The People Next Door (18 page)

Mick backed away, sidled left a few paces, and reapplied himself to another window. As before, it took a moment to get the
angle right, and then he seemed to have gone too far, to the end, where only the blank floor and a wall of empty shelves rose
above his sight line. Then he tilted his head to the right and saw a dining room table made up with four dishes, four cups,
four bundles of silverware, and then the chairs with the people sitting in them. The people were sitting perfectly still,
upright in the dark, and Mick almost shouted in surprise.

Mother, father, daughter, and son. Sitting less than ten feet away, facing one another across the table, heads bowed as if
in prayer. Dressed in loose dark clothing, they had looked like a pioneer family at supper, cabin dwellers sitting in the
dark as if caught in a storm, all out of candles, waiting for judgment and daylight to return. Except that the plates were
empty. The cups were empty. Their hands were under the table. And their faces, what little of them he had been able to make
out, were plain and without expression. Their shoulders did
not rise or shift, their chests did not expand, their mouths did not open or close. They had looked frozen in time, paused
like a video.

They’re not real. They’re models, dummies, props on a stage
.

He backed away slowly, too disturbed to linger. He backed up until he was standing on grass. No, no. He must have been mistaken.
What family sits like that in the middle of the night? He couldn’t just leave now. He needed to know. He needed a better look
at the man, to see if it was the same blond man who had been in the restaurant. He needed some clue as to who, or even what,
they were.

Be quick about it, then.

He glanced around as if he had lost something of value, then walked back to the window with his head down and came at it head
tilted at the now familiar angle. The dark, purple-hued glass came into view and his cheek pressed against the cold window.
He squinted, stood on his toes.

The table was there, the plates and glasses … but the chairs were empty. The people were gone. Nothing had been disturbed,
but they had vanished.

Like ghosts
.

His entire body went cold, the arctic chill from the glass seeping into his cheek and spreading. He stared in disbelief, willing
them to reappear so that he was not left to question his eyes and sanity, but his calves began to cramp and they did not come
back. He turned away from the window and started across the patio, watching the white stone under his bare feet, careful to
avoid tripping
over a planter or garden hose. The patio was clean, smooth as gymnasium floor. He looked up to the fence and stopped in his
tracks.

‘Aw, shit,’ he said, the words hissing from him like air from a slashed tire. All four of them were standing on the lawn, in
a close-knit line, watching him. The father was on the left, mother at far right, teen daughter and younger son in the middle.
Another six or seven paces and he would have walked right into the wall of them. Too dark to see their faces, their eyes.
They were motionless shadows. They said nothing.

Mick stood immobile for a moment, waiting for himself or any of them to break the stand-off. Various greetings presented themselves
in his mind, but all seemed impossibly naive now, the distance between them stagnant with his guilt. He was caught and he
almost wanted them to scold him, accuse him of something.

But still they did not move.

It was like standing before a pack of wild dogs. He sensed that to run now would only provoke them into pursuing him. Chasing
him down and then …

A purring, gurgling sound issued from one of them, and it was the sound of hunger, an empty belly.

‘Now?’ the girl said in a soft voice. ‘Is it going to happen now?’

The boy’s mouth fell open, a hot panting eagerness stirring him to life. He took one step forward, raising his arm, and the
rest of his family broke into stride.

Mick turned and ran. The grass wet his feet and he nearly slipped before springing up to the wall, scraping his toes and elbows
again as he flung himself over, landed in dirt, and scooped himself up from the field of open space to sprint the rest of
the way home. He imagined their footsteps scraping and bumping across the field behind him, flashes of their widening white
eyes as they pursued him. He nearly screamed when the motion detector tripped and he was exposed him in a prison yard’s glare.
He stumbled up the patio and banged his way into the kitchen.

He locked the door and leaned over, hands on knees. He backed into the dining room, watching the windows, expecting them to
press their white hands and featureless faces to the dark surfaces at any moment. The doorknob would start shaking, they would
pound on the glass until it broke. But a minute or two passed and they didn’t come.

What in the hell was that all about? What kind of people were they? What were they doing awake at this hour, sneaking up on
him in the yard? And what was he supposed to do now that they had seen him? They had to know where he lived now. This was
dumb, all of it a very dumb idea.

