Rose grabs her overnight bag, makes for the house. Her home is quiet and still. She goes to the kitchen and pours a glass of orange juice from the refrigerator, pausing to look at the family photos held with refrigerator magnets, remembering joy and happiness.
She climbs the stairs and checks in on Robbie, who has fallen asleep with a novel on his chest. Rose is delighted to see that he has been reading, and she lifts the book from his hands, places a sticky note on his page and puts it on his bedside table, turning the lamp off.
She enters the main bedroom, takes off her jacket and slings it over the back of the chair in front of her boudoir table. She freshens up in the bathroom and, after changing into a T-shirt and track pants, she paces down the cream-carpeted hallway towards Jeff’s study. She takes a look at her watch. It’s nearly one o’clock.
She pushes the dark wood door open and enters the study . . .
A black-suited man, her husband, is lying outstretched on his reclined chair. He appears to be bouncing up and down on his back, apparently in the grip of an intense sexual experience.
‘Oh . . .’ he grunts. ‘That’s it—’
He gasps and his body spasms, breath hissing from his lips.
‘Oh God . . . that’s so good.’
His body relaxes. He’s just orgasmed.
For a moment, Rose stands quite still in the doorway. Unable to move. Unable to understand. Unable to react. It’s too much.
She backs out, closing the door quietly behind her, and walks back to the bedroom.
55.
It’s the middle of the night. Rose cannot sleep. She is thirsty so she goes downstairs to the kitchen. The lights flicker on and she pulls opens the refrigerator door. She is reaching in to grab a bottle of water when she sees something at the back of the middle shelf – a woman’s severed head. Rose’s eyes focus on the horror of the woman’s mouth hanging open, eyes staring back. She recoils, dropping her water bottle on the floor.
But the head is strangely familiar. Pulling the door open wider, she takes a closer look. The head is hers.
She turns to see Jeff in the black Skin, walking towards her, smiling.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
‘What are you doing?’ he repeats.
Jeff’s suit is wriggling, like it’s made of black string worms, crawling all around him, tightening around his body as he stares at Rose. He grabs her, his gloved fingers pressing against her neck, crushing her throat. She scrabbles for her smartphone. When she reaches it, the screen is showing Koenig’s face staring back at her, laughing . . .
Rose wakes with a start, her heart racing. The first light of dawn is creeping around the edges of the drapes. She has to stand up, take several calming breaths, and eventually her heart rate returns to normal. The bed is empty beside her and the sound of running water comes from the bathroom. Fighting the feeling of revulsion, Rose gets up and heads to the kitchen to put some coffee on. She hesitates briefly, then steels herself to open the refrigerator, take out the milk and close the door.
She can’t get the image of Jeff in his Skin out of her mind. She wonders if she should have confronted him last night. Now she is not sure how to. Not with everything else that is going on in her life.
There’s clattering on the staircase as Jeff, dressed in a neat white flannel shirt and jeans, heads down the stairs with his suitcase. Rose notices it is a new piece of luggage. Presumably he needs extra room for the Skin, she thinks bitterly . . .
‘Hi, honey.’ He smiles, too easily. ‘I didn’t want to wake you when I went for the shower.’
Rose shrugs. ‘I was awake anyway.’
‘Oh? You must have got in late last night . . .’
They stare at each other for a moment. This is the chance to say something to him, Rose realises. Yet she can’t bring herself to. She’s not ready. So she lies.
‘I saw the light in your study. Guessed you were working late. So I went straight to bed.’
Jeff nods slowly. ‘I see.’
Rose gestures towards the coffee jug. ‘Want some?’
‘No time. I’m heading off to Redding to prep for the next debate. Should be back on the weekend.’
Rose nods. She wants to say something but can’t find the right words. Jeff pops two of his migraine tablets in his mouth, washes them down with a quick glass of water from the kitchen.
‘Headache?’
‘It’s fine, thank you.’ He kisses her lightly on the forehead.
They stare at each other again until Rose says, ‘Happy Halloween.’
‘Yeah . . . Look, let’s do something at the weekend. Spend some family time together.’
‘That’d be nice.’
‘All right then. Until then.’ With that he leaves. Rose notices he doesn’t say where he will be staying, and she is certain that he has taken that damned Skin with him to do God knows what in. She feels he has torn out a bit of her heart. She sits on a kitchen stool for an hour or so in silence, fighting back tears.
Robbie shuffles into the kitchen, helping himself to a stacked bowl of cereal.
‘Not at school today?’
‘No, got some free periods, to study.’
‘What are you doing for Halloween? You want to keep your mom company?’
‘I’m not doing much. We could watch a movie, maybe?’
‘Sure, sounds good. You can choose. Just not too much gore, please.’
A point in the Mom column for a change, Rose thinks. Robbie shuffles back to his bedroom. Rose calls her therapist, Katherine.
‘Good morning, Rose. How are you?’
‘Been better.’
There’s a pause before Katherine responds. ‘I had a feeling we hadn’t seen the last of each other. What can I do for you?’
