Read Online Darkness peering by Alice Blanchard - Free Book Online
Authors: Alice Blanchard
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Maine, Fathers and daughters, Psychopaths, Policewomen, American First Novelists
Ads: Link
How could you even think such a thing? Billy wouldn't hurt a living
soul!"
Nalen drew himself upright, then saw stars and collapsed back against
the tree. He felt helpless. Ridiculous.
"You're sweating all over the place," she called from across the road.
She was moving swiftly away, under cover of darkness. "I hope you're
okay and everything!" Then she was gone.
It took Nalen several aching minutes to drag his carcass back to his
car. He sagged in his seat, breathing laboriously and wondering how he
was going to tell Faye. His hands trembled as if he'd been squeezing
oranges. This was awful. He wanted to go home and cower under the
covers like a little boy, but there would be no cowering. He knew what
had to be done.
Head pounding, he keyed the ignition, and a squirrel, caught in his
high beams, danced around a small circle of space.
NALEN STOOD IN THE KITCHEN AND LISTENED TO THE WIND
howling through the scrub pines. Half past nine, nobody was home.
Faye had taken Rachel to her first piano recital, yet another event in
his children's lives he had missed. Another reason for Faye's anger to
fester. Billy was off somewhere conspiring with Gillian. His son, now
permanently lost to him.
Nalen's chest muscles constricted around his rib cage and an acid taste
burned the back of his throat. The kitchen's overhead fluorescent bulb
cast sickly shadows down the green walls and across the dingy linoleum.
He'd just come in from outdoors where he'd inspected Billy's car--the
Grey Ghost, a '76 Chevy Impala--and found nothing. Now, knowing what
had to be done, he headed up the stairs.
Billy's room smelled of soiled socks. Nalen stood for a moment on the
threshold, gut seizing. Surely it couldn't be true. Billy was
innocent. He hadn't hurt Melissa D'Agostino, he'd simply gone along
for the ride. He'd been morally wrong, ethically wrong, but legally
innocent. He hadn't decapitated those cats. Billy wasn't capable of
such depravity. Was he?
Nalen stepped cautiously into the room, booby-trapped with comic books
and eight-track tapes and a tangle of clothes. If Billy was innocent,
then why had he repeatedly lied? And why had Gillian insisted they'd
spent Tuesday evening together from 5:30 to 6:30? Her little speech
sounded forced. Almost coached.
Taking a deep breath, he began to methodically search the room for
clues. A warrantless search. Illegal. His stomach clenched. He
could barely admit to himself what it was he was looking for--Melissa's
friendship bracelet. After stirring through
the detritus of this teenage wasteland, Nalen discovered in the far
reaches of the closet a pair of muddy sneakers, their treads worn down
to nonexistence, size nine and a half. Jesus. It took a moment for
this to register. He examined the sneakers carefully, turning them
over in his hands. Not that it proved anything. What teenage boy
didn't have a pair of muddy sneakers in his closet?
Nalen set the sneakers aside and continued poking and prodding around
his son's bedroom. Parental betrayal, professional betrayal. He
couldn't find the bracelet anywhere--bureau drawers, bedside table,
bookshelves, foot locker. His heart momentarily lightened. The boy's
desk was a disaster area of textbooks, crumpled papers, empty milk
cartons, leaky pens and nubby pencils. He flipped through an algebra
book, then noticed a yellow lined pad covered with doodles. The top
page was torn, a small piece missing. The missing piece was in the
shape of Italy. The boot.
Nalen froze as if he'd caught a gang of bullets in his heart. He
picked up the pad and studied it, as if by staring at it he might make
it go away. He'd lost touch with Billy a long time ago. Lost touch
with his concerns, his preoccupations. Billy was like a little mystery
he kept stubbornly trying to find the keys to. Occasionally he caught
the boy staring at him with a mixture of resentment and longing, and he
would try to think of something fatherly to
soul!"
Nalen drew himself upright, then saw stars and collapsed back against
the tree. He felt helpless. Ridiculous.
"You're sweating all over the place," she called from across the road.
She was moving swiftly away, under cover of darkness. "I hope you're
okay and everything!" Then she was gone.
It took Nalen several aching minutes to drag his carcass back to his
car. He sagged in his seat, breathing laboriously and wondering how he
was going to tell Faye. His hands trembled as if he'd been squeezing
oranges. This was awful. He wanted to go home and cower under the
covers like a little boy, but there would be no cowering. He knew what
had to be done.
Head pounding, he keyed the ignition, and a squirrel, caught in his
high beams, danced around a small circle of space.
NALEN STOOD IN THE KITCHEN AND LISTENED TO THE WIND
howling through the scrub pines. Half past nine, nobody was home.
Faye had taken Rachel to her first piano recital, yet another event in
his children's lives he had missed. Another reason for Faye's anger to
fester. Billy was off somewhere conspiring with Gillian. His son, now
permanently lost to him.
Nalen's chest muscles constricted around his rib cage and an acid taste
burned the back of his throat. The kitchen's overhead fluorescent bulb
cast sickly shadows down the green walls and across the dingy linoleum.
He'd just come in from outdoors where he'd inspected Billy's car--the
Grey Ghost, a '76 Chevy Impala--and found nothing. Now, knowing what
had to be done, he headed up the stairs.
Billy's room smelled of soiled socks. Nalen stood for a moment on the
threshold, gut seizing. Surely it couldn't be true. Billy was
innocent. He hadn't hurt Melissa D'Agostino, he'd simply gone along
for the ride. He'd been morally wrong, ethically wrong, but legally
innocent. He hadn't decapitated those cats. Billy wasn't capable of
such depravity. Was he?
Nalen stepped cautiously into the room, booby-trapped with comic books
and eight-track tapes and a tangle of clothes. If Billy was innocent,
then why had he repeatedly lied? And why had Gillian insisted they'd
spent Tuesday evening together from 5:30 to 6:30? Her little speech
sounded forced. Almost coached.
Taking a deep breath, he began to methodically search the room for
clues. A warrantless search. Illegal. His stomach clenched. He
could barely admit to himself what it was he was looking for--Melissa's
friendship bracelet. After stirring through
the detritus of this teenage wasteland, Nalen discovered in the far
reaches of the closet a pair of muddy sneakers, their treads worn down
to nonexistence, size nine and a half. Jesus. It took a moment for
this to register. He examined the sneakers carefully, turning them
over in his hands. Not that it proved anything. What teenage boy
didn't have a pair of muddy sneakers in his closet?
Nalen set the sneakers aside and continued poking and prodding around
his son's bedroom. Parental betrayal, professional betrayal. He
couldn't find the bracelet anywhere--bureau drawers, bedside table,
bookshelves, foot locker. His heart momentarily lightened. The boy's
desk was a disaster area of textbooks, crumpled papers, empty milk
cartons, leaky pens and nubby pencils. He flipped through an algebra
book, then noticed a yellow lined pad covered with doodles. The top
page was torn, a small piece missing. The missing piece was in the
shape of Italy. The boot.
Nalen froze as if he'd caught a gang of bullets in his heart. He
picked up the pad and studied it, as if by staring at it he might make
it go away. He'd lost touch with Billy a long time ago. Lost touch
with his concerns, his preoccupations. Billy was like a little mystery
he kept stubbornly trying to find the keys to. Occasionally he caught
the boy staring at him with a mixture of resentment and longing, and he
would try to think of something fatherly to
Similar Books
