One rainy night, p.9
One Rainy Night, page 9
‘Can you find something we can use to tie him up? Rope or something?’
Nodding, Kara wiped a sleeve across her wet face.
‘Let me have the poker.’
Kara handed her weapon to Denise, then hurried away.
Hanging onto it, she walked on her knees to Tom’s feet. She set the poker down. As she pulled his legs straight and pressed them together, she watched his face closely for signs that he might be regaining consciousness.
God, she thought, what if he doesn’t come to? What if he’s in a coma, or something, and never comes out of it? Or he wakes up, eventually, but his brains are scrambled and he’s nothing but a vegetable for the rest of his life?
He’ll be OK, she told herself. He’ll be fine. People get knocked out all the time and come out of it OK.
She took off her belt, wrapped it twice around his ankles, pulled it tight, and fastened it. The buckle was on top, so she slid the straps until it disappeared behind his ankles.
He could still get to it, but not easily.
She picked up the brass poker and watched him.
As much as she wanted Tom to regain consciousness, she hoped he wouldn’t do it too soon. Not before Kara got back and they had time to tie his hands.
Maybe when he comes to he won’t be crazy anymore.
But if he is . . .
God, I don’t want to hit him.
But I can’t let him get loose and attack us.
Kara, where are you?
She heard quick footfalls behind her, looked back, and saw the girl rushing forward with a couple of jumpropes. ‘Will these be OK?’
‘Fine,’ Denise said, though she wished the ropes didn’t have those wooden handles. She pulled Tom’s arms down, crossed them over his belly, and started tying them together with one of the ropes.
‘Do you think we’d better call the police?’ Kara asked.
Denise shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t want to get him in trouble.’
‘Yeah, but he tried to kill you, didn’t he?’
‘He can’t do anything once he’s all tied up.’
‘He kind of scares me.’
‘I know. He scares me, too. But maybe he’ll be normal again when he comes to. Maybe whatever was wrong with him will go away. And even if he’s still nuts, he won’t be able to hurt us. We’ll make sure he doesn’t get loose.’
‘How? You mean like bonk him on the head again?’
‘If we have to.’
‘Well, you’ll have to do it, then. Not me. It’s your turn.’
Nodding, Denise tugged the red wooden handles to tighten the bundle of knots. ‘He won’t get out of that,’ she said.
She took the second rope from Kara. She made a slip knot near one of its handles, then lifted Tom’s head off the tiles and put the loop around his neck. She slid the knot up against his skin. Holding the other handle, she scooted backward to take most of the slack out of the rope, sat down on the floor and crossed her legs.
‘He causes any trouble,’ she said, ‘I’ll give him a yank.’
‘Sort of like a dog?’
‘Exactly.’
A reluctant smile curled up a corner of Kara’s mouth. ‘Neat idea.’
‘Why don’t you go get the popcorn and our drinks? And maybe a couple of cushions to sit on.’
‘Oh, this is really weird. You mean we’re going to go ahead and have our party right here?’
‘Might as well. We’ll watch Tom instead of the television. We’ll have a guardin’ party.’
‘A what?’
‘Garden party, guarding party. Get it?’
Kara laughed softly and shook her head. ‘I think you might be even weirder than my Dad.’ Then she went to get the refreshments.
Captives
1
It was like driving blind. The eyeholes in the bag killed most of Trev’s peripheral vision, dark rain spattered the windshield faster than the wipers could clear it, the parking lot lights were so dim that they might’ve been on rheostats turned way down, and his head-beams only seemed to penetrate fifteen or twenty feet into the heavy downpour before fading, out completely.
Though he couldn’t see worth a damn, he drove fast and hoped for the best.
Too much time had already gone by.
Crazies might’ve already overrun O’Casey’s, might’ve already gotten to Maureen.
She’ll be OK, he told himself.
