The Boy in the Window: A Psychological Thriller Read online

  Jess, on the other hand, seemed keyed up, more nervous than usual. Owen wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but he’d like to think it was.

  He’d almost made it to the end of the street, when a tall, blond man sitting on his porch, stood to watch him jog past.

  Owen waved, expecting the guy to reciprocate. The man just stood there, his eyes squinting in an aggressive manner.

  Okay then, Owen thought, averting his gaze. Apparently not everyone in the neighborhood was friendly.

  Owen had run for a good twenty minutes when he decided to turn back and head home. Jessica would surely have dinner ready and she wouldn’t eat without him.

  Wiping the sweat from his eyes, he turned onto Meadowbrook Circle, intentionally avoiding the sour gaze of the tall, blond still standing on his porch.

  A distressed cry reached Owen’s ears. He slowed his steps, scanning the rows of houses on either side of the street.

  The sound came again, louder this time.

  Owen picked up his pace, realizing the cry came from the red brick house up on his right.

  It surprised him to see the surrounding neighbors that were once outside, scurry up their driveways to return indoors.

  He left the street, jogging across the of the red brick house. “Mrs. Martin?”

  No answer.

  Owen sailed onto the porch and rapped on the door. “Mrs. Martin? It’s your neighbor, Owen Nobles.”

  The door swung open and Eustice stepped out. “What do you want?”

  “I heard someone cry out.” Owen attempted to see inside the house, but the balding man stood in the way. “Is everything okay?”

  Eustice crossed his arms over his beefy chest. “Everything is fine. Now be on your way.”

  Owen wasn’t about to leave without making sure that Mrs. Martin wasn’t injured. “I’ll be on my way when I speak to your wife.”

  The neighbor’s eyes narrowed. “What happens on my property is none of your business. Now, I suggest you get off my lawn before I run you off.” Eustice touched the pocket of his jeans for emphasis.

  The bulge resting there left little doubt in Owen’s mind that his neighbor carried a gun.

  Bringing his hands up in front of him, Owen slowly backed away. “I’m going.”

  Without turning his back on the insane man, Owen carefully made his way home and immediately went for his cell phone.

  Jessica entered the dining room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You’re back.” Her gaze fell on the cellphone in his hands. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling the police.”

  Alarm registered in her eyes. “The police? What for?”

  Owen held up a hand for silence after dialing 911. He brought the phone to his ear and waited patiently for the dispatcher to go through her spiel. “911-what is your emergency?”

  “I believe my neighbor is hurting his wife.”

  Jessica’s gasp wasn’t lost on Owen.

  “What is the address of the dispute?” The sounds of typing could be heard in the background.

  Owen spouted off the address before answering the rest of her questions.

  Once the dispatcher had the pertinent information, she demanded he stay on the line with her until the officers arrived.

  Her face pale and drawn, Jess took a seat next to him at the dining table and fidgeted with her hands.

  More than ten minutes ticked by before the sound of sirens could be heard coming up the street. Owen informed the dispatcher of the officers’ arrival and then disconnected the call.

  He met Jess’s worried gaze. “I hope I didn’t just make things worse for Mrs. Martin.”

  “How could you make it worse?”

  “Trust me. It can always get worse.”

  Shouting suddenly ricocheted off the trees out front, sending both Owen and Jess surging to their feet. They scrambled to the front window.

  Eustice stood on his porch, his hand waving angrily in front of him as he faced off with the police officers. He abruptly turned, jerked his front door open and Mrs. Martin stepped outside.

  Even from a distance, Owen could see the bruising on her face.

  Putting a finger to his lips for quiet, Owen eased his window up in hopes of hearing the conversation. Alas, Mrs. Martin’s voice was too soft to make out her words.

  The police stayed for a few minutes more, and then trekked their way across the yard of the abandoned house to Owen’s place.

  Owen promptly let them in.

  “Are you the one who called in the complaint?” a tall, thin officer asked.

  Owen nodded. “I am.”

  The officer reached into his shirt pocket and pulled a small notepad free. “Your name, sir?”

  “Owen Nobles, and this is my wife, Jessica.”

  Jessica cleared her throat and jerked her chin toward the window. “Is Mr. Martin going to jail?”

  The officer shook his head. “We have nothing to charge him with.”

  “Nothing to charge him with?” Jess blurted. “But he was obviously beating on his wife.”

  The tall, thin officer met her gaze. “This isn’t the first time we’ve been called out to the Martins’ on domestic abuse allegations. But the wife always comes to his defense.”

  Owen’s eyebrows shot up. “How can she defend him? It’s obvious he beats her. Hell, I could see the bruises from over here.”

  “She claims that she fell down the stairs of the house next door,” the officer answered.

  Owen’s hands went to his hips. “She wasn’t in the house next door. The cries I heard were coming from inside the brick home.”

  “I understand, Mr. Nobles. Unfortunately, if the wife refuses to press charges, there’s nothing we can do.”

  Jess threw up a hand in obvious disbelief. “And if he kills her? Then what?”

