Nightwitch (6 page)

“
Do you know where I live?”

“
I know.” Arty knew where everybody lived. “I’m leaving right now.”

He hung up the phone and pushed himself off the bed. He might be in serious trouble with his father tomorrow for sneaking out, but he had a friend who needed him tonight.

He pulled his flannel pajama pants out from between the crack in his buttocks, then pulled them down. For an instant, naked from the waist down, he wondered about what to wear, then he dropped the thought and pulled on the same underwear he’d worn to school. His mother never would have approved. Then he went to his dresser and pulled out a faded pair of Levi’s from the second drawer.

Breathing heavily and already sweating, he stuffed his feet into the same white socks he’d worn earlier. If he was violating his mother’s rule about never wearing anything he’d taken off till it was washed again, he might as well go all the way. But not the white tennis shoes, he’d never wear those again. He rummaged in his closet and came up with his new Nikes and put them on.

He took a deep breath, to calm himself, after he’d laced them up. He scratched the back of his neck, to chase away the chilly willies, and took another breath, before opening the second from the top dresser drawer and taking out an old sweatshirt. He put it on over his pajama top. He knew how cold it was outside.

Now he had to get out of the house. There was no way he was going to get down the hall, through the kitchen and out the back door. His mother spent every night sitting at the breakfast table, alone, reading. And he wasn’t going to get out the front way either. His father spent every night in front of the television, also alone. That meant he had to go out the window. Something he hadn’t done since he was younger—and leaner.

He pulled the curtains aside and raised the window. The squeaking sound it made going up caused him to jump back. He held his breath and waited. But nobody came.

He stared at the open window for a long half-minute. Outside meant danger, excitement, a friend. Inside was his mother in the kitchen, his father in front of the TV and Arty alone in his room. He blanked his mind, putting tomorrow and his parents out of the picture and his leg through the window.

Fifteen minutes later he was huffing up the sidewalk in front of Carolina’s house. He jogged up to the front porch without thinking, grabbed a lungful of air and knocked three times. The door opened immediately.

“
Boy am I glad you came.” The relief in her eyes made whatever his father decided to do to him tomorrow worth it.

“
I got here as fast as I could.”

“
Come in, quick. I think someone’s been looking in the window.”

“
You didn’t turn the lights on,” he said. “We gotta do that.”

“
You sure?”

“
Yeah, how many movies have you seen where the bad guy comes into the dark house?”

“
Okay.” She walked over to the couch and turned on the lamp.

“
Where’s your mom?”

“
On a date. Follow me.” She led him over plush white carpet, across a living room filled with a bright orange and yellow overstuffed sofa with matching love seat and chair. “My mom likes bright things,” she said. “My room is this way.”

“
I can’t go in your room.”

“
Why not?”

“
I don’t know,” he said, but he knew the answer and he didn’t feel like holding it back. “My mother wouldn’t like it.”

“
So, don’t tell her.” She turned on the light as she entered her room.

“
It’s nice,” he said. “I’ve never been in a girl’s bedroom before. Actually, I’ve never been in anyone’s bedroom but mine. My parents won’t let me in theirs and I don’t have many friends.”

“
That’s too bad,” she said.

“
How come you got two beds?”

“
They were on sale when my mom bought the furniture for the house. She thought it would be a good idea, in case I had friends sleep over.”

“
You got many friends that spend the night?”

“
Not yet.”

“
The bedspreads are different,” he said. Then he screamed.

“
Sheila,” Carolina said, sounding cross and trying not to. “Come here.” She laughed as the ferret jumped from Arty’s shoulder into her lap.

“
What is it?” Arty asked, feeling sweat run under his arms.

“
It’s my ferret. Arty meet Sheila, Sheila meet Arty.”

“
Keep it away.”

“
Oh grow up. She won’t hurt you. She’s as harmless as a cat.”

“
You’re sure?”

“
Sure. Stick out your hand.”

He obeyed and extended his arm. Sheila approached warily and nuzzled his hand. “She likes me.” He stroked her fur. Then he said, “She has a gold necklace like yours.”

“
Yeah, mine was too long, so I used a pliers and made it shorter, and since Sheila had to have a name tag I used the leftover part instead of a collar.”

“
I’ve never had a pet before,” he said.

“
Me either, Sheila’s my first, and my mom doesn’t know about her.”

“
What?”

“
She’s a secret pet.”

“
If she’s a secret why does she need a name tag?”

“
Because if she gets lost and someone finds her, I want them to know she’s a pet and not a wild animal, so they don’t hurt her.”

“
How did you get her?”

“
I saved my allowance and lunch money, till I had enough. I got her at the pet store in Tampico.”

“
So how come it’s a secret?”

“
Because I know my mom. She’d make me give her away. She hates animals.”

“
How do you keep her from finding out?” He smiled at the clucking sound the ferret was making.

“
I buy dried cat food with my allowance and keep it in my underwear drawer. My mother never looks in there.” She smiled more with the right side of her face than the left.

“
You have a crooked smile.”

“
Really?” She looked in the mirror above her dresser. “Yeah, I do.”

“
Where does it go to the bathroom?”

“
At first I thought that would be my big problem, but it wasn’t. I leave the window open a little bit and she squeezes out when she has to go and comes right back in afterwards.”

“
Did you train her to do that?”

“
No, she always did it. She’s never gone in the house.”

“
Does she ever bite?”

“
Only when she’s playing, but it’s just little nibbles and it doesn’t hurt.”

