One rainy night, p.18
One Rainy Night, page 18
Her left hand touched the slick tile wall at the end of the pool. Staying below the surface, she peered up. But she saw only dark water. She pressed the shorts to the top of her head and surfaced.
A yard to the left of the board.
She plunged under, kicked and came up again directly beneath the board. She turned sideways, reached out and clutched the pool gutter. With her other hand, she plucked the shorts off her head.
She felt the cold water encasing her body. No warm rain striking her head or shoulders or outstretched arm. No urges to rend flesh or taste blood.
Satisfied that she was all right, she turned her gaze toward the patio.
Doug was standing, pulling Lou’s arm. Helping him up?
A chill gripped Maureen’s bowels.
Lou got to his feet. He was hunched over slightly as if hutting, but he nodded eagerly.
She knew what would happen next. They would come for her.
She heard a sharp laugh.
Then the two guys, side by side, turned away.
And Maureen saw Sheila dash through the lighted kitchen, arms stretched out, face twisted with terror. Cyndi ran into view, and for a moment Maureen thought Cyndi was chasing the girl. Then she understood.
They were racing for the door.
Doug, apparently realizing what they intended, suddenly bolted for it.
Sheila reached the door first and hurled it sideways. Over the sound of the splashing rain, Maureen heard the door rumble across its rails and thud shut.
Doug slid to a halt. He yanked the outside handle. The door didn’t budge.
The girls on the other side of the glass gazed out. Sheila started backing away. Cyndi wiped blood off her lips and chin. They both jumped when Doug hammered his fists against the pane. Sheila, shaking her head, shouted at him. Cyndi darted behind her and vanished. Doug pounded the door again, then slammed his forehead against it. Maureen heard the thump. The glass held.
At the sound of a clank, Maureen looked away from the brightly lighted scene. She saw Lou over to the side, a black shape against the darkness of the wall, lifting the iron lid off a barbecue kettle. He snatched something off a nearby tray. Carrying the lid in front of him like an odd, dome-shaped battle shield, he ran toward the door.
In the kitchen, Cyndi rushed up beside Sheila. She passed a butcher knife to Sheila and kept one for herself.
Doug dodged out of the way. Lou punched the iron lid against the door. The glass shattered, blasting inward, throwing shards at the girls as they staggered backward.
Lou leaped through the opening, shield first, right hand waving a yard-long barbecue fork overhead.
7
He went for Sheila, but Cyndi lunged in from the side, shrieking like a madwoman. As she stabbed downward, he whipped her across the face with the rod of his fork. The blow turned her head. Her body followed, and the blade cut only air. Doug, diving, took her down.
Lou flung the barbecue lid to the floor. It struck with an awful, ringing clamor that made him cringe and grin. Sheila glanced around at him, then hurled herself through the doorway and into the dining room. Lou raced after her.
Great fun, he thought. Great fun!
Sheila slapped a chair, tumbling it away from the table to block his path. Lou, laughing, leaped over it.
He chased her into the living room. Gaining on her. But not too quickly. He was enjoying himself so much that he didn’t want to end this. Not right away, anyhow. He watched the way her glossy hair bounced and swayed, the way her sweatshirt shook, and how her pumping legs pulled the jeans tight against the flexing mounds of her rump.
In the foyer, she turned toward the front door. She glanced back at Lou. Then she struck the door with her shoulder and reached up for the guard chain.
The door shot open. The chain snapped taut, trapping Sheila’s fingers as it bumped her away. She shrieked and yanked her hand free, flesh ripping from her fingers. As she dashed for the stairs, Lou glimpsed Buddy’s black face grinning at him through the gap. ‘Hey, pal, let me in.’
‘Busy!’ Lou cried out.
‘Hey!’
He took off, chasing Sheila up the stairs, closing in on her as fast as he could. No more time to waste. Buddy was back, and changed, and would try to steal the kill once he got through the door. The guard chain might keep him out for a while, but not for long.
Sheila was almost to the top when Lou thrust the barbecue fork upward. Its tines popped through the seat of her jeans. They sank into her right buttock and she squealed. He shoved. The fork slipped in deeper. Instead of stopping her, it seemed to speed her up. He felt the wooden handle twitching with the flex of her muscles. A patch of blood began to spread over the denim surrounding the twin holes.
