Family Murders: A Thriller (4 page)

"Look Gabe," said Angela, "we can try to get someone to help us figure this thing out. We can get help."

"Help is the last thing you deserve," he snorted. "What disgusts me the most is the girl. How can you let her play a part in this? She's so young. She's the same age as my sister. How can you live with yourself, knowing how close she is to him?"

"There must be some mistake. I really don't know who you're talking about. Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need you to do something for me. I need you to pass along a message."

Gabe let go of her arm, put on his sunglasses, and smiled. He turned and started across the field towards the woods on the far side. Five steps in he half-turned and called out.

"Tell you husband I say hello. Tell him I know where to find him and his family. And tell him I'll be paying you all a visit—very, very soon."

Then he was headed for the woods again, five steps, ten steps, more. This time, he didn't turn around.

6

Angela circled for what felt like hours, always looking in the rear-view mirror. Back in her own driveway, she sprinted from one car door to the other. She wrenched open the passenger side, grabbed Julie by the arm, and pulled her toward the house.

"Mommy, you're hurting me!"

"Come on, honey," she said, "we've got to get home." Her key was already out as they reached the front of the house, and then they were inside. The urge to simply slam the door was enormous. Angela felt like a kid again, hiding under the covers and waiting for her father to come home, totally unable to peek out. If she'd been alone, if she hadn't been a mother, this would have been the same. But for Julie's sake, Angela crushed down her panic, poked her head out the door, and looked.

Nothing. Just the gravel drive lined with trees and a dusting of the first fallen leaves rustling slightly in the wind. She pushed out a deep breath, hadn't even realized she was holding it in. Slowly, she closed the door and seated it in its frame as solidly as possible. Carefully, she twisted the small knob lock, shot the deadbolt, and slid the chain into its runner. They were secure. They were safe again.

She turned and pressed her back against the door. Her knees felt weak and she let herself slide down to the ground. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She had married Ted to make a life that was predictable and stable, to get away from anything like this. Sitting there, head between her knees, Angela thought she might start to cry. She lifted her head up and pushed hair out of her face, expecting to see her daughter worrying over her.

Instead she saw the empty foyer with all the lights off, sitting in silence. In the last light of an overcast day, openings into the dining room and the living room and the hallway to the kitchen all appeared cave-like, quickly receding into darkness.

"Julie!" Angela called out.

Nothing.

Fear gripped her again. Jesus, her own house, her own safe place. Her house—the house she loved, the house she knew so well, the house that she had helped Ted design—was suddenly more terrifying than the world outside the door. Someone could be here, hidden somewhere, and there would be no way to tell. The place was full of nooks and crannies, crawlspaces and closets.

Angela's mind reeled under the force of a lurching shift in perspective. She had locked the door, thinking she would lock out danger in the process. Instead, she'd just locked herself into box with whatever might be lurking in here.

The urge open the door and run, to run and not look back, was overpowering. Some detached and objective part of her at the back of her mind almost laughed. How ridiculous to run into a house one minute and out of it the very next, and for basically the same reasons. Still, Angela thought, I could run. I would be running if it wasn't for Julie.

"Julie!" she screamed.

Again, there was nothing to hear. She could feel her right hand shake as she forced it out and along the wall, her fingers stretching toward the switch and finding it. For a brief second, Angela was convinced the power would be out again. She was afraid to flip it, afraid to find out.

She flipped it anyway. The light came on with a click. Nothing. Just an empty foyer, now harshly lit. Some of the new light penetrated the doorways into other rooms, but the relative difference in illumination made the deeper parts of the house seem even darker than before. The end of the hallway in particular looked as though a dark curtain had been drawn across it. Angela knew the light switch was down there at the the end. She strained to see it. As she looked, her eyes sensed something in the darkness. She could make out no detail, no edge. Just the barest hint of movement. And then a tiny bit of color.

A tiny slice of pink.

