Long After Dark Read online

  What peculiar thoughts to have…

  The funnel dissipated and the leaves fell harmlessly to the ground.

  Harry tried to remember happier times here. Like when Garret was little and together they’d rake leaves into giant piles, then dive into them and begin the process all over again. Funny how something so silly and cliché could be that powerful and moving in memory, so special. Their son was such a carefree and good-natured child then, full of life and always so happy—laughing and smiling—and never more contented than when spending an afternoon with his parents. Then Garret hit his teens and it all changed. He was still a good kid, and Harry and Garret remained relatively close, but it wasn’t the same and never would be again. His little boy had become a young man and moved on to things far more important than lighthearted afternoons spent jumping into leaves with his old man.

  Kelly was happier in those days too, he thought. Back then her job was important to her but didn’t consume her life the way it did now. She was closer to the woman he’d married, and he supposed he was closer to the man she’d married, but overall she’d changed far more than he had. If nothing else, Harry was steady and consistent. Perhaps at times infuriatingly so, but nevertheless, Kelly was the one who had become someone else in the last few years, not him. No, wait. That’s wrong. That’s unfair. Not someone else, just…he thought about it awhile, eyes heavy and his mind so hindered he wasn’t quite able to find the words and meanings it was searching for.

  It’s working. I think I’m falling asleep.

  His eyes slowly slid shut, but just as he thought he might finally drift off, a tickle deep in his throat signaled another round of coughing was on its way.

  He opened his eyes and tried to draw a slow, deliberate breath. Halfway through he lurched forward and began coughing uncontrollably. With each barking cough his head pounded and his chest seared with pain, and by the time he’d brought some more phlegm up and spat it into a tissue he felt like someone had worked him over with a baseball bat. He wanted—needed—so desperately to sleep, but couldn’t slip away without the damn cough noticing. Chest still wheezing but the scratch in his throat gone for the time being, he sat back, blinked his eyes until he’d regained some focus and tried his best to relax and remain calm. Don’t get upset. Keep concentrating. Sooner or later you’ll sleep.

  He returned his gaze to the bay window.

  Beyond his front yard and the narrow paved street separating them, Rose Bassinger’s house sat on a lot directly across from his own. A small colonial, it was impeccably maintained, as was her yard. Rose was the second owner of the property and had lived there for the last seven years, but Harry and Kelly had never really gotten to know her that well. They knew her enough to say hello and to visit occasionally, their conversations usually small talk exchanges about the weather or, more recently, town politics and issues facing them both. But while their relationship over the years had been friendly and cordial, for the most part, it remained superficial. In her middle forties, Rose stood about 5’3”, had long blonde hair, hazel eyes and wore glasses. Though she had occasional visitors she mostly kept to herself and was a good neighbor, quiet but friendly, kind, and always available if you needed anything. She commuted to Boston, where she worked in the Medieval History Department at a small college, but had recently told Kelly she’d taken a new position in her native Baltimore City, Maryland and would be moving back there once she’d vacated the house. The only other resident still living on the cul-de-sac, her house appeared unoccupied at the moment. Harry’s eyes shifted to the driveway. Her car was gone.

  He dabbed his nose with a fresh tissue and gazed at Rose’s house awhile. Just as his eyes again grew heavy, he noticed something strange. There, on the roof, a large black smudge. He couldn’t tell exactly what he was seeing, but whatever it was looked wildly out of place, perched there just above the gutter on the sloped side of roof facing his house. Harry sat forward, rubbed his eyes. What the hell is that? Considerably darker than the gray shingles, it stood out against the lighter backdrop of roof and sky, and looked almost like a big garbage bag sitting there. But that didn’t make any sense, why would Rose have a bag of trash on her roof?

  Harry struggled to his feet and went to the bay window for a better look. The rain was appreciably lighter than the night before, but coupled with his bleary vision it still made discerning detail far more of a challenge than it should’ve been. He leaned closer to the window, squinting to see through the blurry, rain-spotted glass. The distance between his house and Rose’s was quite limited, but he still couldn’t determine what the black smudge was.

  Until it moved.

  A man squatting at the edge of the roof had just then adjusted his position. Dressed entirely in black—black pants, a black sweater, black shoes or boots and what was most likely a black knit hat—he crept slightly higher on the roof, limbs set and moving now at awkward angles, like a crabwalk. Then he again went still and returned to his squatted position. He appeared to be facing in Harry’s direction, but the rain and distance conspired to keep his facial features out-of-focus.

  Harry backed a few steps away from the window and moved a little to the side in the hopes of better concealing himself. Odds were the man couldn’t see him anyway, but Harry wanted to be sure. As his heart took off like a shot, he searched his mind for answers. Rose had satellite television just like he did. Maybe it was a repairman up there, disconnecting the dish before her move. But there was no truck in the driveway or anywhere in sight, and the man’s clothes looked nothing like the uniforms the satellite guys usually wore. Then there was the unusual stance, the peculiar squat, and why was the man at the edge of the slope? There was nothing else there, no wires or any reason for someone to be crouched on that particular stretch of roof. Even if the man was doing something wrong, it seemed a ridiculous place to hide or lie in wait, he was in plain view. If his plan was to break into the house, there were far easier methods than climbing across the roof, and since there were no windows or points of entry anywhere near his position, that made no sense either. Harry quickly scanned the periphery of the house. No ladders, no ropes. How had he even gotten up there? Maybe he’d propped a ladder against the back of the house, gotten onto the roof that way, then climbed up and over the peak and down to the edge of the slope. But even if that explained how he’d gotten there, it still didn’t explain why.

