Read Death Rhythm for Free Online Page B

his voice sounding extra loud out here.
    Which way do I go?
    He saw a soft light emanating through the trees and walked towards it. It came from a window in the distance.
    Was he that close to Mae’s house? Did the trail wind that much?
    But it wasn’t Mae’s house. It was the red brick house he'd seen from Mae’s yard.
    Mae’s neighbors.
    The window was on the second floor of the house, the rest of the house in darkness. The window was all that glowed through the bare tree branches.
    Andy lifted the binoculars and focused.
    No shade was drawn, nor were any curtains blocking his view. A dark brown dresser stood at the back of the room, with a large mirror positioned on top. The mirror was angled in such a way as to permit Andy to see the reflection of two rows of shelved filled with paperback books.
    The reflection was interrupted by a flash of red. The redness crossed the window. Hair, orange-red hair, like fire, and it belonged to a woman. She crossed the window again.
    She looked to be in her mid-thirties, her face freckled, her complexion pale.
    She stopped at the window, her back towards Andy. Her arms lifted up, over her head, taking off the pink blouse she wore. Andy’s heart skipped a few beats. But as she moved towards the mirror in her room, the angle of the window caused Andy to lose sight of anything below her shoulders.
    Andy held his breath, waiting.
    She turned around and walked towards the window as if the night air called to her. Her figure became visible.
    Andy let out his breath in a slow backwards gasp.
    She slid the window up, out of the way. The light created a corona around the curly tresses of her hair as she leaned out. Her breasts were full round shadows cascading over the windowsill. She took in a deep breath of air.
    A tired breath of air, Andy noticed. She looked wearily into the darkness, her eyes morose and heavy, her lips unsmiling, as if burdened at the corners by some heavy weight.
    She backed into the lit room and pulled the glass into place, turned and walked from the window. The light went black.
    Andy lowered his binoculars. Stood there a moment, staring. He shook his head. Took a deep breath and began to step carefully over the trail.
     
    Mae pulled the old, frayed patchwork quilt up to her chin. She turned on her side, her eyes wandering across the wooden floor of her bedroom. “Holden,” she whispered.
    She listened.
    “ Holden ,” she said, a little louder this time.
    Last night she hadn’t noticed the absence of her cat curled in the hollow of her armpit. Not with all the excitement. Not with Andy here. There had been too many thoughts racing through her mind. The gin had only inflamed them, not dulled them as she had hoped. She should have had a few more slugs.
    Ha, she thought. Don’t want the boy to think I’m an alcoholic.
    “Holden, where are you?” she whispered into the darkness. Tonight, the second night since Andrew Byrd’s arrival, she had realized something was missing. She realized that her cat hadn’t come to bed with her. Mae had grown accustomed to Holden falling asleep in the crook of her armpit, his engine humming gently, pleasantly sending heat and calm through her body in overlapping waves.
    She wondered if Andy had come back yet. What was he doing? She sat up and called out loudly, “Holden!” the word seeming to silence the regular creaks and groans of the house.
    She swung her legs out of bed, her feet finding the yellow slippers waiting on the cold floor. She stood and walked to her bedroom door. Paused a moment, listening. She listened for signs of Andy, listened for the meows of her cat.
    There was nothing.
    She was worried. Worried that the same kids who had broken in and lit the cat on fire might have gotten in again.
    But did she really believe it was kids? That’s what she told the sheriff.
    “Probably some kids from town.”
    The sheriff readily agreed.
    Much easier to believe that than to let the other deeper suspicions