Scream (11 page)

9:44 p.m. 42 Broad Court.

Crouched in the shadow of the boxwood, back against cold
concrete, judge waited for Virginia Grisham to walk into his
trap. He'd been hunkered down here for nearly fifteen minutes,
and his knees were getting stiff.

Six more minutes. Give or take. She better show up this time.

The air was chilly. Judge rubbed his hands together, fighting
off a shiver. His mind went to Amber. He'd have to take her a
blanket tonight. He felt bad for not showing up last night like
he'd promised. He'd actually laid awake thinking about her,
wondering if she'd found a way to stay warm. His concern for
her well-being suddenly struck him as odd. Anyone else would
never have taken her more food, would never have checked up
on her, and would never, ever take her a blanket. They wouldn't
care about her comfort, whether she was cold or scared or lonely.
But he cared. For the hundredth time, he reminded himself,
convinced himself that he wasn't like others-and he knew the
type. He wasn't a monster.

His thoughts then went back to 1974 and Katie McAfee.

1974

"I love you." There, it's out. As soon as the words leave his
mouth he feels a sense of freedom and knows that he meant
every syllable of it. Every letter (every jot and tittle). He's
never really known love from his parents. Sure, being churchgoing folk they talk about love enough. God is love. Love your
enemies. Love one another. Love your husband. Love your wife.
Love your parents. But live it? Really flesh it out so there is no
mistaking that the love they talk about is as real as the Bible they read it from? Hardly. His father's brand of love is chiseled in
stone. Rules. Dos and don'ts. Thou shalt nots (probably carried
down from the fiery mountain in the arms of Moses himself).
And his mother's idea of love is to force food and good hospitality down your throat until you're nauseous (pig-stuffed),
all the while smiling a plastic grin and slinging Christianese
around like it's the gosh-darn national language or something.
But when he speaks those three words to Katie-finally speaks
them out loud (he's been practicing in his head for weeks)-he
knows what real love is. There's no mistaking it.

He takes a small step back, half expecting her to laugh at
him, half expecting a hand across his cheek and the sting, both
to his face and his heart, that will follow. But neither come.
Instead, Katie takes an equally small step toward him, leans in,
and presses her lips against his.

The kiss doesn't last more than three seconds, but it seems
like an eternity. He wishes it will last for eternity (forever and
ever, amen and amen). It would be a very satisfactory heaven.
And during these three seconds he is intensely aware of three
things. One, the tenderness and softness of her lips (like
pillows where angels rest their heads). Two, the sweetness of
her breath (like a bouquet of the best-smelling wildflowers),
teasing him, drawing him closer, deeper. And three, the fact
that in these moments every care he's ever experienced, every
worry, every self-conscious thought, fear, and dread he's ever
dealt with is suddenly banished, nonexistent, forgotten (cast
into the eternal abyss, the lake of fire, forever and ever, glory
to God). It's like he's re-created, reborn, loosed from the chains
of self-recrimination that were forged in his parents' oppressive
religion and tightened by legalistic hypocrisy.

He is free! And he is in love.

A car door closed, jerking judge out of his past. She was home.
The plan was a go.

Virginia walked up the sidewalk, heels scraping on the
concrete, stepped onto the stoop, and slid the key into the lock.
Turning the key, she swung open the door, stepped inside, and
shut the door behind her.

Fifteen more minutes, max. When the shower came on, he
had to move quickly. On the trial runs, she'd averaged about
eleven minutes in the shower. Enough time for him to do what
he had to do.

Exactly thirteen minutes later he heard the shower spring to
life and the steady hum of the plumbing in the walls. Pulling
himself out of his crouch, he lifted a small cardboard box from
the ground beside him and forced his knees straight, despite
their painful protest. His feet tingled. He stamped them to
bring back the circulation and feeling.

Walking around the back of the house, careful to stay on
the grass and not leave footprints in the soft soil of the garden,
he swung open the steel doors that led down a short flight of
concrete steps to the basement. Fortunately, she was in the
habit of leaving them unlocked. Nice neighborhood and all. A
few days ago he'd come during the early evening when the sun
was just setting and scouted the house. At the bottom of the
concrete stairwell was another door, a wooden manufactured
door. It wasn't hard to break into-a simple hook that was easy
to lift. Most people didn't realize how easy it was to break into a
house through the basement. He slid a credit card between the
door and the frame and lifted the hook. The shower was still
going strong. So far, so good. He looked at his watch. About
five more minutes.

