Nick sighed and touched her hand again. "Yeah. Sorry." He put his hands in his pockets. "Well, at least this discussion kept me from thinking about other things for a while. It's almost midnight. The start of another year."
Audrey looked at her watch and rolled her eyes. "I better get going..."
"You can stay," Nick said. "That couch is wonderful and very comfortable."
"No, I couldn't."
"I meant for me. You can have the bed."
"Watching you overnight wasn't in my job description."
"The Bureau will understand. Maybe they'll even give you time and a half."
"What would the townsfolk say when they saw us together in the morning?"
"Screw 'em."
Audrey and stepped closer to him. "Okay, but I'll take the couch. No debate. You need to sleep. Deal?"
"Yeah. Fine."
"Yell if you need anything," she said, and stood on her toes to place a small kiss on his cheek.
He grinned. "Don't worry. I should sleep like a baby." He went inside, pulled some blankets and a pillow out of a hall closet. He showed her the bathroom and shower.
"And," he said, jokingly, "I'd like bacon and eggs for breakfast. Toast, hot coffee. Uhng–" he grunted as she jabbed him in the ribs, and quick as a flash, had his arm pinned behind his back.
"Let's get one more thing straight, Mr. Murphy," she whispered in his ear. "I don't cook for anyone unless A: I really, really like him, or B: I feel really, really sorry for him."
She released Nick, and as he rubbed his arm and looked at her curiously, she said, "So how do you like them, over easy or scrambled?"
Nick flexed his arm. "Scrambled. Lots of salt and pepper."
"Anything else?"
"Melt some cheese in them, if there's any in the fridge."
"That it?"
"Almost," Nick said, still smiling. "What am I? A or B?"
She winked at him, took her blankets and pillow, and walked over to the couch.
"Silence is not an appropriate answer," he called after her.
She said nothing. She settled in and turned on the television, the volume down low.
Nick headed upstairs. When he reached the top he leaned over. "I'll settle for 'all of the above'."
The laughter carried up the stairs. "Breakfast at seven!" she yelled.
Nick nearly tripped as he walked into the bedroom. Early mornings were definitely not in his best interests. She should know that. Guardian agent? Hell, she was trying to kill him.
He brushed his teeth in the upstairs bathroom. Slowly, with precision, taking his time. He was in no great hurry to get into bed, to face this most horrible of nights and whatever devious nightmares his conscience had in store for him. He scratched his chest, working at a patch of thin hair. His toes flexed on the cold tile floor as he filled a glass of water.
A moth buzzed erratically around the light above the mirror, thudding again and again into the radiant lamp.
"Silly insect," Nick said after he had rinsed his mouth. He had no doubt that tomorrow morning he would find the moth legs-up on the sink under the lamp. Didn't that just prove the total absence of any intelligent omnipotent force? What diseased mind could possibly design such a creature and give it these incredibly futile motives?
He sighed. The air felt suddenly heavier, and a hot breeze glided in through the window. The light flickered for a second and the moth fell and swooped off Nick's forehead before returning to the light.
Nick blinked and stared into the mirror.
The surface shifted and rippled, the colors of the rainbow spinning like a prism. The glass smoothed and the mirror reflected another image: a spacious bathroom, pink walls; a beautiful crystal lamp. A heart-shaped bathtub brimming with suds; two glasses sat on the edge, along with a bucket of ice and two bottles of champagne.
Oh God... Nick leaned forward to get a better look.
It was their suite – their honeymoon suite at Niagara Falls. The room on the fifth floor with the gorgeous view. It all came back to him. The room... the bed, the pillows, the sheets... Sally's perfume, her smile, her every little sensual movement. And here was their bathroom – with a bath the size of a small swimming pool. He closed his eyes and recalled the perfect bliss they had experienced, the hours they spent together in the warm tub, sipping champagne and making love over and over again....
He heard a splash, and a woman giggled.
