Kevin O'Brien - One Last Scream

“What about Jody?” George was saying on the other end of the line. “Could you put him on the phone for a second?”

Jessie’s throat went dry. “Um, I–I’m sorry, George, he’s in the bathroom. He just stepped in the shower.” She watched the woman approaching the front door now. It was George’s neighbor from across the street, a sixty-something divorcee named Sally Bidwell. She was thin with short silver hair and wore a black pantsuit. She’d been out of town at the time of George’s wife’s death, but had been over twice this week to see if they needed anything. George had told Jessie that Mrs. Bidwell had an extra key to the house in case Jessie ever got locked out.

As she came closer to the house, Mrs. Bidwell stopped and stood on her tiptoes so she could peek into the living room window.

Jessie tried not to stare at her. She didn’t want His Majesty to see they had a visitor.

“Well, it looks like I struck out again,” George said. “But they’re both doing okay, Jess?”

“Yes, George,” she said. “For now, they’re okay.”

“Thank you, Jessie. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

The man started pushing the phone harder against her face. “Hurry up,” he mouthed.

“Okay, George,” she said. “Good-bye.”

The man in the sunglasses quickly hung up the phone, then clicked off the cordless. “‘For now, they’re okay?’ What’s that shit? Was that your way of telling him something’s wrong?”

Jessie just helplessly shook her head at him. She glanced toward the living room window again, but didn’t see Mrs. Bidwell.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

The young man quickly snatched his revolver from the kitchen counter and crept over toward the front door. The doorbell rang again.

Jessie heard a muffled cry coming from Jody’s room.

His back pressed against the wall, the man waited. He had the gun drawn. He seemed very calm and cool, or maybe it was just because Jessie couldn’t read his expression behind those sunglasses.

Outside, Mrs. Bidwell backed away from the door. Craning her neck, she stood on her tiptoes again and tried to get another look into the living room window. Squirming in the chair, Jessie wondered if Mrs. Bidwell could see her though the sheer drapes. She held her breath and watched the young man reach over for the door handle.

Mrs. Bidwell lingered on the front stoop, trying to peek inside the house.

Because the Lake Wenatchee shootings had been such big news, the McMillans had endured their share of snoops this week. Jessie had seen a few driving down the cul-de-sac to catch a glimpse of the house, and others actually came right up to the house and tried to peek into the windows. In contrast, there were also several nice neighbors who had stopped by with flowers, casseroles, and condolences, Mrs. Bidwell among them. But she’d always struck Jessie as a bit over-solicitous and meddling.

At this point, Jessie wasn’t sure if she wanted Mrs. Bidwell to see anything or not. She figured George would know how to handle this. But she didn’t trust Mrs. Bidwell.

Finally, the woman shrugged her shoulders and turned around.

Jessie let out a sigh.

The man in the sunglasses moved over to the edge of the living room window, and he peered outside.

Through the sheer curtains, Jessie watched Mrs. Bidwell walk back up the driveway. But then she stopped and glanced inside the car for a moment. She turned toward the house again.

The man ducked back, and the sheer curtain fluttered.

Mrs. Bidwell stared at the window for a few moments. Then she took another few steps toward the house again. Pausing for a moment, she reached into her purse. Then she continued down the driveway past the front walkway, toward the back door. Jessie couldn’t see her through the living room window anymore.

The man darted back into the kitchen. Swiping a dishtowel off the counter, he turned toward Jessie and grabbed her by the hair. Jessie struggled as he stuffed the dishtowel in her mouth. Helplessly, she watched him scurry over to the back door.

The neighbor knocked a few times. And then Jessie heard the door lock being manipulated. Mrs. Bidwell was using the spare key. Jessie wanted to scream out a warning, but she couldn’t.

The kitchen door opened. “Hello?” Mrs. Bidwell called, stepping into the kitchen. “George? Anyone home?”

The young man waited on the other side of the door with his gun ready. Mrs. Bidwell couldn’t see him, but she spotted Jessie, bound and gagged in the chair. All Jessie could do was shake her head at the woman.

For a moment, Mrs. Bidwell stood there, paralyzed, gaping at Jessie.

The man with sunglasses tucked his gun in the waist of his pants. Mrs. Bidwell swiveled around. She let out a gasp, then bolted toward the door. But he slammed it shut in front of her. He grabbed her and slapped his hand over her mouth. Arms flailing, the thin woman tried to fight him off, but he was too big for her. She struggled and kicked, but he didn’t let go. All the while he held onto her, he hardly changed his expression. There was just the hint of a smirk on his face as he carried out his task-like a robot, not a trace of emotion.

He took his hand away from Mrs. Bidwell’s mouth for only a few seconds as he reached for his revolver again. She screamed, until he clubbed her over the head with his gun.

The woman let out a feeble cry. She was stunned, but still conscious. She started to squirm as the man with the dark glasses dragged her into the living room. He threw her on the couch. Mrs. Bidwell let out another gasp, as if she’d gotten the wind knocked out of her.

The young man grabbed a sofa pillow and put it over her face.

Then he fired his gun into the pillow.

Jessie watched in horror as the woman’s body twitched and convulsed with spasms. Then she slumped across the couch, suddenly still. Feathers from the pillow floated in the air around her. Jessie caught a glimpse of Mrs. Bidwell’s face-her open eyes and the huge, gaping hole in her left cheek. Then the young man gave the corpse a forceful shove. The woman rolled over on her face. A bloodstain started to bloom beneath her on the beige sofa.

The young man seemed annoyed as he moved away from the body. Frowning, he brushed the pillow feathers off his shiny black suit. He straightened his tie, readjusted his sunglasses, and then headed for the kitchen sink. Turning on the cold water, he ran his hand under the stream.

“Fucking bitch bit me,” he grumbled.

Tears in her eyes, Jessie stared at Mrs. Bidwell’s corpse. For the last forty minutes, Jessie had been hoping against hope the young man would just take whatever else he wanted and then leave. But now she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Now she knew he wasn’t going to leave this house until he’d killed her and the children.

“Oh God, George, you’re walking into a trap.”

“I know,” he said.

It was one of the only things George was sure about.

At this point, he figured either Annabelle or Blade, or both of them, were holding Jessie and his children hostage at his home. And they wanted him there, too.

“Karen, I really have no choice,” he said into the phone. He kept his eyes on the road. He’d just passed a sign indicating McNary Field was straight ahead. He knew he was close to the airport because he saw a Best Western and a Holiday Inn Express just up the road. “I have a feeling they’re keeping the kids alive so Jessie will cooperate with them,” he said. “And obviously they’re using Jessie to talk me into coming home. I’m hoping no one will get hurt as long as they’re still trying to lure me there. I have about ninety minutes to figure out a strategy. I’m not calling the police, at least not yet. Maybe when I get to Seattle. We’ll see.”