Long After Dark Read online

  “But the cop said—”

  “OK what’s the explanation then? The guy appeared and disappeared on the roof magically? He can fly? Schooner Bluffs cops aren’t exactly Scotland Yard material, man. The guy just took off. Either that or you hallucinated the whole thing, your choice.”

  Harry finished up the soup, wiped his mouth. “It wasn’t a hallucination.”

  “Then there was a guy on the roof. He either saw you and realized he’d been spotted and took off, or maybe he just changed his mind. Who knows? Look, I’d be freaked out if there were somebody climbing around on houses in my neighborhood too, but I really don’t think it warrants notifying Unsolved Mysteries, do you? If you see him again, call the cops.”

  “What about Kelly?”

  “Her cell phone being down is a bit unusual, but providers do experience technical difficulties from time to time, it’s not unheard of. I’m sure whatever the problem is it’ll be resolved quickly if it hasn’t been already. And from the sounds, Kelly hasn’t been in her hotel room much. She’s there on business, right? So she’s obviously busy and you’ve just missed her the two times you called. I’m not trying to be a tool, but am I missing something here or is this just not that complicated?”

  Harry shrugged helplessly, pushing the empty container aside. “Maybe I’m overreacting to things. I guess I’m not thinking all that clearly.”

  “Harry you haven’t slept in two days and you’re sick with the flu and a fever. Of course you’re not thinking clearly.”

  “Yeah, you—you’re right.”

  “I’m going to get out of here and let you get some rest. Take some of that cough syrup. The codeine will knock you out so you can get some sleep. You’ll feel better once you’ve slept some, nothing better for you at this point, trust me.”

  “OK.” He slid down off the stool, feeling slightly lightheaded. “Thanks for everything, I really appreciate it.”

  The hands came out of the pockets and Kenny moved closer, brow knit with concern. “Besides the obvious, are you all right?”

  “I don’t know,” Harry answered softly. “I guess.”

  “Is everything all right with you and Kelly?”

  His question caught Harry off-guard. “Why would you ask that?”

  “No reason. You just seem like you’re upset about something a little deeper than not feeling well and seeing coyotes in your yard.”

  Harry pulled a tissue from his robe pocket and blew his nose. “Everything’s fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, Kenny, I’m sure.”

  “I know you said you weren’t too thrilled with all the traveling Kelly’s been doing lately, can’t blame you on that one.”

  Harry shrugged, unsure of what to say.

  “Did you guys have an argument before she left?”

  “Sort of, I guess, a—yeah, a little one.”

  “Maybe that’s why she hasn’t been in a rush to call you back or check in.” He started toward the doorway and out of the kitchen. “Give her another call, tell her you’re sorry. Even if you just get her voicemail. She’ll call back.”

  “Of all the things that could’ve been bothering me, why did you go right to Kelly first?”

  “Well obviously I’m part of a vast conspiracy designed to destroy you and your marriage.” Kenny laughed lightly. “Jesus, you’re starting to worry me. Do you have any idea how paranoid you sound?”

  “Just tell me.”

  “It seemed a logical choice.”

  “Why? Why are marital problems a logical choice?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because you’re married?” He reached out, put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I didn’t mean anything by it, OK? You just looked troubled that’s all.”

  Harry looked at the floor, embarrassed. “Sorry, I guess I’m just feeling like the whole world’s changing all around me and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

  “There’s a lot happening right now, it’s natural to feel that way.”

  “It’s like I’m losing everything, like it’s all being taken away and the whole world is in flames.” The warmth the soup had wrought was shattered by a streak of chills dancing across the back of his shoulders. “And without it, I…Kenny, I’m not sure who I am.”

  His expression darkened. “It’s that bad?”

  Harry knew it was difficult for his friend to see him like this, it was anything but commonplace. In all the years they’d been friends, through all the ups and downs, triumphs and disappointments, Harry held it together and had always been the steady and consistent one. Even at work he was known as a management professional who rarely lost his cool or needed direction. In fact it was Harry other management people sought out when faced with daunting tasks or difficult situations. Now, in his own home, he felt defeated and pathetic. But he’d taken it this far and there was something wonderfully liberating about exposing such raw nerves, so he shrugged off his inhibitions and let it play out. “I’m losing this house, moving to another town, and I’m not even sure I’ll still have a job next year,” he said. “Garret’s off at college, Kelly’s so wrapped up in her job I never see her anymore and, hell, even Marlon’s gone. I miss that dog.”

