Never smile at strangers

He looked out the small window, listening to the faint crooning of Bob Dylan. He’d set the CD on loop the night before, and now Dylan’s Lay, Lady, Lay played softly on the floor beside his bed. The sky outside was splattered in shades of gray and pink, the begi

In the nightmare her face had been so vivid. Her features true to that night, even down to her smeared eye makeup and the mole above her lips. Her words as sharp as they had been in life, still echoed in his head.

She had regarded him with eyes that knew he would be just as twisted as she was.

She was wearing one of her many wigs, and speaking in a voice he hadn’t heard before. He knew the night would be bad. Even worse than the others.

The door to the basement stairs was open and she balanced on her bare, calloused heels in the doorway for a bottle of liquor. Her red nightgown was too sheer, too short. “We’re going to have us a little quality time tonight, boy,” she said.

He’d been trapped, standing next to the recliner, trying to find a way back to his room. He glanced at the carpet. Allie had been gluing leaves to a sheet of pink construction paper. A bottle of paste lay on its side next to his feet. Glue was dried to the carpet.

Sashaying into the kitchen, his mother reached into the cabinet and pulled out two shot glasses and filled them with whiskey. Hugging the bottle in the space between her arm pit and her side, she walked into the living room carrying the shot glasses.

They drank in silence for the next half hour. He knew better than to say no. He just prayed he’d be able to outlast her, and that she’d pass out on the couch before being able to do much harm.

As they drank, she looked past him. “I never wanted a boy,” she admitted. “Men are manipulators. No good.” A smirk. “Look at you,” she said, venom in her voice. “Yore pathetic. You’ll always be pathetic. Ruled by women.”

His erratic heartbeat, the wind outside, his mother’s smoker cough, the liquor trickling into his belly, all blared inside his head. His fists clenched. Rage had already become one with him, and he was powerless against it.

Allie appeared in the living room, rubbing her small eyes. “What’s going on?”

His mother’s expression softened. “Your brother and me are bonding, beautiful,” she said. “Go on back to bed.”

Allie yawned. Then she stood there, unmoving. “Can’t I stay awake?”

“No. Get some rest.”

“But Mama?”

The woman’s tone hardened. “Allie,” she warned.

Allie scowled, then went back to her room.

When she was gone, his mother leaned forward and ran a rough hand down the side of his face. “So, what shall we do tonight?” she asked.

He swallowed.

“You think yore mama looks pretty in this little nightie?”

He studied the carpet, knowing that if he looked full-on at the nightgown, he’d be able to see the evil beneath it.

“I thought you would.” She took a long sip of her drink and set the glass down hard. “You know better than to let me down, don’t you, boy?”

Yes, he did. And he was terrified of doing it again. . . of giving himself the chance to. But he was more weary of being terrified. Little did she know, he’d finally learned to transform the terror into anger.

Not fifteen minutes later, he shoved his mother down the basement stairs, and when he charged down, carrying the foot of rope he’d kept hidden beneath his bed for months, he made certain she wasn’t getting up.

Chapter 44

AS HE JOURNEYED through the woods to visit the Anderson family later that evening, he thought of the girl hitchhiker he’d almost picked up a few days before. It had been a near disaster, how close he came to inviting her into the truck, possibly doing what he had to Tiffany.

He floored the gas pedal as she tried to open the door. It had been amusing to watch her through the dust the truck kicked up. She flipped him the bird, her hand no doubt stinging from the truck’s sudden lurch.

Now he was at the opening of the woods, but the Anderson’s windows were dark and neither automobile was parked in the driveway. Cold fingers of disappointment tugged at his heart, threatening to strangle it. The familiar stir of despair crept in.

But then he had an idea. One that both excited and frightened him.

Minutes later, he felt so alive, tiptoeing through the murkiness of Kelsey’s room with his flashlight trained on the carpeted floor. Clothes were strewn all over the place—tops, jeans, shoes, a dirty di

He entered the family’s hallway, keeping the flashlight trained on the floor, and wandered into another bedroom. Her son’s. Posters of rock bands covered the walls. School books, a laptop computer. A CD rack, twisted bed sheets. He wondered if they were anything alike, but doubted it. The boy would go places, and he was wondering if he’d ever really get to see Nevada.

Walking into his angel’s room, he breathed in the soothing scent of lavender, and let the flashlight shine across her king-sized bed. His mind racing, he walked into the master bathroom. Cosmetics and lotions were neatly arranged on a shelf above the toilet. He picked up a few, imagining her holding them. Squirting a perfume on the back of his arm, he sneezed as quietly as he could manage.

Her large walk-in closet was painfully organized, seventeen pairs of shoes lined up in a perfect row. He touched her clothes and after much consideration, gently removed one silky dress from a hanger.

He went to her bureau and opened the first drawer. Her panty drawer. The underwear was chaotic, an array of whites, blues, blacks and pinks. He gazed at them for a quick moment, before closing the drawer. Then he saw something that really interested him. A gold bracelet. He stuffed it in his jeans.

Being in her room both excited him and calmed his nerves in a way that only one other thing did. He drew air into his lungs and allowed himself a few moments of complete ecstasy.

What kind of person would he have become with a mother like her, he wondered.

He left the master bedroom and moved through the front of the house where the living room and kitchen were. There were so many shadows but everything was still, calm.

Wandering into the living room, he paused by the huge windows. Then it happened. The inevitable. A loud noise erupted from one of the bedrooms.

Rock and roll music.

He flipped off the flashlight and crouched down. Then instinctively, he backed into a corner. There was another noise, something right next to him. He dropped the flashlight and dress, and, his hands trembling, felt along the floor for them. Something wet was on the carpet. And there was a. . . a glass. He’d tipped a glass over. That had been the noise. The music still blared in the back of the house. He listened hard for movement, so intently his head ached.

Then, headlights bounced off a wall and he heard a car approaching the house. The engine died and a door banged shut. Then another.

He hurried across the room, to the back door. In less than five seconds, he was safely back in the woods.

Winded, he turned back, hoping to get a look at his angel. But the night was too dark.

Leaves crunched a few feet away. His heart sped up and he took cover behind an oak. His eyes darted toward where the sound had been.

That’s when he saw her. First her outline, then a few features. But he knew exactly who she was.

His angel’s daughter, Kelsey.

She was frozen in a crouch, staring at him.

But before he could decide what to do or even react, she dashed out of the brush and to the safety of her home.