The ferret arched its back and screamed, making a sound like a baby that had been scalded with boiling water. Arty jumped away from the animal, squirming and turning along with Carolina, following the ferret’s frightened gaze and he saw two glowing red eyes staring into the room. Staring at them. Then they faded to black and were gone.

Chapter Four

John Coffee glanced over at the wrapped packages on the passenger seat. Gifts. Carolina was one of the few good things to come out of his life. He smiled as he thought of her eyes, sparkling green as dew lit grass on a fresh morning, her crooked smile showing perfect teeth. Most people wouldn’t believe what he had to tell her, but she would, because they never lied to each other.

It tore at his heart, the thought of telling her, because it would probably steal away her childhood. But she had to be warned, even if it meant the steep price of her innocence. But first he wanted to just sit and talk, gab about baseball, school and whatever else she might be interested in.

He parked across the street and shut off the engine. He had the windows down and he felt a chill as the evening breeze blew through, bringing the scent of the sea and something else.

He sucked in his breath and held it, listening to the silent breeze. An electric charge danced through the air. He tasted a faint rotten egg smell, and he knew he wouldn’t be knocking on his daughter’s door with gifts and a smile and gabbing about the Atlanta Braves this evening.

The wind shifted, taking the faint sulfur smell away, but he’d tasted the familiar scent and knew that she was near. He opened the door, cringing at the sound it made. He knew what he’d tasted on the wind. He opened the glove compartment, took out a small jar and dropped it in a coat pocket. Satisfied that it was secure, he reached back in and took out the holstered forty-five automatic. Not very accurate at distance, but hit a person anywhere at close range and you picked him up and slammed him back about six feet.

He took the gun out of the holster and shifted it to his left hand. There was a reason children feared shadows on the wall and primitive people feared the night. A gun would be useless against whatever tore at their hearts, and he doubted it would be much good against what he was about to face, but he felt naked without it.

The charged air sent the hair on his arms tingling in warning, and he crossed himself.

She was close.

He stepped out of the car, looking up and down the block as he closed the door, checking to see if anyone was watching. The small residential street was lit by a street light at either end, the two in the middle of the block were dark.

Was it coincidence?

She was clever.

It started to rain.

The house was covered in darkness and it reminded him of another dark house on another dark night. It was overcast then too. And, he remembered, it had rained the night he broke into her house at the end of the road. There were stories and legends, whispers and pointing fingers. The locals knew enough to leave the old woman alone. Not him. She was old and he thought she would be easy. Old, she was, and now his daughter might wind up paying, because easy, she wasn’t.

He moved across the lawn with the practiced ease of a burglar, glancing again at the light at the northern end of the street, then at the southern.

Nobody at either end.

The living weren’t out tonight.

He turned his head away from the far off street light and moved his eyes back into blackness, so they would get used to the dark. He wanted to flee and he would have, the locket wasn’t worth it, but Carolina was. He headed toward the side of the house.

There was a space between each house, in most cases covered by bushes or small trees. The houses were about ten feet apart. That space made a perfect den for an animal, or one of the many homeless that were starting to dot the landscape, or an excellent way for a thief to enter a house unobserved.

One of Carolina’s bedroom windows faced the front of the house, but was hidden from the street by a small pine tree. He liked that, as there was no way a passerby could see into his daughter’s bedroom.

Carolina’s other bedroom window faced into the dark space between the two houses. He knew this as surely as any professional housebreaker knows what he’ll find when he enters an empty house through a window. He’d cased the place earlier. He’d been inside when his ex-wife and daughter had been away. In and out without being detected. He was good at his trade.

He closed half the distance between himself and the bushes guarding the space between the houses. He saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned toward the light at the southern end of the block. A child had just come jogging around the corner on the other side of the street.

He sprinted toward an aging Chevy pickup. He was over the side and lying flat on the wooden bed, before the boy was able to cross over to his side of the street. He’d been in the truck for less then a ten count when the boy came struggling by, breathing hard. A boy in a hurry.

He peeked over the side as soon as the boy was by and watched as he climbed the steps and knocked on the door of his daughter’s house. The boy rushed through as soon as the door opened, and even from his position he was able to hear the sound of the deadbolt clicking in place after him.

He wondered why all the lights were out if someone was home, and why let the chubby kid in and not turn them on? Jane would never do that, he thought. Then he figured it out, Jane wasn’t home. Carolina was home alone. She had the lights out because she was frightened and she wanted it to look like nobody was home.

Was it the old woman? Had she seen it?

For a few seconds he hated Jane for leaving her alone. Then he turned the hate toward himself for bringing this down on his daughter, and for not being available when she needed him.

But he was here now.

He swung a leg over the truck’s bed and hopped out. The light in the living room went on.

Why?

He was standing by the truck, trying to work it out, when the light in her room went on. The chubby kid isn’t afraid, he thought, or he wants it to look like someone’s home, an adult maybe. Time to find out.

He closed his eyes for a second and imagined a small sandy island, some palm trees and a fantasy blond in a string bikini. If he was going to die, that’s what he wanted on his mind as he checked out.

He reached into his coat pocket and took out the jar. He kept the gun glued to his left hand as he used the heel of his right palm against the lid to open it. Then holding the jar between thumb and forefinger, he rotated it, filling his right hand with hot pepper. He said a silent prayer to the Blessed Virgin, asking for strength, as he dropped the open jar back into his pocket.