CHAPTER 27

When I got home that evening, I was exhausted. I went to the mailbox, retrieved a handful of envelopes, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. As usual, Grey Skies greeted me immediately. I bent low, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from my neck down my back, and ran my hand through his long soft fur. I listened to him purr, then checked his food dish. Empty as usual. Skies was a big eater and he was always ready for a fresh dish of Science Diet by the time I arrived home from work. I fed him, then fed myself four Percocet and a small loaf of taro bread.

I sat on my mattress with a bottle of Longboard and flipped through the mail. An invitation from my law school alma mater for a ten-year reunion went right into the trash. Seven thousand miles seemed a bit far for a few hours of drinks with old friends. Letters from two separate school lenders followed. Then I found an unusual five-by-seven-inch manila envelope in my hand. I checked the envelope for a postmark but there was none. No return address. Whoever left this envelope dropped it right into my mailbox.

When I opened the envelope, I found a single DVD with no writing on it. I turned it over in my hand, staring at the spot where my TV had been. Then I remembered someone telling me that I could watch DVDs on my laptop computer. So that’s what I did.

With the laptop sitting on the granite counter in my kitchen, I popped the disc in. I listened to the disc spin and whir and waited until an image appeared on-screen.

The image was grainy, as though captured by a hidden camera. I swallowed hard when I recognized the wet bar in Oksana Sutin’s apartment.

I heard a man’s voice offscreen. “Can I pour you a snifter of brandy?” Omphrey’s voice. A few moments later Omphrey himself appeared on-screen. Just a glimpse of his profile, then he turned his back to the camera to pour the drink.

“No, Wade,” a heavily accented young woman’s voice called from offscreen. “No brandy. I can’t take alcohol, remember? Just tea.”

The governor slipped a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small vial. “That’s right. No problem, honey. I’ll gladly make you some tea. Go take your shower. Your tea will be ready by the time you get out.”

There was a time lapse. I stared intently at the computer screen until my eyes burned fiercely. Pain inched up my neck. For nearly sixty seconds no people were visible, no words were spoken off camera.

Then a scream.

I jumped as though I were in a theater as Oksana Sutin literally fell into the scene. Dressed in the same sheer nightie I’d seen her in that night at the crime scene.

On the floor, her face and neck stiffened first, then her arms and legs began to spasm. The spasms grew continuously worse, but Oksana remained awake and alert, shrieking loudly and incessantly.

My own body trembled in its entirety, but I couldn’t look away from the screen. I stood motionless, on the verge of sick, my head suddenly pounding like a piledriver at a construction site.

Oksana’s body jackknifed back and forth for what seemed an eternity, every muscle violently contracting simultaneously. It was easily the most gruesome thing I’d ever seen. The screams were far worse than any I’d ever heard emanate from a horror movie.

My legs suddenly threatened to collapse beneath me. I was sweating profusely and felt faint. But I gripped the granite countertop and somehow willed myself to remain conscious.

At least until Oksana Sutin stopped screaming.

Some several minutes later the shrieking finally ceased. Oksana’s dead eyes stared at me through the computer screen, her face forever frozen in a grimace.

I remained in front of the computer screen for a long time, staring back into Oksana’s eyes. Wishing they would blink, hoping they would close.

Knowing they never would.