by Rick R. Reed
Right. Sure. He pressed down on the accelerator.
* * * *
“When making the chicken breast, you can leave out the cheese on mine. Too much fat. I’ll just poach mine in a little of this Chardonnay.”
“Oh come on, Mother. This’ll be good.”
“I don’t doubt it, Beth, but as I’ve told you, I’m trying to lose weight.”
The two of them stood in the kitchen. Kate tried to get dinner together in a hurry; tonight was her art class at the Art Institute on Michigan Avenue. Life drawing. When she’d began the class in January, the nude models had shocked her, but she had made real progress; her instructor claimed that her drawings were among the best in the class. He said they were the “most expressive” anyway.
Kate wasn’t sure if she should accept the comment as a compliment or not. She enjoyed the class anyway, having had the desire to do something like this for years, but she hadn’t for fear of Ted’s disapproval.
“Oh, I get it,” Beth said. “Once the divorce is final, you want to have your girlish figure back. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Stop it, Beth.” Kate laughed and looked out the window. “Earlier today, I thought we might be able to eat outside tonight, but that looks out of the question.”
Beads of rain had begin tapping against the window.
* * * *
Later, the rain was still tapping and Beth felt drowsy. The gardening, cooking, and now the comfortable feeling of being inside while it poured outside made her eyelids heavy, and the book she was reading, Geek Love, increasingly difficult on which to concentrate. Plus, Dr. Newton had told her that fatigue was a common side effect of the stress. She leaned back on the couch, let the book rest against her chest, and closed her eyes.
Her mother would be home in an hour and full of stories about her art class, and perhaps finally have a finished drawing to show her. Beth could at least wait up for that, give her mother the recognition and attention she deserved. And then she would go to bed.
A floorboard creaked.
Beth’s weariness instantly washed away. She tensed, glancing at the mantel clock. Mother will be home in 54 minutes—not long at all.
Another creak. It sounded like it had come from the kitchen.
Another hallucination? Beth sat erect. Her heart raced, and every impulse told her to spring for the phone, punch in 911, give the dispatcher her address, and wait outside.
But the place was old, and it was raining. Couldn’t the creaking floorboards be the result of the building moving in the wind? Wood settling?
Beth got up quietly and moved to the kitchen, her footsteps muffled by her fuzzy pink socks.
She switched on the kitchen light, and found nothing unusual.
Her breathing and heart rate began to slow, heading back to normal. She would get more of Geek Love read tonight than she thought.
* * * *
Abbott watched breathlessly from the top stair leading into the basement. Beth came into view, turned on the kitchen light and looked around. He hoped she wouldn’t notice the way the basement door stood slightly ajar, just enough for his one good eye to peer through the crack to appraise his prey, to see that she had healed and had actually begun to look beautiful once more.
She switched off the light as she left the room. He leaned back into the shadows, resting against the cold brick wall, taking comfort from the cold steel of the blade in his hand.
* * * *
It took a while before Beth could settle herself onto the couch, a while before she could force some sense from the lines of type on the page. It wasn’t the creaking floorboards so much that bothered here. For months, she had struggled with those bouts of paranoia, which was completely logical. So why was she unable to put this particular episode behind her? Why couldn’t she shake the feeling that this one time it wasn’t paranoia, stress, or her imagination?
Because it felt like you were being watched.
The realization jumped out at her with all the clarity of someone coming into the room and speaking to her.
A chill scurried up her spine, tingling. Slowly, she put the book on the coffee table and glanced at the clock. Her mother would be home in forty minutes now.
Not long. Not long at all.
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to quell the chill and fear rising up within her.
If you’re so afraid, why not get out of the house. Go up to Clark Street and look around in one of the shops.
Beth stood and moved to the window. Rain smeared the glass, obscuring everything but the vague yellow rectangles of the other homes on the street.
“It’s really coming down,” she whispered to herself. Maybe it’s just the quiet that’s getting to me. Every little sound is amplified and I’m turning it into something that it isn’t.
She squatted beside the stereo, sorting through CDs, looking for something upbeat, something to chase away the quiet. The silence had become sinister, menacing, rather than peaceful.
She had just pulled out the Grace Jones Island Life CD when she heard it. Slowly, she shoved the CD back into place, listening.
This time, it wasn’t a floorboard creaking. It was a footstep.
Beth rose, all of her senses alert for another sign that she wasn’t alone. It became more difficult to hear over the sudden pounding of her heart.
The sound had come from the basement, as if someone had ascended, or descended, one of the wooden stairs.
He’s here, Beth. He’s finally come back to finish things, to settle the score.
Stop it, now. It’s raining outside, hard, and the wind’s blowing. Maybe your imagination’s changed a branch hitting the back porch into a footstep on the basement stairs.
Abbott couldn’t be here. There was a huge manhunt for him, with law enforcement in three states and the FBI looking. He’s most likely hundreds and hundreds of miles away.
He wouldn’t be stupid enough…
There. She heard it again.
