John Lutz - Mister X

The window screen unlatched from the bottom and swung upward, allowing him room to slip beneath it and drop the few feet to the yard.

It was a moonless night and dark, just as he liked it. The mosquitoes were out, but they didn't bother him much. Off in the distance he could see a shimmering cloud of moths circling a street light. They looked oddly like snowflakes caught in a whirl of wind.

He crept a few feet away from the window, then ran and disappeared into the dark void that was the unbroken lawn between his house and the Kellers'.

Then he was in the blackness and shrubbery at the side of the Kellers' house, near the twins' bedroom window. Sharp-edged holly bush leaves scratched his bare arms as he moved sideways into the comparative softness of the yews.

The yews were his cover and his shelter. He'd come to feel as at home in them as if he were some wild and nesting animal. Though he knew he was risking everything by being there, he still somehow felt more secure where he was than anywhere else in his world. He belonged there, in the concealing blackness and cover of the shrubbery. What he was doing couldn't be so wrong if he belonged there.

As if on signal, katydids in the surrounding trees began to sound their ratcheting shrill mating call. Jerry was glad. The racket made it less likely that he'd make some slight noise and be discovered.

He was at the window now. The shade was lowered almost all the way, as it usually was. A gap was left so it wouldn't knock over Tiffany's collection of ceramic animals on the inside sill. The bottom of the shade was an inch above the giraffe, leaving plenty of room for a view.

Squatting on the soft earth, Jerry settled into a comfortable position so he could peer into the bedroom without moving or making a sound. He wasn't worried about being noticed; there was always a night-light glowing softly in the twins' room, making it brighter inside than out. If somebody inside did happen to glance his way, he was sure that if he didn't move he'd be invisible behind dark reflecting glass. Experimenting with his own bedroom window had taught him that much. Night turned bedroom windows into the kind of mirrors you saw in the movies and on TV, where the police questioned suspects and then left them alone to comb their hair or examine their teeth, but they couldn't see the cops standing behind the mirror looking right at them.

Jerry was where the cops usually stood. Safe unless for some reason the light changed.

Mr. Keller had begun early tonight. He was already in bed with Tiffany. The bedroom was shadowed and dimly lit, so that Jerry couldn't make out exactly what was going on. But the shadows writhing on the wall beside Tiffany's bed made it obvious what was happening. As Jerry watched, breathless, he moved his hand down to caress himself.

The shadow show became more frantic and violent, and Jerry was sure he could actually hear the squeaking of bedsprings.

Mrs. Keller has to know what's going on. She has to…

All the time Mr. Keller was doing things to Tiffany, Chrissie lay curled on her side, facing away from her sister's bed but not seeing Jerry. Her eyes were open and blank, and she was sucking her thumb. As old as she was, she was sucking her thumb.

When Mr. Keller was finished with Tiffany he got up from his bed and adjusted his white boxer shorts. He moved toward the window, and Jerry's heart leaped and he drew back, ready to bolt into the shadows between the houses. He held his breath and made himself be still.

But Mr. Keller wasn't looking at the window; he was looking at Chrissie. Jerry saw something looped in his hand. His belt. He hadn't worn his pants to the twins' bedroom, but he'd brought his belt.

He yanked Chrissie roughly so she lay flat on her stomach, then raised her nightgown and pulled her panties down. She didn't resist or change expression.

Mr. Keller bent low and said something to her, probably warning her to be quiet. Then he began beating her bare buttocks and the backs of her thighs with the belt. With each blow her body tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed, and then it stayed tense as the beating continued. Jerry understood how she must feel. He realized he was weeping silently, and his fingernails were digging into his palms so deeply that it hurt.

When Mr. Keller was finished, he worked Chrissie's nightgown back down so that it covered her buttocks. Then he sat on the edge of the bed, leaned down so his face was near hers, and kissed her cheek. He stood up, caressed her hair, and then turned and walked from the room. He closed the door slowly and carefully behind him.

Jerry wondered where Mr. Keller was going now? To Mrs. Keller? They slept together, Jerry was sure, but their bedroom was upstairs, impossible to see into from outside. He could only guess what they might be doing.

Chrissie lay motionless for a while, and then she turned onto her side, facing away from Jerry. Across the room, Tiffany was lying on her side, facing Chrissie and the window where Jerry watched. The twins lay that way and stared at each other, their expressions blank. Jerry didn't think either of them spoke.

He'd reached a climax. He could feel the wetness at the crotch of his jeans.

Controlling his shakiness and shortness of breath, he backed away from the window, into the scratchy holly bushes. Sweat beaded on his face. Perspiration or tears stung like acid at the corners of his eyes.

Everywhere in the night the katydids screamed their relentless mating call.

Jerry turned and ran into the darkness, toward his own window, his own home.

The screams of insects followed him. As did the darkness.

New York, the present

"I suppose you're mad at me," Chrissie said, standing before Quinn's desk.

Her attitude seemed that of a teenage girl caught breaking curfew, rather than that of an avenging huntress talking to hired help.

They were in the office alone. Quinn had looked up, surprised, when she'd entered. She was slightly bedraggled from the heat, and at first he hadn't recognized her. Her sleeveless white blouse clung to her narrow upper body, and a strand of her dishwater-blond hair dangled over one eye. She was wearing jeans that looked genuinely well worn, and brown leather sandals that looked brand new.

In the vacuum of his surprise, she managed a half smile and said, "I could never do that."

He didn't know what she'd meant at first, and then realized she was referring to what he'd been doing at his desk-trying to balance a checkbook. "Seems I never could, either."

She went from smiling to looking guilty. "I know you've been trying to get in touch with me."

"You have blue eyes now," Quinn said. "And short blond hair."

"Before, I was wearing brown contact lenses and a brown wig. There was a certain facial resemblance to begin with, don't you think?"

"Not really," Quinn said.

He sat calmly, trying to figure out her game. He couldn't.

"Usually it's the other way around," he said. "The client is too available and badgers the detective agency for reports on any kind of progress."

She nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other, like a tennis player anticipating a serve. Seeking a point of balance.

"I'm sorry for making myself scarce," she said. "Really."

"Maybe you had a good reason for disappearing."

"I'm not sure it was good enough. I knew after a while that you'd probably looked up photos of all the Carver victims and figured out that I'd sort of misled you into thinking Tiffany and I are-were-identical twins. What scared me was that it might not have occurred to you that we were fraternal twins. That you might simply think I was an imposter. That I'd lied to you."

"That's what you did," Quinn said. "You lied."

"More like misled you." She gnawed on her lower lip for a moment with her overbite. "Misled?" She tried the word again.