RAVE REVIEWS FOR RICHARD LAYMON!
"Laymon always takes it to the max. No one
writes like him and you're going to have a good time with
anything he writes."
-Dean Koontz
"If you've missed Laymon, you've missed a
treat."
-Stephen King
"Laymon is Stephen King without a conscience."
-Dan J. Marlowe
"Laymon's writing's super-tight and characters well
detailed and believable, which makes the savage
termination of so many of them all the more shocking! The
unbridled joy of a delightfully fertile and
wicked
imagination at work."
-Terrorzone
"Laymon is an American writer of the highest
caliber."
com771me
OutggLondon)
"Laymon is unique. A phenomenon. A
genius of the grisly and the grotesque."
-Joe Citro,
The Blood Review
"One of the best, and most reliable, writers working
today."
--Cemetery Dance
"I've read every book of Laymon's I could get
my hands on. I'm absolutely a longtime fan."
-Jack Ketchum
"Richard Laymon has become for me one of a
small handful of must-read horror novelists."
-Robert Devereaux
"A brilliant writer."
-Sunday Express
(london)
Other Leisure
books by Richard Laymon: BITE
RAINY
NIGHT
RICHARD LAYMON
LEISURE
BOOKS
NEW
YORK CITY
BOOK"
February 2000
Published
by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Fifth Avenue
New York. NY
1000 1
if
you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware
that this book is stolen property. It was reported as
"Unsold and destroyed8ffthe publisher and neither the
author nor the publisher has received any payment for
this "stripped book."
Copyright
Can) 1991 by
Richard Laymon
All
rights reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or
by
any electronic or mechanical means, including
photocopying, recording or
by
any information storage and retrieval system, without
the written permission of the Publisher, except where
permitted
by
law.
ISBN

The name "Leisure Books8andthe stylized
"U"
with design are trademarks of Dorchester
Publishing
Co.,
Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
To Wren and Ida Marshall, two of the best people I
know.
May the luck of the Irish be with you always.
The Killing Ground
This is pretty goddamn crazy, Hanson thought.
But he didn't climb down.
The chainlink fence surrounding the football stadium
of Lincoln High School shook as he made his
way upward. Its mesh let out tinny chinging sounds that
seemed terribly loud in the stillness of the November
evening. But Hanson doubted that anyone would hear the
noise.
The nearest houses were out of sight beyond the stands at the
far side of the stadium. Behind him, an empty
field stretched toward the distant classroom
buildings. The stadium itself seemed deserted.
The sounds of the shaking fence would be heard
by
no one. Hanson knew that. Yet they unnerved him
just as surely as the crunch of dry leaves underfoot
might unsettle a man making his lone way through a
graveyard in the dead of night. His heart pounded.
Sweat seemed to run out of every pore. His arms and
legs trembled.
Climbing the fence was easy. Being here was not. At the
top, he hurled himself over the rail. He dropped
the nine feet to the grass, landing with his knees
I
LAYMON
bent to absorb the impact. He felt the jolt
mostly around his waist, where gravity tugged
at his gun belt. Jostled leather groaned and
creaked. Cuffs and ammunition rattled inside their
cases. Standing up straight, Hanson gave the
belt a couple of pulls to bring it back up where it
belonged.
He rubbed his sweaty hands on the front of his
shirt. Well, he thought, you're here.
Now, if he only knew
why.
He walked slowly over the grass, eyes on the
north goal post straight in front of him.
He was kidding himself if he thought he might find
anything new. The boys had gone over the area
thoroughly last night, and again in daylight. They'd
photographed, picked up, tagged and taken away
everything: the poor bastard himself, his clothes, matches
and cigarette butts, the gasoline can, candy
wrappers and other shit that probably had nothing at
all to do with the crime, even someof the sod surrounding the
main standard where the kid had been tied. There'd been
talk of taking the goalpost, as well, but the Chief
decided against it. They had stripped off the charred
remains of the padding for evidence.
Hell, there was nothing left to find.
But Hanson, patrolling the
neighborhood, had found himself circling the high
school, slowing his car each time he had a view of the
distant goalpost and staring out his window at the damned
thing. Finally, he'd parked in front of the stadium.
And left the car without even radioing in. Crazy.
RAINY
NIGHT
I
As he crunched across the cinder track, Hanson
wished he'd made the call. He could've given
Lucy a phony location, claimed he was taking an
early break for chow.
Would've been worse, lying to her.
He planned to marry the woman. You don't lie
to someone you love.
Better this way, he thought. Besides, she'll
probably cover for
me
if anything comes up.
The grass felt soft and springy under his shoes. He
walked through the end zone, the goalpost jarring
slightly in his vision. He stopped just outside the
circle where the grass had been removed. He
stared.
Again, he wondered why he was drawn to this
place. He'd seen murder victims before. Though
not many. And only one, Jennifer Sayers, who'd
met an end this brutal. She hadn't been burnt
like this boy. Tortured and raped. Her mutilated
body had given Hanson plenty of nightmares, but
he'd never made a secret trip to the section of
woods where it happened. Somehow, this was different.
Yeah, he thought. Somehow. Maxwell Chidi was a
black kid. That's the difference, right there.
When does a black guy become a nigger? When
he leaves the room.
Hanson used to laugh at stuff like that. Shit, he
used
to say
stuff like that.
That's why I'm here, he realized. Guilt.
They did it to the kid because he was black. White people.
They got themselves a nigger.
LAYMON
Hell, you're just guessing. It might've had nothing
to do with that. We aren't in Alabama, here. Could've
been a perfectly ordinary motive. Jealousy,
greed. Maybe the kid was a pusher, could've been
skimming and
...
Right. He was black, therefore he was a pusher. That's
the kind of thinking
...
The stadium lights came on.
Hanson flinched, sucked in a quick breath. Oh,
Jesus!
He whirled around. He scanned the stands on both
sides of the field. Nobody there. But he knew
he'd been caught.
Stay cool, he told himself.
Probably just a maintenance man. Might not even
know I'm here. Yet.
Hell. I'm a cop. I've got business here.
He still saw no one.
Somebody
turned the lights on. Maxwell
...
Oh, right. Sure.
But his skin prickled as he imagined the dead boy
staggering through a passageway of the stadium, coming toward
the field.
A
black shape shuffling through the dark. Rigid all
over, arms sticking out, stubs of fingers hooked like
claws. No face at all. Just a
black, earless knot above the shoulders. With teeth.
He thought he could hear the slow shuffle of
Maxwell's charred feet on the concrete, hear his
crisp skin cracking as he moved, see it flaking
off and drifting down from him like dead leaves.
Gonna getcha, white man.
RAINY
NIGHT
Quit it! Hanson told himself.
Though he knew he was letting his imagination run
wild, he snapped his head from side to side, eyes
darting to the grandstand openings. Three on each side.
Dark holes. Tunnels leading to the rear,
to refreshment stands and restrooms, to exit gates in
the fence.
Stop this. You're just spooking yourself. Maxwell's
dead in the morgue, not
...
Across the field, a figure emerged from the nearest
passageway.
A
white man in dark green coveralls.
A
grounds keeper? Hanson sighed. He felt as if
all his strength had drained away. The effort
of standing up straight made him tremble.
The guy raised an arm in greeting, then climbed
over the rail and leaped down to the grass area on the
far side of the track. He took all the impact
with his left leg while he kept his right leg high.
Then he was standing on both feet, and walking toward
Hanson with a limp.
"E
vening, officer
,"
he called.
Hanson nodded a greeting.
The top of the man's head gleamed in the stadium
lights. The hair around his ears was gray. His lean
face was weathered. He looked wiry and tough.
Keys jangled at his side as he hobbled closer.
"T
oby Barnes
,"
he said, and stuck out his hand. Hanson shook it.
"B
ob Hanson
."
"J
ust got here, Bob.
I
saw your car out front. Mind if
I
ask how you got in?"
"I
had to come over the fence
."
LAYMON
Toby looked relieved. "Glad to hear it. I was
afraid some idiot might've left a gate
unlocked. Sorry I wasn't around to let you
in."
"No problem."
"Anyway, I thought you might appreciate some
light on the subject. I was on my way over to the
school. I'm the head of maintenance, you know, gotta
keep my eye on the cleaning crew. Bunch of
no-good loafers, most of them." Toby turned his
eyes away from Hanson and frowned at the
goalpost. "Terrible," he said. "Any ideas who
did it?"
"We're working on it. I just thought I'd stop by and
try to get the feel of the situation."
"I suppose you were out here last night." "Yeah."
"Must've been pretty grim. I've seen
my share of crispy critters, you know.
Bakersfield Fire Department till a roof
dropped out from under me." He slapped his right leg.
What it smacked through the trousers didn't sound like
skin. "Never a pretty sight. That's one aspect
of the job I sure don't miss."
Hanson, who'd taken a liking to the man right
away, now felt a grudging admiration. "They
couldn't pay me enough to be a fireman," he said.
Toby nodded. His eyes stayed on the goalpost.
"Think it was kids?"
"I don't know. Seems likely."
"We haven't got any Klan here that I know of."
"No."
"It's the sort of thing you might expect from the
Klan. Really gives this burg a black eye."
RAINY
NIGHT
"Did you know the boy?" Hanson asked.
"I've seen him around school." Toby faced him,
frowning slightly. "We've only got a handful of
coloreds, you know. This Chidi, he wasn't at
all like the others. A tall fellow, kind of handsome,
and he talked funny. I guess he came from one
of those islands. Jamaica, Haiti,
someplace like that. It was none of this "hey, bro,
mutherfuhea8stuff. He talked like he had breeding,
you know?"
"How did he get along with the other
students?"8Well, from what I saw, he didn't
have much to do with the other black kids. The rest of them were
always hanging around together. I guess that's only
natural. But I don't think I ever saw Chidi
with them. When I saw him, he was always with white
kids. White girls, mostly. It seems like the
girls really took to him."
Hanson felt his heart quicken. "Anyone
special?"8allyeah, there was. I don't know the
girl's name, but I could find it out for you. The past
couple of weeks, they've been hanging all over
each other. I wouldn't be at all surprised if
she wasn't putting out for him." "Well, now,"
Hanson muttered.
"Yeah, I can see how a thing like that might rub some
folks the wrong way."
"This is. . ."
They both jumped and threw their heads back as the
sky seemed to explode. For an instant, Hanson
thought a mid-air collision had occurred over the
stadium. But what he saw was a searing bright
flash of lightning, branched like a giant tree,
ripping down
LA
YMON
through a canyon of dark, piled cloud. The roar
faded. It left his ears ringing.
"J
esus-smoking-Christ
,"
Toby blurted. The rain came down.
It dropped like a shroud over the stadium lights,
blocking out all but the faintest yellow glow.
A
moment after the lights dimmed, the shower hit
Hanson. Big, hot drops that pelted his face
and shoulders. They made his skin tingle. They seemed
to sink in. They warmed him. He suddenly felt a
strange, wild rush of excitement.
Toby said,
"H
oly shit
."
Hanson and Toby stared at each other through the faint
jaundiced light, the dark shower and the mist that now
drifted around them
-
condensation, probably caused
by
the hot rain sluicing through the cooler November
air.
Toby looked as if someone had dumped a bucket
of ink over his head. Only his eyes and teeth were
white. More teeth showed as his lips curled.
Hanson popped the snap of his holster guard and
snatched out his revolver as Toby lunged at him,
snarling. The man's fingers clutched Hanson's
neck. Thumbs dug into his throat. He rammed
the muzzle of his$38 into Toby's belly and
jerked the trigger three times fast. The blasts pounded
his ears.
Toby staggered backward, folding at the waist. The
fourth round smacked through the crown of his bald,
black head. He sat down hard, skidded on his
rump, and came to a stop sitting up, drooping over
his outstretched legs.
RAINY
NIGHT
Hanson gave himself a small running start, and
punted Toby's face. He hoped he might send
the head soaring like a football. In spite
of his power and follow-through, however, all he managed
was to slam the man's back against the ground.
As Hanson's right leg reached the height of its
kick, his left foot slipped on the wet grass.
He flapped his arms, gasped, and flopped on his
back beside Toby. Jarred
by
the fall, he lay motionless for a while. The rain
felt very good. This was like sprawling out in his bathtub
with the shower on, but this was better. He holstered his
weapon, then spread out his arms and legs. Moaning,
he squirmed with pleasure.
As his head turned, he saw Toby's body
close beside him.
Wow, he thought. Sure wasted that son-of-a-bitch.
He laughed. Feeling the rain in his mouth, he opened
up wide and stretched out his tongue. The rain felt
thicker than water. It tasted, he thought, a little
bit like blood.
Just a little bit.
A
mild coppery flavor. Very subtle. It made
him long to fill his mouth with the real thing.
Hanson rolled over, pushed himself up, and
crawled. He stretched out, belly down.
Elbows against the soft, wet grass, he grabbed
Toby
by
the ears. He lifted the man's head. He clamped
his mouth to the bullet wound and sucked.
A
Hard Rain's Gonna Fall
Earlier that evening, while patrolman Bob
Hanson was still cruising the streets near Lincoln
High and just more than an hour before his bullets ripped
out the life of Toby Barnes, Francine
Walters sat down on her living room sofa. She
pulled the TV tray closer as the six o'clock
Eyewitness News came on. While the lead-in
music played, she polished off the scotch at the
bottom of her glass.
"G
ood evening, everyone
,"
said anchorwoman Chris Donner.
"A
t the top of our news, investigators continue
to probe last night's grisly murder of
seventeen-year-old Maxwell Chidi, a student
at Lincoln High in the nearby valley
community of Bixby. The body of the black youth was
discovered in the newly completed Memorial
Stadium
by ...
"M
ark my words
,"
Francine said, "that boy was up to no good. He
probably had it coming
."
"S
hit
,"
Lisa muttered.
Francine snapped her head toward the girl.
"W
hat? What did you say
?"
Lisa glared at her from the rocking chair.
"I
said
LA
YMON
that's shit. You don't know what you're talking about
."