His spine froze, and his body went numb. He couldn't turn around. Only his eyes worked, scanning the mirror. There, the bubbles parting. A leg rising out of the water, onto the porcelain. Sensual and alluring, dripping… dripping with thick clotting blood. Nick looked closely and saw that the thigh had deep lacerations, and actual chunks of flesh were hanging free. A thin hand with bruised knuckles slipped out and traced along the edge of the tub, the fingers leaving behind bloody streaks.
Another liquid sound. And then breathing. A splash, something shifting under the suds... rising, standing...
Nick choked and forced his head to turn. It's just another mental trick. Nothing behind me but the dingy old shower. Look...
He looked.
The shower curtain was torn at the upper right corner. It was almost still, only an occasional flutter with the wind. The bathroom was small and cramped. Silent. Without thinking it through, Nick extended a shaking hand, gripped the curtain, and yanked it aside, expanding the tear with his strength.
He leapt back. The tub was empty. An inch-high film of dirt ringed the bottom and a tiny spider scurried into the drain.
Relax. Get a hold of yourself.
He glanced at the mirror: the pink reflection, billowing steam–
–and two mangled, twisted arms reaching out through the haze. He turned, flung the door open, ran through and slammed it shut.
Someone called his name over a series of floundering splashes. He raced to his bedroom where he slammed the door and slumped to the ground with his back against the cool oak. He covered his face in his hands, and the sobs came uncontrollably, feelings he was used to, but hadn't suffered in five years. The visions were never this strong, not even his worst nightmares in the days and weeks after the accident.
"I'm sorry," he tried to say through the sobs. "Oh God, Sally." He dug his knuckles against his eyelids. "I'm so sorry."
Something in the bedroom shifted. It sounded like the bed creaking.
"Are you?" came her voice – familiar, sweet, loving.
Nick bit into his lip and tasted blood; shaking his head and mumbling, "No, no, no," he stared at the figure on the bed, under the blood-soaked sheets – the mangled body of his wife.
The left side of her head was caved in; her once-luscious blond hair was a crimson mop glued to the white of her partially-exposed skull. As she sat up, one eye blinked through a veil of blood. The sheet fell away, revealing a sunken chest and protruding, cracked ribs. Her heart slid down the outside of her body, still pumping and spurting fluid onto the sheets.
Her belly… torn open, guts streaming down her pelvis. She raised her arms, both twisted at gruesome angles.
"Come to bed," she said in a gurgling voice.
Nick moaned and covered his eyes.
The bed creaked again.
"Join me," said Sally.
And Nick tried to scream – a mute effort that finally cracked and split. He fumbled for the doorknob as the thing on the mattress shambled out of the sheet; it moved off the bed and onto the floor in a snake-like twisting motion.
Nick opened the door, hauled himself up, and took one step into the hallway before freezing, rooted to the floor.
A little girl stood before him.
Blond pig tails. Blue eyes above rosy dimples. She wore a turquoise dress. Her eyes were wet and puffy, as if she had been crying for a long, long time.
She blinked and looked up again. Sniffling, she stood on her toes and raised her arms, waiting to be picked up and held.
Nick gaped at her and took a step back.
The girl coughed, and fresh tears fell from her eyes.
"Daddy?" she asked, and when her arms lowered, the flesh quickly melted away, layer after layer. Her back arched, and she screamed and screamed as her skin disintegrated and her hair grew out in clumps. She fell to her knees and leaned forward. The dress hung awkwardly over the fleshless body; and her polished skull rotated until the hollow eye sockets were lined up with Nick's vision.
The jaw chattered – a sound that curdled his blood and made him forget the threat in the bedroom.
A hot breath on his neck...
A whisper in his ear. "Come to bed, Nicholas."
He screamed and flung out with both arms, making contact with nothing.
The bloody thing that resembled his wife backed away, shuffling with difficulty along the bloody trail back to the bed.
He thought he heard someone calling his name from downstairs.
