The air conditioner kicked on and Jake welcomed its uneven hum. It made the thick, oppressive silence a touch more bearable. The old window unit sent a blast of cool air his way that felt good on his face. It soothed him inwardly, too, allowing him to banish the bad thoughts for a time. It didn’t matter that the relief was only temporary. He needed a mental respite, however brief. And he needed to gather strength for the hard times ahead. Because more hard times were coming. It was the one thing of which he was absolutely certain.
He sat slouched on the sofa, at a loss as to what else to do. Kristen had family duties she would need to deal with, of course, and he’d help her with these if he was able. But for now-and at least for a few minutes more-he was on his own. He relished the relative solitude and wished it could last longer. Wished again he could be somewhere far from this cursed town.
He shifted on the sofa and one of his feet kicked a leg of the coffee table. A crumpled Budweiser can toppled over. The coffee table’s surface was littered with empty cans and bottles. An ashtray was filled with Kristen’s cigarette butts. Looking at all the dead soldiers awakened the old thirst again, and in a few moments he craved a drink with a burning intensity that easily matched anything he remembered from his worst pre-AA days. The urge to get up and go to the kitchen to fetch a beer from the fridge was almost too powerful to resist. He thought again of the way Kristen had plied him with drinks as part of perhaps the most unsubtle seduction in the history of sex. There was still a bit of regret attached to this memory. It didn’t say much good about him that his resolve had crumbled so easily. But now the hangover haze had lifted and other, more pleasant memories were coming back to him. A flashing image of Kristen, nude and bent over the edge of the sofa as he thrust into her from behind, made his breathing quicken. They’d gone at it with heedless abandon, in several positions, here on the sofa, on the living room floor, up against the wall, on the hallway floor, on the bed, in the fucking shower…
Christ.
It was all coming back to him in a wild, X-rated rush, like a series of scenes from the hottest porn movie ever. An erection pushed against the crotch of his jeans as memory shifted seamlessly to fantasy. He imagined Kristen on top of him again, straddling him on the sofa, writhing against him while thrusting her tongue into his mouth. His hands kneading her soft breasts, thumbs massaging swollen nipples…
He shook his head to dispel the images before he could get lost in them. These were not appropriate thoughts. Not with Stu dead and Kristen crying softly in a room down the hallway. The craving for a drink returned to fill the void. No. Fuck that. Maybe he’d have that drink later. Maybe he’d have a few of them. But now was certainly not the time.
Then he thought of something productive he could do to occupy himself until Kristen needed him again. He got up and went into the kitchen, where he looked under the sink and found a box of plastic garbage bags. He shook one open and returned to the living room. He and Kristen had made quite the mess over the course of their wild evening. Cleaning up prior to the inevitable appearance of other Walker family members was the least he could do. The bag soon grew heavy with the weight of empty bottles and cans. A few of the bottles still contained an ounce or two of flat beer. These he poured out in the kitchen sink before dropping them in the bag. This all took maybe ten minutes. The last thing was dumping the contents of the overflowing ashtray into the bag. This done, he began to tie the bag with the intent of taking it out to one of the big garbage cans outside. A sudden sound startled him before he could finish.
“What the…”
The sound came again and this time he recognized it as the rapping of the brass knocker against the front door. He twisted together the loops of plastic threaded through his fingers and set down the bag. Then he went to the door and peered through the peephole. A young girl he didn’t recognize stood on the front porch. She appeared to be alone. She was slender, with hair the same dark shade as Kristen’s, but cut in a pixie style. His hand moved to the doorknob, but he didn’t open the door immediately. Though he was sure he’d never seen her before, there was something familiar about her. Something in the set of her features. Frustration gnawed at him. His mind was struggling to make some kind of connection, but it was eluding him.
The girl let out a frustrated puff of breath and reached for the door knocker again.
Yet another strident rap on the door, this one close enough-and loud enough-to rattle his fillings.
“Jake!” Kristen cried from her bedroom sanctuary. “Will you get that, please?”
“Sorry! I’ve got it!”
It hit him that this was probably some member of the Walker clan. Which probably also accounted for that nagging sense of familiarity.
He turned the doorknob and pulled open the door.
The girl’s lower lip pushed out in a display of youthful petulance. “It’s about fucking time.”
“Sorry. I was just-”
He stopped talking because two teenagers with guns were suddenly filling the open doorway. The boys must have been crouching out of view while the girl knocked. Their guns were aimed away from Jake, but that gave him little comfort. The crazy thing was he wasn’t afraid. Not yet anyway. He was too angry to be afraid. This was ridiculous. How many more insane things could happen in one fucking day?
He glowered at the juvenile home invaders. “Do me a favor, assholes, and save it for another day. I’ve got enough shit on my table for now.”
One of the boys piped up. “We’re not here to rob you. We just need to talk to you. You’re Jake McAllister, right?”
“Yeah. What do you want with me?”
His hand tightened on the doorknob. He weighed the advisability of simply throwing the door shut in their faces. Shutting and locking the door would take hardly more than a second. And even if they were here for some nefarious purpose, he doubted they’d shoot their way in. This was the middle of the day in a nice neighborhood. Gunfire would bring the cops running in minutes. So, yeah, a quick door slam seemed the wisest course of action.
“What’s going on here?”
Kristen’s voice, behind him.
Jake groaned. “It’s nothing. Stay back, okay?”
“Stay back?” He could hear her getting closer, curiosity apparently overriding the urgency in his voice. “Is it Uncle Don? I’m expecting-”
She pushed his hand off the doorknob and opened the door wider. She gasped. “Oh my God.” She flashed Jake a terror-stricken expression. “Jake, is it…them?”
“Them?”
She put a hand to her chest and stumbled back a step. “It’s them. The bastards who killed my brother. Oh my God.”
One of the teenagers said, “Dude, what is she talking about?”
Jake glowered at him. “Her brother was murdered last night. Tortured and murdered. And now here you are waving guns around. Connect the fucking dots.”
Both boys looked aghast at the implication. The taller of the two said, “Oh. Shit. Look, I’m sorry. I know this looks bad, but you’ve got to believe me when I say it just can’t be helped. We did not torture and murder anybody last night.”
“Or ever,” said the other one.
“Right. Or ever,” the tall one continued. “We sure as shit shot a bunch of motherfuckers yesterday, though. But that’s only because they were trying really fucking hard to kill us.”
“Which we sort of took issue with.”
The tall one nodded. “Right. We’ve been through a lot, Mr. McAllister. And it’s not over. A lot of people are in danger. It is extremely important that we talk to you.”
Jake was aware of Kristen trembling next to him. He grabbed one of her hands and held on tight. “I sympathize, guys. I really do. But we’ve got major problems of our own to deal with, and this sounds like a matter for the police anyway.”