Weakest Lynx

by Fiona Quinn

  I slipped the cream-colored envelope into my robe pocket and moved up to my doorway, away from the gore.

  Dave stood beside me on the porch, punching the number for Headquarters into his phone, his hand clamped on my shoulder as I swayed. The crime-lab folks showed up; one of them puked in the bushes. I didn’t blame him; it seemed like the right response. I almost joined him. I was sucking air. As the techs took pictures, Dave went inside with me to open the letter. I pulled on latex gloves this time. I had been careful to touch only the corner when I retrieved it. I didn’t think the guy would suddenly get stupid and leave prints, but why take chances?

  “He got me, Dave.” I shifted my focus away from the paper, my face was wet with tears. “He’s stabbed me through the soul. I know this poem. Stalker only changed a few words. The real poem I learned by heart. It’s ‘To Flush My Dog’ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”

  Dave took the page from my hand, his lips moving as he read it over.

  “God. It reminds me of Spyder’s dogs, so gentle next to my mom on the last day of her life. I brought them in from the Millers’ farm because Mom wanted them with her. She loved this poem. Could he know?”

  A sob escaped, though I tried hard to dam it back. My emotions swung wildly out of control, overpowering me. “Could he be so …” I flailed around searching for the right word, “intimate with me that he knew about this poem, and the dogs, and my mom’s death? Oh, my God! How is this possible? I don’t want this to be. I don’t want monsters here in the neighborhood.” Shock had protected me for a short time. But now that I was thawing, I more fully realized the pain that filled me full. I slid down the wall, burying my head behind my knees as if becoming smaller would make my emotions smaller, containable.

  Dave sat still. Watching me. Giving me the space I needed—and I appreciated the distance. I think if he tried to placate me, I’d turn into a howling mess. I jerked myself up, stumbled to my little half bath, blew my nose, and splashed cold water on my eyes. I glowered in the mirror. Damn him!

  I had to get hold of myself. I went into the kitchen and spooned some grounds into the percolator. Something normal, habitual, and sane.

  A knock sounded at the door. Dave opened the screen to the crime lab officers. They took in my swollen face.

  “I have a fresh pot of coffee, may I offer you some?” I hiccuped—yeah, it was too hard to conjure up a believable fluffy-bunny mask, so I dropped the charade. Here I was in all my red, raccoon-eyed, angst-filled glory. Deal.

  “Yes, please, ma’am,” they said in unison.

  From the window, I watched the remains being removed for lab work. Dave patted my shoulder and went out to hose everything down before the neighborhood came to life. I plopped down at the table with the lab techs, who drank their coffees in silence. When Dave strode in and took a seat, they excused themselves and left.

  “Dave, I think I should move.” Misery colored my words. My muscles ached. My heart ached. I was willing to tap out; I just wanted this to end. And end now. I never felt defeated this way before. The mere act of sitting sucked at the last of my emotional strength. I had no more energy to give to this man. I wanted to be who I used to be. Capable. Invincible, even.

  “What are you talking about? Why would you even consider leaving?” Dave’s voice dragged my focus back to him. I pushed my damp hair out of my face and blew my nose loudly into a paper napkin.

  “I’m endangering the neighborhood. The kids! I need to leave.”

  “And go where?”

  I shrugged, something made me want to keep my plan a secret.

  Dave eyes narrowed to slits. “He’d follow you.”

  “Even so, I should be someplace away from here and everyone.”

  “You’re always gonna be near someone. Someone could always be impacted by this nutcase.”

  “I don’t know what to do. Dave, what should I do?” This morning’s events left me dazed. I couldn’t seem to bring myself around to make my mind sharp enough for cogent thought. Two freaking days in a row. A new record for inner torment.

  “Stay here in your house, where you’re safest. You have excellent security here. People who love you—who are watching out—around you. I think that your stalker might be trying to flush you out. That was the name you said, right?”

  “Yeah, ‘To Flush My Dog.’”

