Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

“This works out perfectly,” he said — almost to himself. He pointed the gun at her. “Take off your shoes and unbutton your blouse.”

Kay shook her head. “Please. .” she repeated.

“I just want you to be comfortable,” he said, with a tiny smirk. “C’mon, Kay. .”

Her hands trembling, Kay struggled with the buttons of her lavender blouse until it was open. She had a camisole beneath it. Bracing herself against the doorway, she pried off her shoes. All the while, she kept glancing over at the bedroom closet and wondered if they’d find her body in there.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Kay,” he cooed. “But I do need you to sit there on the floor, right by the nightstand. Okay? There’s a good girl. . ”

Tears streaming down her face, she was obedient. She fell to her knees and then sat down on the floor. He stood over her and began to stroke her hair. “There now, Kay, there now. . ”

All at once, he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the corner of the nightstand. Stunned, Kay flopped down on the floor. Blood from the gash on her temple began to soak the plush, pale yellow carpet. She started blacking out.

“I’m supposed to make it look like an accident,” she heard him murmur as he stood over her.

It was the last thing Kay Garvey ever heard.

Minutes later, her killer took out a small pair of scissors and carefully cut off a corner from the shirttail of her lavender blouse.

It was such a small cutting, no one would notice.

“So — in all this time that she’s been married to your dad, Molly hasn’t once talked about her family?” his mother asked.

“Not really,” Chris replied, ensconced in front of her boyfriend Larry’s computer.

His mother didn’t see him roll his eyes. She was arranging the sheets on the foldout sofa bed in Larry’s study, which served as Chris’s bedroom whenever his mother had him and Erin for the weekend.

He tolerated Larry Keegan, a stocky, balding older guy who seemed to think they were really connecting because they could talk about sports. Chris hadn’t told his mother, but Larry’s habit of always calling him dude drove him nuts. Larry obviously suffered under the delusion that this made him a very cutting-edge guy. He had a thirteen-year-old daughter, Taylor, who was kind of a pill both times Chris had met her. She was with her mother this weekend, thank God.

Since his mom had moved in with Larry, these alternate weekend visits had become more and more of a drag. Chris didn’t know anyone in Bellevue, so all he could do was bus it to Bellevue Square Mall or hole up in Larry’s study and play computer games. The study was in the basement and had its own bathroom, so at least Chris had his privacy. Larry had gone mallard crazy decorating the place. There were pictures of ducks on the wall, and duck-decoy lamps, and even a duck pattern on the sofa his mother was preparing for him so he could bed down for the night.

It was just past eleven. Erin was already asleep up in Taylor’s room, and Larry had nodded off in his La-Z-Boy recliner in front of one of those CSI shows.

Chris’s mom was tucking the bottom of the sheet under the mattress. “The father’s dead, the mother’s in Florida, and her brother killed himself, is that right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Chris said, staring at the computer monitor. He was playing Cube Runner, and really didn’t feel like answering questions about Molly. Lately, it seemed every time he saw his mom, she wanted a full report on Molly’s every activity. Did his dad seem happy with her? Did Molly get any calls from her family or old friends?

It had been a week since he’d gone against his dad’s orders and attended Mr. Corson’s wake. Molly had been nice enough to drive him to the funeral parlor, and he’d been pretty creepy toward her. As far as Chris knew, she hadn’t said anything to his dad about it. After Molly had covered for him, it just didn’t seem right to spy on her for his mom. Besides, he really didn’t have much to report.

“And you’ve never met her mother — or even talked to her on the phone?” his mom pressed.

“No, I haven’t,” Chris mumbled, his eyes on the computer screen.

“Don’t you find that odd? I mean, after all. .”

He did think it was pretty strange. The lady was his step-grandmother, and she hadn’t even spoken with him yet. It was like she didn’t exist.

“Do you know how her brother killed himself?” his mom asked. She was slipping a flower-patterned case over the pillow. “Did Molly say anything to you about it?”

“Nope,” Chris said.

“What was his name again?”

“Charlie, I think.”

“Do you know if he killed himself in Chicago or in Washington, D.C.?”

He leaned back in the cushioned swivel chair. “I really don’t know, Mom.”

Frowning, she tossed the pillow on the foldout bed. “You probably wouldn’t tell me even if you did know. You’re starting to like her, I can tell.”

“She’s okay, I guess,” he replied. Chris consciously kept his eyes on the monitor. “It’s just kind of weird that you keep asking me about her, Mom — practically every time I’m here. Molly never asks about you at all.”

His mother clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Well, excuse me if I want to know about this woman who’s looking after my children part of the time. She had a brother who committed suicide and a mother who never calls or visits. Who’s to say some kind of mental illness doesn’t run in her family? I’m just concerned, that’s all. I can’t help thinking about that crazy stalker your father was— seeing , that Cassandra character. He’s not exactly discriminating. . ”

“I think Molly’s pretty normal, Mom,” Chris said quietly. He switched off his computer game, and then faked a yawn. He turned the swivel chair to face her. “Boy, I’m beat. I think I’ll hit the sheets. Thanks for making up the bed.”

She stared at him. He could tell she was hurt he didn’t want to talk anymore. She seemed to work up a smile, and then kissed his forehead. “You know, I love these weekends with you and Erin. Larry really enjoys having you, too. Anything special you’d like to do tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “I can’t think of anything.”

She mussed his hair. “Well, sleep on it. G’night, Chris.”

Twenty minutes later, as he tossed and turned on Larry’s lumpy sofa bed, Chris thought about how it drove him nuts whenever his mom started criticizing his dad. Didn’t she realize that kind of talk only made them both seem awful? It had been one reason he’d come to depend so much on Mr. Corson last year.

Attending his wake a week ago had been pointless and painful. First, Mr. C’s sister had chewed him out, then his widow had told him what a creepy little shit he was. He had to remind himself that Mr. Corson had forgiven him — and so had the niece, Serena. Chris was still baffled over his encounter with her. He was convinced Serena had been the one who had snuck into the funeral parlor men’s room and said whatever she’d said to screw around with his head. She must have picked up his sunglasses and followed him to her aunt’s apartment complex. Chris couldn’t think of anyone else who might have done that.

He’d had a pretty miserable week. It was hard to kick back and have anything resembling a good time when he knew certain people hated him. And he still wasn’t over Mr. Corson’s murder. But finals kept him busy — as did rehearsals for Aquanautics , the show the boys’ and girls’ swim teams put on twice a year to raise money for charity. This time it was for leukemia. There were races, diving competitions, and the girls put on a synchronized swimming routine. Chris was surprised they’d decided to have it again — especially after what had happened at the last show.