‘Listen, I don’t suppose you’ve had a cancellation? Or can see me for ten minutes? It’s about Jeff.’
‘Actually, yes, I have. I can see you at . . . say, ten thirty this morning? Any good?’
‘Yes, thank you. See you then.’
Rose takes her usual seat and explains what happened with Jeff. Katherine sits in her chair, listening carefully, before responding.
‘What your husband is doing is not uncommon.’
Rose raises her eyebrows.
‘I can’t discuss any of my other clients, but let’s say he’s not alone. Many men – and women – are struggling with some sort of online addiction: sex, gambling, video games.’
‘Why?’
‘Plato once said that “everything that deceives may be said to enchant”. The digital world enchants the reward-seeking centres of the brain. Do you know if he uses porn regularly?’
‘Yes.’
‘The normal, healthy stuff – if you can call it that?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘And other times?’
‘Stuff I don’t like. Stuff he asked me to play out with him a while back. I said no, and he hasn’t talked about it since.’
‘But he continues to look at that stuff?’
‘I guess.’
‘I see.’ Katherine makes a few notes on her pad before looking up. ‘I’d be happy to talk to him, but you must understand that any addiction can be tough to conquer.’
‘Why?’ Rose asks. ‘Can’t you just stop going online?’
‘Sure, but it’s everywhere. It’s easily accessible within seconds. It’s peering at us through our phones, waiting to grant our every desire, ad infinitum.’
‘But I don’t understand why he’s doing it. We have sex often enough . . . As often as we can, at least, given how busy our lives are.’
‘Do you think that Jeff may be frustrated?’
‘It’s possible,’ Rose admits. ‘I’m involved in a tough case right now. I don�
�t have much time for my family.’
‘And you feel guilty about it?’
‘Of course, what woman wouldn’t? That’s how things are. We’re raised to feel guilty.’
‘The question is, what do we do about that, Rose?’
‘What can I do?’
‘Try to talk to him. Discuss his feelings. Tell him how it makes you feel.’
There’s an awkward silence, then Rose stands up. ‘I have to go.’
‘Our time is not up yet, Rose.’
‘I can’t talk about this any more at the moment. I really can’t.’
‘All right. We’ll leave it for now. But call me if you need to. Promise?’
‘All right.’ Rose thanks her for her time and leaves.
Katherine stares after her client with a sympathetic expression. Her desktop computer has been switched on the whole time. Neither woman has seen the activity on the screen. And now Rose’s personal files open in quick succession. Then the hard disk light flickers and a message flashes on the screen:
Copying complete
A moment later the home screen appears, the mouse cursor hovering motionlessly over the last program icon Katherine has accessed, as if nothing had happened.
56.
It’s the evening of Hallows’ Eve. Rose has not heard from Scarlet for a few days, so she taps out a brief text.
Hey, Scar, you out with ghosts and goblins tonight? ;-) xx
Robbie has chosen some remake of a Japanese horror movie and presses play on the console. Barely ten minutes after the obligatory opening murder, ding! A reply arrives from Scarlet.
Ha, no. I got me a date with a cute guy . . .
Rose shakes her head, types:
Who goes out for a date on Halloween? Where did you meet this one?
Online. He’s being a real gentleman. Picking me up in 20.
Rose feels a slight twinge of concern.
Be careful. Have fun . . . xx
Robbie unpauses the movie. After a few minutes, Rose can smell a faint burning plastic smell.
‘Robbie, can you smell that?’
‘Yeah . . .’
Rose heads towards the kitchen. There’s a trail of thin grey smoke rising from the new cordless coffee machine Jeff has bought.
‘Oh!’ she cries, grabbing the device and hurrying to the door to put it outside. She throws open the kitchen windows to let the smoke clear, covering her mouth.
‘Another one of Dad’s new purchases?’
‘Yeah. It’s one of those Wi-Fi ones.’
‘Really? Can you open the bay windows for me?’ Rose says. She knows how vulnerable devices can be if they are Wi-Fi enabled. She takes a look at the central heating thermostat. In the space of a few minutes, it has gone up to the highest setting.
‘What the hell is going on?’ she asks.
But in her gut a fear grows. Is it possible her house and appliances are being hacked? Is this Koenig’s doing? There’s a clicking and whirring from the family printer in the corner of the living room. Sheets of blank paper are churning out.
‘Mom, why’s everything going screwy?’ Robbie asks.
‘Nothing, just a technical glitch. I need to make some calls. You carry on with the movie.’
Rose grabs her smartphone, paces down the corridor, heart racing. She wants to grab her Glock, but knows this will frighten Robbie.
Ding. She receives a picture message: a screenshot of her email account.
Ding. A screenshot of her Facebook account.
Ding. A Street View image of the house.
Ding. A video message from Robbie’s phone.
The clip shows Robbie checking his phone, a moment ago.
Rose’s stomach twists. Whoever it is, they’re in everything she has.
Pop-ping
A message on her smartphone from Unknown simply reads:
I am EVERYWHERE.
Rose’s house phone rings. She paces towards it, seeing it’s a number from the Bureau.
