Mike Omer - In the Darkness

Maybe she’d want some food, though. He should get her some takeout. Just hand it to her. Ask her if she needed anything else. Wouldn’t hurt to ask.

He drove in furious silence, passing the time by thinking of things he could shout at Marvin next time they spoke. It took him some time until he found a restaurant that did takeout with reasonable-looking dishes. He got Zoe a nice hamburger and some fries. He then went to the nearby grocery and bought a six-pack. She would probably need the drink, and if she did want company, they could drink together. She wouldn’t, but it was better to buy it, just in case.

The sun was low over the horizon when he reached the motel. He climbed the stairs and went over to her door. He knocked, then knocked again. He glanced through the window. The room was dark.

“She just left.”

Tatum turned around to see a man walking toward him, smoking a cigarette.

“What?” he asked.

“You’re looking for Zoe, right? I just saw her leave to grab some dinner. She had a guy with her. A giant, really. I think he was seven feet tall.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Harry Barry. Nice to meet you, Agent Gray.”

Zoe’s apartment in Dale City had two bedrooms, and both bedrooms had windows overlooking the opposite building in the complex as well as the footpath that led to the building’s entrance.

Andrea had latched the windows and shut the doors, positioning the couch in the living room so she could see both the entrance door and the living room window from the corners of her eyes. She now sat and stared at the TV, trying to concentrate on whatever transpired on-screen, while gripping the large knife she’d taken from Zoe’s kitchen. She occasionally glanced down at it, taking comfort in the shining sharp blade.

The sudden knock on the door drove her heart up to her throat. She glanced at the time. It was a quarter past ten.

She made sure the door was latched, though she’d already checked half a dozen times. She got up, knife in hand, and crept to it, praying that whoever it was would just go away.

Another knock, harder this time. She winced and tried to call out, but all she could get out of her throat was a slight croak.

“Excuse me, sir?” she heard a firm voice say beyond the door. “Can I help you?”

It was probably the policeman watching the building’s entrance. Agent Caldwell had called to tell her they’d checked the security footage and that there had definitely been someone looking at her, though it had been hard to identify his face. The agent had stressed several times that a policeman would be watching her home all night.

“Sir?” the voice said again. “Can you step away from the door?”

“I’m here to visit Andrea Bentley,” a cranky voice answered. “Calm yourself. I’m not a goddamn serial killer.”

“Sir. Please step away from the door.”

“Listen, young man. I get that you’re enthusiastic about your job, but . . . what are you doing? Put that down—don’t be ridiculous.”

Andrea unlatched and unlocked the door and yanked it open. Tatum’s grandfather stood by the door, his back to her, a bag over one shoulder and a fishbowl in the other. He faced a uniformed cop, who held a gun in his hand, looking uncertain.

“It’s all right,” Andrea said hurriedly. “I know him.”

“What did you think I was going to do?” Marvin asked in a loud voice. “Assault her with the goldfish?”

“Sorry, miss,” the officer apologized. “I saw a man entering the building, carrying suspicious packages, and—”

“Suspicious? It’s a fishbowl.” Marvin shook his head. “Are you going to arrest the fish?”

“Thanks, Officer.” Andrea smiled at him and opened the door wider. “Come in, Marvin.”

The old man shuffled into the apartment, and Andrea closed the door behind him.

“Sorry.” Marvin put the bowl with a dazed-looking fish on the table. “I called, but you didn’t answer.”

Andrea nodded dumbly. When he’d called, she’d been sobbing hysterically and wasn’t in a state to answer the phone.

“I told my grandson I’d watch out for you,” Marvin said. “And I’d heard you had some troubles, so here I am.”

“Thanks. You didn’t need to . . . why did you bring the fish?”

“If I’m going to spend the night here, I can’t leave the fish with the cat. It won’t end well for one of them. So it was either bringing the fish or the cat. And the fish didn’t give as much resistance.” Marvin lifted his arm, showing her three red claw marks that ran along his wrist. He then surveyed the room suspiciously. “Do you have cats here?”

“No,” Andrea said weakly.

“Right.” The old man unzipped his jacket and, to Andrea’s horror, took out a large gun.

“Good thing that young cop didn’t see this,” he muttered, putting the gun on the table by the fishbowl. “Now, where’s the kitchen? I need a nice cup of tea, and I gotta tell you, I think you do too. You’re as pale as a bedsheet.”

“Um, you really don’t need to spend the night here.” Andrea followed Marvin to the kitchen. “The police are watching my apartment, and—”

“Nonsense.” Marvin waved his hand. “You can’t stay alone right now. Don’t worry—I’ll sleep on the couch . . . where does your sister keep her tea?”

“I’m not sure she has tea. Zoe drinks coffee.”

“There are times for coffee, and there are times for tea.” He rummaged in one of the lower cupboards. “Ah, there we go. How do you drink yours?”

“I . . . well . . .”

“It’s not a hard question. Either you drink it with zero spoons of sugar or one spoon or two spoons or, if you know what’s good for you, three spoons.”

“Half a spoon.”

“Hmmmph. A bit of a wiseass, are you?” He shook his head as he made the tea.

Andrea glanced backward. The fish seemed to be eyeing the gun, as if it contemplated grabbing it. A beer bottle stood in the middle of his fishbowl, and it swam twice around it, then stopped in front of the gun again.

“It’s not a goldfish,” Andrea said.

“Eh?” Marvin shuffled over to her with two steaming mugs of tea.

“You called it a goldfish earlier. It’s not. It’s a gourami.”

“It’s gold, isn’t it?” He sat by the kitchen table with both mugs, pushing one to the other side. “Sit down. Drink your tea. You’ve been through a nasty shock.”

She sat down and sipped from the tea. He was right. She needed it. And the company. She felt her eyes moistening.

“How’s your tea?”

“It’s good,” she croaked.

“I put two spoons of sugar in it.” He waggled his bushy eyebrows.

Andrea snorted in laughter, then let out a sob.

The old man patted her awkwardly on her hand. “You’re all right, aren’t you? And I promise you that bastard isn’t setting a foot near you while I’m around. Okay?”

“Okay.” She wiped the tears with the back of her hand.

“You know what I did today? I skydived. What an experience! You can come with me next time. That minute of free fall until the canopy opens . . . canopy is what we jumpers call the parachute. Anyway, it’s not as scary as you’d think. It’s just exhilarating. Georgette says I’m a natural . . .”

She tried to smile and nod as he spoke. For the first time that day, she could relax. It was absurd, but the grumpy old man was just what she needed to feel a bit safer. And knowing he was about to sleep in the living room, no matter what she said, made her believe she could maybe fall asleep at some point during the night as well.

“You don’t like your ice cream?”