A Perfect Evil

Chapter 70

Christine pushed the copier button and watched Timmy’s toothy grin slide out into the tray. He’d hate that she was using last year’s school photo. The one with his collar twisted and his cowlick sticking straight up. It was one of her favorites. Suddenly, it struck her how much younger he looked in the photo. Would anyone even recognize him? He had changed so much in one short year.

She set the counter and pushed the button again, watching a succession of the toothy grins slide one over another. Behind her, the sheriff’s department rumbled and vibrated with mumbling voices, shuffling shoes and clicking machines. Despite her chore, she felt isolated, invisible. She wondered if the task simply kept her out of Nick’s way. He insisted the more photos they got out to the news media and store owners, the better chance of triggering someone’s memory. It was a far cry from the way he had treated the Danny Alverez case. But then, maybe they had all learned lessons, expensive lessons. Walking out of this morning’s interview would cost her the high-priced TV job. But she didn’t care. Right now, Christine couldn’t care about anything but Timmy.

She felt him standing behind her. It came in a disturbing chill as if he had slipped an ice cube down her back. She turned slowly just as Eddie Gillick pressed in close against her, trapping her between the copy machine and his body. Sweat beads gathered on his lip above the thin mustache. He was breathing hard as though he had just come in running. The smell of his aftershave lotion assaulted her as his eyes traveled the length of her body.

“Excuse me, Christine. I just need to make a couple of copies of these photos.” He flashed them at her. When she only glanced, he held them up to her, slowly shuffling them one after another. Glossy eight-by-tens, the brilliant color emphasized the red gashes. A close-up of skin peeled back. A throat slashed. And Matthew Tanner’s pale face, his glassy eyes staring out at her.

Christine squeezed past, scraping her shin on the copy machine’s stand in order to escape Eddie Gillick. He watched, smiling at her as she bumped into a state trooper, smashed a knee into a desk and finally made it across the room. Safe in the corner next to the watercooler, she leaned against the wall and stared out at the chaos. Were they all moving in slow motion or was it just her imagination? Even the voices sounded slow, all melting together into one low baritone. And that ringing, that constant high-pitched ringing. Was it a phone? Maybe a siren or a fire alarm? Shouldn’t they be concerned? Couldn’t someone stop the noise? Couldn’t they hear it?

“Christine?”

She heard her name being called from another dimension, far away. She pressed her body against the wall, clinging to the smooth cool texture while the room moved. A slight tip to one side. No one else seemed to notice. Then a slight tip to the other side.

“Christine, are you okay?”

Lucy Burton’s face appeared in front of her, the heart-shaped face oversize with wide eyes bulging like in one of those grocery-store mirrors. Only there were no mirrors. Lucy was saying something to her again. The brightly painted lips moved but emitted no sound. Where was the remote control? She needed to turn up Lucy Burton’s volume.

The hands came at her from nowhere, clutching at her, grabbing for her. She batted them away, but they came again. She couldn’t breathe. She needed water. The watercooler was next to her just to her left, several miles away, far in the distance. She slapped at the hands again.

“No, I can’t hear you, Lucy,” she said, and realized her words were confined to her thoughts.

She felt her body sliding down the wall. She couldn’t catch it, had lost control of her own body as it, too, moved in slow motion. So many feet, scuffed shoes, red toenails, a pair of cowboy boots. Then someone shut off the lights.