Time trickled slowly, a rushing noise in Zoe’s ears. Behind her, Andrea called out again. “Mommy?” Glover’s eyes held hers. Not the childish, funny neighbor, the goofy man who enthusiastically talked with her about Buffy and Angel. Cold, hard eyes, capable of anything. He tensed. She could see him bracing as the world around her transformed into one long tunnel, Glover on the edge, only darkness between them. He started toward her, a sharp movement that jolted her out of her dreamlike freeze.
She screamed, slammed the door shut, turned the key in the door’s lock.
There was a loud thumping noise, the door shuddering. Glover had run into the door. Zoe looked around frantically. Her desk was large and wooden. She dashed to it and began dragging it, inch by inch, Andrea watching her from the bed, her eyes wide.
“Zoe,” Glover said from the other side. “I just want to talk. I think you may have misunderstood something.”
She pulled the desk, whimpering, until she could wedge her body between it and the wall. Then she began leaning against it, pushing herself and the desk away from the wall. She breathed hurriedly, short, fearful gulps of air, her body trembling as she strained against the desk.
“Were you in my bedroom this morning, Zoe? I’m not angry; I just think we should chat about this.” He knocked on the door, politely at first, then thumped it angrily, the loud noise making Andrea burst into frightened tears. The doorknob twisted over and over.
She remembered that a few months ago, her mother had taken her room key, telling her she didn’t want locked doors in the house. It had taken a lot of begging to get the key back, with Zoe claiming she didn’t want Andrea to barge into her room while she undressed. Now, with the door shuddering as Glover thumped on it, she thanked God her mom had returned the key.
“Just open the door, Zoe. I’d hate for this to ruin our friendship.”
“We . . . have . . . no . . . friendship,” she said through gritted teeth as she pushed the desk. It was halfway across the room now. So heavy. She recalled her dad dragging it across the floor effortlessly. She hadn’t realized how strong he was.
“Zoe! Open the door right now! Or I’ll call your parents and tell them how you’re behaving.”
“Call them!” she yelled, her voice breaking, and gave the desk another push. The corner now touched the door.
There was silence, except for Andrea’s sobbing. “We’ll be okay, Ray-Ray,” she said, her voice shaking uncontrollably.
There was a crash, and the door shuddered even more than before. He was trying to break down the door. Panicking, she gave the desk a heave. She managed to push it against the door, holding it tight. She leaned against the desk, hoping her own weight would help. Her heart thundered in her ears.
There was a series of loud thumps. He was kicking the door. To her relief, it seemed to hold. She heard him cursing.
“Zoe, if you open the door right now, things will go much easier on you.”
“Like they were for Clara?” she asked. “And Jackie? And Beth?”
“It was terrible, what happened to those girls,” he said beyond the door. “I hope the police find the killer soon.”
“They will!” she screamed. “I told them everything. They said they’ll check you out.”
He laughed. A high-pitched, unbalanced laugh. “Did you? Because I don’t see the police here. No, they are after the real killer, right? That Manny Anderson kid.”
Andrea began to cry loudly.
“Is that your sister, Zoe? Open the door, and I promise you nothing will happen to her. But if you don’t . . .”
Zoe left her position by the desk and leaped on the bed, wrapping her hands around Andrea.
“Don’t worry, Ray-Ray. He can’t hurt us,” she whispered, hugging her sister tight.
“I would never kill anyone,” Glover said behind the door. “What made you think I would do such a thing? Those magazines? It’s just adult stuff. I bet your dad has some of his own.”
Zoe covered Andrea’s ears, gritting her teeth furiously. “What convinced me were the souvenirs you kept. And the gray ties.”
There was silence. “Gray ties?” Glover finally said.
“I know what you did with them, Glover! I have a phone in here. I’m calling the cops right now.”
He laughed again. “No, you don’t. I’ve been to your room, remember?”
Her skin crawled when she recalled it was true. She had invited him to her room once to show him the track trophy she’d won at school.
Footsteps getting further away, the front door opening and slamming. She rushed to the window, made sure it was locked. Would he try to break it and enter the room from there? She didn’t think so; someone would hear the glass pane breaking. He wouldn’t risk it.
She hoped.
“I’m scared,” Andrea whimpered.
“Shhhh, I’m here, Ray-Ray. You have nothing to be scared about.”
They waited in silence. After what felt like hours, she considered leaving the room to call the police. She got up, was about to shove the desk away, when a thought occurred to her. She reached out and turned the key in the lock.
Almost instantly the doorknob twisted, and the door juddered against the desk. Shrieking, she locked the door again. He hadn’t left at all. He’d almost tricked her. Almost.
There was another laugh from behind the door. Not even a laugh. A giggle. A demented, tortured giggle. “Zoe, open the door. Can’t stay in there forever, Zoe.”
She couldn’t, but she didn’t need to. Just until Mom and Dad came home. How much longer . . . ?
“Zoe,” he said. His voice changed. Softer. Angrier. The voice of a killer. “If I need to break this door, you’ll regret it, Zoe.”
Shaking, she looked around for a weapon—any weapon. She saw none. She used to have a baseball bat in the room when she was ten, but she’d gotten rid of it when she stopped playing. Stupid. So stupid.
“You know what I do to women who make me angry, Zoe,” he said, and there was another giggle. “You might like it.”
Andrea sobbed, eyes shut tight. Zoe hurried to her side, covered her ears again.
“Beth liked it. She moaned when I shoved myself inside her. She acted like she hated it, but I could feel how much she loved it. She loved it, Zoe.”
She wished she had four hands. She wanted to cover her own ears as well as her sister’s.
“Do you think you would like it, Zoe? When I rip your shirt and your pants? When I give you what you want, bitch? Would you moan like Beth did?”
She was crying as well, sobs of fear and horror, her hands plugging Andrea’s ears tightly, hoping she wasn’t hearing any of it.
“Do you think little Ray-Ray would like it?”
“You stay away from her!” Zoe shrieked, tears of fear and anger in her eyes.
The same giggle. “Oh. You wouldn’t like that, would you? Maybe I should start with her. Open this damn door, or I start with her, Zoe.”
She got off the bed and flung open the window. The freezing cold outside chilled her bones.
“Help us!” she cried desperately. “Help! Police! The killer is here. Help!”
The thumping on the door began again. “Open this damn door, you whore! You bitch! Open the door. Open it. Open it!”
“Help us!”
The light switched on in Mrs. Ambrose’s bedroom.
“Please help.”
The door juddered again.
Mrs. Ambrose moved slowly to the window. A woman who had all the time in the world, shambling over to check what the noise was all about. She peered outside, saw Zoe screaming. Her eyes widened.
“Call the police!” Zoe shouted.
Mrs. Ambrose hurried away. The woman picked up the phone in her bedroom. She dialed quickly and began to talk animatedly on the phone, glancing back toward her window constantly.
If they hurried, they could catch Glover in the act.
The house had gone suddenly silent. Glover wasn’t trying to cajole his way inside or threaten her or break down the door. He was gone.
Almost six months had passed since the night Glover had nearly broken into her room. It was early morning, and the summer sunlight shone through Zoe’s window. She gazed at the wall, holding one shoe in her hand. She had been in the process of putting it on when she’d become lost in thoughts and memory, her bare foot forgotten.
The nightmares were slowly fading. Only two, maybe three nights a week she’d wake up screaming, which was almost normal. Definitely better than the weeks that had followed that night, when she couldn’t sleep for more than four hours straight.