“Let’s find out about Eddie, then.” Rachel rose from her chair, took his hand. “Come with me.”
Chapter 61
He followed Rachel upstairs, into what appeared to be a small bedroom. Yet there was no bed: it contained only a large, emerald green yoga mat that covered the middle of the hardwood floor, a chair, and a hand-woven basket full of white candles.
One wall was almost completely given over to an eastward-facing window. The view of the beach and ocean was stunning.
“What is this room?” he asked.
“It’s where I pray and meditate,” she said. “Aunt Betty used to tell me to always pray facing the East, ‘cause God resides in the East—the other one is in the West.”
“I didn’t know you were into meditation, that kind of stuff.”
“You’re going to learn a lot about me from coming here.” She sat on the mat, pulled off her sneakers and shrugged out of her jacket. Underneath, she wore a plain white t-shirt.
A revolver was holstered on her hip. She set it aside.
“We need to talk about these guns too,” he said.
“We will. Take off your shoes and sit in front of me, legs crossed, please.”
He did as she requested. She took his hands, clasped them in her lap.
“Close your eyes,” she said. “Breathe deeply. Think about Eddie. His face, his personality, your friendship with him. All of the things that come to mind when you hear his name. Hold it all in your mind.”
He shut his eyes, and drew in deep breaths. He concentrated on his friend, summoning his face in his mind’s eye, dwelling on their twenty-year-plus friendship.
The only sounds in the room were their measured breathing, the creaking of the old house in a breeze, and the whispers of the waves.
After a few minutes, Rachel’s grip on Joshua’s hands suddenly tightened. She gasped.
“Rachel?” Joshua opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Eddie’s hurt,” she said, in a hitching voice. “Alive, but hurt bad.”
“How do you know?”
“I used your connection to him to reach out to him. When I did, I got an impression of pain . . . suffering.”
He stared at her. “You’re saying you contacted him by like . . . telepathy?”
“Sort of like that.” She hugged herself, shuddering, though the room was warm. Joshua grabbed her jacket and draped it over her shoulders, and she pulled it tight around her.
Rachel is psychic, Joshua thought, and found that the idea had always been there, the so-called elephant in the room. He’d long known that there was something unique about her, something extraordinary. How many times had her “good feelings” predicted an event that later occurred? Before Dexter had invaded their lives, he’d taken to calling her, jokingly, his good luck charm.
Good luck charm, indeed. If she hadn’t given him the gun, Dexter probably would have killed him.
“Rachel, you need to explain to me . . . how you can do these things.”
“I can’t say exactly,” she said. “It’s always been a part of me, ever since I was a little girl. Did you teach yourself your artistic talent?”
“No. I refined it with practice and education, but I’ve always had the raw talent.”
“This works the same way. For as long as I can remember, I would get dreams, visions, or strong feelings about things, and usually, they would actually happen at some point. Or I can sometimes make a mental or emotional connection with someone from a distance. I’ve never been able to bring it under total control, but meditation helps me tap into a bit of it.”
“If I hadn’t seen evidence of your gift so many times, I wouldn’t believe it,” he said. “But I have, and I do. If you hadn’t given me your gun . . .”
“Dexter would have killed you,” she said simply. “I’ve been trying to keep track of everything he’s been doing, everyone who’s in danger of him. Sometimes the knowledge comes too late to make a difference . . . like what happened to my aunt Betty. Other times, I can warn someone, and they don’t listen to me. Like Tanisha.”
“You warned her about Dexter?”
“I did, for all it was worth.” Rachel sighed. “I knew she wouldn’t listen. I can offer information on what might happen, but ultimately, people have to make their own decisions. Everyone has free will.”
“Can you see what’s going to happen to us while we’re here?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t received any clues yet, and I’ve never been able to consciously access foreknowledge about myself. It’s one of the weird things about the gift that affects a lot of people with similar talents. They can predict what will happen to everyone except themselves.”
“Maybe you can predict what will happen to me.”
“Not while your fate is directly tied to mine in this situation. I doubt it.”
“Great,” Joshua said.
“I’m not the psychic hotline, baby,” she said. “It doesn’t work like that. I’m sorry.”
“What else do you know?”
“After what we’ve found out about poor Eddie, I unfortunately know something that I don’t need to be psychic to predict.”
“Dexter is on his way here,” Joshua said.
She stared out the window behind Joshua. “There’s something . . . really weird about him, too. I’ve tried to probe at him telepathically, and I can’t get through. It’s like trying to tune in to a fuzzy radio signal. I get nothing but static.”
“I think it’s because he’s picked up a few talents of his own,” Joshua said.
“What do you mean?”
He told her about Dexter’s apparent ability to walk the earth invisible, and how he’d gotten up and left the house after sustaining three point-blank gunshots. He told her what Dexter had said: You can’t protect her from me. No one can. Not after what they’ve given me . . . the power I have . . . Comments that had seemed like the ravings of a lunatic but might actually have some validity.
As Joshua recounted his theories, screws of fear tightened her face. She picked up her gun and placed it nearer to her.
