Josh pulled into the driveway and cut the lights before they could sweep his house. The guest bedroom was in the wing near the garage and he didn’t want to wake Allison. Killing the engine before coming to a complete stop, he left the car in the drive and shut the car door with a soft push, handle up until the latch took. He left his bags in the car. Turning the key in the front door lock slowly and with a lot of pressure, he controlled the movement of the bolt so it made only the softest of sounds as it retreated. It was 1:30 a.m. and Allison would be deeply asleep. The master bedroom was in the same wing as the guest bedroom. A short walk to the right from the front door led to the hallway where a left turn ended in the master bedroom fifteen feet down. To the right down the hallway was the guest bedroom Allison occupied. Across from it was a second room he usually used for reading but had a twin bed for extra guests. A faint glow came from that end of the hallway, visible in the near black of the entryway where Josh stood. Most likely it was a small night light Allison kept on in the second guest room – light enough so she could find her way to the bathroom in the middle of the night but not so bright as to keep her awake in the larger guest bedroom. All the outside lights as well as those in the entryway were out, with only one lamp illuminating the large living area straight ahead of the front door. The house was asleep. Josh took several quick steps to the alarm control panel to disarm it during the 30-second delay that applied only to the front door. Breaking the seal of any other door or window in the house would set the alarm off immediately. Just as he reached to punch in the disarm code, he noticed the indicator lights were all green. Allison had not turned on the alarm. Josh was pissed, but couldn’t do anything about it now. He’d bought an extra day with Helen. There was no danger tonight. Holding his keys close in his hand so they wouldn’t jangle, Josh went into the kitchen. There was a faint odor, familiar but he couldn’t place it. Probably the cleaner Allison had been using. He quietly emptied his pockets onto the edge of the large counter that ran the length of the cooking area. Stepping onto the carpet of the living room, he fought an urge to go to his office, far enough away that Allison wouldn’t be woken, and scan the design. He needed a few hours of sleep and the partial relief of having met Helen’s demands was a chance to do that. Taking off his shirt, shoes, pants and socks, he balled up the clothes and tiptoed toward the laundry room next to the linen closet. Wearing boxers with pictures of baseball players on them, a joke gift from a former girlfriend, he reached the laundry. The scent he had noticed in the kitchen was stronger here. He listened carefully to make sure he hadn’t woken Allison but heard only the whir of the pump from the pool outside. Before turning back toward the master bedroom to get some sleep, out of the corner of his eye he felt, more than saw, a flicker. The nightlight in the spare guest room must have been loose and was hanging precariously in the outlet, flicking off and on occasionally. Or maybe Allison had gotten up and wandered in to that room. When he turned to look down the hall, the light flickered again but not quickly, like someone had passed across it. Allison was definitely up and walking around the room. Josh started down the hall to let her know he had gotten in earlier than expected when a large shadow crossed from the spare room to the larger guest room where Allison slept. Bigger than Allison. Josh suddenly felt very cold. A shiver ran across his shoulders and up his scalp and he immediately understood. Someone was in the house. And they were in Allison’s room now after finding the other room empty. Josh had no coherent thoughts, no plan. But he had instinct. His knees pulled up high to his chest in a cartoonish sprinting start as he ran down the hall toward Allison’s door. It was twenty feet and it seemed to take hours to reach the end, like a bad dream where the end of the corridor kept getting further away. He didn’t know what he was going to do, only that he would do anything. A guttural sound escaped his lips and as Josh reached Allison’s door he shouted “No!” Distract him, stop him, keep him from doing whatever he was there to do. Josh clutched at the doorframe as he reached it, shifting momentum from a straight-ahead run down the hall and arcing into the room so he wouldn’t shoot past. As he swung into the room he slammed into a rock-hard shape. The smell was stronger now and Josh knew where he recognized it from; it was men’s aftershave and it was from Jerry’s deli, the day before. Crawford stood before him, hands by his side. Josh bounced off his chest and back a few inches, nose bent from hitting Crawford’s chin and his ears ringing as Crawford stood immobile, unfazed by Josh’s weight slamming into him. Josh couldn’t see past him, they were so close, and even if he had it was too dark to discern whether his sister lay undisturbed on the bed. In the flash of time between colliding with Crawford and coming to a stop inches away, he had time to think of the horrible possibilities. Had he already hurt Allison? Was she somewhere else in the house, already dead, and Crawford was just checking the other rooms? There was no time to consider all the implications. Crawford’s hands rose up and reached toward Josh, lightning fast. They came toward Josh’s neck, hands parallel, and it was too late when Josh realized Crawford had a thin wire held taut between them. He looped it once around Josh’s neck and began to pull tight, Crawford’s hands just under Josh’s chin. The dim rays cast by the nightlight made Crawford’s yellow eyes glow. Josh could hear no sound other than the echo of his shout as he had run down the hall. Crawford was focused and silent. He stared into Josh’s eyes as Josh clawed at Crawford’s hands and stars began to float in front of his eyes. The pain in his throat and neck were unbearable, worse than the thirst for oxygen, and he just wanted it to stop. Josh felt his feet start to come off the floor as Crawford moved his hands up against Josh’s jaw harder. Holding him up took just a shade of the pressure off Josh’s throat. As his strength ebbed, held suspended with only his toes reaching the floor and the wire digging into his throat, Josh feebly kicked at Crawford’s groin. Crawford didn’t both to deflect the knee. Josh was drowning and his last thoughts were what would happen to Allison in the moments after he was dead. Josh stared into Crawford’s eyes and a calm part of his brain couldn’t believe this was how he was going to die.