His feet were wet, dirty with grass clippings. He walked into the laundry room between the kitchen and mud room and found
a towel above the dryer. He wiped his feet and rubbed the other side of the towel over his face, threw it in the hamper.

He went back to the kitchen and peered over the
sink. The glare from the track lighting made it impossible to see outside, so he shut the lights off and returned to the sliding
glass door. The patio was clear, they weren’t on the lawn. He unlatched the sliding door, opening it a few inches. He stepped
out and surveyed the yard.

The entrance gate to the new place was still closed. For a few minutes there was nothing, and then he saw a figure walking
up the old Jenkins driveway. One body, not four. It was just a black shape, ambling along as if out for a stroll, but Mick
felt certain it was him, the sentinel, his rescuer, the man of the house. Mick lost him in the trees, and the seconds stretched
on into a minute, then two. He was beginning to think he was seeing things again when the dark shape moved through the tree
line again and came to a stop just short of Mick’s lawn.

Mick hesitated a moment, considered calling the police or waking Amy, but in the end decided he should handle this on his
own. He hurried down the hall to the master bedroom and retrieved the metal pipe from the walk-in closet for the second time
this week.

The rain had ceased and the night was warm and damp, silent but for the faint swish of tires on the Diagonal Highway a mile
away. Mick walked out onto the lawn, swinging the pipe at his side, squeezing the taped grip. He had lost the man’s position,
but he doubted the bastard had decided to drop his inquiry for the night. They were onto each other now. Whatever it was,
it was coming out tonight.

He turned, eyes tracing the sharp edges of the blue spruce and the taller cottonwood columns. The border seemed to zoom in
and out, and then he was there, a silhouette no more than twenty feet away, the face a pale oval above a faded blue shirt
and flat khaki pants. The hair was light, but he didn’t look like one of the shadow people who had been standing in the yard.
He looked like a younger, more handsome version of the average suburban dad. About Mick’s size, maybe an inch taller and leaning
forward with the poised inertia of a prisoner whose cell is about to be opened. Under the moon his eyes were silver demonic
coins.

In that moment, Mick knew this was the man, if a
man was all he was, who had saved his life. He fit Wisneski’s description and Mick could feel the connection in his bones.
He felt exposed again, his thoughts an open book to this stranger.

‘I guess it’s about time we met properly,’ the man said, stepping onto the lawn. His voice carried the same deep resonance
that had been echoing in Mick’s head since the accident. ‘Vincent Render. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for a long
time, Mick.’

Mick laid the pipe across his forearm. Vincent Render glanced at it but his expression remained neutral.

‘I realize this all must seem rather strange.’

‘Which part?’ Mick said. ‘The part about you following me or the part where I find you and your family sitting up in the middle
of the night like wax dummies?’

‘Wax dummies,’ Render said. ‘That’s what it looked like? I guess that makes sense. From your perspective. I’ve been thinking
about that a lot lately. Whatever you saw through the window, I guess we must look like monsters to you. But I promise, my
family and I only want to help you.’

‘Oh? With what?’

‘Everything. I know how hard things are right now. The living hell that you’ve been through the past three years. I’m a businessman
too, retired now, but I see what’s happening. Your restaurant, the problems with your accountant—’

‘My business is none of your business.’

Render bent and plucked a pine cone from the lawn. He gazed into it, then dropped it. ‘I’m afraid it is.’

‘And why would that be?’

‘Because we are bound by the same tragic circumstances. And neither of us is living the lives we are meant to live. We’re
both in a lot of trouble. There is a lot of bad … business in the air these days. But if we work together, we can turn bad
business into a very prosperous business, and so much more.’

‘Not interested,’ Mick said. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop following me and leave us alone. I am justified
in harming you right now, for being on my property, and don’t think I don’t want to.’

‘Understandable. But first let me ask you: What do you think of that house?’ Render angled and pointed one slender finger
at the behemoth in Mick’s backyard. ‘Honestly. It’s just a spec home, but with the right input on all the finishing touches,
it could really be something. What do you think?’

Mick snorted. ‘I think it’s an assault on good taste and common decency. If I had it my way, I’d burn it to the ground.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Render said. ‘Because I built it for you, Mick. For you and your family.’

Surprise, for about half a second. Then Mick realized the man was being a smart-ass, taunting him. He waded forward and raised
the pipe.

