Another set of headlights appeared, smeared by fog and the wet window glass into one long misshapen fan, approaching from the direction of West Portal. The lights swept past the little hillside park where St. Francis ended, and when they turned into Monterey and came uphill toward him, he sank low on the seat again so his eye level was just above the window frame. The windshield once more became a dazzling oblong — and a moment later the beams swung sharply away, into the driveway across the street.
Rakubian.
He let out a ragged breath, caught up the Woodsman and held it on his lap. With his left hand he rubbed moisture off the side glass. Taillights burned crimson through the fog; the automatic garage door began to glide up, revealing the lighted interior in slow segments. He could hear the throaty idle of the car — a silver BMW, less than a year old, hallmark of the bugger’s success. He watched it roll inside, the driver’s door swing open as the overhead door started to come down. He had a brief glimpse of Rakubian in a dark overcoat, then the door was all the way down and he was looking at darkness again.
He sat waiting, staring at the house. He felt... okay. A little queasy, the crawling sensation more pronounced and close under the skin, but otherwise calm. His hands? Steady enough, the palms still dry.
Light bloomed behind one of the shaded front windows.
All right. No point in waiting any longer.
Get out, walk over there.
Ring the bell.
Raise the gun, and when Rakubian opens the door, shoot him. Don’t hesitate, don’t think, just shoot him.
Rid the world of a monster.
For Angela. Kenny. Cassie. Eric. Himself.
He sat there.
Do it. What’s the matter with you? Do it!
He sat there. He couldn’t move.
Could not will himself to move.
Buck fever, after you already lost your cherry. I’m ashamed of you, boy.
Now the sweat came. And the shakes, and a shortness of breath, and an awareness that he was dribbling droplets of piss like a scared old man. He cursed himself, bitterly and savagely; and when the reaction ended after a minute, two minutes, it left him feeling weak and ill. He knew he could move then. He might even be able to make it across the street and up to Rakubian’s door. But beyond that... no.
Couldn’t go through with it after all.
Not tonight. Not this way.
But it wasn’t finished; he wasn’t finished. Something had to be done about Rakubian and it was still up to him to do it. All that had changed was the time, the place, perhaps the method. Whatever steps he eventually took to protect his family, they would not be as simple or as cowardly as ringing a doorbell and squeezing a trigger.
2
Early Thursday Morning
As late as it was when he got back to Los Alegres, most of the lights in the big two-story house were on. The instant he saw that, he knew something was wrong.
He went tight on the outside, hollow on the inside. He jerked the Lexus into the driveway and left it there instead of putting it away in the garage. The Doberman, Fritz, began barking inside as soon as he ran up the stairs to the front porch. The door opened before he reached it and Cassie stood there. The wrongness was in her face, her eyes, the fact that she was still dressed, her voice when she said, “My God, where have you been? I’ve been frantic. I called your cell phone half a dozen times and kept getting an out-of-service message—”
He’d turned it off, like a damn fool. “Never mind that now. What happened? Why are all the lights on?”
“Come inside.”
“Angela? Kenny?”
“They’re all right.” She tugged at his arm. “We can’t talk out here.”
He went past her, into the empty living room. Liquor on her breath, a half-full glass of Irish whiskey on the table beside her chair — she almost never drank anything alcoholic this late. The dog was still making a racket; she must have locked it in the kitchen or on the back porch. He turned to face her again.
“Tell me what happened.”
“He was here again. Rakubian.”
“Here? At the house?”
“No, in town, McLear Park. Angela took Kenny down there before supper for a few minutes. I tried to talk her out of it, but she thought it’d be all right with Fritz along. He showed up there. He must have been lurking somewhere in the neighborhood and seen her leave the house.”
“Goddamn it! What happened to the neighborhood watch?”
“I don’t know. People not home yet, not paying attention...”
“He didn’t try to force them into his car again?”
“No. Kept his distance because of the dog. She said he was calm this time, didn’t raise his voice.”
“What’d he say to her?”
“He came right out with it, Jack. Said he’d kill her if she didn’t go back to him. Her, Kenny, anybody who tried to stop him, and then himself.”
Hollis ground his teeth, hard enough to bring a flash of pain along his jaw. “You or she call the police?”
“No. I wanted to — it’s a clear violation of the restraining order, we could’ve had him arrested again. But she said it would only provoke him, make him worse.”
“She’s probably right.”
“How could he get any worse?” Cassie said. “He’s totally irrational. He wouldn’t be openly violating the TRO and making outright threats if he wasn’t.”
“I know that. I know.”
“God, I feel so helpless.”
“So do I,” he lied. He crossed to the wet bar, poured a double shot of Bushmills, and drank it in one long swallow. It went down like fire, but it might have been water for all the effect it had on him.
Cassie came over beside him. “There’s more,” she said. “He followed them back here, parked down the street for almost an hour. Then he drove away and we thought he was gone, but a while later he was back. He drove by the house a few times, parked, left and came back again — twice more.”
Down there in the city waiting for him, and all the while he was up here playing his sick games. I should’ve known this is where he was, should’ve called to find out. Stupid. Stupid!
“Jack?”
“... Yes. What else?”
“He kept calling up,” Cassie said. “Six or seven times. I know we decided not to talk to him anymore after last night, but I was so upset the first time I lost it and picked up and screamed at him. I don’t even remember what I said. He told me to calm down. Can you believe that?”
“What else did he say?”
“The same garbage. All the threats thinly veiled again, to me and in the other calls I let go on the machine.”
“He knows we’re taping his calls. At least he’s still rational enough not to want a record of his death threats.”
“That’s no consolation.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Where’s Angela?”
“She was pretty upset after the park incident. I made her lie down in her room with Kenny. Last time I looked in, they were both asleep.”
“Good.”
“She’s not strong enough to stand up to this kind of madness indefinitely. None of us are. What’re we going to do?”
Round and round, round and round. He shook his head. “I can’t think right now. That dog... quiet him down, will you, before he wakes up half the neighborhood.”
Cassie nodded and went away. She was much better with the Doberman than he was; Fritz was well trained but trusted her more than anybody else. Her veterinary training. Animals responded to her instinctively. He swung around to pour another drink; felt his stomach quiver and changed his mind. At the back of the house, the barking stopped. Pretty soon Cassie returned.