One rainy night, p.13
One Rainy Night, page 13
Like the T-shirt, the shorts were far too big. They looked as if they might fall down. Their legs gaped around her slim thighs, so loose and baggy Lou figured there was probably room to stick your head inside either one of them.
He thought about doing just that.
Buddy, you lucky bastard.
Buddy rubbed her rump. She stood rigid, letting him. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her fabulous green eyes fixed on the floor. ‘Maureen has agreed to be our servant for this evening. I’m her master, of course, but you’re the guests and she will be acting accordingly.’
‘What a load,’ Cyndi said.
Doug stepped toward Maureen and offered his hand. ‘I’m Doug. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’
She smiled at him, the corners of her mouth trembling slightly, and held out her hand. Doug gripped it. With a silly grin, he hopped up and down, pumping her arm.
‘Grow up,’ Cyndi muttered.
‘My friend, Cyndi, doesn’t find me amusing.’
‘Oh, that’s right. Just great. Tell her all our names, why don’t you.’
‘It doesn’t matter if I know your names,’ Maureen said, meeting Cyndi’s eyes. ‘I’m not about to tell on anyone. I assaulted Buddy. Now, I’m paying for it. He’s my master and I’m his slave. It’s fair. Besides, the way I see it, Buddy may have saved my life.’
Buddy looked surprised and pleased. ‘Really?’ he asked. ‘How’s that?’
‘This oughta be a good one,’ Cyndi said.
‘It’s simple,’ Maureen said, facing Buddy. ‘You cleaned me. You made me all right again.’
‘I bet he made you, all right,’ Doug said.
‘Shut up,’ Buddy told him.
‘Could I have a drink?’ Maureen asked.
‘Sure,’ Buddy said. ‘Why not.’
‘I’ll get you one,’ Lou told her, and caught Sheila giving him a sour look. ‘What would you like? How about a vodka and tonic?’
‘That would be nice. Thank you.’
While Lou hurried to prepare the drink for Maureen, Cyndi complained, ‘I thought she was supposed to be our servant.’
‘Dry up,’ Doug said.
‘Oh, real nice. Looks to me like she’s all of a sudden ruling the fucking roost around here.’
‘I only asked for a drink,’ Maureen said, her voice soft and apologetic.
‘Yeah, well, screw you.’
‘That’s already been done,’ Doug said.
Lou, at the counter, looked over his shoulder and saw a blush spread over the young woman’s face. ‘That wasn’t necessary, Doug,’ she said. ‘I’d like to be your friend. I know that I sort of crashed the party, and I’m sorry about that. I really had no choice in the matter. But since I’m here, I’d like to be friends with all of you.’
‘You can be my friend any old time,’ Doug told her.
‘She’s pulling your chain, you dork.’
‘No, I’m not,’ Maureen said.
‘Fuck you.’
‘I love this.’ Doug grinned at Buddy. ‘They’re fighting over me.’
‘Wouldn’t be any match,’ Buddy said. ‘Maureen would clean her clock.’
‘Up yours,’ Cyndi blurted.
Buddy’s face lost its smile. ‘Why don’t we find out?’
‘Why don’t we eat?’ Sheila suggested. Turning around quickly, she pulled open the oven door.
9
Denise’s thigh muscles shuddered from the effort of bracing the door with her back. She had taken over the job of holding the lock button down, though Tom hadn’t attempted, so far, to pop it open from the other side. He seemed content with crashing against the door.
Each time he struck it, the door jolted Denise.
She knew that only her body prevented it from ripping out the latch and flying open.
Sweat streamed down her face, stinging her eyes, dripping off her nose and chin. It rolled down her chest and sides, tickling her, making her itch. It mads the wood slick against her back. The knife was so slippery in her right hand that she feared she might drop it. The sweat seemed even more irritating than the soreness of her back or the tight hot throb of her spasming leg muscles.
‘Get a towel and wipe me,’ she gasped.
Kara whipped a towel down from a bar near the tub, hurried over to her, and started to mop her face. ‘What’re we going to do?’ the girl whispered.
