Chapter 7
Closed wooden blinds and soft bulb light filtered through green stained glass. Henry’s Restaurant was dark even after sunrise. Eddie sagged in a corner booth bracing his back to the wall. He picked at what was left of his chicken fried steak, his thoughts on Paige. What was she thinking? She wasn’t happy with the direction their lives had taken. That was clear. She wanted to quit her job. She wanted to start painting again. She even wanted him to start writing again. What was that about?
A pair of french fries stared back at Eddie from his plate, and he debated putting one in his mouth. He only ate at Henry’s when Paige was with a client and couldn’t meet him at home for lunch. Henry’s usually served a decent lunch, but even their best couldn’t match what he and Paige made together, and it had nothing to do with the quality of their cooking. He loved spending every moment he could with her.
There was nothing wrong with Paige wanting to paint again. Hell, he wanted her to paint again. Loved her work. But they needed her income. She deserved everything they had and more, but he couldn’t give it to her on his salary alone. She deserved the best house, the best car, the best clothes. She certainly deserved more than what a couple of starving artists could eek out.
A flowery perfume overwhelmed the smokiness of the restaurant, penetrating Eddie’s thoughts. Must be the waitress checking up on him. He mumbled something about not needing anything, so she would go away.
His real problem was trying to figure out how to make Paige happy while keeping them from ending up homeless. And the best solution he could come up with was trying to talk her out of her crazy plan, maybe taking her to have a sit down with some financial guru to explain what was at stake. Talk her into painting in her off time. But he knew she wouldn’t go for it. She was determined to throw all her efforts into it.
If she quit, he’d have to take a second job. That was for sure. Even then, he wouldn’t be able to guarantee financial security--too many variables. He’d have to move them into a smaller house. Maybe sell one of their cars. The second job would have to be something that paid well while not interfering with his current work schedule. Then there was the whole issue of them not seeing each other as much. What a mess.
Eddie shook his head. The flowery perfume was still there. He glanced up looking for the source of the intrusive smell and realized it wasn’t perfume, but cologne. And it wasn’t coming from a waitress, but a man standing a few feet away, motionless, staring at him. He wore a pressed white shirt and dark pants under a long black overcoat. Eddie didn’t recognize the face, but he knew the type. A man with lots of money. Everything in just the right spot, picture perfect. He had an air about him that reeked, “I get what I want.”
“Hello, Eddie.”
It surprised him the stranger knew his name. “Yeah?”
“Mind if I have a seat, friend?”
Eddie frowned. He found it annoying when people he didn’t know called him “friend.” People who did that sort of thing always want something from you. Eddie waved the guy into a seat while picking up a french fry and sticking it in his mouth. It had a bland taste, and he quickly gulped down some Coke to chase it away.
“Do I know you?” he asked the stranger.
The man stuck out a large hand. “You might, but I doubt it. I’m Nicholas.”
Eddie searched his mind for that name but didn’t find it. He shook Nicholas’s extended hand. The man had a very firm grip.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Eddie said. The man smiled, and it left Eddie with the feeling of something snaking across his skin. “What can I do for you?”
Nicholas sniffed, as if amused by the question, and put his hands in his lap.
“I don’t need help, Eddie. You do. I have Paige.”
Have? Paige? Eddie pushed away his plate and sat up a little straighter. “What does have mean?”
Nicholas picked up Eddie’s last french fry. “You know what it means,” he said. “I have her. She’s mine now.” The man stabbed the fry in his mouth and began chewing.
“Look here. Nobody has Paige. She’s not a piece of property, and she wouldn't have anything to do with a guy like you.”
Nicholas reached into his overcoat and pulled out a photo. He waved it at Eddie before setting it on the table. It was of Paige and Nicholas standing together on the terrace at the Museum of Art. Eddie recognized the place. Paige had taken him more than half a dozen times in the last year alone. The museum served appetizers and cocktails on the terrace whenever they had a new exhibition opening. Eddie and Paige attended every opening. In the photo, Nicholas and Paige were smiling with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Paige was leaning in.
