from someone else, he probably wouldn't believe it either.
Liz had spoken of purges, and he wondered what she'd meant by that. He should have asked, although she hadn't exactly been in the most talkative of moods.
In his mind, he saw a group of robed inquisitors tying up Tammi and burning her at a stake in the middle of the forest for living with a man before marriage.
No, that couldn't be the case.
Could it?
Removed.
For the first time since childhood, he cried himself to sleep. They were tears of rage and frustration more than of sadness and loss, but his emotions flip-flopped and all of those feelings were somewhere in the mix. He felt as though he should be doing something, as though there was something he could do if only he could remember what it was, but that was an emotional response, and he realized intellectually that he was in the same position as any person with a missing loved one. All he could do was wait.
Ordinarily, Russ was a sound sleeper. But the stress of not knowing Tammi's whereabouts and the uncomfortably unfamiliar sensation of having the bed all to himself ensured that he slept only fitfully. He tossed and turned, woke up at eleven-thirty, eleven-forty, eleven fifty-five, midnight. Sometime after one, he finally nodded off and slept for over half an hour straight. He might have made it all the way through the night, but he was awakened by the sound of pounding.
He opened his eyes, automatically looked at the clock-- 1:43--and sat up, trying to determine where the noise originated. The pounding sounded as if it were coming from somewhere in the front of the house.
In fact, it sounded as though large rocks were being lobbed at the building. But kids who threw rocks usually tossed only one or two and then fled. He'd heard at least a dozen since being awakened, and there seemed to be no letup in sight. There was, as well, an even regularity to the sounds, as though it were being done by machine, as though some sort of reloading catapult was An explosive crash reverberated through the house as the living room window shattered.
Russ was out of bed before the tinkling of broken glass had silenced.
He ran out of the bedroom, down the hall, unlocked and yanked open the front door, and flipped on the porch light. 'I know who you are, asshole!' He scanned the darkness, unable to see anyone. 'I'm calling the fucking cops, you son of a bitch!'
There were rocks at his feet, obviously ones that had been thrown at the house, and he saw others within the circle of illumination provided by the porch light. He felt chilled as he peered into the blackness.
'Get the fuck off my property!' he yelled.
There was no response. He could see nothing, hear nothing. Who was doing this? he wondered. And why?
Removed.
He reached down to pick up one of the rocks, and once again the sound of breaking glass shattered the silence of the night.
One of the windows on his car.
Thumping came from all directions as people in the bushes lobbed rocks at all four sides of his house.
Russ shut the door, locked it, hiding inside, the pounding of his heart threatening to drown out even his racing thoughts. He'd wanted to call out, wanted to yell threats, but he was scared and acting on instinct. It was the fact that there was more than one person out there that really frightened him. And the fact that they were so organized.
Who was it? And what could they possibly have against him?
The homeowners' association.
Yes.
It didn't make a whole lot of sense--why would grown men be crouched in the bushes in the middle of the night throwing rocks at a house?--but then neither did the whole business of Tammi's 'removal.' And it followed that if they wanted to remove one of the offending unmarried fornicators, they would want to get rid of both.
Russ had no guns, but he had golf clubs, and he went into the hall closet and pulled out a nine iron, and swung it at shoulder level, hearing the comforting swish of sliced air. If any of those motherfuckers tried to get in this house, he'd take off their goddamn heads.
He walked back out to the living room, pulled his recliner against the back wall, and sat down facing the broken window. A cool night breeze blew the curtains in and out, moonlight shimmering on the shattered glass that littered the carpet.
He waited, fingers gripping the golf club until they hurt.
The thumping continued for another hour before stopping abruptly, but he did not sleep again all night.
In the morning, he packed some essentials and enough clothes for a week, locked up the house, and got the hell out of Dodge.
He'd come back later with some friends to get the rest of his stuff--and to put the house up for sale.
The Bonita Vista Homeowners' Association Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions Article IV, General Provisions, Section 9, Paragraph F:
No unmarried resident of Bonita Vista may cohabit ate with a member of the same or opposite sex in any residence within the Properties.
Unmarried couples may jointly own a lot or residence within the Properties but may not both reside at the location until they are legally wed. Homosexual unions have no legal status and are thus prohibited.
They'd been going to sleep a lot earlier here in Utah than they used to in California ('the Mormon influence,' Barry said), but their rituals remained the same and, despite the fact that they'd talked about, planned, and fully intended to make love tonight, Barry was dozing by the time Maureen finished taking her shower. The bedroom television was still on--Politically Incorrect--and she sat on the edge of the mattress, looking down at him, his features tinted blue by the flickering light of the tube. She'd always envied his ease of sleep.
He was one of those people who nodded off shortly after his head hit the pillow and slept through until morning, his face angelically serene no matter what was going on in his life during daylight hours. She, on the other hand, was a tosser and turner, awakened by the slightest shift in his position or the merest change in room temperature.
He smiled in his sleep, and she touched his cheek, gave him a small prod. 'Hey.'
He frowned, squinted, blinked. 'What?'
'You fell asleep.'
'So?'
She felt a little hurt. 'I thought we were--'
'I'm joking,' he told her. He yawned, smiled, pulled her down, and kissed her. She had to work on him a while to get him hard enough, but ever since she'd stopped taking the Pill, she'd had no problem getting aroused; for her, it had given their recent lovemaking an extra edge, had kicked it up a notch, and tonight was no exception. She came quick and hard.
Afterward, she lay in bed, listening to Barry snore beside her, a sound that drowned out the low drone of the television. She looked over at his sleeping face. She wasn't sure how thrilled he was to be trying for a baby. Oh, he said he wanted a family, but actions spoke louder man words as the saying went, and his behavior and attitude clearly indicated that his desire--or at least the intensity of it--was not the same as hers.
Still, she had no doubt he'd be a good dad, no matter how reluctant he might be initially, and she fell asleep looking at him and listening to the comforting sound of his deep, even breaths.
In the morning, they ate breakfast together for the first time in a week, Barry making french toast while she squeezed fresh orange juice.
She kissed him at the door before he set off for his office. 'Have a nice day, dear.'
'What the hell's that about?'
She smiled, patted her abdomen. 'We have to start practicing for family life.'
The smile he gave her was unreadable, and Maureen watched him get into the Suburban, waving at him as
