light tread as she went back up the hallway.
Tensed and listening carefully, he opened his toolbox so he could have something to use as a weapon if he needed it. His hand wrapped around the handle of one of the screwdrivers he had bought at Sears last night.
Yes-sir-ee, by Jesus, he thought, feeling a calming measure of security as he squeezed the hand grip tightly. This’ll punch a few good-sized holes in you if you find me here and I have to do something about it.
But this wasn’t the right time to get Cindy, he told himself. This wasn’t the way he intended for it to go. Hell, no— The fun was just beginning. If he could spend the next few days or weeks doing shit like this to drive her absolutely, bug-shit crazy, why—it’d be fun as hell… even a lot more fun than the rush of pleasure he’d felt when Cindy’s husband, good ole’ Harry, had opened the door to that sleazy motel room and seen him sitting there on the bed instead of his whore.
Yeah, it’s too bad I had to kill the sorry bastard, but he had it coming… Christ, did he ever!
His grip on the screwdriver was so tight it began to hurt.
Shit, yes! Good ole’ Harry had it coming almost as much as you do!
4
Cindy was still feeling upset and angry after she put on a clean pair of jeans and went back to the kitchen. She considered taking a shower, but by the time she was done putting away the groceries it was a little past eleven o’clock—almost lunchtime—so she prepared herself a light lunch. She ate only half of it before scooping the rest into the garbage.
She sat at the kitchen table and looked around the room. The lighting was muted, and every corner of the kitchen seemed dingy and drab. The environment was depressing—no doubt about it—but today for some reason, everything around her seemed threatening. She sat hunched up as though she expected something to come popping out at her any second. Her body and mind were wired with expectation, and she knew why.
She was convinced that something was wrong.
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was filled with a pervading sense of anxiety, a gnawing dread that things weren’t quite right. She knew a lot of it was her own guilt for what she had done and fear of eventually getting caught, but she also realized that what had happened to Krissy yesterday had shaken her more than it should have. She knew the healthy thing to do would be to put it all behind her, but she couldn’t. Her fears for Krissy’s and Billy’s safety left her with a cold, hollow emptiness, like a disease that was slowly eating away at her insides.
God I’ve gotta get out of here, she thought. She was filled with agitation as she stood up on shaky legs, grabbed her purse, checked for her keys, and went out the front door. Once she was in the hallway, she closed the door and checked the lock again by pushing as hard as she could against the door to see if it would snap open. It seemed secure, but that didn’t make her feel
any better. A winding nervousness was bottled up inside her, building up pressure, and she knew that it would explode out of her if she didn’t do something.
Maybe once the kids are home from school, we’ll go out and do something special… maybe eat out at a restaurant and take in a movie or something, she thought as she walked out to the car.
All morning long, and even yesterday, she had been feeling tense and tight like this. Over and over, she tried to tell herself that the kids were doing fine, and that she should probably get a part-time job to keep herself occupied while they were in school. But she couldn’t quite work up the enthusiasm for going around and applying for jobs. And anyway, although she knew that wasn’t what was bothering her, she had no idea what was.
God, I’ve got to do something to get myself out of this mood!
5
Alex heard Cindy leave by the front door, but he wanted to be positive she was gone before he came out of his hiding place, so he waited in the laundry room closet another ten or fifteen minutes after he had heard the front door slam shut before he put the screwdriver back into the toolbox and opened the closet door. He glanced into the washing machine and smiled when he saw the wet jeans. As he walked down the hall, he couldn’t resist pausing to haul back and kick at the wall. The toe of his shoe made a fist-sized hole in the wallboard.
Goddamned good! he thought, laughing a full-bodied laugh as he walked boldly out the front door. He closed the door behind him, making a point of leaving the door unlocked… just so she’d have one more thing to worry about when she got back home.
Chapter Eighteen
Paranoia
“Com’on, I’m gonna be late for school if I don’t get going,” Billy said.
There was a high whine in his voice that irritated Cindy as she looked at him, sitting across from her at the kitchen table. She stared steadily at him, her mouth set in a hard, tight line. A wash of bright sunlight poured in through the small window above the sink and glinted like white fire off the chrome, hurting her eyes.
“I don’t care if you’re late,” she said in a steady, controlled voice. She averted her head and shielded her eyes, but red flashing afterimages were cutting across her vision and she could feel the beginnings of a headache. “You can ride with me when I take Krissy to school, after we have a little talk. I need a few answers from you, young man.”
“But the guys are expecting me,” Billy said, shifting nervously, in his chair and glancing longingly over his shoulder at the doorway. He had already finished breakfast and brushed his teeth, and was sitting there with his jacket on and his backpack slung over one shoulder. Both legs were jiggling rapidly up and down as though he were running in place.
“We have to talk first,” Cindy said through clenched teeth. “There are a few things I want explained.”
Billy looked her straight in the eyes and said, “Yeah? Like what?”
Taking a deep breath, Cindy sat back in her chair and wrung her hands in her lap as her mind filled with a cascade of what she could say. She knew she had to be careful with him; being accusatory surely wasn’t the way to go. Plus, she didn’t want to upset Krissy, who was sitting silently at the other end table, apparently having a staring contest with her empty cereal bowl. For a moment, Cindy cupped her chin with one hand and ran her teeth over her forefinger.
“Well, for one thing,” she said, “I want you to admit it if you’re the practical joker who’s been messing things up around here.”
Billy stared back at her and shook his head, looking all innocence. “I haven’t done anything!”
