Read Online Night Relics by James P. Blaylock - Free Book Online

separated.”
    “Their names?”
    Peter reeled off their names and ages. He handed the detective a pair of photographs he’d brought along from Amanda’s house
    as well as an inked set of David’s fingerprints taken a couple of years ago during some sort of school safety program. After
    looking the photos over, thecop slid them under the papers on the clipboard, snapping the clip down across them.
    “Missing since when?”
    “A week ago,” Peter said.
    “A week?” He looked up now, a puzzled expression on his face, as if he must have heard something incorrectly. “Come with me,”
    he said then, turning around and walking away up the corridor. He pushed open the door of a small room, furnished with a couple
    of upholstered office chairs and a desk. He gestured at one of the chairs, and Peter sat down. “Cup of coffee?”
    “No, thanks,” Peter said. This was the part that Peter didn’t relish—admitting that Amanda and David had vanished last Sunday
    but that Peter was only now getting around to telling anyone. Either it would make him look guilty as hell or incredibly stupid.
    “As I said,” Peter started in, “we’re separated, and it was only this morning that I stopped by her house and found out that
    she and David were missing.”
    The detective nodded, tilting his own chair back, listening to Peter as if he were a psychologist and not a cop. Peter rolled
    the story out carefully, trying to make the whole thing sound a little less lame than it was. He left nothing out, though—the
    argument, Peggy, the airline tickets and traveler’s checks, the Honda still in the garage. He avoided any talk about premonitions
    and hallucinations.
    Partway through, the detective abruptly sat up straight, looking as if he had just then remembered something, or as if Peter,
    finally, had said something that made a difference. Peter stopped talking.
    “You live out in Trabuco Canyon?” the cop asked.
    Peter nodded.
    “Where? You mean Trabuco Oaks? Coto de Caza?”
    “No, out in the canyon itself—Alder Springs area. Above the lower campground. Cabin with a Forest Service lease.”
    “Where do you work?”
    Peter hesitated. The seeming irrelevancy of the question forced him to stop in order to process it. “Sycamore College,” he
    said. “I’m a teacher. Architectural drafting.”
    “You were at school last week, Tuesday, say?”
    “No. In fact I’m off right now. Lot of work to do on my house. I’m on half-pay leave until February.”
    “So where were you the first of last week, then? Down at the lumber yard?” The cop stared at him, waiting for him to say something
    good.
    Surprised, Peter gaped back at him. He hadn’t said anything yet about having gone to Santa Barbara to visit his brother. It
    had seemed irrelevant to him. “I was gone for a couple of days. Up north. Let’s see … Monday through Wednesday. I stayed with
    my brother. He can—”
    “I believe you,” Detective Slater said, holding up his hand. “I don’t want to talk to your brother. Wait here.” He didn’t
    sound irritated or suspicious, but he didn’t look tired anymore, either. If anything, his voice held a note of compassion
    now, and the tone of it filled Peter with instant dread.
    The detective stood up and pushed out through the door, taking his clipboard and pen with him, leaving the door open. Peter
    was suddenly nauseated. His fears and premonitions were like ghosts slowly growing visible in a night-darkened room. He closed
    his eyes and waited, wondering what the news would be, trying to anticipate it, to make himself ready.
    The weight of the long morning oppressed the air of the room. The seconds ticked by. He nearly stood up in order to pace around
    the small room, but instead he forced himself to look out the window. Across the street people walked in and out of the savings
    and loan, going about their simple business. The bushes in the flower beds blew fitfully in the wind. A hook-and-ladder pulled
    out of the