"I
know good and well what I'm talking about, young lady,
and don't you dare speak to me that way. What's
gotten into you? You haven't been fit to live with ever
since you climbed out of bed this morning
."
The anger seemed to melt out of Lisa's stare.
She
opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it
again. Her lips mashed themselves together. Their corners
trembled. Her chin, dimpled and discolored with the effort
of thrusting up her lower lip, began to shake. Her
eyes rifled with tears.
"L
isa
?"
"J
ust leave me alone
."
She
scooted back her rocking chair. But not far enough.
As she got up, her thighs bumped the edge of her
dinner tray. Not hard, but the collision jostled the
tray and capsized her glass, which tumbled over the
edge, flinging out its contents of ice cubes and
water. The glass hit the carpet with a soft thump.
"n
ow
see what you've done
to was
Francine snapped. Letting out an anguished
sob, the girl ran from the room.
What the
hell's
the matter with her? Francine wondered. Damn it!
Carefully, she moved her own tray aside. As
she stood, she heard a door slam shut. It
sounded too near to
be
Lisa's bedroom door. Probably the
bathroom, just off the foyer.
She stepped past Lisa's tray and picked up the
glass. Squatting, she gathered ice cubes off the
beige
RAINY
NIGHT
carpet. Thank God it was only water, she thought.
She dropped the cubes into the glass.
If
Lisa'd been drinking milk or Pepsi
...
and you can thank your lucky stars her lasagna
didn't end up on the floor.
Francine set the glass on the tray, then went
looking for Lisa. She felt hot and squirmy
inside. God, how she hated this kind of thing.
But this episode didn't seem like one of her
daughter's typical tantrums. Something more
serious. Maybe something to do with the death of that black
kid.
I
shouldn't have smarted off about it, she thought. just as she'd
suspected, the bathroom door was shut.
"H
oney
?"
"L
eave me alone
."
From the girl's high, shaky voice, Francine
knew she was still crying.
"A
re you OK?"
"n
o
."
"I
'm sorry
I
lost my temper, honey. Come on out, now, all
right? You have to be at the Foxworth's in less than
an hour
."
"I
can't
."
"T
hey're counting on you. Come on out and finish your
dinner
."
Seconds later, the lock pinged and the door swung
open. Lisa's face was red, her eyes
bloodshot, her face gleaming with streams of tears.
Sobbing, she rubbed her runny nose with a Kleenex.
Seeing the girl this way, Francine felt her own
LA
YMON
throat tighten. Her eyes burned as they filled with
tears. "What is it88she asked.
"O
h, Mom
to was
She lurched forward, threw her arms around Francine
and hugged her fiercely. She gasped for air.
Spasms jerked her body. "I loved him," she
blurted. "I
loved him so
bad and they killed
him
."
Denise Gunderson, done with her cheeseburger,
folded the paper plate in half and dropped it into the
waste container. She took a chocolate chip
cookie from the freezer side of the refrigerator.
Munching on it, cupping a hand under her chin in case
of crumbs, she wandered into the front room.
"And what have we here?" she asked, her voice
muffled by the mouthful of cookie.
She knew what she had here: a plastic bag
containing the three video tapes she'd rented that
afternoon. But whenever she was alone in the house, she liked
to talk to herself -- It broke the silence.
She sat on the floor and crossed her legs. She
poked the remains of the cookie into her mouth, then
brushed her fingers against the leg of her
sweatpants. The noise of her teeth crunching the
frozen cookie sounded a lot louder than the soft
whispery rustle made by the bag as she spread it
open. She took out
RAINY
NIGHT
the tapes and examined their titles. She had
Watchers, Near Dark, and The Texas Chainsaw
Massacre.
Shaking her head, she laughed softly and muttered,
"Fine, wholesome family entertainment."
But Tom would love them. He'd probably seen
them already, but that wouldn't faze him at all.
"Now, if you've just got the guts to call him." The
clock on the VCR showed 6:11 p.m.
If you're going to call him, Denise thought, you'd
better do it now. Before he goes out somewhere. Trying
to ignore the unpleasant pounding of her
heart, she got to her feet. She walked back
into the kitchen and stared at the wall phone.
She felt awfully shaky. Drops of sweat slid
down her sides.
"Oh, man," she muttered.
If Mom and Dad find out I had him over ...
They had one hard and fast rule:
no boys in the house when we're not home.
So far, Denise had never broken the rule. She'd
been tempted, but the fear of being caught (even
innocently watching television with the guy) had always
prevailed.
Tonight, however, there was no chance of her parents walking
in. They were spending the night with friends in Tiburon,
which was a two-hour drive from Bixby. They'd
phoned at 5:30 just to make sure nothing was
amiss. And Dad, who loathed driving at night,
was not about to head for home before daylight. Their actual
plan was to leave Tiburon in mid-afternoon.
Still, something could go wrong. A neighbor might
LA
YMON
spot Tom coming or going. His car might break down
in the driveway, immovable, stuck there till Mom
and Dad showed up. An earthquake might hit,
trapping Tom in the house with her.
"O
r caving in our beams
,"
she said, and chuckled.
"S
crew it, call him up.,
She rubbed her clammy hands on her sweatpants.
She took a deep breath. Then she reached for the
phone and its sudden clamor rammed her breath out.
It's Tom, she thought. He must be psychic.
She lifted the receiver.
"H
ello?"'is this Denise
?"
Not him.
A
woman's voice, vaguely familiar.
"y
es, it is.,
"T
his is Lynn Foxworth. You sat for us a few
months ago? I
"S
ure
."
Oh, no, she thought. But she forced herself to sound cheery
as she said,
"K
ara's mother
."
- I
really hate to bother you with this, it's such short
notice.
I
just feel horrible, even asking. And please, if you
already have plans for tonight, that's fine, maybe you can
suggest someone else. But we're in an awful bind.
We have seven o'clock dinner reservations, and
I
just this minute got
off
the phone with Francine Walters. Lisa's mom?
Lisa
-
it was all arranged for her to sit for us, but,
I
don't know, Francine was awfully upset. It
seems she just found out that Lisa was with that murdered
boy last night. There was a dance after the game?
Anyway, Lisa apparently has some idea about
who did it, and Francine's rushing her right over to the
police department. Apparently she's afraid that,
you know, somebody might try
RAINY
NIGHT
something with Lisa. To keep her from talking?
Scary stuff.
I
guess it's just as well she
isn't
coming here. Not if
killers
might be after her, or something. Can you believe it?
Anyway, now we're stuck without a sitter and
I'm really at my wits" end but
I
thought, if you don't already have plans. Kara really
likes you, and
I
know you only did it as a special favor last time
because of your folks, but
...
can you
help
us out
?"
Denise wished she'd let the phone keep ringing.
"I
sort of had a date
,"
she said.
"W
ell, he could come over here. God, what am
I
saying?
I'd
certainly never suggest such a thing to someone like Lisa,
but
... I
know how trustworthy you are. It might not be much fun
for your friend, but it'd certainly be OK with us.
We've got all kinds of good snacks, soft
drinks
."
This, Denise thought, is one desperate woman.
"W
e shouldn't
be
very late. Maybe ten or eleven
?"
"W
ell,
I
don't know about having my boyfriend
there, but
I'll
come over. What time do you want me?"
"W
e should leave the house no later than ten till
seven, so any time before that
."
Denise glanced at the kitchen clock.
Six-fourteen.
"I
f
you haven't eaten
yet.
"n
o, I
just finished
."
"I
was going to say you could eat here, but
...
Oh, Denise, you're a lifesaver.
I
can't tell you. This is great
."
"G
lad to help.
I'll
see you in a while
."
"W
ould you like John to pick you up
?"
"n
o, that's not necessary. But thanks
."
LA
YMON
"oh, don't thank me. you're a lifesaver, you
really are.
-I'd
better get ready to
go.,
-Right. right- Great. We'll see you in a few
minutes
."
"F
ine. Bye-bye
."
Denise hung up.
She thought about the rented movies. She thought about
Tom. She felt cheated and sad.
"I
t's not the end of the world
,"
she muttered. Maybe a blessing in disguise, she
thought as she headed for her room to change clothes.
Keeps me from breaking the "house rule
."
Keeps me and Tom from being together for hours, alone in
the house, and maybe things would've gotten out of hand.
Maybe
I
wanted
things to get out of hand. God's way
of
saving me from temptation. Or giving me the shaft.
Patterson, manning the front desk, leaned forward
and smirked when Trevor Hudson entered the station.
"W
hen are you gonna get a life, Hudson
?"
"I
just couldn't stay away
,"
Trev said.
"I
know how you pine for me
."
"y
our ass and my face, pal
."
RAINY
NIGHT
"If you say so." Trev made his way past the end
of the counter, smiled a greeting to Lucy, and was almost
to his desk when Patterson turned around, frowning.
"I meant that the other way around."
"Oh? OK." He pulled out his swivel chair and
sat down.
"I mean it, though. This is Saturday night,
man.
Date
night, you know? You oughta be out somewhere getting lowdown
and hairy."
"I'd rather be here with you," he said, and winked at the
burly sergeant.
Lucy, at the dispatcher station off in the corner,
looked over her shoulder grinning. "You'd better
watch what you say, Trev, or you'll have Patty
sitting on your lap."
"Sit on mine, honey," Patterson told her.
"Better still, on my face."
"Don't you wish," she said, then turned away as a
call came in.
Trev slid open his top drawer. He took out a
coupon for a dollar off a family size pizza at
O'Casey's, dug his wallet out of a seat
pocket of his jeans, and folded the coupon. As he
tucked it into his wallet, he shook his head at the
absurdity of dropping by here for a dollar-off coupon.
Nothing absurd about it, he told himself. He had
to drive right past the station, anyway, on his way
to O'Casey's. And a buck is a buck.
But his stomach fluttered a bit as he stuffed the
wallet back into his pocket and he knew that his
real
LA
YMON
reason for picking up the coupon had less to do with
thrift than with procrastination.
A
delaying tactic.
Maureen might not even be there. This is Saturday,
and she'd been on the
job
each time Trev had gone there during the past week.
It only stood to reason that she wouldn't work
every night.
On the other hand, the dinner hour on a Saturday
evening is probably O'Casey's busiest time.
And it's a family business. She'd come to town for
Mary's funeral, three weeks ago, and turned
up waiting on customers when the pizzaria reopened.
According to her brother, she was staying with Liam and
planned to remain indefinitely, taking care of her
father and helping out with the business.
So it didn't make sense for Maureen to take off
Saturday night.
She would be there, all right.
And Trev planned to do more, this time, than exchange
a few friendly words with her and gape at her while she
made visits to other tables. He planned to ask
her out. And he wasn't sure he had the nerve.
She likes me, he thought.
I
know she does.
It was more than her cheerful, wise-cracking banter.
She talked to all the customers that way. But she
didn't look at the others the way she looked at
Trev. When her eyes met his, their gaze
seemed to sink into him as if searching deep inside,
looking for something, wondering about him, and they
seemed to hold a soft challenge.
She wants me to ask her out. And she's wondering
RAINY
NIGHT
why
I
haven't, yet. Wondering what's wrong. I've
got to do it, Trev thought. Tonight. Now.
But he remained at his desk, staring past the deserted
desks toward the door of the interrogation room.
Come on, he told himself. Get up and go. Do it.
"y
out all of a sudden into meditation
?"
Patterson asked.
Trev looked around at him.
"J
ust thinking
,"
he said.
"T
ry it, sometime
."
"T
ry eating dirt
,"
Patterson said. And was about to say more, but someone
apparently entered the station just then, so he turned to the
front.
Trev looked at the wall clock. Six
twenty-five.
He'd
been going into O'Casey's at eight, midway through
his shift.
If
he showed up this early, Maureen might not
be
on duty yet. Maybe he should wait a couple of
hours.
Don't
be
such a damn chicken!
He rolled back his chair. As he started to rise,
he heard footsteps behind him. He stood and turned
around. Patterson was striding toward him, a serious
look on his face. In a hushed voice, he said,
"S
ince you're here anyway, maybe you'd like to handle this
."
Trev saw two females, an adult and a
teenaged girl. at the other side of the reception
window.
"I
was just on my way out
."
"I
t's about the Chidi case. You're more up on it
than me
."
"W
ell,
I
was there last night
."

T
LA
YMON
"T
he girl knew Chidi. Sounds like they were going together
."
"O
K,
I'll
talk to them
."
What the hell, he thought.
I
was looking for an excuse. And this might be a break.
Shouldn't take long, and Maureen might not be there
yet, anyway.
"y
out won't regret it
,"
Patterson said, then rolled his eyes upward and
pursed his lips.
"C
ouple of knockouts. Maybe you'll get lucky
."
Resuming a solemn expression, he turned
away. He headed toward the women and said,
"O
fficer Hudson will see you.
If
you'd like to step in
."
He nodded toward the opening at the far end of the counter.
Trev met them there. He sized them up quickly,
decided he didn't much like what he saw, and gave
them a smile that he hoped was reassuring.
"T
hanks for coming
by.
I'm Trevor Hudson
."
The older woman, probably the girl's mother,
narrowed her eyes as if she expected Trev
to give her shit and rather hoped he might try.
"F
rancine Walters
,"
she said. Her raspy voice was as hard as her
looks.
She
appeared to be about forty, but Trev had seen this type
before, and they always appeared older than their years.
Her hair was bleached blond. She needed to do the
roots. Too much eye makeup. Lipstick too
bright.
A
lean, drawn face with wrinkle lines in the wrong
places. It was a face that hadn't smiled much, that
spent too much time scowling or giving off sarcastic
smirks.
"T
his is Lisa
,"
she said.
"H
i, Lisa
."
The girl didn't look up. Her head was lowered,
her
RAINY
NIGHT
shoulders slumped. Her hair was the same silvery
blond As her mother's, but her roots didn't show.
"Come on back here," Trev said, 'and we'll
talk." He led the way toward the interrogation
room. "We don't want to end up on the news,"
Francine said to his back. "We don't want it
all over town."
He opened the door and held it for them. 'is that
understood88Francine asked.
"We'll try to keep it between the three of us,"
Trev said.