‘I don’t know.’ She winced into the soft towel as the door hit her back. ‘I can’t do this much longer.’
‘What about the window?’ Kara asked.
‘Even if we get out in time, we’d be in the rain. It’d make us like him.’
Kara was silent for a moment as she rubbed the towel over Denise’s shoulders and chest. ‘What if we pretend to go out?’
I don’t . . .’ Another blow. ‘TOM! QUIT IT! THIS IS DENISE. YOU DON’T WANT TO HURT ME!’
Even as she yelled, the hammer was tugged from her front pocket and Kara hurried past the bathtub toward the louvered window. She boosted herself onto the counter. With quick blows of the hammer, she smashed the slats. Glass exploded outward, bounced off the screen and clattered down on the counter at her knees.
Hissing, spattering sounds of the rain came in.
Tom hit the door again. Denise gritted her teeth.
Kara struck the frame of the screen with her hammer. Again and again until the screen dropped into the night.
She jumped down from the counter. At the sink, she grabbed the flashlight. She raced with it to the window, turned it on, and rested it on the sill so its beam was aimed at the door. Back at the sink, she pointed toward the bathtub. Then she puffed out her candle.
Tom hit the door again, pounding agony through Denise.
Kara climbed into the tub. It had sliding shower doors of clear glass. In the dim glow from the flashlight, Denise saw her crouch down at the back of the tub and beckon to her with the hammer.
It’ll never work, Denise thought.
Neat idea, but it’ll never work.
She let the door ram her one more time, then thrust herself away from it and raced for the tub. She stepped over the side. She brought her other leg in. She eased the shower door shut, stepped backward, and raised the knife from her side. She pressed its pommel hard against her belly, blade straight out.
Fall for it, Tom. Please. I don’t want to stab you.
She flinched when the bathroom door burst open.
Tom lurched into view, stumbling. He almost fell, but got his balance and hurried alongside the tub. He still had the fireplace poker. He went straight for the window, leaned over the counter, reached to the sill and picked up the flashlight.
Then he turned away from the window.
He played the beam across the shower doors.
Denise squinted when its glare jabbed her eyes.
‘I seeeee youuuu,’ he said in a mad, cheery voice.
He strode toward the tub. Toward Kara’s end of the tub. He shined his light down at the crouched girl.
‘Leave us alone!’ Kara blurted.
‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ The light went out.
‘OVER HERE!’ Denise shouted. She threw the shower door wide, putting a double thickness between Tom and the girl, and braced it there with her knife hand.
She heard a quick whiss. A clink. The knife jerked and dropped from her hand. A blind, lucky swing of the poker must’ve struck its blade. Denise’s fingers tingled, but the poker had missed her hand.
Gazing into the blackness straight ahead, she stepped backward. Some kind of hose brushed against her left arm. As her back met the cool tile wall behind the tub, she reached up.
A clank, and the shower doors shook. He must’ve whipped his poker across the opening and hit the metal frames.
Denise found the shower nozzle. One of those removeable things with a handle. She tugged it from its mount, pulled-it in close to her face.
She heard Tom’s harsh breathing.
It came from straight ahead.
She didn’t hear the poker swing, but felt a quick fiery streak across her belly.
Suddenly, a harsh rolling rumble. The shower doors. Someone thrusting them shut in front of her? For an instant, Denise thought that Tom must’ve gone back to the other end of the tub to get Kara. Then he grunted. The rushing doors must’ve caught him.
Kara, back in action.
Denise dropped to a squat, fumbled in the dark as the doors clamored. She pictured Kara at the other end, trying to keep them shut, Tom in front of her, shoving at them.
She found a faucet. She turned it on all the way. Water rushed from the faucet, pounded the bottom of the tub, splashed her. Cool, but getting warmer.
She hoped the Foxworth’s kept their water heater turned up high – hot enough to scald.
Fingering the top of the spout, she found the shower knob and lifted it.