A black shape exploded through the curtain of darkness, coming fast and low and right at Angela's heart. Adrenaline catapulted outward from her core down to the tips of her fingers and toes. Instinctively, she pushed backwards. The edge of the small carpet there caught her heel. She fell, and knew it was over before she hit the floor. There was no more time.

Angela gave in. She closed her eyes tight, pulled her arms around her, and waited for it to happen. A hot, rough tongue scraped itself across one side of her face. She opened the now moistened eye and saw Rocky, tongue out, smiling at her.

"Rocky!" she said, and started to laugh. Once it started it was uncontrollable, like all the energy reserves her body had summoned couldn't be put back into storage. The cannon fuse was lit, the firework was already soaring towards the sky. Now it had to shoot, to explode, to get out—one way or another. Angela was laughing, a deep and free belly-laugh, laughing so hard snot ran down her face. Rocky licked it off, which only set her off harder, faster. She couldn't breathe.

Julie.

One word chilled the hot fire in her belly to ice water, but strangely, she didn't panic this time. The jitters were gone, the nervous energy vaporized like flash paper in a flame. She felt collected and clear-headed. Instantly, she knew what to do.

"Rocky! Go find Julie!" The dog pitched his head sideways, questioning. "That's right, Julie. Where's Julie? Find her!"

Rocky gave one of his distinctive barks, a kind of bellow, then turned and ran, nails clicking across the hardwood floor. Angela felt a primal joy in their new approach. She and Rocky would hunt Julie down and protect her, and that was that. Freed of her fear, she charged after the big dog. She didn't turn on any lights as she went, sacrificing vision for speed, trusting Rocky to lead her. She turned a last corner and found him sitting at the end of the other hall. He was facing an unstained pine door, a door that was always closed and locked.

A door that was hanging a few inches open. Coming up to it, Angela could feel a draft of cold air setting her hair on end. Beyond the door lay the addition Ted had insisted on. It would add another thousand square feet of elegant space to the house, he'd said. Right now it was anything but elegant, just a rough wooden floor with a frame built up around it, tightly wrapped in huge sheets of plastic to protect against the elements. And it was empty. Ted didn't feel comfortable with workers alone in a house with two girls, he'd said. No telling what could happen while he was away.

No telling at all.

She pushed on the door and felt resistance. All the cool she had collected started to drip and drain away. Her muscles tensed and she pushed harder. The door slid open, tipping back the sandbag that had been leaning against it. Rocky pushed past her legs and into the construction area. Angela followed him.

Standing near a big gap in the floor, looking down, was Julie. Without thinking, Angela was there. She had no memory of moving from one place to another, just of kneeling behind Julie and locking her arms around her.

"Mommy was so worried about you, Julie," she said, "didn't you hear me calling? What are you doing in here, sweetheart?"

"I heard something, Mommy. I was looking for Rocky, just like when I get home everyday. I heard him in here. Or just maybe I did."

"What are you doing near the hole to the new basement?"

"That's where he was when I heard him. Now he's up here!" Julie laughed and gave her dog a hug.

Once again Angela had the unmistakable urge for flight, to take her daughter and run. But she'd come this far, and next to the gap in the floor was one of those yellow construction lights. It was on a stand, with a metal grill over it to prevent things from falling in and burning, and it had a handle hooked across the top near a big on/off switch. Angela reached down and picked it up. She shuffled towards the edge of the hole, angled the light, and flipped the switch.

Nothing. Once again, Angela found herself protecting against the shadows.

"How did you get in here, sweetie?" she asked.

"When I heard…I just came in, Mommy."

Angela swept the light from side to side, up and down. "Where did you get the key to open the door?"

"Oh, the door." Julie cocked her head the side. Rocky mimicked her. Angela kept scanning back and forth with the light. "The door was already open, Mommy."

And there they were. Far back right corner, propped upright, facing out, displayed, just waiting to be found. A pair of pink plastic sunglasses.

