The Waiting: A Supernatural Thriller(59)

“You yell, I kill you and then your son, you understand me?”

The man’s voice was low and unsteady. It wavered as though he were shaking too, but Evan couldn’t feel any vibration through the barrel of the gun.

“Yes,” Evan said, his voice a sleep-filled croak.

The man leaned over him, and the pressure of the gun increased. He wondered if the intruder had changed his mind and would pull the trigger in the next second, sending him on to whatever waited. The bright thought of seeing Elle flared, extinguishing as he imagined Shaun waking to a single gunshot, frightened beyond anything he’d known before as a strange man entered his room to end his life. The worst part would be Shaun wouldn’t know what was happening or why. This thought kept Evan still, waiting for the man either to speak or to let down his guard enough for him to launch an attack.

“Where is it?”

So it was a robbery.

“What?” Evan said. The barrel pushed so hard against his cheek, his teeth ached.

“The clock, the f*cking clock,” the man said, his voice coming out in a rasp.

“Downstairs,” Evan said, readying to fling his hand up and roll his body at the same time.

The gun drew away, and the man stepped toward the door. Evan saw his arm reach out for the switch. Light flooded the room, and he found himself looking at a late-middle-aged Asian man with close-cropped dark hair. His eyes were narrowed against the glare of the sudden light, and his mouth was a hard line drawn at the bottom of his face. The revolver in his hand was so large, it seemed like a prop out of an action movie. Evan sat up, careful not to make any movements too fast.

“What do you want?”

The man’s mouth quivered. “I want to see it.”

“You can have it, as long as you don’t hurt my son.”

The man grimaced and stepped forward, leveling the gun at Evan’s forehead.

“What did you do to her?” he asked. A tear slid free of his left eye and caught the light before rolling out of sight under his jaw.

Evan brought his hands up to his shoulders and leaned back. “Who, who are you talking about?”

The man’s lips moved, but his teeth remained locked together. “Becky, my daughter. What did you do to her?”

Evan’s mouth dropped open, and he took in the likenesses of the man before him and the young PCA—the same color hair, the same cheek bones.

“I didn’t do anything to her.”

“Bullshit,” Becky’s father said, thrusting the handgun forward.

“I didn’t. When I came home, she was acting strange, and before I could talk to her, she left in the boat.”


Another tear traced the same course as the first one, and Becky’s father wiped it away. “She came home from here almost catatonic. She barely said hello and then threw up in the upstairs toilet. We put her to bed, and in the morning—” His voice rose like a roller coaster before the big drop. “I found her broken on our sidewalk. My baby girl, gone. Do you get that?” He tilted his head, as if speaking to Evan in another language. “Do you understand having someone ripped away from you for no reason?”

Yes, I do.

Evan remained quiet, still not knowing if the other man would pull the trigger or not.

“Please don’t hurt my son.”

Becky’s father blinked and licked his lower lip. “She left a note, but it didn’t explain anything, no reason why. But she must’ve been up all night writing, while my wife and I slept. She wrote ‘clock’ over and over and over on a piece of paper until there was no white left anywhere, only the word ground into it with ink.”

A cold clarity gripped Evan. He should agree with Becky’s father, tell him there was something wrong with the clock, that it was unnatural. He should go with him down to the basement to destroy it, and when Becky’s father wasn’t looking, take the gun from him and kill him.

Evan shook his head. No, he hadn’t just thought that. He didn’t want to hurt the man any more than he wanted Becky’s father to hurt them. The uncharacteristic blood thirst receded, and he gazed into the gun’s unblinking eye before looking at the man who held it.

“I’m sorry about your daughter, I really am. I called the hospital after she left to make sure she got home safe. I was worried but—”

But you were too fixated on the idea to really care, too enamored with Selena and— Evan closed his eyes, cutting the voice off mid-sentence. He spoke with slow care, his words metered out with the truth he felt. “I’m sorry, I can’t say how sorry I am, but I didn’t do anything to her.”

Becky’s father watched him with his dark eyes. “Get up,” he finally said, motioning toward the door with his gun.

Evan swallowed, hoping his legs would hold him. He stood and walked out of the room, Becky’s father following him. The surreal quality of the light and sensation of clinging sleep made him wonder if this all was a dream, a nightmare that was a little too real. They moved down the hall and across the living room. The darkness outside the window was thick.

The night will never end.

“Where’s the basement?” Becky’s father said.

“The door on the right,” Evan said, pointing.

“You first.”

Evan could smell the other man’s cologne or shaving cream, and pulled open the basement door. He flicked the light switch on and started down, hearing Becky’s father several steps behind. Panic still gripped him, but it was separate now, detached in a way that made him feel sleepy. He wanted only to go back to bed and lie down, pretend this all was a dream that would fade with the light of morning.