Khalil nodded. “You should get a better bandage. And you should go see a doctor.”
“Yeah,” Sandy agreed, “You’re right. It could get infected or something.”
He turned the corner onto Topaz Court.
“We must find a way to kill them,” Khalil said.
“Yeah,” Sandy agreed, “But what? Smith shot one, we drove a stake through one’s heart, you hit it with a fuckin’ axe, and it didn’t even care. What the hell else is there?”
Khalil considered that for a long moment, and Sandy pulled up into the driveway at 706.
“Perhaps fire?” Khalil suggested, as he opened his door. “They say that fire purifies, no?”
Sandy stared at him. “That’s a great idea,” he said.
Khalil shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
Sandy smiled. “No, it’s great. Yeah, burn them – like witches.” A thought struck him. “Hey!” he said, “Where can I get hold of you?”
Khalil paused. “Oh?”
“Where can I get hold of you?” Sandy repeated. “We need to stick together, you and me and the others who know about those things.”
“Ah,” Khalil said. He fished a wallet out of his pocket and pulled out an old newspaper clipping. “You have a pen?”
Sandy found one in the glove compartment, and tore a piece off a 1973 map of New York State to write down his own phone number.
They solemnly exchanged notes and pocketed them.
Then Khalil crossed to his own car, an ’84 Pontiac, got in and started the engine, while Sandy pulled back out into the street.
He drove away, heading back to his borrowed apartment, while Khalil made a three-point turn in the street.
At the corner of Barrett Road Khalil glimpsed Sandy’s black Mercury far off to the right, but his own route home took him in the other direction.
He turned left and drove home.
8.
Amber Crescent is near the southeastern corner of Diamond Park, Maryland. It runs west from Southfield Road, then turns south, then turns west again, and ends in a circle. In the center of the circle is a grassy area, and along one side of the grass stands a row of four Bradford pear trees. Forty-two houses, on quarter-acre lots, line the street, comfortable, moderate-sized houses built in the mid-1970s. The Devanoy family lived at 19036, on the south side just before the circle.
The Samaan family lived at 19017 Amber Crescent.
Hanna Samaan began worrying when her son Elias wasn’t home for Sunday dinner, but he’d missed dinner before, so she didn’t say anything to her husband. He was nursing a hangover, and in no mood to be bothered with such things.
Joe Samaan went to bed early, in hopes of feeling better by the time he had to leave for work in the morning. He hadn’t really noticed Elias’s absence.
Hanna sat up and waited.
It was almost midnight when the front door opened quietly, and she saw Elias’s familiar face peer in.
“Mom?” he said, “What are you still doing up?” His voice was oddly high-pitched – in fact, it sounded more like a woman’s voice. She’d thought he was well past that stage, and settled in with an adult tenor, but she guessed she’d been wrong – or maybe he’d been drinking or something.
“Waiting for you,” she snapped.
“You didn’t have to do that!” Something was definitely peculiar about his voice.
“Well, I did it,” she pointed out. “It’s about time you got home! I was worried!”
“Hey, I’m fine,” Elias said. “Oh, and I brought some friends with me – they’d just like to come in for a bite.”
Hanna wavered, thinking she really should order these friends, whoever they were, out – Elias had no business bringing anyone in at this hour! “One of them’s Bill Goodwin,” Elias said. “I don’t think you’ve met the other.”
Hanna knew Bill Goodwin, and considered him a good friend for her son to have. He was polite and helpful and showed no signs of drug use or thuggery, even if he did like that awful heavy metal music and spend an awful lot of time working on his car. She gave in.
“All right,” she said, “Bring them in.”
Elias stepped in. His clothes were a mess, dirty and even torn in places, she noticed, and she wondered what on Earth he’d been up to.
Not just dirty, filthy; and was that a bloodstain on his shirt?
Behind Elias, Bill Goodwin leaned around the door. “Hi, Mrs. Samaan!” he called.
Then the third one came in, the one in the slouch hat.
She stared at him, astonished.
“Hallowe’en isn’t for months yet!” she said.
Elias and Bill exchanged glances, smiling tight-lipped little smiles, smiles that could be called smirks. She noticed that Bill had a bandage on his neck, a rather large one, and his color wasn’t good. She blinked. Had the boys been up to something? That third one in the fright mask and the silly hat – she didn’t like it.
It was a very good mask, too. It looked almost real.
“Mrs. Samaan,” Bill said, stepping forward, “It’s great to see you, it really is.”
He smiled. “Let me give you a kiss.”
Chapter Seven:
Monday, August 7th
1.
Bright and early Monday morning, Annie McGowan called up the Montgomery County police, and explained to the desk sergeant who took her call that someone had taken her sister-in-law’s place, and was living in Kate’s apartment, pretending to be Kate.
Yes, it looked like Kate, Annie agreed, but there was no doubt at all – it was not Kate. The imposter couldn’t knit, didn’t recognize a word of the little secret language the two of them used to have, didn’t remember anything about Kate’s dead brother, Annie’s husband – not even his name.
The sergeant referred her to a lieutenant, who, upon hearing the addresses involved, transferred her to a Lieutenant Buckley, who listened to the entire story without comment.
When she had finished, he sighed. “Mrs. McGowan,” he said, “I’ll tell you honestly, it sounds to me like your sister might have had a stroke or something, or maybe she’s got Alzheimer’s – isn’t that more likely than an imposter taking her place?”
“Likely or not, that thing’s not Kate,” Annie insisted.
“That thing? Come on, now, Mrs. McGowan!”
Annie realized her mistake; she would never convince anyone over the phone that the imposter wasn’t even human. “I’m sorry,” she said, “It’s just so upsetting to have someone there pretending to be her, when it isn’t really her at all!”
The lieutenant made a vague noise that might have indicated sympathetic agreement – or might have indicated only that he didn’t want to think about this nonsense. “I’m sure it is, Mrs. McGowan. Listen, I’ll send out one of my officers and a police psychiatrist, and you can go along with them to talk to your sister-in-law, and we’ll see if we can’t get this all straightened out.”
“A psychiatrist?” she asked doubtfully. Did this lieutenant think she was crazy? “Certainly,” Buckley said. “You don’t think that someone who would try to take your sister’s place is completely normal, do you?”
Slightly relieved, Annie had to concede that he had a point. She had been thinking the psychiatrist was intended to keep an eye on her, not on the false Kate.
Of course, in point of fact, she guessed that the psychiatrist would be watching both of them. The police didn’t know anything about her, and really, it was reasonable enough to doubt her story. “All right,” she said, “When should I expect them?”
There was a pause, and she could almost see the lieutenant glancing at a clock somewhere. “About ten-thirty, I’d say,” came the reply. “Does that suit you?”