I jerked with a quick start as the music suddenly returned, blaring through the cab of the truck. I reached over and turned the volume down, then took a drag from my cigarette, and propped my hand up on the steering wheel.
The lane dividing line flashed by in my headlights, flickering in on-again/off-again reflective stripes. I continued to stare out the windshield, over the top of the steering wheel, and through the rippling column of smoke that was rising from my burning cigarette. Eventually, reflex drove me to bring my hand toward my face for yet another puff, and my vision was suddenly replaced by a Technicolor flash of memory.
A lit cigarette smokes in his free hand as the other pumps faster between his legs. I concentrate on the glowing coal, not wanting to witness his self-stimulation. I watch him raise the cigarette to take a puff and notice that it is positioned between his middle fingers.
Curious.
I’ve never seen anyone hold a cigarette like that before.
As the bloom of color faded, I jerked the wheel quickly to the left in order to correct for my inattentive drifting, which was just about to cause me to run off the road at the Hampton exit. When I’d settled the vehicle back into the lane and swallowed my heart back down into my chest, I stole another glance at my hand. There between my middle fingers rested the smoldering cigarette.
No wonder I was so screwed up. I wasn’t channeling the victims; I was channeling the rapist. I had been all along.
I started to reach for my cell phone in order to call Ben but stopped mid stretch. There was nothing he could do with the information at this point in time, so why bother him. Besides, I’d be home soon. I’d pick up Felicity and we’d head over to his house for dinner; therefore, I could tell him in person.
I glanced at the clock on the dash and saw that it was now a quarter after six. It had taken longer to get myself together and get out of police headquarters than I’d expected. The last stop for the “Santa Brigade” was merely a donation check drop-off at a food bank less than a mile from our house. Make the presentation, a few quick pictures, and they would be out of there, so Felicity was most likely already home by now.
My biggest concern at this point was figuring out how to pack an overnight bag for the two of us without her asking why.
This was going to be a tough one.
It was 6:25 when I turned my truck into the driveway of our Briarwood home. I slowly urged the vehicle toward the garage at the back of the house, fully prepared to stop and open the gate that normally barred the path but found it was already propped open. I continued forward through the opening and canted the steering wheel to the left. The motion from making the turn around the corner of the deck triggered the outdoor sentry, and floodlights snapped on to light the landscape. Felicity’s Jeep was already parked in the garage.
My suspicions about timing had been dead on, and I still had no idea how I was going to get the overnight bag past her. The only resolution I had come upon was to forget the bag altogether. I was going to have to come back to the house tomorrow anyway, that much was a foregone conclusion. For one thing, there was a house full of animals that needed to be taken care of, and even with Ben’s promise of seeing to it, Felicity or I should be involved in the process, and it might as well be me.
I sat there thinking about it for a moment. We could easily set up extra food and water for the cats. The truth was, they would probably enjoy having the run of the place for a while. However, the dogs were going to require quite a bit more attention. Either they would have to go with us, or we would need to board them somewhere. Depending on how long this all took, that could get expensive, unless one of our friends was willing to take them in for the duration.
This lead to yet another thought-there was the fact that we both worked out of the house. My office was here and so was Felicity’s darkroom. Over the holidays it would be slow, so we’d be able to manage, but that lull was going to be over soon enough.
What if they weren’t able to find Porter right away? What if he went on another killing spree in the process of coming after me? What if he targeted my friends in order to get to me?
I could feel myself shaking my head almost unconsciously. I had no idea how we were going to make this work, and I was starting to obsess about it.
I shifted the truck into park and switched off the engine then took a deep breath. “Just take things one step at a time,” I muttered to myself. “That’s what you need to do-just take it one step at a time.”
Heeding my own advice I climbed out of the truck and made my way up the stairs and across the deck to the atrium door. The cool day had folded itself into a cold night, and I could see my breath in a frosty cloud. I shuffled through my keys then raised my free hand to the door handle, but I never got the key into the lock. Upon resting my hand on the lever-shaped handle, I pressed down out of reflex. The moment I did, the latch clicked and the door swung inward.
Under any other circumstances I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Felicity was home, and even though she tended to keep the doors locked, she sometimes forgot.
This time it was different.
Every hair on the back of my neck immediately rose to attention. The dull thud in the back of my head expanded to encompass my entire body. My ears began to ring, and every ethereal alarm I had was going off in sequence.
I pushed the door farther inward and stepped through. A cold gust of wind followed behind me and rustled a stack of newspaper that was sitting in a nearby chair. The interior door that led into the house was actually hanging ajar, and beyond it the room was dark.
I carefully shut the outer door, beating back the desire to panic, then took the few steps across the atrium to the kitchen door and pushed it open slowly and carefully.
“Felicity?” I called out, stepping into the room.
I paused, waiting in the darkness, but received no answer. I listened intently and could hear muffled whimpering and barking coming from deeper in the interior. Acid began churning in the pit of my stomach as the panic began to break free and crawl up my spine like a thousand spiders.
“Felicity?” I called again, louder this time, as I hurried through the kitchen and in my haste glanced against the corner of the island.
I let out a yelp and grabbed my side, then aimed myself for the dining room. “Felicity? Are you here? Answer me!”
The only sound to meet my ears was the sharpness of my own voice and the excited yelps of the dogs from somewhere inside the house.
The light was on in the living room, and it cast an eerie glow through the archway and into the dining room where I stood. Looking around, I could see my wife’s purse on the side table and her long coat draped across the back of a chair.
My racing heart slowed and I took a deep breath. She was here somewhere. Maybe she’d gone downstairs into her darkroom for something. Or maybe she was in the bedroom and couldn’t hear me over the dogs, assuming that’s where they were presently holed up.
I crossed the room and flipped the light switch. Even with the artificial wave of relief sweeping over me, the supernatural alarms were still raising a raucous clamor inside my skull. Adrenalin was dripping into my bloodstream on full flow, and I was beginning to physically shake.
The fleeting moment of calm dissolved as quickly as it had come. Something was still very wrong. With the dogs raising that much ruckus, by now I should have heard Felicity telling them to quiet down or at least come to see what was going on to have them so riled up.