The Mourning Mail (final release candidate #7)

Chapter 41

Dr. Merriman had warned me not to fly, but several days had passed since the collision and I'd have to take my chances. The only flight with seats available on short notice was the red-eye going out at 2:00 in the coming morning. I didn't want to disturb Cathy at that hour, so after quickly packing a carry-on and making some phone calls, I got in some work before I called for an Uber and headed for the airport.

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In the moonless morning's wee hours, the hooded figure of a young man passed on the sidewalk across from the yellow-orange glow of the streetlamp. His eyes followed his long, angular shadow as it darted up from behind his left shoulder onto the freshly mowed lawns of the neighboring homes. It raced ahead as he walked and then faded into the darkness. Dressed head to toe in black, he kept his nitrile-gloved hands in his jean pockets, his hoodie drawstring pulled tight, only his eyes visible. Pushing forward steadily with his head down, he glanced neither to the right nor the left. Crossing the railroad tracks, he reached the noise abatement wall on the far side. Suddenly, he made a hard right turn, disappearing into the darkness behind it.

The soles of his shoes, sanded free of any telltale tread, slipped slightly with each step into the dew just forming upon the grass and weeds. Suddenly, the brightening beams of a vehicle's headlights approached the wall from behind him. Crouching down into the shadow the wall provided from the streetlight on the other side, he froze until the sedan passed. Once the vehicle was a block away, he resumed his journey.

Slightly bent over, he stealthily crossed the small ditch alongside the wall. He hopped the hurricane fence enclosing the backyard of the nearest residence. Carefully crossing the yard, he avoided the children's toys scattered in his path. He slung his body over the steel bar topping the next fence, landing cat-like on the lush turf on the other side.

A yard light only dimly lit the area from a pole three houses to the north. Slinking to the residence's corner, he flattened against its brick wall. Kneeling and moving away from the patio, he found the joint between the brick and the slab with his fingertips. Following along the joint, he felt the telltale loop of the phone line. He clipped the wire with a small set of wire cutters from his righthand pants pocket to prevent outgoing messages or alarm notifications.

Sliding along the wall back to the corner, he stepped softly onto the patio's concrete. Feeling the cool glass of the sliding door against his back and left shoulder, he reached out with his left hand to test the door handle. It pulled open slightly with a gentle tug. He stepped back and waited for a sign of any alarm or activity inside the house. His heart was pounding in his chest, as it did when he was just a kid, breaking into his first house. He knew his nervousness was coming from sneaking into a home where he knew someone was sleeping inside. It was a risk he'd never take under ordinary circumstances.

Hearing and seeing no response to opening the door, he pulled it further ajar, just enough to allow his slim frame to pass. He stepped onto the vinyl flooring of the kitchen, part of the home's layout he had learned from two previous trips casing the house when it was empty. Pulling a one-and-a-half-foot length of one-inch-diameter steel pipe from his jacket, he held it like a baseball bat to feel its heft.

Suddenly, the refrigerator's automatic icemaker churned momentarily, spitting new cubes into its container. The muted clatter made the uninvited guest nearly jump out of his skin. Putting his chin to his chest briefly, he took a deep breath and reminded himself, you've done this a hundred times before.

Turning to the right from the kitchen, he knew the hall ended in two bedrooms, one on each side. The occupants used the one to the left as a home office; his destination was the other. Kneeling on the carpet before the door, he turned the round knob until the latch softly released. Staying low, he quickly duck-walked into the room, closing the door behind him without a sound.

A nightlight from an open bathroom door had dimly illuminated the hallway; in this bedroom, only the distant yard light filtering through the closed drapes provided any way to see. He gave himself a moment to let his eyes adjust. Heavy snoring from the bed told him he wasn't alone—all was as planned. Standing up, he slowly tiptoed to the headboard and raised the pipe.

But before he could swing it, the man in the bed sat up and said, "Mindwingers and gentlemen, we are about to begin our final descent as we begin our approach to Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. On the ground, skies are overcast and the temperature is fifty-four degrees, with a brisk breeze from the northwest coming off the lake. On behalf of the flight crew, we ask that you return your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Please raise your seatbacks and tray tables to their upright and locked positions. Make sure that any personal belongings which may have been used during flight are secured in the overhead bin or underneath the seat in front of you. Flight attendants will making one last trip through the aisle to collect any service items. We will be landing soon."

My dream was so vivid that I had awakened confused and disoriented. I guessed that was a side effect of my injuries and the medication I was taking.

But what the hell is a "mindwinger?" I could only shake my head and smile at the craziness my brain sometimes conjures up.