Allan Leverone - Mr. Midnight

“What was the address again?”

“Number Seven Granite Circle, here in Everett.”

“Seven Granite Circle. Okay, ma’am, we’ll dispatch an officer to check on your neighbor.”

“Thank you,” Maizie answered, hanging up the phone numbly, hoping she hadn’t waited too long.

“Let’s move into the parlor and get comfortable, shall we?” The man gestured toward the end of the hallway with his knife and the group moved en masse, all four bodies shuffling in a kind of tense, loosely choreographed dance, the man with the knife sliding slowly backward, pulling Victoria along, Cait and Kevin matching him step for slow step.

Cait couldn’t take her eyes off the blade. It was thin and shiny and long, with a bone-white handle clutched expertly by its owner, who maintained light but steady pressure on Virginia’s throat. She glanced into her mother’s eyes and saw not just fear, but also regret and sorrow and a kind of tired resignation.

She thought back to their earlier conversation in this very house and everything fell into place. The intruder with the knife was roughly her age, with the same wavy auburn hair and the same general build, thin and wiry. There had to be millions of men throughout the country fitting the same general description, tens of millions maybe.

But she knew, nevertheless.

The man with the knife was her brother.

They moved into the kitchen and the man with the knife kept going, shuffling backward on the balls of his feet like he was performing some demented slow-motion version of the moonwalk. He turned ninety degrees to his left, pulling Victoria through a large open doorway and into the living room. He continued backing up until they reached a point more or less in the middle of the room. Victoria’s television loomed behind him, a gigantic old Sony with washed-out colors teetering atop a frail-looking TV table. On it, glamorous soap opera characters played out their glamorous fictional lives, babbling about love and loss and treachery.

Next to the television, positioned roughly halfway between the TV table and the kitchen doorway, an ornamental cactus sat in an enormous ceramic pot. The cactus was mammoth, reaching almost all the way to the ceiling, and looked as though it had occupied its space for decades. Along the opposite wall, behind the man with the knife, was an old couch, worn and faded but scrupulously clean. The room was otherwise bare.

The man with the knife— my brother, Cait thought with a numb fascination—focused his gaze on Cait and then inclined his head toward the TV. “You. Drag your ass next to the television set and don’t fucking move.”

Cait froze and glanced uncertainly at Kevin. He nodded almost imperceptibly. The intruder pulled his knife away from Victoria’s throat and indicated that she should join Cait. Together the two of them took small, hesitant steps until they stood between the TV and the cactus plant. Cait felt like a junior-high wallflower at her first dance but was relieved her mother was no longer in immediate danger.

Kevin moved to follow them and the man snapped, “No, no, no, not you.” He held his hand up like a traffic cop and Kevin stopped. “You look nice and strong; you can do some of the heavy lifting in preparation for our little party.”

Kevin waited for instructions. He appeared completely at ease, didn’t even seem afraid. Cait had never had the opportunity to observe him in his work as a police officer, but was starting to understand why he was so highly regarded on the Tampa force, despite his relative youth and short time on the job.

The man with the knife regarded Kevin with his cold eyes. “Go into the kitchen and bring two of those strong wooden chairs in here. Place them in front of your girlfriends, facing the couch.” Cait watched as Kevin walked into the kitchen. She wondered if he might be able to grab something and use it as a weapon but realized the man with the knife had positioned himself so he could monitor Kevin’s progress the entire time. In less than a second, if he sensed a threat, he could slice Cait and Virginia both from head to toe.

Kevin returned a moment later, lugging one chair in his beefy hands, moving slowly. He set it down a few feet from the couch and then rotated it so that it was facing forward. Cait wondered why he hadn’t grabbed both chairs at the same time; he was certainly strong enough. Then she realized he was stalling, dragging things out as long as possible, slowing everything down while searching for an opportunity to take the offensive.

Kevin turned, his right hand resting lightly on the chair back. “What’s your name?” he asked.

The other man paused for a moment. “Milo,” he said.

“Hi, Milo. I’m Kevin. What’s this all about?”

“I don’t care what your name is, and as for what’s going on here, you’ll find out soon enough. I think you’ll find the upcoming spectacle to be very revealing. But for now, just do as you’re told and keep your mouth shut.”

“Okay,” Kevin answered agreeably. “You’re in control,” he said. “We’re all doing exactly as you say.”

“You’re right about that. You will do as I say, if you know what’s good for you, that is. Now stop stalling.” He knelt and reached into the backpack at his feet, rooting around for a moment while keeping his gaze fixed on his three prisoners. He pulled out a roll of reinforced duct tape and tossed it to Kevin. “Secure the old bat in the chair, nice and snug. I want two strips around each wrist and two around each ankle, tight to the chair. No wiggle room.”

Kevin turned to Virginia and nodded gently at the chair with a grim look on his face. It was obvious he didn’t like the way things were playing out. Cait watched as her mother eased into the chair and placed her arms on the armrests, making it easy for Kevin to secure them. He muttered something Cait could not decipher and the man immediately shouted “Shut up!”

When the job had been completed to the man’s satisfaction, he said, “Now slap a strip across her mouth.” Kevin complied and in a matter of seconds Virginia was trussed up tightly, completely helpless and unable to speak, facing the couch.

“Go get the second chair,” the man continued. “Set it down right next to the first one. Think of it as stadium seating for the live show that’s due to begin,” he made an exaggerated display of looking at his watch, “any minute now.”

Kevin disappeared into the kitchen again, returning moments later with another chair. He seemed to have abandoned his delaying strategy; it took only about half as long for him to carry the second chair into the room as it had taken to bring the first. He dropped it onto the floor in the prescribed spot with a thud, then turned and faced the man with the knife. “Now, sit your ass down in it,” Milo said. “That’ll be where you enjoy your girlfriend’s starring role in this little performance art exhibition.”

Cait shifted her gaze back and forth between the two, her muscles clenched, tense and afraid. Amazingly, Kevin still seemed at ease, leaning with one hand on the back of the chair, while the man with the knife—Milo—appeared nervous and twitchy. Milo opened his mouth to say something and that was when Kevin flinched, startled, and glanced into the hallway in surprise before returning his attention quickly to Milo.

A suspicious look darkened Milo’s face; it was as if a cloud passed in front of his eyes. He leaned forward and craned his neck, twisting his gaze to the left, determined to see what had caused Kevin to jump.

Cait reflexively glanced into the hallway at the same time. She wondered what Kevin had seen. Whatever it was, it had disappeared. The hallway was deserted.