“You’re so very wrong,” Nicholas said. “Paige wants someone exactly like me. Someone who appreciates her artistically.”
Eddie shoved the photo away. “That photo doesn’t mean anything. We go up to the terrace all the time. We’ve met hundreds of people there. Someone took a photo of you and my wife. So what? Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to eat my lunch.”
Nicholas picked up the photo and slipped it in his pocket. Then he dropped his hands back under the table. “I want you to know this,” Nicholas said. “I’ll take good care of her.”
Eddie wondered at the man’s motivation. Why was he here? Why would a stranger sit down across from him and insinuate he had some kind of romantic relationship with his wife? Wasn’t Nicholas worried Eddie might go off on him, kick his ass all the way out the door and down the street? Judging from his build, Eddie figured Nicholas probably wasn’t all that worried about getting his ass kicked. Still, Eddie could have a gun or a knife. Of course, he didn’t have a gun or a knife, but he could. A man who came in and said the kind of thing Nicholas was saying to a husband, taking that kind of risk, had to have nuts the size of basketballs. He had to have an agenda.
“Look, I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here,” Eddie said. “But it’s clear to me you need professional help. Paige wouldn’t cheat on me.”
Nicholas leaned forward, pressing into the edge of the table. “What makes you so sure? Hasn’t Paige ever told you a lie? Told you she was someplace when she wasn’t?”
Eddie imagined shoving a fork down the guy’s throat and burying his fist in the back of his skull. She had recently lied to him about being at a friend’s when she wasn’t, but that was none of his damn business. “Screw you.”
Nicholas chuckled. “I like you, Eddie. You’ve got spunk. I can see you’re the kind of man who wouldn’t let his wife walk away without putting up some kind of fight.”
Eddie was finished with this conversation. The man was off his rocker. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
“All done, are we? Eddie, do you know how much blood a person can lose safely without dying?”
“What?” Eddie wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.
“You see. I’m going to bleed you. And make Paige watch.”
Nicholas brought his hand up from under the table. He held what resembled a four or five inch long closed Buck knife. He slid the blade out of the handle with his thumb, then slid it back in, and Eddie realized it wasn’t a Buck knife at all. It was a straight razor.
Eddie’s heart jumped up in his chest and every muscle came alive with the rush of adrenaline.
“Screams can be a tremendous source of power,” Nicholas said as he flipped the gleaming blade open, then closed again. “Power absolutely transforms.”
Eddie heard those cryptic words, but he wasn’t listening. His ears had been overtaken by his eyes, which were locked on the hypnotic arc of the razor’s blade. It took an intense effort to remove his gaze from it and sight on Nicholas.
The dim light from the overhead bulb reflected in Nicholas’s eyes. They were chips of ice, yet Eddie couldn’t see the slightest hint of madness in the man--only calculation. He knew immediately Nicholas meant what
he’d said on a very profound level. He’d cut people before. He’d be slow about it, even enjoy it. And that knowledge sent fear slithering down Eddie’s spine.
With Nicholas’s back to the handful of people in the restaurant, no one but Eddie saw the razor. Eddie wondered where his pony-tailed waitress had gone. His eyes searched for her. She’d bugged him for his order every other minute after she’d sat him in the booth. Now she’d vanished from the planet. If he could get her attention, she might come to the table. Then Nicholas would have to hide the razor, and Eddie would be able to escape. He could make for the bar. Two more waitresses stood there with some guy in a green vest, probably the manager.
Nicholas saw Eddie scan the room and slipped out of the booth. He blocked Eddie’s path, slid the blade in and out, in and out. Nicholas shifted his body weight from one foot to the other. Then he nodded in the direction of the restaurant employees and said, “They can’t help you. No one can.”