The girl gave him a wary glance as she stepped
by. She'd been crying, and her face looked
freshly scrubbed. Trev imagined that she might be
a beautiful young woman if she ever smiled.
She was shorter than her mother, but had the same build
-- hips and breasts that seemed too prominent for her
otherwise slim figure. She probably kept the
high school girls in a constant state of envy and the
boys in heat.
She wore a pullover sweater that might have fit her
a couple of years ago. She'd probably bought it
too small, just as she'd probably bought the blue
jeans pre-faded and pre-slashed. The legs of her
jeans, fashionably ripped and frayed, made it
look as if she'd been attacked by a
knife-wielding midget.
A cloying odor of perfume swept past Trev as
she stepped through the doorway.
A more exotic perfume followed Francine. Not as
sweet, dark and wanton, mixed with odors of
whiskey and stale smoke.
Trev stepped into the room. "Please, sit down.
Could I get you some coffee? We've got a soda
LA
YMON
machine, Lisa- Would you like a Pepsi or 'Can
we just get on with it
?"
Francine asked. Nodding, he closed the
door. Through the glass, he
saw Patterson leer at him, pump his fist, and
mouth something that looked like
"V
a va va voom
."
Thinks he's doing me a favor, sending me in with
these two. Knockouts. Right.
I
could be sitting at O'Casey's, right now.
I
could be talking to Maureen.
He turned to the women. They were seated facing the
table, their backs to him. He stepped behind them. He
picked up a legal pad from a stack at the end of the
table, then swung a chair out past the corner and sat
down. He wanted to keep it informal. He didn't
want the table in the way. He told himself that it had
nothing to do with wanting a better view of
Patterson's knockouts. He crossed one leg,
rested the legal pad against his upthrust knee, and said
to Lisa,
"I
understand that you knew Maxwell Chidi
."
"y
eah
,"
she said. She glanced at him, then looked the other
way to check on her mother who was nearly hidden from
Trev's view on her far side. She then did just
what he expected. She scooted her chair away
from the table, far back until it bumped the window
sill and she no longer separated Trev from her mother.
Then both women turned their chairs toward him.
"T
hey
were going together
,"
Francine said.
"I
didn't know a thing about it. The last
I
heard, she was still going with Buddy Gilbert
."
Trev plucked a ballpoint from his shirt pocket
and
RAINY
NIGHT
wrote down the name.
"H
ow long were you seeing Maxwell
?"
he asked the girl.
"A
couple of weeks
,"
she said without looking at him. Her eyes were fixed
on the knee of her jeans, where she was fingering her skin
through a ragged slit. There were more gashes higher up.
"S
he just kept me totally in the dark
,"
Francine said, taking a pack of cigarettes from
her purse.
'if I'd
known,
I
would've put a quick stop to it. You'd better believe
it
."
She shook out a cigarette. Tapping its filter
against the table, she said,
"I
t's not that I'm a bigot or anything
."
"S
ure you aren't
,"
Lisa muttered.
"T
hat's right, I'm not
."
Glaring at the back of her daughter's head, she
jabbed the cigarette into a corner of her mouth and
fired it with a Bic.
"B
ut
I
think I've been around awhile longer than you, young
lady, and
I
think
I
know a few things you don't
."
The cigarette jerked up and down as she talked.
Lisa kept fiddling with the tear at her knee.
"O
ne thing
I
know is a girl like you starts going around with a black
guy, it means trouble. And
I
was right, wasn't
I?
Wasn't
IT
"I
guess
,"
Lisa murmured.
"y
out guess. The boy's dead, isn't he
?"
Lisa nodded.
"T
hink
he'd
be dead if he didn't start going with
you
?"
"L
isa
,"
Trev said, 'd you know who murdered him
?"
"n
ot exactly
."
"T
ell the man what you told me
."
LA
YMON
She glanced up at Trev, then frowned at the rip
in her jeans. "I think it might've been Buddy and
his friends."
"Buddy Gilbert," Trev said.
"Yeah. See, he didn't like it when I broke
up with him. Then there was the dance after the game last
night. In the gym? Buddy came in with his friends.
They were all drunk, you know? Buddy tried to cut in
and dance with me and I told him, you know, to get lost.
And he started ... He got real nasty. He
called Maxwell ... like every name in the book. You
know?" She raised her eyes to Trev as if
curious to see his reactions. "Nigger, coon,
jigaboo, spade, spearchucker, jungle bunny.
That kind of thing? And he got really crude
about how black people are supposed to have bigger dicks?"
"J
esus,
Lisa!" her mother snapped.
"Well, he did. Like that was why I dumped him for
Maxwell."
"You don't have to announce it to the goddamn
world
to was
"It's all right," Trev told the girl. "What
happened then?"
"Well, Maxwell just stood there and didn't say
anything, and Mr Sherman -- he's the vice
principal? -- he came over and kicked Buddy and
his friends out."
"Do you know the names of Buddy's friends?" "Sure.
Doug Haines and Lou Nicholson."
LA
YMON
Lou didn't want to be here. He wished he were in
his own home, in bed with the pillow covering his face.
But when Buddy calls and says come over, you come
over.
Hell, maybe it was better not to be home. Here,
at least, he wasn't alone. There were sure
to be some wild times, what with the five of them together and
Doug's folks over at the club. And the booze.
One way or another, maybe he'd be able to forget
about last night. At least for a while.
And then, as if his hopes were being answered, he
did
forget about last night. Because Sheila, his girl,
chose that moment to sit down across Buddy's lap.
She bounced on it playfully and fingered his left
ear. "How are we supposed to have a party when you
haven't got a gal?"
"Who says I haven't got a gal?" Buddy
rubbed his hand over the back of her sweatshirt.
They're just kidding around, Lou told himself. But he
suddenly felt hot and squirmy inside.
Sheila smiled over her shoulder at him and said,
"I think my fella's getting jealous."
Lou shrugged. "Who, me?" Stupid! He wanted
to grab her by the neck and throw her off Buddy's
lap. Facing Buddy again, she slipped her fingers
through his hair. "I guess Lou doesn't mind."
"Who's talking about you88Buddy grabbed a handful at
the back of her sweatshirt. When he let go, Lou
LAYMON
heard the bra strap whap against her skin.
She
flinched and yelped.
,
Hey!,
Doug and Cyndi laughed from the other side of the sofa,
and Lou felt a surge of relief.
Sheila scurried off his lap, being careful not
to spill her rum Coke.
"A
ren't you nice
,"
she said.
"I
was just trying to cheer you up
."
He grinned at her as she backed away.
"T
hat cheered me up
."
He looked at Lou and raised his eyebrows.
"D
id that cheer
you
up, Louie?"
Lou couldn't hold back a smile.
"y
eah, sure did
."
"W
hat a bunch of assholes
,"
she said. Shaking her head and laughing, she twirled
her middle finger through the air. Then she sat on the
floor in front of Lou's chair. He leaned over
and rubbed her back.
"A
nyway, we've gotta find a gal for Buddy and
get her over here
."
"I
've got a gal
,"
he said.
"W
ho, Lisa
?"
"T
hat's right
."
Doug, sitting on the far side of Cyndi
with one hand behind her back and the other holding a vodka
tonic, hunched forward to look at Buddy.
"G
uess she's all yours now, huh
?"
"y
ep. Now that Maxi-pad's gone to that big jungle
in the sky
."
Cyndi laughed and said,
"T
hat's terrible
."
"S
ick
."
agreed Sheila.
Lou wondered how the girls would react if they
knew who'd
sent
Maxwell to that bigjungle in the sky.
RAINY NIGH-THAT
"y
eah
,"
Doug said.
"W
e should be ashamed of ourselves, joking about such a
tragedy
."
"B
ut anyway
,"
Cyndi said,
"I
happen to know that Lisa's babysitting tonight. So she
couldn't come over even if she wanted to
."
She wouldn't want to, Lou thought. Christ, Lisa
had
to know it was Buddy and us, or at least figure it
might've been.
"y
out oughta just forget about her anyway
,"
Sheila advised.
"I
mean,
I
know how you felt about her and all, but shit,
she dumped you
.
"F
or a nigger
,"
Doug added.
"y
eah, well I'm not done with her yet
."
Uh-oh, Lou thought. Nobody spoke. The silence
seemed heavy.
Buddy set his empty glass on the table.
"I
don't know about the rest of you, but I'm starving
."
"n
ow you're talking
,"
Doug said.
"W
hat've you got
?"
Sheila asked.
"y
out think I'm gonna
cook
for you slugs
?"
"A
couple of us could run over to McDonald's
,"
Lou said, 'and pick up some stuff. Me and Sheila
could go
."
"I
feel too comfy to move
."
She leaned back against the padded front of Lou's
chair, lifted an arm and rested it across his thighs.
Bending her elbow, she curled her hand over his
knee. He felt the side of her breast pressing
against his leg.
"y
eah, shit
,"
Cyndi said.
"W
hy
don't we call out for something
?"
'Chink
?"
Doug suggested.
LA
YMON
"Yuckea8Cyndi said.
"W
hat about pizza
?"
Buddy asked.
"A
ll
right
to was
from Cyndi.
"y
eah!
"S
heila.
"F
ine with me
,"
Lou said, not quite so eager to rush off for
McDonald's now that Sheila was leaning on him.
He moved his leg slightly to rub it against
her breast. She did nothing to stop him. In fact,
she squeezed his knee.
Lou was suddenly glad to be here.
He started caressing the side of her neck.
His mind was on Sheila while the others discussed how
many pizzas to order, what size, what to have on them.
He was only vaguely aware of Buddy leaving the
room to phone in the order.
Sheila's neck felt like warm velvet. He
wished there wasn't so much clothing between her breast and his
leg
-
the corduroy of his pants, her sweatshirt, the rather
stiff fabric of her bra. Still, through all that, he
could feel her breast's springy firmness.
And she wasn't giving him any grief at all.
This might get really interesting, he thought.
Then Buddy returned to his place on the sofa.
"A
ll
set
."
he said.
"T
he pizzas'll be here in about half an hour
."
Doug checked his wristwatch.
"T
hat'll be ten after seven
,"
he said.
"D
on't know if my stomach can last that long
."
"L
et's get some more drinks
,"
Buddy said.
RAINY
NIGHT
Denise eased her car up against an empty stretch
of curb in front of the Foxworth house. She shut
off the headlights. After dropping the keys into
her
purse, she raised her left wrist and turned it
until the face of her watch caught the faint light
coming in through the windshield.
Twenty till seven.
She'd made pretty good time, she thought, considering
that she'd had to change clothes and brush her
hair before leaving home.
If
Lynn and John don't dawdle around, they shouldn't
have any trouble at all getting to the restaurant for
their seven o'clock reservations.
She climbed out of the car, locked its door, and
hurried toward the house thinking she really should've
worn a jacket.
It's not
that
cold, she told herself.
She
unclenched her teeth and tried to stop shivering, but the
night air seemed to be sliding right under the hanging
tails of her chamois shirt, rising like chilly
water against her skin.
If
she wasn't going to wear a jacket or tuck in the
shirt (who on earth tucks in a chamois shirt?),
she could've at least worn a T-shirt under it.
Too late for that now, she thought.
On the front stoop, she jabbed the doorbell, then
pressed the heavy shirt against her belly to keep out
some of the chill. She stood rigid, waiting.
LAYMON
What's taking them so long? They're supposed to be
in a big rush.
She pressed her legs together.
She
rubbed them against each other, her corduroys making
soft whissy sounds.
At last, Lynn opened the door. 'Come in,
come in. Oh, you're such a lifesaver.
I
can't tell you
."
Denise stepped into the foyer. She managed not to sigh
as the inside air wrapped its warmth around her.
"W
e're almost ready to step out the door
,"
Lynn
told her.
"L
et me show you a few things real quicklike-a-bunny
."
To Kara, she said,
"L
ook who's here
."
as she hurried
by.
"H
i there, Kara
,"
Denise said.
The nine-year-old, cross-legged on the floor
playing a video game, looked over her shoulder,
smiled, and mouthed a silent
"H
i
."
She
had an amused expression that seemed to say,
"C
an't interrupt Mom when she's on a roll
."
"W
e'll be at the Edgewood, did
I
tell you that88Lynn continued as Denise followed her
toward the kitchen.
"W
e shouldn't be very late.
If
you want to let Kara stay up, that's fine.
Whatever. Or get rid of her. And if you want
to invite your friend over, fine. The refrigerator's
all stocked and we've got plenty of snacks in the
cupboard. Kara can show you everything
."
They reached the kitchen. She stopped just inside the
entry and put a hand on the wall phone.
"H
ere's the phone
,"
she said.
'if
anything comes up, you can reach us at the restaurant.
The number's right here
."
She tapped a long, tapering fingernail against a
RAINY
NIGHT
note pad beside the phone.
"A
nd here are numbers for the police and fire department,
just in case. God knows, you shouldn't need those
."
She faced Denise, smiling.
"S
o. any questions?
I
feel like I'm forgetting something
."
You're forgetting to calm down, Denise thought. But
she shook her head.
"I
can't think of anything
."
"G
ood, good.
I
can't tell you how glad
I
am you're
here. This is kind of a very big deal tonight, and
...
do you think
I
look all right
?"
"y
out look terrific
,"
Denise assured her.
Lowering her voice, she said,
"J
ust between you and me and the fencepost, John thinks this
dress is too
. .
.
"S
he grimaced and rolled her eyes upward.
"W
hat shall we say
...
flamboyant
?"
She twirled around
Once.
The glossy, royal blue gown had only one
shoulder and sleeve. The top angled down sharply from
the shoulder and didn't cover much of her right breast before
it passed beneath her armpit. It slanted down the
same way across her back. The hem of the skirt
appeared to be cut at the same angle, descending
from just above her
left
knee to just below her right.
She
wore high heels that matched the dress. No
nylons, but her legs had a good tan.
The way the fabric hugged her body, Denise was
pretty sure the woman didn't have a stitch on
underneath it.
I I
hope it's warm in the restaurant
,"
she said. Lynn grimaced.
"M
y
God. Am
I
indecent
?"
"y
out look fabulous. Really
."
