Last to Die

Jack Swyteck Book Three

James Grippando

At last, the old house was quiet. Sally Fenning sat alone at her kitchen table, three stacks of bills before her - due, overdue, and hopeless.

She didn't know where to start. Tonight's tips had been pathetic, hardly worth the aggravation of being a waitress. Waitress actually dignified what she did, slogging pitchers of beer and platters of spicy chicken wings to drunk tourists who grabbed an eyeful of T&A with every move she made. In her flimsy nylon jogging shorts and skintight tank top with the plunging neckline, she sometimes felt as though she might as well be dancing naked on tables. At least the pay wouldn't suck.

She pitched the telephone cancellation notice into the trash. They always sent two before actually cutting off service.

Things hadn't always been this bad. She and her husband once owned a little Italian restaurant in Miami Shores, found success, expanded, and promptly fell on their faces. Don't mess with a good thing, was her take on expansion. But Mike was hell-bent on growth, dead-certain that they'd be selling franchises in five years. They used personal credit cards to finance the build-out, suckered by those low introductory rates that lasted six months, followed by a rate so high that your calculator overheats when you compute what you're paying over the life of the loan. The paint on the walls was barely dry when a no-name tropical storm slammed into their shopping strip and sent their red-and-white-checkered tablecloths floating into the parking lot. No flood insurance. The restaurant never reopened. Three years later her husband was working two jobs and she was a Hooters Girl, hardly a dent made in the principal balance on their restaurant debt.

Some people said she had no pride. But she had too much pride - too much to just throw in the towel and file for bankruptcy.

Mommeeeeee, came the little voice from the bedroom at the end of the hall. Their four-year-old daughter was not a great sleeper, and calling out for Mommy at midnight was becoming routine.

She looked up from her check ledger but didn't move from her chair. Katherine, go to sleep, please.

But I want a story.

She hesitated. It was late, but working till eleven o'clock, five nights a week, didn't allow her the luxury of putting her child to bed. That was Mike's job, before he headed out for the eight-to-midnight shift as a security guard, or his mother's, who was good enough to come over every night and watch television while Katherine slept, filling the gap between the time Mike left for his second job and Sally came home from hers. The thought of reading to her daughter made Sally's heart melt. She rose from the table and went to the bedroom.

All right. One story.

Yeah!

But then you have to go to sleep. Promise?

Promise.

She slid into the bed beside Katherine, her back against the head-board. Her daughter nuzzled close to her. What story do you want?

This one, the little girl said as she took the book from the nightstand.

Where the Wild Things Are, said Sally, reading the title. She knew it well, the story of a little boy whose imagination transforms his bedroom into a scary place where he must confront an island filled with monsters and become their ruler. Sally remembered how her own mother used to read the same story to her when she was going through her nightmare stage as a little girl. Twenty years later, the message was the same: Fear is all in your head.

Are you still having nightmares, sweetheart?

Mmmm hmmm.

Why?

Scared.

What are you scared of?

Monster.

There are no monsters.

Yes, over there, she said, pointing toward the drapes that covered the sliding glass door.

No, honey. There are no monsters out there.

Uh-huh, for real.

Come on. Let's read the story.

Sally felt her daughter's face press against her heart as she read aloud. She gave each monster its own voice, not too scary, so as not to frighten Katherine. She was asleep before the little boy named Max made it back from the faraway island to the safety of his own room. Sally quietly slid out of bed, kissed Katherine on the forehead, and tiptoed out of the room.

Back to the bills. Greenleaf Financing. That was a beauty. Two thousand dollars' worth of computer equipment and restaurant software that they'd leased over a five-year period for total payments of twenty-eight thousand dollars. What a deal.

Mommy. It was another call from the bedroom.

What is it, honey?

Scared. There's monsters.

She pushed away from the kitchen table and went to the bedroom, but she stopped short in the doorway, refusing to let herself be manipulated into coming inside. There's no such thing as monsters.

But, Mommy -

It's time to go to sleep.

Can you leave the light on?

I'll leave the hall light on.

Thank you, Mommy. You the best.

It was hard to be firm with someone who told you you're the best and truly believed it. She smiled and said, Good night. I love you.

I love you, too.

She returned to the kitchen, but she didn't have the stomach to go back to those stacks of bills. The rent was due, and Lord only knew where that was going to come from. Renting a house instead of an apartment was an extravagance in their financial straits, even if it was a dumpy old two-bedroom/one-bath that any builder would have considered a tear-down. But Sally had grown up in an apartment, no yard, no privacy, no chimney for Santa to climb down on Christmas Eve. Katherine deserved better, even if it meant forcing the landlord to throw them out on the street.

She opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice.

Mommy, I want something to drink.

Sally turned, but Katherine wasn't there. She was still in bed. That girl has ESP. Go to sleep, baby.

But, Mommy, please. I didn't see you all day.

