John Saul - Black Lightning

Kevin struggled to get loose from his sister’s grip, finally managing to free his mouth. “Help!” he yelled. “She’s trying to kidnap me!”

The group of people who had been listening raptly to Kevin only a moment before were grinning now at his attempts to free himself from his sister.

“Did your mom really find the body?” someone asked Heather.

“Oh, God,” Heather groaned. “Why did Mom even have to come up here this morning?” Yet even as she uttered the words, Heather was drawn, like iron filings toward a magnet, to the spot where Joyce Cottrell’s body had been found. Rayette Hoover, staying close to her best friend, felt all the bravado she had voiced only a few minutes before begin to drain from her, but like Heather, she found herself unable simply to walk away.

Both girls had to see.

Yet when they had finally threaded their way through the knot of people, to stare down at the now empty space beneath the brush where only ten hours earlier Heather’s mother came across a disemboweled corpse, there was little left to observe — only a few scraps of yellow plastic tape where the police had cordoned off the area, and an area of earth scraped clean of the fallen leaves and windblown detritus that was scattered through the rest of the thicket.

The very lack of anything to see gave the spot a feeling of loneliness and abandonment. With a shudder, Heather realized that her imagination had not even been close to conjuring what her mother must have seen. Even with all the evidence of Joyce Cottrell’s body having been removed, she felt a coldness that penetrated far deeper than the chill of the afternoon. “Come on,” she said, unconsciously reaching out and taking Rayette’s hand in her own. “Let’s go home.”

Kevin followed her only a moment later.

Not a word was spoken until the three of them turned the corner onto Sixteenth East, and as they moved down the block toward the Jeffers house, they caught themselves gazing past Heather and Kevin’s house to the one just beyond it.

Their paces slowed until at last they came to a stop, all of them staring silently at the house that seemed to loom ominously next door to the Jefferses’. It was Rayette Hoover who finally found her voice: “It … it sorta doesn’t look the same, does it?”

For a long minute all three peered at the forbidding structure. Until today it had been nothing more than the home of the neighborhood eccentric who had been feared by the smaller children and mocked by the older ones. The fact that there was now a yellow tape strung across its broad porch told them all they needed to know, though they still edged close enough to be able to read the words CRIME SITE — DO NOT CROSS, which were stenciled on the bright plastic.

“Oh, Lord,” Rayette breathed. “She must have gotten killed right here.” Her eyes wide, she turned to gaze at Heather. “Didn’t you hear her scream or something?”

Heather shook her head, unable to tear her eyes away from the house. On the second floor was the room where she was pretty sure Mrs. Cottrell had slept. When she was at work, the lights always went on and off all over the house. Everyone on the block knew they were on a timer. But when she was home, only that one room on the second floor was ever lit.

The one right across from Heather’s own bedroom.

Suddenly it became very important to her that she remember exactly what had happened the previous night. She tried to reconstruct the evening. Her parents had had a fight — well, not exactly a fight. But there had been enough tension in the house so that instead of gathering in the living room to read and watch television together the way they usually did, the family split up. She remained in her room even after she finished her homework, and Kevin had stayed in his, and she knew that their mother had gone to bed early while her father had stayed downstairs, reading by himself for a while. But he hadn’t stayed up very late: even before she’d gone to bed at ten, he’d knocked at her door, then stuck his head in to say good night to her. It was only a little bit later that she’d gone to bed herself.

Gone to bed, and read for a few minutes, and then gone to sleep.

Mrs. Cottrell hadn’t been home yet when she had gone to sleep — she knew that because she’d been sitting at her desk right by the window for almost an hour while she struggled through a geometry proof. The lights next door kept going on and off, practically screaming out that the place was empty.

Heather felt an odd chill as a vague memory came back to her. She hadn’t really thought anything about it at the time, but now …

Someone on the sidewalk.

Not right in front of the house, but across the street. A man in a dark coat. She hadn’t seen him very well. He’d just been walking along the street, but then he stopped, and for a second Heather thought he was looking at her. Then he’d continued up the street. Though she looked out the window a couple of more times, he hadn’t come back.

At least she thought he hadn’t.

What if she’d actually seen the man who killed Mrs. Cottrell, and hadn’t done anything about it? “Oh, God,” she breathed out loud. “Maybe I could have saved her.”

“What?” Rayette Hoover demanded. “What are you talking about?”

Swallowing the lump that had risen in her throat, Heather told Rayette and Kevin what she’d seen. “What if it was him?” she asked. “What if it was really him? What if he came back later?”

“What if he saw you?” Rayette suggested, scanning the block herself, as if half expecting to see a dark-coated stranger eyeing them from somewhere down the street. “Let’s go in, okay?” Taking one last glance at the house next door — which had now definitely taken on a scary look that made Rayette glad she lived six blocks away, even if her block wasn’t quite as nice as this one — Rayette strode up the walk to the front porch and reached into the planter that stood in the corner farthest from the front door to fish out the key she knew the Jefferses kept there, then stiffened as she realized what she’d done. Again she scanned the block, relieved that there still seemed to be no one observing her. But as she turned back to the front door, Rayette saw Kevin glaring scornfully at her.

“Smooth move, Ex-Lax,” he told her. “Why don’t you just tell the whole city where we keep the key?”

Heather instantly came to Rayette’s defense. “The whole city probably already knows. And we’re not going to leave it out here anymore, anyway. Not after what happened to Mrs. Cottrell.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “If that guy saw you, he’s gonna get you anyway,” he declared, seizing on the opportunity to terrify his sister. “I bet he’s been watching you all day.”

“Shut up, Kevin,” Heather said as she took the key from Rayette and stuck it into the lock. “Just shut up, okay?”

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” Kevin shot back as they entered the foyer. Heather closed the door behind them and threw the dead bolt. “Scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat,” he chanted, dropping down to rub the belly of Boots, who had thrown himself on his master the instant the door had opened and was now lying on his back, his whole body trembling with joy. “Heather is a scaredy-cat!”

“Why don’t you just stuff it, Kevin,” Heather told her brother, then turned to Rayette as she started toward the kitchen. “Come on. You can open a couple of Cokes while I give Kumquat her food.”

Kevin glared at his sister. “I’m gonna tell Dad you told me to stuff it,” he threatened. “Dad?” he yelled up the stairs. “Hey, Dad!”

Their father’s voice called back from the den behind the living room. “In here!” As the two girls headed through the dining room, Kevin took the opposite direction, Boots scampering after him.