Chapter 17—The Steamy Shower

Three hours later, Susan pulled into the driveway. It was eerie, returning to the house where so many horrible things had happened. She sat in the car, looking at the front door as if she expected Blaine to open it and ask her where the hell she’d been. She hadn’t thought it would be this hard, but then again, she’d expected to arrive during the day. Susan thought about calling her next-door neighbor but didn’t want him to come out in what was now blizzard conditions.

She searched around for her house key in her purse. It was dark, and she left the headlights on to see to open the front door. Then, mustering up all the courage she could—she bounded up the front steps—shaking so hard she could hardly get the key in the lock.

When the door opened, Susan hesitated and then reached her hand inside the door until she found the light switch. She flipped on the outside lights and the foyer lights and was relieved when light flooded the yard. Susan peeked inside, and everything looked normal. She braved the cold again as she ran to the car, turned off the engine, and locked the car. Sprinting up the porch steps, Susan crossed the threshold and stood in the foyer; her ears perked for another human being’s sounds. She could hear the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hall and the wind behind her as she shut the door and locked the deadbolt. Then she went into the living room, turned on all the lights, and did the same in the kitchen. It was too quiet, and everything was neat and clean—almost too perfect.

She froze when she saw the letter on the table in Blaine’s handwriting with her name on it. It was separate from the small stack of what looked like junk mail stacked neatly on the kitchen counter. Her neighbor, Dan, had checked the house every week and hadn’t said anything about a letter. Nevertheless, the letter was disconcerting and played on her fears.

She grabbed a six-inch Chef’s knife out of the wooden block on the counter and held it like a weapon. She had to shower—get warm, and her legs were as stiff as boards as she climbed the stairs holding onto the railing. Her feet felt like frozen clubs. Her chattering teeth were the only sounds in the house. When she got to the top of the stairs—she looked down the dim hallway and had a flashback of what Jack had said. He could have left a python in your bed.

It was a gruesome thought, and the wind and the branches rubbing against the windows made her break into a run down the hall with the knife poised to strike. She paused at the doorway of her bedroom, then stepped in and switched on the light. Everything looked normal, except for a letter in the middle of the bed in Blaine’s handwriting addressed to her. Susan picked up the letter and eyed it with scrutiny, but it fell through her numb fingers and fluttered back down to the bed.

Susan stared at the bed. She was sure Blaine wouldn’t fit under the bed, but ever since she’d seen her first scary movie when she was a teenager, she’d had a fear of someone hiding under her bed. Grabbing a flashlight from her bedside stand, she got down on the floor and shined the bright beam under the bed. Dust balls. She sneezed and breathed a sigh of relief. She retrieved a set of fresh sheets from the linen closet. And after making the bed, she gathered up the sheets and left them in a pile on the floor.

Shivering, Susan flipped on the bathroom light and quickly stripped down, leaving a pair of faded blue jeans and a shirt in a heap around her feet. She jumped into the shower and turned on the hot water full blast screaming out in relief when the stinging hot water hit her. The heat and steam felt wonderful as she wiggled her toes, which felt like icicles.

Blaine stood in the closet, barely breathing, listening to the sounds of Susan in the shower as if she was comforting herself. Finally, he quietly stepped out of the closet and into the bathroom, his blue eyes dark with emotion as he gazed at her through the steamy shower door with unconcealed interest. Susan’s eyes were closed, and her head was tilted back as she let the water stream over her pale blonde hair.

“Ahhhh,” she said, releasing stress, unaware that the man she feared more than anyone was outside the shower door. Her face cleanser was on the shelf in the shower—exactly where she’d left it. And her favorite bar soap was there, too. She washed, enjoying the fragrance of the rose-scented bar soap.

A glint caught Blaine’s eye. A six-inch knife, meant for him, lay on the sink. His manic mind couldn’t comprehend that Susan would use it against him. He reached over and snatched up the knife and examined it. It would be easy to catch her by surprise, but killing wasn’t on his mind. He wanted his anniversary celebration with her, and he wanted her alive.

If Susan had opened her eyes, she would have seen Blaine standing no more than a foot from her. Blaine barely had time to put the knife back on the sink when he heard Susan turn off the shower. He could see the outline of her body through the steamy glass of the shower door: the jut of her fine ass and her full, firm breasts. She was flawless. He became aroused. For a moment, he thought about taking her right then and there, but his obsessive-compulsive trait wouldn’t let him—he wanted champagne and dinner before they had sex.

As Susan opened the steamy shower door, she thought she heard a noise and saw a flash and a shadow in the mirror. She froze in place; her ears perked. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the wind whistling and realized it was the branches rubbing against the windows. Susan dried briskly with a thick white towel.

Blaine crept out of the bedroom in his stocking feet and down the stairs to the foyer’s closet. He hid behind heavy coats in the closet, leaving the door open a crack hoping to catch a glimpse of Susan as she walked by.

Susan slipped into a pair of flannel pajamas and pink fluffy slippers. Then she put on a cream-colored chenille robe. Feeling toasty warm, Susan set about on the dreadful task of checking the house. She felt foolish for not checking the house first, but she’d been too cold.

Blaine could hear the scuffling sounds of her slippers as she padded down the steps. He peered out through a slit in the door and watched her pass by with a bundle of bedsheets under her arm. And the knife, in the other hand, poised to strike. He thought about following her to the laundry room but changed his mind because of the knife. Then, moments later, he heard the sound of the washer starting and the scuffing sounds of Susan heading towards the kitchen.

Susan was about to put the teapot on when she heard a pounding at the door and someone calling out her name. She perked her ears and ran to the window, peering out—a man in a red plaid coat with a hood stood holding a bag of groceries. Upon closer examination, she realized it was her neighbor, Dan.

“Oh, God, Dan,” you scared me,” she said breathlessly, opening the door wide for him to enter.

Dan stood quietly like a statue in the closet, not making a sound. Who the hell would come out in a blizzard?