Dark Homecoming by William Patterson Read Free Book Online

One way he could block all that out of his mind.
    He could smoke a joint.
    Jamison had been so good this past year. He’d barely had a sip of alcohol (until tonight) and he’d not had one whiff of pot. But suddenly he wanted to get high so bad. It would stop his head from spinning. It would relax him, settle his mind, allow him to sleep.
    He reached over to the bedside table and slid open a drawer. Far in the back, behind his Bible, buried among his dozens of wax-smudged earplugs, he’d stored something in the event of an emergency. Jamison withdrew a small remnant of a joint and held it in front of his face, close enough so he could make it out in the dark.
    It was more than a year old. But he figured it might still do the trick.
    From the drawer he took a lighter and ignited the little flame. Bringing the joint to his lips, Jamison inhaled.
    â€œForgive me, Jesus,” he said as he let out the smoke.
    It was stale, but it was still potent enough.
    He smoked the joint until it was just a brown crisp smoldering between his fingers. Resting his head back against the pillow, he allowed the wave of good feeling to wash over him.
    But then he heard the footstep in the kitchen again.
    He pushed the sound out of his mind and closed his eyes. He just wanted to sleep. In the morning, he’d feel better, and he’d go down to the police and get all of this devilry off his chest. He wasn’t sure how the police were going to stop the ghost of Dominique Huntington from killing again, but they could at least arrest that plastic-faced Mrs. Hoffman.
    Another footstep, then two.
    Jamison opened his eyes. The pot was maybe making him a little paranoid. But it seemed that someone was in his apartment and walking around in the dark.
    That’s crazy, Jamison told himself. I locked the door behind me when I came in tonight.
    Didn’t I?
    Of course he did. He shook off the paranoia and closed his eyes.
    He was fading off to sleep, but some small voice inside his head forced its way through the marijuana haze and got him to wonder.
    Did I lock the door?
    It doesn’t matter. Ghosts can walk through walls.
    Jamison opened his eyes again. The room was pitch-dark. He listened. A soft sound nearby. Maybe it was the light rain hitting against the window.
    Or maybe, Jamison thought, it was someone breathing.
    He fumbled his hand through the dark to the bedside table and found his phone. Grabbing ahold of it, he hit the switch, casting a soft amber glow through the room. Jamison looked around and saw nothing.
    What would Jesus do?
    Jesus would go to sleep , Jamison thought.
    In that instant, the glow of his phone picked up the steel of the blade that was swooping down toward him, which then slit Jamison’s throat so deeply it nicked bone.

7
    â€œO h, no, David, no!” Liz cried.
    â€œI’m sorry, darling, but it’s true,” her husband replied.
    â€œWhy now? We just got here!”
    Patiently, David took her hands and explained that the family business had a lot of interests around the world, and right now, there was trouble in their Amsterdam office. His father was putting all his trust in him that he’d be able to resolve that trouble. “It will only be for six days,” he told her. “Not even a full week.”
    â€œBut David—”
    â€œI can’t let Dad down,” he went on. “I need to prove to him that I’m capable of taking over the business from him one day soon.” He smiled kindly, seeing the stricken look on Liz’s face. “And when that day comes, darling, I’ll be able to delegate others to go off on these trips, and I’ll get to stay home with you.”
    Liz wasn’t very consoled by that. “David, it’s just that I—well, I don’t know these people, and I’m not sure of my way around—”
    She stopped herself. She heard the sound of her voice. Whiny and scared and needy. The same voice she’d