He rammed again. She reached back and grabbed the fork as she bounded up the final stairs, but she couldn’t dislodge it. Lou leaped to the top, driving her ahead of him. He steered her across the corridor. He slammed her against the wall and pulled out the fork.
Sheila whirled around, slashing at him with the knife. He lurched backward. The blade flashed across his chest, missed, but sliced through his right sleeve and nipped his upper arm. She swept it at him again. Lou took another quick step back and swung the fork at her arm and his foot came down on air.
Yelping, he flung the fork from his hand. He reached out for the banister. His fingers hooked over the rail, but the weight of his tumbling body tore his hold away. His back struck the stairs. He saw his wet, black legs fly up. His neck twisted. He felt his legs kicking high, flipping him over, coming down. His knees thumped the carpeted stairs and he slid down, treads rubbing their way up his body like the rungs of a ladder. They bumped his face. One edge caught his genitals and mashed them up against his crotch. Then another did the same, and another.
At last, he came to a stop. He lay sprawled on the stairs, pain roaring through his body.
He heard quick footfalls.
Sheila hurrying down to finish him off?
‘Asshole.’ Buddy’s voice. ‘Should’ve let me in when I asked you.’
The stairs on which he was lying shook a little as Buddy climbed past him.
He is going to steal my kill, Lou thought.
‘No!’ he gasped.
He tried to push himself up, whimpered as the strain sent spears of pain radiating out from his testicles, and sank back against the stairs.
8
Denise lifted the popcorn bowl off her lap, leaned forward and set it on the table beside her glass. She picked up the glass. As she drank the last of the Pepsi, Tom’s hand went to her back. It moved in an easy circle, sliding the warmup jacket against her skin.
She finished drinking. She set the glass down. Instead of settling back against the sofa cushion, she rested her knees on her elbows.
Tom’s hand was warm through the jacket. The fabric was very soft. Her mind seemed a little foggy from all that had happened. She felt peaceful and lazy. The good feel of his hand made her eyelids heavy.
‘There you are again,’ he said.
Lifting her gaze to the television screen, Denise saw herself in a sunny backyard, laughing hard and trying to dodge a water balloon hurled by Kara. As she twisted away, the balloon caught her in the hip. It burst to shreds. Clear, gleaming water exploded out, darkening her red shorts, gluing her T-shirt to her side, splashing down her leg.
Tom laughed.
Kara didn’t. Not even when two of her friends charged into view and nailed Denise with more balloons, drenching her, and she cried out and snatched up the garden hose and went after them.
Denise looked over her shoulder. Kara, with her Alf slippers resting on the edge of the table, was slumped back against the sofa asleep.
‘Our little friend’s zonked,’ she whispered.
‘I know,’ Tom said.
She looked at him. From his smile, she realized that Kara’s dropping off had been his cue to reach for her. ‘We might as well turn this off,’ she said, and picked up the remote.
‘Hey, I’m enjoying it.’
‘Kara wouldn’t like us watching it without her. She’s the star.’ Denise pushed the ‘off’ button. The birthday party vanished, replaced by a Jeep commercial.
‘Aw. It was just starting to get good.’
‘We can turn it back on if she wakes up.’
‘Can’t we at least rewind and watch you get wiped out again?’
Smiling, she shook her head and settled back against the sofa. Tom’s arm was trapped for a moment. Then it worked its way up. As he curled his hand over her shoulder, she swung her legs onto the cushion and leaned against his side. She patted his thigh. ‘Why do you want to watch me on the tube when the real McCoy’s right here?’
‘That way, I get you in stereo.’
The commercial ended, and a Clint Eastwood movie came on. One of those old spaghetti westerns. Clint looked gritty and cool, squinting as he lit the stub of a thin cigar.
‘Fistful of Dollars,’ Tom said. ‘It’s a great one.’
‘How many times have you seen it?’
‘Who knows? I never counted.’
‘Kara does,’ Denise said. ‘She counts. She’s seen Willy Wonka eighty-nine times, or something.’
‘My kind of kid.’
