Nobody answers. Checking the walls near the entrance, I see no alarm system. That sign out front was a fraud.
I look back through the door. Wolfman’s image is warped by the pane of glass, but it’s clear to see he’s still taking his time. That slow walk scares me. I know what it means. If he wanted to kill me, he would’ve. He doesn’t want to kill me. He wants something else.
“Hello?”
Nothing. I need to find a phone. I look around. The house is huge, with high, vaulted ceilings. To my right, the kitchen seems to form an island, surrounded by vast, open living areas. To the left, there is a hallway, presumably leading to bedrooms, and stairs to the second floor.
I go to the right first, flipping on a light as I run toward the kitchen. The living room glows in a blaze of light, and I regret what I’ve done. Turning on lights tells him exactly where I am. I hesitate, almost going back for the light, but what’s done is done. Best to keep going forward. I search for the phone, expecting to hear him at the front door, but there is nothing but silence. Silence and no phone.
The master bedroom seems like the next best bet for a landline. I race toward the other side of the house, turning off the light and checking the front door as I go. He has disappeared. It’s even worse than knowing where he is.
I scan the rooms. They all seem too small to be the master and none have a phone. It’s dark, and the place is so big I get turned around, enter the same room twice.
No, no mistakes. No time for mistakes.
I hate the silence. I feel like I’m missing something. Just like I’m missing the phone. I head back toward the kitchen. There has to be a phone. I refuse to believe these people get good enough cell reception that they can go without a landline. What about emergencies? Don’t these rich bastards care about emergencies?
Then I see something. It’s like stars. But it’s not stars; it’s lights. Through the enormous wall of windows in the great room I can see lights. This house overlooks a town, a town that looks like it’s a million miles away.
Still no sound from Wolfman. Where is he? What is he doing?
Without much hope, I do another sweep for a phone. I decide not to go upstairs. Upstairs feels like a trap. The ground floor is safer.
Searching, I stumble into the master bath. For the briefest of seconds I see myself in the mirror, white moonlight revealing a horrible sight.
Oh God, oh God, oh God . . .
I turn away. There’s no time to absorb it. But that split-second glimpse stays with me. The gash in my head, the wound that started it all. Oh, it’s bad; it’s really, really bad. I had no idea. I wish I still had no idea.
Needing to get further away from myself, I stagger out of the bath and into the adjoining room. It’s a walk-in closet, the size of most people’s bedrooms. For a moment I try to breathe through the shock of my appearance.
The blur of adrenaline subsides, and I take in what’s right in front of me. There’s a gun safe in the master closet. It’s wide open. There’s a jumble of guns and accessories inside, but all I see are hunting rifles. They’re enormous.
I try to pick one up, but it’s too heavy for me and my jacked-up arms.
There’s a shotgun. Caleb told me shotguns are the best thing for self-defense. I pick it up and almost cry. Even the shotgun is too heavy. The weight of it pulls on my injured arms, and looking down at it, I’m not sure exactly how it works. Where’s the safety on a shotgun? I have no idea anymore. Caleb told me they were easy, but I look at this thing now, and it’s like some foreign object from space, some alien tool I don’t know what to do with.
I let it drop into the mess, and the gleam of a handgun is revealed.
It’s tangled up in a giant camouflage jacket on the floor of the safe. I pick it up and find it’s a Colt Python revolver. It’s what Grandpapa carries. It’s a gun I know, a gun that’s easy to use. I sling on the enormous jacket, then put the empty revolver in one of the millions of pockets.
There are boxes and boxes of bullets in the safe door. I need to get out of here, but I also need ammo. I try to read the labels, try to figure out which bullets go with my gun. A mistake here could kill me, but it’s almost impossible to take in the words.
That’s when I hear him.
He’s on stairs.
But not the stairs above me.
There are stairs below me.
There must be a basement. I didn’t know there was a basement. This surprise undermines me like nothing else.
He’s on his way up. The sight of him walking slowly toward me flashes before my eyes, and it’s like I’ve forgotten, after dealing with the incompetent Mr. Logan, just how horrible the Wolfman is. Seeing him again made me remember. Made me remember the panties on the end table. Made me remember the hose-down behind the cabin. Now I remember what it is to look into the empty eyes of a monster.
He’s trudging up those steps. Even worse, I can hear his hand, his fingernails, sliding along the wall as he goes. He’s being loud on purpose, announcing his arrival.