Could she continue to lie to herself? It was a footstep, wasn’t it?
She took a deep breath and hurried to the rear of the house.
The kitchen looked the same as before. Beth scanned the room, passing the basement door, then came suddenly back to it.
Had the door been ajar before?
She always kept it shut; the basement was damp, and if the door wasn’t closed, an odor of mildew would spill into the kitchen.
Just like it was doing now. Maybe Mother left the door open.
Except Mother hadn’t been near the basement today.
Beth stared at the black slit where the door failed to meet the frame.
The narrow rectangle of darkness terrified her.
* * * *
Abbott groped through the shadows in the basement, searching with his eye, his hands, for the little gray metal box that would contain fuses and breaker.
It had to be there somewhere.
This dance will be so much better in the dark.
* * * *
Something wasn’t right, and Beth finally had the sense to realize it wasn’t just her imagination. She scrambled for the phone on the wall opposite. If she could just do the minimum, punch in 911 and drop the phone to the floor, it would be enough. Someone would be there quickly.
She hoped.
She neared the phone and, just as she reached for it, the house plunged into pitch-blackness. Beth screamed, dropping the receiver.
The sound of another footstep. This time, she had no doubt.
Beth screamed again. She had to stop the panic. She had to try and remain calm, to help herself. She couldn’t have escaped and come this far to let it all go now. She made herself move, trembling, through the dark. Her eyes started to adjust and she wanted to find the front door.
Another footstep almost sent her running, gibbering with horror, from the kitchen. But she forced down the fear inside herself—she’d learned a little something from her ordeal—and inched forward for the phone. At last, her hands
connected with hard plastic.
She expected the line to be dead. When it wasn’t, she breathed a quick sigh of relief, pounded in 911 and dropped the receiver. It smacked against the wall and she prayed someone would be able to find her—in time.
* * * *
The class had let out early, and Kate was glad. Now, as she headed up the outer drive, anticipation filled her.
She couldn’t wait to show Beth the drawing on the seat next to her. Done in charcoal, it depicted a woman lying on her side. One arm formed a pillow beneath her head, the other came down in a line across her body, covering part of her breasts and ending at her thighs. A stray lock of hair from the bun at the base of her neck fell across her face. Her teacher had said she’d really captured something in the drawing, a feeling of melancholy.
Kate thought it was good enough to have it matted and framed.
She hoped Beth would agree.
Wouldn’t it look lovely in the entranceway?
* * * *
“How about coming out for a beer with me? You’ve been working too hard lately.”
McGrew put down his coat, as if really considering June Comstock’s offer. Part of him really did want to take her up on the drink and an evening of good conversation he knew they would have. It would let him temporarily off the hook; the nervousness he felt about riding up to Fullerton and asking Beth out to dinner would vanish. He could save that for another time.
No. Don’t sway from your resolve. Grab at an excuse this time, and what will the excuse be next time? He might never give himself the chance to know Beth Walsh.
He grinned at his boss and shook his head. “Can’t tonight. Got plans.”
“Well, good. I’m glad to hear it. You have a wonderful time.”
“Hopefully, I will.” He shrugged into his overcoat. “Hopefully.”
* * * *
The front door had never seemed so far away. As Beth hurried through the shadows, bumping into tables and knocking things over, she could only wonder why it took so long to get there.
Her breath came in gasps. Her chest hurt. How close was he behind her?
She suddenly halted when she heard a weird sound. She knew it wasn’t her imagination. The sound was too clear, too obvious, for that.
But it didn’t make any sense.
She tried to peer into the darkness, as if an answer to her confusion lay concealed there.
Then she heard the back door open and close. Was someone entering? And if so, who? Was someone leaving? And if so, why?
She didn’t have time to ponder. The front door stood only steps away. As she drew closer, she could see the rectangle of pale light from its window. She dashed for the door, hand outstretched to grab the knob. Freedom was close enough to taste.
She would be all right. She would be all right…
Beth grabbed the cool brass knob and flung open the door.
There, in the rain, loomed Abbott, with a hideous mass of scar tissue taking the place of his missing eye.
He smiled.
* * * *
Kate exited Lake Shore Drive onto Fullerton. Home lay only moments away. For the first time in months, she felt like celebrating.
The bakery, Lindells, stood at the corner of Fullerton and Sheridan Road. It gave off a warm yellow light, and Kate saw people sitting inside at the little café, hunched over espresso and pastries.
She signaled to pull into a spot. She wouldn’t stay long, but would bring home a treat. An éclair maybe, or a Linzer torte.
Beth would be so surprised. Kate pictured the two of them at the kitchen table, drinking tea and admiring her drawing.
* * * *
It seemed like everything stopped, then went into slow motion. As Beth turned to run for the back of the house, it seemed as if she couldn’t move fast enough, as if she ran through glue.
She could only think of making it through the house, to the back, to the kitchen door. She continued to put one foot in front of the other, her mind telling her she was running, but still the feeling of every step being leaden persisted.
