Accidents Waiting to Happen (24 page)

“Well, if I can’t talk to you on the phone,” he paused for dramatic effect.
 
“Then I’ll have to make a personal visit.
 
I know where you live.”

That sent a chill through Margaret’s body that made her shiver and the sweat cooled on her skin.
 
It felt like his hands touched her throat, not warm like a lover’s but cold like a killer’s.
 
Margaret mouthed a reply but the words didn’t come.
 
She didn’t know what to say.

“I could get into your home at any time.
 
It’s poorly maintained with shitty little locks that could be broken with a snap of my fingers.”
 
He snapped his fingers and a sharp crack resounded down the telephone line.
 
“It would be child’s play for a man like me.
 
Christ!
 
It would be child’s play for a child.”

“You’re not a man,” Margaret blurted.

Laughter echoed down the receiver and into Margaret’s ear.
 
She flinched at his mockery.

Someone banged on the door.

Involuntarily, Margaret jumped in her seat and released a short, startled scream lacking volume and power.
 
Her hands tightened around the receiver until her knuckles glowed white under the papery, translucent skin.
 
Margaret stared at the door.
 
Unlike Superman, she couldn’t see through walls, but she knew it was him outside.

“Who’s at the door, Margaret?” he whispered.

If Margaret had possessed the strength she would have shattered the phone in her grasp.
 
She wanted the man to be on the other end of the phone.
 
She wanted him there, and not outside her door.
 
Gripping the handset tighter was her way of keeping the monster in the phone and out of her living world.

Margaret froze.
 
She saw him.
 
The non-descript body behind the door moved and appeared at the window, his silhouette outlined against the drapes.
 
He peered through the window, but the drapes prevented him from seeing anything.
 
He wore a baseball cap turned backwards on his head and what appeared to be a windbreaker fluttered in the breeze.
 
He carried something bulky in his hands.
 
Fear of what the object could be drove Margaret’s mind into a frenzy.
 
The figure moved back in front of the door.

“Have you guessed who it is?” he whispered once more.

Margaret jumped in her seat when he banged on the door again.

“Hello,” he said from behind the door and paused. “Is anybody there?”

“Go away, go away,” Margaret shouted back.

“Hey, it’s pizza delivery,” he said.

“I didn’t order a pizza.”

“I’ve got a delivery for this address for a medium, thin crust, pepperoni pizza that was ordered in the name of Macey.”

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Well somebody did and I need to be paid for it,” he said.

Margaret started to get out of her chair.

The man at the door mumbled something inaudibly and the voice whispered on the phone.

“How do you know who is at the door, hmmm?
 
I could be lying my head off waiting for you to answer.
 
Think about it, Margaret.”

Margaret fell back into her seat afraid of the warning the voice had given her.
 
She had no idea who was at the door.
 
It could be him ready and waiting for her to open the door, to blast her with a shotgun or stab her with a knife.
 
Kill her right on her doorstep and laugh as he watched her die.
 
Driven by fear, her heart accelerated another ten beats per minute.
 
The serpent tightened its grip around her chest.
 

“Go away,” she said.

“Hey, lady.
 
I want to be paid for this pizza.
 
I get stiffed with the bill if you don’t pay.”

“Go away,” she said and burst into tears.

“Okay, okay.
 
Thanks a lot.”
 

Margaret heard him walking away, cursing her as he went.
 
Relieved, she dropped the phone and wept uncontrollably.
 
For a moment, she didn’t notice the laughter coming from the phone.
 
The voice called her from the receiver.
 
She raised it to her ear.

“Gotcha,” he said.

“What?”
 
Tears choked Margaret’s voice.
 

He waited for the crying to stop.
 
“Margaret, go to your door, you pissed off some poor pizza boy trying to make an honest buck.”

Margaret hesitated, afraid that this was another of his falsehoods to make her come to the door.

“C’mon Margaret.
 
Hurry before he goes.
 
I wouldn’t lie to you.
 
I only did it to you make you realize the error of your ways—letting the cops know about our little chat.
 
Chop, chop, take a peek.”

Margaret went to the window and pushed the drapes to one side.
 
She saw the figure at the door had indeed been a pizza delivery boy, wearing a Supreme Pizza baseball cap and windbreaker.
 
He was getting into a crappy, battered Honda sedan that was all dents and faded paintwork.
 
A small flag on a small plastic pole was stuck on the roof with Supreme Pizza’s name and logo emblazoned on it.
 
He looked back at Margaret’s house before racing away in a cloud of black smoke and squealing tires.

Relieved that her tormentor wasn’t behind the door threatening to break her into pieces, Margaret’s knees buckled and she collapsed, striking the wooden door.
 
Slumped, she held herself up against the door and slowly, she slid to the floor in a crumpled heap.
 
It was all a joke.
 
A sick joke to scare, to torture, to put the fear of God inside her and he’d been successful.
 