“We’re in worse trouble than I thought,” she said. “The normal Dexter is a dangerous man. The Dexter you’re describing is like some superhuman stalker in a horror movie.”
“He’s not unstoppable,” Joshua said, though he had no proof one way or the other. He had to believe Dexter could be stopped. If he believed Dexter was invincible, there would be no point of resisting him, no purpose in fighting back.
“Who gave him this power he spoke of?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t know. He could’ve only been babbling.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head adamantly. “I think we don’t know what we’re dealing with any more. I think we should leave.”
She started to get to her feet.Joshua remained sitting.
“Hold up, Rachel. Aren’t you tired of running? You ran from me, and you’ve been running from Dexter for years. Don’t you think it’s time to make a stand?”
Rachel chewed her lip, considering.
“He’ll find us anywhere we go,” Joshua said. “You know it’s true. We could flee to the ends of the earth, and this bastard would somehow manage to track us down.”
“But—“ Rachel started.
“But nothing. Listen to me: we’re not going to spend the rest of our lives running away from this man. He’s going to get here soon, and we’re going to deal with him. Together.”
He took her hand. Finally, she acquiesced, and sat again. But she attached the revolver to her hip.
“I hope you brought the gun I gave you,” she said. “We’re going to need all the firepower we can get.”
“The cops confiscated your gun since I couldn’t show them a permit for it. But don’t worry. I brought another one with me.”
“You did?”
He relished the amazement that sparkled in her eyes. He had learned much about her; now, she was learning new things about him, too.
“Of course I did. Did you think I would come here to protect my wife and child without bringing a weapon?”
“Well . . .” she said, and laughed. “I guess I was wrong.”
“Damn right you were wrong. I’ve got some other preparations in mind, too.”
“You do?” More gratifying surprise on her face.
“Yep.” He read his watch. It was a quarter past two in the afternoon. The next ferry, he recalled, would depart the mainland at four-thirty, and reach the island around five. That gave them about three hours until Dexter’s probable arrival.
“We don’t have much time,” he said. “Let’s get started.”
Chapter 62
They began in the kitchen. Joshua placed his overnight bag on the table, and unzipped it. He took out the stainless steel .357, the holster, and cartridges.
“Whoa.” Rachel gaped at the gun. “Now that’s a gun. Makes mine look like a damn peashooter. Where’d you get it from?”
“My dad.” He began to carefully insert cartridges into the chamber.
“Your dad? I thought he only cared about cars. Every time I’d see him, he’d ask if I needed an oil change.”
“Cars are his main thing. But he always kept guns in the house, too. Mom never let him bring them around me, though.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Big surprise there. Does she know he gave you this one?”
“No, but only because Dad wanted to keep it secret from her. I could care less if she knows. I’m a grown-ass man.”
Hands on her hips, Rachel eyed him curiously. “Did you cut Mama’s apron strings after I left or something?”
“You could say that. Long story short—we had words yesterday. I was respectful, but I made it clear that I wasn’t going to allow her to be in my business any more. I wasn’t going to tolerate her bad-mouthing you in my presence, either.”
“Hallelujah.” Rachel snapped her fingers and did a little happy dance beside him. “I’m proud of you, baby.”
“I should’ve done it a long time ago.” He finished loading the revolver. After double-checking that the safety was engaged, he fit the gun securely into the holster, and attached the holster to the waist of his jeans.
“What else have you got in there?” Rachel peered inside the bag.
Joshua took out four cartons of brand-new light bulbs. Each carton held two bulbs apiece, for a total of eight.
Joshua looked around, counting the windows on the first floor, and taking into account the front door, the first-floor patio door, and the balcony steps. Eight bulbs might do the job.
“What are those for?” Rachel asked. “All my lamps are fine, sweetheart.”
“It’s a poor man’s alarm system. We’ll break these and scatter the shards around the front doorway, outside the patio door, and around the balcony steps. We’ll also put some pieces inside the house, underneath the windows on the first floor.”
She was nodding. “Then if Dexter moves around any of those areas, we might not be able to see him if he does his invisibility thing—but we’ll hear him when he steps on the broken glass.”
“Exactly.”
Rachel shook her head, grinning. “Did I mess around and marry MacGyver?”
Joshua chuckled at her reference to the old TV show. “Actually, I got this trick from a spy movie. It’ll be dark outside by the time Dexter gets here, so he might not see the glass until it’s too late. We can scatter a few leaves over the shards, too, make it harder for him to spot them.”
“I like it,” she said. She glanced at the bag again. “What else do you have in your bag tricks? Do I see a bottle of liquor?”
“It’s empty.” Joshua drew out the tall, frosted vodka bottle and set it on the table. He also took out a small plastic container of motor oil, a couple of clean dish rags, a roll of duct tape, and a Bic lighter.
“What’s all that for?” she asked.
“Do you have any gasoline here?”
“There’s a can in the shed outside, for the lawn mower. Why?”
“We’re going to be mixing a drink called a Molotov cocktail—a homemade hand grenade.”