  “Then we have a case.” The officer finished jotting down something on the notepad, flipped it closed and returned it to his shirt pocket.

  “Look, folks, I know you mean well, and we appreciate you attempting to help. But we see this sort of thing more often than not. The abused are either too afraid to make a report, or they have some deep rooted need to be controlled.”

  Jess opened her mouth to argue, but Owen sent her a look he hoped she would read. She did.

  He extended his hand to the officer. “Thank you for responding.”

  “That’s what we’re here for.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jessica watched the officers stride back to their squad car and leave without a backward glance. “I can’t believe they’re not going to do anything.”

  Owen closed the door. “You heard them. Their hands are tied. If Mrs. Martin refuses to press charges, there’s nothing they can do.”

  “But you saw the marks on her face.” Jess moved to the window to find Eustice standing on his front porch staring back at her.

  She quickly backed away, a feeling of unease following her into the kitchen. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

  Owen stepped up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. “It smells delicious. Listen, Jess, I want you to stay away from the house next door. I don’t want you anywhere near Eustice Martin when I’m not here.”

  Jess merely nodded. She picked up a plate that held a burger and homemade french fries and offered it to her husband.

  Kissing the top of her head, Owen accepted the plate and took it into the dining room.

  Jessica quickly joined him.

  The two of them ate in silence, each one lost in his or her own thoughts. Jess couldn’t help but think about the articles she’d read before Owen’s arrival home.

  What suspicions had surrounded the investigation? she silently questioned, taking a bite of her burger. And who were they suspicious of?

  She wondered if Eustice Martin had anything to do with it. Strange that he’d bought that house shortly after its foreclosure.

  Owen paused with his burger half way to his mouth. “Don’t worry about the Martins, Je
ss. As long as you steer clear of their property, everything will be alright.”

  Jessica nodded in an attempt to reassure Owen that she would be fine. When, in truth, she felt anything but. Her gut told her that Eustice had more than likely been trouble to the people who’d lived in that two-story house, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he had something to do with Terry’s disappearance.

  Owen reached out and laid his palm over the back of Jessica’s hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  With a small smile, Jess put down her burger and wiped her mouth. “I’m sure. Let’s finish eating and watch a movie together.”

  His eyes lit up with joy, sending a pang of guilt sliding through her gut. She’d neglected him—neglected his needs for the past three years, yet he’d always been there for her.

  They finished their meal in silence, cleaned up their mess, and got ready for bed.

  Owen turned on the television in the bedroom. “What do you want to watch?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. TV didn’t interest her in the least. Seeing Owen smile was her only goal tonight. “You pick something.”

  He pulled her head down to his chest as he’d recently done and flipped through the channels. It wasn’t long until the room filled with the soft sounds of his snores.

  Jess switched off the television and quietly slid from the bed. Sleep would surely allude her this night, her mind becoming a jumble of scattered thoughts and images of the day’s events.

  She crept to her office and flipped on the light. Her painting supplies sat in the corner, resting against the wall. She hadn’t painted in years.

  Setting up the easel, Jess began readying her paints along with a fresh canvas. She wanted to create Jacob, smiling and playing in the sun.

  It took her a good minute to gather enough strength to mix her paints. It wouldn’t be easy to capture the image of a smiling Jacob, not with her last memory of him lying in that coffin.

  Swallowing hard, Jess steadied her hand and started with the backdrop. It wasn’t long before she became lost in the feel of the brush moving over the canvas.

  * * * *

  “Jess?” Owen’s voice penetrated her sleep fogged brain. “What are you doing in here? It’s three in the morning.”

  Blinking to clear her vision, Jess met her husband’s worried gaze. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d come in here and paint.”

  She shifted her attention to the canvas, the brush she held in her fingers falling softly to the floor at her feet.

  Owen rushed into the room. “Are you okay?”

  Jess couldn’t answer. Her gaze remained locked on the image before her—the image of a boy, lying in a grave. Though, she couldn’t see his face for the long, dark hair, covering his eyes, she would recognize that striped T-shirt, anywhere.

  She cleared her throat, jumping to her feet and blocking Owen’s view of the painting. “It’s not finished yet.”

  Owen came to a stop, his gaze searching her own. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  He had no idea how accurate his assessment was. Jessica blanked her expression. “I must have fallen asleep in here. I’m sorry for worrying you. Go back to bed, I’ll be there shortly.”

  Owen’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “It’s good to see you taking an interest in painting again.”

  Jess sent him a reassuring smile. “It actually felt pretty good.”

  He turned to go. “Don’t stay up too much longer. You look exhausted.”

  Jessica waited for him to disappear around the corner before moving back in front of the image she had no memory of painting.

  Her hand slowly lifted toward the little boy’s hidden face, but she let it fall away.

  She would need to get rid of the painting before Owen saw it. He already worried about her sanity, and if he had any idea that she’d blacked out and painted the missing Dayton boy, buried beneath the ground, he would think she’d lost her mind. At this point, Jessica was beginning to question that very thing.

  Snatching up the painting, she hurried across the room and placed it in the back of the closet.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jessica spent the next few days reading everything she could find on the internet about the missing Dayton boy.