Once inside the basement, he set the box on the concrete
steps and closed the door, dropping the hook into its locked
position. All set. Now he only had to wait for the shower to
shut off, count off two minutes, and place the call. He removed
a white cotton cloth from one jacket pocket and a tiny vial of
ether from the other, set the two on a rough wooden table obviously used for laundry, and sighed deeply.

The warm water felt great on her back and neck. Leaning over
clients all day, cutting hair, curling hair, coloring hair, left her
spine aching from top to bottom. Ginny lingered a little longer
than usual in the shower, enjoying the massaging effect the
pulsating water had on her sore muscles.

Turning off the water, she slipped her hand through the
curtain and grabbed her towel. The plush fabric felt like velvet
against her skin. She was glad she'd sprung for the more expensive set. She dried off, stepped out of the shower, and looked
at herself in the partially fogged mirror. She had to start exercising. Her body had blossomed in all the wrong places over the
past five years. She still didn't get what Brandon saw in her. She
was fat and didn't even have the willpower to do anything about
it. Every year she'd made a New Year's resolution to start exercising, walk around the block or bike or something, anything.
But every year she'd made excuses why she didn't have time, and
after a few weeks of noncommitment, no longer felt guilty about
leaving her resolution in the dust. Some other time. Next year.

She huffed and quickly slipped into her pajamas-a pair of
red sweatpants and a red University of Maryland sweatshirt.
Her muscles still ached, right between the shoulder blades.
She'd seen twelve clients today, did three perms, four colorings,
and gave one lady a Mohawk. An odd one, that one was.

She was about to dry her hair when the phone rang. She
opened the bathroom door and listened for the machine to pick
it up-if it was Brandon she'd answer it; otherwise, it would
have to wait till tomorrow.

After three rings her voice came on: "Hello, this is Ginny.
Can't pick up right now so just leave a message. Thanks."

Beep.

"Hi. I hope I have the right number. Virginia Grisham of 42
Broad Court. This is Jim Valentino with UPS. I, uh, stopped
by your house today, Thursday, to drop off a package and you
weren't home. I ran out of Post-it notes for your door so I left the
package on your basement stairs around the back of the house.
The doors were unlocked. I hope that was OK. I wanted to make
sure you got the package, though. Well, um, OK then. Bye."

Ginny walked down the hall and into her bedroom, slipped
on her pink velour slippers, and headed down the basement
steps. Walking through the den, she opened the door to the
laundry room and felt for the light switch. She flipped it up, but
nothing happened. She toggled the switch a couple times but
still no light. Bulb must have burned out. Great.

There was enough light filtering in from the den that she
could make out the obstacles on the painted concrete floor.
With arms out in front, she shuffled her way through the
laundry room, dodging wash baskets and boxes of detergent.
The farther back she went, the darker it got and the harder it
was to see, even with her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.
When she reached the door, she felt for the hook, unlatched it,
opened it, and felt for the box. There, about the size of a shoebox.
She picked it up, tucked it under her right arm, and shut the
door with her left. The box had to weigh at least five pounds.
She hadn't ordered anything lately. But her grandmother never sent her a birthday gift last month. Maybe this was it. Better
late than never.

She turned and made to leave when someone grabbed her
from behind. Someone strong. Arms like iron bands wrapped
around her shoulders and waist, pinning her arms to her
sides. The box clunked to the floor. She opened her mouth to
scream, but a cloth slipped over her face and a strong chemical
smell filled her nose. Panic gripped her with icy fingers, and
she gasped for air, pulling in more of the chemical. Her legs
gave out first, and then a thick numbness spread over her body.
Seconds later, blackness overtook her.

Amber had just tucked herself under a blanket of straw in preparation for another chilly, sleepless night when she heard the
distant moan of an engine. Jumping up, she brushed the straw
from her clothes and hair and peered through the boards at the
outside world. Two glowing lights, like the eyes of a running cat,
bounced down the dirt lane, illuminating a swath of ground in
front of them.

She'd been in this barn for six days now, and judge hadn't
come by last night like he said he would. She had suffered
through three cold, sleepless nights, burrowing into the hay in a
meager attempt to control the shivering. Yesterday she'd awakened with stuffed sinuses and a dry cough. Today, the cough
had deepened, and her throat started feeling a little raw, like
it was lined with fine-grit sandpaper. She'd taken to sleeping
during the day, catnapping really, anything to beat the cold and
fatigue that was wearing on her body.