Tallahassee, Florida
Sabrina actually looked forward to her Saturday movie nights. She had read somewhere that the major difference between extroverts and introverts was how they got their energy. Extroverts needed to rejuvenate themselves by being around people, bouncing their ideas off someone else and being able to discuss their thoughts and feelings.
Introverts, however, required time alone with their thoughts, having time to themselves to recharge without needing to explain or talk to anyone. Sabrina knew she fit comfortably with the latter and accepted it. Though it was oftentimes difficult to explain to extroverts that she enjoyed her Saturday-night rejuvenation sessions. She needed her Saturday-night alone time. So tonight she was home alone with Alfred Hitchcock.
She had chosen one of her favorites,
Rear Window,
with Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly. It didn’t matter how many times she had seen it, it still made her jump.
When she and Eric were kids they were allowed to stay up late in the summertime to watch classic movies. Lewis and Martin were Eric’s favorites. He was a sucker for comedies, even the romantic ones, especially with Cary Grant, which wasn’t much of a surprise looking back. Sabrina guessed Eric thought himself a bit of a Cary Grant, maybe with a little James Bond mixed in.
She, however, loved psychological suspense, classics like
Gaslight; Sorry, Wrong Number,
and of course any of Alfred Hitchcock’s films. Over the years she had built up an extensive video library and she and Eric had gotten together at least one Saturday a month to watch a favorite. Sabrina would order pizza, half veggie and half Italian sausage with green pepper. Eric would bring the cold beer, always some kind of expensive ale for the two of them to try. Tonight she settled for popping a frozen pizza into the oven and a Bud Lite.
Nights like this she realized how much she missed her brother and how much she missed her old life. The old saying that you never know how good you’ve got it until it’s all gone couldn’t be truer.
Sabrina heard a noise outside her condo and paused the movie, leaving Jimmy Stewart with his binoculars and his broken leg. He was just starting to believe that his neighbor may have actually killed his own wife.
She listened and waited, taking a slow sip of the beer. Maybe the movie had kicked her imagination into high gear. The whole day had been like that, with Lansik’s disappearance and the thunderstorm knocking out the electricity. The movie was supposed to be her escape from reality, not a reminder of it. Maybe tonight one of Eric’s favorites would have been a wiser choice.
She turned the interruption into an intermission and decided to get more pizza from where she had left it on the counter that separated her kitchen from her living room. She reached for a slice and out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move outside her kitchen window.
Sabrina froze. She held her breath and listened again. She hadn’t left a light on in the kitchen. Didn’t think she needed one, depending instead on the glow of the TV. But now the room seemed too dark.
In the tinted blue light her eyes found the back door’s knob. She had locked the dead bolt. She was sure she had. Still, she listened and watched.
She heard a rustling sound outside the door, but the knob didn’t move. She held her breath again. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, searching for a weapon. She eased her way around the counter and grabbed a cast-iron skillet hanging above the range.
A scrape against the outside wall stopped her so suddenly she thought her heart had also stopped. Then a high-pitched screech made her jump. She almost dropped the skillet. A
thump-thump
followed before Sabrina realized the screech belonged to an animal. Of course, Lizzie.
Relief instantly washed over her, but she stopped at the door’s peephole. The fish-eye view of empty sidewalks and an empty street satisfied her. She unlocked and opened the door just enough to look out.
Sure enough, Sabrina saw the last of Lizzie, a white tail disappearing into the crepe myrtle. Before she closed the door she glanced at the area under the kitchen window. Nothing there. Absolutely nothing, including no bush, no flowerpots, no ledge, nothing that would explain that the shadow she had seen could have been a cat’s.
Light refracted in a lot of different ways, from a lot of different sources. There could be a number of reasons a prowling cat’s shadow could appear three feet higher in front of Sabrina’s kitchen window. This is what she told herself as she closed and locked the dead bolt on the back door.
Tallahassee, Florida
Sabrina actually looked forward to her Saturday movie nights. She had read somewhere that the major difference between extroverts and introverts was how they got their energy. Extroverts needed to rejuvenate themselves by being around people, bouncing their ideas off someone else and being able to discuss their thoughts and feelings.
