Chapter Twelve

Gerry crouched in the dark along the side of the house, waiting for the little girl to come to bed. He had a perfect view of her room. He’d first seen her with little Molly down the street, the one whose mother was dead. It made him smile. Any mother who would hurt her little girl deserved what she got. He thought about his own sister and how beautiful she was. He’d never let anyone hurt her. He would never hurt kids. He loved them—he would love them forever. He grew at the thought of getting a chance to love the little girl inside the house.

But the best part was that he’d found Sam Chase. She had come here that same day. He’d been following her for two whole days now. He’d been to her building. And he’d seen her house.

He felt like he was even getting lucky, and he knew if he found the right time, Sam would help him get back to prison. He just had to do things exactly right.

Everything was better since he’d figured out that the old lady downstairs left the keys to her car tucked above the sun visor. The car was as old as she was, but she parked it down the street from their building and almost never used it. She wouldn’t miss it in the dark, and the way he figured it, the worst that could happen was they would send him back to prison. He just hoped he could get Sam Chase to do it. He wanted to go back to the same place, see Wally again.

He had wanted to follow Sam Chase yesterday afternoon, too, but the old lady had taken her car before he could get it. Probably better, too. If she’d found out it was gone, then he’d have been in big trouble.

This morning, he’d been up at four and had found money in his neighbor’s laundry downstairs—eight dollars, so he’d had a good breakfast. He wasn’t sleeping much, but the pills he’d found in the old lady’s glove box made him feel better.

The light came on in the room, and Gerry ducked down. The Levelor blinds were bent in one corner, so he could see in perfectly.

“Get in your pajamas,” someone called.

Gerry thought it was her mother.

The little girl stomped around her room, ignoring her mother’s request. It made Gerry smile. She was independent. He liked her.

He’d seen her on the street earlier. There were a lot of kids on this street, but she was the best. She wore tight pink leggings and a T-shirt that was a little too short. She still had a belly. He loved that. And those pigtails.

He shifted against the building, pressing himself against the hard shingles as he watched her.

A fat, ugly woman appeared at the door, hands on her hips.

He dropped down into the corner, but he knew she wouldn’t see him. He was invisible to her. He was always invisible to the parents.

Only smart people like Sam Chase would discover him.

“Whitney Anne, you get in your pajamas this minute.”

Just then a little boy came running into the room, making a horrible moaning sound.

Whitney covered her ears, and so did he. But the fat woman picked up the boy and took him away, closing Whitney’s door.

He watched her turn her head and stick out her tongue at the door, and he covered his mouth to keep from laughing. She was perfect.

Whitney. What a wonderful name. He couldn’t wait to get the chance to talk to her.

Someone yelled something again and Whitney stomped across the room toward the dresser and began to take her clothes off.

Turn toward me, he thought. Turn and look at me.

But she didn’t. He watched her bare shoulders and the way her hair cascaded across her ivory skin. She was beautiful.

Just then a door slammed and he heard someone outside talking.

He took a last look at beautiful Whitney and ducked down.

The voices got closer, and he knew they were coming to the side of the house. He thought about getting back to prison and then about Whitney again. Maybe he wasn’t ready. Not quite yet. Wally would wait, but Whitney—he had to see her again.