At last, he turned to a fresh page and, gripping the pen, carefully printed EDGEHARBOR. He stared at it a long time, then began scribbling in an erratic combination of print and script. Strange, even for this part of shore. Old. Turn-of-century buildings, but falling apart. Some sort ruined factory-type (?) structure near water. Cordoned off, near abandoned dock. Cannery? And tenement buildings middle of town, probably for workers. Empty now. He paused and read over his words. Marina other side of peninsula. Deserted pretty much. Looks like tried convert tourism. Too small for resort. No easy access from highway. Some cottages by sea. Small boardwalk but almost no beach. And the woods creep into the streets.
Snapping the notebook shut, he replaced all the wrinkled clippings, then tossed the folder aside and dug into the suitcase again. Articles in the thinner file had been drawn from much less reputable sources--supermarket tabloids, digest-size publications with titles like Strange Facts and Psychic Phenomenon--but even the underscored passages in these dog-eared pages he studied. Teenager Stirs Up Poltergeist Panic. Maryland's Bog Monster Unmasked. Finally, these too he put aside, suppressing a yawn.
From the bottom of the suitcase, he scooped up sheets of paper torn from a legal pad and gave a cursory glance to the rough charts. Feeling around in his jacket, he drew out a road map and hunched forward, spreading it across the bed and trying to smooth down the bunching wrinkles. The paper rattled loudly in his trembling hands. The map depicted most of south central New Jersey and part of the shoreline. Circles and X's in red ink pocked the pinelands region, clustering where the woods encroached on the shore. Edgeharbor. He studied the tapering wedge of the peninsula until his vision blurred. Enough. Laboriously, he refolded the map and tossed it on top of the papers. Won't find him on any map. He stacked the folders, carefully replacing everything in the case before shoving it back under the bed.
Just rest my eyes. Stagnant air lulled him. Just a little. The drowsy chill made him yearn to pull up the blankets, and he considered switching off the lamp, then threw one arm across his face and let a sudden flush of weariness take him. I miss her so much.
Wind rattled the window with a sound like ice cracking on a frozen river.
A brick wall blocked the street lamp, sinking the alley in darkness. Like a garish phantom, black and gray and orange, one ear tufted with white, the brute of a cat flicked in and out of the light. It stalked along the fence toward a spot where a snarl of dead weeds sprouted like straw through the concrete. Suddenly, the beast froze into taut stillness, only the tip of the tail twitching.
A grimy knot of life scuttled across the alley.
The cat trembled then burst forward, ripping into the tiny creature, lifting it and hurling it against the wall.
The mouse lay motionless. Already its life sapped away in agony. The cat inched closer, crouching, even the whipping of the tail stilled.
In a gray streak, the tiny rodent darted for the pile of debris. It left a mottled trail.
Leaping, the cat landed on the other side of the trash pile and halted again, ears flattened in consternation. The prey had vanished. A cardboard container lay on its side, slightly open at one end. The cat lowered its head quickly, but nothing moved. One paw struck loudly. Inside the container, something skittered. Then the claws began to dig in unison, shredding at the cardboard.
...car...soft roof...pretty...
The cat jerked its head up toward the wall.
...red dripping on the sand...
Instantly, the cat swelled, emitting a needle-toothed hiss. In terror, it fled for a hole in the fence.
It seemed he'd lain awake a long time, trying to recall the dream. Now, he moved his arm away and blinked without comprehension at a ceiling where amorphous shapes and vague colors swam. Across the room, the curtains had drifted apart: fathomless darkness rippled beyond the window. He sat up with a jerk that nearly sent him over the edge of the bed.
He checked his watch. Damn. Groping for the phone on the night table, he heaved to a sitting position. Almost missed it. Holding the phone in his lap, he stared intently at his watch as the second hand swung. Then he dialed a number, letting it ring twice. He hung up, waited a few seconds and then dialed again.
"I'm sure now." Breath clogged in his throat, and he spoke in a rush, without preamble. "We've got another one."
IV
Night boomed hollowly in the black spaces beneath the house. Propped on stilts like all the properties at the edge of the bay, the duplex faced out over the water, and years of salt spray had encrusted the support beams until they glistened like mica in the moonlight. The wooden slats of the stairs also glittered, as did the rail on the landing. Darkness filled the lower row of windows, but slivers of light pierced the curtains of the upper floor.
Inside, Kit grunted, twisting vigorously and listening to the wind. Just what is the temperature out there? The Franklin stove, which took up an entire side of her living room, gave off only sporadic warmth, and even above the sonata that poured from the CD player, she could still hear the windowpanes rattle. Would it be so awful if I stayed inside just one night? Illumination from a squat lamp glinted from the moisture beading the pane. Would I be fat by tomorrow or something? Bending far forward, she stretched. Sometimes I think I must be out of my mind.
Whatever. She stretched to the other side. No excuses. The glass doors behind her made up most of the living room wall, and she checked her form in the reflection. The night, dimly striped by the caps of waves, stirred beyond the small balcony, and the moaning wind created an eerie counterpoint to the music. She owned only classical CDs--Beethoven, Chopin, Mozart--a small collection, mostly piano sonatas, and although (to her continuing chagrin) she could barely tell most of them apart, she could almost always lose herself in their melodies.
She crouched, extending her thigh muscles, then the calves, trying not to let her vision stray to the glass doors. In the cramped apartment, any momentary lapse of concentration could result in seriously barked shins, even with the coffee table shoved up against the sofa and the ottoman pushed to one side so she could exercise. This was as cleared as the room ever got. Far too many heavy pieces of furniture, any single one of which was probably too large for the space, had been jammed into the apartment. Now go for it. Gritting her teeth, she tried for maximum extension in one leg, then the other.
A clammy dread closed on her.
...something watching...
Slowly, she straightened and turned to the balcony. Something massive moved out there, some hulking nightmare.
...no...
A gaze glittered at her from seven feet above the balcony. One of the eyes moved, became a fat droplet that slid down the door, glistening.
What's wrong with me? She stepped closer to the glass. Rolling blots marked the edges of the sea. There's nothing there. Often, she had considered that this view made her life endurable, but this winter the hushed whisper of the surf seemed only to intensify her constant unease. All of a sudden, I'm scared of reflections? She pulled a cord, and the drapes swung closed, leaving only a wedge of darkness at the center. Who did I think was that big anyway?