"Please," Sally whispered, a lacerated arm reaching out. "I need you. I have to go to the hospital immediately." She held the bloody flaps of her torn stomach with both hands. "I think I'm ready. Don't you?"
Nick crumpled to the floor, holding his head. "No, this isn't real!"
"It's happening now, Nick," Sally begged as she reached the mattress. "Please take me. Just drive me there, that's all you have to do."
"Stop!"
"Why didn't you stop?" came the chattering voice of a young girl not more than a foot away.
The stairs creaked; heavy footsteps approaching, running. The door striking the inside wall.
"I... I tried, I didn't mean, didn't know. I–"
Someone grabbed his shoulders and roughly shook him.
"No!"
"NICK!" A different voice. Familiar, close.
"Snap out of it. It's over. You're safe."
Nick shook his head and cried. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Please," insisted the voice, reassuring and confident, gentle. "It's over. It's all in the past."
Nick took a deep breath and prepared to open his eyes – but with a sudden clamor the bed creaked and rattled, and Sally's voice split the silence like an ax.
"Take me," she whispered, and in a rising, demanding, accusing tone, repeated the command: "Take me there now!"
Nick screamed, pushed free of the arms around him and raced out into the hall. He tripped and rolled into the bathroom door. Turning, he watched helplessly as the dark, bloody figure limped out of the bedroom, its arms flailing, half its jaw hanging on by a thread, yet clattering up and down in an insane attempt at laughter.
A tiny skeletal figure in a dress clung to Sally's leg, bone wrapped around exposed bone.
Both figures reached for Nick as he sat, riveted to the floor.
The gruesome images suddenly flickered, grew insubstantial, and dissipated as another body rushed through them.
Audrey slid to a stop and knelt beside Nick. She cradled his head in her arms. "It's okay," she said in a soothing voice. "It's just me. Only Audrey." She stroked his sweat-drenched hair.
"We'll get through this night, don't worry."
Nick blinked through his tears, and watched as the blood stains on the wood floor slowly vanished. He looked up, past soft curls of sandy-brown hair.
His mind, teetering, finally leapt off the edge, and he mercifully faded away, carrying with him the vision of a green-eyed angel soothing him on his journey.
There was someone outside, prowling through the shadows, watching the house.
Audrey was sure of it. She'd heard something through Nick's window after she had dragged him into bed. She cautiously descended the stairs and crept along the wall to the kitchen. One glimpse outside the window over the sink revealed the dark figure of a man, hands at his sides, standing just beyond the driveway. He retreated behind a row of spruces, as if suddenly aware that he had been seen.
Her reaction was immediate and mechanical: she dropped to her knees and scampered below the window, switching off the kitchen light as she crawled. She ducked and rolled across the floor in front of the screen door and the porch, and lay flat when she reached the den.
Audrey grabbed the purse from on top of the sofa and quickly dug inside. Her fingers slipped around the handle of the 9mm Browning. With a deep breath she stood, and head bent, ran to the wall beside the screen door. She held the gun in both hands and quickly flicked off the safety.
A comfortable breeze drifted in through the screen, cooling her legs and bare feet. She wore only an extra large button-down nightshirt and a pair of UCLA boxers. Listening intently to the night sounds, she tried to filter out the singing of insects and the scampering of animals.
An owl fluttered its wings.
Audrey peeked outside, and saw nothing but darkness. So far she knew there was at least one potential enemy in the front; they could have the house surrounded, though. What was the best defense – hide and wait for them to try to get in? Or go out after them?
She leaned back against the wall, the hard steel of the 9mm cooling her lips and forehead.
She would wait. And listen. A couple of minutes, no more.
Nick turned over on the mattress. A light sheet covered him from the waist down. His legs kicked and got tangled in the cloth; and as he struggled, his mind gradually came back to reality.
Something nagged at the corner of his consciousness, plucking at his memory like a chicken. Something...
Tom and Frank, grinning devilishly, passing him another double-shot. Laughing as they carried him into his house.
