Fook (34 page)

THIRTY-SIX

The whirling fan overhead was an absolute necessity
when it came to Tabitha’s ability to get a good night’s sleep. It
had been that way ever since she was a little girl. Even during the
winter months, when the temperature was in the single digits
outside and the house was freezing because her father was too cheap
to pay for oil, she’d insisted that it stay on all night. Some
people like fans for the noise, others for the chill that it lends
to the air. She liked it for both, but even though the fan was on
its highest setting and a cascade of cool air was pouring down onto
the bed, she still wasn’t able to sleep.

Richard, on the other hand, was out like a
light and had been since his head hit the pillow. He hated the cold
and having the fan on all the time had been a big compromise, but
it didn’t seem to bother him as he sawed logs beside her, the
blanket pulled almost entirely over his head so that only his hair
was visible.

His hatred for the cold was the reason she
kept having to fight for her own share of the covers, as yet
another gentle tug stole her share of the heavy comforter.

“Stop,” she whined, pulling the covers back
up over her exposed shoulders.

She didn’t know how he was doing it in such
a deep sleep and without any noticeable movement, but that was the
third time in the last minute that she’d had to fight to remain
covered.

Restless and frustrated with the sandman’s
reluctant showing, she rolled over, nestling her head deeper within
the down pillow and firmly tucking the covers under her
shoulder.

It had been an eventful day, from literally
using her head to land the deal with Mr. Branson, to finding out
about her pregnancy. There were undoubtedly plenty of reasons for
her brain’s refusal to shut down. All she could do was run through
the day’s events over and over again, always ending with the same
question, “What are we going to do?” She didn’t feel ready to be a
mother, but like it or not it was going to happen. Hell, it already
had. Not only did she need to worry about herself, now she had to
think about the tiny life already growing inside of her. It needed
the proper nourishment; no more two pound burritos from the food
truck that always parked outside the office building, no more
cheese cake splurges just before going to bed, and no more eating
entire pizzas from the Italian Pug Pizzeria just down the street.
Thinking about it, it was a miracle that she’d managed to maintain
her petite figure when she seemed to always be eating like a
linebacker, trying to carb up for the big game. Now even that was a
thing of the past, she sighed as Richard pulled at the covers
again, this time unsuccessful in his attempt as she pressed her
shoulder even harder into the mattress.

“Richard, stop,” she nudged him.

As if he were the one being bothered,
Richard let out a soft groan as he pulled at the covers again.

“Stop,” her frustration grew as this time
she had to grab the retreating covers with her hand to fight the
increasingly aggressive nature of his attempts.

Suddenly the comforter yanked out of her
hand, retreating toward the foot of the bed.

Startled, she turned her head in the
direction of the stolen fabric only to spot a shadowy figure
standing at the foot of the bed, the comforter held firmly in its
grasp.

She screamed.

Startled awake, “What?! What is it?!”
Richard shot up, looking at his wife and then following her
terrified stare to the foot of the bed where he caught a glimpse of
the figure. Having just been yanked from R.E.M. sleep however, he
couldn’t be sure that anything he saw or heard yet was real.
Reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, he filled the room with
the soft glow of the incandescent bulb and turned back to the
shadowy figure, that was no longer there. Meanwhile Tabitha was
still sitting up beside him, pressed against the headboard with her
eyes closed and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Honey! Honey!” he attempted to break
through the shrill cries. Grabbing her arm, “Sweetie, Stop!”

Finally hearing her husband’s voice she
opened her eyes, her scream subsiding as she realized that the
mysterious figure was gone.

“What’s going on?” Richard asked.

“A man. There was a man standing at the end
of the bed. He yanked the covers off,” she frantically
explained.

Looking back toward the foot of the bed he
still didn’t see anything except the comforter in a heap at the end
of the bed. “I don’t see anything.”

“He was there. Right there,” she
pointed.

Even though he thought he’d seen something
too, he figured that it was simply the result of one too many
horror movies and being awoken in the most terrifying manner
possible.

