“Jack,” the voice answered. “Good to hear from you, buddy. How they hangin’?”
“Not so good. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Well, you know, nothing too good for an old roomie. What can I do you for?”
“It’s…well…I’ve been thinking of selling this place and moving.”
“Going upscale on us, huh?”
“Not exactly. More like moving away. Out of state.”
Hissss, buzzzz, ssssssh. The static surged more loudly as the voice on the other end momentarily fell silent.
“Like that, huh?”
“Yeah, afraid so. Anyway, you know how much I appreciate your getting us into this place. Bargain-basement price and all.”
“No problemo. After the old fart that used to live there died, his two kids couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Funny, though, the deal almost fell through there at the end. I couldn’t even get them together in the same town long enough to sign the papers. Not a family I’d like to know better. They didn’t so much as speak to each other the whole time. But that’s neither here nor there. How can I help?”
“I know the market’s pretty soft right now…”
“That’s the understatement of the year!”
“Yeah, but it’s…I…can you help me dump this place? Fast?”
“Sounds serious.”
“It kinda is. Look, you and I know the condition the house is in. Will that make it too hard to get rid of?”
“You made any improvements.”
“Just the room conversion. The old garage is the family room now, and I had them build an adjoining garage. The property was just wide enough between the house and the fence to fit.”
“Umm. That will add a good bit to the square footage. Any more…uh…complications?”
“Not really. Just what you know about. Cracks along the foundation. Cracks on the inside walls. Seems to have slowed, though. Not much new recently.”
“Okay, Jack. I think we can work with this. It’ll take a little of money, though, not as much as a major re-build but a bit.”
“Whatever.”
“Okay, buddy, here’s what we’re going to do…”
6
Jack had a bitch of a headache. It started at his temples and shot across his forehead, throb throb throb throb. His eyes watered from the pain.
He settled deeper into his armchair, grateful once more that his den had turned out to be the quietest room in the house. Ariel and the kids were probably in the family room watching TV. From back here he could hear nothing.
Except the throb of blood rushing through his veins and pounding against his temples.
He took a long pull on his beer.
Cold. Thank god for the mini-fridge back here. He didn’t think he could stand to walk as far as the kitchen right now.
The headache had begun during the drive home. That had happened more than once in the five months since he had placed the call to Maxwell. The call for help.
Five months.
An eternity.
There had been a few nibbles on the house almost as soon as it was ready to show. Two prospects had even tendered offers, but for some reason they had been withdrawn shortly after the marks had made a careful walkthrough. Slick hadn’t been too concerned.
“That’s the way the market is right now. Mostly lookie-loos. Don’t worry. Things will probably pick up after school opens.”
Easy enough for him to say, Jack thought bitterly. He didn’t have to come home to Ariel and the kids and these damned headaches.
He rolled the cold can against his forehead.
He knew that he sometimes had…problems. He tried to keep control, and most of the time he could. But every once in a while, situations arose and he just…let go.
But for the last few months, it had been worse. Much worse. Much harder to manage…things.
He knew from past experience what the red rages felt like, the need to lash out and hurt someone. He was careful, though. Never too much. Never too often. And usually he didn’t have to make an ER run.
But now.
He shuddered.
Hurting didn’t seem to be enough. A slap across the cheek. A punch to the shoulder. A good solid whack on a naked rear end. A belt on the back of the legs-high, where it wouldn’t show. Those didn’t work.
Now he wanted, needed more. When the mood was on him, he could close his eyes and easily-oh, so very easily-envision smashing his fist into Clark’s face, breaking a jaw and spilling teeth all over the floor like kernels of bright-red rice. Or crushing Mark’s nose with his elbow, feeling the sudden, almost orgasmic heat of blood flowing across the flesh of his arm. Shattering Ariel’s arm the next time she tried to restrain him, feeling the bones crumble into fragments, like the slab beneath his chair. Beating them all…all of them at once. Pounding them bloody. Destroying them.
When he was in control, that seemed bad enough. But it wasn’t the worst.
He took another long drink.
He probably should get up and turn on the light. It was already dark, even though daylight-savings time wouldn’t end for a week or two. His den was shrouded in shadows…and sometimes the shadows seemed to flicker, to move.
Sometimes they whispered to him to…to do things…horrible, terrifying things…not to Ariel or the boys but to himself.
It was the memory of those urges that utterly froze him. His headache geared up a notch or two.
Shit. How much more of this could he take.
Rap. Rap.
Small, tentative knocks sounded on his closed-and carefully locked-door. Anger flooded through him.
The knew that the weren’t supposed to disturb him when he was in here.
Rap. Rap.
“What!”
There was a short pause, then a faint voice. It was Clark. Jack could almost see the brat’s face, pale and drawn at the prospect of what he knew must be coming.
“Dad?”
“I told you not to…!”
“There’s a man here to see you.”
Jack sat bolt upright. The movement sent spikes through his brain.
“Cops?”
Another pause.
“No. Just a man. He says his name is Maxwell.”
Jack released his breath explosively and settled back into the chair. He upended his beer and drank the rest in a single long swallow.
He rose, thumbed the lock, and pulled the door open.
What the hell!
He jerked back convulsively, almost slammed the door closed, then blinked.