Introverts, however, required time alone with their thoughts, having time to themselves to recharge without needing to explain or talk to anyone. Sabrina knew she fit comfortably with the latter and accepted it. Though it was oftentimes difficult to explain to extroverts that she enjoyed her Saturday-night rejuvenation sessions. She needed her Saturday-night alone time. So tonight she was home alone with Alfred Hitchcock.
She had chosen one of her favorites,
Rear Window,
with Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly. It didn’t matter how many times she had seen it, it still made her jump.
When she and Eric were kids they were allowed to stay up late in the summertime to watch classic movies. Lewis and Martin were Eric’s favorites. He was a sucker for comedies, even the romantic ones, especially with Cary Grant, which wasn’t much of a surprise looking back. Sabrina guessed Eric thought himself a bit of a Cary Grant, maybe with a little James Bond mixed in.
She, however, loved psychological suspense, classics like
Gaslight; Sorry, Wrong Number,
and of course any of Alfred Hitchcock’s films. Over the years she had built up an extensive video library and she and Eric had gotten together at least one Saturday a month to watch a favorite. Sabrina would order pizza, half veggie and half Italian sausage with green pepper. Eric would bring the cold beer, always some kind of expensive ale for the two of them to try. Tonight she settled for popping a frozen pizza into the oven and a Bud Lite.
Nights like this she realized how much she missed her brother and how much she missed her old life. The old saying that you never know how good you’ve got it until it’s all gone couldn’t be truer.
Sabrina heard a noise outside her condo and paused the movie, leaving Jimmy Stewart with his binoculars and his broken leg. He was just starting to believe that his neighbor may have actually killed his own wife.
She listened and waited, taking a slow sip of the beer. Maybe the movie had kicked her imagination into high gear. The whole day had been like that, with Lansik’s disappearance and the thunderstorm knocking out the electricity. The movie was supposed to be her escape from reality, not a reminder of it. Maybe tonight one of Eric’s favorites would have been a wiser choice.
She turned the interruption into an intermission and decided to get more pizza from where she had left it on the counter that separated her kitchen from her living room. She reached for a slice and out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow move outside her kitchen window.
Sabrina froze. She held her breath and listened again. She hadn’t left a light on in the kitchen. Didn’t think she needed one, depending instead on the glow of the TV. But now the room seemed too dark.
In the tinted blue light her eyes found the back door’s knob. She had locked the dead bolt. She was sure she had. Still, she listened and watched.
She heard a rustling sound outside the door, but the knob didn’t move. She held her breath again. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, searching for a weapon. She eased her way around the counter and grabbed a cast-iron skillet hanging above the range.
A scrape against the outside wall stopped her so suddenly she thought her heart had also stopped. Then a high-pitched screech made her jump. She almost dropped the skillet. A
thump-thump
followed before Sabrina realized the screech belonged to an animal. Of course, Lizzie.
Relief instantly washed over her, but she stopped at the door’s peephole. The fish-eye view of empty sidewalks and an empty street satisfied her. She unlocked and opened the door just enough to look out.
Sure enough, Sabrina saw the last of Lizzie, a white tail disappearing into the crepe myrtle. Before she closed the door she glanced at the area under the kitchen window. Nothing there. Absolutely nothing, including no bush, no flowerpots, no ledge, nothing that would explain that the shadow she had seen could have been a cat’s.
Light refracted in a lot of different ways, from a lot of different sources. There could be a number of reasons a prowling cat’s shadow could appear three feet higher in front of Sabrina’s kitchen window. This is what she told herself as she closed and locked the dead bolt on the back door.
Sunday, June 11
Washington, D.C.
Jason left a note and passed through the lobby before the concierge’s desk was even open. He didn’t stop for a receipt of the charges. He didn’t stop, period, afraid someone would recognize him.
Last night the Washington Grand Hotel had been the first to come to Jason’s mind, in fact, the only one he could think of while in the cab with Lindy’s tongue probing his ear. He’d never even been inside the hotel’s lobby before last night. He had, however, reserved rooms many times for Senator Allen when the senator had friends or colleagues in town who needed a discreet and luxurious place to do business. Jason knew the senator didn’t actually mean business. It was a sort of code between them. Maybe that’s why it was the first place to come to Jason’s mind when he decided he needed a discreet place.
God! He couldn’t believe he’d left a note. How lame was that? But all he could think about was escaping.
