Cover Your Eyes (33 page)

 

 

Reason and Madness, like Jekyll and Hyde, were two sides of the same coin. One worshipped peace, the other devastation. One told the truth. The other, rule breaker and thief, always lied. Once again, a war raged between the two.

The cell phone on the granite kitchen counter buzzed with an incoming call. A glance at the display revealed Sister was calling again. This was her sixth call in the last two hours. Sister could see past the smiles and the assurances. She sensed when meds had been skipped and Madness regained control.

Ignoring the call, Madness reached for a half-full tumbler of whiskey and held it up, letting moonlight illuminate the honey brown liquid depths. A quick toss of the glass, and the whiskey slid down a parched throat, soothing tense muscles and pushing aside all thoughts of Sister’s call. It wouldn’t do for Sister to know about tonight’s endeavor. Tomorrow Sister would get a visit. There’d be lots of wide smiles and a box of her favorite chocolates gift-wrapped in a bright blue bow. Blue was her favorite color. They’d play the question and answer game for a time. She’d be satisfied and then shift talk to regrets and the what-should-have-beens.

Madness washed the glass in the sink, careful to dry it with a paper towel before replacing it in the cabinet. A few wipes of the cabinet knobs, the faucet, whiskey bottle, and the surrounding area erased all fingerprints. Some might consider the action overkill but attention to detail was key to a successful performance. Madness had learned well from Reason.

Down the dimly lit hallway carpeted in neutral beige, Madness admired the new coat of antique white paint. Fresh paint was a wonder. One swipe of the roller eradicated dirt, grime, and shadows of framed memories that no longer mattered.

A few more steps toward the master bedroom and the scent of paint gave way to the aroma of diesel fuel. This room—center stage for tonight’s performance—was painted a pale yellow with white trim. A tasteful landscape of the Smoky Mountains hung on the wall by the door, a gilded mirror topped an oak dresser displaying strategically placed crystal perfume bottles, a new hairbrush, and a tiny camera displaying a bright red RECORD light.

In the center of the room was a four-poster bed. On the bed lay a woman, the actress in this play. Her near naked body nested in twisted sheets damp with sweat and flecks of blood. Ropes lashed manicured hands, nails painted a soft pink, to the headboard and feet to the baseboard. A river of mascara-stained tears trailed down pale cheeks and duct tape–covered mouth.

Carved in the headboard above her was the word F
AITHLESS
. Madness thought it a fitting tribute to another woman, Sara, who’d plagued them during their youth.

As Madness approached the bed, green bloodshot eyes alert with panic darted from the man standing in the shadows back to Madness, the night’s true master. Her wide pleading gaze reflected panic and desperation. Good. She understood who was in charge.

The man in the shadows, Jonas Tuttle, stepped forward, his large, calloused hands wrapped tightly around the grip of a forty-five caliber handgun. Tall and broad-shouldered, he stood over six feet. A man’s man, some might say. But fear all but vibrated off every inch of his muscled body. “We’ve been waiting for you. I need you to tell me what to do next.”

The warmth of the whiskey kept anxiety at bay. “Patience, Jonas. Patience.”

Jonas, the bloodthirsty and angry hero tonight, had nurtured a murder fantasy since he was a young boy. Careful observation of Jonas over the last six months told a lot about the man. His likes. Dislikes. Fears. Wants. Needs. Stalking the stalker.

Jonas’s murder obsession had stalked him most of his life, his fantasies playing over and over like a worn record. As much as he craved killing, he also feared the cops and prison. And so, he’d bottled up his wants and needs for years. Madness had found this want-to-be killer ripe for guidance in a bar six months ago washing frustrations away with whiskey.

Jonas’s gaze had danced first with hesitation, then interest and finally excitement.

Madness had taught Jonas how to stalk, to watch and to plan. Madness worked with Jonas for months, priming him for this kill.

Now at the brink of the grand finale, Jonas oozed desperation and need. Nervous energy buzzed around him as if live wires zapped his nerve endings. This was the moment he’d dreamed about a long, long time.

One nod and he would fire.

Instead of giving permission, Madness shifted attention to the woman. Pretty and slim enough, the woman, Kelly Smith, until hours ago had been dressed well and had walked with confidence. She, no doubt, had caught the eye of many men. She liked rich, buttery Chardonnays paired with a creamy Brie or goat cheese. She liked good conversation and old movies. Reason might have befriended her if not for Madness.

In this macabre scene, Madness, not Reason, was the ultimate authority. Madness chose the staging, the casting and, of course, the final execution. Moments like this thrilled because it gave Madness the one thing he could never sustain. Control.

“Can I do it now?” Jonas’s timid voice had a familiar, annoying ring.

“Savor the moment,” Madness rasped.

Jonas’s hunger was sharp as a razor and, of course, the woman’s senses had never been so acute. Being this close to death made everyone in the room feel alive.

Kelly’s watery gaze was a mixture of terror and confusion.
How could this have happened to me? I’m careful. I play by the rules.

Madness saw the question flash. A soft chuckle rumbled. “But you didn’t play by all the rules, did you, Kelly? In fact, you like to break them every so often. Not too much. But once in a while, you enjoy a walk on the wild side.”

Kelly shook her head as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Gently, Madness approached the bed and sat. The mattress sagged. Kelly’s black hair was plastered to her forehead by sweat. “Didn’t you ever hear that cocaine is a bad habit? If not for that little quirk in your personality, you’d have been fine.” Jonas had lured her out of her car with the promise of coke. “You’d be on the other side of that door right now sitting in your living room watching that cooking show you enjoy so much. But you couldn’t control it and now you must pay your toll.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head, a soft moaning rumbling in her throat.

