Chapter Eighteen

I

Get over it, Jane told herself. You're a big girl. Stop acting like a jilted teeny-bopper. It was easier said than done, though. Since her visit to the police station, she tried to keep her mind blank. Tried but failed. It had been a bad day overall-the Martin Parkins problem, Dhevic showing up, and next, Steve with another woman. No, blanking her mind was a cop-out. Jane knew she had to face the reality, she just didn't want to right now.

At the end of her shift, she drove home in a gray daze. Paranoia kept forcing her eyes to the rearview mirror, afraid that she would see Martin's Ford Escort behind her, but then she would continuously remind herself that the police had towed the car away to the impound lot. Kevin and Jennifer knew something was wrong; they could tell the minute she got home, but Jane smiled it off with a fake smile that hurt.

A quiet dinner with the kids, then they were off to watch television. When the phone rang at about 7 pm., Jane lurched-nearly dropping the plate she was putting in the dishwasher. Part of her hoped it was Steve ... but why? I know what he's all about now, she told herself. I don't want to talk to him, not ever again. Besides, he wouldn't have the audacity to call. Had he seen her looking in through his office door? Had the desk sergeant told him she'd been in only to walk out a few seconds later? It didn't matter.

But the call mystified her. It wasn't Steve, it was the maintenance supervisor from the post office. More strangeness. He told her that Dan Winston, one of the DPS operators, hadn't clocked out, and his car was still in the lot.

What's going on? "He probably just forgot, and went out with a friend after work," she suggested. "But thanks for calling. I'll talk to him tomorrow."

Then the phone rang again.

"Hi."

It was Steve.

Don't yell, don't explode. There's no point in any of that. The advice made good sense, but then Jane snapped. She yelled. She exploded.

"You've got balls calling me! What kind of an idiot do you think I am! I've got better things to do than be jerked around by you! Don't ever call me again!"

Steve sounded alarmed. Obviously, he hadn't been told that she was at his office earlier. "Jane, what are you-"

"Don't give me that crap! I came to see you today at your office!"

"Yeah? Why didn't you come in?"

Jane's temples pounded. "Oh, I came in. Your door was opened a crack. I was about to knock, but then I looked in. Can you guess what I saw?"

"What?"

"Jesus! You kill me. I saw you making out with that woman! That blonde!"

"You saw me...Oh, you mean Ginny? She's my-"

"Your new girlfriend, obviously!"

"She's my sister-"

"Oh, yeah, your sister! Is it a common practice in your family to stick your tongue down your sisters throat?"

"Jane, you're really overreacting here, you're jumping to a very wrong conclusion."

Jane couldn't think through the wall of anger. She wasn't stupid, and she wasn't going to be lied to. I'm not going to let this guy make a sucker out of me, she thought, and then she said, "Don't ever call me again! Ever!"

Tears were welling in her eyes when she slammed the phone down. She hitched through a few sobs, dried her eyes with a paper towel, and tried to compose herself. God, I hope the kids didn't hear all that, she fretted, but when she peeked into the living room she saw them contentedly sitting on the couch, engrossed in the Discovery Channel. She slipped out through the other side of the kitchen and down the hall toward her bedroom. Emotions assaulted her; she felt naive and juvenile. She felt heartbroken. What did I expect? she scolded herself. I only met the guy a week ago, and now I'm acting like I just got dumped out of a  ten-year relationship. Grow up, Jane. But rationalizations didn't help. It wasn't black or white-it was all gray. Did it matter she hadn't known him long? I was falling in love with him, she realized, tears returning. And now it's over. One way or another, this was going to hurt.

Numb, she stripped off her clothes and shuffled to the shower. She hoped the cool spray would relax her but instead it did the opposite. All the tension of the day dumped on her, and suddenly she felt bogged down, exhausted. She turned the water up harder, colder, until it stung like pinpricks but she just grew more groggy. Her eyes were drooping when she got out and dried off. Did she hear a tick? She covered up with a towel and looked out the bathroom window, Stop being paranoid! Martin Parkins is not outside! He's out of the state by now.

She slipped into her nightgown. Her heart was thudding; she couldn't get Steve out of her mind, couldn't erase the image of him kissing the blonde.

