Chapter 8. “Where is he?” Diane asked herself, leaning over the steering wheel, trying to see up to the Dalbys’ house.

SIRENS

“W here is he?” Diane asked herself, leaning over the steering wheel, trying to see up to the Dalbys’ house.

“What’s taking Pres so long?”

She had the engine running and the heater on full blast even though it didn’t do any good. Diane still felt cold all over. Her throat ached, suddenly dry as cotton.

“Pres—where are you?”

Pres had instructed her not to move. But she decided she had to have a better view. She shoved the gearshift into Drive and inched the car forward until she could see up the long driveway.

No sign of him.

Hurry. Hurry, Pres.

What was that dark lump by the side of the driveway?

At first Diane thought it was some kind of black plastic garbage bag. Squinting through the passenger window, she saw it was a dog.

Pres must have had to use the chloroform, she realized.

Diane was still staring at the unmoving dog when she heard the sirens.

Her hand trembling, she rolled down the window to hear better.

The sirens were a faint wail on the still air. Far away, Diane realized. She held her breath, listening hard. The sirens were getting louder.

Closer.

Police sirens.

They’re coming here. To the Dalbys’ house, Diane told herself.

Pres must have tripped some kind of burglar alarm.

A chill of fear made Diane shudder. She rolled up the window, but the sour wail of the sirens lingered in her ears.

She gazed up the long drive to the house. The red sun was up to the roof now, the house bathed in early morning light.

“Pres—where are you? Pres—please get out of there!”

The sirens grew louder.

Diane’s panic began to constrict her breathing. Pres had been inside for only a few minutes, but she was losing all sense of time.

She pressed down on the gas pedal, and the engine responded with a roar. She shifted into Drive.

Pres, I don’t want to leave you here, she thought, staring frantically at the house. I don’t want to leave you here. But if the police are coming, I have no choice.

She squeezed the wheel in her icy hands.

“If the police come, I’m out of here!” she cried aloud.

She leaned against the wheel, every muscle in her body tensed, listening, listening as the sirens droned closer.

• • •

Pres crept along the endless upstairs hall, his sneakers sinking into the thick white carpet. Yellow morning sunlight poured in from a skylight overhead.

So many rooms, Pres thought, shaking his head. He’d never been up here.

He peeked into an open doorway. A king-size bed, unmade, a satiny quilt half on the floor, silky sheets crumpled over it, stood on a diagonal in the center of the room. Dark bookshelves lined one wall from floor to ceiling. A low, sleek dresser stood against the opposite wall with an enormous mirror above it. A wide-screen TV was perched on a cabinet across from the bed.

This must be the master bedroom, Pres realized. He couldn’t resist spying. He took a cautious step into the room, his eyes darting around, taking in everything.

Beyond the bedroom the light had been left on in an enormous bathroom. Through the bathroom doorway Pres could see a Jacuzzi.

I’ll get one of those when I’m a millionaire, he thought.

I’ll have a big house like this one, with a hundred rooms with carpet as soft as a featherbed.

And I’ll buy a pinball machine. Two pinball machines. No—a whole room full of pinball machines.

He backed out of Robert Dalby’s bedroom, suddenly remembering his mission.

First, I have to get Reva.

Her bedroom had to be the next one down on the other side of the hall.

The door was closed.

Silently, his heart beginning to pound, Pres made his way across the hall. His shadow, cast by the skylight overhead, fell over Reva’s door.

Pres took a deep breath. Then, raising the pistol, he turned the knob and pushed open Reva’s bedroom door.

“Good morning!” he called.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20