Page 2 of The Lie Maker

“Oh, shit,” the man said. “Shit shit shit.” He rushed to the window again, peeked out. “Looks like the whole street.”

With the streetlights out of commission, the living room was plunged into darkness.

“What’s happening?” the boy sitting on the stairs asked.

“Go to your room!” his mother shouted, unable to hide the fear in her voice. “Get under the bed!”

“It’s him,” her husband whispered. “Jesus Christ, it’s him. He’s killed the power. He’s here.” He scurried through the unlit room, rounding the corner to the front door, banging his hip on the wainscoting. He checked that the door was locked, slipped the dangling chain into place, shouting to his wife, “The back door!”

She ran blindly from the living room into the kitchen. Seconds later, she called out: “It’s locked!”

And then, as suddenly as they’d gone off, the lights came back on. The man froze, listening. All he could hear was the sound of the rain outside.

His wife stepped silently back into the living room. She whispered, “It’s the storm. It’s just the storm.”

He looked through the diamond-shaped window in the door, saw that the streetlights were back on, too.

“Maybe,” he said uncertainly.

He turned, looked at his wife, his eyes pleading, but no words came.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I’ve nothing left to give.” She looked toward the stairs, saw the boy sitting there.

Outside, sounds. Car doors opening and closing.

The man pulled back the curtain. “Finally.” The woman went to the window to see for herself. A long, black sedan sat at the curb, lights on, windshield wipers flapping back and forth. A woman opened the front passenger door and got out, glanced up for half a second at the light rain coming down. The driver stayed behind the wheel. A second, identical car pulled up behind the first. Two men in black suits got out, took up watchful positions. If they were aware of the rain, they didn’t show it.

Backup.

The woman who’d emerged from the first car walked toward the front door. She was clearly the agent in charge. The man turned back the dead bolt, undid the chain, and opened the door before she had a chance to ring the bell, swinging it wide, eyeing her accusingly.

“You’re late,” he said. “The power just went out. It could have been him.”

The woman stepped past him and into the front hall, glanced down at the three suitcases sitting there.

“Is this everything?” she asked.

“You said that was all I could take,” he said. “Why are you late?”

The woman, stone faced, ignored the question. “Sir, you need to get in the car, quickly.”

His face cracked. “Why? What’s going on?”

The woman hesitated, then said, “Our pickup plans may be compromised.”

“Jesus Christ,” the man said. Without thinking, he put his hand to the back of his neck, as though warding off an invisible dart.

“It may be nothing. But we’ve taken precautions. We have cars at each end of the street, blocking it off. That said, you need to get moving.”

The agent looked at the wife. “Ma’am? Any change of heart?”

She did a slow head shake.

The agent spotted the boy at the top of the stairs, then said to his mother, “We’ll have someone watching the house for the foreseeable future. They know there’s nothing to be gained by intimidating or threatening you. They think things can’t get worse for them, but they can.”

The woman said nothing.

“It’s time,” the agent said, standing clear of the open door.