  “No doubt,” Kenny said. “Marlon was the balls.”

  “Now I’m sick and feeling old and useless and—”

  “Sorry for yourself?”

  Like a punch to the gut. And one he had coming. “That too.”

  Kenny started back through the house to the front door. Harry followed. “Don’t worry about it. Everybody gets a pass to feel like that now and then. But you’re forty-five not eighty-five. We’re all getting older, and sometimes it sucks, but what can we do? Things are changing, that’s all. Just remember this. Change isn’t the same thing as loss. At least it doesn’t have to be. It’s all perspective, right? You’re in a state of flux right now. That’s life, my friend. Nothing stays the same, you know that. It’s clearly hitting closer to home than usual and it’s got you a little off balance right now, but why shouldn’t it? Cut yourself some slack. Even the great Harry Fremont can’t always be ahead of every curve. It’s OK to be human.” He put a hand on the doorknob. “And if it’s any consolation, far as work goes I seriously doubt you’ve got anything to worry about. You’re senior guy, like they’d get rid of you.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “Either way, you’ve got a charmed life next to most people. You’ve got your health—maybe not today, but generally—a wife who loves you, a son you can be proud of, a nice new home you’re moving to, couple nice cars, lots of nice things, and an amazing best friend, if I say so myself—and I do—my point being—and I know I have one somewhere in all this—lame as it may sound, it happens to be the best advice I can give you. Focus on the blessings, on all the positive things in your life, not the negative. I may not know much, but I do know this. Wallowing in the crap never did anybody any good.” He cracked the front door but stood in front of the opening to block the cold air as best he could. “OK, that’s all I got or I have to start charging you.”

  “Thanks, I—I’m sorry I got all heavy, I just needed to vent a little.”

  “Listen to me, drink the Kool-Aid and get some sleep, all right?”

  An odd sensation suddenly came over Harry; a shaky feeling that seemed to threaten something more powerful was following close behind it, something ominous. He nonchalantly braced himself against the wall. Part of him wanted Kenny to stay, as the idea of being alone again had quickly become terrifying for some reason. “I will. I’ll be fine.”

  Rather abruptly Kenny asked, “Does the address 14 Beach Street mean anything to you?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell, no.”

  Kenny grinned; face beaming like a demonic Cheshire cat. “It should.”

  The look on his friend’s face was terrifying. He stepped back. “Why?”

  Kenny stared at him, the grin gone. “Huh?”

  “Why should
it mean something to me?”

  “Why should what mean something to you?”

  “You just said that address should mean something to me.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Kenny laughed lightly. “Out of the blue you just said ‘why’.”

  Harry felt a sharp pain arc across his abdomen, like something deep inside him had broken. “I…”

  “Dude, are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I—it’s OK, sorry.”

  He nodded but seemed uncertain. “You’re sure?”

  “I just can’t think straight and…”

  “And?”

  “Never mind it’s not important, I’m just exhausted.”

  Kenny shrugged. “OK, feel better then.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You need anything, call.”

  Harry stood at the bay window and watched Kenny return to his car then pull out of the driveway. The wind had picked up but the rain was still light and misty. Rose’s house looked quiet. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Gradually, his nerves settled, but for the first time since he’d had the soup, a tickle skipped across his throat.

  As he headed back to the kitchen to find his antibiotics, the cough medicine and the precious sleep they promised, the cordless phone in his robe pocket began to ring.

  * * *

  He’d hoped to see Kelly’s cell on the caller ID but instead it simply read: Incoming Call.

  “Hello?” A soft static answered, white noise crackling through the line. “Hello?” More static, louder this time and accompanied by a muffled thumping similar to the sound a blown speaker makes. “Is someone there?” From deep within the static came a faint high-pitched tone which, as it fought its way through the crackling hiss, gradually grew louder.

  Harry listened as the tone morphed into something resembling a slurred human voice. It rolled through the line in repetitive waves, an electronically distorted attempt at speech that slowly built to a screeching crescendo of agony and desperation.

