Edge of Midnight

11



A crushed sleeping pill in her evening tea ensured Gladys would sleep through the night. Allan made a practice of giving it to her bedside, in a chamomile blend with honey that masked any unpleasant aftertaste. By ten o’clock, she was typically snoring like a logger, giving him freedom to do whatever he desired without the guilt trips or prying questions.

He felt no remorse about it, really. He was a good son who’d come home to care for her.

Besides, Gladys needed her rest.

Tonight, he had retired to his workshop in the pinewoods. He sat at the metal-topped table, pill bottles lined up in front of him like attentive schoolboys. Allan scanned them until he found what he was looking for—the one with Rebecca printed neatly on its label. Mastering the childproof lid and tipping the vial sideways, he gently tapped the amber plastic until its contents spilled out with little plinking sounds.

Ten perfect ovals. He felt a thrill course through him.

One could tell how well a woman took care of herself by simply looking at her nails. As a boy, Allan had read this bit of wisdom in a ladies’ fashion magazine. And Rebecca Macfarlane’s nails were exquisite. French manicured, delicate half moons with pristine white at their tips. Each one filed and buffed to faultlessness. He ordered them on the table according to size, reliving his conquest.

Agent Macfarlane had been on the news that morning, giving an official Bureau statement. Allan watched it with Gladys over breakfast. Or at least he had watched it—she’d been too busy complaining about the oatmeal he had prepared. Even in the stifling Florida heat, Macfarlane had appeared cool and composed, handsome in a well-cut, dark suit. He’d aged somewhat over the past three years, but if anything he only seemed more settled into his looks. The faint lines fanning from the corners of his eyes revealed he had his battle scars. Allan liked knowing he’d been the one to put them there.

Ad victorem spolias. To the victor go the spoils.

Picking up the vial again, he tapped it a little harder and two white, enameled kernels at the bottom fell out. Pearly molars. No cavities, of course. She had also taken exceptional care of her teeth.

Allan touched all the remnants of Rebecca once more before carefully sliding them back into the vial and returning it to his collection. His eyes moved across the labels in front of him, bearing the others’ names. The last one said simply Mia.

He shook it once, heard the thin, disappointing rattle inside it. A sullen curve formed on his mouth.

Mia was an acronym, he’d realized. Missing in action.

A muffled moan rose above the hum of the window-box air conditioner, capturing his attention. Good. She was coming around. He’d timed the drug so she would be waking now, when Gladys and her flea-infested mutt were snoozing and his night was only beginning. He enjoyed spending time with his girls.

“I hope you had a pleasant sleep.”

Anna Lynn Gomez blinked at him, her dark eyes glassy and filled with fear. It had been so easy to strike up a conversation with her in the parking lot.

She struggled—gagged, helpless, her bloodied hands bound above her head and shackled to a hook in the cinder-block wall. Allan had only taken four nails so far. He liked to space the extractions out, giving them both something to look forward to.

He picked up a hammer from his workbench, gripping it in his right hand for emphasis. Her stifled cry in response gave him satisfaction. He snacked on her terror like junk food. “I’m going to free you for a little while—to eat and take care of necessities. You understand what I’ll be forced to do if you misbehave?”

He’d made her a turkey-and-Swiss sandwich in the kitchen, which sat on the workbench on one of Gladys’s fine china plates. No paper. It was the least he could do. “I hope you’re going to have more of an appetite tonight. You have to keep up your strength—you’re only hurting yourself by being finicky.”

Anna Lynn’s throat convulsed. She was pretty enough, but at the end of the day she made a poor substitute. An inferior replacement for the petite brunette he’d had in mind. Finding her again had made him think life was more than just a series of unrelated, random events. And then she’d slipped through his fingers.

Allan untied his captive.

“I do have some good news for you, my dear,” he said as the young woman shrank from him. “If things work out, you’re going to be getting a roommate soon.”