carry it out. Then I closed my books, burned my notes and placed an anonymous pay phone call to the Kitchener police, telling them about the man’s voyeuristic habits.
Three months later, he was brought up on fresh charges stemming from surveillance. Justice was served.
And now, in my hands, I held another chance.
I read the article again. Looked at the man’s picture.
I could do it. But where would it lead?
Did I want to go there?
Did I want Evelyn to be the one to take me there?
To Evelyn, I was a project. Something to be made better. Something to be used? Maybe. But a project nonetheless. And here, in my hand, was the lure.
I folded the paper and put it into my bag.
It was past two. I’d gone to bed an hour ago. I was coming out of the bathroom, heading toward my room when a shadow moved. I started, then saw Jack silhouetted in his open bedroom door.
“Oh,” he said. “You were just-” He waved toward the bathroom. “Thought you were heading down.”
I managed a small smile. “Trying not to, but losing the battle.”
“Come on.”
He waved me to the kitchen table and got out the cocoa and sugar containers. When it was made, he brought over my mug and sat across from me.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He studied me. “That letter. Doesn’t mean shit. We’re getting close.”
“Sure.”
We sat there for a few minutes, the quiet broken only by the drumming of Jack’s fingers. He cast a few glances at the window overlooking the driveway.
“Want me to grab your cigarettes?” I asked.
A tiny smile. “That obvious?”
“Stressful day.” I lifted my mug. “This is my fix. I suppose Evelyn wouldn’t be keen on you smoking in the house, but we can step outside if you’d like.”
“Damned cold…”
“I don’t mind if you don’t. A little fresh air might help us sleep.”
Jack lit a cigarette, took a drag and made a face. Then he took another one.
My soft laugh echoed through the backyard. “Tastes like shit, but it does the job, huh?”
“Yeah.”
We were leaning on the railing, side by side, staring out into the night. There was a sharp wind coming from the north, but Jack had moved close, blocking it for me. I had my hands wrapped around my still-warm mug, sipping it as Jack smoked.
I longed to ask him about Evelyn. To tell him about her “offer.” Not to set him against her, but to get his opinion, as the person who knew her best. When he said this was my decision to make, I knew he meant that. I also knew that accepting this job, accepting Evelyn’s help, wouldn’t mean giving up his. He’d never make me choose.
Would
Two years ago, Jack hadn’t wanted me becoming Evelyn’s project. Why? What danger was there in accepting the tutelage of the woman who’d trained him, a person he still obviously trusted, still had a relationship with?
Good enough for him. Why not good enough for me two years ago? And what had changed now?
So many questions-and here, alone in the dark, I could have asked. I should have asked. But I couldn’t find the right words. So we stood there looking out over the yard. I drank my hot chocolate, shared his cigarette and his company…and asked him nothing.
The next morning, Evelyn didn’t mention the “offer.” Nor did I. We had breakfast, then Jack and I got ready to go. Back to Little Joe. As Jack promised, I was miniskirt free. No high heels or push-up bras, either. My outfit was pretty much what I’d normally wear at this time of year-jeans, a turtleneck and a denim jacket. The disguise started at the neck, with Evelyn’s long brunette wig and my new green contacts. I’d added a needle-thin scar under my eye, the kind of distinguishing feature that doesn’t really stand out, but would be the first thing you’d mention in a witness ID.
Jack had dressed casually as well-in jeans and a thick pullover that, with some padding, bulked him out from well built to hefty. A sandy-brown wig and glasses, and he was the other half of a middle-class couple going to visit an old family friend in the nursing home.
As Jack drove, the radio station we were listening to faded. I flipped the dial and caught:
“-killer’s demand was delivered to over fifty media outlets at 9 a.m. eastern standard time. The FBI has requested a publication ban until they verify that it is not a hoax, but fledgling network TNC has announced plans to air it in a special broadcast at ten this morning-”
I glanced at the car stereo clock: 9:43.
“Do you think any of the radio stations will carry it?” I said. “Or should I call Evelyn, get her to watch, maybe tape it?”
Jack was already steering onto the off-ramp.
“Where-?”
“Place with TVs. Lots of ’em.”
Before us was a wall of television screens, all tuned to the nearest TNC affiliate. Between us and those screens was another wall-one of flesh and bone-as we stood in the midst of a mob seven or eight people deep, all crowded into the department store’s home electronics department. Even the staff was there, in the first row, having weaseled through the crowd on the pretense of “monitoring the volume levels.”
The store was already warm, and the added crush of bodies wasn’t helping. Nor was the overpowering cologne on the young man to my left. I supposed the strong musky scent was intended to provoke some hormonal response, to make him irresistible to women, but it reminded me of the raccoon’s nest I’d cleaned from the boathouse this summer.
“This is a special TNC broadcast-” a man’s voice intoned.
As the crowd hushed, I lifted onto my tiptoes and leaned right to see past the head of a mountainous man in front of me. The announcer seemed to be explaining how the letter had been delivered, but I caught only a smattering of words through the whispers of the couple to my right. The text version of the newsman’s words scrolled across the screen, and if I could just lean a little more to the right, I’d be able to-The man stepped squarely in front of me.
A hand reached around my waist and Jack tugged me over, squeezing me in front of him for a perfect view.
“Thanks,” I whispered. “Can you still see the-?”
“Don’t need to.”
I knew he wasn’t just saying that to be polite. He would have been content to continue on to see Little Joe, and get the update later. We were here for me.
After five minutes of recapping the delivery of this letter, and the contents of the one from the day before, the newscaster finally revealed the main prize-lifting a sheet of paper with such care and gravitas that you’d think it was the original Declaration of Independence.
“‘Dear Mr. and Mrs. Citizen,’” he read. “‘I will keep this brief. You already know that your law-enforcement agencies cannot protect you, so there is no need for me to spell out the danger faced by each of you, and your