His wheels bumped over the curb. He drove across grass, steering closer to the hedge by the station wall until bushes squeaked against the right side of his car. He spotted the portico’s nearest support post. Slowing down, he passed between it and the station’s front door. His tires rolled onto the walkway’s smooth pavement. Rain stopped hitting the hood, the windshield. He eased forward until it went silent above his head, then set the emergency brake and looked over his shoulder.
His back door was out of the rain and lined up with the station’s door. He reached over the back of the passenger seat to unlock it. Then he beeped the horn.
Light spilled out of the station as the front door swung open. Francine and Lisa came out, each carrying a shotgun. They had plastic bags draped over their heads and shoulders in case water should run off the car while they entered, and their arms were covered to the elbows.
Francine, in the lead, opened the back door of Trev’s car. She climbed in. Lisa ducked in after her and shut the door. Trev watched them push the covers off their heads.
‘Everybody OK?’ he asked.
‘It’s insane, going out in this,’ Francine said.
‘Better than staying in there with a couple of stiffs,’ Lisa told her.
‘I’m not so sure anymore.’
Trev decided they were acting normal. Turning away from them, he shifted to reverse. He slowly backed his car out from under the shelter. When its front was clear, he started forward and headed for the parking lot.
‘So where is it we’re trying to go?’ Francine asked.
‘O’Casey’s Pizza.’
‘God, it’s so dark out here,’ Lisa said. ‘Will you be able to find the place?’
‘I’ll find it.’
Somehow, he thought.
It’s just a straight shot up Guthrie and a left on Third,’ he explained as his front tires bounced down from the curb onto the parking lot’s pavement.
In normal weather, the drive shouldn’t take more than five minutes. With this kind of visibility, he knew they would need some luck to make it at all.
We’ll probably get creamed.
‘This is really the pits,’ Lisa muttered.
Trev drove straight forward until his headbeams met the bushes of the narrow strip that separated the station’s parking lot from the sidewalk and Guthrie Avenue. He was tempted to plunge through the barrier. The possibility of tire damage stopped him. So he turned to the right. Stepping on the gas, he sped alongside the landscaped area to the entrance lane. There, he swung out onto Guthrie.
Nothing broadsided him.
Maybe we’ll be lucky, he thought. Nobody but an idiot would be out driving in this crap.
An idiot, or somebody without any choice.
Or crazies, already wet and cruising for action.
He eased toward the middle of the road until he came to the broken yellow center line.
Keep watching the line, he thought. When you come to an intersection, there’ll either be a left-hand turn pocket or the line will end.
He ran the names of the cross-streets through his mind. Should be seven before Third Street.
‘Why don’t you try turning on the radio?’ Francine said.
The center line stopped. He looked both ways, saw no hint of approaching headlights (you won’t see them anyway until it’s too late), and tromped on the gas pedal to get through the intersection as fast as possible. When the line reappeared, he slowed down. He turned on the radio.
Glen Campbell was singing ‘Wichita Lineman.’
‘Try to get some news,’ Francine said.
‘This is as close as we’re gonna get to a local station,’ Trev told her.
‘What is it, Bakersfield?’ Lisa asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you think they’d be playing music if . . . ?’
‘No, I doubt it. Bakersfield must be OK.’
‘Maybe it’s only happening . . .’
‘That was good ol’ Glen Campbell, and this is Bronco Bob for KLRZ, bringing you all the best in country music. We’re coming up now on seven-forty in the P.M., and we’ve got a chilly fifty-nine degrees outside so snuggle up to your honey and stay tuned in. Waylon’s coming up, along with Ronnie Milsap, The Judds, and Miss Robin Travis.’
‘Nothing about any rain,’ Lisa said.
‘Well, we’re some hundred miles from Bakersfield.’
‘Maybe it’s just happening here.’
Trev sped through another intersection. Two down, five to go. He eased off slightly on the gas.
‘If it is just happening here,’ Francine said, ‘we ought to be grateful. I’d hate to think this was going on everywhere, wouldn’t you?’
