There. He sat straighter as he heard the plodding tread of footsteps approach. He held his breath, waited.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could clearly see her in the doorway now, faintly lit by the setting sun, silhouetted against the backdrop of the night.
Thinking she was alone, she turned her head from side to side, looking at the chickens.
Then, her gaze fell on the lure he'd left in place for her. It was a small flashlight at the back of the barn. He'd turned it on, and then placed it in a heap of straw, so that it gave the golden grass an eerie glow.
He heard the indrawn hiss of her breath as she took in this odd, creepy sight.
"What is that?" she muttered to herself. "Did George get drunk again and drop a lantern in the straw?"
George was her husband. This he knew. He knew the family well. She was right. George was a drunkard, who dosed himself with half a bottle of whiskey every night when his farm duties were done. He was also ungrateful, not that it mattered. Gratitude present or gratitude lacking, the balance had to be set right, and that was his task.
He waited, invisible in the barn, as she walked through. He heard her feet slipping on the loose piece of wood as she traversed the dusty floor. One of the chickens bolted out, wings flapping, clucking in annoyance at being disturbed from its resting place.
She stumbled on an old board and caught her breath. She wouldn't have that problem if she took better care of the place, he thought. You would think she would, after what had happened.
She reached the flashlight.
She picked it up and examined it. He saw her decide that it was not one of hers, not an item she knew. But did she care?Clearly not. She just let out an annoyed breath, as if this was one more inconvenience, one more thing to deal with.
Then she used the flashlight to shine her way back to the door. And in its beam, he let her see him.
He stood, knowing what a threatening figure he would be: tall and black-clothed, with the dark hood obscuring his face. He knew how her gaze would focus, instantly, on the razor-sharp blade of the scythe in his hand.
He let her see the scythe before he moved, knowing she would be frozen in shock. He had wanted to take her by surprise, to allow her the chance to see him, but not give her time to put up a fight. He also didn’t want her to run. The second victim had run, and he’d panicked for a while that she would escape him. Eventually he’d caught up, but that had been a mistake.
It needed to be fast, yet simple. A quick and painless end.
He saw the look of horror on her face — her eyes wide in shock, her mouth falling open, as she realized what he was going to do. He saw the flash of terror in her eyes. That was it. Now she knew, she had realized. And now, he could strike.
She made a noise. It was a strangled, desperate sound. Then she screamed. Startled by the noise, the chickens began to rush about, flapping and squawking, making for the door.
Even as she started to let out her horrified cry, he took a step toward her, and swung the blade in an arc. He knew it would be forceful and perfectly accurate as he aimed for her chest with all the strength he could summon, hearing the blade thud cleanly home, feeling it reach its target, her beating heart.
She collapsed, the scream abruptly cut off. He moved forward and stepped over the body. Although his actions were calm and deliberate, inside he was bubbling with elation at his success. He felt all the satisfaction of a job well-done when he completed his task. She'd seen him. She'd seen the promise of death in his hooded eyes.
Then, she had seen it. And now this job was done, and he could move on to the next person on his list.
There was no time to waste.
Grasping his scythe, the Reaper left the barn and melted into the night, soundless and invisible in the shadows.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"Hello?" May answered the locksmith's call breathlessly. "Pete?"
"Evening, May. I've got news for you."
News? Good or bad? Her stomach clenched as he continued, "I'm here at the storage units. They're about to close, but they stayed open a little later to allow me to work on this safe."
"And?" This was sounding positive. Dare she hope, May thought.
"I've managed to open the safe." Pete sounded pleased with himself.
"Oh, that's great. Thank you so much, Pete." Staring into the night, finally, May allowed her thoughts to race ahead. Finally, she'd be able to find out what it held. She couldn't believe that from finding the key, she had come this far, and was now going to be able to access the secrets it had locked away.
"Are you still there?" Pete asked.