  In all the articles she’d found, one man’s name continued to appear—a reporter named Steven Ruckle.

  She backed out of the current screen she’d landed on and typed in the reporter’s name. Steven Ruckle no longer worked as a reporter for the local newspaper. He’d moved on to an editor’s position at a much larger publishing house.

  Jess wrote down the phone number that appeared on the screen and reached for her cell.

  What am I going to say? Hi, my name is Jessica Nobles and I saw the missing boy from the house next door? They will lock me up for sure.

  Taking a steadying breath, Jess dialed the number.

  “Harrington Post,” a female voice announced, picking up on the third ring.

  Jess wanted to hang up. Instead, she said, “May I speak with Steven Ruckle?”

  “He’s not in his office at the moment, but I can take a message if you’d like?”

  Jessica gave the woman her name and number. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Not a problem.” The woman disconnected the call.

  Dropping her cellphone into her skirt pocket, Jessica ambled toward the kitchen for a drink of water. The cell vibrated against her hip before she finished filling her glass.

  She set her drink on the counter, checked the ID screen of her phone and pressed the green key. “Hello?”

  “This is Steven Ruckle. I had a message to give you a call.”

  Jessica’s heart began to race. “Hi, Mr. Ruckle. My name is Jessica Nobles. My husband and I bought the house next door to the old Dayton place. I wondered if I could ask you a few questions about what happened there?”

  A pause ensued. “What would you like to know?”

  Jessica grew more nervous by the second. “The articles I read online stated that there was some suspicion surrounding the Dayton boy’s disappearance, yet it doesn’t give specifics about those suspicions.”

  Steven sighed through the line. “I’m really not the person to question about this, Mrs. Nobles. Perhaps you should speak to the detective assigned to Terry’s case.”

  Odd that he’d used the child’s first name, Jess thought. That told her one thing for certain, that he’d been closer to the Dayton case than he wanted to let on.

  “Okay, Mr. Ruckle. I apologize for wasting your time.”

  She moved to end the call when his next words stopped her. “Is the Dayton house still empty?”

  “Yes. It’s owned by a Mr. Martin. He’s the man—”

  “Unfortunately, I know exactly who Mr. Martin is. Have you met him yet?”

  Jessica moved to the dining room to take a seat at the table. “I had the displeasure my first day in the new neighborhood. I’d gone over to the Dayton house to check on a child I’d seen in the upstairs window when I was nearly accosted by Mr. Martin.”

  “Accosted?”

  “He accused me of trespassing, threatened to call the police on me. But it wasn’t until later that night that things got physical.”

  “What do you mean, things got physical?”

  Jess proceeded to tell him about the child she’d seen in the upstairs window, her illegal entry into the house, and Mr. Martin’s unexpected appearance.

  “Can we meet in person?” Steven suddenly asked, catching her off guard.

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, Jessica calculated how much time she had before Owen would be home from work. “Sure. Where would you like to meet?”

  “I haven’t had lunch yet. How about Happy’s Bar and Grill on Highway 2, in say, twenty minutes?”

  Jessica fought back the anxiety that assailed her. She was sneaking around behind Owen’s back. Though, he left her no choice. If he knew that she was digging around into the missing Dayton boy�
�s case, he’d cart her off to the nearest psychiatrist. “I’ll be there.”

  Ending the call, Jess ran into the bedroom and grabbed her purse. She fished around inside until her fingers touched on the bottle of antianxiety pills she had for emergencies.

  She twisted off the lid and popped one into her mouth before hurrying back to the kitchen and downing the glass of water she’d poured.

  Normally, Jess would have bypassed the medication unless things began to feel out of control, but today was important. She would be meeting with the reporter on the old Terry Dayton case. She needed to be calm and not come across as the lunatic she no doubt was.

  * * * *

  Jessica pulled up in front of Happy’s Bar and Grill and switched off the engine. The place appeared crowded from what she could see through the row of windows across the front.

  “What am I doing here?” Jess muttered aloud, her fingers moving back to the keys still in the ignition.

  Her cellphone vibrated from the console, startling her out of fleeing.

  She picked it up and took in a number she didn’t recognize. Pressing the send key, she brought it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Nobles?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Steven Ruckle. I got here a little early. I’m in the back-left corner in a booth.”

  “I’m here as well. I’ll be right in.”

  With little choice but to leave or go inside and get the answers she sought, Jessica opened the door and climbed out.

  She hoisted her purse onto her shoulder, entered the establishment, and made her way to the back.

  A man sat in a booth on the far-left side of the room holding a menu in his hands. He looked up as she approached, a smile on his face. “Mrs. Nobles?”

  Jessica nodded and took a seat across from him. She set her purse against the wall next to her and extended her hand across the table.

  “Steven Ruckle,” he informed her, accepting her palm.

  Jess noticed several things at once. His light brown hair appeared windblown, and laugh lines rested at the corners of his eyes. Her gaze lowered to his smile to take in his even, white teeth. “It’s nice to meet you.”