He could see the look of horror on her face beneath the water, suds floating and dissipating on the surface.
He smiled.
Under his hands he felt her strength ebb. Her movements became sluggish and weak. Still he held on, while the damned CD kept playing, loud, the singer’s voice echoing through his head.
All struggling ceased.
At last it was over.
Mary Beth stared at him from beneath the water’s surface, big eyes glassy.
He held her down for another three minutes, until he was certain that she was dead.
Then he let out most of the water from the tub, so that her body was partially exposed. Satisfied that she was positioned just so, he draped a towel over the tub’s rim and into the water. Next, he took the belt of the robe that was hanging near the tub and pulled it so that it touched the water on one end, but was still secure in the belt loop of the pink wrapper.
Working quickly, he poured bath oil over the water, and then, to make certain it would ignite, reached into his pack and found a bottle of his own mix of oils, ones that were certain to ignite quickly. He poured the entire contents into the water around Mary Beth.
The CD stopped abruptly.
Silence surrounded him.
He froze.
Had someone come in? Had he missed the sound of another person entering because of his absorption in his task and the damned music?
Holding his breath, not moving a muscle, he waited. His heart thudded, sweat covered his body beneath his wet clothes.
But there was nothing other than the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen, the gurgle of water still running down the pipes from the tub and outside, a few houses down, the sharp, staccato bark of a small dog. As if the damned mutt knew something was going on.
Hurry, damn it. You don’t have any time to waste.
Deciding he was alone, he finished his job quickly.
Using a tube of Mary Beth’s lipstick that he found on the counter in a special little rack, he drew a figure on the mirror, then reached into his pouch again and found a special little package that he left in the sink.
The rest was easy. With a final look at Mary Beth, he dropped a lit candle into the tub.
Flames shot upward and crawled across the water’s surface, finding the towel and belt. Dark smoke, acrid and thin, rose upward, burning his nostrils and growing in intensity with the flames that fed eagerly, crackling and hissing as they met water.
Mary Beth was ringed in fire, the room brightening to a shifting gold hue. He had to leave. Now. Away from the fascination of watching her hair singe or her skin start to burn.
Moving quickly, he left the way he’d come in, slipping through the window and into the night, stealing along the shrubbery and fence rows, hiding behind a garage as a car passed, the predominant bass throbbing over the roar of a big engine as a pickup, jacked high over huge tires, commandeered by a teenaged boy, flew past.
He flattened against a fence and the kid missed him by inches.
Once the truck had passed he caught his breath, then took off at a sprint. He was down an alley at a dead run and four blocks away from the fire when he heard the first shriek of a siren cutting through the night.
Too late, he thought, sliding into his truck and breathing hard. Too damned late.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Fire!
Shannon’s eyes opened and she trembled inside.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Glancing at the clock she realized she hadn’t even been in bed for two hours, asleep for less. In the darkness she climbed to her feet and walked to the window to stare outside.
It’s not your place. You’re safe.