‘Rose Blake.’
‘Rose, it’s Brenn.’
‘Brenn, hey, what’s going on?’ Rose is relieved.
‘I was just picking through Koenig’s laptop – you know, the one we first found in the cabin? While I was doing it, there was a big hack attack on our servers.’
‘Shit, really? Did we lose anything?’
‘It’s too early to assess all the damage. But Koenig’s laptop was online – I was checking through some of his files and mirror sites. The biggest worry is that the FBI database here has been compromised. Guess the trick was on us. A lot of personal files have been accessed. Difficult to say whose at the moment, but just thought I’d give you the heads up. Our office is not secure. Whoever it was has some serious skills. And it’s not our new boy – just checked his keylog. Samer’s clean. It could be Koenig. Everything OK your end?’
Rose turns, paces back into the living room, looks at the sheets pouring out of the printer.
‘We were just watching a movie and then things in the house started glitching.’
‘Shit. You’re OK, right?’
The printer stops its deluge. The room becomes cool, and Rose watches the thermostat dial down to a lower setting.
‘Yeah, it seems to have stopped now.’
‘The more connected you are, the more vulnerable you are. I’d disconnect everything Wi-Fi enabled, to be on the safe side. I’ll let Baptiste know you were hacked. Be safe.’
‘Thanks, Brenn. How come you’re working?’
‘I’ve got so much to do at Cyber it’s unreal. Later, Rose.’
Rose pulls all the plugs out of the sockets of her Wi-Fi-enabled appliances: laptop, printer, dishwasher. She rejoins Robbie on the sofa.
‘It’s OK, just someone playing a big joke. Carry on with the movie.’
Fifteen minutes pass, and Rose is trying to watch the movie, but all the time in the back of her mind is an endlessly repeating question:
What do I do?
Then the doorbell chimes. Rose pauses the movie.
‘Trick or treaters,’ Robbie sighs. ‘I’ll get the snacks.’
Rose feels a sixth sense tingling at the base of her neck and shakes her head. ‘Robbie, go and make us some popcorn, please. Right now.’
Robbie obeys, retreating into the kitchen. Rose hurries into the hall and takes out her Glock. She peers out the living room window. There’s a yellow HappyFlowers van parked outside. She tries to look at the porch. She can’t clearly see beneath the HappyFlowers baseball cap to help identify her visitor, but there is definitely a man standing on her porch.
Gripping her Glock tightly, she approaches the door. She takes a look through the spyhole. Through the curved lens she sees a Hispanic man in the bright yellow HappyFlowers uniform. He does not look like Koenig, but given the fish-eye distortion of the lens it is hard to be sure. She steels herself. Working the slide, she puts a finger by the trigger and rests her thumb on the safety. The doorbell rings again.
‘You gonna get that, Mom?’ Robbie calls from the kitchen, and she can hear the kernels of popcorn begin to crackle in the microwave.
‘Should I get the door, Mom?’
‘No! Stay in the kitchen.’ Rose moves round to the side of the door and, holding the Glock in her right hand, reaches for the brass catch and gives it a turn before wrenching the door open.
57.
Rose steps forward, aiming the barrel of the Glock into the delivery man’s face. His eyes widen in terror and he flinches, almost dropping the pot of flowers in his spare hand as he flings his right up to try and shield himself.
‘Jesus, lady! No! Don’t shoot!’
‘Put the pot down and get on your knees. Do it!’
The delivery ma
n does as he is told.
‘Hands behind your head.’
‘OK! OK! Don’t shoot.’
‘Quiet.’ Rose crouches down and examines the delivery, keeping the man covered. There’s a small terracotta pot of red roses. The pot is shaped into a leering jack-o’-lantern. Aside from that there’s nothing sinister about it. She looks at the man. Thin, pockmarked face and a terrified expression.
‘Who sent these?’
‘D-don’t know, ma’am. The order was online. There’s a card. Under the pot. We checked it a few times, didn’t make any sense to us, but we wrote it out exactly as it was sent.’
‘What’s it say?’
‘Nothing . . . I mean just numbers.’
Rose hears the sound of a child sobbing. She sees a small group of kids at the bottom of the path leading to her front door. One of her neighbours is comforting a young boy who is crying.
‘Mommy, she’s gonna shoot us all!’
Rose lowers her gun. ‘OK, you can stand up. Slowly.’
The neighbour hustles the kids down the street. Rose suspects that they’ll be giving this house a wide berth next Halloween.
‘Can you just sign here for me?’ The delivery man stretches a hand out and Rose scribbles in the ‘Flowers Received’ form on his tablet.
He nods and hurries back to his van. Rose watches the van leave, then picks up the pot and card and closes the front door. She places the pot on the windowsill and puts the Glock on the hall table before looking at the small pink envelope. She tears it open. Inside is a white card with roses on the front. Flicking the card open, she reads the message: two long decimal numbers . . .
It’s likely to be a code of some sort. Someone is trying to get her attention, and they have succeeded.
She takes the card, locks her Glock in her safe and sits down at the dinner table.
Playing With Death Page 25
