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Pocket Books
April 2005
Featuring: Jean Sheridan; Sam Deegan
464 pages
ISBN: 074341263X
Paperback (reprint)
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Chapter One
It was the third time in a month he had come to Los
Angeles to observe her daily activities. "I know your
comings and goings," he whispered as he waited in the pool
house. It was one minute of seven. The morning sun was
filtering through the trees, causing the waterfall that
spilled into the pool to sparkle and shimmer.
He wondered if Alison could sense that she had only one
minute more of life on earth. Did she have an uneasy
feeling, perhaps a subconscious urge to skip her swim this
morning? Even if she did, it wouldn't do her any good. It
was too late.
The sliding glass door opened, and she stepped onto the
patio. Thirty-eight years old, she was infinitely more
attractive than she had been twenty years ago. Her body,
tanned and sleek, looked good in the bikini. Her hair, now
honey blond, framed and softened her sharp chin.
She tossed the towel she was carrying onto a lounge chair.
The blinding anger that had been simmering inside him
escalated into rage, but then, just as quickly, was
replaced by the satisfaction of knowing what he was about
to do. He had seen an interview in which a daredevil stunt
diver swore that the moment before he began to dive,
knowing that he was risking his life, was an indescribable
thrill, a sensation he needed to repeat over and over
again.
For me it's different, he thought. The moment before I
reveal myself to them is what gives me the thrill. I know
they're going to die, and when they see me, they know,
too. They understand what I am going to do to them.
Alison stepped onto the diving board and stretched. He
watched as she bounced softly, testing the board, then
positioned her arms in front ofher.
He opened the door of the pool house just as her feet
lifted from the board. He wanted her to see him when she
was in midair. Just before she hit the water. He wanted
her to understand how vulnerable she was.
In that split second, their eyes locked. He caught her
expression as she plunged into the water. She was
terrified, aware that she was incapable of flight.
He was in the pool before she had surfaced. He hugged her
against his chest, laughing as she flailed about, kicking
her feet. How foolish she was. She should simply accept
the inevitable. "You're going to die," he whispered, his
voice calm, even.
Her hair was in his face, blinding him. Impatiently he
shook it away. He didn't want to be distracted from the
pleasure of feeling her struggle.
The end was coming. In her craving for breath, she had
opened her mouth and was gulping water. He felt her final
frantic effort to break away from him, then the hopelessly
feeble tremors as her body began to go limp. He pressed
her close, wishing he could read her mind. Was she
praying? Was she begging God to save her? Was she seeing
the light that people who have experienced a near-death
event claim to have seen?
He waited a full three minutes before he released her.
With a satisfied smile he watched as her body sank to the
bottom of the pool.
It was five minutes after seven when he climbed out of the
pool, pulled on a sweatshirt, shorts, sneakers, a cap, and
dark glasses. He had already chosen the spot where he
would leave the silent reminder of his visit, the calling
card that everybody always missed.
At six minutes past seven he began to jog down the quiet
street, another early morning fitness buff in a city of
fitness buffs.
Copyright © 2004 by Mary Higgins Clark