‘Mine, too.’ Face relaxed in sleep, Kara looked so peaceful. Like an infant. As if the world’s troubles had never touched her. ‘God, she’s so cute.’
‘She’s really neat. I usually can’t stand the little ankle-biters, but she’s something else.’
‘I hope I have a kid just like her someday.’
‘That wouldn’t be so bad, huh?’
‘It’s a spooky world, though.’
‘Yeah,’ Tom said. ‘I’ve noticed. Sometimes, I think I shouldn’t ever have any kids. Because of that, you know? What with nuclear bombs, and all the crime, and the environment getting shot to hell. Like it wouldn’t be right, bringing kids into such a mess.’
‘I think there’s plenty around to make it worth the risk,’ Denise said. ‘I’m glad I’m alive, even if it does get creepy.’
‘Yeah. Me, too. I guess.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘But jeez, there’s so much that can go wrong.’
‘But we’re in here, safe and sound. It’s nice. It’s almost as if there isn’t the black rain out there.’
‘Thanks for reminding me,’ Tom said, and she felt his hand tighten on her shoulder.
‘It’ll end sooner or later. Everything will be fine again.’
‘I sure hope so.’ When he said that, Denise felt his breath stirring her hair, warm or her scalp, tickling a little. ‘At least . . . I’m glad we’re together.’
‘Me, too.’
He gently kissed the side of her head. Then his lips went away. Denise snuggled against him and yawned. ‘I’m so wiped out,’ she muttered.
‘Do you feel like sleeping? I can move over to a chair so you can stretch out.’
‘Don’t do that. I like you just fine here.’ She snuggled against him and sighed with contentment.
Tom’s hand moved gently from her shoulder to her elbow, then up again. ‘This is pretty nice.’
‘Maybe I will take a little nap,’ Denise said. ‘Would you mind?’
‘Heck, no.’
She scooted away and lay down, resting her head on his thigh, bringing up her knees so her feet wouldn’t interfere with Kara. The movements rucked up her jacket so it bulged out from her chest. The opening at the top of the zipper was like a pyramid-shaped window. It gave her a clear view of the shadowy sides of her breasts.
She murmured, ‘Woops,’ and wondered if she’d said that to draw Tom’s attention to the gap. His head was higher, though. He wouldn’t be able to see in. Not quite so far, anyway. And she could feel that the jacket had come up enough to reveal a band of bare skin at her waist. Maybe he was looking there. Or maybe his eyes were on the Eastwood movie.
She imagined his hand slipping inside the gap, drifting over her skin, cupping one of her breasts.
He wouldn’t do that in a million years, she thought.
And if he did, I probably shouldn’t let him.
She gripped the elastic around the bottom of the jacket and tugged. The bulge came down. The fabric pressed snug against her. She folded her hands on her belly.
The opening was gone. But her thoughts about Tom’s caresses had excited her. The mounds where her breasts pushed the jacket up were tipped with blunt peaks.
Oh, Lord, she thought.
She felt a blush spread over her skin, heating up the mild burns.
She willed her nipples to soften, to melt down flat. But they didn’t obey.
Sighing, she closed her eyes.
This is just so embarrassing, she thought.
Maybe Tom hasn’t noticed.
Of course he has.
He squirmed a little, shifting his position beneath Denise’s head, and she wondered if he had an erection.
Maybe I should sit up and watch the movie.
But she didn’t move. With each breath, she felt the soft rub of the fabric. She waited for the feel of Tom’s hand.
Then it came.
But not to either breast. His warm fingertips caressed her forehead, brushing some hair aside. She felt him trace the curve of one eyebrow, then the other. His gentle touch was soothing. Heat seemed to pass from him, seep into her skin and go inside her skull and fill her head with a heavy, dark calm.
9
Lou, sitting at the bottom of the stairs, wrapped a handkerchief around his cut arm. As he pulled the knot tight with his teeth and left hand, Buddy came down.
His face was more red than black. He had Sheila’s knife. Its blade was slick with blood.
‘She was mine,’ Lou complained.
‘Guess not. She was too much for you, man.’ Buddy stopped in front of him. He shifted the knife to his left hand. Lou noticed that he no longer wore the ski gloves. His right hand was crimson. It was slick and sticky when Lou grabbed it and Buddy pulled him up. The weight on his legs made him wince.