Eddie’s heart banged in his chest, and his breathing quickened. He wanted to run. He wanted to dive past Nicholas and get as far from the razor as possible. He’d only been in one fight--if you could call it that--in his entire life. In fifth grade, a school bully had gotten into the habit of shoving him from behind as they walked between classes. One day, the kid shoved Eddie hard enough it knocked him to the ground. Eddie just snapped. He scrambled back to his feet and hit the boy in the jaw as hard as he could. The boy went down, but got back up and charged Eddie, taking him in a tackle. Eddie got the worst of it before the teachers broke it up, but the bully left him alone after that.
Nicholas didn’t look like he would quit so easily.
To put as much distance as possible between him and the razor, Eddie slid back away from the end of the booth until he had his back against the wall and the window. He brought a foot up onto the seat. If Nicholas made a lunge for him he might be able to kick Nicholas off until someone helped him.
Nicholas leaned in until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “Your life is in its last hours,” he said.
A dinner knife on the table caught Eddie’s eye. He placed his hand over it, figuring it for a better weapon than bare hands.
Nicholas swiped at Eddie’s hand. The razor flashed.
For a moment, Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d been hurt. It felt as if Nicholas had done nothing more than dragged a ballpoint pen across the back of his hand. But when Eddie looked down, he saw that Nicholas had cut him. A gash ran from wrist to middle knuckle.
Eddie jerked his hand away.
Somehow, he managed to keep a hold of the dinner knife, and he raised it up in front of him in case Nicholas attacked him again. But Nicholas didn’t. He only stepped back out of Eddie’s reach.
“I’d love to stay and chat,” Nicholas said. “But there’s someone else I need to stick. Don’t worry though. We’ll be seeing each other again, soon.”
Nicholas strode out of the restaurant without a backward glance.
Warm blood ran down Eddie’s wrist and dripped onto his jeans. The dinner knife quivered in his hand. His body shook violently. Eddie clamped down on the cut to stop the bleeding and hot pain pulsed up his arm. His hand might be hurt badly, but the blood made it difficult to tell.
Eddie kicked where Nicholas had been sitting. Why hadn’t he done something? Why hadn’t he called out for help? He should have rushed Nicholas, kicked at him, thrown a punch. Instead, he’d been paralyzed like some Whitetail caught in a hunter’s spotlight. Eddie had the urge to go after Nicholas, chase him down and hurt him. But what if Nicholas wanted that? What if he’d set some kind of trap up in the parking lot? Nicholas had a straight razor. Eddie didn’t. Running out there unarmed would be stupid, could prove fatal.
The pony-tailed waitress came to his table, and it went through Eddie’s mind that of course she’d show up now, after Nicholas had left.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. Blood spotted the table, the plate, his hands.
“A guy cut me with a razor,” Eddie said. “Can you call the police for me?”
“Sir?” Confusion clouded her face.
Eddie lifted his injured hand. “I could use something to help me stop the bleeding, too.”
She stared at the blood for a few seconds before his words registered. “Sure. Okay. I’ll call the police and get you something for the bleeding.”
She hesitated for a second before sprinting off in the direction of the man in the green vest. Eddie picked up a napkin and wrapped it as tightly as he could around his hand. Then he groped for his cell phone. He could have called the cops on his cell, but he wanted to call Paige to check on her and to warn her about Nicholas. He couldn’t do that if he was stuck on hold with a 911 operator.
Propping his bleeding hand up on the table to keep it higher than his heart--both of which were pounding--Eddie hit the speed dial button for Paige’s cell phone hoping she would answer. The call went straight to voicemail. Eddie hung up and mashed the speed dial button again. Voicemail.
He was frantic with worry. What if Nicholas did have her? He tried to calm down. There were a lot of reasons why Paige’s phone might go straight to voicemail: She turned it off while showing a house. She was on the phone with a client. She forgot it was on silent. She had been abducted by a psychopath.
Eddie called her again and got her voicemail again. He wanted to throw the phone across the restaurant, but he didn’t. Instead, he left her a message, explaining what had happened and asking her to call him back as soon as she could. He tried to sound calm, so he wouldn’t frighten her. He didn’t know what else he could do. He had no idea where she might be.