Amityville Subdivision

PART ONE

NOW/THEN

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1

The sun punched through the bedroom window, right into her eyes.

If that wasn't a clear sign that she should probably get up, nothing was.

She rolled over – groggy, hair mussed, one nightgown strap falling off a shoulder – and squinted at her alarm clock. It had stopped during the night, sometime just after three. She sighed. The power had probably gone out again. Glitchy power. No cable. No cell phone tower. The price one paid for living in a brand new development.

Well, she didn't have to be in the office at any particular time

did she?

so no harm done if she was a little late. She stretched, popped her back, and then slid out of bed. Thirty minutes later she was showered, dressed, and had a cup of instant in her hand, day-old, reheated in the microwave. She didn't bother putting on makeup.

Jasper caught her in her driveway. Her house was the first one on the left when you entered the cul-de-sac, and his was the second on the left, so as her sole immediate neighbor she'd gotten to know him reasonably well. He was walking... what was its name?... Patches, his tiny little mixed-breed whatsit. She had always referred to small, yippy dogs like Patches as Little Lord McMuffins, an appellation she was inordinately proud of. Jasper waved her over. He had gossip.

Morning! she said. It came out cheerier than it felt. She couldn't get her brain out of first gear, not even with the coffee. She felt like she'd been up all night.

Morning! he smiled back, making a beeline for her. Patches tugged at his leash. Naturally, he wanted to examine something invisible in the exact opposite direction. They were at it again! Jasper said conspiratorially after closing the distance between them, even though there was no one else to hear. Anyway, Robert, across the street, was mowing his lawn, making plenty of racket to drown them out.

Your nemeses? Abby asked, smiling.

"Oh, I'd hardly call them my nemeses, Jasper said with a theatrical wave of his hand. Just neighborhood nuisances. College girls should live on campus, where they can party to their hearts' delight, not in a quiet residential neighborhood like this!"

Well... Abby said, looking in the direction of the house in question. She could see the roof from here, but the trees sprouting from a pair of circular, equidistant center islands blocked much of her view. There was a third island as well, smaller, triangular, located between the other two but several yards closer to the entrance. Instead of trees, this one was adorned with an array of well-maintained, colorful flowers. The foliage was pretty, yes, but to Abby's way of thinking the islands were little more than traffic hazards, obstructing your view and forcing you to drive around the entire cul-de-sac instead of just cutting across. Plus they were an irresistible lure to young drivers, who felt compelled to weave in and out of them, creating yet another hazard.

Well, you can't blame them, she shrugged. "If I could've afforded my own place in college – my own house – I would've jumped at the chance. Brand-spanking-new development like this, they probably thought they'd be the only ones living here for the duration."

Well they're not. So much racket. Music, hollering, carrying on 'til all hours. With no consideration for the rest of us. That's the problem with being born with a silver spoon up your ass, he lamented. You don't have to work for anything, so you don't respect those who do.

Abby didn't recall hearing anything last night. Maybe, from her location, the trees blocked the noise.

Which one of them actually owns the place again? she asked.

Madison, I think. Maybe Emily. Frankly I can never remember which is which.

Emily is Buffy, Abby thought to herself, immediately wondering what the hell that even meant and where it came from.

Morning! someone else shouted from across the street. Robert's wife, Roberta, awkwardly making her way to her car in unfamiliar heels.

"And then there's those two, Jasper said, rolling his eyes dramatically. Abby snickered. Robert and Roberta Remington were a constant source of amusement, not just because of their names, but also because they bore a striking resemblance to one another. The neighborhood joke was that they were from Kentucky. You know who they remind me of? There was a sparkle in Jasper's eyes. The Wonder Twins! You probably don't remember the Wonder Twins. That was before your time."

Oh, I know them, Abby said, laughing. Cartoon Network.

Of course! Jasper laughed. Nostalgia never dies.

Patches whined at the end of his leash.

Okay, His Majesty speaks. We must be off. Toots!

Toots, Abby said. She watched as he crossed the street so that the little dog could relieve itself amidst the skeleton of one of the identical properties going up across the way. Their street, at the epicenter, had been the prototype, the seven homes there the first built and first sold. The others spread out in all directions, seventeen identical cul-de-sacs in all, seven lots each, in various stages of completion. As a result, workmen and construction machinery were omnipresent five days a week, the sound of backup alarms so pervasive that her mind had reduced it to background noise.

It was a strange setup, Abby reflected as she pulled out of her driveway, eased around the corner, and drove several yards on the shoulder to give a bulldozer headed in the opposite direction enough room to pass. The houses were so samey, and yet the style the architect or the investors or whoever determined such things had settled on was oddly dated: Dutch Colonial, with a second-floor balcony facing the street and out-of-fashion quarter moon windows peering out of a sizable, third-floor attic. Jasper's nostalgia again, she supposed. Several workmen waved at her as she drove past – not because they knew her, but because she was an attractive woman – and she suffered one wolf whistle. Then she was out of the development, on the single, lengthy road that connected it to reality, and ten minutes later she reached the access road that merged onto the highway.

What did she have going on today? She couldn't even remember, so dense was her mind from lack of sleep. She needed another cup of coffee, a good one. She exited at the next ramp and pulled into the Big Guy Mart.

The usual? asked the man behind the counter when she walked in. She was a regular.

Make it a double. I feel like I didn't sleep a wink last night.

Done and done, he said. He rang her up for the double espresso while she served herself from the machine. In the process she managed to drop her lid, spill coffee on herself while picking it up, and knock over the napkin dispenser when she tried to extract one with her free hand.

The day can only get better, right? she laughed, ignoring the glare from the next person in line. Her antics were holding him up.

That's all we can hope for. Six ninety-nine.

Dingbat klutz, muttered the commuter she'd held up after she fumbled her way out the door.

Broad's fucking crazy, the man operating the register replied. In fact, he was the owner, the Big Guy himself, and had no qualms about swearing in front of his customers. If they didn't like it, there was a Circle K next exit up.

No doubt.

"No, I mean really crazy. She comes in here every morning for coffee. On her way to work, she says. Claims she works for a magazine or something. Whole cast of characters at this supposed place. But I see her car, every day, just driving back and forth, up and down the highway. For hours. Then she stops in in the evening, sometimes, and rattles on like she's been at the office all day. Crazy fucking bitch."

The commuter looked after her, watched as she pulled out of the parking lot.

Probably on drugs, he concluded.

Everyone's on fucking drugs, said Big Guy.

2

You can't park here! barked the officer. He was discussing something with a balding, sour-faced man on the front lawn. His patrol car was idling across the street. Presumably the sour-faced man lived there.

I don't see any signs, Abby said.

"I said, you can't park here!" the officer repeated, daring her to say another word.

He was full of shit, but there was no point in arguing with him. This is what I'm talking about... she heard the sour-faced man say as she pulled away. She drove up to the next block, turned the corner, and parked there. As she walked back, she smiled and waved at the officer. Both men glared at her.

There was another cop car in front of the address she was looking for. Two officers were just climbing out of it. There was a large, silver box truck, too, and several other cars, some few parked haphazardly on the lawn, most parked in front of neighboring homes up and down the street. Two young, muscular guys were struggling a large, draped object strapped to a pallet up the truck ramp with a pallet jack. Other people were packing or unpacking boxes, carrying electronic equipment into or out of the house, walking around with clipboards. A lot of them were college students. A Middle Eastern gentleman rushed