  He held the phone away from his ear but could still hear the wail bellowing through the handset as it became a single decipherable word, screamed again and again like a horrific plea, or perhaps a warning.

  “Harry!”

  Male—he—he was sure it was a male voice but—not quite right, it—he’d never heard anyone sound quite like that. Even sans distortion and static, it would’ve sounded fraudulent, as if it were a machine attempting to sound human rather than someone speaking naturally.

  “Who is this?” he demanded.

  He was answered by a burst of static so deafening, he nearly dropped the phone. Holding the handset out in front of him and staring at it helplessly, Harry listened as the static quieted and was replaced by an odd series of loud clicks. And then the line went dead and all he could hear was the annoying buzz of a standard dial tone.

  Hands shaking, he hung up, then checked the ID again. Incoming Call scrolled across the phone’s small digital screen. He’d seen Private Call or Blocked Call, but never just Incoming Call with no further information. He quickly punched in *69 in an attempt to call back the number.

  “We’re sorry,” a recorded voice told him, “the number of your last incoming call is no longer in service. The call-back feature is not an option at this time.”

  Harry hung up and dropped the phone on the coffee table. He didn’t even want to touch the damn thing. How the hell could the number no longer be in service if I just got a call from it? What the hell’s going on?

  He crept slowly toward the bay window and peered out at the street. Everything looked the same as before, nothing unusual or out of place, but could it possibly be a coincidence that the phone rang right after Kenny left? Why not while he was still there? Was someone watching him?

  Maybe the man on the roof saw the police coming and hid. Maybe he knows I’m the one who called them and he’s watching me right now and was somehow able to tap into my phone line. I don‘t care how sick I am or how little sleep I’ve had, I know I didn’t imagine or confuse what I just heard. It’s real, there’s—there’s something happening, I—

  “Stop,” Harry said aloud, his voice flat and emotionless in the otherwise empty house. He turned his back on the window, snatched up the phone and dialed the operator. A woman with a pleasant but businesslike voice answered, and he explained what had just taken place.

  “Hmm,” she said. “It’s possible the number was disconnected right after the call was placed. Can you verify your name, number and address please?”

  Harry did.

  “Thank you, one moment.”

  Suddenly he was listening to ABBA singing Dancing Queen, which was ultimately more disturbing than the phone call. Mercifully the operator returned quickly. “Thank you for holding. This call just came in a moment ago?”

  “Yes ma’am. It was distorted at first but—”

  “I don’t find any calls placed to your number in the last few minutes,” she interrupted, her tone indicating she wasn’t terribly interested in specifics. “The last incoming call was a while ago.” She recited a time and number that coincided with Doctor Poole’s callback. “But nothing since that time. If it happens again call Repair and report it to them. They’ll be better able to assist you.”

  Whoever the caller was, he’d screeched Harry’s name, so he knew damn well it hadn’t been any crossed line, technical glitch or other anomaly. But there seemed little sense in belaboring the issue. “All right,” he sighed. “Thank you.”

  He hung up but kept the phone in his hand, gripping it tightly. Angry, frustrated and shaken, his eyes panned along the walls, the baseboards, across the floors and carpeting, taking in each piece of furniture, every knickknack and bit of clutter, every empty space and dark corner, each shadow, all of it there before him like some foreign landscape he’d never before seen. Suddenly all the nostalgia, warm memories and even the sense of coming loss in leaving this place seemed irrelevant. What had previously been a barrier of protection now felt more like a prison, as these walls that once kept out the bad now seemed to serve no greater purpose than to keep him in. Until that moment, Harry had lived for years in the house without ever once feeling uncomfortable, afraid or unsafe, but even that had changed in a matter of hours.

  Something’s happening…

  Panic rose from the deepest parts of his being, mounting like a gigantic wave growing stronger and stronger then curling under and into itself, dragging anything in its path under, down to dark bottomless places where no one is ever meant to go.

  Hold it together. Stay calm. Breathe, just…breathe.

  He did his best to breathe steadily and slowly without coughing, and soon, the panic attack began to recede. A moment later it left him entirely.

  Harry had never wanted to sleep so desperately in all his life, and now that he had the medication to make it a reality he was too frightened to take it.

