This was crazy. Too close. How did that happen?
Gregory had tried not to run. Especially against the flow. It was hard to steady his pace. He was still panting by the time he got back to his car. Teeth chattering. Stocking feet soaked and numb. His whole body shivered from the cold.
In a panic, he shed his coat and shoes. Balled them up and stuffed them into the trash bag, just like he always did. Ditched them in the first Dumpster when he was sure no one was looking. But he couldn’t make it back to his stash, leaving him in his socks and only a sweatshirt. Leaving him no alternative but to get back to his car as soon as possible and escape.
Not good. Very bad. Very bad, indeed.
Usually, it was so simple. Nobody ever noticed. Usually, he had plenty of time. And tonight the old woman had made it easy on him. Following him. Sneaking around corners. Pretending.
Did she really think he hadn’t noticed her?
But he was so caught up in their little game of cat and mouse that Gregory had missed seeing the detective.
Where did she come from? A parked car? A shadowed entrance?
How the hell had he missed her?
Sirens screeched, and he wanted to put his hands to his ears. The sound scraped against his nerves. From the parking garage, he could see the flashing lights reflecting off the shop windows.
Too close.
He had parked too close.
Too cocky.
Just wait. Calm down.
He turned on the ignition. Blasted the heat vents.
No one had seen him. No one had followed.
Then he noticed the blood on the steering wheel, and a fresh panic seeped over him.
No, no, no!
He was always so careful not to bring any of the blood with him. Now it was all over the car.
His head swiveled. His eyes darted around the garage. Noises echoed. Vehicles leaving. Vehicles coming in.
He needed to leave. Now.
Don’t screech tires.
Calm down.
Don’t draw attention.
Breathe. Through your nose, not your mouth.
He dug a towel out of the duffle bag in the passenger seat. He wiped down the steering wheel and his hands.
In the rearview mirror, he examined his face and neck for any specks or splatters. He met his eyes in the reflection and hardly recognized the frenzied look staring back at him.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said out loud.
Before he looked away, he caught a glimpse of an image. A small boy slouched down, tucked against the door in the backseat.
He spun around.
There was no one.
He lifted himself enough to get a look at the space between the backseat and the floor. But there was no one.
The unraveling. It was starting again. He could feel it. Thread by thread. Everything he had carefully constructed coming apart at the seams.
First came the hallucinations. Then the paranoia. The killing was supposed to help. It was supposed to staunch the leak.
Don’t look in the mirror. Don’t do it. He’s not really there.
His hand slipped into the duffle bag, searching until he found the prescription container. Just once, he’d like to control these meltdowns without pills. Still, he twisted off the lid, popped two tablets in his mouth and dry-swallowed.
Then he closed his eyes. He tried to shut out the sounds of sirens. Counted to sixty. Listened to his heartbeat. Steadied his breaths. Then counted again.
When he opened his eyes, he pulled in a long, deep gulp of oxygen, like a swimmer coming up for air. He put the car in gear and drove. Out of the parking garage. Onto the street. And away from the chaos.
He stopped at every red light. Every single stop sign. Flipped on his turn signal long before he turned. Kept to the right. Attention focused. Back rigid. Fingers gripping.
One turn, then another. One deep breath, then another. And another. He drove until he knew no one had followed. Still, he didn’t feel safe until he parked two blocks away, let himself into the house and locked the door behind him. Only a lamp on the side table in the entrance lit his path.
He had leftovers. He’d make himself eat. It would settle him down. Maybe help clear his head.
Then what? He hadn’t planned to leave until the next day. But of course, he had the option to bump that up. Maybe he could get some sleep.
A sound spun him around in the dark living room.
A key in the lock. Metal against metal.
The doorknob.
There was no mistaken. Someone was coming in the front door.
No, no, no!
This couldn’t be happening. Was he hallucinating?
Footsteps on the hardwood floor.
His hand dived into the duffle bag. Fingers searched, then clawed around a handle. By the time he pulled it out, a figure came around the corner. The man didn’t see Gregory until he lunged at him, his arm already up and swinging. The hammer made contact with a satisfying thud, and the man crumpled to the floor.
In the light from the hallway, Gregory recognized the face from photos around the house. On the mantle in the living room, atop the dresser in the master bedroom.
The man had made the decision for him. Gregory would wipe down surfaces, gather his belongings, eat his leftovers, and leave.
He looked down at the man. “You really shouldn’t have come home so early.”
Then he hit him again, just in case once hadn’t been enough.