Eyes Wide Open

Chapter Seventy-Three





“I can still see the police car out there,” Charlie said, peeking through the curtains at the vehicle in the shadows across the street.

He and Gabby had sat around all afternoon and into the night, looking through old photos of their families and Evan as a kid. They hadn’t told anyone about what they had found. Evan’s sneaker. They had decided that this was their fate to bear. How they wanted this to end. They’d decided not to put anyone else at risk. Especially Jay. This was where all the reversals of their ruined lives had led them. Charlie strummed a few of his songs on the busted Stratocaster. The splintered neck to his acoustic guitar sat on the mantel above the fireplace. The broken body leaned against the wall, like a boat without a mast, a reminder of all his busted dreams.

Periodically he stirred and jumped up to the window, whenever they heard a noise outside.

“It’s just someone passing by,” Gabby would say.

“He’s still just sitting out there,” Charlie said, parting the curtains.

“Look,” Gabby said. She went to show him the album. “Do you remember this?”

The photo was of Evan, Charlie, and her at Hearst Castle, sixty miles up the coast. Evan was sixteen then, already more than six feet and fully grown. That was the last time they had left their town. He still had that innocent, freckled face. The truth was, even at that time, he was already taking his anger out on them, beating up on them, using slurs and ugly names. Threatening to kill them one day. Yet there they were—smiling, a family. The same day they had watched a colony of sea lions on the rocks.

Gabby smiled tenderly. “We had some good times, didn’t we, Charlie? We did.”

“Something weird is going on out there.” He was ignoring her. “The passenger window, it’s been down for a while. I can’t see anyone in the car. What if something’s happened, Gabby? What if something’s gone wrong?”

He was ranting, Gabby knew. But this time he actually had something to fear. She went over to the window and looked out too. “Of course, it’s dark. The streetlamps are out, this godforsaken place . . . Come back over here and sit with—”

They saw it at the same time. Both their eyes grew wide. They gasped in unison.

A woman. Outside. In a cap pulled down, with her hair barely showing through. Standing there, staring directly at them. Like a ghost had suddenly appeared.

Gabby, whose imagination ran to things like that, screamed.

The woman stood there in the cone of yellow lamplight, smiling at them.

Then, in the next instant, she headed toward the front door.

“Charlie, quick!” Gabby shouted. “She’s trying to get in.”

Charlie darted to the door just as the woman got there, twisting forcefully on the handle.

“Charlie, make sure it’s locked!” Gabby instructed him, her heart flailing.

They heard the handle rattle as she kept tugging on it. Frantically, Charlie clung on to the other end. This wasn’t right. They were supposed to wait for instructions. Not here. Even locked, it felt like she might tear the handle off the door.

He looked back at Gabby, his eyes white with fear.

“Who is it, Charlie? Who is that woman?” Gabby screamed.

She had changed. She was only a shadow of what she looked like back then, Charlie thought fearfully. A grotesque shadow. He hadn’t seen her in thirty-five years.

But he knew. He knew who she was. And he knew why she was here.

“Gabby, call the police!” Charlie said.

She backed away, immobilized with fear. “I can’t, Charlie, I can’t! I’m scared.”

“It’s locked!” he said, trying to reassure her. “She can’t get in. Just call!”

Suddenly from behind them they heard the clinking sound of glass splintering.

His heart almost climbed through his chest.

Someone was coming in.

Charlie ran around to the kitchen almost like someone reacting to multiple leaks on a sinking ship. He grabbed a chef’s knife he had left out on the counter.

A hand had already smashed through the pane and was reaching in, twisting the inside lock.

It opened. It was too late.

Charlie lunged at the hand with his knife, but the door thrust open, smacking into him like a linebacker powering him to the floor, the knife clattering off to his side.

A man entered. He and Gabby stared at him in fear, Charlie from the floor. The intruder wore a torn flannel shirt and soiled baggy pants, his hair receding under his cap, with long sideburns and a thick mustache.

“Who are you?” Gabby looked at him with terror. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Get on up, Charlie,” the man said, his grin suggesting any resistance was useless. He shut the door behind him. There was a gun in his hand. “Don’t go for the knife, guy. You’ll ruin all the fun.”

Charlie sat there on the floor, transfixed by the blade. He would do it, he thought, go for it, try to end it here. But who would protect Gabby? And there were things the man knew that he and Gabby needed to hear.

So he just sat there staring, at what he knew was the end of his life. “Hello, Dev.”