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scrutiny before, or a cop s brand of anger. Yet he felt up to the challenge, assured that his intellectual superiority would best the deputy. When he d called Celeste at the bridal shop, he hadn t expected MacGilvary s wrath to blast him over the phone. But then distance separated him from the cop s retribution. His brother...well, that created a twisting in Darrell s gut. An apprehension he didn t want to analyze. The danger of the situation didn t feel as delicious or daring as watching Celeste perform her day-to-day life. No, not at all. Waiting for this new pest, this new MacGilvary to give him a ticket, sent rolling tides of impatience through Darrell. How would he play this? He stared at the hood of his car, aware of his surroundings with startling clarity. The wind ruffled through tree branches, a constant swirl of sound and motion. A hot, annoying wind. Not unlike the Santa Ana winds he d experienced while growing up in California. He immediately blocked the thought of California from his head. Thinking about childhood fueled his outrage--he would embrace it later in the hotel room. The new hotel room where he d moved last night. Staying in one space too long made him conspicuous and easy to ponder. People could ponder all they liked after he accomplished his main goal of tormenting Celeste and showing her that she belonged with him. Sir? Darrell jumped, surprised the deputy had arrived at his window like a ghost. A wisp of sound. A damned nuisance. The officer stared down at him with a superior air. Darrell saw mistrust written over the man s face. As a psychologist Darrell also read a veiled desire in the cop s eyes. The cop wanted to do him bodily harm. To punch his lights out perhaps. MacGilvary handed Darrell s documents back to him. May I ask what the problem is, officer? Darrell asked, willing to play dumbass for the sake of show. MacGilvary s hands rested on his belt, a sign of command and authority. We both know what s wrong, Huntley. Maybe you thought a dye job would assure that no one knew who you are, but I m afraid it doesn t work on the sheriff s department. You re stalking a friend of mine. You re sitting less than a half block from Celeste Rice s house with no reason to be here. Darrell did what the cop wouldn t expect. Am I being charged with a crime? Not yet. Then I fail to see the problem. I assure you that I m no harm at all to Miss Rice. I don t think I can say the same about her, considering she s a highly unstable individual with a persecution complex. I m afraid she s suckered you and your brothers. It s something she does very well. Utter contempt flickered through MacGilvary s eyes. This man thought he had the upper hand. Darrell quickly assessed the officer. Not likely that he could make him react rashly with a few words. May I go, deputy? Not only can you go, I don t want to see you here ever again. Darrell nodded, and smiled into the cop s eyes to make his amusement clear. As MacGilvary returned to his car, Darrell started his vehicle. Within moments he pulled onto the tree-lined street. True to form, he saw the cruiser follow way back, as if he thought Darrell would never see the black-and-white. Fat chance, cop. Darrell smiled. Those words sounded exactly like the dumbass criminal in a television program would say. Darrell would never voice such a thing in front of law enforcement, but he could delight in saying it in his mind. As he drove, Darrell imagined the things he could have said to the cop. Ideas amused him as he smiled and headed down the main street toward his hotel. Deputy Sheriff, have you considered that you might have picked this job out of a sense of sexual inadequacy? Your ego is showing, officer. Your background suggests you are using this job as a power trip, MacGilvary. So did the death of your friend Celeste and your brother Mick create any lasting conflict inside you? Darrell visualized the cop s reaction to this last question. How agonizing would that feel for this other MacGilvary? How much would he suffer? Darrell savored the thought as the obsession ran through his head, repeating like a bad flick in a theater that has nothing better to run. His mind raced with possibilities, with evil doings he could apply to this moment and what he d like to say and do to MacGilvary and his family. Darrell wanted madness and wanted it fast. He wished he believed in conjuring incantations to suck the devil in, drawing evil to himself with undeniable certainty. He didn t. Evil, as far as he believed, was locked somewhere in DNA. Someday scientists would remove the capacity for evil and then the real chaos would start. Ah, yes. When people could no longer be bad, when they had no concept of evil but only good, evil would get a real foothold on minds. Ah, but there is no madness in a sociopath. You know that. Only sure and certain absence of conscience. He knew it and wished he didn t. The madness he longed for could never be his. As he pulled into the hotel parking lot, he wished moving from hotel to hotel didn t serve only as a way to avoid suspicion of others, but to deepen his dark experience. The darkness he courted required room to grow. It required feeding and care to enlarge. Perhaps he d discovered laziness within himself. He smiled. Well, that could serve his gloomy desires as well. When he reached the bizarrely named Sunny Lake Hotel, he parked a few places away from his room...room thirteen to be precise. He entered his room and made certain to lock and chain it. Never could be too careful. The door hung crooked on the hinges and as a result it took an act of Congress to lock it. He lifted up on the door so it sat correctly and would lock. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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