Page 53 of Safe in Shadow
The bag was tightly sealed. Triple-bagged.
All these years, and there had never been any blood in the backseat. Just the trunk.
The guy at Jiffy Service never opened the trunk. He told him that he’d lost the key a long, long time ago and there was no reason to look inside, now was there?
He got off the Pine Ridge exit, and the tuneless whistling died away, excitement breaking his ability to produce the desired sound. “Almost home,” he whispered.
Chapter Eighteen
The Stranger huddled close to his windscreen. The last time it had rained this hard, he’d sought refuge inside the broken-down old mansion, but that place was a hazard. Last time he’d gone inside, he must’ve tripped over something in the dark. Hit his head. Slammed his fingers in a door hard enough to break them. Fortunately, it had been Friday night. He was able to get back to work on Monday, and no one on his route noticed.
“Not going in this time,” he muttered, turning off the road and pulling behind the house, making tire tracks in the wet grass. At least the ground will be soft, he thought, parking close to the woods.
IT DIDN’T TAKE LONGto dig a hole. He didn’t need to make it too deep or too large, and he’d had a lot of practice. How long had he been coming here? Twenty years? Maybe he had missed a year here or there. He didn’t remember the women or their names. They were all the same, all iterations of Pamela, dull pale skin and dry, dyed hair. They all had the same mementos—shoes, clothes, jewelry, purses, usually bearing some bloody residue from the process of making them more “compact,” and all wrapped up in the bloody beach towels. He always got afew new ones each summer in preparation for another visit to Hilltop, always ready for the next Pamela.
Still, it was nice to walk in the woods. Take the long way out, seeing if he could identify all the places where he’d left his little “gifts.” It was definitely his “happy place.”
It was when he was trudging back to the car, his hands and knees muddy, his little fold-up “survival shovel” swinging in his hand, that he saw her.
Pamela.
Naked in one of the upper windows, just a glimpse of blonde hair above a bare back and long legs.
He ripped off his glasses. They were always playing tricks. Turning live women into dead ones.
Why not a dead one into a live one?
But no, even with the glasses off, he could still see her outline—just blurry. Her gloriously nude body was still too thin for his tastes, but it was alive, moving away from the window.
“Pam?” he gasped, dropping the shovel in the grass. His soaking sneakers slipped and slid on the wet turf, but he struggled forward. “Pam!”
He’d done it! Somehow, he’d done it. He’d finally undone his mistake with enough gifts! Maybe that’s why he always felt compelled to bring Pamela these little offerings each year. Maybe it was all a bad dream, and he’d never hurt her. That’s right, it was a bad dream! He’d always prayed it was just a bad dream. Wished it was a bad dream. Stupid accident. It was some other girl. Not his Pam. His Pamela had run away, but she’d come back.
She knew he’d been waiting.
Excitement and longing washed over him. Now he’d fix it. She’d leave with him, and they’d get married, and it would all be okay. It would be like no time ever passed, and the last twenty years had never happened.
NYX LAID HIS EXHAUSTED, thrice-sated Grace in her bed and curled beside her. Thunder and lightning were rattling around the mountains tonight. In the midst of their feverish lovemaking, the power had gone out, but it didn’t matter. She had barely made it a few steps on her weak, shaking legs before letting him catch her.
He smiled as he felt himself slowly draining away, turning from solid to liquid darkness, drawn back to his spawning place. “Good night, my love.”
She looked up at him as he began to slip away, lids lowering. She said, “I love you.”
She loves me.It was the first time he could ever remember sliding into his little portal to the Netherworld feeling content.
