Nightwatcher (Nightwatcher #1)(78)

That isn’t true of most people.

Mama is fat and unattractive. That isn’t Jerry being mean. That’s a fact.

But there are lots of fat and unattractive people who aren’t ugly on the inside.

Mama isn’t one of them.

On days when Mama used to go with Jerry to get something to eat at the soup kitchen, Emily would try to talk to her, and she would just grunt in return.

Emily didn’t seem to mind. She was always cheerful, with a big smile on her face. The opposite of Mama. Maybe that’s why Jerry likes her so much.

He misses Emily. After he started working for her husband and moved to Hell’s Kitchen, he stopped seeing her because he doesn’t go to the soup kitchen where she volunteers.

Sometimes, he asks Mr. Reiss to say hello to Emily for him, but he wishes he could say it in person. One time, he asked Mr. Reiss if he could visit Emily at their apartment, but Mr. Reiss said he didn’t think that would be a good idea.

Jerry wishes he knew how to get back to the old neighborhood so that he could go see her at the soup kitchen.

Maybe Jamie will be able to tell him. Jamie knows everything.

Sometimes that makes Jerry feel like he doesn’t know anything at all.

He wanders around the apartment, wishing he could leave or that Jamie would come back. It’s hard to stay here for so long with nothing to do.

Coming to a stop in front of Mama’s closed bedroom door, he looks at it. Then he leans toward it, sniffs, and makes a face.

It smells really bad in there.

What if there are bugs and rats?

Rats wouldn’t fit through the crack under the door, but bugs would. What if they get out of Mama’s room and crawl over Jerry while he’s sleeping?

He shudders at the thought of that and reaches for the doorknob.

Whatever you do, Jerry, don’t open that door. Ever. Got it?

Jerry pulls his hand back, remembering his promise to Jamie.

But Jamie would never have to know. Jamie isn’t here.

All Jerry has to do is open the door, clean up the garbage in Mama’s room—there has to be garbage, because Mr. Reiss said garbage makes things smell bad—and then close the door again.

What if Jamie comes back while he’s in there, though?

What if Jamie gets mad the way Mama used to?

What if Jamie goes away, too, and Jerry is left all alone forever?

He shakes his head and walks away from the door, away from temptation.

“I’ll be good, Jamie. See? See how good I am?”

But of course Jamie can’t see, because Jamie isn’t here. And Jamie can’t hear him, either, yet Jerry keeps talking.

“Come back, Jamie. I don’t like to be alone at night.”

Suddenly remembering the way he used to hear Mama in her room sometimes, talking to no one, Jerry shuts his mouth abruptly.

A lot of people said Mama was crazy because sometimes she talked to herself, or to people who weren’t really there.

Mean kids—kids from the old neighborhood who called Jerry a retard—called her crazy.

Maybe she was crazy.

But Jerry isn’t a retard. And he isn’t crazy, either.

“Okay, then stop talking to yours—” Breaking off with a gasp, he claps a hand over his mouth. He’s talking to himself about talking to himself.

But there’s a difference between the way he talks to himself and the way Mama talked to . . . well, whoever it was that she thought she was talking to.

He knows he’s the only one here right now.

“Jerry?”

Startled, he exclaims, “Jamie! When did you get back?”

“Just now. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s all right. I’m so glad you’re back, Jamie. I didn’t know where you were, and I don’t like to be alone.”

“I know you don’t. But sometimes I have to go. You know I always come back, right?”

“I know. And Jamie, I listened to you. I didn’t go out while you were gone, and I didn’t open that door.”

“Good, Jerry. That’s good.”

Jerry smiles.

Things are so much better whenever Jamie is here.

The buzzing of the intercom by the door startles Allison just as she’s slipping the chef’s knife back under her pillow.

Her nerves were already on edge; the unexpected blast of noise causes her to lose her grip on the knife, and it clatters to the hardwood floor.

For a moment she just stands frozen, staring at the blade that landed just inches from her bare feet.

See? This was a bad idea.

She’d initially taken the knife out to put it back into the kitchen drawer. But in a moment of weakness, paranoia had gotten the best of her, and she had decided to keep it there. At least until the locks are changed.

Now, she picks up the knife and tosses it onto the comforter. She’ll figure it out later.

Heading into the living room to answer the intercom, she wonders who it can possibly be. As she told herself earlier, over at Mack’s apartment, killers don’t ring doorbells, so she’s probably safe.

But it’s not like she’s prone to drop-in company.

She presses the button and leans warily toward the intercom, irrationally envisioning something jumping out at her through the speaker. “Yes?”

“Um, hi. I’m looking for James MacKenna,” a female voice says.