Page 80 of Two Kinds of Stranger

He tried 5, 1, 7, 6.

The small green light on the keypad blinked. Kevin was born in seventy-six, the only thing he didn’t know was whether it was January or May.

Logan opened the lid, drew out the revolver. Checked the load.

He closed the lockbox, used the wet wipes to get rid of the dust, and then placed the lockbox back on the shelf, and the trash bag and wipes he returned to his backpack.

Not a sound in the house.

Logan walked upstairs, the revolver in his hand.

The first bedroom belonged to Amy. Her door was not fully shut. He glanced down the hallway. The master bedroom at the end of the hall was closed. Next to it was a dressing room. No more than a box room, it could perhaps have been used as a fourth bedroom, but it contained a make-up table and mirror, and his and hers closets.

He returned to Amy’s room and stood silently in the doorway.

Amy Flynn lay in bed. A soft, warm light glowed from a lamp on her nightstand. She lay on her side, facing the light.

Sound asleep.

Logan’s finger curled round the trigger of the revolver.

He felt the heat flood his cheeks, blood pumping through his adrenalized system, the excitement building, sweat soaking through his mask.

He slipped the bottle of water from the side pocket of his backpack.

An hour later, Logan pulled up outside the home of Arthur Cross.

He got out of the car, walked round to the trunk and paused to scan the street once again. He listened, hearing the sound of a car in the far distance. A light rain was falling. No lights were on in any of the windows of the neighborhood.

Arthur opened his front door, and beckoned Logan inside.

Logan placed his hand on the trunk of the car and smiled at Cross.

A white panel van sat in his driveway. Something Cross had discussed. He would use it to transport Amy Flynn to a quiet location.

Logan stepped away from the car and walked up the flagstone path to Arthur’s house.

‘Well?’ said Arthur, standing on his porch. He was different from the last time Logan had seen him. At first, he couldn’t quite work out what was different. His eyes were still black as a moonless night and his skin paper white.

But it was the still, almost deathly calm that was absent from Cross.

Sweat beaded his forehead. His leg shook. He was fidgeting.

Anxious with excitement.

‘Where is she? Is she in the trunk? Is she alive?’ he asked, all in one breath.

Logan stopped a few feet from Cross, smiled and said, ‘She’s alive.’

‘Did you have to kill the parents?’ asked Cross.

‘No, they’re still sleeping soundly in their beds, for all I know, so—’

‘Did anyone see you?’

Logan took a half-empty bottle of water from his jacket pocket. It was cold outside, but he was still a little dehydrated from his efforts. Adrenalin always made Logan sweat. He took a long drink, finishing the bottle.

‘No one saw me, but you didn’t let me finish. The parents are still asleep in their beds. So is Amy.’