Satisfied that he could see wellenough, he stepped forward, feeling as though he was gliding rather thanwalking over the soft carpeted floors. He avoided all obstacles, anything thatcould make a noise, and paused at the bottom of the stairs, tilting his headup.
No lights, still. No sign of life.She must be asleep up there, like he had originally thought. But this was thetrickiest part, now—stairs were always tricky to navigate when you didn’t knowthem. It was hard to say which would creak and which would be solid. He placedone foot close to the wall and leaned his weight on it; when it didn’t make asound, he did the same with the other foot, one step up, close to the wall atthe other side.
He made his way up slowly andcarefully, testing each step before he put his weight on it. It was going well.It seemed as though he was going to get all the way up without making a sound—
And then, as if the universe hadheard his hubris and was punishing him for it, the next step gave an audiblecreak, making him freeze in place.
He hung his head. Yes, he had beenarrogant. That response was right. He deserved it. He remained still and silentfor a short time, listening carefully. There was no sound. If she had beenwoken by the creak, she had not come out to investigate.
He breathed again and began tomove, skipping the creaking stair and going for the next one. This time he madeit to the top without further incident, and then glanced around, looking for aclue as to where he should go next.
There were several doors, all ofthem but one hanging open. In fact, now that he looked closely, the last wasslightly open as well, the door pushed until it was just ajar. Perfect: thesign he had been looking for. The resident here lived alone, he had known thatalready. Why close the door all the way if there was no one else in the house?She had closed out the cold air enough to satisfy her and then retired—makinghis job all the easier.
If he wasn’t supposed to be doingthis, then why was it all so easy? He smiled to himself, imagining thedifficulty a non-believer would have had in answering that. The formless chaosof the universe had form after all, just not one that we could see. Except wecould if we looked closely: in the sun’s disk, the buds of a flower, the shapeof the very life-sustaining planet that we all relied on. It was there, but noone else seemed to be able to see the wood for the trees.
He eased open the door, holding ittightly and moving it with control just in case the hinges might squeak, andlooked into the bedroom. She was there, turned on her side away from him, herback and the soft fall of her hair across the pillow all he could see. He couldhear her gentle breathing, slow and steady, not at all interrupted by hispresence in the room.
She had no idea he was there. Itwas almost too easy. He lifted his weapon, his club that had served him so wellso far, and paused, feeling almost cartoonish. It was like a scene fromsomething. He wanted to cackle, or give some other kind of sign that he wasthere. In the movies, this would be the moment when the victim’s eyes sprangopen and she rolled just in the nick of time, away from the villain.
But he wasn’t the villain, and sonothing happened at all when he brought the club down over the back of herhead; she just carried on lying there as if she was sleeping, and when hechecked her by rolling her toward him, he saw that she was not sleeping at allnow but unconscious. Even though the crack that had echoed through the room asthe heavy club met the crunching bone of her skull had been loud, he no longerfeared the noise. It was only the two of them, and now she wasn’t going to beable to lift a finger in her own defense.
See? he told himself. Thetranscendental number of pi helped him out again. Now he just had to completethe ritual—by killing her, but also by honoring pi in the best way he could inthis house. He already had a plan. Now all he had to do was carry it out. Andwith no one to disturb him in his work, he was counting this one as a definitewin already.
***
Zoe craned her neck frantically,searching in all directions. There wasn’t a single headlight anywhere shelooked, no sign of life. No clues to tell her which way he had gone. The killerhad been in her grasp, and she had let him escape—go on to take another life.This blood was going to be on her hands.
She could no longer control herbreathing for the count. As much as she tried to keep it steady and keep goingup to ten over and over again, she kept finding it catching, coming quicker,choking, feeling as though she couldn’t get enough air. Then she would lose thecount and have to start over again, and there was nothing the numbers could doto help her, because angles and trajectories and calculations meant nothingwhen you had no idea where the target was going.
What could she do? Zoe was almostready to give up, to call Flynn again, to call the sheriff and report thelicense plate number. Maybe they could put out an APB, get the patrols outlooking, stop the car wherever he was next seen—even if he was only coming backfrom the murder. At least then there might be forensic evidence, things theycould use to put him away for a long time.
Zoe pulled up on the curb, rubbingher hands over her face as she killed the engine. How could she have been sostupid? So obsessed with not being seen that she had failed to keep up—some spyshe would have made. It was all her
