Nightwatcher (Nightwatcher #1)(86)

He turns on a lamp, recognizes both the familiar living room and the sounds that woke him: sirens and another fighter plane flying over the city. He doesn’t like the sound of the fighter planes any more than he likes the sirens. The planes remind him of what happened downtown, when the bad guys knocked down the towers.

Jerry wonders how anyone is supposed to punish them for what they did, when they’re already dead. They wanted to be dead. Jerry heard that on TV.

He thinks about Kristina, and he thinks about Marianne.

They probably didn’t want to be dead, but they both did bad things. Not as bad as flying airplanes into buildings, but bad. Jamie says it doesn’t matter whether you hurt one person or thousands of people. You still have to be punished.

Jerry stretches and yawns, wondering what time it is. The last thing he remembers is sitting on the couch, waiting for Jamie.

It feels late. Jamie isn’t back yet, though.

Outside, the plane’s buzzing has died away, but sirens are still wailing in the night. No, he doesn’t like that sound. He never has. For as long as he can remember, whenever he hears sirens, or sees an ambulance rushing past with the red lights spinning, he gets a bad feeling inside.

Jamie said that’s because of what happened to him years ago, when Mama hurt his head. Sometimes, Jerry wonders why no one ever punished Mama for what she did to him. Maybe someone should. Maybe Jamie should.

But Jamie keeps telling Jerry not to worry about Mama because she’s gone, so he tries not to.

Jerry gets up and walks around the apartment, around and around. He walks past Mama’s closed bedroom door a few times, and then he comes back and stops there.

He has to do something about the smell.

He doesn’t like bugs. Bugs scare him. If bugs come out of Mama’s room because it’s dirty . . .

No. That can’t happen.

Jerry won’t let it happen. He won’t. He just won’t.

Fretting, he walks away from the door, wondering what to do.

Jamie doesn’t want him to do anything, but Jamie doesn’t understand about not liking bugs, being afraid of bugs. Jamie isn’t afraid of anything.

Well, I am. I can’t help it. I was mostly afraid of Mama, but she’s gone. Now I’m just afraid of bugs. If bugs were gone, I wouldn’t have anything to be afraid of. Every day, I could just be happy.

Jerry would be even happier if Jamie would let him go out of the house.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Mr. Reiss will call, and Jamie will say it’s okay to go back to work, instead of being stuck here alone with the smell and the bugs and no cake.

Then everything would be back to normal.

Jerry walks back over to the door and checks to make sure there are no bugs crawling out from underneath it.

There aren’t.

Still, he should check.

Shouldn’t he?

He reaches for the knob.

He turns it.

The door is locked.

But Jerry has a key.

He likes keys.

He goes over to the drawer where he keeps them, and he opens it and takes out his big key ring. He jingles it a little, because he likes the sound the keys make when they bump against each other. If you only have a few keys, they don’t make much sound. But if you have lots of keys, like Jerry does, they make a nice, loud sound.

It takes him a few seconds to find the right key—the key to Mama’s bedroom door.

There it is.

He holds it for a long time, looking at it and wondering what to do. He doesn’t want to disobey Jamie. But Jamie doesn’t understand what it’s like to be stuck here, alone and afraid of what might crawl out from under the bedroom door. In fact, this whole thing is Jamie’s fault. Jamie told Jerry not to leave, and then disappeared. That’s not fair. Thinking about it makes Jerry mad.

Frowning, he marches over to the door and fits the key into the lock.

Jamie will never have to know.

Jerry turns the key, and the door unlocks.

He turns the knob, pulls on it, and the door opens.

The smell is overpowering, and he wants to close the door, but he can’t, because he has to clean up.

He opens the door wider and the light from the living room falls across the floor and the bed, and he realizes that Jamie is a liar.

Mama isn’t gone. She’s right here.

Jerry can see her lying there under the bedspread, with her long brown hair spread out around her head . . . so much hair that it covers the whole pillowcase.

“Mama?” Jerry whispers.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t answer.

“Mama?”

He steps closer, close enough to see that it isn’t her hair covering the pillowcase. It’s a dark brown stain. And her face . . .

Jerry opens his mouth and screams.

“Finally—a lucky break,” Rocky announces, and pulls up at the curb in front of an Italian deli where he’s been a regular for years.

“What are you talking about?” Brandewyne asks.

“Murph and I have been coming here for years. It’s about time this place opened again. It’s been closed since Tuesday.”

“Just like everything else. I thought you meant a break in the case.”

“Hey, I’ll take what I can get. Coming in?”

“Nah.” Brandewyne is already climbing out of the car, but she’s lighting a cigarette.