Later, after she put the kids to bed, she tried to watch some television but it was useless trying to concentrate. It was still early but she turned in anyway. I'll feel better tomorrow, she thought. In bed, she flicked off the light and darkness came down on her like a wall falling.

With all her fatigue, it should've been easy to fall asleep. Instead she tossed and turned, entwined herself in the sheets. Her mind wouldn't let go of the day. In half-dreams, she kept relaxing in the impression that passionate hands were on her-Steve's-rousing her, but then she'd flinch awake when she realized they were someone else's. Large hands, callused and clammy, enslimed. Each time she'd bring her own hands to her skin, revolted by the certainty that she'd find slime, there was nothing. The dream deepened later, though she couldn't be sure how much later. She could barely move,

trapped under squirming weight. Were two men molesting her in the dream? One hand on her breast felt smaller than the hand on the other, and less slimy. Grainy darkness swirled around her; she was being mauled. When the form of a face moved close to hers, she reached to the side, to her nightstand, and grabbed the pen she kept there to jot down phone messages, and then she jammed it into her attacker's eye. There was no sound, no scream. The face hovered closer, and now she could see it in the moonlight: It was Martin Parkins. He was smiling at her, the pen sticking out of his eye. He simply got up and walked away, disappeared into the room's murk.

Then she awoke with a gasp, the room safe and empty, of course. A glance to the clock showed her that only a minute had lapsed.

God...

When she finally did fall fully asleep, her dreams were ugly and demented. The hands were on her again, and so was a mouth. No, not Steve's mouth by any means, and not Martin's. Jagged teeth clicked against hers. Jane squirmed, masturbating against her will. Atrocious, soup-thick breath gusted against her face, and the tongued slipping around inside of her mouth was very long, very thin...

...And forked.

II

Next morning, the sun shone through wisps of snow-white clouds. Around back of the Danelleton police station, cops were changing their shifts in the motor pool, exchanging blotter reports and gossip. Things seemed to be getting back to the normal if not boring pace everyone was used to.

Out front, a mail truck pulled up. The postal worker got out and entered the building, work boots snapping on the clean pavement. Several cops smiled and waved. One may have whistled.

Inside, the desk sergeant barely looked up from his paperwork. One eye spied the package that was placed down on the desk.

"Express Mail, great," he said. "Must be those DNA results we ordered from McCrone Labs in Chicago. The chief's been waiting on this. Do I need to sign for it?"

The postal worker smiled and gave a nod, then handed him the receipt board. The slip was signed, and a copy was torn off for the sergeant.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're quite welcome. Have a great day." And the worker left the building. The sergeant opened the package, then slowed. No return address? he noticed. The from square on the mailing label was blank. On an Express Mail? That's weird. Then he fully opened the package and found a sheet of white Xerox paper sitting on top of some packing tissue.

This ain't good, no, this ain't good at all, he thought. I better get the chief ... On the sheet of paper someone had crudely sketched a bell with a star for a striker. The sergeant had seen others like it before, from the murders.

He picked up the phone to call Chief Higgins but paused. The box felt fairly heavy and was about the size of a VCR. He pulled out the packing tissue, looked inside, and...

III

Oh, my generous Messenger, thank you for this blessing, Sarah thought, walking briskly back to the mail truck. Yes, the Messenger was full of blessings to bestow. Sarah felt electrified to be of such importance. The LLV waited for her, no more mail in it-she'd delivered the Messenger's package, so she was done for now. She got into the truck, restarted it, and was casually pulling away when the entirety of the police station entrance exploded. Sarah scarcely flinched at the howitzer-loud sound, and barely glanced at her handiwork. Shattered glass rained down in bits; it sounded like rain on the LLV's metal roof. Flames billowed from the blown-out windows, and shouts and screams could be heard. The two-step ammonium-nitrate explosive device had been relatively easy to make; she got the directions off the Internet. Even the primer and contact trigger and incendiary material were a cinch.

Sarah smiled as she drove off. In the background, chaos ensued. Cops from the motor pool tried to enter the building but were staved off by flames. Several men, blackened and smoking, crawled out only to die on the front pavement.

It's beautiful, she heard the Messenger congratulate her.

Another cop ran out screaming, full flames wafting off his back and head.

Yes. Beautiful.

Sarah sighed, and rejoiced in the Messenger's caress as she drove away.