Dream Man
Janes stared after her, fury rising in him. Viciously he crumpled the complaint form and threw it in the trash. How dare she apologize! She had ruined everything. That wasn’t the point. Punishment was the point. He felt cheated, as if a ripe prize had been dangled in front of him and then snatched away. He had already begun to feel the flow of vitality, and known the hunger to let his power have free rein. Now he was left with nothing! He should kill the bitch anyway, to teach her that she couldn’t act any way she wanted and then escape the consequences by whining an apology.
No. Rules were rules. He had to obey them; it would ruin everything if he didn’t. There were certain criteria to be met, standards to be upheld. If he couldn’t maintain those standards, then he would deserve to be caught. No matter how much he wanted to discipline her, he had to save himself for the true lessons.
Marlie sat very still at her desk, trying to control her trembling. Thank God it was lunchtime, and almost everyone had gone out to eat. She had brought her lunch and a book, intending to spend a quiet hour reading. She had been happily engrossed in the book, absently munching an apple, when a dark sense of mingled anger and anticipation had filled her. It hadn’t been as overwhelming as a full vision, but she had recognized the source. There was no mistaking the cold evilness at the core. And then, suddenly, the anger had intensified, but the anticipation was gone, and she sensed disappointment instead.
She had come to know him. His mental force hadn’t been strong enough for her to “see” the events, but she knew without seeing. He had selected his next victim, and something had happened to deprive him of his sadistic pleasure.
He was out there. And he was hunting.
* * *
“He’s looking for someone,” she told Dane that night. She prowled restlessly around the room. “I felt him today.”
He put aside the newspaper he had been reading—which was full of slightly hysterical and mostly erroneous stories about the Orlando Slasher—and focused the full intensity of his attention on her. Even the planes of his face hardened; she had grown accustomed to that roughhewn face, seeing it through the eyes of love, but abruptly she perceived him again as she had seen him the first time they had met: Dane Hollister the cop, the Dane Hollister who was dangerous.
“What happened?” he asked, a bite in his tone. “When did it happen? Why didn’t you call me?”
She shot him a brief glance and resumed her aimless pacing. “What could you have done?”
The answer was “nothing,” and she saw he didn’t like that. “It was during my lunch, about twelve-thirty. All of a sudden he was there. I could feel his anger, but he was excited, too, like a kid anticipating a treat. He had picked her out, I know he had. Then something happened, I don’t know what, but she got away and he was disappointed.”
“And then?”
“Nothing. I couldn’t feel him anymore.”
He was watching her closely. “But you can tell when he’s choosing his victim?”
She shrugged. “I did this time.”
“Anything else? Could you tell anything about the victim?”
“No.”
“The slightest detail would help—”
“I told you, no!” she suddenly shouted, wheeling toward the bedroom. “Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
He moved like a tiger pouncing, springing up from the couch and catching her before she could reach the bedroom and close the door between them. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her tightly against him. Now he could feel the slight tremors running through her, the shaking that hadn’t completely left her since lunch. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, rubbing his rough chin against her temple. “I know how hard this is for you. Are you okay?”
She hesitated, then reluctantly admitted, “I’m a little spooked.”
He rocked her back and forth for a minute, letting her absorb the security of his presence. She had been living with the stress for almost a month now, and it had to be much worse for her than for him. She needed a break. He brushed her hair back from her face, thinking hard. “Want to go see a movie?”
“That was your solution last time,” she said tautly. “Going somewhere.”
“Did it work?”
Involuntarily she relaxed a little. She was so tired; it felt good to lean on him. “You know it did.”
“Then let’s go to a movie. Isn’t there something you’d like to see?”
“I don’t know.” She was hesitant. “I haven’t been to a movie since the first murder.”
“Then it’s time. I haven’t seen a movie in a couple of years. What interests you?”
“I don’t know what’s playing.” She turned to face him, and managed a smile. “I’d rather just go for a drive, I think.”
He was relieved to feel the tension easing out of her. He would have preferred to take her to bed, but knew she was too tense to enjoy it. “Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said.
The twilight air was thick and heavy when they left the house, the heat lingering even though the sun had gone down, and thunder rumbled dully in the distance. Dane rolled down his window, hit the interstate highway, and turned the car’s nose toward the Gulf Coast, straight into the approaching storm. The cloud bank loomed overhead like a great beast, streaks of lightning darting across its purplish black underbelly.
The air blasting in through the open window became cooler, almost cold, and carried with it the sweet, dusty scent of rain. Marlie sat silently beside him, her eyes on the storm. The first raindrops splatted on his windshield. He had time to roll up his window and turn on the wipers, and then they were plunging headlong into the torrent sweeping toward them.