Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Rob headed toward the front of the house to make sure the door was locked. She trailed behind him, her hand clutching his belt along the back of his jeans.

“If it’s a setup, Sarah, I’m not in on it,” he admitted. He prayed to God it was a joke. But obviously Luke wasn’t in on the gag, either.

At the front door, he discovered he hadn’t locked up after Luke. “Oh, shit,” Rob muttered. He quickly turned the lock and deadbolt.

He heard footsteps — just on the other side of the door. Someone was coming up to the front porch of the house. Sarah heard it, too. She gasped and grabbed his arm. Rob automatically backed away from the door for a moment.

The doorbell rang.

Rob swallowed hard. He stepped toward the door again, and checked the peephole. Someone had their hand over it.

The bell rang again — and again.

“Luke, is that you?” he called in a shaky voice. “Stop screwing around, man. Sarah’s scared. . ”

She was squeezing his arm, almost cutting off the circulation.

Rob gazed into the peephole again. It was still blocked. “Goddamn it,” he muttered.

But then he saw his friend take his hand away from the security viewer. Luke was standing so close to the other side of the door that his face filled the viewer. He smiled this weird — almost maniacal — grin.

“Oh, thank God, it’s Luke,” Rob said. He unlocked the door and flung it open.

Then he saw the man standing beside his friend. He saw the tears streaming down Luke’s face — and the desperation behind that fake smile. The man held a gun inches away from Luke’s head.

Sarah gasped.

The man shoved Luke, and he staggered inside, dropping a grocery bag full of beers. With a clamor, the cans rolled across the front hallway’s Oriental rug and hardwood floor. Luke grabbed hold of the newel post at the bottom of the stairs to keep from falling.

Rob and Sarah backed away. Rob hoped against hope this was some kind of sick joke — that Luke had hired this icy-eyed stranger and given him a fake gun. But Rob knew his friend wouldn’t drop a six-pack of beer and let it spill for the sake of a gag. And Luke’s tears weren’t an act. In the five years they had been friends, he’d never seen Luke cry.

The man quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind him. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” he announced in a calm, quiet voice. He glanced toward Luke. “Get over there with your friends.”

Nodding, Luke obeyed him — until he and Rob were almost shoulder to shoulder. “Please, man,” Luke said. “Just — just don’t shoot, okay?”

The stranger aimed the gun at Rob.

His heart seemed to stop beating. He stood there, paralyzed. Sarah clung to him. He could feel her shaking.

“Just do what I tell you,” the man said. “And I promise, I’ll be out of here in twenty-five minutes. You’ll have a great story to tell your friends at school tomorrow. Now, I need you upstairs.” A tiny smile tugged at the right corner of his mouth. “We’re going to get those nice designer sheets out of your mama’s linen closet and start tearing them into strips. I want to see how good you are at tying each other up. . ”

Terrified, Rob backed toward the stairs, taking Sarah with him. With her face pressed against his shoulder, she sobbed quietly. “C’mon, man, you’re scaring her,” Rob pleaded. “We’ll — we’ll cooperate. Just take whatever you want, okay?”

The stranger nodded. “I intend to.” He nodded at the light-switch plate on the wall by the foot of the stairs. “Is that for the lights down here or outside?” he asked.

“Both,” Rob said.

“Listen, please, you’ve got the gun,” Luke said, his hands half raised. “You don’t have to tie us up. . ”

“I’m not going to tie you up,” the man said — in a gentle, almost condescending tone that some people used on kids. He still had that flicker of a smile on his face. “Weren’t you listening? You’re going to tie each other up. Now, switch off those lights. I don’t want anybody to see me at work down here.”

He’s only going to steal stuff , Rob told himself. Just do what he says.

Obedient, he reached over and turned off the lights.

The front part of the house was suddenly dark.

“Okay, let’s go upstairs,” the stranger said, with his face now in the shadows. His voice was so calm — almost reassuring. “Don’t be scared. I promise you, I won’t hurt anyone. . ”

Within two hours, nearly every light in the Sessions house would be on.

It seemed like the start of a crisp, overcast autumn day as Natalie What’s-Her-Name trotted up the cul-de-sac, back from her morning run. Natalie wore black bicycle shorts and a clingy blue top. Molly guessed the thin, thirtysomething ash-blonde might have been a lot prettier at one time, but she had a hard-edged look to her now. For the last six weeks, Natalie had been house-sitting for Dr. and Mrs. Nguyen. She had guys going in and out of the place at all sorts of hours. Jeff had a theory that Natalie was turning tricks in the Nguyens’ house. But according to Lynette, she was a secretary in an ad agency downtown. Whatever, it was unsettling to have strangers cruising up and down the cul-de-sac — especially after midnight, especially when a serial killer was still on the loose.

Molly had tried to introduce herself to Natalie a while back. She’d been standing just where she was now — at the end of the driveway. And she’d been retrieving the morning-delivered Seattle Times then, too. She’d spotted Natalie, power-walking up the cul-de-sac — with a baseball hat, a Windbreaker, and the bike pants that showed off her bony ass. Two fingers to the side of her neck, Natalie had been consulting her wristwatch.

Molly picked up the newspaper, and waved at her. “Hi, I’m Molly!” she called as Natalie approached her. “I’ve been meaning to welcome you to the block—”

Her lip curled, Natalie glared at her. It was such an annoyed look that Molly fell silent. Natalie pulled her cell phone from her Windbreaker pocket and started muttering into it. Then she continued up the cul-de-sac to the Nguyens’ house.

To this day, Molly still didn’t know if the sneer was directed at her — or at whoever had phoned Natalie at that moment. Molly tried not to take it too personally. Just the same, she never made another effort to introduce herself to Natalie. They nodded to each other on occasion, but that was about it.

Molly didn’t even get that now. She waved at Natalie, who glanced away and ran past her — toward the Nguyens’ house.

“Yeah, good morning to you, too, Nat,” Molly muttered — almost to herself. Rolled-up newspaper in hand, she paused near the start of the driveway. “You’re a real sweetheart. . ”

Molly wasn’t too crazy about her other new neighbor, either. A forty-year-old widow named Jill Emory had moved into Hank and Frank’s house. She had a little boy and worked at the Art Institute of Seattle. Plump, with tawny, auburn hair, she’d seemed down to earth. Molly had hoped to connect with a fellow art lover. But Jill was in Human Resources and pretty much a cold fish — at least, toward her. However, she’d instantly bonded with Lynette — and Angela, who still made her presence felt on Willow Tree Court.

Molly really missed Henry. She still felt so isolated and friendless. Jeff seemed to go out of town on business even more frequently. And whenever she started to feel close to Chris or Erin, they’d spend another weekend with Angela and come back treating her like a housekeeper they barely tolerated.

Glancing next door at Kay Garvey’s house, Molly noticed the fallen leaves scattered across the front lawn, some blowing over onto their driveway. The real estate sign was still standing. It had gone up with the SOLD placard already on it. There had been an offer on the house before it had even gone on the market during the summer. A divorcee with no children had bought the place, but she’d yet to show her face on Willow Tree Court. Her name was Rachel Cross. Molly knew, because she’d already gotten a few pieces of her mail by mistake last week — some junk mail, but also what looked like a personal letter from someone in Portland.