Der Schädelring: Thriller (German Edition)

darkness around her grew substance, pressed against her like a thick black jelly.
    The smallest of noises came from her window, like a bird's feathers scraping glass. Julia turned in the direction of the curtains. Two red specks glowed there.
    Julia nearly dove into the blankets, to bury her head and let the panic consume her and maybe take her breath for the deepest and final time. The eyes couldn't have been red. It must be the Peeping Tom, back for a second helping.
    Her face flushed with anger. She wanted to make sure he would never peep again. She reached under the bed, grabbed the Louisville Slugger, and ran to the window.
    She heard the voice, plainly, clearly, "He owns you, Jooolia."
    She dropped the bat. The twin red specks disappeared.
    Eventually dawn came, the gray light filling the room. Julia numbly took a shower, dressing in the bathroom. She kept the bat close. When she was dressed, she called the Elkwood police desk. She gave her name and asked if the investigating officer in her Peeping Tom case could meet her at Dr. Forrest's office at ten. When the communications officer asked for more information, Julia hung up.
    The morning was dark, oppressive clouds spread in a solid drab sheet overhead, the air still. Even the colored leaves seemed washed out, yellows and reds edging toward brown. A soft fog hid the surrounding mountains, and the smell of coming rain fought with the sweeter odors of autumn decay and grass. No one stirred at the apartments across the street, and Mabel Covington's rocker was empty.
    Julia arrived at the Times office to find Rick waiting by her desk. "Gee, you look terrible," he said, stirring his coffee with a pencil.
    "Good morning, Mr. Compassion." Julia expected him to again ask who was the lucky guy who'd kept her up all night, but he only pressed his lips together and nodded.
    "Anything new on your Satanic murder theory?" she asked.
    "Nope. Got an interview with Snead this morning. The editor's going to love me for this one."
    If she loves you half as much as you love yourself, that would be a romance for the ages. "Good luck. Well, I've got work to do. As usual."
    "We've got days until deadline." He moved closer to her, looming. "What's your hurry?"
    Julia nervously eyed the corners of her small office. Her heart was beating fast, the panic creeping in on a black tide.
    "Hey, is something the matter?" Rick set his coffee on her desk, stepped back, and held his palms up, his expression as innocent as a teddy bear's.
    Julia put her elbow on her desk and propped up her head with one hand. "Just tired, is all."
    "Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out tonight with some of my friends, but I guess not. He owns you."
    Julia spun in her chair, tried to rise but her knees were weak. She gasped a couple of times, fought some air into her lungs, and whispered, "What did you say?"
    "Jeez, what's wrong with you, Julia?" he said.
    "You said 'He owns you.'"
    His eyebrows lifted. "I didn't say anything of the kind."
    Julia's pulse machine-gunned through her veins, her throat constricted.
    "You ought to go home and get some rest," Rick said, taking a step back. "You don't look so hot."
    Julia pulled a water bottle from her purse and took a couple of swallows. Her hands trembled so much that the water sloshed inside the plastic container. She was ashamed to have Rick see her this way. "I think I'm catching a little bit of the flu."
    Rick edged closer to the door. "I'd go see a doctor if I were you."
    "I am," she said. "Ten o'clock."
    "Well, don't die or anything before then," Rick said, glancing at two graphic artists passing in the hall as if they might provide emergency medical assistance, or at least provide cover for his escape.
    "I'll be fine," she said. "I just want to get a little work done before then."
    "Yeah," Rick said, avoiding her eyes. "Well, I've got to get ready for my interview."
    "Bye," she said, but he was already gone. Julia looked into her open purse. The box waited under her wallet, key chain, and tissues. Her fingers itched to touch it, though the memory of its strange electricity still haunted her.
    She reached in, dug toward the bottom of the purse until she felt the wooden box. Her fingers explored the etched emblem. She thumbed the lid free and rooted in the cloth. She touched the cold metal and pulled the ring free of the purse.
    Julia held the ring between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand. Again it seemed to guide itself toward her left