The Bad Sister. Kevin O'Brien
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She glanced over her shoulder. Eden now had on an oversized V-neck T-shirt. She crawled into bed. She’d left the towel on the floor.
Hannah sighed and stirred under the thin bed sheet. More than anything, she just wanted to fall asleep, but she knew it was impossible. She held her tongue for another few minutes, but finally caved. “Y’know,” she said quietly. “I think we’re going to end up killing each other if one of us doesn’t find another place to live. You obviously aren’t crazy about Rachel. Well, I happen to like her—a lot. I want to stay. I’ve unpacked most of my stuff already. It can’t really matter to you where you live. Maybe at this orientation thing tomorrow, you can ask about relocating.”
There was no response. Then Eden let out a moan and a single snore.
Hannah couldn’t believe it. Was she actually asleep already? Her head had hit the pillow less than three minutes ago. Amazing. And in a strange, new bed, too.
Hannah sat up and gazed at her half-sister, dead to the world.
There was another crack of thunder, more distant and muffled this time.
Hannah glanced toward the window to see the lightning flash—which illuminated the garden next door for a second. She saw a man standing by the overgrown plot.
Her heart stopped. She wanted to scream, but couldn’t. She could hardly breathe.
It had happened so fast. She’d glimpsed him only in silhouette. But she could tell it was a man lurking out there in the rain—right by the spot where those girls were murdered.
With a shaky hand, she reached over and shook Eden. “Wake up!” she whispered. “There’s someone outside.”
Eden barely stirred. “What?” she murmured, her eyes still closed.
There was another flash of lightning. Hannah expected to see the man on the other side of the window, peering in at her through the bars.
But she saw no one—just the garden, so much like a little cemetery.
Eden let out another solitary snore and rolled over in bed.
Hannah grasped the bed sheet to her chest. She was afraid to move. She could feel her heart racing wildly. She hadn’t imagined the man. She knew he’d been out there in the downpour. But she couldn’t say for certain that he was peeping in at them. For all she knew, he could have just been walking by. Maybe he had a girlfriend in one of the bungalows, and he was meeting up with her in secret.
Hannah told herself that if she was going to sleep in a bedroom on the ground floor, she’d better get used to seeing people walk by at all hours. She settled back in bed and closed her eyes. She was being paranoid. There were bars on her window. The front door was locked and bolted, and Rachel had a bodyguard on call who was just five minutes away.
As much as she tried to calm down, Hannah knew it would be hours before she fell asleep tonight.
She opened her eyes and gazed at the window again.
She couldn’t help wondering if they put the bars up after the girls next door were murdered.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Friday, September 4, 2:35 A.M.
He wasn’t very impressed with the results.
The Sony compact RX100 had been featured in an online article about the best cameras for taking photographs underwater without a flash. He needed the camera for shooting at night. He thought it ironic that, with all the rain, he may as well have been underwater while using it earlier tonight.
The video looked murky once he watched it full-screen on his computer monitor. Of course, he’d videotaped the two half-sisters in their bedroom with the lights off. The bars on the window kept getting in the way. Still, he was able to zoom in on them: Hannah, in her flimsy pajama set, and Eden, naked except for her panties as she patted off the rain with a towel. She was completely nude as she changed into a V-neck T-shirt before slipping into bed. He captured some good full-frontal shots from that. Why couldn’t it have been Hannah?
He had better-quality video images of them in the well-lit living room, when Eden had come home from her night of prowling. He backed up the digital recording to watch it again. His eyes lingered on Hannah’s long, bare legs, and her breasts jiggling beneath the delicate pajama top. Watching the girls snap and snarl at each other amused him. But mostly, he was aroused.
One of the first things he’d done when he’d gotten back here to his home base was peel off all his rain-drenched clothes. Watching the video of the girls in various stages of undress had made him extremely horny. There was something so intimate about being naked, too. He couldn’t help playing with himself.
He sat at a long desk in the second-floor bedroom of a mostly empty, deserted-looking farmhouse. The place was a leaky, decaying dump. But the utilities were paid up, and that allowed him to keep all the outside cameras running. They were planted around the house—out in front, in the backyard, and one inside the tool shed. On the desktop he’d set up the computer, the monitors, and all his surveillance equipment.
The rain had died down. A cool breeze drifted through the bedroom’s open window. It felt delicious and slightly erotic against his bare, damp skin.
He didn’t want to think about what he still had to do tonight. The awful smell from down the hall had been a reminder—until he closed the bathroom door. Most of the ice in the tub had melted, and Riley’s body was starting to decay. Opening the bathroom window and spraying some air freshener in there had helped. But then it smelled like something rotting in a watermelon patch. So he’d lit a few candles while he’d set out the saw, knives, and plastic bags on the bathroom floor. He figured, with all the blood splattering, he’d be naked when he cut up the body; then he could just shower afterward. The burial spot he’d selected was a higher elevation in the woods, so it wouldn’t be too muddy. He figured on finishing up by dawn.
But he didn’t want to think about that now.
In the distance, he could hear a muffled barking. But he really had to concentrate and listen for it.
He looked at the monitor, the one picking up an image from the camera mounted near the ceiling of the little tool shed out back. Inside the cramped space, there would be enough room for a small table, a chair, and a cot. Right now, the shed was empty—except for the stray mutt he’d picked up the day before yesterday. It was a medium-size brown dog, part-retriever and part-something-else. The mutt hadn’t been wearing a collar. With a few Milk-Bone treats, it had been easy to lure him inside the car.
Also up near the ceiling in the shed were a microphone and a speaker. He’d tested the mic, and even standing on the chair, he couldn’t reach any of the equipment bracketed up there. The walls were soundproof. At least, he hoped so. It had taken the better part of a weekend to install all the damn panels.
On the desk in front of him, he pressed the sound button to the receiver box. With the volume turned up only to three, the restless mutt made a hell of a racket as it barked, paced around, and intermittently jumped up against the bolted door.
Switching off the receiver, all he heard was a faint echo of the barking. No one else would hear. The closest neighbor was nearly a mile away.
This test with the dog was a success. Now he knew. No one would hear any screaming.
Naked, he got to his feet and walked over to the window. He looked down at the shed at the edge of the patchy, neglected backyard. It stood near a tall, old maple tree with a tire swing hanging from one of the branches. The tire swayed in the wind.
No one would be looking for a missing girl in there.
In the morning, after he buried Riley, he would come back here and feed the dog. Then he would let it go.
But the girl taking its place wouldn’t be as lucky.
Once Sonny Boy murdered all the other holy sluts on his list, he would kill her, too.