by Gord Rollo
He listened for a minute to make sure the coast was clear before starting his move toward the ivy lattice. He hadn’t gone more than three steps when a huge animal descended on him from out of nowhere. He barely managed to dive back out the gate and slam it shut in time to avoid being torn to pieces. Tom was convinced the vicious monster had actually sat back and allowed him to enter before stalking and pouncing in a deadly methodical silence.
Last time he’d been lucky as hell. If Maxwell ever got hold of him, the game would be over. The savage guard dog would tear him to shreds. Even if he did survive, he would have a hell of a time explaining to the police why he was there. When they took his black mask off and got a look at his face, the shit would really hit the fan. Tom wasn’t sure which was worse. If he had to make a choice, he would probably prefer to die than be exposed. Exposure and ridicule were his greatest fear. Coincidentally, that same fear of exposure was something the urges thrived on.
Propelled by this strange mixture of fear and excitement, Tom carefully edged along the side of the house until he came to the picket fence. By standing on his tiptoes, he could gaze over the dull wooden points and view the entire darkened yard. Maxwell was lying on his side near his doghouse. His dark coloring and the shadows made it difficult to tell if the mutt was sleeping. It could be just fooling him again, like last time. He watched the large dog for several long minutes before deciding to take a chance. It was a risk, but at this late hour it was one he felt comfortable taking.
The still-unlocked gate lay ten feet to his left but he didn’t dare use it. It had to have been those creaking hinges that alerted Maxwell on his previous visit. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake. This time he would climb the ivy trellis on his side of the fence. He could reach the second floor, then scuttle sideways round the corner of the house to her bedroom window. Even if Maxwell spotted him, he’d be far enough up the trellis the dog wouldn’t be able to reach him. He would also have enough time to reverse his steps, drop back over the fence, and make good his escape, should the overgrown mutt decide to start barking and alert the neighborhood.
Both hands would be required to scale the wall, so he quietly set his flashlight down on the cool, damp grass and took a few deep breaths to clear his head. Quietly, he started his climb, stepping gently as if vials of nitroglycerin were strapped to his shoes.
It was taking the Stranger much longer than he’d anticipated to find what he was looking for. He’d snuck around the neighborhood, peering into windows and backyards, but nobody seemed to have what he was seeking.
“Good things come to those who wait,” he chuckled to himself as he moved away from yet another unsuccessful house search.
Normally, he would have been furious by now, seething with rage at all this time-wasting, but tonight he was unusually calm. The magic trunk had eased his concerns and given him a direction and a sense of purpose. No longer was he lashing out blindly, hell-bent on revenge. Now he had a plan. It might take him a little longer, but the exquisite promise of what the future held for Wilson Kemp would be well worth the wait. Smiling happily, the tall, dark Stranger moved farther along Chestnut Avenue toward the next house.
It took an incredible amount of concentration and patience but eventually Tom found himself with his ski mask pressed to the cool glass of Jackie’s window. It had taken longer than he’d imagined, but the effort was worthwhile. He’d actually made it.
A quick check over his shoulder confirmed Maxwell was still sprawled out asleep on the ground below, a comforting thought that allowed him to concentrate on the job at hand.
The moon had wrestled free of the sporadic cloud cover, illuminating the teacher’s bedroom. Through the spotlessly clean windowpane, Tom could easily make out her heavenly shape lying diagonally across the double bed that occupied the far corner of the room. He’d missed her getting undressed and ready for bed, but thankfully the temperature inside must have been quite hot, forcing Jackie to kick off her sheets and give the pervert what he’d been hoping to see.
Jackie was lying on top of the bed dressed in a thin short-sleeved pink silk nightgown; her large dark nipples were hard, straining against the tight fabric, threatening to burst free at any moment. While she slept, the silk nightie had somehow managed to creep up around her slender waist, an alluring hint of white panties visible and on display for Tom below. He began to salivate with desire as he focused even lower, on the longest, most scintillating pair of legs he’d ever seen. Her beauty was truly striking. Nearly naked she looked exactly like he’d imagined. So much sweeter than the old bag he’d spied on earlier.
