toward the Main Line.
Eddie eased his foot off the gas and settled into his seat, always keeping a car or two between them. He hadn’t been seen the entire day. He was following an idiot. He and Teddy Mack were finally driving home.
The traffic thinned out as they reached King of Prussia, then broke down all together as they exited off Route 202. Eddie backed off, watching the Corolla start up the hill on Devon State Road. He knew the area well. As they crossed Lancaster Pike, he pulled the scarf over his mouth and moved closer just for kicks. A mile or so later, the Corolla slowed down and turned into a driveway. Eddie noted the house and continued down the road. At the stop sign, he made a right onto Sanctuary Road and pulled over.
His dick hurt so bad he thought it might pop off like a cork. He jumped out of the car, yanking at his zipper and knowing he couldn’t make it beneath the trees. Instead of writing his name in the snow, he aimed at one spot as he thought a stray dog might do. Craning his neck back and forth, he kept an eye on the road, searching for headlights from approaching cars. There weren’t any and he smiled. Then he zipped up and sighed with relief. It was a quiet winter night, and they were home.
Eddie leaned across the driver’s seat and opened the glove box. The knife he would be using tonight was one of his favorites. A professional eight-inch carving knife purchased at Williams-Sonoma. Made of high-carbon stainless steel, the imported blade was well balanced, its edge particularly keen. Eddie wrapped the knife in the kitchen towel he’d brought and carefully slipped it into his jacket pocket. Locking up the car and engaging the alarm, he turned the corner and made the short walk up Waterloo Road.
He had a song in his heart and felt like whistling. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw someone at the top of the hill and ducked into the bushes. He waited, listened, pulled himself together. After a moment, he took a peek.
It was the face with gusto, standing at the end of the driveway.
The kid was smoking a cigarette and staring at the housing development on the other side of the road. He was thinking something over and it seemed like it might just take forever. Eddie wondered if the kid had figured out that he was followed. But he wasn’t looking down the street. He was staring at the houses. When he finished the cigarette, he flicked it at them like he wished they might burn down and walked away.
The gesture threw Eddie off because he liked it. He wished they’d burn down, too. He got to his feet, brushing the snow off his pants and moving quickly up the street. He saw the kid walk down the driveway and vanish behind the house. He heard a door open and close, followed by silence.
Eddie let the stillness settle in. He noticed the snow falling from the sky, light and gay, the kid through the window pouring a drink in the kitchen. When he scanned the property, he spotted a barn in the backyard. The lights were on and he could smell the scent of oak in the cold air. Someone was in the barn and had a fire going. It looked warm and inviting.
He stepped back and took the place in again. Something about the property seemed idyllic. It made him nervous. It stole his strength and made him feel small. Even weird. Why was he spending his life all alone?
After a moment, he noticed a fence along the property line, hidden behind a hedge that was kept trimmed. Eddie entered the yard, slowly working his way toward the barn. He spotted a grove of rhododendrons and stepped inside the canopy. Moving quietly, he kept away from the light and gazed through the window.
A woman was painting.
He could see her working the brush on the canvas. He locked up and choked.
She looked like an angel. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She looked gentle. Caring. Nurturing. A certain glow lingered in her eyes, and he wondered if she was even real. He began to feel dizzy, staring at her and wanting her. As his eyes drifted away from her face, he noticed the paintings on the wall. Her work. He recognized two canvases. He’d seen them in a show last fall-through the window from the street because he’d been too afraid to walk in.
A noise from the house snatched up his dream.
The back door opened and closed.
Shrinking away from the window, his eyes flicked across the yard. It was Teddy Mack, trudging through the snow toward the barn. But the kid wasn’t heading down the path for the door. He was taking the same route Eddie had. Through the shadows along the fence.
Eddie slithered out of the bushes and around a tree. The kid was tracking him. Hunting him. He pulled the knife out, unwrapping the sharp blade and stuffing the towel in his pocket again. He wasn’t sure what to do. He could still see the angel. It looked like she had wings. He clinched his teeth and pain shot through his head. Averting his eyes, he raised the knife and inched his way back around the trunk of the tree.
Eddie couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The kid had slipped into the grove of rhododendrons just as he had. He was sipping his drink and staring at the angel through the window. Eddie lifted the scarf over his mouth and quieted his breath. He was standing less than six feet away, pretending to be a tree. He could see the kid’s face. The gusto had been painted over with a heavy brush. Only sadness remained.
FIFTY-SIX
Teddy caught a glimpse of the metallic flash from the corner of his eye. The knife was moving toward him in a arcing motion from just behind his right shoulder. He let go of his drink and locked both hands around the man’s boney wrist. It was a gut shot, coming at him hard. Instead of pushing the blade away, he concentrated on steering the knife wayward.
The tip tore through his jacket, then plunged into something soft and stayed there. Blood splattered all over the snow, and he tumbled onto the ground. In a split second he assessed the damage. He felt no pain and knew that he hadn’t been stabbed. When he looked at the man squirming beneath him, he saw the blade of the knife stuck deep into his right thigh. Maybe even all the way through. He caught the rotten teeth and heard the man cackling. Saw the madness smoldering in his eyes like coals glowing at the end of a house fire. It was
It was the face Holmes had described in his dreams.
Not a woman or a man, but a pale and lifeless ghost. Chasing him and laughing at him. Pushing his hands and face into Darlene Lewis’s body to leave fingerprints and lip prints and a trail of evidence the police could find.
Teddy threw a shaky punch, aiming at those teeth. When he missed, he threw another and hit the mark.
Trisco’s eyes lit up and he groaned. He wrenched the knife out of his leg and kicked his feet in the air. For some reason he was wearing socks over his shoes, and Teddy stared at them half a moment too long. He took a hard shot to the head, paused as he heard the barn door opening, and watched Trisco flee across the yard.
He jumped to his feet, shouting at his mother as he raced toward the house. “Get back inside and lock the door.”
Trisco vanished around the corner, heading for the driveway. Teddy ripped open the back door and bolted upstairs. His father’s shotgun was hanging on his bedroom wall. He grabbed the rifle, switched off the safety, leaped down the front stairs. As he rushed onto the front porch, he spotted Trisco legging his way down Waterloo Road.
Teddy sprinted across the driveway into the neighbor’s yard, vaulting over the fence and tearing through the bushes. He could see Trisco on the other side of the trees, hobbling toward a black BMW. He could feel his heart beating as he gripped the gun and dug in his heels. He hit the trees and burst onto the street. The driver’s side door slammed shut and the engine turned over.
Teddy raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger.
The gun rocked back into his shoulder and the muzzle flashed, waking up the dead of night with the sound of burning gunpowder. Teddy’s eyes skipped through the flash to the rear window, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces. Shards of glass sprayed through the car all over the front seat and dash, and he heard Trisco groan.
The BMW whined back at him like a wounded animal, its wheels churning up snow as it strained to pull forward and escape. Teddy fired a second blast from twenty-five yards off. He heard the sound of buckshot piercing sheet metal, but the car hurtled down the road at high speed. Trisco switched on his headlights. A quarter mile down, the lights blinked on and off in the darkness. When they blinked a second time, Teddy wondered if it wasn’t a message from Trisco that he was okay.