  What are you doing up there?

  The phone rang, startling the hell out of him. He’d begun to cough even before he pulled the cordless from his robe pocket. Pacing about, he coughed his way through the assault and answered the phone the instant it weakened. “Hello?”

  “Harry? Tim Poole.”

  “Doc, thanks for calling me back.”

  “Answering service said you were having some trouble. You don’t sound anywhere near the top of your game, chief.”

  “I feel awful.”

  “There’s some nasty stuff out there right now. Give me a quick rundown.”

  “I don’t know if it’s just a bad cold, the flu or what.” Harry carefully cleared his throat, moved back to the edge of the bay window and peered out. The man was still there, he hadn’t moved. “One minute I’m freezing and the next I’m sweating. I’ve got chills, my nose is running, I’ve got this horrible postnasal drip, a cough that just won’t quit and—”

  “Bringing anything up with the cough?”

  “Yes, some phlegm now and then.”

  “Clear or colored?”

  “Mostly brown.”

  “Any blood?”

  “No.”

  “And the discharge from your nose?”

  “Mostly clear but yellow now and then.”

  “Any fever?”

  “One hundred and two, last time I checked.”

  “Which was when?”

  His mind froze. Had he taken his temperature this morning, or was that last night? He couldn’t be sure. “Sorry, I—I think it was this morning but I—Doc, I haven’t slept in two
days. The cough’s kept me up. The minute I lay back or even try to lay down it kicks in and feels like my chest is coming apart.”

  “Any trouble breathing?”

  “Not really no, but my chest is wheezing quite a bit.”

  “Any chest pain when you’re not coughing?”

  “No.”

  “OK, I’m going to phone in a few prescriptions for you,” the doctor said. “I want to get you on a round of antibiotics right away, and I’m also going to call in some cough syrup with codeine. Couple shots of that should be enough to suppress the cough for several hours, and with the codeine, trust me, you’ll sleep. Also, I think it’s a good idea to get you an inhaler. Nothing serious, but it’ll help keep your lungs open. Otherwise get as much rest as you can. Drink plenty of fluids but try to stay away from anything that might produce more phlegm, and make sure you keep an eye on that fever. If it gets any higher, I want you to call me right away, OK? I’ll call these scripts in pronto, so they should be ready for you later this morning. Now listen, even if you begin to feel better, I want you to give my office a call first thing Monday morning. Tell them I spoke to you over the weekend and want to see you immediately and they’ll get you in. We’ll get a listen to your lungs, and if need be, a quick x-ray to make sure we’re not dealing with pneumonia. Now get some rest. We’ll talk Monday.”

  “OK, thanks for getting back to me,” Harry said; eyes still trained on the man across the street. “I really appreciate it.”

  “You bet.”

  The line disconnected. Harry continued watching the man on the roof. Why was he just squatting there in the rain? If he was up there for some purpose why hadn’t he gotten to it?

  He called Kenny Pak. They worked together and had been friends for years, and although he and Kelly had other friends, Harry was closer to Kenny than any of the others and knew he could count on him.

  Just before the call connected, a chill shot through him and an odd spike of pressure-like pain blossomed across his forehead, spread out like a spider web over the bridge of his nose and down beneath his eyes. “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Holy cow, you sound awful, no wonder you called in sick Friday.”

  “Got hit with the flu or something, haven’t slept in two days and Kelly’s in San Diego on a business trip all weekend.”

  “That sucks.”

  “I’ll be fine, but could you do me a favor? I just talked to my doctor and he’s calling in some prescriptions. Could you pick them up for me this morning? I’m too sick to drive, Ken.”

  “Of course, sure, uh…” A rustling sound, like he’d quickly put his hand over the receiver, then just as quickly removed it. “Give me about half an hour?”

  “Sure, that’d be great.”

  “OK, where am I going?”

  “The CVS on Main Street.”

  “Do you need anything else while I’m out?”

  “I don’t think so, I…” Harry focused on the man on the roof again. He’d never taken his eyes off him, he hadn’t thought, yet it was as if he’d vanished and just then appeared again. “I ah…”

  “Harry, are you all right?”

  “Just exhausted, I literally haven’t had any sleep in two days, and I—Kenny it’s the weirdest thing—there’s a guy on the roof across the street.”

  “A guy on the roof?”

  “I’m watching him right now. He’s dressed all in black and he’s sitting on Rose’s roof.”

  “OK.”

  “He’s just…sitting there…in the rain.”

  “Maybe he’s working on something.”

  “That’s just it, he’s not. He’s been up there awhile. Doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything. I’m not sure but it looks like he’s staring at my house.”

  “Call over there and ask Rose about it.”

  “She’s not home.”

