Stories: All-New Tales - By Neil Gaiman & Al Sarrantonio Page 0,136

his grabbing her arm as she started to fling the glass at me. I raised my own arm to protect myself.

“What’d he do?”

“Fuck you, let go of me!” she cried to him.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, Annie. What—?”

Then he ducked as she launched the glass at him. It struck a row of others; half of them shattered. She was out of control. Typical.

“Fuck you both!” Screaming. She dug a bill out of her purse and flung it onto the bar.

“Please, Ms. Young,” I said, “I can help you.”

“If I see you again, I’m calling the police.” She stormed out.

“Listen, mister, what the hell d’you do?”

I didn’t answer him. I grabbed some more napkins and, wiping my face, walked to the window. I saw her stride up to her son, who was standing nearby with a book bag. So this was the rendezvous spot. I wondered how often he’d had to wait outside for mom while she was in here getting drunk. I pictured cold January afternoons, the boy huddled and blowing breath into his hands.

She gestured him after her. Apparently there’d been something else on the agenda for after school, and, disappointed, he lifted his arms and glanced at the nearby sports store. But the shopping was not going to happen today. She stormed up and grabbed him by the arm. He pulled away. She drew back to slap him, but he dutifully walked to the car. I could see him clicking on his seat belt and wiping his tears.

Without a glance back at the bartender, I too left.

I walked to the car to head back to the motel to change. What had happened was discouraging, but I’d dealt with more difficult people than Annabelle Young. There were other approaches to take. Over the years I’ve learned what works and what doesn’t; it’s all part of being a therapist.

THE NEXT MORNING AT six I parked behind Etta’s Diner, in a deserted portion of the lot. The restaurant was directly behind Annabelle’s house. I made my way up the hill along a path that led to the sidewalk in her development. I had to take an oblique approach; if she saw me coming she’d never answer the door, and that would be that.

The morning was cool and fragrant with the smells of pine and wet earth. Being spring, the sky was light even at this early hour and it was easy to make my way along the path. I wondered how different Annabelle’s life had been before her husband died. How soon the neme had incorporated itself into her afterward. I suspected she’d been a vivacious, caring mother and wife, completely different from the enraged out-of-control woman she now was becoming.

I continued to the edge of the woods and waited behind the house in a stand of camellias with exploding red blossoms. At about six thirty her son pushed out the front door, carting a heavy book bag, and strolled to the end of the cul-de-sac, presumably to catch his bus.

When he was gone, I walked to the porch and climbed the stairs.

Was I ready? I asked myself.

Always those moments of self-doubt, even though I’d been a professional therapist for years.

Always, the doubts.

But then I relaxed. My mission in life was to save people. I was good at that task. I knew what I was doing.

Yes, I was ready.

I rang the doorbell and stepped aside from the peephole. I heard the footsteps approach. She flung the door open and had only a moment to gasp at the sight of the black stocking mask I was wearing and the lengthy knife in my gloved hand.

I grabbed her hair and plunged the blade into her chest three times, then sliced through her neck. Both sides and deep, so the end would be quick.

Lord knew I didn’t want her to suffer.

Two

THE JOB OF MAKING sure that Martin Kobel was either put to death or sentenced to life in prison for the murder of Annabelle Young fell to Glenn Hollow, the Wetherby County prosecutor.

And it was a job that he had embraced wholeheartedly from the moment he got the call from county-police dispatch. Forty-two years old, Hollow was the most successful prosecutor in the state of North Carolina, judging in terms of convictions won, and judging from the media since he had a preference for going after violent offenders. A mark of his success was that this was to be his last year in Wetherby. He’d be running for state attorney general in November and