  “What if that’s what he wants? Maybe you’re too protected here, so he wants you somewhere he can get to you easier. Did you check the cameras yet?”

  “Big-ass guy. Head down. Hoody up. Gloves. Boots. Opened a black plastic trash bag. Twenty seconds of not much information. I’ll copy it for forensics.”

  Knuckles wrapped at the glass storm door. Justin. I signaled him in.

  “Hey, I didn’t want to interrupt while the police were here. Jeezus! You look like hell. Were you hurt?” He strode through the living room to where I sat.

  “No. Not hurt. Coffee?”

  He looked over at the pot where I pointed then back at me, hands on his hips. “So, what was that about? Why the hell were there animal guts on your porch?” He slid onto a chair.

  Dave leaned forward. “What we’re telling everyone, especially Sarah, is that it had been hit by a car, and had come to Lexi’s porch and died. That’s the official story, got it?”

  “Yeah—I’m not sure anyone’s going to buy it what with the lab truck out front and all the cops swarming around. And it wasn’t a whole body.”

  “We’ll take a swing at it. Trust me, people will believe what they want to believe. Try to put some conviction behind your eyes when you tell people, hear?”

  Justin sat with his hands spread wide on the table pushing down like he was going to launch himself. “Got it—so that’s the official story. Now what’s the unofficial story?”

  Dave looked over at me; we held eye contact for a moment, and I gave him a slight nod.

  “Lexi has a stalker who’s been leaving her bizarre notes and little gifts since around the time she moved in. This is absolutely privileged information and goes no further than this room. You understand?”

  Justin nodded his agreement, and sat with that for a while. “I could move in.” He leaned forward looking at me with serious eyes. “Your house has more security than mine. I could move in to the guest bedroom until this gets resolved or Angel gets back. If you were my wife, I wouldn’t want you here alone. I wouldn’t mind another guy in the house adding, you know, presence.”

  “Justin, that’s so kind. I love that you offered. And I might even take you up on that from time to time if the girls are off at training. Right now, I think I can trust Beetle and Bella’s instincts. They were certainly making enough racket earlier. And … I have a plan.”

  Justin nodded. He didn’t look too pleased. I knew his male instincts wanted him to be front and center to shield me from danger, and here I was not allowing it.

  I walked Justin to the door and accepted his supportive hug. Yup. He had my back, but that was small recompense for what I was going through. I slogged back to the table and sat next to Dave.

  “A plan?” His expression was flinty. “Good. Let’s hear it.”

  I held his gaze, trying to make up my mind whether to tell him or not. Finally, I said, “I’m moving down with Abuela Rosa in Puerto Rico.”

  Dave looked stunned.

  “I think Stalker would follow me anywhere I would go in America.” I shifted the cups around on the table. “But I don’t think he’d follow me to another country. I’m not going to shut up my house or anything. I’m not even going to pack a bag. I’ll just load the girls into the car one day and drive away. Park downtown. Take a taxi to the airport and disappear.”

  “And the house?”

  I shrugged. My house was so far down my priority list right now. “Manny can work over here without me. I’ll figure out some way to finish up his place—maybe hire someone to take over my part—there’s not too much more. And when Angel gets back from Afghanistan, I’ll tell him what’s
been going on, get a strategy together.”

  “You haven’t told him?”

  I shook my head. “He doesn’t tell me about his missions, either.”

  “Can you give me a time frame?”

  “Soon. I’m not telling Abuela Rosa why I want to move down with her, and there are some logistical issues on her end. Health things and she’s moving. But she’s thrilled to have me come. It won’t be long. Maybe a few weeks.” I raked my hands through my hair then pulled the elastic band off my wrist so I could put the strands up in a ponytail and off my too-hot face. “I’ll text you once I’m heading out. Something cryptic but it will contain her name and Angel’s so you know it’s legit and that I’m safe. I won’t disappear … that is to say, if I suddenly disappear, it’s not the planned trip.”