That got to her, tapping straight into a working mother's guilt. One last time, she went to her daughter and sat on the edge of the bed. The light from the hallway was just enough to reveal the fear in her eyes.

Are you still scared?

Katherine nodded.

Sally felt her forehead. It was clammy with sweat but not from fever. She was just overheated from lying in bed with the covers pulled over her head. Why are you so afraid?

The monster.

If I lie down with you for a little while, will you go to sleep?

I want to sleep in your room. Just till Daddy comes home.

Honey, you're a big girl now. This is your room.

But the monster.

There is no monster.

You sure?

I'm positive.

You look, please?

She sighed, exasperated. Yes, I'll look. She got down and checked under the bed. Nothing under here.

No, no. Over there. She was pointing toward the drapes again, the ones that covered the sliding glass door.

Sally hesitated. Even in the dim lighting she could make out the playful pink images of birds, rabbits, and other nursery-rhyme animals that danced across the balloon draperies. Hardly the stuff of a monster's cloak, but her heart still fluttered. The fear in her daughter's eyes seemed so genuine.

There's no monster.

Go check, Mommy. Please.

She looked harder this time. Strange, but she found herself wondering if the rabbit was in the same place it had been a minute ago, or if it had moved. It seemed that it was no longer lined up with the little yellow duck on the other panel. She thought her eyes were playing tricks, until she saw it again.

That rabbit moved. Ever so slightly, it had definitely moved.

The air conditioner clicked off, and the knot in her belly loosened as the draperies settled back into place. The cool draft from the air conditioner had evidently caught the pleats, causing the subtle shift. No monsters.

Will you, Mommy?

Will I what?

Look for the monster.

Okay. I'll check.

She didn't move.

Mommy, go.

She suddenly felt foolish. She had actually considered switching on the lamp, then chided herself for even thinking about doing something that might convey her own irrational fear to her daughter. All this talk of monsters was actually getting to her, making her feel alone, making her realize how defenseless they really were, how vulnerable they might be, separated from the outside world and everyone in it by a flimsy lock and a mere pane of glass.

Stop it. She started across the room, one step at a time. It seemed to be taking forever. She was taking half steps, she realized, another sign of fear.

This is crazy.

Finally, she made it. She glanced back toward the bed and saw Katherine peering out from beneath the blanket, all but her eyes and the top of her head hidden. Sally's pulse quickened as she reached out and gently pinched the fabric's edge between her thumb and index finger, getting no closer to the sliding glass door than was absolutely necessary. Katherine ducked beneath the covers. Sally drew a deep breath. In a slow, tentative motion she pulled back the panel.

Nothing.

See, said Sally. I told you. No monsters.

Katherine was still hiding beneath the covers. In a muffled voice she said, The other end. Check the other end, too.

Sally hesitated. She wasn't sure if it was instinct or paranoia that was telling her not to go there, but she couldn't let Katherine see her silly fears. She took a half step, then another, moving closer to the draperies' edge - the far edge where that bunny had moved.

Careful, Mommy.

There's nothing to worry about, sweetheart. She didn't like the sound of her own voice. It was as if she were trying to convince herself.

Her gaze drifted across the draperies, a happy portrait of dancing ducks and singing birds. Finally, her eyes locked on the bunny, and she waited. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, exactly, just movement of any kind. But she knew that if you stared at anything long enough it would seem to move, the way stars seem to swirl in the night sky if you lie on your back and stare up long enough. Still, she couldn't tear her eyes away. The bunny was motionless, and then it happened. Maybe it was an illusion, like swirling stars, but the bunny's chest seemed to swell and then shrink. It was as if it were breathing.

As if something behind it had just taken a breath.

Is it okay, Mommy?

On impulse, she grabbed the cord and pulled. The drapes flew open, and she froze. She was staring at her own faint reflection in the sliding glass door. Behind her, in the bed, Katherine's head emerged from beneath the covers.

Sally gave her own fears a moment to subside, then tried to play it cool. See. I told you there were no mon -

The closet door burst open, and from the corner of her eye Sally saw a blur in the darkness coming toward her. She heard her own scream and then her daughter's cry. Mommy!

The blur hit her full speed and broadside, smashing her against the wall. She turned and let her fist fly with all her might, but it was all too quick, and he was far too strong. A blow to her belly took her breath away. Her head snapped back as the attacker grabbed her by the hair. She clawed at his face with her nails, but it was covered with a nylon stocking. Her body twisted, her daughter screamed, and Sally's eyes widened as she saw the shiny blade glisten in the stream of light from the hallway. It was coming toward her, as if in slow motion, but she felt powerless to stop it. She twisted once more, a futile effort to escape.

Her blouse came up, and she watched the blade disappear as the man's fist met her flesh.

She screamed and fell to the floor, gasping for air, trying to stop the hot, wet river of pain that was flowing from the hole below her ribs.

Blood. So much blood.

Mommy, Mommy!