Sally trying to lift him as he lay face down on the couch...
"Wake up, wake up..."
A silver-haired man dressed in black; except for his hands...
"Wake up, darling. I need a ride."
White gloves
"To the hospital, please."
Gloves...
"It's a girl, Nick. We're going to have a girl..."
"...hear you might not be able to attend services Sunday?"
"...but first, I just need you to drive."
Nice to meet you, Joshua. (Firm handshake.) You look a little pale – have a seat.
"Daddy?"
"Daddy!"
Nick flailed on the bed. He forced his eyes to open. A faint light entered the bedroom through the open door, giving enough illumination to make out a shape standing beside the bed. Throwing off the final lingering of unconsciousness, he bolted into a sitting position–
–and looked into the enormous blue eyes of a young girl.
"Daddy?" she said, hugging a stuffed animal. Nick saw it was a teddy bear that was missing an eye and a leg. White cotton stuffing hung from the wounds like eviscerated guts.
Nick backed away, kicking free of the sheet.
"Please," he whispered, holding his head. "Leave me alone."
"Daddy," the little girl said again, and cocked her head to one side. Her golden pig tails bobbed in the air. "What's my name?"
Nick buried his face in the pillow.
"My name, Daddy. I don't even have a name."
The edge of the bed moved, the legs creaked, supporting a new weight.
"Why don't I have a name?"
Nick looked up, and through watery eyes, stared at the girl crawling toward him across the mattress. She paused when she came within two feet of his knees.
Nick cleared his throat and felt another rush of tears. In the corner of his eye he caught a blur of movement in the doorway.
"Answer her," said the grating voice, mockingly familiar to Sally's. Nick looked at the hunched shape silhouetted in the door frame. She was bent sideways, arms hanging to her knees. She shuffled forward, making a liquid sound with each movement, every step.
Nick looked back to the child and saw she had reverted to her skeletal appearance. A toothless jaw opened and shut rhythmically, mimicking chewing motions.
"Answer her," Sally commanded, shambling closer.
Three minutes passed. Audrey had to decide: which way to go outside. She was a sitting duck if she went out the
front door. The back wasn't much better, but if she could make it over the rail she could find cover under the porch. As long as no one was under there already...
Her fingers reached for the edge of the door.
That was when she heard someone fumble with the front doorknob, trying to turn it silently.
Audrey knew it was locked and dead bolted. She quickly pictured the exterior and calculated that she could reach the front before the intruder either broke in or fled.
She threw open the door, ducked and rolled onto the wood porch. She aimed in both directions. Surprisingly, her vision was quite effective outside; it wasn't as dark as she would have thought, being in the heart of a forest. Streaks of moonlight filtered through the leaves, painting silver patterns across the back of the house and reflecting off the barrel of her gun.
Sensing the backyard was empty, she raced down the steps and around the left side of the house, pausing first at the corner to ensure the side was clear. The lawn was wet and bumpy on the soles of her feet. As she ran, carefully placing her steps, she contemplated the possibility that the prowler was working alone. In that case he was either a very efficient hitman, or a simple burglar.
In the shade of the house she edged along the side. She was breathing heavy; sweat dripped down her neck. She wasn't in such great shape, she thought. Not anymore, not like at the Academy when she ran six miles a day. The past several months locked in an office had sapped a good portion of that energy.
She held her breath and cautiously peered around the edge of the house, bringing the 9mm around to aim at the front door.
She gasped and stepped into the front yard. Holding the gun with both hands, she pointed at the front door, then at the empty walkway, and then at random areas in the darkness: behind the trees, by the fence, around the two cars. She even checked the roof.
Still in a crouch, Audrey crept along the stone wall toward the front door. She reacted to every sound, every displacement in the woods. A bead of sweat fell into her eye; she blinked it away and rubbed her forehead with her elbow. Again she scanned the yard.
Where could he have gone?
Crescent Lake Page 8