  I can’t sleep, not now.

  Surely sleep would help clear his head and sharpen his mind, but he’d be far too vulnerable in such a state. He couldn’t take the chance, not after all that had happened. He couldn’t trust…what exactly…himself, the house, the phone, the yard, the street, the entire cul-de-sac, the wind, the rain, the noise, the silence—what?

  An overbearing sense of dread draped the air like a ghost, leaving him uneasy and self-conscious; a stranger in his own house. The only time he’d ever felt anything like it was years before when his childhood home had been burglarized while he and his sister and parents were away on vacation. They’d returned home from a trip to Disney World to find someone had broken in a day or two before. They’d stolen the television, some small kitchen appliances, a bit of cash his father kept in a desk upstairs and most of his mother’s jewelry. From Harry, who was only seven at the time, they’d stolen change he’d been saving for months. Someone smashed open his piggybank (which was a puppy sitting on the roof of a small doghouse rather than an actual pig), and even years later he could still remember sta
nding in his bedroom, looking at what the intruders had left in their wake. They’d rifled through his things—his things—emptying drawers and his desk and strewing everything all over the floor. Apparently just to be nasty, they’d pulled model airplanes he’d spent hours building with his father, from their place on his bookshelf and stomped them to pieces. He found the ceramic bank smashed to smithereens just inside the doorway. It was such an odd feeling he couldn’t even bring himself to cry. The idea that someone had come into the house—their house, their domain, the sanctuary he and his family had always relied on to shelter them from harm, the one place they could truly relax and live without fear—and breached the security of that, wandering the hallways, the bedrooms and beyond, resulted in a feeling of personal violation so severe it was more than unsettling or disturbing, it was deeply traumatic. His mother once described the feeling as something she imagined must be akin to having been raped. But all Harry knew was that he’d never again feel safe in a setting where it was natural and necessary to do so. It was a realization that burrowed so deep it left scars that never quite healed, and in the end, it made the world a colder, more brutal place. He resented that most of all, because stealing his basic sense of security was the worst thing the burglars could have done. Once one was robbed of that, like all innocence, it could never be reclaimed.

  He’d never gotten a decent night of sleep in that house again.

  A sudden surge of wind shot rain against the bay window, spattering it with what sounded like countless tiny fingers tapping the panes. Harry headed for the kitchen. The antibiotics, he thought. I can still take those. They won’t make me sleep but the sooner I start taking them the sooner I’ll start to feel better.

  Once he’d reached the kitchen counter he snatched the bag from the drugstore and tore it open. A bottle of antibiotics rolled out onto the countertop along with the cough syrup and a box containing a small inhaler. He went for the antibiotics, put his glasses on and read the label. AMOXICILLIN, 500MG CAPSULES: TAKE 1 CAPSULE 3 TIMES A DAY FOR 10 DAYS. Once he’d managed to pry the childproof cap free he dropped one of the large cream-colored capsules into the palm of his hand and stared at it a moment. Goop trickled down the back of his throat, his nose was full again and the chills were back in full force. So much for the wonders of chicken soup. He downed the pill with a small glass of water, then inspected the other items. After setting the cough syrup aside he opened the inhaler. The directions and warnings were printed on a tiny paper evidently designed by and for woodland elves. Holding it up to his nose, he followed the steps to set up the inhaler, and then checked the warnings. Basically everything from dizziness to one’s head exploding was covered, but if whatever was in this thing could clear his lungs and allow him to breathe better and less painfully, it was worth whatever side-effects might arise. He closed his lips around the inhaler, took a deep breath and depressed the plunger. Counting to ten as the directions instructed, he then removed the inhaler, exhaled and repeated the process again. The second time, while holding his breath, he felt a strange sensation deep in his throat, a tickling mixed with a medicinal taste, and for a moment he couldn’t be sure if he was going to cough or vomit. Neither happened, but his lungs burned a bit and his head began to spin. By the time he’d counted to ten and exhaled, an odd tingling feeling had spread through his entire torso and he was so dizzy he could barely stand. Bright purple sunburst splotches appeared before his eyes with each blink and drifted slowly across his line of sight, which had taken to pitching and rolling like the deck of a boat on a decidedly choppy sea.