LA
YMON
She lowered her head to study herself. 'x is awfully
... I
have a nice cable-knit shawl.
I
have a
stole,
for that matter.
A
mink stole. It's gorgeous, but John has a thing
about me wearing it
."
"H
e's against fur
?"
"H
e's against "conspicuous consumption.8He thinks if
I
wear a mink somebody'll knock me on the head and
run off with it.
A
lot of good it does, having nice things .
-
."
She clutched Denise
by
the upper arm and looked her in the eyes.
"I
'full
get my shawl.
I
should've thought of it, myself. It's just the thing. You're
precious
."
"W
ell, thanks. You might want to wear a coat,
too. It's kind of chilly out
."
"O
h,
I
will.
I'll
do that
."
She laughed.
"I
'm not a total flake, you know
."
She let go and hurried out of the kitchen. Denise
watched her swish away.
She couldn't blame John for having doubts about that
dress.
But God, the gal looked awesome in it. Tom would
climb the walls slobbering if he ever saw
me in something like that. He'd never get the chance. Mom
and Dad would take turns killing me.
She went into the living room and sat on the floor
beside Kara. The girl pressed a button on the
control device that she held on her lap. On the
television screen, little Mario halted his run and
Bowser the dragon froze in mid-air, a burst of
fire about to leave its mouth.
"T
hat's OK, go on
,"
Denise said.
RAINY
NIGHT
"O
h, I've got it on pause
."
"I
t's good to see you again
,"
she said, and gently squeezed Kara's shoulder.
"B
een a while, hasn't it
?"
"S
ince May first. You haven't sat for me since then
."
Trust Kara to know the exact date.
"W
ell,
I
came to your birthday party, didn't
I?"
"D
o you want to see the video tape? It's really
neat. We can watch it right now.
I'll
go ahead and commit
."
'Commit what
?"
"S
uicide. Kill off Mario. I've only got
two left, anyway.
I
think I'm jinxed. It's terribly difficult
to concentrate with Mom running around acting crazy.
She
always
acts crazy when she's going out
."
Kara leaned closer and spoke softly.
"D
ad doesn't even want to
go. Of
course, he never wants to go
anywhere,
but he really doesn't want to go to this thing tonight.
I'd
tell you the whole story, but
I
don't know it. Sometimes, they try to keep things from
me. It's very annoying.
I'm Sure
glad you're here instead of Lisa. She's OK,
I
guess. But she's a little weird around the edges, if
you know what I mean, and she's constantly on the
phone with her boyfriends. Constantly. It's very
difficult to carry on conversation with her. Myself,
I
think maybe she hasn't got a lot of
furniture in her attic
."
Denise laughed and shook her head.
"B
oy, you haven't changed
."
Kara, beaming, raised her eyebrows. The fine
blond hair of the brows barely showed, but the
muscles above her eyes sent curved ridges and
valleys
LA
YMON
climbing her forehead.
"T
hat's good, isn't it88she asked.
"I
t's terrific
."
"W
ell, we're off
,"
Lynn announced.
Denise looked around. Lynn wore a knee-length
camel coat, carried a blue clutch bag in one
hand and a fringed, white shawl in the other.
"H
ow are you doing, Denise
?"
John asked, following his wife into the room.
"J
ust fine, thanks
."
"It's nice to see you again.
I
thought you'd retired from sitting
."
"S
he's just doing this tonight as a special favor
,"
Lynn told him.
He shook his head, smiling. He was a big,
heavy-set man who always seemed friendly. Denise was
glad to see him again. He wore a blue blazer and
gray slacks. His necktie wasn't quite straight.
It swung down as he bent over and frowned at each
of Denise's arms.
"W
hich one did Lynn twist
?"
"T
his one
."
She raised her right arm, the hand limp and
dangling.
"B
etter have that looked at
."
"W
ell, we've got to be off
."
Lynn stepped past Denise, crouched and kissed
Kara.
"y
out behave yourself
,"
she said.
"I
will
."
John kissed her.
"y
eah
."
he said.
"n
o torturing Denise with toothpicks
."
Kara smirked and rolled her eyes upward.
"O
h Dad, you're so weird
."
RAINY
NIGHT
"Have fun, you two
,"
he said, and followed Lynn toward the door.
"W
e shouldn't be very late
."
Kara watched them. When they reached the foyer, she
waved.
"y
out might want to put the chain on after we're gone
,"
John called. He opened the door and followed
Lynn outside.
As the door began to swing shut, Kara shouted,
"T
HEY
"R
E
GONE! LET
"S
PARTY!"
Denise heard a burst of laughter from John. Then
the door bumped shut.
" I'll
go ahead and commit so we can look at the tape. Or
do you want to play some
Mario
?"
"M
aybe later.
I'll
go and put on the chain
."
As she started to get up, Kara said,
"I
"ll
do it
,"
leaped to her feet and ran for the door.
"I
'm glad to see your mood's improved
,"
Lynn said as John backed his car out of the
driveway.
"L
ooking forward to a good dinner
."
He steered onto the street and started forward.
"W
e could've had that at home, of course, and without the
hassle.
I
imagine Kara and Denise will have themselves a great time
."
"S
o will we
."
LA
YMON
"We'll sec."
"This is a wonderful opportunity. I just don't
know why you're so reluctant. I know one thing --
if they offered to do a big write-up on
mein
a national magazine, I'd jump at the chance. Can
you imagine? They may even want to put you on the
cover."
"Thrills." There would be no picture of him on the
cover of
People Today
magazine, or inside it. John planned to make
that clear, soon enough, but he figured he might as
well postpone the announcement. Let the snoops
make their pitch. Let Lynn enjoy herself for a
while longer. Have the dinner, and then drop the bomb.
She was bound to flip out.
What do you mean, you won't do it!
"Do you know what I think might happen?" Lynn
asked. "I think, when the story gets out,
everybody
will want your paintings. You'll probably even have
offers to do exhibits. Wouldn't that be fabulous?
Can't you just imagine walking into a gallery in
Beverly Hills or San Francisco --
maybe even in New York?"
"My stuff sells fine right now," John said.
"Oh, come on."
"And if people are going to buy my work, I'd much
prefer they buy it because they like it, not because it was painted
by the guy who stopped some jerk from plugging Velma."
"Veronica." "Whatever. If I'd known this was
gonna happen, I maybe would've looked the other
way."
RAINY
NIGHT
"D
on't say that even joking, John. You did a
wonderful, heroic thing, and you deserve recognition
for it.
My
God, the woman has
platinum
records. She's a
legend.
And you saved her life
."
Lynn was silent for a moment. Then she said,
"I
still can't believe you didn't tell me about it
."
"I
knew you'd make a fuss
."
"y
out spend one day
by
yourself in San Francisco and save the life of a
legend
and you don't even tell your own wife.
I
have to find out from strangers
."
"T
hey
weren't supposed to find out, either
."
John had thought, for more than a week after returning
home, that he'd gotten away clean. Then, the
call came. Apparently, some damn paparazzo
had followed him to the car after he broke that crazy
bastard's arm and fled through the crowd. He'd never
gotten a photo of John's face, but a
snapshot of the car revealed its license plate
number, and either the freelancer or someone at the
magazine got his identity through the DMV. The call
had come from an editor, who wanted to send out a staff
writer and photographer to do a feature article
on him. An exclusive.
Passerby Confronts Gunman, Saves Life
of Rock Superstar.
John's
"T
hanks, but I'm not interested" only seemed
to make the editor more persistent. But John had
held
his ground, stuck to his refusal.
He was taking a shower half an hour later when the
editor called again. This time, Lynn had answered the
phone.
Thus, a dinner tonight at the Edgewood with a
LA
YMON
writer and photographer who'd come a long way for
nothing.
"A
nd
I
just can't
believe
you told the man you wouldn't let them do the story
,"
Lynn said. Then she sighed.
"O
f
course
I
believe it. Thank God he called back, or
. .
."
"W
hy
do you think that lunatic tried to shoot Veronica?
"J
ohn asked, speaking softly, knowing how Lynn would
freeze up if he raised his voice.
"B
ecause she's famous. Do you think he would've gone
after her with a gun if she'd been a nobody? There's
a lot to be said for anonymity. John Lennon would
probably still be alive today if
he'd
been a TV repairman
."
"n
ow you're being just plain ridiculous. Nobody's
going to shoot you, for crying out loud, just because
People Today
does a story about you
."
"y
out never know. Some nut might read it and get pissed
off because
I
interfered
."
He wasn't especially worried about that, but he'd
had time during the past week to think of a few matters
that
really
worried him.
"T
here's something else. They'll want to run photos
of us all. So maybe your picture turns on some
pervert, and he decides to pay you a visit
."
"O
h,
for God's sake
."
"D
o you think such things don't happen
?"
"I
certainly wouldn't know,
but. .
."
"I
"ll
tell you one thing, there's no way I'm going to let
them put a picture of Kara in that
magazine
."
Or you either, he thought. Or me. Not a chance.
If
they try to so much as print our names,
I'll
hit them with a suit for invasion of privacy.
RAINY
NIGHT
"y
ou're paranoid
,"
Lynn said.
"y
ou're absolutely paranoid, do you know that?"
"I
just don't think we should call attention to ourselves
,"
he pointed out, still managing to keep his voice low and
calm.
"W
hich is why
I
got out of there after nailing that bastard in the first place
."
"W
hich is also why I'm not wearing my mink tonight and why
I
can't have a Porsche and why you don't even
try
to sell your good stuff and why we'll
be
spending the rest of our lives living off your father's
inheritance
."
Though her words hurt him, he muttered,
"T
hat's right
."
Why
argue? She was right, and he knew it.
"S
ome cruds swipe a jacket off you when you're
fifteen years old, and we have to spend the rest of our
lives paying for it
."
"T
hey almost killed me
."
Lynn fell silent.
"B
ecause they wanted my leather jacket
."
I
I
knoooow
."
She'd lost her spunk. Her voice came out
quiet and pleading.
"B
ut John, you don't stop buying leather jackets
because of something like that
."
"y
out do if you're smart
."
"y
out don't dig yourself a hole and hide in it
."
"C
ome on now, honey, we aren't exactly living in
a hole and hiding. There's a big difference between that and
simply trying to keep a low profile
."
"W
e'd
be
living like hermits if
I
didn't constantly keep after you
."
LA
YMON
"n
o, we wouldn't
."
"y
ou'd probably prefer to be invisible, if you had
any choice in the matter
."
He forced out a chuckle.
"n
ow, there's a neat idea
."
"I
that'd be perfect for you. The invisible man. The
ultimate in anonymity
."
"W
hy
didn't
I
think of that?"
He had
thought of that. Often. He was sure he'd never told
Lynn, though. It was his pet fantasy, being
invisible, and he'd always kept it to himself. Not
exactly something you share, your desire to vanish from
sight.
But if he ever stumbled onto a Genie, that would be his
first wish. And the only wish he would need.
He wouldn't want to be invisible all the time, of
course. To
be
able to change at will, that'd be the thing.
He'd never again have to worry about the creeps of the world
chosing him for a target. You can't hassle, rob or
murder someone you can't see. That part, he knew, was
cowardly. The other part of being invisible, which appealed
to him just as much, had nothing to do with cowardice but seemed
even more shameful.
As a teenager, his favorite daydream had involved
sneaking invisible into the girls" shower room after gym
class. He hadn't given up that daydream. But now
his fantasies more often involved young women,
not teenagers. Watching them undress and bathe.
Invisible, he could do other things, too:
eavesdrop, steal anything he might want, wreck
havoc on his enemies, even commit murder. Not that
he would. He
RAINY
NIGHT
had no desire at all to do any of those things, and
rarely gave them a thought. His fantasies included
very little beyond spying on women in the shower.
But that was enough to prevent him from ever breathing a word of his
secret desire to Lynn or to anyone else.
She would consider him a latent Peeping Tom, a
sicko for wanting to do that. For desiring invisibility
to avoid the attention of creeps. she would figure
him for a paranoid coward.
She's already got that part figured, John thought as
he pulled away from a stop light and realized he was
only a block from the Edgewood.
He accelerated through the intersection, then swung his
car to an empty space at the curb.
"Now, come on," Lynn said. "They've got
valet parking."
"it won't kill us to walk for two minutes."
"God, I get so tired of this."
"It'll save a couple of bucks."
"That isn't it, and we both know it. For crying out
loud, who'd
want
to steal this heap?"
"I just don't want some stranger driving it around."
"Yeah, right." She thrust open her door and
climbed out.
John met her on the sidewalk. She took his
hand, looked at him and sighed. "It's not that I mind
walking, you know."
"I know."
"It's just the way you're always trying to avoid things."
LA
YMON
He managed a smile.
"y
out should be used to it,
by
now
."
"W
ell, I'm not. It irks me more and more all the time
."
"I
'm sorry
."
"A
nd the one time in years you stand up and do something
terrific, you don't even want anyone to find out
about it
."
"I
'm here, aren't I?"
"U
nder duress
."
Maybe
I
should let them do the article, he thought as he walked
with Lynn through the chilly evening. He checked his
wristwatch. Seven o'clock on the nose and the
restaurant was just ahead.
It would make up for a lot in Lynn's eyes, if
I
go along with the damn thing. And they'll probably do
some kind of story whether or not
I
cooperate. No threat of a lawsuit was likely
to stop a powerful magazine like that.
But the consequences.
There probably won't
be
any consequences. Beneath the restaurant's portico
stood a young man wearing a red jacket and a
ponytail. Waiting for customers to come along and
turn over their cars. The glance he gave John
made it clear he didn't appreciate people who
parked on the street.
John blushed.
Can't even go out for dinner without someone giving you
grief.
He pulled open one of the heavy double doors, and
held it wide for Lynn. The foyer of the Edgewood
RAINY
NIGHT
was nearly as dark as the night outside.
Lynn stopped and unbuttoned her coat. John
took it from her, and she stuffed her shawl down one of the
sleeves.
"A
ren't you going to wear that
?"
"I
don't think so. It's nice and warm in here
."
