asked Lydia, changing the subject.
“It was about six o’clock in the morning. I had risen early to practice my guitar, but was distracted by an odd smell coming from the garden—the door was open. As I neared, I heard a rustling. But when I called out, no one answered. I walked out into the garden and slipped in the dog’s blood. It was very disturbing.”
“Who removed the dog?”
“The police came and took some photographs. Then they took the body away.”
“Did anybody else see it?” she asked, hoping someone could tell her exactly how the dog had been mutilated, since obviously Chief Morrow wasn’t going to turn over photographs he’d claimed he didn’t have.
“Only my uncle.”
The hairs on the back of Lydia’s neck rose as she had the sudden feeling that someone was watching. She looked around behind her but beyond the garden was nothing but a dirt road,traveled only by a tumbleweed. She looked at the flowers again and flashed on the image from her dream, when they’d mocked her cruelly.
“Is your uncle here now?” she asked.
“Yes, but he is preparing for mass. If it’s not urgent, perhaps I could have him call you.”
“That would be fine.” She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to him. He slipped it into his pocket and began to move away from her, then stopped.
“What are the reasons for your questions, Ms. Strong?”
She realized she didn’t really know how to answer. What was she supposed to say?
I’ve watched you. I’ve had a dream about you and my dead mother. Also, I have this morbid curiosity that leads me to ask difficult questions so that I can write twisted books about horrible crimes. I am always following a trail, looking for the monster in the dark, and I think there could be something really sick—sicker than is obvious—behind the mutilated dog you found in your garden
.
Instead she said, “Were you born blind, Mr. Alonzo?”
He paused before answering. “Yes, I was.”
“Do you think it’s easier? I mean, never having had sight as opposed to being blinded by an accident.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. But I don’t feel disabled in any way, if that’s what you mean. Though I might, should I suddenly be paralyzed. I’m not sure where you’re headed with these questions.”
“I’m not headed anywhere. I’m just curious.”
“I find that hard to believe. Your reputation precedes you.”
“How’s that?”
“I doubt you’d waste your time here just out of curiosity about a dead dog and a blind man.”
“Well, Mr. Alonzo, I won’t waste any more of
your
time,” sheanswered as she walked past him through the doorway. She was not ready to reveal anything to him about her suspicions and she did not enjoy lying. So it was better to say nothing at all.
“Ms. Strong, will you stay for mass?” Juno asked, as he followed her back through the doorway.
“Please call me Lydia. No, thank you. I have to meet a friend at the airport and I should go.”
He had walked her out to the front of the church as they spoke and now they stood facing each other in the arched doorway.
“The door to this church is always open to you. I hope you will come to a service. I’m sure your mother would be happy to know you had come home to God.”
“What?” She felt like he had slapped her in the face.
“My sight is a different one from yours, Lydia.”
He smiled gently and walked away from her, closing the door behind him.
She was stung by his words, riven with guilt and a deep sadness. She walked slowly to the car, her mind racing, blood rising to her face, a pounding in her ears. She spun around suddenly to run after him, to ask him what he had meant by that, to ask him what he knew about her and her mother. And how he had come to visit her dreams. But she was paralyzed.
Sitting in her car she reached with a trembling hand for a cigarette—her eternal crutch. If he had been bluffing, trying to convince her of his power, he had at least
“It was about six o’clock in the morning. I had risen early to practice my guitar, but was distracted by an odd smell coming from the garden—the door was open. As I neared, I heard a rustling. But when I called out, no one answered. I walked out into the garden and slipped in the dog’s blood. It was very disturbing.”
“Who removed the dog?”
“The police came and took some photographs. Then they took the body away.”
“Did anybody else see it?” she asked, hoping someone could tell her exactly how the dog had been mutilated, since obviously Chief Morrow wasn’t going to turn over photographs he’d claimed he didn’t have.
“Only my uncle.”
The hairs on the back of Lydia’s neck rose as she had the sudden feeling that someone was watching. She looked around behind her but beyond the garden was nothing but a dirt road,traveled only by a tumbleweed. She looked at the flowers again and flashed on the image from her dream, when they’d mocked her cruelly.
“Is your uncle here now?” she asked.
“Yes, but he is preparing for mass. If it’s not urgent, perhaps I could have him call you.”
“That would be fine.” She pulled a business card from her purse and handed it to him. He slipped it into his pocket and began to move away from her, then stopped.
“What are the reasons for your questions, Ms. Strong?”
She realized she didn’t really know how to answer. What was she supposed to say?
I’ve watched you. I’ve had a dream about you and my dead mother. Also, I have this morbid curiosity that leads me to ask difficult questions so that I can write twisted books about horrible crimes. I am always following a trail, looking for the monster in the dark, and I think there could be something really sick—sicker than is obvious—behind the mutilated dog you found in your garden
.
Instead she said, “Were you born blind, Mr. Alonzo?”
He paused before answering. “Yes, I was.”
“Do you think it’s easier? I mean, never having had sight as opposed to being blinded by an accident.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know. But I don’t feel disabled in any way, if that’s what you mean. Though I might, should I suddenly be paralyzed. I’m not sure where you’re headed with these questions.”
“I’m not headed anywhere. I’m just curious.”
“I find that hard to believe. Your reputation precedes you.”
“How’s that?”
“I doubt you’d waste your time here just out of curiosity about a dead dog and a blind man.”
“Well, Mr. Alonzo, I won’t waste any more of
your
time,” sheanswered as she walked past him through the doorway. She was not ready to reveal anything to him about her suspicions and she did not enjoy lying. So it was better to say nothing at all.
“Ms. Strong, will you stay for mass?” Juno asked, as he followed her back through the doorway.
“Please call me Lydia. No, thank you. I have to meet a friend at the airport and I should go.”
He had walked her out to the front of the church as they spoke and now they stood facing each other in the arched doorway.
“The door to this church is always open to you. I hope you will come to a service. I’m sure your mother would be happy to know you had come home to God.”
“What?” She felt like he had slapped her in the face.
“My sight is a different one from yours, Lydia.”
He smiled gently and walked away from her, closing the door behind him.
She was stung by his words, riven with guilt and a deep sadness. She walked slowly to the car, her mind racing, blood rising to her face, a pounding in her ears. She spun around suddenly to run after him, to ask him what he had meant by that, to ask him what he knew about her and her mother. And how he had come to visit her dreams. But she was paralyzed.
Sitting in her car she reached with a trembling hand for a cigarette—her eternal crutch. If he had been bluffing, trying to convince her of his power, he had at least
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