Relaxing, she let her bodily systems slow and stabilize themselves.
 
In the distance
his
voice babbled endlessly.
 
Margaret ignored him.
 
In the pit of her stomach a sensation relayed its rebellion.
 
She felt unwell.
 
She was going to be sick.
 
Margaret tottered to her feet and made for the bathroom where she puked.
 
It was physical release from her mental torture.
 
Dryly, she retched several times before finally vomiting.
 

“So, can I interest you in that life insurance policy Margaret?” he said to no one.
 
The phone rested on its side on the armchair.
 
He laughed, knowing that he was talking to an absent Margaret Macey.

***

The professional slipped the phone into his pocket.
 
He was pleased with his efforts.
 
He felt he had made real progress this time.
 
He would have to follow up this incident with another very soon to ensure his target didn’t get a respite.
 
Margaret Macey was being reeled in like a prize marlin.
 
She was tired and beginning to lose her strength.
 
It wouldn’t be long before she was another trophy to go above his fireplace.

But, now, he had a date to keep.

Chapter Seventeen

Dressed in his sweats, Josh bounded down the stairs with his running shoes in one hand.
 
He ran on the weekends and maybe a couple of times a week.
 
A normal run was three to five miles depending on what time he had available.
 
Since coming out of the hospital, he hadn’t been running.
 
It was time to get back into the swing of things again.
  
He sat down on the bottom stair and pulled on his shoes.
 

Kate came out from the living room.
 
“Are you going for a run?”

“Yeah.
 
I thought I would.”

“Do you want breakfast now or when you get back?”

“I’ll eat when I get back.”

“How far do you think you’ll go?”

“I might try a longer one, six miles or so, to make up for slacking, but I’ll see how I go.”
 
Josh looked up as he tied his shoes.

“It’ll do you good to get out and do something.”
 

He saw Kate was pleased to see him settling back into old routines.
 
She probably hoped it was a sign their lives were returning to normal.

“I’ll see you later.”
 
Josh gave his wife a kiss and slipped out the front door.

It was after nine and the daily commuters from Josh’s neighborhood had already left for their jobs.
 
He ran in the relative comfort of being free of thoughtless motorists.
 
It was a good time to run.

Sweat displayed itself on his clothes and face.
 
The morning was cool but there was warmth from the sun unhindered by sparse clouds.
 
Dark rings stained his gray marl sweatshirt under the arms and around the neck.
 
His matching pants showed an unflattering dark line between the buttocks.
 
Perspiration glistened on Josh’s flushed face and hung in beads from his black hair like melting icicles.
 
He hadn’t intended to push himself that hard.
 
His mind had been elsewhere.
 
It had been fixed on Bell.
 
She hadn’t called since she’d turned informer to Channel 3.
 
If she wouldn’t come to him, then he’d go to her.

Instead of running his usual route, a circuit of the horseshoe shaped Pocket neighborhood, he jogged the roads that took him northwards towards downtown.
 
His Adidas shod feet beat a path to Belinda Wong’s new Sacramento home.
 
The bitch had the audacity to give her address and telephone number to Kate at the barbecue.
 
His anger drove him to run even harder.
 

He came to a gradual halt outside the small, ranch style house.
 
It was a corner plot and still had the “For Sale” sign outside that hung from a post buried in the lawn close to the sidewalk.
 
Bent over with his hands on his knees, he panted heavily.
 
Sweat fell from his forehead and hair, the droplets splashing on the sidewalk.

He crossed the short path to the front door and pressed the doorbell.
 
No one answered.
 
He pressed the doorbell again.
 
This time he kept his finger on the button, which made the chimes drone tunelessly.
 
He heard movement and took his finger off the bell.
 
He disliked its sound as much as the person who moved unhappily inside the house did.

The door opened and Josh didn’t wait to be invited inside.
 
He barged in, knocking the door from the occupant’s hand.
 
If she could barge her way into his home uninvited, then he could do the same to her.

“Good morning, Josh.
 
You found me then.
 
Thanks for the wake up call.”
 
Bell showed no signs of annoyance at the abrupt entry.
 
In fact, she smiled.

Josh looked about him, staring at the starkly furnished living room.
 
“I suppose my money went to buy this place,” he said.

Bell looked at him approvingly.
 
She closed the door and leaned against it with her arms crossed over her electric blue, silk robe.
 
“Don’t flatter yourself, you didn’t give me that much money.
 
No, I have a friend who’s a realtor and I’m staying here while they sell it.
 
It’s a repo from a family that couldn’t keep up with the payments.
 
They just couldn’t keep up with the changing pace of life.”

“Is that last remark supposed to mean anything?”

“Read into it whatever you want.”

Not waiting for a response, she walked into the kitchen retying the belt to her robe as she went.
 
Her feet made sticking noises on the vinyl floor.
 
She filled the coffeemaker with water and grounds before switching it on.
 
“Do you want coffee?”