Everyone in the restaurant would probably end up
staring at her. Men with dreams of invisibility were
likely to fantasize about watching
her
shower.
"I
think you ought to wear it. That dress is awfully
revealing
."
"O
h, don't be such a stick in
the. .
A
slam of thunder shut off her voice.
Downpour
Toby Barnes, gunned down at the north
goalpost of Memorial Stadium
by
patrolman Bob Hanson, was the first to die that
night when the black rain fell. He was far from the
last.
The rain caught Ethel Banks while she backed
away from the tailgate of her station wagon with two
sacks of groceries clutched to her chest.
She nearly dropped them when the thunder crashed. She
did drop them when the warm rain fell on her.
"O
h dear
,"
she muttered.
She bent over the split bags, thinking she ought
to pick them up, and was surprised to notice how dark
the night suddenly seemed. Maybe the bulb in the
pole lamp
by
the driveway had burnt out. But the two sacks and the
exposed groceries grew even darker as she gazed
at them.
They seemed to be turning black. Steam swirled
up around them.
"I
sn't this peculiar
,"
she said.
Even more peculiar was the way she suddenly felt.
Normally, Ethel would've been rushing for the house
LA
YMON
to get away from such a downpour. But she
found herself enjoying it so much that she couldn't bring herself
to move. She stayed as she was, bent over, letting
the rain mat down her hair, run down her face and
neck, soak through the back of her sweater, the seat of
her skirt and panties.
It made her feel
...
strange.
Hot and strange and full of a restless urge that she
couldn't quite focus on. She ached to do something. But
what?
"E
thel
?"
The rain was loud, smacking the concrete, drumming on
the car, pattering on the paper sacks and the plastic
wrappers of toilet paper and Wonderbread that had
spilled onto the driveway. But the voice was
louder. 'is that you? What's going on
?"
She looked up. Through the mist and shrouds of black
rain, she saw a vague figure in the doorway.
"I
t's me, Charlie
,"
she called.
"W
ell, don't just stand out there. You'd better get
inside before you're soaked
."
"I
'm coming
,"
she called, and stood up straight.
"I
'm coming
,"
she repeated, striding toward the open door.
"I
sure am, Charlie
,"
she muttered as she started to run, head tilted
back, smiling into the rain. She didn't see the
front stoop. The single step tripped her, sent
her sprawling. She slid on her belly across the
slick, painted concrete.
"M
y
Lord
to was
Charlie gasped.
"A
re you all
... Why,
you're as black as the ace of spades! What the
devil's going on
?"
Ethel scurried up, lunging forward.
RAINY
NIGHT
Charlie yelled, "Hey!" an instant before her head
struck his groin. That let the wind out of him! Ethel
hugged his legs, driving him backward as he doubled
over her. His rump hit the marble floor of the foyer.
She shoved her face between his legs, filled her mouth
with the crotch of his slacks and his pal, Mr Pete,
and chomped.
Charlie jumped and shimmied as if he'd stuck his
finger in a socket.
Ethel clambered up his twitching body. She sat
on his chest and grabbed his ears. Using them for handles,
she bounced his head off the floor. The first couple of
times, it sounded like someone dropping a coconut. Then
the sound softened to wet, sloppy smacks as if the
back of his head might have turned into a
sirloin steak. One that hadn't been broiled yet.
All floppy and juicy.
Willis Yardly signed his credit card slip,
tore off the top copy, and fingered the rest of it into the
trough under the window. He stuffed his credit card
into his wallet, then took out a dollar bill.
He used that to buy a Twix candy bar for his son,
Jimmy. The boy liked to come along to the filling
station and make his own selection, but he had the
sniffles so Mandy kept him home this time.
While Willis waited for change, he folded his
copy of the slip. He stuffed that, along with the Twix,
into his jacket pocket. His hand came out with a
pack of cigarettes, a book of matches.
The drive home would give him time for one smoke.
Better not light up in here, he thought.
LA
YMON
He took his change. dropped it into a pocket of
his trousers, and pushed through the door. Outside, he
shook the pack to jostle some Cigarettes through the
opening. As he raised it to his mouth and pinched out a
cigarette with his lips, he noticed the woman at
pump number one.
She
wore a clear plastic glove so she wouldn't soil
her hand with the messy
job.
Obviously, she didn't enjoy pumping her own
gas.
Willis wondered if he should offer to do it for her.
She'd probably think I'm trying to pick her
up. She looked good, bending over like that. Her faded
jeans were pulled taut against her rump. Her blue
T-shirt was so tight that he could see the bumps of
her spine and the outline of her bra. The bottom of it
had come untucked in back, baring a strip of skin
to the chilly night.
She must be freezing, Willis thought. Maybe
I
should
offer to help.
He took the unlighted cigarette from his mouth,
slipped it into his pocket (it'll probably
pick up pocket lint), and stepped off the
walkway beside the office. He took one stride before
thunder shook the night. The woman jumped.
The rain came down, masking the bright lights of the
Mobil station, splashing its heat onto Willis as
he hurried toward the woman with a strange
excitement.
She was dry beneath the island's roof. No longer
pumping gas. Standing up straight with nozzle
by
her side, a look of shock on her face as
Willis came out of the rain.
RAINY
NIGHT
"Jesus!" she gasped.
"Let me help you with that," Willis said, reaching
for the nozzle.
"You're all
black!
What the hell kind of rain ... ?" He yanked the
nozzle from her grip. His other hand grabbed the
front of her T-shirt. He shoved her, slamming
her back against the trunk, holding her down with his
fist thrust hard against her chest.
She opened her mouth to curse him or scream.
He shoved the spout inside it. He squeezed the
trigger. Gasoline flooded her mouth, splashed out.
She thrashed on the trunk, choking, eyes squeezed
shut, hands clawing at the nozzle.
Willis pulled the spout from her mouth and hosed her
face, her T-shirt. He rammed the
spout into her belly. She bucked under his straight
arm and gasoline exploded from her mouth.
Stepping back, he let her slide off the trunk.
Her knees hit the concrete. She fell forward and
caught herself with her hands.
Willis soaked her down some more.
Then he dropped the nozzle, fished his match book
out of the pocket where it rested beside the Twix bar, and
lit a match.
His hands and arms flamed, but he managed to toss the
match.
It blew out on its way toward the woman. So he
crouched and touched her hair.
Chet Baxter was waiting in line beside his girlfriend,
Christie Lord. to buy a ticket for the seven o'clock
LA
YMON
showing of
Out Are The Lights
when the thunder boomed. They both flinched. Laughing,
Chet squeezed her against his side. She smiled up
at him. The lights dimmed. As the hot, exciting
rain pounded down on his head and shoulders, Chet
watched her face go blotchy then disappear except
for the whites of her eyes and teeth.
He grabbed her wet, hanging hair. Before he could
yank her head back to "pose her throat, her
fingernails ripped open his cheek. Crying out, he
clutched her wrist.
Someone smashed against them. Hanging onto Christie,
Chet tumbled to the sidewalk.
She
came down on top of him, snarling, thrusting her
head down at his face, teeth snapping.
Suddenly, she looked up.
Chet clutched her throat with both hands.
"n
o
,"
she gasped.
"W
ait. Let's get
them
."
He ached to choke the life out of the bitch, but her words
made him hesitate. He relaxed his grip for a
moment, and she lurched free. She scurried
backward, crawling off him.
"T
hem
,"
she said again.
On her knees, the sodden black spector thrust
an arm straight out and pointed.
"L
ET
"S
GET
THEM!"
she yelled.
Chet sat up, ignoring the alarmed voices and
outcries of those behind him
-
those at whom Christie was pointing. Instead, he
watched the eight or ten struggling figures beyond her
back. Some were down on the sidewalk, pounding and
ripping at one another. Others were still on their feet.
Chet saw one
RAINY
NIGHT
man slamming the face of a teenaged boy against the
top of a fire hydrant. He saw a woman
clamped to a storefront wall
by
a man's forearm across her throat while the
guy rammed a pocket knife into her belly.
"L
ET
"S
GET
THE DRY
ONES!"
Christie shouted. it seemed like a fine idea
to Chet. It seemed fitting, somehow.
Apparently, the idea appealed to the others as well.
They ceased their struggles, let go of one another.
Some fell to the sidewalk. Some didn't get up.
Those were left behind as the faint shapes of the others
approached.
With Christie and Chet in the lead, they rushed under the
marquee. The dry ones were already in flight, a few
racing away, running out from under the shelter and into the
rain themselves, but most seeking the safety of the theater,
yelling as they pushed through the glass door, knocking
aside the flustered teenaged boy whose
job
was to take their tickets.
One man remained in front of the ticket booth,
shouting at the girl inside the glass enclosure
to hurry. As he reached into the opening for his
ticket, Christie smashed his head against the glass.
The glass didn't break. Not that time. But
Christie, Chet and a pregnant woman used the
man for a battering ram, driving his head against the
ticket booth until the glass disintegrated.
They
hurled the man aside. The pregnant woman
fell upon him.
Inside the booth, the ticket girl was turning in
circles, her eyes bulging, her mouth hanging
open. She
LA
YMON
looked as
if
she wanted to make a dash for the theater entrance, but a
rain-blackened man was trying to rip open the locked
door at the rear of her enclosure. And others were
already rushing through the lobby.
Her back was turned when Christie leaned in,
grabbed the shoulders of her blazer and wrenched her off
her feet. Chet reached in to
help.
Together, they dragged the shrieking, kicking girl onto
the counter. Her flapping arms struck the
edges of the glass, slashing her sleeves and breaking
off jagged shards. When she was halfway out, Chet
put a headlock on her. Christie jerked the
girl's blazer, popping its single fastened button
away, then tore open the blouse.
Her skin was pebbled with goosebumps. Her breasts
shook as she squirmed. Her nipples were visible
through the black lace of her bra, pink and jutting.
Christie split the girl's belly with a blade of
glass.
Entrances
Maureen O'Casey, with three family-sized
pizzas stacked on the passenger seat of her Jeep
Cherokee, stopped beneath a street light to check her
map of Bixby.
She looked for Mercer Lane. She'd set out from the
pizza parlor certain that she knew where to find it.
But the street had turned out to be Merced, and she
realized she didn't have the foggiest notion where
Mercer might be.
Her brother, Rory, would probably be able
to drive there blindfolded. He'd been delivering
pizzas for six years, ever since the family moved
here from Modesto. Except for occasional visits,
however, Maureen had spent those years in
San Francisco doing graduate work and later
writing books for children. Her visits had provided
her with knowledge of Bixby's general layout and quite a few
of its streets, but not Mercer.
Maureen found her ignorance annoying. She liked
to feel in control of whatever situations presented
themselves, and she was definitely not in control of this.
She should've anticipated that she would be asked,
sooner or later, to make deliveries. But she
LA
YMON
hadn't. Rory's illness had taken her totally
by
surprise, and totally unprepared to fill in for him.
"A
h-ha!
There you are, you little bugger
."
Mercer appeared to be only three blocks from her
present location.
She folded the map, tossed it onto the dashboard,
and made a U-turn.
With any luck, she would make the delivery and
be
back at the restaurant
by
seven-twenty. That would give her forty minutes
to spare, but
of
course her father would likely ship her right off on
another errand. And then another.
"B
uck up
,"
she told herself.
"I
t's not the end of the world. Consider it an intermission
."
Though she wouldn't be seeing much of Trevor tonight, he
would surely pop in tomorrow.
That wasn't much consolation. She'd been looking
forward to tonight, had even discarded her usual jeans and
blouse for a dress, all the better to attract his
eye.
Well, she would find time to drop
by
his table no matter what. Slip off the coat, first.
Have a few words with him.
Maureen made a left turn, then smiled.
Suppose she invited him to come along?
He's off duty tonight, isn't he?
I
don't want to scare him off.
Cop or not, he's obviously a timid man. The
poor blighter might go into cardiac arrest if
I
try to drag him off with me
...
But not if
I
plead for his help. After all, I'm the new girl
in town and don't know my
RAINY
NIGHT
way around
-
who better to help me navigate the foreign
streets than a policeman?
How could he possibly refuse?
She laughed softly.
"A
m
I
brilliant, or what88Stopping at the next
intersection, she leaned toward the windshield
and peered at the corner sign.
Mercer! She turned right and drove along,
delighted with her scheme. It wouldn't be an actual
date, but they'd finally have a chance to be alone with each
other. Guiding her around town, Trev was bound to get
over his jitters. Before long
...
She spotted

painted on the curb, and pulled over.
Just to make sure of the address, she plucked the
order slip off the top box. This street was darker
than the other. She turned on the overhead light.
The address was

Mercer, just as she'd remembered it. The order had
been placed
by
someone named Buddy.
This is it, all right.
Maureen shut off the lights and engine. She
dropped the keys into her coat pocket, swung
open her door, then lifted the three white cartons
off the passenger seat. Slipping a hand under the
bottom box, she felt the heat. In
spite of her small detour, the pizzas hadn't
cooled off.
She climbed out of the Cherokee and knocked its door
shut with her rump.
As she stepped over the curb, she noticed three
motorcycles parked on the driveway.
She
wrinkled
LA
YMON
her nose. These didn't look like the cute little
bikes a family might use on weekends. These
were burly machines
-
hogs, choppers
-
steel mounts for tattooed men with skulls
emblazoned on the backs of their denim jackets.
Or boys who like to fancy themselves tough, Maureen
thought as she strode toward the lighted front porch
of the house.
She was pretty sure she wouldn't find a band of
savage bikers here. Even in Bixby, where real
estate was cheap
by
California standards, a home like this must be worth at
least a hundred and
fifty
thousand.
More than likely, the pizzas were for the son and his
friends.
If
bikers
had
taken over the place, they wouldn't be ordering out for
...
Overhead, the night seemed to explode. Maureen
cringed.
"O
h, wouldn't you just know it
,"
she muttered, and started to run for the porch.
The rain came down before she got there. When she
felt its heat on her head, she stopped.
Hey, she thought, this is nice.
Bending over, she set the pizza boxes on the
walkway at her feet. She took off her coat,
stretched out her arms, and tilted back her head
to feel the rain on her face. In seconds, her
dress was soaked and clinging to her body.
