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.Dexter’s heart swelled.The holidays always had been his favorite time of year.Traditionally, he would buy a lavish gift for himself: a Rolex, a new knife, an Italian suit.The tradition had been put on hold during his incarceration, but he aimed to resume it this year, in the boldest, most meaningful way.He was going to give himself the gift of vengeance.He drove around a bend.The home he sought was ahead, nestled in a cul-de-sac at the end of the block.It was a basic two-story model with an attached garage.Neatly maintained shrubbery entwined with Christmas lights, which happened to be shut off.The rest of the house was dark, too.Had his wife warned Thad about him? Had Thad, frightened, gone somewhere else to spend the night—perhaps in the arms of a lover?It was a possibility.It was half-past eight.Thad could have been out to dinner, or working a night shift somewhere.There were many possible answers as to why the house appeared to be vacant.But in these situations, prudence, usually, was best.He would park around the corner, cut the engine, and wait for a while.Anyone going to the house would have to drive past him.He wasn’t worried that someone would identify him as a threat.An hour ago, he had ripped the “License Applied For” tag off the Chevy, and replaced it with a set of Missouri tags that he had stolen off a car parked at a strip mall.And the battered Chevy had the further advantage of being so ordinary, it was virtually invisible.Like me, he thought.After his shoplifting spree at the gas station, he’d spent some time reflecting upon his unusual talent.Wondering where it had come from, how, and why.He had not arrived at any conclusions, had not even formed any concrete theories.He had spent the last four years in prison, and his bid had been free of incident.Nothing unusual had happened to him in the joint.And his pre-prison life had been equally mundane.He’d lived life in the fast lane: expensive cars, lots of money, sex with beautiful women, drugs.Although it would have seemed an extraordinarily exciting existence to another brother, to him, it was just everyday living.Obviously, a talent to walk the earth invisible did not spring from everyday living.Something had happened to him, at some point in his life, to awaken—or instill—the cloaking ability.But what?Maybe I was abducted by aliens.Little green men beamed me into their starship, injected me with extraterrestrial syringes, and zapped me back down here to roam the world as a guinea pig.Although he was merely passing the time, musing ridiculous scenarios, a face surfaced in his mind like a full moon: a white-jacketed, middle-aged black man with skin so light he appeared biracial, curly brown hair, glasses, and inquisitive eyes.Dexter sat up straighter in the seat.Where have I seen that face before?He couldn’t remember.The man might have been only a figment of his overheated imagination.But hadn’t he dreamed of the man last night, too?Dexter never, ever forgot a face.When he thought of the guy, his heart rate accelerated, as if the man was an actual, flesh-and-blood person, someone with whom Dexter had experienced a very negative interaction.The face retreated into the murk of Dexter’s subconscious mind.He would wait, patiently, for a revelation.He was good at waiting when it suited his purposes.He sank down into the seat again.His breath plumed in front of him, like answers yet to be fully formed.About twenty minutes later, a pair of headlights broke up the blackness inside his car.Someone was coming.He stayed low in the seat, hat pulled over his head.A white Toyota SUV drove past, music bumping from the speakers.He recognized the song: “Santa Claus Comes Straight to the Ghetto,” by the immortal James Brown.The truck headed toward Thad’s house.“Invisible,” Dexter said.His heart beat like a tribal drum, and he spoke solemnly, as if he were supplicating some powerful, pagan god.“Make me invisible.”A darting movement.a hissing of phantom serpents.and soon, the warm force field shrouded him.He didn’t understand the source of this talent, and perhaps never would, but he didn’t need to comprehend the workings of it in order to use it for his advantage.He selected a Bowie knife, checked to ensure that he had the roll of duct tape that he had taken from Betty’s house.Then he got out of the car.* * *The Toyota was pulling into the garage as Dexter approached at a brisk jog.There was a black Honda Accord already parked inside, on the left.The driver switched off the Toyota’s engine and doused the lights.The garage door began to rattle downward.Dexter slipped inside between the vehicles.No one sounded an alarm.His cloak was fully intact.The garage door thumped shut against the concrete floor [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]