Dream Man

16

CARROLL JANES WAS SULKY. HE HAD BEEN IN A SOUR MOOD since last Friday night. Jacqueline Sheets hadn’t been as much fun as he had anticipated. The big rush of power he had expected just hadn’t materialized. She had been pathetic, just whining and scrambling in circles, rather than making it interesting. And there hadn’t been much press coverage about it either, which really disappointed him. Part of the fun—as it turned out, most of the fun—of this last one had been knowing that the cops would go crazy, with two incidences so similar, so close together, and absolutely no clues with which they could work. But evidently the cops were more stupid than he had thought, which took even more of the fun out of it. Where was the challenge? Not that they could catch him, but he had thought they would at least have noticed.

He wasn’t sure what had interfered with his pleasure. Maybe Sheets had just been too soon after the last one. He hadn’t been in the proper state of anticipation, hadn’t drawn out the stalking over several weeks while the tension drew tighter and tighter, until he was at fever pitch, all of his senses almost painfully acute, all of his power focused.

Of course, he would have to try another one to make certain. He hated to waste himself on a disappointment, but it was the only way he could find out. If the next one was as boring, he would know to spend more time on the process and wouldn’t let the apparent ease of a job sucker him into moving too fast, and cheating himself of his pleasure.

Every day at work he waited and watched for the slightest transgression. Which unhappy customer was going to have to pay? After all, to make it a fair test, he would have to act as soon as possible.

Marlie felt edgy, restless from an inner tension that just wouldn’t let up. She couldn’t pin down any one reason for it, because there were so many candidates from which to choose. The biggest reason, of course, was dread of the coming weekend. She couldn’t explain to anyone, not even Dane, how she felt after touching the killer’s thoughts during those bloody moments. She didn’t just feel dirty, she felt permanently contaminated by his evil, as if her soul would never be free of the ugliness. More than she had ever wanted anything in her life, she wanted to run, to get far away so she wouldn’t know when he killed again. That relief, unfortunately, was the one thing she couldn’t allow herself, or then she would be truly contaminated by her own cravenness. She had to stay, had to stick it out, for the sake of the two women who had already died, for the others she didn’t know about, for little Dusty … for herself.

Then there was Dane. She loved him, but having him around all the time was still disconcerting. She had spent so many years alone that it sometimes startled her to turn around and bump into him. Suddenly there was twice the amount of laundry to do, three times as much food to prepare, schedules to adjust since there was only one bathroom, and very little room in bed. Her life had been totally in control, and now everything had changed.

He knew, of course. Those sharp hazel eyes saw everything, though she struggled to hide how unsettled she was. He didn’t just dump all the chores in her lap, as a lot of men would have done; he was accustomed to doing his own laundry and didn’t hesitate to wash a load of clothes. The safe limits of his cooking were heating the contents of cans or slapping a sandwich together, so she did all of the cooking, and he took over the cleanup chores. He did what he could to ease the transition for her, but at the same time he refused to back off and give her more space. He was there; she had to accustom herself to him. She was happy to do so, to have this time with him no matter what his motivation, but it was still unnerving.

She couldn’t escape the coming weekend, couldn’t distract herself. Would the killer strike again? The thought of some other innocent woman being butchered, of herself being sucked into the sickening, evil morass of the killer’s mind, was almost more than she could bear. She tried not to think of it, but it was like being tracked by a mad dog and trying not to think about that, either. With every tick of the clock, the weekend loomed closer, and there was nothing she could do to avoid it. She tried to brace herself to endure, instead, because she was Dane’s only link to the killer. Sooner or later, he would give her a clue to his identity. All she had to do was wait, and endure his killing frenzies without going mad herself.

By Thursday, she was so tense that she couldn’t eat the Chinese food Dane had brought for dinner, and she loved Chinese. Her throat was tight, and when she swallowed, the food seemed to form a lump halfway down her esophagus. She didn’t have an appetite anyway, so finally she stopped even making an effort.

As usual, Dane hadn’t missed a trick, though he was making impressive inroads on the food. “Worried?” he asked.

“How can I not be? The last two weekends haven’t been a picnic.”

“Are you picking up anything from him?” Dane asked the question casually, but the interest behind it was intense.

“I’m uneasy, but it’s my feelings, not his.” She rubbed her hands over her arms. “How long will it take the FBI to get a profile on him?”

“I don’t know. We only had two cases, so that may make it harder for them. But they may be able to match the MO to other cases that have been brought to their attention, and that will help.”

“Do you think he’s killed before?” she asked tensely, looking out the back door. She could see Bill trimming the shrubbery at the rear of his lot. Her neighbors lived such nice, ordinary lives; she envied them the boredom of their security.

“Probably. He’s too good at it to be a beginner. It’s likely that he moves around, to keep any one area from becoming too hot for him.”