‘The others are dead,’ Render said, not flinching.

Against his better judgment, Mick hesitated. ‘What others?’

‘The families.’

‘What—’

‘You know what families,’ Render said. ‘You know everything.’

‘No, I really don’t.’

They want to be your friends, but they aren’t anybody’s friends
, the dead Roger had said.
They will do anything to get what they want. They use other people, make them do horrible things
.

‘Three years ago,’ Render said. ‘Up until three years ago, everything was normal. It was let the good times roll. But then
it happened. And now there is a price. That’s what I’m saying, Mick. There was a price for all of them and they refused to
pay it and now those other families are dead. You
know
.’

‘I know you’re insane,’ Mick said.

Render took another step closer. ‘No, I am wealthy. Obscenely wealthy. You’re right about one thing, though. I have been following
you. I’m in your dreams and in your life, because you have something I want. Something I want very badly, Mick. It’s really
that simple. My family and I would like to be your friends, the best kind of friends. They have already begun to form their
own bonds. Our wives and the kids. There is a foundation there I hope you and I can build upon. But if that is not possible,
at a fundamental level, I’m talking about a business transaction. A life-changing transaction that will hurt neither of us
and benefit both of us. What could be easier than that?’

‘Killing people.’

Render bobbed his head. ‘Oooo-kay. What does that mean?’

‘That’s what you’re into,’ Mick said. ‘Roger and Bonnie on the lake. You’re either trying to implicate me in something or
do something worse, and you think you can buy my silence. What are you, mob? Russian hitman? Hedge-fund owner?’

‘No, Mick, but what if I was?’ Render smiled and ran a hand over his sleeve, watching his pale hand in the moonlight. ‘What
are you going to do? Call the police?’

‘If this doesn’t stop, absolutely. I have friends in the department.’

‘Terry Fielding,’ Render said. ‘Yes, how is that fellow
holding up these days? Have you seen him? I wonder, why hasn’t he been by to visit you lately?’

‘As a matter of fact—’

‘He’s dead too,’ Render said. ‘You’re running out of friends, Mick, so if you plan to call another one, you’d better do it
soon.’

‘What did you do to Terry?’

‘Me? Little ol’ me?’ Render pretended to be insulted. His playful game of suggestion and innuendo was beginning to remind
Mick of Max Cady in
Cape Fear
. ‘What in the world would I want to go and hurt a police officer for?’

‘To stall the investigation,’ Mick said.

‘And what investigation would that be?’ Render cupped his ear to the night. ‘Do you hear the hoofbeat of cavalry approaching?
All I can hear is a dull ringing silence. We have each other, Mick. You are all I need. What reason would you have for calling
upon outside forces? We’ve barely gotten to know each other. Don’t
you think we should find out how we can help each other before we turn each other in?’

Mick opened his mouth to speak, but the words died on his dry tongue. For the first time it struck him this man really had
something on him.

Render seized on his silence. ‘It is a vicious world and we live in vicious times. I know why things are the way they are.
I know why the others come, preying on you. They are out there right now. They have a nose for weakness, and they will keep
coming for you and things will only get messier unless you allow me to help you.’

‘I don’t want your help,’ Mick said.

‘You will never have to work again. Money will no longer matter. Your family will be taken care of, for life. That house you
despise because you’re too fucking weak to stand up and take it from me, will be your house, in title and deed, and there
will never be another mortgage payment. All of your worries, your wife’s worries, her weight, her threatening students, Briela’s
tantrums, Kyle’s running afoul of the law to find the proper social niche – all that will be taken care of. Save your restaurant,
open a new one, or turn it into an ashram. But no matter what, the past three years? The years you have spent watching your
life circle the drain? If you work with me, Mick, they never happened.’

Mick stared at his neighbor for a long time. He felt lost, more alone than he had ever been, a man dropped off on an alien
planet, staring up at the sky, trying to understand how his fellow man could leave him here,
how the world could go on without him. And this stranger was threatening what was left of his existence.

‘Last warning,’ Mick said, shaking with bottled rage. ‘Stay away from my family or I will kill you.’

‘Oh, but that’s what you don’t understand, Mick,’ Render said. ‘I’m already a dead man. My family lives … or dies … with you.’

Before Mick could respond, his neighbor turned and disappeared into the trees.