would come after her in earnest. That would then occupy much of Reel’s time and energy. Until that point, she would have a window of opportunity.
She intended to make the most of it.
Doug Jacobs was one level.
Now Reel was moving to the next level.
It wouldn’t be easy. By now they were forewarned.
Doug Jacobs had a wife and two young children. Reel knew what they looked like. She knew their names. She knew where they lived. She knew they were now suffering tremendous grief. Because of what Jacobs did, his family couldn’t be told the exact circumstances of his death.
It was just company policy. And that policy never varied.
Secrets to the last.
There would be a funeral and Jacobs would be laid to rest. And that would be the only normal thing about his passing. His youngwidow would go on with her life, probably remarry. Perhaps she would have more children. Reel would suggest that she marry a plumber or a salesman. Her life would be far less complicated.
Jacobs’s children might or might not remember their father.
For Reel, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
In her mind Douglas Jacobs wasn’t all that memorable.
Reel finished her meal and slipped under the covers.
She remembered as a child listening to the rain beating outside as she lay in bed. No one had come to check on her. It wasn’t that sort of a home. People who came to you in the night where Reel had grown up usually had ulterior motives, motives that were not benign in the least. This had made her suspicious and hardened from an early age. This had made her want to be alone, only summoning companionship on her terms.
When people came for you in the night the only response was to hurt them before they could hurt you.
In her mind’s eye she conjured the image of her mother—a frail abused woman who on her last day on earth looked forty years older than she actually was. Her death had been violent, wrenching. She had not gone quietly, but she had, eventually, gone. And Jessica Reel, then only seven years old, had watched it all happen. It had been traumatic in ways that even now Reel didn’t fully understand or appreciate. The experience had come to define her, and guaranteed that many normal things people did in life would never be part of hers.
What happened to you as a child, particularly something bad, changed you, absolutely and completely. It was like part of your brain became closed off and refused to mature any further. As an adult you were powerless to fight against it. It was simply who you were until the day you died. There was no “therapy” that could cure it. That wall was built and nothing could tear it down.
Maybe that’s why I do what I do. Engineered from childhood.
Her gun was under her pillow, one hand clenching it, and the table still against the door.
She would sleep well tonight.
It might be the last time she ever did.
CHAPTER
10
R OBIE SAT AT A TABLE in the restaurant that allowed him to see out onto the street. He alternated between looking out at the street and at the TV that was mounted on a wall behind the bar. On the TV was a news report about an upcoming Arab summit that was scheduled to occur in Canada. Apparently it was felt that the neutral setting, far away from terrorist acts and wars, might shorten the odds of a breakthrough occurring. Sponsored by the UN, it hoped, the news anchor said, to usher in a new age of cooperation among countries that had for too long been at war with one another.
“Good luck on that,” Robie said to himself.
The next instant the channel was changed and Robie was watching an ad for Cialis with an older man and woman in bathtubs that were set outside. It was apparently a sexual metaphor he had never figured out. Then the bathtubs vanished and another news anchor was talking about an upcoming trip by the president to Ireland where he was hosting a symposium on the threat of international terrorism and ways to stop it.
“Good luck on that too,” muttered Robie.
He
She intended to make the most of it.
Doug Jacobs was one level.
Now Reel was moving to the next level.
It wouldn’t be easy. By now they were forewarned.
Doug Jacobs had a wife and two young children. Reel knew what they looked like. She knew their names. She knew where they lived. She knew they were now suffering tremendous grief. Because of what Jacobs did, his family couldn’t be told the exact circumstances of his death.
It was just company policy. And that policy never varied.
Secrets to the last.
There would be a funeral and Jacobs would be laid to rest. And that would be the only normal thing about his passing. His youngwidow would go on with her life, probably remarry. Perhaps she would have more children. Reel would suggest that she marry a plumber or a salesman. Her life would be far less complicated.
Jacobs’s children might or might not remember their father.
For Reel, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
In her mind Douglas Jacobs wasn’t all that memorable.
Reel finished her meal and slipped under the covers.
She remembered as a child listening to the rain beating outside as she lay in bed. No one had come to check on her. It wasn’t that sort of a home. People who came to you in the night where Reel had grown up usually had ulterior motives, motives that were not benign in the least. This had made her suspicious and hardened from an early age. This had made her want to be alone, only summoning companionship on her terms.
When people came for you in the night the only response was to hurt them before they could hurt you.
In her mind’s eye she conjured the image of her mother—a frail abused woman who on her last day on earth looked forty years older than she actually was. Her death had been violent, wrenching. She had not gone quietly, but she had, eventually, gone. And Jessica Reel, then only seven years old, had watched it all happen. It had been traumatic in ways that even now Reel didn’t fully understand or appreciate. The experience had come to define her, and guaranteed that many normal things people did in life would never be part of hers.
What happened to you as a child, particularly something bad, changed you, absolutely and completely. It was like part of your brain became closed off and refused to mature any further. As an adult you were powerless to fight against it. It was simply who you were until the day you died. There was no “therapy” that could cure it. That wall was built and nothing could tear it down.
Maybe that’s why I do what I do. Engineered from childhood.
Her gun was under her pillow, one hand clenching it, and the table still against the door.
She would sleep well tonight.
It might be the last time she ever did.
CHAPTER
10
R OBIE SAT AT A TABLE in the restaurant that allowed him to see out onto the street. He alternated between looking out at the street and at the TV that was mounted on a wall behind the bar. On the TV was a news report about an upcoming Arab summit that was scheduled to occur in Canada. Apparently it was felt that the neutral setting, far away from terrorist acts and wars, might shorten the odds of a breakthrough occurring. Sponsored by the UN, it hoped, the news anchor said, to usher in a new age of cooperation among countries that had for too long been at war with one another.
“Good luck on that,” Robie said to himself.
The next instant the channel was changed and Robie was watching an ad for Cialis with an older man and woman in bathtubs that were set outside. It was apparently a sexual metaphor he had never figured out. Then the bathtubs vanished and another news anchor was talking about an upcoming trip by the president to Ireland where he was hosting a symposium on the threat of international terrorism and ways to stop it.
“Good luck on that too,” muttered Robie.
He
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