“A hand grenade? Are you serious?”
“You got it. I’m not sure bullets will stop Dexter—they didn’t stop him last time I saw him. But fire . . . well, fire should stop anything.”
* * *
Two hours later, they had completed most of their preparations. Slivers of shattered light bulbs covered the exterior and interior entry points to the house, the shards mixed with crisp, dead leaves, for further concealment. Then, Joshua had found gasoline in the shed and used a portion of it to concoct a combustible mixture in the vodka bottle, employing an oil-soaked rag as a wick and securing it to the bottle with a strip of duct tape. He fit the Molotov cocktail snugly in a knotted pillowcase that he could sling over his shoulder for easy carrying.
They had also taken all of the candles and kerosene lamps out of the cupboards and distributed them throughout the house, to be lighted as needed. The wind was picking up force, and according to Rachel, power outages on the island were commonplace. There was a back-up power generator outside the house, but it had to be manually activated. If they lost electricity within the next hour or two, Joshua wasn’t too keen on going outdoors to fool around with the generator—not when Dexter could be skulking around the property, unseen. For a time, for general lighting, the candles and lamps would have to suffice. Rachel had a couple of utility flashlights, with fresh batteries, that they would carry on their persons.
In the bathroom on the ground floor, Joshua took the final step on his self-defense list: switching his glasses for contact lenses. During his last battle with Dexter, the loss of his spectacles had rendered him almost helpless. He had no intention of letting it happen again.
“Can you come here for a sec, baby?” Rachel asked, from the kitchen. “I need your help with something.”
“I’ll be right there.” Finished inserting the lenses, he blinked at his mirror reflection. His jaw was still swollen, and his eyes were red and grainy. But he actually felt pretty good. Optimistic about their preparations, optimistic about their chances to end this, once and for all. Optimistic about resuming their lives with a fresh outlook.
The optimism was a new turn for him. From the first day he’d met Rachel, he’d been waiting for the darkness to come, bracing for a catastrophe that would tear them apart, and the worries had slowly eroded his hope. He would no longer tolerate such a negative, self-defeating attitude. They might have been teetering above a chasm that was going to snatch both of them into its depths, but he was never going to stop fighting, never stop hoping, so long as he could breathe.
“Baby?” Rachel asked again.
“Coming.”
She was at the kitchen counter with the roll of duct tape, a small paring knife, and a plank of cardboard she’d cut from a box. She’d taken off her jacket and t-shirt, and wore only a pink sports bra underneath.
Joshua tried mightily not to be aroused by the sight of her body, but the stirring in his pants betrayed him. He cleared his throat.
“What are you trying to do?”
“I want to tape this knife to my lower back.” She turned, showing him the smooth plane of her back that tapered to her narrow waist. With her fingers, she indicated the area above the swell of her derriere. “Right here.”
“Okay. Looks doable.”
“Does it?” She glanced at him over her shoulder, winked. “You want to prove that?”
He laughed. “I wish we could. But we don’t have time. In less than an hour . . .”
“Yeah, I know.” She twirled around to face him, hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him lightly on the lips. “But we’ll have plenty of time later.”
“Of all the times for us to start feeling horny, why now?”
“I think it’s because we feel so alive. I mean, I’ve hardly gotten any sleep in the past three days. I should be passed out o
n the floor. But I’m just crackling with energy.” She snapped her fingers. “Aren’t you?”
“I’m hyped, ready to roll.”
“I’m glad you talked me into staying put,” she said. “This is where we’re supposed to be, you know? Dealing with this situation, together. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.”
“I wouldn’t mind being on a beach in Hawaii.”
“Actually, me neither.” She kissed him. “You know what I mean.”
“I know, and I agree.” He glanced at her handgun, lying on the counter beside the paring knife. “I’ve been meaning to ask you: how long have you had that gun?”
“I bought both of them—the one I gave you and the one I have here—shortly after I moved to Georgia. Why?”
“You any good with it?”
“I’m a decent shot. I’ve taken lessons at a firing range.”
“Let’s hope you don’t have to use it.” Moving out of her arms, he reached for the tape, cardboard, and the knife. “Or this, either.”
“I fought him off once,” she said, iron in her voice. “I could do it again, if I had to.”
Joshua remembered the puckered scar on Dexter’s cheek, as if he’d been kissed by a pit bull in a foul mood. “You put the scar on his cheek?”
Fire blazed in her eyes. “I did that after he’d cut me and started choking me. Biting him was all I could think to do, but it did the job. I got away from him and called the police.” She picked up the blade. “But I swore that if I ever had to face him again, I was going to have more than my bare hands to protect myself.”
“I heard that.”
She turned around. “Tape this knife to the cardboard, and then fix the whole thing to the small of my back, please. It’s going to be my secret weapon.”
Joshua did as she asked. She put on her t-shirt and jacket and tested it a couple of times. To her satisfaction, she was able to tear the knife away from the cardboard backing with only a quick, forceful tug.
Joshua did a final walkthrough of the house. Everything appeared to be in place.
The Darkness To Come Page 28