  Dave’s face was a storm of emotions held back behind tight lips. “We’ll miss you,” he finally said. “But I’m glad you’re going. I think today puts this freak show into a new category of crazy.”

  I nodded. Numb.

  Yup. Where I laid my head was a whole lot less important than that it was attached and still functioning. I needed to get out of here.

  Fourteen

  The nights had turned brisk and came a little earlier each day. I finished up my dinner, and already the sun hung low in the sky, a bright tangerine orb. I walked outside and leaned against the craggy trunk of the oak, taking in the squawk and call of the geese heading south. South, where I meant to be weeks ago. Even though October had always been my favorite month, I hadn’t planned to be in DC to see it this year. By now I should have been far away enjoying the ocean, Angel’s family, and safety.

  I bent down and scratched Bella’s ears. Things hadn’t worked out as quickly as I hoped they would. Issue after issue popped up for Abuela Rosa; sometimes I believed the gods themselves were conspiring against me. I had UPSed boxes of warm-weather clothes down to her weeks ago. My photo albums and my parents’ journals—the only things of real value to me—were stored in the bank security box. A few more days, I mused. Monday, and I’d be gone. Thank God.

  Dave meandered toward me, holding Cathy’s hand. “You needed to talk to me?” he asked.

  The streetlight above me blinked awake. “Yeah, I got another special delivery today.” My voice sounded hollow.

  Dave’s body tensed. “A letter. Anything else?”

  “Nope.” This was Stalker’s first contact with me since the To Flush My Dog fiasco. The valleys of time between poems put me on edge as much as finding a new envelope. The unknown hyped my anxieties.

  Dave patted Cathy on the shoulder. “I’ll be right home. Do you mind?” Cathy gave me a squeeze and walked down the road.

  In my kitchen, I picked up the letter laying on the table. “I found this on my door when I got back from errands.”

  “Your door? He walked up under the cameras?” Dave’s eyes blazed triumphantly.

  “Don’t get excited. There’s no footage. He sprayed Silly String on the lenses,” I said. My whole body felt sore and exhausted like I’d just finished a marathon—but without any of the satisfaction, so I guess that was a bad simile. Okay, like I’d just had the shit beaten out of me, and I was left in a ditch to recover my senses.

  Dave moved to my porch to take a look. I followed behind.

  “I went ahead and opened the poem. Nothing new. It’s curious that no visual aids showed up with this one. It actually has me worried.” I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Dave, I think he’s done playing.” Would he wait until Monday—when I had my plane ticket for Abuela Rosa’s? Maybe he figured out my plans. How was that possible? I had arranged everything through a fake e-mail address on the library computers. How could that be traced?

  I checked in with Miriam. Updated her and asked if she picked up anything else for me to work with, any clue at all. She got nothing new. Same level of crazy. Same joy in the gamesmanship.

  But this sounded … A shiver raked down my spine.

  Farewell to Love

  Since there’s no help, to come to your aid, let us kiss and part;

  Nay, I am done, you get no more of me;

  And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,

  That thus so cleanly I myself can free;

  Now, at your last gasp of love’s last breath,

  When your pulse failing, passion speechless lies,

  When faith is kneeling by your bed of death,

  And innocence is closing up your eyes,

  From life to death Thou shall not recover.

  “You playing at StarLight tonight?”

  “From nine to ten fifteen. Why don’t you get a baby sitter and bring Cathy up? I’ll buy you guys a drink.”

  “And then I can make sure you get home safely?”

  “Yes, please. I don’t want any surprises. I think if I have someone around, or the pups, I’d be safe. Only a couple more days, and then …” I stared hard at him, passing the information with my eyes—I’d be gone.

  Dave nodded his understanding. “I hear you.” He squeezed my arm. “I’ll show up for your last set and walk you home.”

  I stretched up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, Dave.”

  My girls and I headed toward Maryland. I tried to figure out how to take them with me to Puerto Rico. Logistically, it was complicated, especially since Abuela Rosa’s apartment had an animal-free policy. I thought Beetle and Bella would be happy living with the Millers, again. This wouldn’t be forever, I kept reminding myself. Just until Angel got home, and we got a plan together. Less than four months with any luck.

