Read Online Listen to the Shadows by Joan Hall Hovey - Free Book Online
Authors: Joan Hall Hovey
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kid.
He denied all of it. There were never any witnesses. He was always very careful about that. And she believed him. He was once again his mother’s “sweet, precious boy”.
In the end, she believed what she wanted to believe.
***
The knife lay on the cot with the flashlight. He picked it up, fondled it. Nice and new like the rope. Never used. Virginal. He picked up the flashlight. Everything he would need to accomplish his feat, he had. A crucial part of his plan, of course, waited behind his closet door. He looked there now, and grinned.
He would drive out to her house tonight, get a feel for the place while she was still in the hospital. Things had worked out sweetly for him, after all. Better than he could have imagined, given the forced changed in plan. Fate was on his side.
He believed in fate.
Chapter 8
It was after one o’clock when Katie arrived back in her room, just in time, as Linda Ring had predicted, to miss lunch. Despite feeling shaky and weak from her ordeal of being tested, probed and prodded, Katie was undoing the robe practically before the wheelchair was through the door, and a moment later, returning it to the case, perfectly folded. She would phone Jason and ask him to drive out to the house and bring her a few needed items.
As promised, Linda shampooed her hair, styling it with a dryer borrowed from a kindly patient. A little lipstick, blush and mascara, and Katie had to admit she both looked and felt a lot more human. The nurse thoughtfully brought her tea and toast before going off duty. Now, having finished it, Katie lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. It had been a long day, and it was only half over. Still, she knew she was getting stronger all the time.
Lying there, listening to the blaring television set across the hall, Katie guessed her neighbor, Mrs. Patterson, was indeed a little on the deaf side. A man was passionately raking someone over the coals— probably a woman—a soap. Katie tuned it out.
Eyes closed, she drifted.
The scene rode to the front of her mind as if captured by a movie camera on a trolley, a single frame, starting small, becoming swiftly larger in close-up. She saw a boy dressed in ragged clothing running in a field, waving his arms about in joyous greeting. In the act of running, the boy’s body suddenly froze in midair, then it spun, arms and legs flailing in grotesque pantomime. Blood spattered the blades of grass like red rain, dripped from a leaf just above Katie’s head. Behind where the boy lay dead, a chorus of anguished voices rose in terrible mourning, and it reached Katie’s very soul.
Her eyes shot open, while behind her eyelids the picture continued to play. It was several seconds before it finally faded to let the room shimmer whitely back into focus.
Across the hall, the television set grew louder.
A nurse poked her head in the door. “Anything wrong in here?”
“No, nothing. I didn’t ring.”
“One of the patients thought she heard someone cry out in here.”
Katie smiled thinly. “Sorry. Wrong room.”
Sitting up in the bed, Katie rubbed her eyes, as if to erase any residue of the scene. My God, what was that all about? A dream? Yes, she must have been dreaming. Yet she was sure she hadn’t been asleep. She put a hand to her cup on the night table; the remaining tea was still hot.
Frowning, Katie lay back on the pillow to think. It had, in a way, been like seeing in her mind’s eye the eyes in the rearview mirror. And yet, it hadn’t—not exactly. The “ eyes, ” she was certain now, were a memory. Her memory. The boy had seemed more a vision. And there was no sound except at the end when that awful cry, like some primal wail, went up in chorus, leaving her with a heavy, lingering sadness. Had she had a psychic experience? A premonition of some kind? A vision from the past? Katie believed in such things, as had her aunt before her. Not that either were fanatic about it, and Katie knew there were
He denied all of it. There were never any witnesses. He was always very careful about that. And she believed him. He was once again his mother’s “sweet, precious boy”.
In the end, she believed what she wanted to believe.
***
The knife lay on the cot with the flashlight. He picked it up, fondled it. Nice and new like the rope. Never used. Virginal. He picked up the flashlight. Everything he would need to accomplish his feat, he had. A crucial part of his plan, of course, waited behind his closet door. He looked there now, and grinned.
He would drive out to her house tonight, get a feel for the place while she was still in the hospital. Things had worked out sweetly for him, after all. Better than he could have imagined, given the forced changed in plan. Fate was on his side.
He believed in fate.
Chapter 8
It was after one o’clock when Katie arrived back in her room, just in time, as Linda Ring had predicted, to miss lunch. Despite feeling shaky and weak from her ordeal of being tested, probed and prodded, Katie was undoing the robe practically before the wheelchair was through the door, and a moment later, returning it to the case, perfectly folded. She would phone Jason and ask him to drive out to the house and bring her a few needed items.
As promised, Linda shampooed her hair, styling it with a dryer borrowed from a kindly patient. A little lipstick, blush and mascara, and Katie had to admit she both looked and felt a lot more human. The nurse thoughtfully brought her tea and toast before going off duty. Now, having finished it, Katie lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. It had been a long day, and it was only half over. Still, she knew she was getting stronger all the time.
Lying there, listening to the blaring television set across the hall, Katie guessed her neighbor, Mrs. Patterson, was indeed a little on the deaf side. A man was passionately raking someone over the coals— probably a woman—a soap. Katie tuned it out.
Eyes closed, she drifted.
The scene rode to the front of her mind as if captured by a movie camera on a trolley, a single frame, starting small, becoming swiftly larger in close-up. She saw a boy dressed in ragged clothing running in a field, waving his arms about in joyous greeting. In the act of running, the boy’s body suddenly froze in midair, then it spun, arms and legs flailing in grotesque pantomime. Blood spattered the blades of grass like red rain, dripped from a leaf just above Katie’s head. Behind where the boy lay dead, a chorus of anguished voices rose in terrible mourning, and it reached Katie’s very soul.
Her eyes shot open, while behind her eyelids the picture continued to play. It was several seconds before it finally faded to let the room shimmer whitely back into focus.
Across the hall, the television set grew louder.
A nurse poked her head in the door. “Anything wrong in here?”
“No, nothing. I didn’t ring.”
“One of the patients thought she heard someone cry out in here.”
Katie smiled thinly. “Sorry. Wrong room.”
Sitting up in the bed, Katie rubbed her eyes, as if to erase any residue of the scene. My God, what was that all about? A dream? Yes, she must have been dreaming. Yet she was sure she hadn’t been asleep. She put a hand to her cup on the night table; the remaining tea was still hot.
Frowning, Katie lay back on the pillow to think. It had, in a way, been like seeing in her mind’s eye the eyes in the rearview mirror. And yet, it hadn’t—not exactly. The “ eyes, ” she was certain now, were a memory. Her memory. The boy had seemed more a vision. And there was no sound except at the end when that awful cry, like some primal wail, went up in chorus, leaving her with a heavy, lingering sadness. Had she had a psychic experience? A premonition of some kind? A vision from the past? Katie believed in such things, as had her aunt before her. Not that either were fanatic about it, and Katie knew there were
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