“Well…” Cindy said, letting her voice drag a little. “I’ve been finding all sorts of things that have been screwed up. The toothpaste tube has a slice in it. Someone broke off the TV switch—”
“Hey, I didn’t do that,” Billy protested, holding up his hands and shaking his head. “It came off when I was trying to turn it on. Why would I break something like that? I was the one who wanted to play Nintendo last night.”
“How about the salt and sugar switch, then?” Cindy said, leaning forward and giving him a harsh stare in spite of the reflecting sunlight that hurt her eyes. “That was certainly no accident. Did you pick up that little practical joke at school?”
Again, Billy shook his head vigorously, then turned and looked anxiously at the door. “I didn’t do that, either. Honest,” he said.
“Well, I certainly know I didn’t do it, and I can’t believe Krissy would think up with something like that.” She glanced over at Krissy, who didn’t even bother to look up when her name was mentioned. “So as far as I can see, that pretty much leaves you.”
Cindy took another, deeper breath, fighting hard to control her rising temper.
Is it really anger, she wondered, or is it fear?
The way things had gone around here last night and again this morning, it was almost bordering on the ludicrous. Doorknobs had flown off doors; one of the couch legs had snapped the instant Krissy had jumped onto the couch; the towel rack in the kitchen had fallen off with a clang; and the hot water wouldn’t turn on in the bathroom, no matter how hard Cindy twisted the faucet. It seemed as though the warranty on practically everything had expired overnight, and the apartment was falling apart all around them.
“Well, then,” she said, still struggling to control her anger, “what about that hole in the wall, out in the hallway? Are you sure you didn’t do that, maybe last night when I sent you to your room because you were so mad that you couldn’t play Nintendo?”
Billy shrugged as though he were the innocent victim of a frame-up. “You have to believe me, Aunt Cindy, I didn’t do that… at least, not that I remember.”
“Uh-huh,” Cindy said, nodding her head suspiciously and stroking her chin. “Well, I don’t remember doing it, either, and Krissy says she didn’t do it, so tell me—who did?”
“I dunno,” Billy said. He shrugged, then sat back, slouching his shoulders, apparently giving up on the idea of meeting his friends to walk to school. “Maybe that hole’s been there ever since we moved in, and we just never noticed it before.
“Oh, you mean like the split wood in the door frame?” Cindy asked archly. The longer this discussion went on, the more it wore on her nerves. It took a great effort not to let her emotions fly wild, but again, she wondered if she wasn’t overreacting because of something else.
Billy shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, looking genuinely bewildered. “Honest to God, Aunt Cindy. I don’t know a thing about any of this stuff.”
Exasperated, Cindy slouched back in her chair and exhaled noisily as she closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Either Billy was telling the truth, or else he was one hell of a smooth pathological liar. Flaming afterimages of the reflecting sunlight still zigzagged across her vision like trailing fireworks, and behind her eyes a headache was building up like a slow-moving thunderstorm, crowding over the horizon.
“Look, if it wasn’t you, then who was it? Did you have some friends over without my knowing about it?”
Billy shook his head in firm denial.
Her next question was: If it wasn’t you or your friends, then who was it? but she kept silent as she sat and just studied Billy’s face for a few intense moments. With a deep shudder, she suddenly realized just how much Billy looked like his father, the man who, in cold blood, had murdered his wife—Cindy’s sister, and Billy and Krissy’s mother. A numbing chill knifed through her and spread up to the back of her neck. She waved her hand at the door, shooing him. Her voice almost broke when she said, “Go on. Get going. I’ll bet, if you hurry, you can catch up with your friends.”
Billy hesitated a moment.
“I said get going.”
In a flash, he was up out of the chair and running, his footsteps shaking the floor as he zipped through the living room and out the front door. He slammed the door so hard behind him that Cindy thought it was no wonder the door frame had a split in it. Sighing, she leaned back, yawning as she
stretched her arms up over her head. The headache was still gathering strength, but she smiled at Krissy.
“Well, Squirt,” she said. “What do you say we brush your hair and get going so you won’t be late for school, huh?”
She was surprised when Krissy didn’t move or say a word. Looking like a condemned victim waiting for the executioner’s axe to drop, she just sat there with her head bowed and her hands folded tightly in her lap.
“Hey, what’s the matter?”
Krissy shook her head slightly and sniffed, keeping her face averted.
“Are you feeling all right?”
Moving as stiffly as a marionette, Krissy raised her head and looked sidelong at her aunt. Her face was pale, and her thin lower lip was trembling. A distant glaze filmed her eyes as if she were about to cry. In an instant, Cindy was up out of her chair and kneeling beside the little girl, her hands resting gently, reassuringly on her shoulders.
“Hey, come on, Squirt,” Cindy said, pulling at her gently, trying to nudge her into a hug. “If there’s something the matter, you know you can tell me about it.”
“Uh-huh,” Krissy said.
“Well then…?”
“It’s just—” Her voice caught in her throat, choking her off.
Cindy waited expectantly for Krissy to say something more, but she thought she already knew what was bothering her; it was the same thing that still got to Cindy from time to time, filling her with a cold, aching sense of loneliness, loss, and dread.
She still misses her mother, Cindy thought as something cold stabbed right through her heart. And God—who can blame her?
At Cindy’s persistent urging, Krissy finally made reluctant eye contact with her. It frightened Cindy to see how closed off she looked. The only real struggle seemed to be to keep all the hurtful feelings bottled up inside her, as if she were thinking, maybe they wouldn’t hurt me if I don’t let them out.
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