A
warm tremor spread through Maureen. She felt an
urge to strip naked and roll on the grass. But a
different urge was stronger.

RAINY
NIGHT
Just ahead, to the left of the front steps, she saw the
faint shapes of rocks along the border of a garden.
She hurried over and tugged one loose from the soil.
She felt so good, squatting in her soaked clothes,
that she was reluctant to stand up again.
But she pictured herself swinging the rock, smashing a
face to bloody pulp. The image of that stirred
Maureen to action.
She carried the rock back to the walkway, set it
on the sodden black cardboard of the top box, and
lifted all three pizzas.
Grinning, she climbed the steps. At the door, she
shifted the load, bracing it up with her left hand, the
edges of the boxes against her chest to keep them steady.
Her right hand removed the rock and used a corner of
it to ring the bell.
"P
izza
to was
she called.
She lowered the rock. She pressed it against her right
buttock, out of sight. In her eagerness, she bobbed
up and down on the balls of her feet.
The door opened.
"P
izza
to was
she shouted into the face of the teenager. The kid, a
big muscular guy with brushed up hair and a garden
of raw pimples on his chin, looked glad to see
her. For half a second.
"W
hat thefuck
to was
She swung the rock, aiming for his chin.
His arm shot up. Maureen's wrist struck it.
Pain flashed up her arm. The rock flew from her
numb fingers, missing him and clumping the door
frame and bouncing off as the boxes of pizza hit the
stoop.
She tried to duck, hoping to retrieve the rock, but
the kid clutched the front of her dress. He
jerked her forward.
She
stumbled over the threshold. Felt herself being turned
and thrown off her feet. The kid's scared face was
above her for a moment. Then her back slammed the
floor. As her breath exploded out, the impact
snapped her head down.
It made a terrible thud. In the instant before she
lost consciousness, Maureen saw her brain as a
grenade going off, blowing fire out her eyes and
nose and ears.
"M
y God,
what was thaWill Francine blurted. hand scurrying
over the table top to retrieve the cigarette that had
leaped from between her fingers.
Trev himself had flinched at the sudden muffled roar.
Lisa must've jumped an inch off her seat, and her
breasts had bounced dramatically under the tight
sweater.
"I hope it was just thunder," Trev said.
Lisa studied the ceiling as if she expected it
to come down.
"God," Francine said again. She clamped the
cigarette between her lips. It jiggled. She took
only one pull, then crushed it in the
ashtray.
'x isn't suppose to rain," Lisa muttered, still
frowning at the acoustic tiles above her.
RAINY
NIGHT
"I'm sure there's nothing to be concerned about." As
Trev said that, he turned his head. Out in the other
room, Patterson looked concerned. The man was
scowling, saying something as he walked toward Lucy
at the switchboard. Lucy was shaking her head and
shrugging.
"Anyway," Francine said, 'ab protection for
us." Trev faced her again.
"My daughter's a witness .
"Well, she's certainly provided valuable
information." He looked at Lisa. "Is there
anything else you want to tell me about last night?"
Shrugging, the girl shook her head. She resumed
her study of the frayed knee of her jeans.
Trev turned his eyes to Francine. "Would you like
to step out the door for a minute?"
"No, I would not. Lisa has nothing to say that can't
be said in front of me."
"I've already told you everything," Lisa said, her
voice pouty. "I'm not keeping any big
hot secrets, if that's what you're getting at."
Trev glanced through the glass in time to see
Patterson stride around the end of the front counter.
Probably going out to make sure it had been nothing
but thunder.
He looked again at the girl. "Well, you've been
very helpful, Lisa, and I really appreciate
it."
"I know they killed him," she said.
"But you never saw Buddy or his friends after they were
escorted from the dance?"
"That's what I told you."
LA
YMON
"A
nd the last you saw of Maxwell was when you kissed
him goodnight in the school parking lot. Then you
left
his car to go back to your own car, but didn't
see. .
."
"I
didn't really look around. They might've been
there, and
I
just didn't see them. You know? They could've had their
motorcycles hidden behind something. Some buses were
parked over at the side
."
His
You've got to give us police protection
,"
Francine demanded.
"W
e can't just walk out of here and go on our merry way.
Those boys will come after Lisa.
I
know it
."
"I
doubt if they'll have the opportunity
,"
Trev told her.
"W
e'll pick them up tonight and bring them in
."
"O
h great
,"
Lisa muttered.
"T
hen they'll
know
I
blabbed
."
Trev gave her a smile, then tapped the top
page of the legal tablet resting on his leg.
"I
"ve got a whole list of people who saw those guys
acting up at the dance. Buddy and his friends won't know
you're the one who talked to us.
I
certainly won't tell them
."
"T
hey're not stupid
,"
she said.
"T
hey
are
stupid, or they wouldn't have murdered that young man.
If
they did it, they're going down. You can bet
on it
."
Francine smirked.
"W
ho are you, Sergeant Preston of the Yukon
?"
"n
o, ma'am
."
"I
've got it. Joe Friday
."
"T
wo of my favorite cops
."
"I
'full
just bet
."
RAINY
NIGHT
Standing, he slid the pad of paper onto the table.
"We'll have a talk with Buddy, Doug and Lou tonight,
and see how things develop from there."
"And you'll let us know what happens." It
wasn't a request.
"Of course."
As Francine and Lisa got to their feet, Trev
stepped past them. He opened the glass door. "I
really appreciate your taking the time to come in about this.
And Lisa, if you think of anything else that might .
. ."
The noise that pounded Trev's ears, this time, was not
thunder.
He jerked his eyes toward the blast and saw
Lucy's chair lurch backward, hurling her away
from the switchboard as the base of her skull
erupted, splashing a red mess at the floor.
"Down down down!" he shouted, sinking to a squat in
the doorway and reaching for the off-duty revolver at his
side while the black thing on the other side of the
counter (is that
Patterson?)
fired a round into Lucy's chest that sent her chair
flipping over. She tumbled out of it, legs flying
up, and hit the floor in a backward somersault.
Then Patterson's gun was aimed at Trev. He
heard himself yell "SHITFF8Z explosions smacked
his eardrums and a slug whizzed by his face and some of
his bullets missed but two struck
Patterson high in the chest and another punched through his
throat and Patterson flopped out of sight behind the
counter.
Gasping for air, Trev switched the empty gun
to his left hand. He grabbed the metal
doorframe with his
LA
YMON
right hand and pulled at it to drag himself upward. When
he was standing, he looked over his shoulder. Francine
was on her hands and knees, staring up at him with wild
eyes. Lisa hadn't dropped. She was frozen
upright behind her mother, fists pressed to her cheeks.
"A
re you both OK
?"
he asked. He could barely hear himself through the ringing in
his ears. And he didn't need to ask the question. He
could see that they hadn't been hit.
"S
tay right here
,"
he said.
He staggered through the doorway and headed for his desk.
It seemed like a great distance away. He
kept glancing at the counter, though he doubted that
Patterson was capable of popping up and firing
(fuck, you shot his throat out).
As he walked along, he emptied his cylinder.
Brass casings clattered against the floor.
From the top drawer of his desk, he removed a box
of cartridges. His shaky hands dropped two of them
while he tried to reload. At last, he managed
to fill the cylinder and snap it shut.
Glancing back, he saw Francine in the
interrogation room doorway with her arm around Lisa.
They
both looked dazed and sick.
He walked over to Lucy. She was sprawled
facedown in a spreading swamp of blood.
The switchboard was a panel of blinking lights, a
call on every line.
What's going on?
Trev leaned across the counter.
Patterson was stretched out on his back, revolver
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
on the floor near his right hand. His eyes and teeth were
still white. His throat and chest were bright red. His
shield gleamed silver. Some blue showed below the
knees of his uniform trousers. Otherwise,
the man was black.
Wet and black. Like an oilman in the movies who
has struck a gusher and stood in its downpour.
"Did you get him?" Francine called. "I got
him."
"Who was it? Why did he shoot that woman and . .
."
"He was the desk sergeant." Trev said. "I
don't know why he. . ."
"The man we
talked to
?"
"Yeah," he said, and climbed over the counter. He
dropped to the floor at Patterson's feet.
"Stay put. I'll be right back."
For a moment, he considered taking Patterson's
revolver or at least kicking it some distance from the
body. But he didn't want to disturb the crime
scene. Patterson was in no shape to use the
revolver, anyway, and the gun was almost certainly out
of ammunition. So he left it there and hurried
toward the station doors.
"Don't go out there!" Lisa shouted.
Patterson went out, he thought. Patterson came
in wet and black and shooting. Doesn't
make any sense at all.
The double doors were blue painted metal, each with a
square window of bullet-proof glass at head
level. From the other side came a faint hissing
sound

ri
LA
YMON
like rain Striking pavement. He cupped his hands to one
of the panes, and peered out.
Something was wrong with the lights. The walks,
driveway and parking strip in front of the station
should've been bright under the sodium arcs. Instead, they
were barely visible. He could make out the faint
smudges of two cars
-
his own and probably Francine's.
Trev released the door's catch and stepped back.
With his right foot, he flung the door open. The
sounds of the falling rain came in, along with a mild
breeze. He sniffed, wondering if he might
detect fumes, but the air smelled fresh and
clean.
As the door started to swing back, Trev
stopped it with his shoe.
The area of walk directly beyond the door, sheltered
by
an overhang, appeared to be dry. But he decided
not to risk stepping outside.
Patterson went out, and look what happened. Had
the black stuff
made
him act that way? Hardly seemed likely, but
something had sure screwed up the man's head.
He'd gone out normal, and come in homicidal and
covered with black fluid.
It must, somehow, have to do with the rain.
The light spilling out through the doorway didn't reach
far enough to show Trev the color of the rain. But if the
falling water wasn't black, what was that
all over Patterson? And why couldn't he see the
parking lot lights?
Trev toed down the metal stop to keep the door from
swinging shut, then stepped outside. He took a
RAINY
NIGHT
few strides. Halting a yard from the edge of the
overhang, he stared at the curtain of falling
water. It looked dark, all right. But
hell, the night itself was dark.
Though he couldn't be certain that the rain was black, it
was obviously warm, for he saw a faint, pale
mist rising off the walkway ahead of him and the grass
that bordered it.
He pulled a folded white handkerchief from his
pocket. He shook it open, then wadded it into a
ball and tossed it underhand. The cloth unfurled. The
instant it passed into the shower, it ceased to be white.
Trev watched a sodden black rag drop to the
walkway.
"Holy shit," he muttered.
He rushed back inside the station.
Kara didn't jump, but her face pulled a
contortion that made Denise laugh: eyes wide,
forehead rumpled, nose wrinkled, lips twisted
sideways. It was the kind of expression, Denise
thought, that this particular girl might put on her
face if she just happened to notice a boogeyman
leering at her from the darkness of a closet -- a
weird mixture of fright, disbelief and amusement
LA
YMON
"y
ou'd better hope it doesn't freeze that
way
."
Kara didn't say a word, but Denise had no
trouble at all deciphering the exaggerated motions of
her lips and tongue.
What. Was. That?
"E
ither thunder or the end of the world, take your pick
."
Kara screwed up her face again, then let it
settle back into place and said,
"W
hich one would you pick
?"
"T
hunder,
I
imagine
."
"M
e, too. Though I'm not especially fond of
thunder, either
."
She pressed the mute button on the VCR'S
remote and sat very still for a moment.
Denise heard the soft, windy sound of rain falling
on the roof.
'x must be raining cats and dogs
,"
Kara said.
"I
hope they don't hurt themselves.
If
it
really
rained cats and dogs, you know, the cats would all land
on their feet. But I'm not sure the dogs would fare
so well. They would probably break their necks,
don't you suppose
?"
A
smile spread across her face. Leaning toward
Denise, she said,
"A
nd just imagine the mess they'd make on the lawn.
Toes-up dogs everywhere you look, not even to mention
all the
elimination
."
"n
ot a pretty picture
,"
Denise admitted.
"A
gross-out of major proportions, that's what
I
think
."
"P
robably won't happen, though
."
"D
o you know what? Maybe
I
should round up
RAINY
NIGHT
some candles. We just might lose the juice, you know.
That happened two years ago, the day after
Thanksgiving
."
"y
our mom and dad would have to eat in the dark
."
"O
oo, yuck, they might come home early and ruin our
fun
."
"M
aybe while we've still got juice we should make the
popcorn
."
Kara frowned upward for a moment as if deep in
thought. Then she snapped her fingers.
"H
ey, I've got it! Let's make some popcorn
to was
"W
eird kid
."
Kara pressed a button on the remote to shut off
the tape of her birthday party, and a regular show
appeared on the television. She bounded off the sofa.
Denise followed her through the dining room to the kitchen.
There, Kara rushed around gathering the popper, the
plastic bowl, a measuring cup, popcorn and oil
and butter and salt.
She
arranged them all on the counter, plugged in the cord,
dribbled oil into the pot, and dropped in
three kernels.
"T
hat should be enough for you
,"
Denise said.
"B
ut what about me?"
"W
e need to wait for these to pop so we know the oil's
ready and
...
Oh, right. As if you didn't know. Honestly,
you're as bad as my dad. Come with me
."
"W
here to
?"
Denise asked, following her from the kitchen.
"I
've gotta ride the porcelain trolley
."
"H
uh
?"
LA
YMON
"I
'vegottapee
."
"A
nd that requires my presence?"
"I
'm not going in there alone. It's storming out. What
if I'm
by
myself and we lose the juice
?"
"W
hileyou're
losing the juice
."
Kara laughed.
'if
you were on
The Gong Show,
I'd
gong you for that
."
You're a cruel little thing
."
Yep
."
She's not all that little, Denise thought. Her slender
build probably made her look taller than she
really was, but the top of the girl's head seemed
to be almost level with Denise's shoulders.
It was odd, having to accompany her to the toilet.
She's only nine, Denise reminded herself. In
spite of her height and rather grown-up behavior,
she's still just a kid.
A
kid who doesn't like storms.
A
kid who's afraid of the dark.
