The Dark at the End
SATURDAY Chapter 13
Dark had fallen extra early due to the storm. Jack debated turning on the mansion's lights. Would Rasalom be more comfortable entering a lighted house? Most definitely. Jack had done his best to leave everything looking as close as possible to the way he had found it - exactly was not an option. Would the lights increase the chances of Rasalom picking up telltale signs of his handiwork? Certainly, but only incrementally.
He decided in favor of lights, but only a few, judiciously chosen.
He made his final walk-through. Everything looked good. Had this been the original plan, and had he had time, he would have photographed every area before starting work, to make sure he'd returned it to its original condition. This was why he hated to improvise.
His phone rang. He checked the display: Weezy.
"Everything okay?"
"Well, no. The roads are bad and getting worse, but I made it."
"Then what - ?"
"This baby. I don't know what to do with him. How much - ?" A screech in the background. "Oh, God. He's awake. I gotta go."
The call ended. He closed his phone and checked the display: 6:35. He pulled out Georges's and Gilda's phones. He'd turned both off after sending the text messages. Now he turned on Gilda's for a quick look at the call history. Two missed calls in the past half hour, both from "Master." He powered hers down again and turned on Georges's. Four calls from "One." He resisted the impulse to listen to Rasalom's voice mails, which he assumed would ascend in irritation and anger as they progressed. Didn't want to risk Rasalom getting through. So he turned off that phone as well.
Yes, sir ... ol' Rasalom oughta be royally pissed by now.
He decided in favor of lights, but only a few, judiciously chosen.
He made his final walk-through. Everything looked good. Had this been the original plan, and had he had time, he would have photographed every area before starting work, to make sure he'd returned it to its original condition. This was why he hated to improvise.
His phone rang. He checked the display: Weezy.
"Everything okay?"
"Well, no. The roads are bad and getting worse, but I made it."
"Then what - ?"
"This baby. I don't know what to do with him. How much - ?" A screech in the background. "Oh, God. He's awake. I gotta go."
The call ended. He closed his phone and checked the display: 6:35. He pulled out Georges's and Gilda's phones. He'd turned both off after sending the text messages. Now he turned on Gilda's for a quick look at the call history. Two missed calls in the past half hour, both from "Master." He powered hers down again and turned on Georges's. Four calls from "One." He resisted the impulse to listen to Rasalom's voice mails, which he assumed would ascend in irritation and anger as they progressed. Didn't want to risk Rasalom getting through. So he turned off that phone as well.
Yes, sir ... ol' Rasalom oughta be royally pissed by now.