Crawford’s eyes were mesmerizing and as Josh silently asked forgiveness for anything he had ever done wrong to anyone, he took his uselessly clawing hands away from Crawford’s unbreakable grip and plunged his thumbs into the taunting eyes. With so little strength left it did no damage, but eyes are sensitive and it didn’t take much to cause pain. The darkness kept Crawford from seeing Josh’s hands coming toward his face and his eyes were wide open when the weak blow struck him. But it was enough. Crawford instinctively released his grip and covered his eyes with both hands. It was just for a second as he silently rubbed them hard then blinked to get his focus back. In that instant Josh drew a deep, sustaining breath and felt the pain recede to a horrible but bearable level. His legs took his full weight after being held off the ground and Josh almost crumpled but his hand grabbed at the dresser next to him. His fingers brushed a cold, hard object and he knew without looking what it was. He had grown up playing tennis, training like a madman and winning his fair share of tournaments all the way through college. There were a few trophies he kept, like the one for winning the singles title at the local public courts. JoshEmma loved tennisJ clutched at it, two feet tall with a hefty marble base and a brass figure of a man in mid-service motion. With the wire still wrapped around his throat, Josh swept the trophy off the dresser. Crawford had regained his focus and in one motion reached to his side and pulled out the long, thin knife Josh had seen at Jerry’s. But Josh was motivated and he was faster. Without stopping, holding the trophy like it was his last hope, Josh drove it up toward Crawford’s face. His grip was tight and slipped only an inch as it made contact under Crawford’s chin. All the years of otherwise useless exercise and weightlifting, which seemed so self-serving and vain, went into that one motion. The tennis racket held by the figurine pierced the skin under Crawford’s jaw and blood sprayed onto Josh’s face. The momentum of the thrust stopped when the wider part of the figure on the trophy made contact with the bone of Crawford’s jaw. He made a loud, high-pitched squeal and shot backward, but did not go down. Josh’s grip hadn’t loosened and the trophy was still in his hand. Crawford had the knife, but he had his hands under his jaw trying to staunch the blood. He was wounded, but not out. Josh switched the trophy to his other hand, now holding it upside down. Before Crawford could react, Josh raised the trophy and brought it down hard on his forehead. The corner of the marble base opened a deep gash above Crawford’s left eye and he bent over double. Josh swung again and hit the back of Crawford’s head. This time the trophy glanced off, but Josh held on. Driven by fear, anger, hatred, he hammered Crawford’s head until he fell down, curled in a fetal position. Again, Josh smashed the trophy onto whatever part of Crawford’s head was exposed, digging an inch into his temple. Crawford covered his head with both hands, on the defensive now. But Josh couldn’t stop. This was the threat, this was the monster that was going to ruin Josh’s life. Maybe he already had killed Allison. Josh brought the trophy up and struck again and again. Crawford rolled onto his back, unconscious or dead, and Josh hit again in his face. He felt bone crunch. On the next blow Crawford’s teeth shattered and the marble block fell off the base of the trophy. Josh knew the man was dead now, and he didn’t care. Josh stopped, breathing heavily. He heard a muffled sound, but it was from behind him.
“Josh?”
Josh turned around, still holding the remnants of the trophy. Blood from the first blow to Crawford was on his face. His chest and legs were covered with the fresher blood from the strikes to Crawford’s head. It was Allison standing there, looking horrified but unhurt.
“Oh my god, Josh, what is…” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence. This wasn’t anything she had experienced, her brother standing there covered with either his own blood or that of a man he had just beaten to death. “What is going on?”
She began to shake. Josh could only imagine what she was thinking. Burglary, home invasion, crazed killer.
He dropped the weapon and took her by the shoulders, turning her away from the sight of Crawford on the floor of the room she would have been in.
“Oh my god, are you all right? Is that…”
Josh shushed her, though he voice was barely a croak. “I’m okay, it’s okay. I’m not hurt. C’mon, let’s go.”
“I…I fell asleep, watching the TV in your office…” Allison let Josh lead her back down the hall. Her steps were faltering at first, the shock affecting her balance and focus. But as they moved down the hall, Josh could see her strengthening. This was the sister who had lived alone in Turkey for two years after college, pulled herself out of a lousy marriage, and took no crap from anyone. By the time they got to the kitchen and Josh had gotten her a glass of water, she was looking him in the eye and waiting for an explanation. His being calm showed her there was no immediate danger, but there was no way she was going to overlook the gore covering him or the body down the hall. She quickly turned to business-mode.
“Why aren’t you freaking out? Why aren’t you hiding in the corner calling the cops because there could be another one of those guys lurking around? What the hell aren’t you telling me?”
Josh was glad it was his sister standing there, who could handle a crisis, and not some girlfriend who would be shrieking and waking the neighbors until he could get a sedative in her.
He knew they were safe now, and that’s all that mattered. There was still a long night ahead, he thought, as he started to think about what to tell the police. He would have to tell Allison what had happened.
“I’ll call the police. Then I’ll explain.” Josh took the cordless phone from beside the microwave and walked back to the guest bedroom. There would be no movie-ending last-minute revival of Crawford from apparent death here. Josh dialed 911 as he flipped on the hall light and stepped back into the bedroom room. Crawford’s eyes, obscured by blood and bits of scalp and hair, were open and glazed. Josh looked at him and felt nothing as he told the operator there was a burglar in his house and he had killed him.