“There’s nothing there,” he assured her.

“But he was.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. It was dark, but I know what
I saw. Why are the covers piled up at the foot of the bed?” she
attempted to convince him.

“Maybe you had a nightmare and kicked them
off,” he offered what he thought was a very reasonable and the most
likely explanation.

“I wasn’t dreaming, Richard.”

“Well, maybe you don’t think you were,
but—”

“—I wasn’t dreaming!” Tabitha snapped.

Richard remained quiet.

“I haven’t been able to fall asleep since we
came to bed. I’ve just been lying here thinking and fighting you
for the...” Oh my God she thought as she realized that it hadn’t
been her husband at all. Her stomach sank.

“What?” Richard continued to look at her
confused.

A loud bang suddenly came from downstairs,
followed by what sounded like every pot and pan falling from the
rack hanging over the kitchen island.

“See,” Tabitha whined as she scrambled to
pull the covers back over her.

“Get your gun from your nightstand and stay
right here,” Richard instructed as he opened the draw to his
nightstand and removed his own 9mm.

Doing as instructed, from the perceived
protection of the comforter, Tabitha retrieved her own gun. Nowhere
near as intimidating as her husband’s, she’d only agreed to getting
the tiny pink .380 because she’d never believed that she would need
it. Now, holding the gun firmly in her hands, she had to admit that
she did feel a little better, but not much.

“Remember what I taught you?” Richard
whispered, looking down at her gun.

As taught, she disengaged the magazine,
confirming its full capacity before reinserting it into the gun and
yanking back on the tiny slide to load the chamber.

“Good. Now stay here. I’ll let you know
before I come back in the room so you don’t shoot me.”

“You can’t go out there,” Tabitha protested
the plan.

“Just stay here.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“The rack could have just given way. I don’t
want the police showing up for faulty craftsmanship,” Richard
smiled.

Frustrated, “There was a man in our room,
Richard,” Tabitha insisted. “Why do you need the gun then?”

“I’m just going to check it out. If I see
anything, I’ll come right back. Okay?”

“No, it wasn’t okay,” she thought, but she
knew she wasn’t going to win.

“Just stay here,” he instructed for a third
time as he checked the mag. and chambered a bullet.

Tabitha didn’t respond as she watched her
husband slowly open the bedroom door and disappear into the dark
hall.

*****

Wondering what in the hell he was doing, but
proceeding onward anyway, Richard slowly advanced down the hall
toward the dimly lit staircase. As much as he wanted to believe
that the contractor, who’d already proven to be worthless, had
somehow failed in attaching the hanging rack properly, he couldn’t
shake the brief image of the shadowy figure at the end of the bed.
Though nowhere near large in stature, it had clearly been that of a
man, if it had even existed at all. Tabitha had a history of
awakening in the night and seeing things that weren’t there, though
usually it entailed reasonably harmless things like spiders and
snakes, never cover stealing, shadowy men.

Approaching the top of the stairs, he lifted
up onto his tip toes and leaned forward in an attempt to get a view
of the foyer without fully exposing himself to whatever potential
danger awaited below. Seeing no signs of movement in the dimly lit
space he proceeded forward.

Thankfully, if there was one thing the
contractor did do right, it was the stairs. They were probably the
most solid thing in the entire house with not one loose or squeaky
board. He was convinced that the house could be bulldozed, blown up
or burned down and still the stairs would remain standing.

Breathing a sigh at the end of his descent,
Richard took a step toward the arched entry into the living-room,
only to be greeted by a loud squeak from the wood floor beneath his
bare feet. Frozen by the sound, he wanted to curse but maintained
his cool as he shifted his weight to his other foot and slowly
stepped around the vocal, oak boards as he glanced around the
doorframe, into the equally dark living room. The kitchen was just
on the other side through another arched opening. He could have
turned in the opposite direction and taken the short hall through
the foyer, but that way was all wood flooring with many known noisy
spots. The living room was carpeted and squeak free, so he
continued on, gun drawn, hoping for nothing, but ready for
anything.

