With a wink and a wave of his hand he was on his way to the bank of elevators. Furious and humiliated that he had so correctly diagnosed her reaction to the comments about Mark and Laura, Jean walked over to the desk. The clerk on duty was Amy Sachs, a small soft-voiced woman with short graying hair and oversized glasses that hung loosely over the bridge of her nose.
'No, we definitely have not heard from Ms. Wilcox,' she told Jean. 'But a fax came in for you, Dr. Sheridan.' She turned and reached for an envelope on the shelf behind the desk.
Jean felt her mouth go dry. As she told herself that she should wait and read the contents upstairs, she ripped open the envelope.
The message it contained consisted of eight words: lilies that FESTER SMELL FAR WORSE THAN WEEDS.
Lilies that fester, Jean thought.
'What? Oh… no… it's quite all right, thank you.' In a daze, Jean made her way upstairs, went to her room, opened her purse, and ransacked her wallet for Sam Deegan's cell phone number. His terse, 'Sam Deegan' made her realize that it was nearly ten o'clock and that he might have been asleep. 'Sam, I probably woke you up-'
'No, you didn't,' he interrupted. 'What is it, Jean? Did you hear from Laura?'
'No, it's Lily. Another fax.'
'Read it to me.'
Her voice trembling, she read the eight words to him. 'Sam, that's a quote from a Shakespeare sonnet. He's referring to dead lilies. Sam, whoever sent this is threatening
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She probably had the fax by now. He still didn't know why he enjoyed taunting Jean, especially now that he had decided he was going to kill her. Why twist the knife by threatening Meredith, or Lily, as Jean called the girl? For nearly twenty years his secret knowledge of her birth and of her adoptive parents had been one of those little facts that seem useless, like gifts that cannot be returned but will never be taken from the shelf.
It was only when he met her parents at a luncheon last year and realized who they were that he had made it his business to be friendly with them. In August he had even invited them to spend a long weekend with him and to bring Meredith who was home on vacation with them. That was when the idea of taking something that would be proof of her DNA occurred to him.
The opportunity to steal her brush had been handed to him on a platter. They were all at the pool, and her cell phone rang while she was brushing her hair after a swim. She answered the call and walked away to talk privately. He slipped the brush into his pocket and then began circulating among his other guests. The next day he sent the brush and the first message to Jean.
The power of life and death-so far he had exercised it over five of the lunch room girls as well as over many other women, chosen at random. He wondered how soon it would be before they found the body of Helen Whelan. Had it been a mistake to leave the owl in her pocket? Until now he had left his symbol hidden, unobtrusive, unnoticeable. Like last month, when he had slipped one of them into a kitchen drawer in the pool house where he had waited for Alison.
The lights in the house were off. He took the night vision glasses from his pocket, put them on, put his key in the lock, opened the back door, and went inside. He closed and locked the door and walked through the kitchen to the back staircase, then padded noiselessly up the stairs.
Laura was in the bedroom that had been hers before her family moved to Concord Avenue when she was sixteen. He had tied her hands and feet and put a gag on her mouth. She was lying on top of the bed, her gold evening gown glittering in the dark.
She had not heard him come into the room, and when he bent over her, he could hear her terrified gasp. 'I'm back, Laura,' he whispered. 'Aren't you glad?'
She tried to shrink away from him.
'I ammmm an owwlllll annnnd I livwwe in in in a tree,' he whispered. 'You thought it was funny to mimic me, didn't you? Do you think it's funny now, Laura? Do you?'
With the night glasses, he could see the terror in her eyes. Whimpering sounds came from her throat as she shook her head from side to side.
'That's not the right answer, Laura. You do think it's funny. All of you girls think it's funny. Show me you think it's funny. Show me.'
She began to shake her head up and down. In a quick movement, he untied the gag. 'Don't raise your voice, Laura,' he whispered. 'No one will hear you, and if you do cry out, I will hold this pillow over your face. Do you understand me?'
'Please,' Laura whispered. 'Please…'
'No, Laura I don't want you to say 'please.' I want you to mimic me, giving my line onstage, and then I want you to laugh.'
'I… I ammmm an owl annnd I lllivwe livwwe innnnn aaaa treeee.'
He nodded approvingly. 'That's the way. You're a very good mimic. Now pretend that you're with the girls at the lunch table and giggle and snicker and cackle and laugh. I want to see how amused all of them were after you ridiculed me.'
'I can't… I'm sorry…'
He lifted the pillow and held it over her face.
Desperately, Laura began to laugh, shrill, high-pitched, hysterical bleating sounds. 'Ha… ha… ha…' Tears spilled from her eyes. 'Please…'
He put his hand over her mouth. 'You were about to use my name. That is forbidden. You may only call me The Owl.' You will have to practice imitating the girls being amused. Now I am going to untie your hands and let you eat. I brought you soup and a roll. Wasn't that good of me? Then I will permit you to use the bathroom.
'After that, when you are back in a safe sleep position, I am going to dial the hotel on my cell phone. You will tell the desk clerk that you are with friends, that your plans are indefinite, and to hold your room for you.
'Do you understand that, Laura?'
Her answer was barely audible: 'Yes.'
'If you attempt in any way to seek help, you will die immediately. You do understand that?'
'Y-e-s.'
'Very well.'
Twenty minutes later the computerized answering system at the Glen-Ridge House was responding to a caller who had pushed '3' for reservations.
The phone at the front desk rang. The clerk picked it up and identified herself. 'Front desk, Amy speaking.' Then she gasped. 'Ms. Wilcox, how good to hear from you. We've all been so concerned about you. Oh, your friends will be so happy to hear that you've called. Of course we'll hold the room for you. Are you sure you're all right?'
The Owl broke the connection. 'You did that very well, Laura. Some stress in your voice, but that's natural, I suppose. Maybe you do have the makings of an actress.' He tied the gag over her mouth. 'I'll be back eventually. Try to get some sleep. You have my permission to dream about me.'
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