|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She looked so much like Maureen. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He stopped beside her drooping head, blinked sweat out of his eyes, and studied her hair until he spotted some blonde. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
What if Maureen had bleached her hair? |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Trev considered getting a wet rag and cleaning the gore from her public hair, just to make sure it wasn't auburn. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Don't get crazy. That isn't her. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He stepped into the kitchen, removed Patterson's hat and slipped the hood off his head. The fresh air felt wonderful. He set them and the shotgun on the counter. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He glanced at Liam. His friend. Maureen's father. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
The poor girl. Both her parents gone. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
She might be dead, herself, by now. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Trev turned away quickly and hurried to the telephone. He threw open the directory. His plastic mitten dripped dark liquid onto the pages as he flipped to the Cs. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Chidi, Clarence was at 4538 Fairmont. He memorized the address, then searched through the Os until he found Liam's number again. He snatched up the handset, picked up the same pen he'd used before to punch in the number, and jabbed the keys. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
He heard the quiet ringing. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Answer it, answer it, answer it! Come on, Maureen! |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Maybe she'd been in the shower, last time. |
|
|
|
|
|