As she rushed through the darkness, she swore she could feel his hot, fetid breath on her neck. He would utter a small laugh, almost a giggle. She didn’t know if it was real or not, but she was almost sure she’d felt his grasp and the slide of his fingernails across her back. She shrieked.
He laughed again, just behind her, whispering, “A life for an eye. A life for an eye. It’s the Golden Rule.”
She spied a familiar whitish shape out of the corner of her eye. Almost without thinking, she snatched it from the side table and flung it at him. She missed, and the little plaster replica of Rodin’s The Kiss shattered against the wall.
* * * *
McGrew pulled to the curb in front of Beth’s house and looked up, full of hope.
But the house lay in darkness.
She wasn’t home. Relief and disappointment merged as he settled back into the upholstery. He would not go home tonight heady with the prospect of a date with Beth. On the other hand, he would not go home either with the sour taste of rejection in his mouth.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then leaned forward and popped in a CD he had just bought: Philip Glass’s Glassworks. The music acted as a balm, obliterating all the misery he saw in his work every day. Right now, a piece called “Island” had just begun and it mirrored perfectly what was going on outside: the dying rain and darkness.
McGrew upped the volume until it filled the car, then closed his eyes. He had nothing else to do tonight. Why not wait around a little and see if Beth came home?
* * * *
She would make it. She had to. The kitchen door stood within her sights. And in spite of the lethargy that had seized her limbs and her gasping breath, she would make it.
The large pane of glass in the door looked like salvation. She almost collapsed while reaching for the knob.
Yes! She had the door open. The cold, damp wind rushed in on her. Sounds of traffic rose up. She reached to push open the screen door…
And felt herself yanked backward. His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders, making her groan. He pulled her inside and kicked the door shut.
Beth screamed, praying someone would hear and come to her aid.
Why wasn’t anyone coming right now? Where were the sirens? The frantic pounding on the door?
She beat against his chest, slapping and punching at whatever she could reach. From him came only laughter, as if her blows meant nothing. He swatted away her hands, grabbing for her wrists.
His arms went around her, squeezing so tight she couldn’t move.
What could she do? She kicked at him, but it seemed it made no difference. Finally, instinct took over and Beth, like a trapped animal, went limp.
The sudden relaxation of her muscles must have startled Abbott.
He dropped her to the floor.
* * * *
“Thank you, ma’am. And be sure to come back and see us again.”
Kate took the Linzer torte from the blonde behind the counter. A warm, sweet smell rose from the white box. She turned toward the door and saw the rain had slowed.
* * * *
Beth managed to crawl almost all the way to the front door before he pounced once more. He pinned her to the hardwood, his breath hot in her ear, “Now, slut, now.”
In the gloom, she tensed as she saw the flash of silver. He lifted the knife.
And rage, like some kind of pent-up animal, uncoiled inside her.
* * * *
McGrew roused himself from the sleep he had drifted into when he heard a car pulling in to a spot across the street. He recognized Kate Donner’s green Volvo. Maybe she could tell him when Beth would be home, or at least give her a message from him.
Then the way would be paved for him. Beth would be expecting him and that would make the whole task a little easier.
He watched Kate get out of the car, carrying a white bakery box tied with twine. He couldn’t hold back a cruel thought:
just what she needs. McGrew made a “tsk” sound and exited his vehicle.
“Mrs. Donner?”
She stopped for a moment, scanning the darkness. When she spotted him, her features contorted. She looked confused, maybe even afraid.
He smiled, but it did little to diminish the fear on her face.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Donner. This is just a social call.”
She didn’t look relieved. Her gaze darted to his face, to the dark apartment, back to his face.
“Is something wrong?”
“Why is the apartment all dark?”
“I don’t know. I guess Beth went out.”
“She was staying home tonight.” Kate’s voice began to rise with hysteria. “It shouldn’t be all dark!” She almost shrieked her last words, then dropped the box and ran for the apartment.
McGrew followed her up the steps. “Maybe I should go in first.”
But it was too late. Kate pushed through the doorway, and McGrew was certain his heart stopped when he heard her wail. “No! Oh, God!”
Fearing the worst, McGrew edged past her.
A man lay on the foyer floor, his body covered with slashes, like holes into nothing, black. A pool of what looked like dark syrup in the feeble light had formed beneath him. The pool grew, even as he stared.
And then he heard a tiny quivering breath and looked up. There, in the corner, hiding in the shadows, sat Beth, her knees drawn to her chest, and whimpering. She still held a large hunting knife.
She scrambled to her feet, dropping the blade, and folding herself into her mother’s embrace.
Kate smoothed her daughter’s hair. “Shh, it’s over. It’s all over now.”
McGrew stood by, watching, and listening to the rain coming down harder once again.
* * * *
Beth clung to her mother, holding tight, trying to force the tremors pulsing through her body to stop, or at least slow. For once, she was glad her mother was big and doughy; she sank gratefully into her enfolding embrace. She wasn’t able to talk, but she was able to think…
