Page 9 of Traces of Kara

Roland weaved through the arteries of the older side of the power plant. He dragged his hand along the stone walls. The stone felt good on his psoriasis, scraping away the itch. He’d memorized the turns of the plant’s narrow passageways, and counted the steps to the entrance to the second floor. He’d prepared perfectly to carry out his plan.

Soft moans filtered through the closed door. The boiler hissed. Roland peered through the window, shadowed by the darkness of the hall and room within. He watched the girl, straddling a man whose pants were gathered around one ankle. Her back arched and her naked breasts swayed with each thrust of her hips.

Roland’s chest tightened and he fisted his hands as he watched her riding him. He grit his teeth, squinted his eyes in disgust. He tore himself away, heading toward the office.

He walked into the open room and headed for the time clock. Eleven-forty p.m. Close enough. He put the time card in the slot and cast a glance behind him as the machine clicked, stamping the time onto the card. He replaced the card into the metal holder on the wall, grabbed Marissa’s bag and jacket from the chair, and headed back toward her.

Footsteps approached from down the hall. A soft giggle followed. Roland slipped into the security office. The man who ran the security cameras was slumped motionless in the chair, his chin resting against his chest. Roland looked at his body with no remorse. People were stupid. When Roland had walked into the room to disable the interior cameras, the guy startled, asking if he was Paul’s replacement. Kara had mentioned Paul, as well. Who was Paul? It was only after the man wouldn’t stop his incessant questioning that Roland had no choice. He had to take him out of the picture. People should learn to shut their mouths. Stupid people. Roland wondered if he’d miscalculated, if there would be any unanticipated employees showing up.

Voices of the young couple passing by the room brought Roland’s thoughts back to the issue at hand. It was so easy to be invisible. People were so self-centered that they failed to see things right before their eyes. Roland thought about how easily he’d watched Marissa. For months he’d watched her. Once, he almost drove up to her and revealed himself, but had chickened out. Marissa should know better than to live on such a rigid schedule. The whole town lived on schedules, it seemed. It surprised Roland how the same old woman took a walk at exactly seven p.m. every evening, and how a particular group of teenagers met behind Sheetz gas station every night at nine-forty-five p.m. sharp, with their baggy pants and their shoes untied. Roland was glad he wasn’t a kid any longer. Those were the kind of kids he might have hurt just to wipe the cocky smirks off of their faces. Roland waited for the couple to reach the office before heading back to Marissa.

Chapter Nine

Mimi walked up the second flight of stairs to Kara’s apartment. Seven a.m. was early, even by Mimi’s standards, but she just couldn’t wait any longer to talk to Kara. Butterflies flew in her stomach. She’d spent the entire night worried that her worst fear had come true—her weakness had finally sickened Kara, and she’d lost her. Mothers were supposed to be strong, to stand up for their children no matter what the personal consequences might bring. She’d failed in that regard. Why was she so weak? If only she could stand up to Ted, or figure out a way to show Kara he wasn’t so bad. He wasn’t, really. So he wanted his space back? That wasn’t so strange. He paid the mortgage. He deserved the man cave he’d been longing to reward himself with once Kara had moved out. Sure, Mimi had looked past the boxes, but Kara was her daughter, after all. She’d have given Kara her own bedroom if she’d thought it would make Kara’s life easier.

She rapped on the door, positioning a smile across her lips. She’d made a decision and she was sticking with it. She had to help Kara see that Daryl was not like her father. Daryl loved her, they had a good life together. Kara seemed happy and settled for the first time in ages. She couldn’t let Kara throw away her life with Daryl. Mimi knew Kara was full of resentment toward her father, and Mimi was sure Kara was just projecting those feelings onto her relationship with Daryl, which is why she was being so sensitive and accusatory. Mimi had to make Kara recognize that. She was going to talk to Kara about trust, and she’d apologize to her—profusely if it would help. Whether or not Kara liked it, or allowed it, she’d decided, was not of her concern. She could just picture Kara rolling her eyes, walking away, and sighing as she had in her teenage years. For Kara’s own good, she was going to tell her that she must trust. She couldn’t let her throw away a hard-working, loving man like Daryl.

She knocked again. Insecurity chipped away at her resolve. She bit her lower lip. “Kara?” she said through the door. Even though Kara had worked the night shift, she was always up bright and early.

No answer.

She lifted her hand to knock again, then lowered it. If Kara wanted to be alone, so be it. If she pushed, she’d only drive Kara further away. Sadness swelled in her throat. She pulled her shoulders back, held her head up high, and decided that she would respect her daughter’s need for space. Mimi walked toward the stairs, feeling strangely like she’d accomplished something. Respecting her daughter’s wishes was a step in the right direction. She only hoped Kara would appreciate her effort, and then listen when they were face to face.

Chapter Ten

Thursday morning brought fog to Chambersburg, Pennsylvania. Sergeant Mark Agnew stretched when he exited his patrol car, taking in the empty parking lot. He sauntered into the diner and sidled up to the counter.

Mable wiped her hands on her apron and raised her eyebrows at him. She leaned toward him. “He ain’t been in yet this morning.”

“Sick?”

Mable shrugged.

Lines formed across Mark’s furrowed brow. He repositioned himself on the red vinyl stool. Mable handed him a cup of black coffee.

“In nine years, he’s never done anything wrong, Mark. Why do you guys insist on keeping such close tabs on the poor man?”

“Mable, he’s had a PFA against him, a restraining order.” He lifted an eyebrow as he took a sip of the coffee.

Mable wiped down the counter, working a particular spot in a circular motion. Her rounded hips jiggled with each motion. “Lots of people have restraining orders. That doesn’t mean a thing. Why, Roland is just a dear. Never makes remarks, never disrespects me. I just can’t imagine what he could have done.”

Mark remained silent, sipping his coffee. Creases formed across his forehead. It didn’t matter that the PFA had lapsed. Mark was sure Roland was on a path to no good. He could feel it. The bell above the door rang, and they both turned toward the sound.

“Howdy, Mable. Cuppa coffee, please?” Mr. Wallace headed for his favorite booth.

Mable wiped her hands on a dishtowel and pursed her lips. She locked her eyes with Mark’s, as if to say, “Let Roland be.” Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

Mark walked through the truck yard on high alert. He had an active imagination, making it easy for him to think of all sorts of delinquent things that could happen within the thin metal walls of the trucks. His cell phone rang, Marci. Mark had begun dating the assistant to the local judge two years earlier. Their initial relationship had been one of coercion—Mark had tried to finagle his way into a meeting with the judge without an appointment. Marci was as ethical as she was beautiful, with her shoulder-length brown hair, ample buttocks and breasts that would make even the most stunning, hourglass figured model jealous. She was strong willed, a tigress in bed, and read Mark like an open book. She’d wanted him as much as he had wanted her.

“Hi, Marci.”

“Hi, hon. Are we still on for tonight?” she asked.

“Sure, tonight.” He knew he sounded distracted but he couldn’t help thinking about Roland Greer’s whereabouts.

“Uh-huh. I’m hearing hesitation.”

“No, no. I’m just in a hurry. I’ll see you at eight.” He said goodbye and took a last glance through the parking lot. Roland’s truck was nowhere in sight. What’re you up to, Roland Greer?