A magazine was curled in her hand as if she were still reading, but he knew by experience her slow and easy respiration indicated she was fast asleep. He wished he had brought his flashlight; he loved to see his victim’s reaction as the blinding light jarred them awake.
Hell with the flashlight. What if I tried to open the window and have a real good look? Or a feel?
A delicious fantasy began to form in the deepest, darkest pit of his twisted mind, a fantasy that began with him towering over her slumbering body, a wet rag soaked with chloroform ready in his sweaty clenched hand. Once she was out cold, he could do anything to her he wanted.
Anything!
His cock began to harden for the second time that night, throbbing within his tight pants, demanding to be released, and just as Tom’s depraved mind seriously contemplated testing the window lock and acting out his dark desires, a noise on the ground to his right broke his wicked train of thought.
His gut feeling told him it had to be the dog, awake and coming for him. The noise hadn’t come from that area of the yard though, so it couldn’t be. There, he heard it again, and this time he recognized the noise for what it was—the unmistakable squeaking of the gate hinges.
Tom watched nervously as a tall, dark figure walked into Jackie’s backyard. His worst fears of being caught and exposed to the public began to race through his mind, causing his heart to pound. This sudden anxiety almost toppled him from his lofty perch. He was preparing to make a jump for it, but hesitated for some reason, compelled to pause and take a closer look at this intruder. The tall man was very thin, but moved with an air of heavy confidence, which made Tom believe he was stronger than he looked.
Strong and wiry…that’s what he is. Dangerous!
The intruder was dressed in black. His full-length woolen overcoat covered most of what appeared to be a well-used pair of cowboy boots. His face was shrouded with a scraggly-looking beard, which concealed but couldn’t quite cover his deathly pallid features. His eyes were the darkest Tom had ever seen, invisible really, sunk into gaunt cheeks as if they had been torn out, leaving two holes. Tom instinctively knew they weren’t the eyes of a concerned neighbor or a policeman; they were the cold, vacant eyes of a criminal.
It only took Tom a few more seconds to realize this man was a burglar. He had to be. Who else would be sneaking around dressed in black at this unearthly hour? He couldn’t believe this was happening. What were the chances of a burglar and a Peeping Tom hitting the same house, on the same night, at the same time? The odds must be staggering. The irony of the situation almost caused Tom to laugh out loud, but he bit his tongue and remained silent. The would-be burglar had not spotted him and Tom wasn’t about to call him over for a powwow. There was no telling how this guy might react and violence wasn’t one of Tom’s best attributes. He was a lover, not a fighter.
The dark figure came to a sudden stop about ten feet inside the gate. Tom glanced back to see if Maxwell had realized he had a visitor. The alert black killing machine had more than noticed, already stealthily closing the distance on its unsuspecting prey. Oh shit, Tom thought. This is going to get messy.
Tom glanced into Jackie’s window but quickly turned away. The voluptuous redhead was prime ogling meat for sure, but the real action was taking place in the backyard battlefield below and he didn’t want to miss a single moment of it.
Maxwell had mana
ged to maneuver within striking range now and incredibly, the burglar was still unaware of the deadly shadow silently creeping toward him. The man just stood there, unmoving, apparently staring into the night sky, his hands tucked inside the pockets of his coat. Tom considered shouting out a warning but bit his tongue and watched, riveted to the scene and anticipating yet dreading what surely would happen next. If the tall man didn’t turn and get out of there right now, he was a dead man.
Silently, Maxwell moved in for the kill.
The need for subterfuge gone now, a horrifying snarl shattered the stillness as the terror of Chestnut Avenue lunged forward with teeth bared. Tom briefly considered averting his eyes, but he was enjoying himself too much. Eagerly he awaited the ensuing bloodbath, totally unprepared for the startling surprise about to transpire.