At the end of the hall, Kara said,
"y
out don't have to come in if you don't want
."
"I
appreciate that
."
Kara turned on the light, entered the bathroom, and
stepped out of sight behind the open door.
"D
on't go away
."
"I
won't
."
She heard a rustle of clothes, then splashing
sounds.
"M
om said it'd be all right if you wanted to invite your
boyfriend over. Would you like to do that? I think it might be
neat. What's his name
?"
"T
om., 'is he nice
?"
RAINY NIGHT
"He wouldn't be my boyfriend if he was a jerk."
"Well, I should hope not. Why don't you see if
he
wants to come over? He could have popcorn with us, you
know?"
"Well, I don't know. The storm and everything."
'x might be nice to have a guy around, especially if
the lights go off."
"You just want to steal him from me."
"No, I don't." She sounded disgusted
by the thought. "Boys are a pain in the neck. All
they ever talk about are P-38's and M-16's and
F-17's. Guns and planes and tanks and
stuff. As if I even know what they're talking
about. As if I care." Denise heard her spin the
toilet paper roll. "But I really think you ought
to phone Tom and see if he wants to come over and have
some popcorn. How far away does he live?"
"A few blocks." "Does he have a car?"8His
parents do."
The toilet flushed. "Well, he can drive over,
then. He won't get very wet."
"I don't know, Kara. He might just want
to talk about P-38's and things."
"If he does, we'll send him packing." She
stepped around the door, zipped her jeans and reached
for the light switch.
"Aren't you going to wash your hands?" She grinned.
"Didn't get anything on them."
"How about washing them, anyway? You're going to be
sticking your hand in the popcorn bowl."
LA
YMON
Kara sighed. then went to the sink.
She
didn't use hot water, but she did use soap.
As she dried her hands, she said,
"B
esides, it's not fair that you didn't get to go out with
him tonight
."
"T
hat's OK
."
"y
out can phone him from the kitchen.
I'll
take care of the popcorn
."
It would
be
nice, Denise thought as she walked down the
hallway with Kara. Though she didn't regret her
decision to babysit, she'd found her mind straying
while she watched the videotape of the birthday party,
found herself imagining how it would've been if she'd
stayed home and Tom had come over.
With Kara here, she could spend the time with him and not have
to worry about matters getting out of hand.
"M
aybe
I'll
do it
,"
she said as they entered the kitchen.
"A
ll
rightVery
"n
o harm in calling, anyway
."
She lifted the handset of the wall phone. While she
punched in Tom's number, Kara hurried to the
popper and checked inside. As the phone rang,
Kara scooped a cupful of kernels out of the jar.
She dumped them into the pot.
A
woman's voice said,
"H
ello
?"
"H
i, Mrs Carney. This is Denise
."
"Oh, how are you? Tom's right here.
Hang on just a
Sec."
Kara covered the popper, then turned around to watch.
Is he there?
she mouthed without speaking.
so
RAINY
NIGHT
Denise nodded.
"Hey, Denny." Tom said. "Hey, how's it
going?" "Pretty good."
"I'm over here sitting for Kara Foxworth. That
dynamite kid I told you abThat
Kara drew her head back, giving herself a double chin
and beaming.
"I was just thinking about you," Tom said. "Something good,
I hope."
"Wondering what you were up to. I figured you were
all alone at home, you know, with the storm going on and
everything. Man, did you catch that thunder?"
"Who could miss it?"
"I thought the house was going to come down." "Have you got
an umbrella?"
"Why? What's up?"
"Well, Kara here is awfully eager
to share her popcorn with you."
Kara made a face and jammed her fists against her
hips.
"You want me to come over?" Tom asked.
"Yeah. I mean, I know it's miserable out, but if
you could make it over here without getting yourself drenched
... Kara's parents are out to dinner, so they won't
be very late. And they said it's all right for you to come
over. We could watch some TV, have some popcorn and
stuff."
"Sounds great. Hang on a minute, I'll see
if it's OK."
LA
YMON
Denise heard
his phone clatter against something. "He's checking with his
parents," she told Kara.
"You didn't have to say it was
my
idea." "It was your idea."
"Well, stililil." In the pot behind her,
popcorn began to burst with soft explosive sounds
and a general clinking of kernels hurled against the
walls and lid.
When Tom returned to the phone, he said,
"It's OK with them."
"Really?" "Yeah. They're not overjoyed about me
going out on a night like this, but I told them we
wouldn't be driving around in it. I'm supposed to go
straight to your house, and come straight home afterward."
"Nobody's there."
"Hey, if they knew you were babysitting, there's no
way they'd let me come. As far as they know, you're
at home with your folks and we're just going to stay there
and watch the tube."
"Liar liar, pants on fire."
That seemed to amuse Kara no end.
"Necessity is the mother of deception," Tom said.
"So, what time do you want me?"
"As soon as you can make it. The popcorn's
gonna be ready in about five more minutes."
"I'll be as quick as I can." "Get here while it's
hot." "I'll try. See you."
"See you," she said, and hung up. To Kara, she
said, "He's on his way."
RAINY
NIGHT
"W
hat's going on
?"
Francine sounded more angry than frightened, as if she
hadn't come to the police station in hopes of being shot
at, and blamed Trev.
"I
don't know
,"
he said. He stepped around the end of the counter.
"T
he rain's black out there
."
"T
hat's ridiculous
."
"L
ook for yourself if you want
."
Francine shook her head. She and Lisa had come
out of the interrogation room and were standing among the desks,
holding hands. Lisa's gaze was fixed on
Lucy's body. She looked as if she might get
sick.
"y
out two keep an eye on the door.
If
someone comes in, speak up fast
."
Trev moved in between Lucy's overturned chair and the
switchboard.
"W
hat are you doing
?"
"I
'm gonna see what some of these calls are about
."
The headset lay on the floor where it had fallen
when it flew off Lucy. Trev pulled it up
by
the cord and put it on. The earphones had a
built-in microphone that curved around in front of
his mouth.
He pressed a button on the switchboard. One
of the lights stopped blinking and he heard a line
open.
"H
ello? Hello
?"
A
woman's voice, high-pitched.
"B
ixby Police Department
."
"y
ou've gotta send a car! Quick! God, where've you
been? There's a madman trying to break in.
I
shot at him. He tried to come in a window, but
I
shot at him.
I
LA
YMON
don't think
I
hit him, but he's still out there. I'm all alone and
he's trying to get me
to was
'Could you describe him
?"
"H
e's black, that's all
I
know
."
"A
Negro
?"
"n
o.
I
don't think so. He's just got black stuff on
him,
I
don't know. What does it matter?
I
need help
to was
"G
ive me your address, please
."
"4329 Larson
."
"G
ot it. Hang on,
I'll
contact a patrol car
."
"H
urry! Hurry
to was
Trev picked up the radio mike and
fingered the speak button.
"A
ll
units, report
."
He released the button. Waited.
"O
h my Godff8the woman squealed.
"O
h my Jesus! He's.
.
."
Trev cringed as gunblasts hit his ears.
Then the woman was sobbing.
"T
here's
. . .
there's no hurry any more. You can
...
take your sweet time now. He's dead.
I
shot him dead. Oh, Jesus. Where
were
you
?"
"W
e've got troubles here, too. Are you sure the
intruder's dead?"
"O
h, yes. Oh. yes. Oh, yes
."
"O
K. Now, we'll have a car there as soon as
possible. In the meantime, just take it easy and try
to stay calm
."
"H
o ho. Calm, yes. Jesus
."
"A
nd don't go outside or let anyone into your
place. There's something strange going on
."
"y
ou're telling me? Oh,
I
think I've already noticed. Strange
?"
"And don't touch the intruder. That black liquid
on him. . . it may be dangerous. It
may be contagious."
"What, you think I'd
touch
him? No, I don't think so. No, I don't
think so. What do you mean, contagious? He was
sick?"
"I just don't know. I think the rain might be making
people crazy. Look, I've got to go now." He
disconnected.
He realized he'd told the woman that he would send
a patrol car and she shouldn't let anyone in. Good
move, he thought.
But no response had come from the radio.
He activated the mike again. "Anybody out there?
Hanson? Yarbrough? Gonzales? Paxton?"
The crackle and hiss of white noise came from the
receiver. Nothing more.
"Where are you guys? This is Hudson. Talk
to me, damn it!"
Nobody answered.
He took another call, this one from a man.
"You better hustle some troops over here, pal.
Man, I never seen nothing to beat it. Place is
going wild."
"Where are you calling from?"
"My shop on Third. Jiffy Locksmith? I go
to leave and, man. there's a fucking riot going on in
the street. Must be a dozen of "em, yelling and
running around getting soaked, bashing in windows.
Shit! They're killing folks, man. Honest
to God. I seen 'em run in the fucking doughnut
shop across the street, and they just started tearing into the
folks in there. Killed every last
LA
YMON
one of 'em, far as
I
could see. So, you gonna send in the army, or
what?"
"I
'm afraid we don't have anyone to send right now
."
"F
igures. Well, don't say
I
didn't give you the
poop."
"J
ust stay in your shop and try to keep out of sight.
We'll try to send help, but
. .
The man hung up.
Trev felt numb. O'Casey's was on Third
Street, just two blocks south of the Tastee
Donut shop.
If I
hadn't procrastinated, damn it, I'd be there right
now.
Oh God, Maureen, what've
I
done to you!
He pulled out his wallet. His hand trembled as he
removed the pizza coupon.
The dollar-off coupon gave the phone number.
All
the lines were busy again, so he disconnected one and
punched in O'Casey's number. He listened to the
ringing.
"C
ome on, come on
,"
he muttered.
It rang fifteen times before he gave up.
He flung the headset down. Francine, on the
other side of the counter, whirled around.
"I
've gotta go out
,"
he said.
'in the rain? You can't do that
."
"W
atch me
."
RAINY
NIGHT
"M
y
name's Peggy, and
I'll
be serving you this evening
."
Peggy, John noticed, wore a frilly
peasant skirt and a bodice that left her shoulders
bare. Her breasts bulged over the top of the laced,
corset-like garment, and it occurred to John that a
deep breath might pop them right out of it. The
hostess near the front door had sported a
similar costume. He supposed Lynn's dress
wasn't so bad, after all, with everyone
running around in those outfits. But he still wished she
hadn't given up her shawl to the cloak room
girl.
"W
ould you care for something from the bar
?"
"D
o you think we ought to wait for the others
?"
he asked Lynn.
"O
h, let's just go ahead
."
Smiling up at Peggy, she asked for a margarita.
"W
ould you prefer that with or without salt
?"
"W
ith, please
."
"A
nd
I'll
have a Mai Tai
,"
John told her. When the waitress was gone, he
said,
"M
aybe we'll be lucky, and they won't show up at
all
."
"n
ow, don't be that way
."
"A
re you sure we've got the right night
?"
"I
wrote it on my calendar. Seven o'clock,
November eleventh, the Edgewood
."
"M
aybe it was supposed to be at seven
a.m
."
"I
hardly think so. I'm sure they'll be along
shortly
."
"S
hortly, and we)
,"
he said. He hoped they didn't have umbrellas.
It would serve them right.
If
they'd
LA
YMON
been here on time, they would've missed the downpour.
He didn't even know the people, but they irked him. Not
only were they butting into his life, but now they were
late for the dinner they'd supposedly arranged and they
hadn't even bothered to make reservations.
The Edgewood was a popular restaurant, so the
lack of reservations might've forced them into a long
wait. No thanks to their absent hosts, they'd been
spared that. Luck was with them, and there had been several
empty tables.
John looked around, wondering if the pair from People
Today
had arrived on time, after all, and simply
neglected to mention they were expecting him and Lynn.
We might all be here at separate tables, he
thought. That'd be swift.
All
of us go ahead and eat our dinners thinking we got
stood up.
He saw three parties of four. Wouldn't be any of
those. Couples sat at four other tables. Among
them, he recognized Steve and Carol Winter. That
left three pairs of strangers
-
men sitting across from women.
"W
as this Dodd character supposed to be with a man or a
woman
?"
he asked.
"H
e mentioned a photographer, but I'm sure he
didn't say whether it was male or female.
Why
?"
"I
'm just wondering if they're already here
."
"I
suppose that's possible, isn't it
?"
An eagerness seemed to come over Lynn.
Her head swiveled as she scanned the diners to either
side, then she twisted around in her seat. Facing
John again, she said,
"I
don't know. What do you think
?"
RAINY
NIGHT
"Well, I'm not about to go around asking."
"It's pretty unlikely, I suppose. These people
were all here before us. I'm sure, if one of them were
Mr Dodd, he would've told someone he was
expecting us."
"You'd think so. But then, you'd also think they
might've made reservations."
Peggy arrived with the drinks. John watched the
bulges at the top of her bodice while she bent
over the table, and Lynn started in on her. "You know,
we're supposed to be meeting some people here. A Mr
Dodd and someone else? None of us know each other from
Adam, and I'm concerned there may have been some kind
of a mixup. They may already be here, for all we
know."
"I'll be happy to check with the hostess for you,"
Peggy said.
"Would you, please? That would be wonderful. And in
case they haven't arrived yet, they'll be looking
for us when they do show up. John and Lynn
Foxworth? You might want to give the hostess our
names, and warn her to be on the lookout for .
"HEYFF8The woman's distant, alarmed voice
hushed the restaurant. The quiet undertones of
conversations and laughter and tinking of utensils ceased.
In the silence, John heard clanks and clatters
from the kitchen area and the piped-in music of an
orchestra playing8Send in the Clowns."
Waitresses halted. Diners turned in their
seats. From somewhere near the front came a crash as
if a heavy piece of furniture had been
knocked over.
LA
YMON
Then a sharp cry of pain that ended the shocked silence.
"My Godff8Peggy blurted. "John?"
He shook his head and gazed toward the front. The
foyer and doors -- and whatever might be happening --
were out of sight beyond a corner of the dining area.
Waitresses and a few guests started rushing that
way.
"I'dbetter. . dis8he muttered, shoving
back his chair. "No, stay here. Don't involve
yourself in ... John!" "I'll be right back."