“Maybe it’s not a crippling compulsion, but it’s there nonetheless.” Madness continued to stroke her hair, so soft and dark. “You’re not different than me. Once in a while, I get the cravings. I can ignore them for a time. But the more I deny them, the more they grow until one day I just must have one little bite.” A snap of even white teeth close to her ear made her flinch. “You’re my bite.”

She closed her eyes and wept.

Drawing in a deep breath, the scent of her fear smelled sweet. Deliciously intoxicating.

“Now?” Jonas asked.

The world and the people in it were in such a rush. “In a moment.”

“I can’t wait! Why do I have to wait?” He pressed the handle of the gun to his head as if trying to soothe the pounding behind his eyes.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The tantalizing promise of release was painful.

“Anticipation is the sweetest part of dessert.” Madness patted Kelly on the arm, rose, and moved to the back corner of the room by the dresser.

Madness double-checked the camera’s angle and then hefted a red can of diesel fuel and jerked off the cap. Slowly, deliberately, a tip of the canister splashed the fuel on the gray carpet, over the blue bedspread and up sheer white curtains that blocked the light of the full moon.

Jonas shifted from foot to foot. “Haven’t you spread enough of that stuff?”

“Never can be too careful.” Diesel burned longer but didn’t have the initial combustive power of gasoline, which could spread too fast or burn out.

The woman twisted at her bindings. She rolled her head from side to side as if willing this nightmare to end.

They were all suffering with anticipation.

Backing up to the room’s threshold, Madness stood silent, savoring the scene one last time. Finally, Madness retrieved a box of matches from the deep pockets of a blue Windbreaker and struck a match. The flame danced and swayed as if begging to be sent out on stage. A breeze caught the flame and blew it out.

“What’re you waiting for?” Jonas asked.

One. Two. Three. Savor. Savor. Savor.

“Okay, Jonas.”

“I can shoot now?” Excitement and fear rumbled under the words.

“Yes.”

Kelly’s muffled scream rumbled in her throat as Jonas raised the gun. She jerked at her bindings until her wrists bled.

Jonas pulled on the trigger and, as the gun fired, he closed his eyes on reflex. The bullet hit the woman directly between the eyes. Her body jerked as blood splattered and her eyes rolled back in her head. In one second she was gone, dead.

Jonas opened his eyes and looked at his gun in shock, as if the entire moment had been lived by another. He pressed the gun to his chest, cradling it close. “I killed her! I finally did it.”

Madness pocketed the camera. “Yes, you did. You did it just right.”

Jonas studied her. “She’s so still.”

“Yes.”

Seconds passed as Jonas stared at the carnage. Slowly the brightness in his gaze dimmed. The near bursting bubble of anticipation had popped with one sharp prick of a bullet.

“You’re feeling let down,” Madness soothed.

Jonas looked at the gun and the woman. “How did you know?”

“Because I feel it too. All the planning, thinking and dreaming. All gone in an instant.”

“Yes.”

“And just like that, it’s over.” The snap of two fingers echoed in the room.

Jonas flinched. “I thought it would last longer.”

“It never does. It’s always over in a blink.”

Jonas shook his head. “I thought there’d be more.”

“I told you, anticipation trumps the moment.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “That’s why I made us wait.”

“I can’t believe it’s over.”

A clap of hands made Jonas start and look up. “Time to go. Time to destroy the evidence.”

Jonas sat on the bed and took the woman’s cooling, still hand in his. “I won’t see her again.”

“No.”

“Can’t we just stay a little longer? I don’t want to leave her.”

Madness moved toward Jonas and gently pulled the gun from his hands. “We have to go. We need to destroy this evidence and leave.”

Tears welled in Jonas’s eyes. “I don’t want it to be over.” “No one ever does.” Taking Jonas by the hand, it took little strength to disarm him and guide him toward the door. One last glance back at the room, the strike of another match, a quick toss and the room immediately was ablaze. Quickly, the flames generated white, then gray billowing smoke that thickened and blackened to a dense inky shade. Smoke and flame moved up the walls, over the ceiling and back down to the floor again in a deadly whirlpool.

If they stayed, they’d see the flames devour the floor, walls, ceiling and, of course, the woman. It all would be reduced to cinders in fifteen minutes. There’d be some forensic data to retrieve, but not much. The body, perhaps, and the bullet. But not their DNA.

Out the front door, they moved into the darkness toward Jonas’s car, a station wagon. The actors always drove to the scene, never the master, in case a witness happened to look.

Jonas fired up the engine, revving the accelerator.

“Remember, drive slowly. We don’t want to be noticed.”

“Right.” Jonas gripped the wheel and drove.

The rearview mirror gave a perfect view of the flames consuming the house. In the distance, fire engines wailed. Someone had already called 9-1-1.

“Is that the cops?” Jonas asked.

“No. The fire department.” They rounded a corner and the fire faded from view.

In silence, they drove for several minutes before Jonas gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Can we do it again? I want to do it again!”

“Not right away. We have to wait.” Anticipation burned under the yoke of Reason’s screams to be freed.

But like Jonas, Madness didn’t want to wait. Madness had been starved for too long and would not allow Reason to dictate terms.

Lights from Broadway in Nashville’s music district flashed across Jonas’s face as they made their way toward the crowds of tourists. “I don’t want to wait.”

“Let’s get a drink.”

“There’s no parking this time of night.”

“I know a place. An alley.”

Jonas frowned.

“You’ve trusted me this far. Have I ever let you down?”

“No.”

“Then trust me.”

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Copyright © 2014 by Mary Burton

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

 

 

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ISBN: 978-1-4201-3211-3

First Electronic Edition: November 2014
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3212-0
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3212-1