Watcher in the Woods Read Online Free PDF

Dad’s words reach his brother. Exhaustion and resignation washed over Xander like a sudden downpour. His shoulders slumped, his face slackened. He nodded and said, “Ready for bed, Dae?”
    â€œOh, man,” David said. “Who needs a bed?”

CHAPTER seven
    MOTHER OF MERCY NURSING HOME
    LAKE FOREST, ILLINOIS
    The old man’s eyes snapped open. For a moment he did not know where he was. Then his surroundings came back to him: the pillow beneath his head, the thread of sunlight outlining the window where blackout blinds almost did their job, the beep—beep—beep of the machine that monitored his heartbeat.
    The beeps were coming fast as he sorted out what had woken him. It was not uncommon for him to lie awake all night, but his ninety-two years of living had earned him the right to doze when the day’s brightness bothered his eyes. He could not remember the last time he had seen the midday sun, even what little of it seeped around the edges of the blinds.
    What was it? he thought.
    His eyes snapped back and forth as he separated dream-thoughts from memories, memories from false memories. No, not false memories: changed memories.
    That’s it!
    The beeping picked up pace, rabbit quick now. The man tried to sort it out. What had changed? Dreams bumped into memories, memories shifted away. He was too old for this. Or was it simply that sleep was still whispering? Whispering mumbo jumbo in his ears. Was it that the change was too small to easily grasp, a shift in knowledge that affected others more than it ever had him? He scrunched his eyes shut, feeling the wrinkles of his face crowd together like the folds of a rumpled blanket. The beeping came loud and fast, and now he could feel his heart in his chest pounding, pounding.
    It had been too long, decades since he’d sensed the change in memories, the shift in knowledge that he felt at that moment. It didn’t matter what had changed, only that something had changed. All the implications of that added to his jumble of thoughts. Already crashing into themselves on the freeway of his mind.
    It was coming to him, what it all meant.
    The beeping was like an alarm now, urgent and demanding attention. He realized it was an alarm. His racing heart had crossed some threshold in the machine, which was screaming for help.
    The door of his room burst open, and help ran in with clicking heels and wide eyes. The nurse ran to him and leaned her face close to his. He felt her hands gripping his shoulders, bony shoulders that had once been layered with heavy muscle.
    â€œMr. Wagner!” the nurse called, louder than was necessary. “Mr. Wagner!”
    â€œThey . . . they . . .” His voice was dry and thin, the vocal equivalent of a piece of straw. His hand came up and clutched at the nurse’s uniform, her collar. He looked into her eyes, needing to share, needing to let someone else know.
    â€œThey’ve come back!” he said.
    â€œWho?” the nurse asked.
    She scanned the room, clearly not getting his meaning. How could she? He noticed that an unsure smile had found her lips and realized it was in response to his own shaky grin.
    â€œThey’ve come back,” he repeated. It was not for her benefit anymore, but for his. He liked the sound of it. He liked what it meant.
    He looked past the nurse, thinking, thinking. His smile fell away. Something else dawned on him.
    â€œThey don’t know,” he said. His eyes found the nurse’s face again. He wanted desperately to communicate, to get this one thing across.
    â€œWhat don’t they know?” the nurse asked. She shook him gently. “Jesse, what don’t they know?”
    â€œThe killer,” the old man said. “He’s still there. He doesn’t want them in the house.”

CHAPTER eight
    SUNDAY, 9:01 A.M.
    David had closed the curtains over their bedroom windows, but the room was still bright. Part of his mind screamed to hop up