As he approached the other doorway, he
paused and listened.

Nothing.

His heart pounding, he caught himself
breathing heavy, potentially giving away his location to the man
who could be waiting on the other side of the very wall behind
which he currently stood. Taking a deep breath to quiet his lungs,
he silently counted to three before leaping through the doorway,
gun up and ready to fire at anything that moved.

The room was empty. The pots and pans, which
he’d seen only an hour ago, hanging over the island, were now
strewn about the kitchen floor. The rack that had been holding them
lay half on the counter top while the other half remained attached
to the ceiling overhead.

“Fucking idiot,” Richard huffed as he
flipped the light switch, thinking about all the other, even more
insulting names he was going to call the man responsible for this
mess.

Moving toward the island, looking up at the
two small holes overhead where the steel cables had fastened the
pot rack to the ceiling, he let out a sigh, placing the gun on the
counter as he knelt down to start picking up the scattered
cookware.

“It’s alright!” he shouted. “It was just the
god damned rack!”

“Are you sure?” Tabitha’s voice responded
faintly from upstairs.

“Yeah! I can’t believe this,” he continued,
though more in a tone beneficial to only his ears. “You pay over a
quarter of a million dollars to custom build a house and this is
what you get. We would have been better off—”

His rant interrupted by the sound of a pan
being kicked across the kitchen floor, Richard pivoted on his knee
just as the blade of a knife pierced his neck, splitting his tongue
and dislodging his eye as the tip came to rest within his right
socket.

*****

Standing in the bedroom doorway Tabitha listened as
the sound of a sliding pan, followed by a thud traveled up the
stairs and down the hall. “You okay?!” she yelled, this time
receiving no response as the clanking of more pans reached her
ears. “Likely Richard cleaning up the mess,” she thought as she
slid her gun into her pajama pant’s pocket and started toward the
stairs. “I’ll add it to the list of things to call the Coletti
Brothers about,” she spoke loudly as she began her decent to the
first floor. “I don’t think it’s going to do any good though.
They’ve already cashed the checks and even if they do come back
out, I doubt their second attempt is going to furnish any better
results,” she almost laughed in frustration as she flicked at the
light switch at the bottom of the stairs with no result. Looking up
at the lighting fixture hanging overhead she couldn’t help but
chuckle. “I think I can fix that one,” she eyed the dead bulbs just
as the remainder of the house went dark.

Looking around confused, Tabitha reached for
the switch again, flipping it up and down as if that single switch
was going to bring back power to the entire house. “I didn’t do
that!” she announced as she ran her hand around the end of the
railing and along the wall leading to the kitchen at the back of
the house. “There’s a flashlight in the drawer next to the
cupboard.”

Richard didn’t answer, but the sound of the
drawer, followed by a bright beam of light shining right in her
eyes told her that he’d been listening.

“Honey,” Tabitha complained, throwing her
hands up in front of her face just as she slammed her knee into the
decorative table along the wall. “Damn it.”

She didn’t need to see to know that her
favorite plant, an orchid that Richard had bought her the day
they’d moved into the house, was likely ruined as the sound of
shattering ceramic and dancing rocks filled the hall. “Shit! No!”
she whined, fighting the urge to drop to the floor to pick up the
beloved plant, but still unable to see with the beam of light still
aimed directly at her face. “Honey, please.”

The light turned off.

“You didn’t have to turn it off,” she
complained, the darkness seeming even more imposing as the effects
of the light still swirled in her vision. Slowly the dim, moonlit
hall came back into view but the shadow that had been her husband
no longer stood in the doorway ahead. “Richard? Richard, turn on
the light again. Where’d you go?” she remained hesitant to move,
afraid of cutting her feet on the shards of scattered pottery.
“Richard, I don’t have my slippers on. There’s ceramic everywhere.
Turn on the light.”