‘I wonder if anyone out there even knows about it.’
Trev flinched as something pressed his shoulder. Then he realized it was Francine’s hand.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘maybe we can drive out of this if we just keep going. If it’s the rain making people nuts and we get out from under the storm . . .’
He hit the brakes and jerked the wheel, shouting ‘Hold on!’ and they skidded and slammed the side of a station wagon blocking the lane. The force of the impact jerked him, tried to throw him over onto the passenger seat, but he kept his grip on the wheel.
Behind him, the women were gasping and moaning.
‘Anyone hurt?’ he asked, twisting around to look back.
Francine had been hurled against Lisa, and Lisa was hunched down against the right-hand door.
‘I think I’m OK,’ Lisamuttered.
‘I can’t believe this,’ Francine said, pushing herself up. ‘I just can’t believe this.’
‘At least we didn’t break any windows,’ Trev said.
‘What’re we doing out here?’ Francine blurted.
Great, he thought. She’s losing it.
‘Just take it easy,’ he said.
‘Take it easy? You almost got us killed, you fucking maniac!’
‘Mom, cut it out.’
‘Well, he did!’
‘I didn’t expect there to be a goddamn car stopped sideways in the middle of the street.’
‘If you hadn’t been driving like a maniac. . . !’
‘I’m sorry. I really am.’
‘Lot of good sorry does.’
Trev turned his attention to the windows. His car appeared to be flush against the side of the station wagon. He couldn’t see anyone inside.
But as he studied the car, he saw another in the glow of his headlights. A compact Dodge. Its rear against the front bumper of the wagon.
‘Oh, man,’ he muttered.
‘What?’
‘Two of them.’
‘What?’
An intentional roadblock?
He stepped on the gas pedal. His car lurched forward with sounds of scraping, crunching metal. Then it parted with the side of the wagon and the noises stopped.
‘What’s going on?’ Francine demanded.
Trev didn’t answer. He backed up, watching the wagon. Parked at its rear was a pickup truck.
‘Trev! Answer me!’
‘It’s a trap,’ he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
‘A what?’
‘Make sure your doors are locked,’ he said, and the car rocked on its shocks. He darted his eyes to the rearview mirror. Couldn’t see anything but darkness. Couldn’t see the man or woman scuttling over the trunk toward the back window. But the slight shaking of the car told him someone was there.
A hard thud against the rear window. He shot the car forward and heard a muffled outcry.
‘What was that?’
‘Lost a visitor,’ Trev said, and wrenched the wheel, turning away from the roadblock. The sweep of his headbeams lit four black shapes rushing in. Coming at them. A man with an axe. A woman with a tire iron. A woman who seemed to have no weapon and a kid maybe twelve or thirteen from the size of him with something bigger than a Softball swinging at his side.
From behind Trev came a quick, high sucking sound.
‘Oh my God!’ That was Francine.
It isn’t a softball, Trev realized as he rammed the pedal to the floor.
It was the head of a girl, and the kid was swinging it by its long hair.
He figured he could speed through the group.. Not touch any of them.
But if he tried that, the bastard with the axe might bash the windshield, let the rain in. So he steered for the axeman.
The guy didn’t try to dodge clear. He met the car face on, swinging the axe down from straight overhead with both hands as if he planned to split a log. It chopped into the hood. Then its handle caught him in the belly, hoisting him off his feet.
Something whacked the windshield in front of Trey’s face.
The head. Face first. The blow mashed its nose flat. Teeth broke from its open mouth. Pale blurs of eyes glanced in at him. Then the head bounced away and through his side window Trev saw the kid stumbling backward, still hanging onto the thing’s hair.
‘Jesus!’ he gasped.
He realized someone was shrieking in his ears.
And he realized he hadn’t lost the axeman.
He sped away from the roadblock, away from all the attackers but one.
The head of the axe was still buried in the hood. And its handle seemed to be buried in the man who’d put it there.