While the huge Lab was in midair, almost as if he’d known the dog had been there all along, the dark-clothed man spun around and locked his hands around Maxwell’s thick, hairy neck. Even from his distant, high viewpoint, Tom could hear the neck bones snapping under the burglar’s viselike grip. Within seconds, the once-vicious guard dog had ceased its whimpering, its body had gone limp, and it hung lifeless from the tall man’s powerful hands.
Tom couldn’t believe it. Maxwell had been a damn big dog. The strength required to crush its neck so easily would have to be incredible. He was shocked and scared by what he’d seen, but smart enough to stay quiet. This was one mean son of a bitch. He pressed against the brick wall, trying his best to disappear into the lush ivy.
Thankfully, Maxwell’s killer started walking toward the rear of the yard, away from the house. The dog lay unceremoniously in a broken heap, casually discarded like some piece of trash. The killer stopped at the doghouse to retrieve two brightly colored leashes that had been hooked to a nearby fence post.
What’s he going to do with dog leashes? Tom wondered, his fear and confusion growing by the minute. His curiosity piqued, he watched the mysterious visitor jam the white leash into his pocket and stroll nonchalantly back to the canine carcass. He clipped the red leash onto the unfortunate animal’s collar and indifferently walked away, dragging the dead dog behind. Maxwell grotesquely bounced along, its tongue sticking out its mouth, swollen and drooling a trail of blood onto the dark green grass.
What the hell is going on? Tom asked himself up on his perch. Why take the dead dog? Where’s he going with it? Christ! Looks like he’s taking the damn thing for a walk but that’s insane.
The killer stopped at the gate, cocking his head a little to the left as if he was listening to something. Tom’s heart skipped a beat on seeing the man turn. His pallid face tilted slowly until he was staring directly up at Tom. Tom shrank into the ivy and the shadow of the overhanging eave. He might have been spotted but he wasn’t quite sure. For one brief horrible moment, their eyes had met and locked. The temperature seemed to drop suddenly, sending a shiver down Tom’s spine.
Please don’t let him see me.
Tom was sure he was going to die. This unknown madman was about to walk over, haul him off the trellis, and wrap his powerful fingers around his neck, just like he’d done to Maxwell.
The killer took a step toward him before coming to an inexplicable stop. A cruel smile permeated his ghostly face followed by a hideous guttural laugh. Tom didn’t share the dark man’s sense of humor and was very close to a bowel movement. He’d never been this scared in his life.
For some reason known only to the sadist, he changed direction and departed through the squeaky gate, dragging the dead dog in his wake. Tom was too petrified to move. He couldn’t believe the man had left. Had he really not seen him? He had to have. Didn’t he? Who was he? How had he killed Maxwell so easily? And why was he taking the dead dog with him? Questions, questions, questions, but no answers. The only person with the answers had just left.
It was probably a stupid thing to do, but Tom wanted to know what was going on. He was terrified, but his curiosity was driving him crazy. He decided to creep down and quietly follow the man. Without thinking of the consequences, he quickly climbed down from the window ledge, the luscious Ms. Sullivan all but forgotten. He ran to the open gate and cautiously peered around the fence post in time to see the tip of Maxwell’s limp black tail disappearing around a bush at the front of the house.
Dragging the carcass would certainly slow the lunatic down a bit, so trailing him shouldn’t be too difficult. As long as he stayed out of sight, everything would be okay. Tom’s bravado started to weaken when he went to retrieve his flashlight where he had left it on the grass. He was troubled to find it gone.
Or maybe not. In his desire to scale the wall, he hadn’t really paid much attention to where he’d set it down. Maybe he’d placed it somewhere else? Yeah, that might be it. His frightened mind was ready to grasp at any explanation, rather than concede the killer had taken it. That would mean he had been spotted and could be walking into a trap. An image of Maxwell’s unfortunate encounter began to replay in his mind.
