Swiping at his eyes, Paul tried unsuccessfully to push away the last strands of drowsiness still clinging to his mind. Something deep in the pit of his stomach told him what had woken him had nothing to do with Zeus, his mischievous tabby and only companion since his wife had died nearly thirty years ago. Swinging his feet to the floor, Paul stepped into his leather slippers and grabbed his robe from the hope chest at the foot of his bed. Scurrying from the bedroom, fear and urgency pushed him forward.
The eerie orange glow emanating from his den at the foot of the stairs brought bile to his throat. Everything near and dear to him was in that room; his wife's portrait, the marble Sphinx from their trip to Egypt, the antique bookcase she'd given him when he'd gotten the position at the university-the bronzed baby shoes. His feet barely touched the treads as he rushed down the stairs, caution and prudence gone with the desperate need to salvage his memories.
He came up short at the threshold. Swallowing hard, he tried to dislodge the heart stuck in his throat. A fire crackled safely in the fireplace across the room, the dancing flames sending a ballet of mesmerizing shadows along the paneled walls and casting the room in an otherworldly radiance. Fingers of fear lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.
A quick glance at his desk in the corner reassured him his research was also safe, but did nothing to assuage his fears. The papers he'd left stacked neatly for the magistrate's office lay strewn about. The monitor of his computer silhouetted the head of a person sitting at his desk.
"Who are you? Wha … wha … what are doing?"
There was no response save for the clicking of computer keys.
"I'll call the police." Paul said.
A maniacal laugh rent the stillness, sending a chill of terror down his spine.
"No, Professor Morgan. We both know you can not do that." With a flourish, a hand came down hard on the keyboard. The monitor flicked rapidly through several screens before going black.
"What have you done?" Paul rushed to the desk, a wave of nausea rolling hotly in his chest and bringing water to his eyes. Everything. Everything was on that computer.
"I didn't want it to happen this way." The words carried sadness, but the face that turned to stare at him was pure evil. A face he barely recognized. "You really shouldn't have been quite so diligent in your research you know. I've sent obvious warnings, hoping to push you from this foolhardy course for months. But you wouldn't heed the signs." The clicking tongue scolded him as if he were an obstinate child. Fingers steepled in front of lips thin with hatred. "A shame really. I will miss your friendly manner. But you have become too much of a liability for me to allow you to live."
"You can't get away with this."
"Oh, I think we both know … I have … and I will again." The monster slowly standing before him wasn't the amicable person he'd known for decades. This person had morphed into a heinous murderer-a murderer with no conscience and a moral compass that pointed straight to hell.
Paul threw back his shoulders. Though he understood he would not survive this night, he would accept his fate with dignity. "I've already sent a copy of all of that to my lawyer." His hand waved at the papers on the desk. "He knows. He knows and understands everything. He is painfully aware of our strained relationship. None of this will stop with my death." Paul was pleased he could push the lie steadily through the panic clogging his throat.
"Please, don't insult my intelligence." The murderer gathered the papers on the desk and tapped them
on its polished cherry surface, elegant fingers aligning the edges before setting them neatly in a pile. "We both know these are the only copies. And we both understand what is to come is inevitable. Preordained if you will …" The smile was reptilian as if Satan himself had taken possession of this wayward soul.
"You won't get away with this." Paul was repeating himself, but terror had stripped him of coherent thought.
"But I already have." Something small flew from the long fingers. Blue flames erupted in the fireplace. A ball of fire jumped to the leather chair next to the hearth. Another flew to the Aubusson rug he and his wife had gotten on their honeymoon fifty years ago.
"Stop!"
"What you began … I will finish tonight."
Paul lunged for the decorative throw on back of the couch, intent on pounding the growing flames into submission.
Another burst of evil laughter split the air as the glass vase on the hearth exploded in the growing heat. "That's right old man. Try to stop it."
Paul brought the blanket down hard on the fire spreading like a sickness across the rug. The thick smoke choking the air filled his nose and burned his lungs. It was no use. The flames were spreading faster than he could control them. He needed to get out. Abandoning the blanket, he turned to run.
He saw the small ottoman only seconds before it crashed down on his world.
