feed grinder. Mel’s hands and arms were covered in red, his face speckled with red dots. The machine was vomiting out pulverized pink, white, and gray stuff into a tin bucket, the air heavy with a coppery smell Larry knew all too well.
For the next several days, local news reports focused on a missing local woman, her photo and pleas from family members splashed across the television and newspaper. A woman who’d worked for Bellamy.
At least Larry’d had the sense to hide the rifle Mel used on O’Neil and that hunter. His ace in the hole. If push came to shove, he’d give it to the police and cop a plea.
Frankie’s silhouette suddenly appeared against her sheer curtains, the sight pushing away every other thought. Something old as life itself stirred in Larry’s midsection, and an almost physical pain drew a groan from his lips.
“What would you do if you knew the chances I take just to be close to you?” he said to Frankie’s image. “Would you let me love you if you knew?”
****
It was late by the time Frankie got home from Tim’s apartment. Too tired to eat, she made her way to her in-home office, where she had a computer and digitized keyboard, along with the software to interface them.
For the next several hours she wrote music dedicated to Tim. It would become her theme song, and she’d play it at the beginning of all her concerts.
She emailed the music to herself and closed down the computer before showering and slipping into her pajamas. Humming Tim’s song, she sat on the edge of her bed and brushed her hair.
A furtive movement slid along the edge of her peripheral vision. She jerked her head toward the window, her pulse instantly skyrocketing. As in every horror movie she’d ever seen, she half expected a misshapen face to peer back at her from the other side of the glass. But no face appeared. Nothing except her wild eyed reflection stared back at her from the black rectangle made semi-opaque by sheer curtains.
A sense of dread ran tentacles across her scalp. She jerked the blinds closed, her hands shaking and clumsy. Whoever demolished Tim’s apartment not only knew he had a sister, but knew personal details about her. It seemed ludicrous to think they wouldn’t know where she lived.
She thought of Stephen and his little family—of that special softness in his eyes, now focused on his woman and child. And she remembered how safe she’d always felt with him. He may have been trouble, but at least he’d been her trouble. And he’d have known what to do about a peeping tom.
Frankie slid into her bed. She turned off her bedside lamp and pulled her comforter up to her chin. She shivered in spite of its downy warmth.
*****
At the sight of Frankie moving toward the window, Larry scurried back into the shadows. His heart pounded and his head felt light. His body hummed with excitement.
He prided himself on being a self-educated man. Before he started watching Beauty, he’d spent nearly every evening online, asking his laptop questions on every topic from medicine to philosophy. He’d read everything he could find about the subconscious mind, and learned that people got into relationships, ate certain foods, and even read specific books without really knowing why.
That meant Frankie might sense his presence at some level. She might have avoided confronting him because she actually welcomed him. Maybe it made her feel safe to know he watched over her. And maybe she knew that when the time was right he’d come for her.
He smiled into the darkness.
Chapter Thirteen
Once on the road to Eagle Nest, Frankie loaded the CD player with her favorite organ concerts and allowed her mind to float on the waves of sound. Even as she watched for any sign she was being followed, the virtuosity of the contemporary artists poured over her and the miles flew by.
A couple of hours later, she pulled in to the Eagle Nest Café parking lot. She parked next to Nick’s patrol vehicle, retrieved the bag
For the next several days, local news reports focused on a missing local woman, her photo and pleas from family members splashed across the television and newspaper. A woman who’d worked for Bellamy.
At least Larry’d had the sense to hide the rifle Mel used on O’Neil and that hunter. His ace in the hole. If push came to shove, he’d give it to the police and cop a plea.
Frankie’s silhouette suddenly appeared against her sheer curtains, the sight pushing away every other thought. Something old as life itself stirred in Larry’s midsection, and an almost physical pain drew a groan from his lips.
“What would you do if you knew the chances I take just to be close to you?” he said to Frankie’s image. “Would you let me love you if you knew?”
****
It was late by the time Frankie got home from Tim’s apartment. Too tired to eat, she made her way to her in-home office, where she had a computer and digitized keyboard, along with the software to interface them.
For the next several hours she wrote music dedicated to Tim. It would become her theme song, and she’d play it at the beginning of all her concerts.
She emailed the music to herself and closed down the computer before showering and slipping into her pajamas. Humming Tim’s song, she sat on the edge of her bed and brushed her hair.
A furtive movement slid along the edge of her peripheral vision. She jerked her head toward the window, her pulse instantly skyrocketing. As in every horror movie she’d ever seen, she half expected a misshapen face to peer back at her from the other side of the glass. But no face appeared. Nothing except her wild eyed reflection stared back at her from the black rectangle made semi-opaque by sheer curtains.
A sense of dread ran tentacles across her scalp. She jerked the blinds closed, her hands shaking and clumsy. Whoever demolished Tim’s apartment not only knew he had a sister, but knew personal details about her. It seemed ludicrous to think they wouldn’t know where she lived.
She thought of Stephen and his little family—of that special softness in his eyes, now focused on his woman and child. And she remembered how safe she’d always felt with him. He may have been trouble, but at least he’d been her trouble. And he’d have known what to do about a peeping tom.
Frankie slid into her bed. She turned off her bedside lamp and pulled her comforter up to her chin. She shivered in spite of its downy warmth.
*****
At the sight of Frankie moving toward the window, Larry scurried back into the shadows. His heart pounded and his head felt light. His body hummed with excitement.
He prided himself on being a self-educated man. Before he started watching Beauty, he’d spent nearly every evening online, asking his laptop questions on every topic from medicine to philosophy. He’d read everything he could find about the subconscious mind, and learned that people got into relationships, ate certain foods, and even read specific books without really knowing why.
That meant Frankie might sense his presence at some level. She might have avoided confronting him because she actually welcomed him. Maybe it made her feel safe to know he watched over her. And maybe she knew that when the time was right he’d come for her.
He smiled into the darkness.
Chapter Thirteen
Once on the road to Eagle Nest, Frankie loaded the CD player with her favorite organ concerts and allowed her mind to float on the waves of sound. Even as she watched for any sign she was being followed, the virtuosity of the contemporary artists poured over her and the miles flew by.
A couple of hours later, she pulled in to the Eagle Nest Café parking lot. She parked next to Nick’s patrol vehicle, retrieved the bag
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