The car screeched into the driveway, and the distant trees in the back were suddenly flooded with an angry yellow glare as the car headlights reached down the side yard and out across the snow. I heard the car door open and the demon roar, and I realized too late that I'd failed to relock the back door behind me. I was still crouched next to it in fear; if he checked it, I'd be dead. I wanted to open it again and lock the knob, but the sound of the front door opening told me I was too late; the demon was in the house. I leaped down the few concrete steps to the ground, and ran to the corner of the house.
Stepping around meant facing the glare of the headlights, where it would be impossible to hide, but staying here meant he would see me when he opened the back door. I took a deep breath, and ran across the headlights, diving into the shadow of the garden shed.
There was no sound behind me. The back door didn't open. I cursed myself for being so scared of something so small—of course he wouldn't notice that tiny button on the unlocked knob, not when he was racing to rescue his wife. A moment later I heard a howl from the second floor, confirming my suspicions. He'd gone straight to Kay, and I might be able to escape after all.
I crept back into the light, furtive and wary, ready to run, and convinced that if he saw me, running wouldn't make any difference. I didn't know how much time I had. He might untie Kay immediately, or he might wait until he regained his human shape; he might stay and make sure she was okay, or he might rush back outside to find the person who'd hurt her.
I had no way of knowing, but I did know that my chances of getting away decreased with every second I delayed. I had to go now.
I stuck close to the house, walking quickly toward the blinding headlights. I kept my eyes averted, shielding them from as much light as possible, to make it easier to adjust to the darkness beyond. When I reached Crowley's car I ran out around the far side, away from the house, and crouched by the tire. I could peer over the car and see the front of Crowley's house: the door hanging open, the upstairs curtains still tightly drawn.
I looked out at my own house, a million miles away across the street. Ice and snow surrounded it like land mines and razorwire, waiting to trip me up, or show a footprint, or simply delay me as I ran for the shelter of home. If I could make it across and into my house I'd be safe—Crowley might never suspect I'd been involved—but it was a long way, across an open street. All it would take was a single glance through the window and it would all be over. I braced myself for the sprint. . .
. . . and that's when I saw the body in the passenger seat.
It was slumped over, below the window line, but in the dim light of the open door I could see him—a small man, half hidden in shadow and a drab woolen coat, lying in a pool of blood.
I sank down to the frozen pavement, numb with shock. I hadn't stopped the demon from killing at all—I hadn't even slowed him down. I'd taken too long with the pictures, and with Neblin, wrestling my darkest impulses until it didn't even matter, and by the time I distracted the demon he had already found a victim, and stolen an organ. He was already regenerated, and all because I couldn't control myself. I wanted to slam the car door, or shout, or make some kind of noise, but I didn't dare. Instead the monster inside me, smooth and insidious, crept forward to look at the corpse. In all these months of killings and embalmings, I had still never been alone with a newly dead body. I wanted to touch it while it was still warm, to look at the wound, to see what the demon had taken. It was a stupid urge, and a stupid risk, but I didn't stop. Mr. Monster was too strong now.
The driver-side door was open, but I was on the passenger side, away from the house, and opened that door quietly. The car was still idling, and I hoped the low rumble masked any noises I made. I pulled open the body's coat, looking for the slashed abdomen that had become so familiar from the demon's other victims.
There wasn't one.
The head was twisted grotesquely, face planted in the seat, but when I peered at it from the doorway, I could see that the throat had been cut, probably by one of the demon's claws. It was the only wound. The coat was undamaged, and the flesh beneath it felt fine. The blood on the seat and floor seemed to come solely from the neck wound.
What had he taken? I peered in to look at the neck more closely. It was still attached, but the veins and throat had been sliced clean through. Nothing seemed to be missing at all.
Finally, I looked at the man's face, twisting back the neck and wiping aside the blood and matted hair, and in that instant I almost cried out.
The dead man was Dr. Neblin.
I staggered back, nearly falling out of the car. The body fell slowly back to the side, lifeless. I looked up at the Crowleys' house in shock, then back at the car.
He'd killed Dr. Neblin.
My mind searched for meaning in the revelation. Was Crowley on to me? Was he already targeting people I knew?
But why Neblin, when my Mom was right across the street? Because he needed a male body, I supposed. But no—it was too strange. I couldn't believe that he knew I was involved.
I would have seen some hint of it.
But then why Neblin?
Staring at his corpse I remembered our phone call, and I felt myself grow cold. Neblin had left me a voice mail. I pulled out the phone and dialed it up, terrified of what I knew I would hear.