Double blind

Chapter Thirty-one

At 8:05 that Friday morning, with his heart pounding in his chest, Congressional Aide Keith Bennington stumbled into the Dogsfire Inn Post Office, fumbled with the key, and then blinked in surprise when he saw the inch-thick manila envelope lying sideways in box fifteen with another much thinner envelope.

"Christ, it's about time somebody finally put something in the damned thing," he muttered, heartsick because the presence of the envelope would make it even more difficult to convince his boss that there wasn't much point making two trips a day out to the rural post office — at 8:00 A.M. and 6:00 P.M. — to check on an empty mailbox.

This was Bennington's third trip to the Dogsfire Inn since that fateful night when his attempt to deliver the federal-agent profiles resulted in his horrifying confrontation with the nightmarish creature whose hovering — and glowing — yellow eyes still haunted his dreams. And it hadn't gotten any better. In fact, it took every ounce of resolve that the young congressional aide could muster just to get out of his car and enter the post office.

He had hoped to talk Maria Cordovian into taking over — or at the very least sharing — the drop-off and pickup runs, but the strikingly attractive young intern hadn't spoken three words to him since the weekend hunting trip at Rustman's, and office rumor hinted that Smallsreed wanted her to fill an open slot at his DC office.

Bennington tried not to think about the other — more lurid — aspects of that rumor.

Not that Whatley would listen to me anyway, he thought morosely as he pulled the envelope out of the mailbox, quickly relocked the small metal door, and hurried back to his car.

Ever since his red-eye flight to DC the previous Wednesday, Simon Whatley's mood had vacillated wildly between rabid dementia and manic-depression, a fact not lost on any member of the congressional district office staff.

And that was after just one flight, Bennington reminded himself, breathing easier once he locked all the car doors and turned the key in the ignition. God, what's he going to be like tonight?

Probably either homicidal or suicidal, Bennington decided as he hurriedly started up the car, gunned the engine, backed up, and accelerated out of the parking lot… then pinned his hopes on "suicidal" as the better option of the two.