The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [147]
I fell asleep thinking that family vacation was a positively brilliant idea.
And woke up to the sound of a guttural cry.
My husband was rocking beside me. In the dark, I could feel his movements more than I could see them. He seemed to be rolled into a tight ball, caught in the throes of a nightmare. I reached out a hand to his shoulder. He jerked back.
“Jason?” I whispered.
He moaned lower, rolling away from me.
“Jason?” I tried again, voice louder now, but not too loud, as I didn’t want to wake Ree. “Jason, wake up.”
He rocked and rocked and rocked.
I placed two hands on his back and shook him hard. He went shooting out of bed, scrambling across the room, crashing against a wingback chair, tripping over a standing light.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” he screamed, careening into a corner. “I fucking killed you! You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead.”
I was up out of the bed, hands out as if to brace myself. “Shhh, shhh, shhh. Jason, it’s only a dream. Wake up, sweetheart, please. It’s only a dream.”
I reached for the bedside lamp, clicking it on, hoping the sudden infusion of light would snap him back to his senses.
He turned his face away, grabbing the curtain and holding it across his body as if to shield his nakedness.
“Go away,” he whimpered. “Please, please, please just go away.”
But I didn’t I took one step closer to him. Then another. Willing my husband to wake up, even as I willed my daughter to remain asleep.
Finally, very slowly, he turned his face toward mine.
I sucked in my breath as I gazed at his oversized dark eyes, still dilated by fear, wild with terror. Something clicked in the back of my mind and all the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place.
“Oh Jason,” I whispered.
And I realized at that moment that I had made a terrible, terrible mistake.
| CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR |
The taxi pulled up in front of Aidan’s house slightly after ten P.M. Aidan didn’t step out right away. He took his time counting out a wad of wrinkled bills, while covertly studying the surrounding bushes for signs of trouble. Was that hulking shadow Mrs. H.’s rhododendron or another goon from Vito’s garage? What about that dark spot over to the right? More photogs hidden in the trees? What about the entire darkened block, yawning behind him. Maybe somewhere, out there, Jason Jones was ready to finish him off.
Screw it. Just move.
Aidan tossed twelve bucks at the driver, grabbed his laundry, and scrambled from the cab, house keys clutched in hand. He made it up the walkway while the taxi was still idling in place. Aidan dropped the trash bags, jammed the key in the lock, and managed to twist the door open the first time, though his hands were trembling now, and he was so overloaded on adrenaline and fear he could barely function.
He could hear the taxicab revving up, pulling away. Gotta move, gotta move, gotta move.
He forced the door open, swinging the laundry bags inside, then using his leg to kick the door shut behind him, leaning against it for good measure while he struggled to work the lock, finally firing it home.
He sagged then, sliding down the door, overcome with relief. He was still alive. No goons had jumped him, no neighbors were picketing his front door, and no photogs were peeking into his windows. The lynch mob had yet to arrive.
He started to laugh, hoarsely, maybe a tad hysterically, because, honest to God, he hadn’t felt this strung out since prison. Except he was a free man now—meaning, what was there to look forward to? When would he ever complete this time served?
He forced himself to stand, picking up his laundry, schlepping the bags down the hall. He needed to pack. He needed to sleep. He needed to get away from here. Become a new person. Preferably a better person. The kind of stand-up guy who could actually sleep at night.
He made it to the family room, dropping the trash bags on the floral love seat. He was just turning toward the bathroom, when he became aware of the wind on his face. He could feel a