Diamond dust frost glinted
from the cars. Here and there lights dimly lit windows as he drove slowly through the old neighborhood. He pulled
into the shadows next to the house, cut the lights and ignition, and waited silently, weighing the risk of being seen by an
elderly insomniac.
Feeling around the floor, he located the duct tape. He tore off two six-inch sections, and slapped them over the dome
light. Patting his jacket pocket to make sure he had the keys, he picked up the flashlight and got out, easing the door
shut silently. A few blocks away a frightened dog barked a challenge into the night. A trucker downshifted coming
off the interstate, ignoring the ordinance against jake braking. Otherwise nothing disturbed the early morning stillness.
He paused for a quick
breath at the knife-edge of shadow and then stepped deliberately into the street light glare, turned purposefully, and climbed
the stairs as if he belonged. The third and final key worked, eliciting a sigh of relief. He stepped inside, closed
the door, and leaned with his back to it, listening intently. No one could be in the house, but his pulse continued
to race as it had since he had taken the first irrevocable step in the afternoon.
Using a flashlight masked with duct tape, he picked his
way to the bathroom. Once inside, he flipped the switch, noting in alarm a frosted window over the bathtub. Then
he reminded himself that no one would think twice about a bathroom light coming on in the middle of the night. Squinting
in the harsh fluorescent glare, he checked the medicine cabinet for prescription drugs. A medical condition would greatly
complicated things, but he found to his relief only over the counter medicines and ointments. He fetched a pillowcase
from the bedroom and put them all in it along with toilet articles, makeup paraphernalia, hairdryer, and curling iron.
The latter two were useless without electricity, but he took them for appearance sake.
He went to the bedroom and packed two large
soft leather suitcases with an assortment of suitable clothes, towels, washcloths, and a box of feminine napkins. A
paperback lay on the nightstand. He took it along with several others from atop the dresser, pens and pencils, and two
spiral notebooks.
She leased by the year, so there would be no problem with a curious landlord. Her friend would be a different story.
He went to the computer and touched the mouse. As soon as the monitor lit, he clicked the e-mail icon, and scrolled
down the list of addresses, selected one, and began typing. He proofread the message and then sent it.
Fifteen minutes later
he pulled to the shoulder on a hill overlooking the lake and turned off his lights. When he saw no headlights shone
in either direction, with only the waning moon to light his way, he followed the old lane through the junkyard down to the
deserted marina. After loading, he drove back to the junkyard and parked between two wrecked vans. He checked
his watch, nodded in satisfaction, and then popped the trunk to get the tools.
When finished he inspected his handiwork by the light of
the moon. The tireless car now looked like just another derelict. The license plates were packed in the trunk
along with the hair drier and curling iron. Satisfied with the camouflage, he ran back down to the marina and shoved
off. He paddled out into the cove, listening carefully for the sounds of boats nearby. Detecting none, he started
the engine and headed out at low idle.
The morning wind had yet to freshen so the water was still relatively calm. Using his flashlight to check the compass,
he took bearing slightly north of a bright star low in the western sky and slowly brought the speed the boat up until the
big Merc planed her off. Richard sped into the dying night away from everything normal and sane. Cold numbed his
face as the boat made steady progress westward across mercifully calm waters. The big lake was cooperating---so far.
Somehow I've got to make
her understand what's really happening or . . .
He didn't want to think about the alternative, about what he might be forced to do.