‘You OK?’
‘I’ll live,’ Lou muttered.
‘Sorry you missed the fun.’
‘You owe me.’
‘I don’t owe you shit.’
‘Yes, you do.’ Lou hobbled alongside the staircase. He crouched, groaning with the effort, and picked up his barbecue fork. As he straightened up, he frowned at Buddy. ‘You’ve gotta let me have Maureen.’
‘I don’t gotta anything, dickhead.’
Lou waited while Buddy shut the front door. The guard chain, ripped out of its mount on the doorframe, dangled from its track.
Some lock, he thought. If it had held, Sheila would’ve been mine.
‘So where is she?’ Buddy asked, and started through the living room.
‘Maureen?’
‘Who do you think?’
‘She’s in the pool.’
‘The pool? How the hell did she get away from you bozos?’
Buddy wouldn’t like the truth. ‘Sheila and Cyndi helped her,’ Lou said.
‘Figures. The bitches.’
‘That’s how we got wet. We went after her. Me and Doug.’
‘But you didn’t get her, did you.’
‘Doug tried to kill me. Then we figured it’d be a good idea to come back inside and nail the gals.’
‘Great. She’s probably long gone by now.’
‘We’ll get her.’
‘She lied about the fucking keys,’ Buddy muttered.
‘We still gonna go after Lisa?’
‘You bet. We’ll take the bikes. But we gotta take care of Maureen first.’
‘Let me, OK? It’s only fair. You got Sheila.’
Then they entered the kitchen. Lou’s heart pounded, his mouth went dry and heat surged through him when he saw Doug with Cyndi. Breathless, he limped toward them. But Buddy grabbed his arm.
‘Stay put,’ Buddy said. ‘Doug, cut it out. Come on, we got business.’
Doug paid no attention, kept wallowing.
Buddy stepped closer, slipped on the bloody floor and almost went down. But he caught his balance in time. He kicked Doug in the hip.
‘Hey!’ Doug looked back over his shoulder, scowling.
‘Let’s go!’ Buddy snapped.
‘Shit.’
‘You dorks let Maureen get away. Now, come on!’
Shaking his head, Doug pushed himself up. His hands flew out from under him. He splashed down on Cyndi and laughed until Buddy grabbed the back of his collar and dragged him off. ‘OK OK,’ he said. ‘Let me go.’
Buddy released him. On hands and knees, Doug searched through clumps of fleshy debris beside the body. He found Cyndi’s knife. Then he stood up. He stared down at her. ‘She sure made a mess of your kitchen.’
Buddy punched his shoulder. ‘Let’s move.’
Their shoes crunched on broken glass as they walked toward the door. Lou was first to step outside. It felt good to be under the rain again. Striding toward the pool, he rolled the makeshift bandage down his arm. He peeled his sodden shirt off, and sighed with pleasure as the rain found his skin.
‘OK,’ Buddy said. ‘So where is she?’
Lou scanned the dark surface from end to end as he pushed the knotted handkerchief back up his arm to cover the gash. No sign of Maureen.
‘She supposed to be in the pool?’ Doug asked.
‘That’s what Louie says.’
‘I saw her. She was right there watching us.’ He pointed toward the middle.
‘Well, she ain’t there now.’
‘Maybe she ducked under.’
‘I’ll check,’ Doug said, and rushed for the edge.
‘Damn it, don’t . . .’
Even as the words left Buddy’s mouth, Doug leaped.
‘Bastard! I’m gonna make you clean it!’
Doug, standing in shoulder-deep water, turned around and grinned. ‘What, you don’t want any Cyndi in the pool?’
Lou started to laugh, but suddenly realized that Doug might beat him to Maureen. ‘I’ll help,’ he said. Before Buddy could protest, he dived in.
The water shocked him. He’d supposed it would be like the rain, but it wasn’t. It was frigid. It felt like icy arms squeezing his breath out. As he kicked for the surface, he pictured Cyndi’s mutilated carcass on the kitchen floor. He imagined Buddy upstairs, ripping Sheila. And horror gripped him. Freezing, suffocating honor. What have we done!
