Damnation Street

48.

The man who called himself John Foy waited. He was in the brown Taurus parked on the street. He had watched Weiss arrive. He had watched him go inside the gray house. Now he was sitting motionless in the dark, watching the house through the rain-streaked windows of his car.

He had his briefcase open on the seat beside him. He had the computer on. He had the monitor light turned low so it would not give him away. He could see Weiss's heat outline on the infrared readout. He could see Weiss sitting in the armchair, see him right through the walls. He could see that Weiss was alone.

He waited for Julie Wyant. He knew she would come soon. Already, he could imagine the touch of her skin and the scent of her. He could almost hear the sound of her sobbing and taste her tears. He was excited. There was a sort of low thrumming through his whole body.

It was a good feeling. He was not afraid at all. He knew he was going to die soon, but somehow it didn't bother him. It wouldn't be tonight anyway. Tonight he would kill Weiss. He would make Julie watch while he did it. He would make Weiss into something that disgusted her and then he would finish him. Then she would know he was all there was for her. He was everything in her life.

Then he would take her away. He had a place all ready for her. It was a cabin in Colorado, in the mountains, in the woods. He had used it before. No one ever came near. He would keep her there for as long as she lived. Days, weeks. She might last for months even, if he did it right. Then she would die and, when he was done with her, he would die too. It would be good, he thought. They would die there together. He was excited about it. It was the reason he had done everything he had done.

He had never felt the same things other men felt. He knew that. Passing unseen, invisible, down streets, through parks, through malls, he'd seen how other men were with women. He'd seen men holding women's hands, kissing them, leaning toward their lips across a table. He'd seen men in movies, their faces moving toward a woman's face on screen. He knew there was something they were feeling that he didn't feel, something they were doing that he couldn't do. He tried not to think about it, but he did think about it. Sometimes it felt as if he never thought about anything else.

Then he met Julie. She was like someone he had made up for himself. She was like someone he thought about when he was alone in his room. He could hardly believe how perfect she was, how much she was what he wanted. That time he was with her-that one time-it was exactly like daydreams he'd had. Watching her twist in his hands, hearing her cry out, he had thought: now-now, he was feeling what other men felt. And he knew even at that moment, he would do anything to feel that way again.

He had begged her to come with him. He had told her he loved her. She had laughed. Still sobbing, she had laughed. Then she had run away. And he knew he would do anything to find her.

He watched the house. He watched the computer. Weiss sat still, sat where he was. That was good. The man who called himself John Foy had checked the house out before Weiss arrived. There were only two doors, the front door and the one in the kitchen. He didn't think Weiss would have time to get to the kitchen but if he did, Foy would get him when he tried to come back in the front. Meanwhile, he was glad to have Weiss's company. They were in this together. Waiting for her together.

It didn't take long. A movement caught the corner of his eye. He turned and looked down the street. A car came toward him, headlights off. He couldn't tell what make it was. It parked half a block away against the opposite curb. The door opened. The top light went on. He saw a woman slipping out from behind the wheel.

As she rose from her seat, he could see it was Julie Wyant.

He only glimpsed her for a second. She had a kerchief tied around her head. She had a raincoat with the collar pulled up to her ears. He could see her face. He could see her hair beneath the kerchief. Then she stepped out of the car into the night. She closed the car door and the light went out.

The man who called himself John Foy had to breathe deep to steady himself. The sight of her brought images into his mind in a dizzying rush. It was too much. It made him feel weak and unsteady. He wanted to climb into his tower and breathe the high, blue air until the rush of pictures and emotions went away.

But there wasn't time. She was walking toward the house. He could hear the heels of her shoes on the pavement. She was walking quickly, her body tense, her eyes scanning the night. He smiled. She knew he was here and she was frightened.

The man who called himself John Foy took a last look at the monitor. Weiss was still there, still alone, still sitting where he had been. He knew he had to time this right, just right. He had to give Weiss no chance to move, no chance to try anything.

Julie Wyant reached the house's front walk. She turned onto it. She walked quickly toward the door, glancing left and right and over her shoulder.

The killer watched her. He felt strange, light-headed. He had waited for her so long-and he loved her.

Now she was at the house. At the front door. Reaching for the knob.

The man who called himself John Foy drew the 9mm out from beneath his overcoat. He opened the car door silently.