him.
He swirled some milk around in his highball glass and leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes. After a few minutes, his head lolled back, and in his mind he caught a glimpse of an overweight man pulling a clown mask over his unruly hair. Images of heads with the eyes gouged out and a hand wiping a white mask from a woman's face flashed rapidly through his mind. He awoke with a start, the glass of milk sliding from his grasp. He watched the milk spread across the carpet, sinking into the soft fibers. It reminded him of semen.
He was instantly alert, his eyes darting around until he realized where he was. "Ah, there's the rub," he said, and walked to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.
The boy and girl lay next to each other, the sound of their breathing all that interrupted the perfect silence of the room.
"Leah?" the boy said.
"Ssssshhhh, Robbie. Don't talk. We don't know what the man will do."
"Is he gonna--" Robbie's breath caught in his throat and he started gasping, sucking air in and out through his wavering lips. Leah pressed his hand tightly.
Robbie finally regained control of his breathing and continued. "Is the man gonna hurt us?"
Leah didn't respond right away, but squeezed Robbie's hand again. Their palms were both sweating profusely and the moisture mingled to make a slick seal.
"I think he already has," she replied.
Chapter 18
J A D E awoke as sunlight filtered through the curtains and fell across his eyes. He threw back the thick black comforter and rolled out of bed. Stretching his arms over his head, he cracked his back from its base to just below the line of his shoulders. Then he rolled his arms back over his head to pop his shoulder sockets. He let his head go limp and swung it back and forth, groaning with pleasure as he felt the little snaps running up the sides of his neck.
He enjoyed waking up alone now. He had had any number of girlfriends in the past, but stayed with them only until they got in the way. Eventually, of course, they all got in the way.
His last relationship had reached the point where she stayed over several times a week. But then she began to get annoyed when he got called out at night. He could hear her sighing and rolling under the covers as he spoke on the phone.
She had been there the night he got the call on the Black Ribbon Strangler. Three o'clock in the morning, he was out of bed and dressed in seconds. She looked over at him, eyes and jaw set firmly. "It's just not normal, Jade. You're not even with me when you're with me. You're consumed with your job. Consumed with it. I can't stand it anymore. Not like this."
His back was to her as he pulled on his shoes.
"Guess that doesn't leave me with much of a choice, does it?" he answered, and she started to smile. "Door locks behind you on your way out." He got up and left without even turning around to look at her.
"Without even turning around," she had sobbed to her friends later.
That was the last time he had spoken to her. And the next night seemed like the best night of sleep of his life.
He especially appreciated his solitude in the morning, like now, as he walked over and opened the blinds, letting in full sunlight. His bedroom, like the rest of the house, was sparsely furnished. Bookcases, filled with psychology and forensic pathology texts, faced his bed from the left side. A few pictures were arrayed on top of the shelves: Jade and Tony at a baseball game, Jade running the hundred for the UCLA track-and-field team, Jade at the batting cages. Next to them was a picture of a young boy with drooping features. It was an old snapshot with creased corners, and the small metal frame around it was greatly worn.
Jade walked over to his bookshelf and picked up the framed picture of the boy. He held it tenderly for a moment, then ran his thumb across his lip and set it back down. The normal scowl returned to his face.
After jumping into his Nike cross-trainers and a pair of running shorts,
He swirled some milk around in his highball glass and leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes. After a few minutes, his head lolled back, and in his mind he caught a glimpse of an overweight man pulling a clown mask over his unruly hair. Images of heads with the eyes gouged out and a hand wiping a white mask from a woman's face flashed rapidly through his mind. He awoke with a start, the glass of milk sliding from his grasp. He watched the milk spread across the carpet, sinking into the soft fibers. It reminded him of semen.
He was instantly alert, his eyes darting around until he realized where he was. "Ah, there's the rub," he said, and walked to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.
The boy and girl lay next to each other, the sound of their breathing all that interrupted the perfect silence of the room.
"Leah?" the boy said.
"Ssssshhhh, Robbie. Don't talk. We don't know what the man will do."
"Is he gonna--" Robbie's breath caught in his throat and he started gasping, sucking air in and out through his wavering lips. Leah pressed his hand tightly.
Robbie finally regained control of his breathing and continued. "Is the man gonna hurt us?"
Leah didn't respond right away, but squeezed Robbie's hand again. Their palms were both sweating profusely and the moisture mingled to make a slick seal.
"I think he already has," she replied.
Chapter 18
J A D E awoke as sunlight filtered through the curtains and fell across his eyes. He threw back the thick black comforter and rolled out of bed. Stretching his arms over his head, he cracked his back from its base to just below the line of his shoulders. Then he rolled his arms back over his head to pop his shoulder sockets. He let his head go limp and swung it back and forth, groaning with pleasure as he felt the little snaps running up the sides of his neck.
He enjoyed waking up alone now. He had had any number of girlfriends in the past, but stayed with them only until they got in the way. Eventually, of course, they all got in the way.
His last relationship had reached the point where she stayed over several times a week. But then she began to get annoyed when he got called out at night. He could hear her sighing and rolling under the covers as he spoke on the phone.
She had been there the night he got the call on the Black Ribbon Strangler. Three o'clock in the morning, he was out of bed and dressed in seconds. She looked over at him, eyes and jaw set firmly. "It's just not normal, Jade. You're not even with me when you're with me. You're consumed with your job. Consumed with it. I can't stand it anymore. Not like this."
His back was to her as he pulled on his shoes.
"Guess that doesn't leave me with much of a choice, does it?" he answered, and she started to smile. "Door locks behind you on your way out." He got up and left without even turning around to look at her.
"Without even turning around," she had sobbed to her friends later.
That was the last time he had spoken to her. And the next night seemed like the best night of sleep of his life.
He especially appreciated his solitude in the morning, like now, as he walked over and opened the blinds, letting in full sunlight. His bedroom, like the rest of the house, was sparsely furnished. Bookcases, filled with psychology and forensic pathology texts, faced his bed from the left side. A few pictures were arrayed on top of the shelves: Jade and Tony at a baseball game, Jade running the hundred for the UCLA track-and-field team, Jade at the batting cages. Next to them was a picture of a young boy with drooping features. It was an old snapshot with creased corners, and the small metal frame around it was greatly worn.
Jade walked over to his bookshelf and picked up the framed picture of the boy. He held it tenderly for a moment, then ran his thumb across his lip and set it back down. The normal scowl returned to his face.
After jumping into his Nike cross-trainers and a pair of running shorts,
Similar Books