  I meant to take them up tomorrow, stay the night, and drive to the airport from Maryland. But Mr. Miller had asked if he could use my girls in a demo for a security firm. I couldn’t say no since he was doing me such a huge favor. It was only one extra night—Justin could sleep at my place like he’d offered. If not, I’d go over to Dave’s. I wouldn’t be alone. It would be fine. I chewed the inside of my cheek.

  “Should I stay with you?” I looked back at Beetle and Bella. They lifted their heads and then dropped them noncommittally. “I did promise Justin I’d cook for him tonight. He’s having a house full of people for the game.” I reached back to rub Bella’s head.

  I’d wing it. See how I felt as I went. What if Stalker had more hands to play? And this was really just one more letter in my ever-growing pile of letters. Twenty-six freaking letters. It had been eight months of this, after all. Maybe he was growing bored and was offering me his final good-bye. Wishful thinking, and I knew it. Every cell in my body crowded and bumped around, getting ready for the fight of my life.

  Monday. Forty-eight short hours. This would all be over. I blew out a huff of air.

  Over at Justin’s, his friends piled up in the living room. Good thing I had made major amounts of food. I tried to relax and settle in, but I couldn’t keep still. I was a distraction—was getting on people’s nerves.

  Dave moved toward me with a bowl full of chili. “This is good stuff, Baby Girl,” he said. His tone was light, but he had his detective face on, scrutinizing me. “You okay?” he asked under his breath.

  “Not really.” I pulled my shirt away from my chest, fluffing air over my heated skin. “I’m claustrophobic. Probably anxious about my next step. I think being in a room full of people is making my nerves worse.”

  “What do you want to do?” he asked, setting his food on the counter.

  “Honestly? I need to go home and try to relax.”

  “You think that’s a good idea? Being alone over there?”

  “I’ll have the alarm on. You’re close enough to hear it if there is a problem. Justin said he’d come over after everyone left. The game’s almost over.”

  Justin ambled over as Dave and I grabbed our coats. “You’re going home?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you when you’re done here,” I said.

  Justin pulled on his coat and walked out the door with us, across the street, and up to my porch. Dave scanned the area. So did I.r />
  “Are you okay being alone here right now?” Justin asked nervously, picking up on the stress Dave and I exuded. “You’re sure you don’t want to hang out and watch the rest of the game?”

  “Thanks. It should be fine. I have some schoolwork to get done.” And all those people were plucking at my last nerve. I needed to be still and calm, so I could focus. I wanted silence, so I could hear. My nerves sizzled and snapped. My breathing was shallow and irregular.

  “You’re sure?” Justin asked, again.

  I pulled my gun from its holster.

  Justin jumped back. “Jeezus!”

  Nodding at Dave, I opened my door, went in, and reactivated the alarm.

  Inside, I picked up my Springfield 9mm; it was heavier—I’d have a better shot if I needed it. My Ruger nestled back in my belly holster. I went through the house and checked my security. Clear. Locked up tight. Absolute silence. Everything as it should have been.

  Panic will kill you, Lexicon. It makes you unable in mind and body, Spyder’s whispered mantra tickled the far edge of my awareness. I needed to get hold of my nerves. Stress was making me nauseous, and I decided to take a hot shower to calm myself down.

  I undressed in the bathroom. Lifting the hamper lid, my peripheral vision caught a dark face reflected in the mirror. I gasped, my brain processing like a camera with an open shutter. Click. Tribal tattoos. Click. Gas mask. Click. Sink on right. Click. White cloth. Click. Sweet odor. Click. No alarm. Click. No help.

  While my mind snapped perceptions, my body acted from training. I lowered my hips to drop my weight for better balance and leverage. My left leg swung behind his. I bent my knee in a swift, sharp move as I reached over my head, grasping his shirt to put him on the floor.