Blood Red by James A. Moore Page A

obsession. There were phone numbers to consider, both the home phone and the cell. He made a point of copying down all of the numbers that had been called and that had called the Freemont residence.
    Every time he started getting tired, he thought of Danni Hopkins crying into his shirt and woke right back up. It was easy to do. Danni was a good person, even if she liked to party a little, and he hated the idea that Brian Freemont might change the rules and decide that Danni needed to pay a second time for his silence. Or a third, or a fourth.
    Maybe it was the coffee, but the notion of Brian Freemont walking around with anything that could be used to coerce Danni a second time made his jaws clench together.
    By three in the morning, he was ready to begin. Ben took one of the seven pay-as-you-go cell phones that he had purchased earlier in the day and activated as he ate dinner, and he plugged his modem into the jack provided. He worked with the speed and precision of a surgeon and began cutting away pieces of Brian Freemont’s life.
    He was done less than an hour later. He carefully wiped down the cell phone and wrapped it in a paper bag before slipping it into his jacket pocket. Then he stepped out of the apartment, looking for a random trashcan and a decent meal.
    The good news for him was that there were several diners open, even in the darkest part of the night. He found one without too much difficulty and sat down in one of the booths that were supposed to be reserved for two or more people.
    The waitress, Sally, didn’t seem to care that he was breaking the rules, and neither did he. She promised him that the sausage and mushroom omelet was a work of art and he trusted her.
    He hadn’t even finished a third of the very early breakfast when Margaret Preston came into the place.
    Sally looked at the girl and smiled. “Hey, hon, how’re you tonight?”
    “Hi, Sally.” Margaret’s smile was a thing of beauty, and Ben forgot all about the food in his mouth as she walked toward the booth across from his.
    “You want your usual?” The woman didn’t wait for an answer, but instead moved to grab a cup of coffee and brought it over to her. “I was just telling Ben over here that the mushroom and sausage was the best omelet in the house.”
    He managed to swallow the lump in his mouth as Margaret looked in his direction. Amazing, he couldn’t breathe, but he still got the food down without dying on the spot.
    “So how is it?” Margaret Preston was speaking to him. He had absolutely no idea how to respond without sounding like a complete idiot.
    Words! Come on, words! You can speak, I know you can! “Umm . . . I think Sally’s right, actually.”
    Margaret nodded and gratefully took the cup of coffee Sally offered her. “She normally is.” Margaret looked away and he felt his ability to think come back as her eyes left his. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
    Sally chuckled. “So, the usual then.” The waitress walked toward the counter that separated them from the kitchen and called out for an encore of the last order. Someone behind the wall made a comment that had her laughing as she moved to another table that she had claimed as her own.
    Ben looked back in Margaret’s direction and saw that she was looking at him again. He wanted to crawl under the table and hide, but felt that might be socially awkward.
    “You’re in my Lit class, aren’t you?”
    She was talking to him again. It was really not a comfortable thing for him to deal with. Like as not, she’d expect him to answer.
    “Um. Yes. Same class.” Nope, not his best witty response.
    “Did you get the notes from last Friday? I can’t remember what we were supposed to read.”
    Shit. Now she was asking questions that required thought processes that were functioning. “Lord Byron. There’re four examples of his work in there. We’re supposed to take notes on the symbolism.”
    “I love his stuff. God, the man knew how to write.” Her