He waved down a cab though the morning air and the quiet would have done him some good, especially with the fog that capped the city. At four o’clock in the morning no one was out on the streets of Washington except the homeless. Those who made their living on the streets were finished conducting business and tucked away somewhere.
The cabdriver kept glancing at Jason in the rearview mirror. Maybe he had schmuck written all over his face. He resisted the urge to defend himself, to tell the guy that she wanted it as much as he did. Maybe more. She was the one who’d approached him. Jesus! She’d rubbed against him and fondled him right there on the street in front of the restaurant. And he had already been charged up by Senator Malone.
A sudden chill skidded down Jason’s back as he remembered Lindy on top of him and the whole time he kept seeing Senator Shirley Malone. The thing is it didn’t stop him. Instead, it…hell, it propelled him.
God! He was fucked up. He shook the thought and the image out of his head, especially since it started to turn him on again.
He glanced up. The fucking cabdriver was watching him again, only this time he had the decency to avert his eyes when he got caught. Jason checked for the guy’s ID and took a good look at it. He committed the name and cab number to memory. Not that it would do any good. After all, what the hell could he do with the information? Turn the guy in because he recognized Jason’s guilt? He couldn’t just have him fired like Senator Allen had done to that limo driver.
That’s when it hit him.
He
could actually get fired for sleeping with another senator’s staff member. Senator Allen had made it clear when he hired Jason that he wouldn’t tolerate any “intimate encounters”—that’s what he called them, “encounters”—between any of his staff members.
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. What the hell had he done?
The cab jolted to a stop.
“That’s seven-fifty,” the guy said.
Jason handed him a ten.
“Keep it,” he told the driver. And on his way out Jason took one last look at the ID badge on the sun visor to make sure he had it memorized, just in case. Cab number: 456390; and driver: Abda Hassar.
Sunday, June 11
Washington, D.C.
Jason left a note and passed through the lobby before the concierge’s desk was even open. He didn’t stop for a receipt of the charges. He didn’t stop, period, afraid someone would recognize him.
Last night the Washington Grand Hotel had been the first to come to Jason’s mind, in fact, the only one he could think of while in the cab with Lindy’s tongue probing his ear. He’d never even been inside the hotel’s lobby before last night. He had, however, reserved rooms many times for Senator Allen when the senator had friends or colleagues in town who needed a discreet and luxurious place to do business. Jason knew the senator didn’t actually mean business. It was a sort of code between them. Maybe that’s why it was the first place to come to Jason’s mind when he decided he needed a discreet place.
God! He couldn’t believe he’d left a note. How lame was that? But all he could think about was escaping.
He waved down a cab though the morning air and the quiet would have done him some good, especially with the fog that capped the city. At four o’clock in the morning no one was out on the streets of Washington except the homeless. Those who made their living on the streets were finished conducting business and tucked away somewhere.
The cabdriver kept glancing at Jason in the rearview mirror. Maybe he had schmuck written all over his face. He resisted the urge to defend himself, to tell the guy that she wanted it as much as he did. Maybe more. She was the one who’d approached him. Jesus! She’d rubbed against him and fondled him right there on the street in front of the restaurant. And he had already been charged up by Senator Malone.
A sudden chill skidded down Jason’s back as he remembered Lindy on top of him and the whole time he kept seeing Senator Shirley Malone. The thing is it didn’t stop him. Instead, it…hell, it propelled him.
God! He was fucked up. He shook the thought and the image out of his head, especially since it started to turn him on again.
He glanced up. The fucking cabdriver was watching him again, only this time he had the decency to avert his eyes when he got caught. Jason checked for the guy’s ID and took a good look at it. He committed the name and cab number to memory. Not that it would do any good. After all, what the hell could he do with the information? Turn the guy in because he recognized Jason’s guilt? He couldn’t just have him fired like Senator Allen had done to that limo driver.
That’s when it hit him.
He
could actually get fired for sleeping with another senator’s staff member. Senator Allen had made it clear when he hired Jason that he wouldn’t tolerate any “intimate encounters”—that’s what he called them, “encounters”—between any of his staff members.
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. What the hell had he done?
The cab jolted to a stop.
“That’s seven-fifty,” the guy said.
Jason handed him a ten.
“Keep it,” he told the driver. And on his way out Jason took one last look at the ID badge on the sun visor to make sure he had it memorized, just in case. Cab number: 456390; and driver: Abda Hassar.