Reunion at Red Paint Bay - By George Harrar Page 0,14
and sees a slim dark-haired woman walking next to Simon Howe. They stroll past the Lumina oblivious to the possibility that anyone might be sitting inside there, watching them. How can people be so unaware of the threat around them? She whispers something in his ear and they clasp hands, like school kids at a dance. In a few seconds they are at the restaurant entrance. They go inside and stand by the large window, talking to the hostess. The man in the car raises his right hand, his index finger sighting the target, his thumb cocked. How easy it would be to kill someone. Motivation is never the problem, nor opportunity. Only will.
He didn’t expect this, facing two of them. It throws him off. He assumed he would reach this point and find Providence taking his arm, steering him down one course or another. He closes his eyes and rubs the side of his head in circular movements. He empties his mind, letting his thoughts dissolve into nothingness, and waits for the still small voice to whisper in his ear.
In a minute his hand turns the ignition key. The Lumina rumbles to life.
The house on Fox Run is smaller than he expected, just average size for Red Paint, with scrubs of bushes in the front and thick overgrown grass. It’s a place that doesn’t seem tended to. He would care for it if it were his, mow the lawn, thin the ungainly plants, paint the peeling shingles. People don’t deserve what they aren’t willing to tend to. He gets out of the car, gazes up and down the street bathed in the hazy yellow lamp light. It seems strange to him, how everything looks like something else at dusk. The hemlock in the neighboring yard like a giant hooded monk waiting to cross a courtyard at vespers. A rounded bush like the top of a head, with shaggy hair. At this time of night, you can never be sure what you’re seeing. Music floats through the air, from a radio or TV, and every few seconds a dog barks, as if demanding to be let out. There could be a dog inside this house, some large mutt trained to attack anyone unfamiliar. The possibility doesn’t discourage him from crossing the street and walking up the uneven slate pathway. A dog is just one more thing to watch out for.
The front door is painted sea blue, a calming color. He takes a deep breath and turns the knob. It moves a little, gives him hope, then stops. People never locked their doors in this town when he grew up there. What was the danger now? I am. I’m the unpredictable thing people lock their doors against. Light beams pass over him, and he turns as a police cruiser creeps past. He can’t see the officers inside but waves in case they are watching. A person waving would never be considered suspicious. It wouldn’t matter anyway if they stop to question him. “Just visiting an old schoolmate,” he’d say. “Doesn’t seem like he’s home.” All perfectly true, or true enough. The cruiser turns the corner and is gone.
He looks over at the neighboring house, lit up in the second floor. He considers going down the side walkway, checking the bulkhead or kitchen door, perhaps find an open window. But this early in the night he might be seen by the neighbors, and how could he explain what he is doing? A door opens at the back of the house, a screen bangs. He listens for a minute in the darkening air, trying to understand what the sounds mean. He takes a few steps and peeks around the edge of the house. In the backyard something short and quick rushes across the dark grass.
“We’re home,” Simon called out as he stepped into the hallway. “Davey?”
Amy set her pocketbook on the small table. “He probably has his earphones in.”
Simon watched as she glided up the stairs. He liked how easily she moved through the world, with so little apparent effort. She went out of view for a moment, then reappeared at the railing. “He’s not up here.”
“Check our room. He might be watching our TV.”
“I already looked,” she said, coming down the stairs. “Maybe he’s in the cellar.” She hurried by him and pulled the door open. “Davey, are you down there?”
“He wouldn’t be in the cellar with the light off,” Simon said. “He’s scared of the dark.”
She flicked on the switch and