  “And he’s just sitting there, huh?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to call the cops, have them check it out.”

  “I would, better safe than sorry.”

  “Right,” Harry said softly. His chest rose, fell, wheezed.

  “OK, well let me go, I’ve got a few things I have to get done and then I’ll pick up your prescriptions and be right over.”

  “Thanks, Kenny, I owe you one.”

  The moment Harry hung up a blanket of fear fell about him. Being on the telephone—hearing someone else’s voice through the line and knowing they could hear his—made him feel safer, connected to someone who could help if need be. Now he was alone with the sounds of trickling rain, an otherwise silent house…and the man in black across the street.

  Another gust of wind hit, rolling in from the forest behind the house and spraying rainwater about. The house creaked and moaned from unseen corners as the wind reached the other side of the street and shook the bushes in Rose’s front yard. Harry raised his eyes to the roof and the man still squatting there.

  As if irritated by the wind, the figure in black rapidly ascended the slope and vanished over the summit to the far side of the roof, scurrying like an insect on all fours.

  Harry swallowed, coughed slightly but was spared another fit. A wave of chills throttled him, but he was relatively certain they had nothing to do with his flu. Mesmerized by what he’d just seen, he stared out the bay window, phone in hand and mouth dangling open in surprise. The way the man moved up that roof, it seemed…inhuman. People didn’t move like that, not in that crablike position, and certainly not with that amount of agility and speed.

  He dialed 911.

  “Nine-one-one,” a female voice responded, “what is your emergency?”

  “Yes, I—ah—OK, I know this is going to sound strange but there’s a man on my neighbor’s roof.” Harry stopped, clenched shut his eyes. The tickle in his throat was threatening again. “And I’m not sure what he’s doing up there but it looks very suspicious.”

  “Is your neighbor at home?”

  “I don’t believe so, no.” He did his best to steady his voice, to control the horrible scratching deep in his throat by speaking slowly and cautiously, but each word threatened to release the next wave of coughing. “And there aren’t any repair vehicles in the driveway or on the street. I’m sure there could be a reasonable explanation but it seems odd. He’s been up there awhile now.”

  “Is he attempting to break in or cause damage to the property?”

  “I’m not—I don’t know—I’m not sure. He’s just sort of sitting there.”

  “You’re on 5 Revere Place, correct?”

  “Yes.” All that information must come up automatically when you call, he thought. “My name’s Harry Fremont. The man’s on the roof of the house directly across from mine, number four. Rose Bassinger’s the property owner.”

  “Can you spell that for me?”

  Harry did.

  “Is the man alone, Mr. Fremont?”

  “Yes, far as I can tell.”

  “Can you give me a description?”

  No longer able to hold it at bay, the cough took over and savaged him. “I’m sorry,” he gasped once it was over.

  “You sound good and sick,” the operator said.

  “I’ve got the flu.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” The sounds of fingers tapping a keyboard filtered through the phone. “Mr. Fremont, I’m dispatching a car to your location. Can you provide me with a description to pass on to the officer en route?”

  “Definitely looks male, and he’s dressed completely in black. It’s hard to tell height or weight because he’s squatting. He never stood up, but he looks average size. Not huge but not tiny either. Just a minute ago he was on the sloped side of the roof facing my house, now he’s gone to the other side, the back side of Rose’s house.”

  “So you’re no longer able to see him at this time?”

  “Correct.”

  “I’ll advise the officer the man has gone to the back side of the roof.” More sounds of typing followed before she spoke again. “Were you able to see if the
man was carrying anything?”

  “I don’t think he was, not that I could see anyway.”

  “Did he appear to be armed in any way?”

  “He didn’t appear to be—I didn’t see any weapons—but I can’t be sure.”

  “Any other specific description you can provide? Hair color?”

  Harry angled his view so he could see down the street. No sign of a car yet. “I couldn’t tell. He’s wearing what looks like a knit hat.”

  “Race?”

  “I couldn’t make out any specific facial features but he’s white.”

  “Approximate age?”

  “No way for me to know but this is an adult, not a kid.”

  “All right, Mr. Fremont, an officer will be there momentarily. Stay by your phone. There’s a good chance one or more officers will want to talk with you further. Do you feel in danger at this time, would you like me to stay on the line with you until the officer arrives on the scene?”

  “No, I’m fine, but thank you.”

  He had just hung up when he saw a police cruiser turn onto the cul-de-sac and begin a slow creep toward the end of the street. The man was still on the other side of the roof and out of sight, so Harry dropped the phone back into his robe pocket, folded his arms over his chest and waited to see what was going to happen next. In all the years he’d lived there this was the first time he’d seen a police car on his street, and he couldn’t help but find it a little exciting.

  Bad boys, bad boys, whacha gonna do?

  The cruiser pulled across the mouth of Rose’s driveway, the roof lights kicked on and a burly thirty-something officer in a police-issue raincoat stepped out. He considered the house a moment, said something into a unit clipped to his shoulder, then moved cautiously up the driveway, one hand resting on the butt of his weapon as the other pulled a nightstick free of his belt. Moving slowly but deliberately, the policeman strode up the driveway to the side of the house, then disappeared around back.