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Halifax, June 13
8:31 p.m.
Seth stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at the thick scar running from his sternum straight down to below his beltline. It reminded him of a long piece of red licorice, and whenever the humidity got bad—like tonight—it itched something terrible.
Ten other scars pocked the left side of his abdomen and chest. They were small, oval, and zipper-like. One by one, Seth touched them, still able to feel the sharp tip of the blade as it had pierced his skin.
He remembered opening his eyes in the ICU. At first he didn’t know where he was. Excruciating pain clawed through his insides. It hurt to move, to breathe. His throat was raw and dry. A tube stuck out of his chest, and blood flowed through it. Bags hung over his head. One had clear fluid in it, the other dark red.
Someone touched his forearm, and he rolled his eyes to the face of a nurse beside him. She had white, even teeth and a mole on her cheek like Marilyn Monroe.
“Hey, you,” she said. “Welcome back.”
He tried to speak but couldn’t work up enough moisture in his mouth. He licked his lips, tried again with great effort.
“Lil...eee. Ca...mee...ill.”
The nurse dropped her eyes from his, and before everything blurred and faded to black, he saw her smile turn sad.
Seth bent over the sink and splashed cold water on his face. Drying himself, he left the bathroom and crossed the hall to his bedroom, where he changed into a black T-shirt and black rain pants. He stepped over to the window and looked out at the rainy street. Dusk was deepening the shadows and graying out the colors. Soon it would be full dark.
He decided to give it two or three hours. Maybe watch the apartment building until midnight. The weather would surely keep people indoors. Unfortunately, it meant Blake Kaufman probably wouldn’t be going anywhere either.
Off and on for the past three days, Seth had watched for Kaufman to show himself. He had, twice. Once last night and once two nights before that. Both times he’d been with the dark-haired woman. Kaufman would never realize what a savior she’d been for him. Without her, he’d be dead already.
Seth could feel himself growing ever more anxious. He reminded himself to remain calm and patient, like he’d done with Todd Dory. He still had Scarecrow to get. Blow it now and the opportunity to kill him would be lost forever.
Seth walked down the hallway to Lily’s bedroom. He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the closed door. Bowing his head, he prayed, Lord, keep her safe this night, safe from all our earthly fears; may angels guard her while she sleeps, till morning comes and light appears. Amen.
He touched the pink pillow hanging from the doorknob. As he stared at The Princess sleeps here embroidered on the front, he felt a deep ache in his heart.
“I won’t be long, honey,” he whispered. “Daddy has to go out for a little while.”
He went downstairs. His raincoat hung in the living room closet. He took it off the hanger and put it on. Removing the nitrile gloves from the pockets, he slipped them over his hands.
The duffel bag lay on the closet floor with the shotgun and Santoku knife zippered shut inside it. Seth carried it into the kitchen, set it on the table, and withdrew the shotgun.
He swung it up into a firing position, sighting down the length of the barrel until he saw it disappear and the bead sight at the end come up and rest on the receiver by his eye. In his mind, Blake Kaufman stood there, hands raised, eyes wide in fear.
Seth pretended to squeeze the trigger. He could hear the booming shot, feel the kick of the butt into his shoulder, see the shot mass punch a hole through Kaufman’s flesh.
He stuffed the shotgun into the bag. Then he slipped on his hiking boots. After he slung the bag over his shoulder, he disarmed the alarm, waited a moment, and rearmed it again. Beeps began counting down from thirty.
Seth opened the back door and stepped outside. The rain fell in sheets, pelting the roof of the breezeway and gurgling through the downspouts.
Seth locked all three deadbolts and held his ear close to the door, waiting for the high-pitched buzz of the alarm telling him the house was secure.
When it came, he pulled the hood over his head and stepped out from under the breezeway. As he walked to his new rental car—a gray Impala this time—he wondered if he’d get his chance at Kaufman tonight.
He prayed he would.