On wobbly legs and not accustomed to feeling the effects of fear, Tom shakily moved to the front of the house. The tall man and the dog were nowhere to be found. It was impossible; he couldn’t have disappeared so quickly. He didn’t have enough time. Tom checked the damp ground for some evidence of direction, but found none. It was as if man and beast had simply vanished into the night air.
Fear swelled within him as he cautiously walked into the middle of the road. He knew he shouldn’t expose himself, but he was too scared to go near any of the trees and bushes that lined each side of the street. Perhaps the dog killer was lurking there, ready to pounce at any second.
His paranoia led to full-fledged panic. Soon he was running hell-bent for leather through the town streets, heading blindly for home. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him. He was the Peeping Tom, the king, the powerful black panther, the man in control. He was the giver of fear, not the receiver. He was too strong and confident to fear anyone. Fear was supposed to be an attribute of his weaker personality, not him. He couldn’t help it though, couldn’t stop running, no matter how hard he tried.
He worried the urges in his head wouldn’t let him go home again, but not once did they bang their drums, not even when he crashed through his back door and crumbled in a quivering heap on the hall floor. It was strange, but perhaps the urges also felt threatened by the evil presence he’d witnessed this night. Maybe they were just as scared of the disappearing man as he was?
SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20
STRAIGHT FROM THE
SKELETON’S MOUTH…
CHAPTER NINE
SAVIOR IN THE BOTTOM OF A BOTTLE
Wilson paced back and forth, pausing occasionally to rub the toes of his already gleaming dress shoes against the back of his pant leg. It was the appointed meeting time, but there was still no sign of his wife and daughter. He was agitated as a plump chicken being introduced to Colonel Sanders and fought the urge to turn and flee.
His nervousness had nothing to do with his wife being late. In fact, he inwardly hoped Susan might not show at all, but that was highly unlikely. He was quite sure she’d be here soon.
“But will she be able to tell I’ve been drinking?” he muttered under his alcohol-tinged breath.
He’d desperately tried to stay away from the booze, knowing how important this morning was, but eventually his frazzled nerves had gotten the better of him. He took some small comfort in the knowledge he wasn’t drunk—nowhere near. By sheer willpower he’d found the inner strength to limit himself to a few quick shots, and as pathetic as it sounded, he actually felt quite proud.
Would Susan feel the same? Would she notice the effort he’d made? Would she give him the benefit of the doubt? Would she realize how difficult it had been for him to work up the courage to face their old friends and neighbors, or would she sniff his breath and simply pass judgment again?
The silver Honda pulled to the curb as Kemp performed one more shoe-shine on his pants before his f
amily joined him. The tension temporarily vanished as Amanda dashed ahead of her mother and sprang into his open arms. She was cute as a button in her finest white dress, her hair tied in ponytails with bright red ribbons. Wilson hugged and kissed her, taking full advantage of the moment before reluctantly setting her down.
Two thoughts occurred to him as he straightened up to face Susan. His first was how beautiful she looked in a dazzling green dress that almost matched her eyes. He was about to compliment her when a second thought raced through his conscience.
She knows…my God she knows I’ve been drinking.
She stood there looking him over. In his mind, he had pictured her screaming at him in disgust, then storming back to the car with Amanda, leaving him standing on the sidewalk, hopelessly and deservedly alone.
Silently praying this wouldn’t happen, he held his breath, worked up some courage, and asked, “Well…do I look okay?”
Susan took a minute. Wilson was right; she did know he’d been drinking, she just wasn’t sure what to do about it. It hadn’t been his breath. She saw it in his eyes. Wilson had never been able to keep a secret from her, and she’d easily spotted the guilt in his eyes the moment she stepped out of the car.
Anger started to boil within her, but then she noticed the effort he’d put into trying to look nice for her. He was wearing a slightly baggy gray suit and red tie that she remembered buying him years ago. It fitted better back then, of course. Still, he looked very handsome. He’d also shaved and put on English Leather, her favorite cologne. She looked him over once more, then stared directly into his eyes. His puppy-dog eyes would tell her everything she needed to know.