Water stopped thudding into the tub. The nozzle throbbed in her hand. She aimed it upward where Tom’s face should be. Heard a few sputters, a shhhhhhh as the hot water shot out. Then hard drumming. The spray was hitting the shower door, not Tom. Hitting it and flying back at her and it was hot. Not scalding, maybe. But damn hot.
Whimpering with pain, she squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away and shoved herself up to get her bare skin away from the spray.
The shower doors skidded. Kara yelped. Tom squealed. Something clattered against the floor of the tub, slid against Denise’s shoes. The poker?
‘You bitch!’ Tom cried out.
She aimed at the sound of his voice.
Heard him splash into the tub. Heard breathless, whiny noises from him. Her hand was knocked aside. A fist struck her just below the left breast. Hooking an arm around Tom, she squeezed him hard against her. With her other hand, she clubbed his head with the plastic nozzle.
As he clutched her neck, she tried to knee him in the groin. Hit something that made him grunt – probably just his thigh – and he threw her sideways by the neck. Her feet slipped out from under her. She fell, keeping hold of the nozzle, felt a rough tug when it reached the end of its hose, heard a crack of breaking plastic.
Her back slammed against the tub but something cushioned her head as it snapped down. Kara?
Tom came down on top of her, mashing out her breath, squeezing her throat. She pounded the nozzle against the side of his head. Water no longer sprayed from it. But water was spouting down, anyway, probably from the shower arm. Not hitting Denise. Shooting against Tom. And starting to fill the tub, burning against her buttocks and back.
Dropping the nozzle, she cupped water in both hands and flung it at his face. He cried out. His stranglehold loosened. She grabbed his thumbs and tore them away from her throat. His hands plunged into the water, splashing it up against her face and shoulders, and she yelped as the droplets stung her.
‘Denny?’
Tom’s voice. Alarmed.
‘Oh my God, Denny, what am I doing to you?’
‘Tom?’
‘God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ His cheek pressed the side of her face.
10
The car’s dome light came on when Trev opened the door. Francine and Lisa were still in the backseat. Francine looked as if she’d recovered from her panic. But her eyes were wide and frightened. So were Lisa’s.
Lisa had Patterson’s revolver pointing at his face.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
Neither of his passengers answered. Lisa said, ‘Are you OK?’
‘I didn’t get wet,’ he muttered, then slid his shotgun across the seat, climbed in and shut the door.
‘Did you find your friend?’ Lisa asked.
‘No. Thank God,’ he muttered. ‘It was a massacre in there. Her father’s dead.’
‘What’ll we do now?’
Trev shook his head. He wanted to sit here and do nothing at all. What is there to do?
Maureen had been staying at Liam’s house. He’d called there from O’Casey’s, and the phone had gone unanswered. She was either out somewhere, or home but unable to pick up the phone. He’d pictured her dead, sprawled out, stripped and bloody, savaged like the woman he’d found on the table top.
‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ Francine said. ‘We’ll drive the fuck out of here. That’s what we should’ve done in the first place, drive till we get out of this fucking rain and madness.’
‘I can’t leave without Maureen.’
‘The hell you can’t.’
The plastic crinkled and pressed against the nape of his neck. Through the thin layer of garbage bag, he felt a ring the size of a quarter.
The muzzle of a shotgun.
‘Mom, for godsake!’
The muzzle jabbed him. ‘Let’s get moving.’
Trev didn’t move a muscle.
‘Now!’
‘Maybe you should,’ Lisa said, a pleading sound in her voice.
‘I’ll shoot you! Nobody’ll even blame me. They’ll think the wet people did it.’
‘Lisa will know who did it,’ Trev said. Though he realized that the woman was desperate enough to pull the trigger, he felt no fear. He just felt weary, a little numb. ‘Besides, if you fire that thing, you’ll probably blow out the windshield. How do you feel about letting the rain come in?’
‘How do you feel about being dead?’
‘Mom!’
‘I’m doing this for you, honey. We’ve gotta get out of this town.’
‘You can’t kill Trev. That’d be murder. You’d be just as bad as the wet people. Worse, even. You know? I don’t think they have any choice. I think the rain makes them do it. But you’d be doing it because you want to. That’s a lot worse.’
