Let Me In by Adam Nicholls (books under 200 pages .TXT) đź“•
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- Author: Adam Nicholls
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Double-checking that her straps were secured, he bounded up the steps and burst into the living room where his mother—surprise of all surprises—lounged in the armchair and stuffed her face with sugary snacks. The TV blared in front of her, but the food held most of her attention, her arms wobbling with putrid fat as she tried to steadily carry it into her mouth.
The killer stood in the doorway, disgusted.
“What do you want?” he said.
Cramming what looked to be a donut into her trap, his mother chewed like she could win a prize and swallowed hard, the loud gulp signaling she had finished. At least for now. She licked her fingers one by one, then patted the arm of the chair. “Come. Sit.”
“I’m not going to sit. I’m working.”
“Oh, please. You’ve been living off savings most of your life.”
“So? My work is important.”
“Not to me, it isn’t.”
Rage filled his chest. He steadied his breathing and folded his arms, mostly to bury his clenched fists into the pits of his elbows. There was nothing worse than when she knocked down his efforts, already deciding his soon-to-be-established carpentry business would fail. What an asshole this woman really was. “Listen, I’m really busy. What do you want?”
His mother turned her head, staring daggers at him. “The girl.”
“What about her?”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t see how that concerns you.”
“Remember whose house this is?”
“Ah.” The killer waved a dismissive hand and turned on the spot.
“Don’t you turn your back on me!” his mother spat. “I raised you, fed you, and clothed you. I’m still looking after you now, and this is the thanks I get?”
The killer saw red, his cheeks burning as anger flushed through his body. His hands shook as he clenched them into fists, spinning back around and storming toward her until he towered over her. “You’re looking after me? Do you think food magically appears in the refrigerator? What about the cleaning; do the cleaning cloth and vacuum dance around the room whenever you get off your fat ass and leave the room?”
“Hey—”
“You’re always condescending to me, Mom. I work really hard.”
Her head snapped back, aimed toward the smoke-stained ceiling as she let out a harsh cackle. “You call your basement activities work? I don’t see an income from it, do you?”
“It doesn’t mean it isn’t strenuous.”
“What, having your fun with some girl? Give me a break.”
The killer felt his heart pumping, his blood flowing like lava through his weak body. Gritting his teeth, he clenched a fist and held it out, not as a threat but as a channel for his uncontrollable anger. “You’re pushing your luck.”
Saying nothing more, his mom shifted in her chair and turned back to the TV, her hand diving into the big bag of treats open on her lap. This was what she’d been getting too good at; the way she’d block him out in an instant was so immediate it really did appear as if she didn’t give a damn about him. And did she? Probably not.
Although she did keep his secrets.
Before his anger could boil into rage, the killer marched back to the basement and hurried down the stairs, slamming the door behind him. The old house shook as his feet pounded into each step, the wood creaking and groaning in protest. When he reached the bottom and Emma Cole caught his eye once more, he was shocked to find that same anger simmer into something else. He tried to recognize it as excitement, but that often got confused with anxiety.
Whatever it was, it was different.
Keeping his gaze fixed on her wide, terrified eyes, he approached the workbench and grabbed the first sharp object he could find—it was a cable cutter left over from his brief time as an electrician, and it would be perfect for what the present moment was telling him to do.
“She really pushes me sometimes,” he said through his teeth, snapping the blades together in rapid succession. Adrenaline poured through him, catching his nerves alight with each snip that he hovered above her squirming body. “She really. Fucking. Pushes me.”
The charity hall was cleared of everyone except for the police, who buzzed around the scene to interrogate everyone. Morgan had stuck by Rachel’s side, insisting they not harass her on her big day and taking the hit of every question they fired at her. It was a long process that added nothing to his investigation, but it was necessary—Washington’s finest also had a job to do, and although they were slowing things down, he didn’t want to get in their way. Police work, at least as far as he understood it, was hard enough without that.
By the time they were done and asked to leave, Morgan found Gary and Hannah outside. He stopped a few feet from the car where they waited, turning to Rachel and staring into her beautiful blue eyes. They were too moist tonight. It didn’t feel right. “I hate to say it—”
“But you have to get back to work?” she finished, adding a thin smile.
Morgan nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? It’s your job.”
It was his turn to smile now, though it was interrupted by an abrupt shove from a passing officer who was too wrapped up in work to stop and apologize. Morgan shook it off, ignoring it as best he could while all his nerves pricked like pins. “Gary’s going to take you home. Are you all right with that?”
“Sure. What will you do?”
“No idea. I need to talk with Gary before you go. And hey, I’ll help with the next one too.”
Rachel leaned in, kissed him on the lips, and held his cheek in one cold, open hand. “Whatever you do, just be careful. That creep was here all night, which meant we were all in danger without even knowing it. That makes me uncomfortable.”
She left before he could reply, climbing into the back seat of Gary’s car while Gary hurried over to take her place. His worried eyes shone under the bright light of the streetlights, his brow furrowed in disbelief.
“What?” Morgan said. “You want a kiss too?”
“Maybe when this is all over.” Gary heaved a sigh. “What’s the plan?”
“That depends. What do you know about Emma Cole?”
“Not much more than you do. Although I know she was married.”
Morgan nodded. “I’ll need to have a few words with the husband.”
“Way ahead of you. I already texted you the address.”
“Thanks.”
A rush of civilians roared behind him. It reminded Morgan of the press, who’d already been escorted far from the site. It was starting to disgust him just how keen people were to get the latest in a long line of grim news, but he had to knuckle down and focus on the important details: Why was Emma taken? Why wasn’t she killed like the other two? And most importantly, where the hell was she?
Morgan sighed. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay.” Gary shrugged, raising his hand to scratch his beard but apparently thinking better of it. “Captain Bray is giving me a hard time. He thinks I’m still a little too close to the case. I could argue that I’m working on something else entirely, but I guess he’s right. I mean, I got that address for you, didn’t I?”
Morgan pressed a hand against his pocket, feeling for the cell phone. He nodded.
“I hear he’s getting pissed off with you too.”
“Well, that can’t be helped. Do I have anything to worry about?”
“Nah. He’s probably just worried you’ll solve this thing before he does, whereas I’m worried you won’t. Now that there’s a third victim, he’s starting to lock things down pretty tight. You know what that means, right?”
“Let me guess; I’m not allowed to talk to Emma’s husband?”
“Bingo.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to wait until the police leave.”
Gary let out a thin smirk. “That’s the spirit.”
Realizing the new complication, Morgan turned his head to look back at the building. So much had changed in the past couple hours—what had once been a charity event and one of Rachel’s finest moments felt like such a long time ago. Now? It was just a hive for policemen and forensic experts desperately looking for an anomaly in a sea of fingerprints. But it still hurt to know that her big night had been ruined, and as he turned to stare back at the car where Rachel sat in the back seat laughing at something Hannah had said, he felt like the luckiest guy in the world all over again. How could she remain so positive, even after tonight?
It was a skill he could’ve used.
“I need you to do something for me,” Morgan said, stepping in close to his friend.
“Anything,” Gary said, frowning.
“Make sure Rachel gets home safe, will
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