In the heat of the moment, realizing how close Julie had come to something, Angela dropped the light. It fell down into the hole, rolled, and sputtered out like some medieval torch. Wordlessly, she grabbed Julie and headed back to the regular house. Rocky sensed their direction and was through the door before they were. Back in the house, Julie pulled the door shut behind her, just like she had been taught. There was a key to lock it, but Angela didn't know where it was kept. They never used this door. She settled for pulling the hallway table in front of it. The door opened outward, and the table was covered in vases and glass figurines. As a compromise (and as an early warning system) Angela figured it wasn't bad. Plus, she thought, they had Rocky.

A ringing came from other room. The phone.

"Stay with me, Julie. Come on Rocky." Together they headed for the kitchen. She paused in front of the phone, then picked up, cutting it off mid-ring.

"Hello," she said neutrally.

"Hello, I'm trying to get in touch with Angela Gray."

"This is."

"Mrs. Gray, this is Detective Frank Cooper. From the other day." She said nothing, and he must have detected something in the silence. "Angela, what's wrong?"

"Jesus, Frank, you've got good timing," she blurted out.

"What's going on?"

"There was someone in the house. And I saw him again, the man in the sunglasses. He's was here. He was here!"

"Slow down, just tell me what's happening."

Suddenly hyper-aware of the house's negative space, and unsure of what could be filling it, Angela realized that shouting was only marking her position. She downshifted to a whisper.

"He's here. Or he was here. And he's after my family, Frank. Not just me. Ted. Julie. He found her alone on a soccer field not an hour ago."

"Angela, I don't care about an hour ago. I care about what's happening right now. You're sure he's in the house?"

"No—but he could be."

"I'm sending someone right over. But it will take a few minutes."

"How many minutes?"

"Maybe five." Frank sighed into his mouthpiece. "Probably ten. Rush hour. The weather. I want you to take Julie and hide. Somewhere you can fix the door so no one can get in."

Angela swallowed. It made sense, just hide out and wait for someone to come. The master bedroom would be the best place. Without lingering any longer she grabbed Julie and swung her up and across her chest and started running. Through the hall, cutting the corner off the foyer, turning up the stairs, a hard right into the bedroom.

The bed easily accepted a thrown child. She slammed the door and twisted the small recessed lock. The phone went back to her ear as she caught her breath. She imagined Frank Cooper sitting in an office, surrounded by cops, cops with guns, listening to her gasps. It was a comforting thought, somehow. If anything happened to her, everyone would know, and if anything was about to happen Angela would make that very clear. She could hear herself now: "I'm on the phone with the police right now! You better get out of here, asshole!" She almost laughed again.

"Angela, are you still there?"

"Yeah, we're in the master bedroom. The door is locked. I think we're okay."

"Look, I don't want to alarm you, but I want you to open the closet."

Angela felt a spike in blood pressure.

"I know how that sounds. I couldn't have you and the girl walking around checking the whole house. But you had to go somewhere, and that place we are going to have to check."

She said nothing.

"We'll do it together."

Cooper's voice sounded tinny and distant, distilled though cheap government electronics. Angela was suddenly finding far less comfort in something as ephemeral as an open phone line.

"You're not here, Frank," she hissed.

"Just do it, Angela."

Unconsciously she had turned and oriented herself to face the slatted closet door, and now she was backing away. Some part of her knew anyone in there could be looking out at her right now, listening to everything she was saying. It was the same part of her that winced even before a needle actually went in her arm. Now it made her close her eyes for second and wait for the inevitable: the snapping of thin, pine slats; the obliteration of a fragile latch; the outward explosion of the closet door as he came for them.

Angela cracked an eye. The door was still whole. It was just sitting there. That, at least, seemed reassuring. She made herself walk forward, clutching the cordless handset like some kind of club. In the end she did it just like ripping off a band-aid. One quick motion, one jerk of her arm, and the door was open. Clothes. Shoes. Boxes.

Nothing. For what felt like the hundredth time, Angela felt tension melt down through her toes and into the floor below. She wasn't sure she could keep doing this, ratcheting herself up only to bottom out.