‘I don’t want to. Shit!’
‘Well, put it down.’
‘No.’
Trev heard the snick-clack of a cocking revolver.
‘If you shoot him, I’ll shoot you.’
‘Lisa!’
‘I mean it! They murdered Maxwell last night, and it was all my fault. I’m not gonna sit here and let you murder a man right in front of me. I don’t care if you are my mother. You just can’t do it. Put the gun down!’
Trev felt the muzzle ease away from his neck.
‘OK? OK? Are you happy now?’
Lisa didn’t say anything.
After a while, Francine said, ‘Are we just going to sit here?’
‘How about if I take you home?’ Trev suggested.
‘Fine. Just fine.’
‘Is there a way in that’s sheltered?’
‘The carport’s covered,’ Lisa said. ‘The kitchen door’s right there.’
‘OK. Let’s do it.’
He started the car, put on its wipers and headlights, and backed slowly out of the alley. He glimpsed the black heap of the axeman before turning his eyes to the rearview mirror.
‘Will you stay with us?’ Lisa asked.
‘We’ll see,’ he said. He had no intention of staying with them.
‘That means no,’ Francine said.
‘It means we’ll see. Where do you live?’
‘4823 Maple.’
‘OK.’ He swung out onto Third Street, started forward. Easing down on the gas, he suddenly realized that the visibility had improved. Though the rain still came down, it no longer splashed a black sheet against the windshield, no longer deadened his headlights so much or blanketed the street lights. Trev could actually see cars parked along both sides of the road, and the glow of shop windows. He felt a swelling of hope. But it dwindled when he noticed the dim shapes of people in the rain.
The dead and the living.
‘Oh, my God,’ Lisa muttered.
Francine sucked in a quick breath.
It was better when we couldn’t see, Trev thought. He wished the rain would come down in a heavy shower like before and hide all this.
He glimpsed several bodies. Some were sprawled in the street, others on the sidewalk. He saw a man draped out the window of a pickup truck, torso split open and ropes of entrails hanging to the pavement. He saw a German Shepherd tugging at the leg of a child, trying to drag the small body over a curb. He swerved to miss the carcass of a woman in the middle of the road – a twisted jumble of broken limbs, head mashed flat. She looked as if she’d been run over many times.
The sights of the dead sickened Trev. The sights of the living terrified him.
Aione or in small groups, some skulked through the darkness like phantoms searching for prey. Others pranced around like revelers. Others raced in mad pursuit of fleeing victims. Many had discarded their clothing.
He saw a naked woman sprawled on the pavement, squirming and rubbing herself as if the rain had triggered a fit of erotic ecstasy. He saw a couple rutting on the hood of a car. The man was on top, and Trev couldn’t be sure whether the woman jerking beneath him was alive or dead. At the corner, he spotted two women and a man hunched over a corpse, tearing at its clothes and flesh.
Those people, distracted from their chore, turned their heads and peered toward Trev’s car. A chill prickled the back of his neck. He shoved down hard on the gas pedal.
In the back seat, Francine was wheezing again.
No sounds at all came from Lisa.
‘At least we can see where we’re going,’ Trev muttered.
He wondered if Maureen was among those he’d seen, demented or dead.
Maybe she’s safe, he told himself.
I’ll drop these two off and drive to her house. Maybe she’s there, safe and sound, and I can stay with her and protect her.
‘What could do this to people?’ Lisa asked, her voice high and shaking.
‘I wish I knew. Poison in the rain? Chemicals? Germs? I’ve got no idea. Hell, maybe God’s finally decided he’s had enough crap from humanity . . .’
‘God wouldn’t do this,’ Lisa said.
‘No, you’re probably right. Maybe it’s the Devil.’
A teenaged kid darted into view from behind a parked van. He sped toward Trev’s car on a skateboard, waving a machete overhead. He wore nothing but undershorts and a ballcap.
Trev swerved.
Not to avoid this one, to hit him.
