intoxicated him, and he longed for it was an alcoholic longed for the
bottle. Not least of all, the mindless hostility of the world toward
his blessed mother motivated him to kill more often. Sometimes it
seemed that virtually everyone was against her, scheming to harm her
physically or to take money that was rightfully hers. She had no dearth
of enemies. He remembered days when fear oppressed her; then at her
direction all the blinds and drapes were drawn, the doors locked and
sometimes even barricaded with chairs and other furniture, against the
onslaught of adversaries who never came but who might have. On those
bad days she became despondent and told him that so many people were out
to hurt her that even he could not protect her forever. When he begged
her to turn him loose, she refused and only said,
“It’s useless.” Then, as now, he tried to supplement the approved
murders with his forays into the canyons in search of small animals But
those blood feasts, rich as they sometimes were, never quenched his
thirst as thoroughly as when the vessel was human.
Saddened by too many memories, Candy rose from the rocking chair and
nervously paced the room. The blinds were drawn as he glanced with
increasing interest at the night beyond the window.
After failing to catch Frank and the stranger who had telaported into
the backyard with him, after the confrontation with Violet had taken
that unexpected turn and left him filled with undissipated rage, he was
smoldering, hot to kill, but in need of a target. With no enemy of the
family in sight, he would have to slaughter either innocent people or
the small creature that lived in the canyons. The problem was-he
dreaded evoking his sainted mother’s disappointment, up there in heaven
yet he had no appetite for the blood of timid beasts.
His frustration and need built by the minute. He knew he was going to
do something he would later regret, something that would make Roselle
turn her face from him for a time Then, just when he felt he might
explode, he was saved by the intrusion of a genuine enemy.
A hand touched the back of his head.
He whirled around, feeling the hand withdraw as he turned. It had been
a phantom hand. No one was there.
But he knew it was the same presence that he had sensed in the canyon
last night. Someone out there, not of the Pollard family, had psychic
ability of his own, and the very fact that Roselle was not his mother
made him an enemy to be found and eliminated. The same person had
visited Candy several times earlier in the afternoon, reaching out
tentatively, probing at him but not making full contact.
Candy returned to the rocking chair. If a real enemy is going to put in
an appearance, it would be worth waiting for him.
A few minutes later, he felt the touch again. Light, hesitant, quickly
withdrawn.
He smiled. He started rocking. He even hummed softly- one of his
mother’s favorite songs.
Banking the coals of rage eventually made them burn brighter. By the
time the shy visitor grew bolder, the fire would be white hot, and the
flames would consume him.
AT TEN minutes to seven, the doorbell rang. Felina Karaghiosis did not
hear it, of course. But each room of the house had a small red signal
lamp in one corner or another, and she could not miss the flashing light
that was activated by the bell.
She went into the foyer and looked through the sidelight next to the
front door. When she saw Alice Kasper, a neighbor from three doors down
the street, she switched off the dead bolt, removed the security chain
from its slot, and let her in.
“Hi, kid. How ya doing’?”
I like your hair, Felina signed.
“Do ya really? Just got it cut, and the girl said that I was the same
old same old, or did I want to catch up with the time and I thought what
the hell. I’m not too old to be sexy, ya think?”
Alice was only thirty-three, five years older than Felina. She had