The center line ended. An intersection. ‘Detour!’ Trev yelled.
He swung a hard right. But not hard enough to lose his guest. The guy stayed put, riding through the rain like a big, limp hood ornament.
2
Maureen thought, the pizzas are getting soaked. She knew she should stop this and get up and put her clothes back on and take the pizzas to the door, but it felt so good to be sprawled on the grass with the hot rain splashing down on her. She didn’t want to get up ever.
When the rain filled her mouth, she choked. She raised her head and opened her eyes.
She was in a bathtub, not on the lawn. Not her bathtub. It wasn’t rain coming down, but spray from a shower nozzle. There was a curtain rod, but no curtain enclosed the right side of the tub.
And she wasn’t alone.
Someone was down low, peering in at her.
She sat up fast. Too fast. The sudden motion made her head spin, her vision cloud, her stomach churn. She grabbed the rim of the tub, hunched forward, threw her legs wide and vomited between them. The spasms wracked her. Pain throbbed through her head. Tears filled her eyes.
When she was done, she stayed bent over. She gasped to catch her breath. Water pounded against her head and shoulders and back. It ran down her face. She blinked the wetness of water and tears from her eyes. While she watched her mess spread out and slide toward the drain, the dizziness faded. It left confusion, shame and fear.
I’m naked in someone’s bathtub. Who is that guy? What’s happening?
He’s the guy I tried to smash with a rock, she realized.
Why the hell did I want to do that?
What’s he doing with me?
‘Hope you didn’t get any on you,’ he said.
Maureen didn’t look at him. She stopped holding onto the side of the tub, and wrapped both hands around her upthrust knees.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked. He sounded friendly. The friendliness seemed mocking.
‘Maureen.’
‘Name’s Buddy,’ he said. ‘I’m gonna be your buddy.’
He touched her back. His hand moved gently, making slow circles.
‘You tried to knock my brains out,’ he said.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
His hand moved higher and he began to massage the nape of her neck. ‘Why did you do that?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Huh-uh.’
‘Were you mad at me?’
‘I don’t know you.’
‘Did somebody send you?’
‘I just came with the pizzas.’
‘And you just suddenly got an urge to brain me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t like my face?’
‘It wasn’t you. I just wanted . . . to kill whoever came to the door.’
‘Real nice.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘What do you think we oughta do about it?’
He didn’t call the police, Maureen realized. He brought me in here and stripped me, instead.
‘Maybe you should call the police,’ she murmured.
‘Would you like to be arrested? Would you like to go to prison? You assaulted me with a deadly weapon. That’d be a prison term for sure, wouldn’t it?’
‘Maybe.’
I’d rather take my chances with the police, she thought.
Trevor. Oh God, Trevor. If Rory hadn’t been sick . . .
One hand continued to rub her neck. The other, his right, slipped beneath her armpit and closed gently around her right breast. Squirming, she dug her fingernails into her knees.
‘No, don’t,’ she said. ‘Please. Come on.’
‘I think maybe you should be very nice to me, and maybe we won’t have to bother the cops with this.’
His hand moved in a slow circle, palm stroking her nipple.
Maureen let out a shaky breath.
‘You like that, don’t you.’
‘Come on, stop.’
‘Bet it feels a lot better, now you’re awake to enjoy it.’ Laughing softly, he thumbed her nipple. ‘Yeah, I already felt you up pretty good. This is better, though. This is a lot better.’
The hand slid down from her breast, down her chest and belly. And lower. When he fingered her pubic mound, she grabbed his wrist with her left hand and jerked it toward her hip. She rammed her right elbow back. It missed Buddy. Her upper arm collided with his face as he fell toward her, but she knew she hadn’t done much damage.
And she knew she was in trouble.
The hand at the back of Maureen’s neck shoved her away. She released his wrist. She flung her arm up. The far wall of the tub smacked her arm down against her side. A hand covered her face, pushed her down.