He hurried along with the others, passed the corner and
saw a waitress tugging at the arm of a wildman
who sat astride the overturned hostess station and
bounced on it, pounding the heavy wooden lectern against
the chest of the young woman pinned beneath it. Her scarlet
face was twisted with pain. Her breasts had popped out
of her bodice, and they shook as she strained to shove
away the punishing weight.
The man, sodden and black (it's the parking
attendant who gave me the dirty look, John
realized), flung the clinging waitress off his arm.
As she stumbled backward, a guy in a sport
coat shot his foot out, ramming the lunatic's
shoulder and knocking him off the lectern. That man and
two others threw themselves onto him.
John tumbled the lectern off the hostess. He
knelt beside her. Wheezing for breath, she drew up
her knees and hugged her ribcage. Her teeth were
bared and she whipped her head from side to side.
John took off his

RAINY
NIGHT
blazer. He covered her from waist to shoulders. "Are
you all right?"
"Move out of the way," a man said. "I'm a
doctor." He crawled aside. A gray-haired
man crouched and swept John's blazer to the
floor. "You'll be fine," he said in a gentle
voice. "What's your name, dear?"8Cassy," she
gasped out.
"Cassy, I'm Dr Goodman. I'm sure
you'll be just fine." With a pocket knife, he severed
the laces down her front.
She raised her head off the floor to see what he
was doing.
"Nothing to be alarmed about, Cassy. I'm just going
to take a look. I won't hurt you.8He spread
the bodice. The girl flinched and gasped as he
fingered her lower ribs where her skin was red.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh."
John watched her breasts jiggle as she twitched.
They were small and firm. The creamy skin just above
her nipples was seamed with indentations left by the tight
garment. Her nipples were erect. John felt
heat spreading through his groin.
He was suddenly glad he'd been forced to come here,
tonight.
Then he felt guilty about it and looked away.
The attacker was squirming on the floor a couple
of yards away, one man sitting on his chest, others
holding down his arms and legs. John realized that quite
a few people were yelling, shouting questions and commands.
"Have you got him?"
"Call the police! Somebody call the police!"
LA
YMON
"W
hat'd he do
?"
"L
ook
at him!"
"H
ow's the girl
?"
"W
hy's he all black like that
?"
"W
hat's going on?"
'is everybody all right
?"
"S
omebody fuckin" call the cops
to was
"P
robably just some bruised ribs
,"
the doctor said, his voice soft and calm through the
mayhem.
"M
aybe a couple of hairline fractures. Nothing
to be especially concerned about,
I
should think, but we'd best get you to the ER for some
x-rays
."
John looked again as the doctor covered her with his
blazer.
"J
ust lie still for the time being
."
The waitress who had tried to pull the attacker
off Cassy came over and squatted down.
"A
re you OK, hon
?"
"I
"ll
live
."
"C
hrist, what got into Bill? What got
on
him
?"
"I
don't know. But thanks for coming to the rescue,
Joyce
."
"n
o problem, hon
."
"D
id he hurt you?"
"n
aa. I'm fine. You take care of yourself
,"
she said. then straightened up and turned to the crowd
surrounding the man.
Dr Goodman turned his head toward John.
"A
nd you are?"
"J
ohn Foxworth.
I
was just eating here
."
"W
hy
don't you watch out for her, John, while
I
RAINY
NIGHT
go and phone for an ambulance
?"
"I
don't want an ambulance
,"
Cassy said.
"I
'full be
OK in a minute. He just
...
knocked my wind out. I'm feeling
...
a lot better
."
"B
e that as it may,"
Goodman said,
"I
think it would
be
wise to have you checked over
."
"I
'full
stay with her
,"
John said.
Goodman patted his shoulder, then pushed against it as
he uncrouched.
The moment he was gone, Cassy shook her head.
"I
don't want any ambulance
."
Holding the blazer to her chest, she started to rise.
"I
'm not sure you ought to do that
."
Ignoring him, she sat up. The top of
her costume slid off her back and dropped to the
floor. She scowled at the man who'd attacked
her.
Her scowl looked troubled and confused, not angry.
John had spoken to her briefly when he entered the
restaurant, but he'd been too preoccupied
to notice much about her appearance. Now, he found
himself staring at her. He guessed she wasn't much
older than twenty. She had a small, faint scar
on her right cheekbone. Like a nick that a sculptor
might've given his statue because he found it too
perfect and felt the need to give it a small flaw
for a touch of humanity and vulnerability. Her hair
was glossy black. It was very short, cut in a
style that reminded John of Peter Pan.
He imagined himself painting a portrait of her.
A
nude, of course. Right. When hell freezes
over.
A,
she would never go for it. B, Lynn would pitch a
fit.
C,
the temptation to do more than paint her picture
...
LA
YMON
If only he were invisible ...
John forced himself to look away from her.
People were gathered around her assailant. Through a narrow
gap, however, John saw that he was facedown. Some
men were using their belts to bind his arms behind his back and
lash his feet together.
"God, why did he do that to me?" John shook his
head.
"He just ran in and attacked me for no good reason.
We've always been friends. It's like he went crazy
Or
something. God! I don't get it. And what's that
all over him?"
"I don't know."
She looked at John. "Can I keep your
jacket for a while?"
"Sure. Go ahead."
"I don't know why that man had to
cut
my costume. I'll have to get new laces and . .
." She sighed. "I suppose everyone here got an
eyeful." Apparently, however, she didn't care
much. Or figured there was no more reason for
modesty. She took the blazer away from her chest.
John managed not to moan as a rush of heat surged
through him. He knew he should look away, but he
couldn't. Cassy swept the jacket behind her, pushed
her arms through the sleeves, then overlapped the front
and held it shut. She smiled at hinn. "Hey, this
is nice and warm."
"Well, keep it as long as you like."
One side of her lip curled up, showing her teeth.
"I wonder what I'm supposed to do now."
"Well, the ambulance. . ."
RAINY
NIGHT
"S
crew that. But
I
can't very well greet customers like this
."
"I
don't think anyone would expect you to. Not after
what happened
."
"I
'm sort of the "acting manager8tn
."
"T
his isn't exactly business as usual.
Why
don't you come over to our table and have a drink? Just
relax until the cops show up and take that guy
away. Somebody else can watch the door for you
."
"I
don't know
,"
she said, still frowning.
"y
eah, OK
."
She started to get up. John stood quickly, took
a gentle grip of her arm, and helped her to rise.
When she straightened herself, she grimaced and bent
over slightly and clamped her arms against the lower part
of her ribcage.
"A
re you all right
?"
"M
aybe
I
should
have those x-rays
."
Both the front doors flew open at once. The
cluster of people blocked John's view, but not for
long. With shouts and squeals, some dropped to the
floor cowering and others scattered, fleeing toward the
dining room or the cocktail bar at the other side
of the restaurant. Some stayed to fight.
One man tumbled backward when a camera slammed
the side of his head. The woman wielding it rushed
after him, dropped her knees onto his chest as he
struck the floor, and pounded his face.
John shoved Cassy toward the dining room.
"G
et away from hereff8he snapped.
Nobody was coming to the aid of the fallen man. The
woman kept battering his face, holding her
LA
YMON
camera
by
its zoom lens and swinging it down like a club.
Her hair was matted down and black. Her dripping
face was black. So were the shoulders of her
trenchcoat. As John hurried toward her, a man
in a corduroy
jacket staggered backward and collided with him. The
impact knocked the man sideways, turning him.
Blood shooting from his torn throat splashed
John's shirt.
The guy who'd done it to him was still up, the waitress
Joyce riding his back and twisting his head while he
struck out with his fist at two men who were keeping their
distance. His fist bristled with metal. Keys.
Three of them squeezed between his fingers, sticking out like
little daggers.
John stumbled over the feet of someone kneeling on
the floor, lurched forward and almost stepped on the
ruined face of the man he'd come to help. As the
woman raised her camera for another blow, he
kicked. The toe of his shoe smashed her throat. The
camera flew from her hand. She was lifted off her
knees and thrown onto her back. Choking, she
clutched her throat.
She
bucked and twitched.
The man was down, now, Joyce still on his back.
Someone stomped his key hand against the floor and he
cried out. Joyce scurried off him, and the
two men kicked his head until he stopped moving.
"W
E'VE
GOTTA
LOCK THE DOORSFF8JOHN shouted.
"L
ET
"S
LOCK THE
DAMN
DOORS!"
He remembered that Cassy was the acting manager.
She'll know where the keys are.
He whirled around.
"C
ASSY!"
RAINY
NIGHT
Trev didn't waste time searching the station for rain
gear. It was unlikely that he would find anything
useful. The weather had been dry for the past two
weeks, and he knew that clear skies had been
predicted for the next several days. Besides, even if
he could find an umbrella or raincoat, he
wouldn't have trusted them to do the
job.
Whatever was wrong with the rain to make it black and
apparently turn people into killers, he suspected that
a single drop touching exposed skin or even seeping
through clothes might be enough to contaminate him.
So he headed straight for the janitor's closet.
There, he found a box of plastic garbage bags.
He brought it out, and spotted Patterson's
Stetson on a corner of the sergeant's desk. He
tried it on. The cowboy hat fit loosely, but it
would do. He took the hat and bags to his desk.
his
What
are
you doing
?"
Francine asked.
"G
otta make a rain suit
."
"y
out can't be serious about going outside
."
He rushed past Francine and Lisa. In the top
drawer of Lucy's desk, he found a
pair of scissors and two rolls of strapping
tape. He took them back to his own desk, then
pulled out a garbage bag. He shook the bag
open. Hopping, he thrust his right foot to the
bottom. Then he rolled his chair back, sat
down on it, and stretched out his covered leg.
LA
YMON
"y
ou've got to be kidding
,"
Francine muttered.
"P
eople are running amok out there
."
With his scis-
sors, he started to cut off the bag so it reached
only as high as his groin.
"I
've got a friend who might be in trouble
."
"W
hat about us
?"
"T
hat's up to you. You can either stay here or come along
."
"O
h, fabulous
."
He wrapped the plastic around his ankle and leg.
"I
can lock the doors.
I'll
get you some firearms
."
"M
om, we can't stay here
."
"T
here're
bodies
."
"I
'm well aware of that
."
Trev cut off a length of tape, and cinched the
bunched up bag around his ankle. He bound a
yard-long strip of tape several times around his thigh,
pulling it tight. Tight enough, he hoped,
to prevent it from slipping down. When he finished, his
right leg was encased in layers of green plastic.
"T
hat isn't going to stay up
,"
Lisa said.
"I
don't know
,"
he muttered. He pulled out a second bag and
shook it open.
"I
f
you're gonna do that, you oughta wear your pants over the
bags
."
He looked up at Lisa.
For the first time, he saw her smile.
"T
hat's a good idea. Thanks
."
While he ripped the tape loose, Lisa
squatted
by
his foot and tugged at the bag. She tore
it down his leg and flung it aside.
Trev swung a foot up across his knee and grabbed
his sneaker.
RAINY
NIGHT
"n
o, leave your shoes on. You won't get them on
overall the plastic. Put the bags
over
your shoes,
under
your jeans
."
"y
out done this before
?"
he asked.
"n
ot hardly
."
As he unfastened his belt and pants, Francine
said,
"W
e'll have to go with you
."
Something was different about her voice. She no longer
sounded snotty.
The change in her, Trev thought, probably had to do
with the way Lisa had suddenly decided to pitch in and
help.
"F
ine
,"
he told her.
"I
can pull my car right up to the door so you won't get
wet
."
When his jeans were off, both women crouched in front
of his outstretched legs. He felt a little
uncomfortable, sitting there in his Jockey shorts.
Nothing they haven't seen before, he told himself. And
neither of them made remarks. They measured the bags,
cut them off, pulled them over his shoes and up his
bare legs. They wound the plastic tightly around
him. They bound it in place with strips of tape. The
back of Francine's hand brushed against his genitals
once while she taped his thigh. She murmured,
"S
orry
,"
and didn't do it again.
When the plastic leggings were snug, he stood up and
got into his jeans. He unclipped his holster,
set it on the desk, and took off his belt.
Lisa cut head and arm holes in a bag. Trev
took off his shirt, put the bag on. It hung
down to his knees. Francine took the scissors
from her daughter and slit the sides so the bag wouldn't
inhibit his
leg
movements.
LA
YMON
Then they fashioned coverings for his hands and arms,
wrapped them snugly, and taped them tight around his
wrists and upper arms.
Lisa chopped off the bottom of another bag. She
slipped the bag over his head. While Francine
held it in place, the girl carefully snipped out
eyeholes and a breathing slot. Then they taped it in
loosely around his neck.
"A
ll
set
,"
Francine said.
"n
o way you'll get wet
."
"C
ourse, you look like something out of a horror movie
."
"O
ughta do the
job
,"
Trev said.
"R
eally appreciate it
."
His voice sounded muffled and strange to him.
Probably because his ears were covered.
The women helped him into his shirt and buttoned it
for him.
"W
hat about his eyes88Lisa asked.
"T
he hat
,"
he said.
The bag over his head made crinkling sounds as
Francine pushed the hat down firmly over it.
"T
hat should do it
,"
he said.
"T
hanks
."
He took a step toward his desk, picked up his
belt, and fastened it around his waist. With every movement,
his ears were filled with quiet noises as if someone were
wadding up plastic wrappers nearby. He clipped
the holster to his side. He unsnapped its guard
strap, drew his revolver, then explored the trigger
with his covered index finger.
It was like wearing thin, rather slippery mittens. He
supposed he could fire the gun if he had to.
He holstered it.
"G
o, and get your handbag
,"
he told Francine,
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
figuring she must've left it in the interrogation
room. While she went to get it, Trev stepped
to the other
side of the counter. He picked up Patterson's
revolver, carried it into the public restroom at the
far end of the reception area, and held it under the
faucet. The hot water spilled over it, showing a
shadow of gray as it ran into the sink. Then the water
was clear against the white enamel.
Trev turned off the faucet, shook excess
water from the gun, and dried it with paper towels.
Back in the main room, Francine and Lisa
watched as he crouched over Lucy's body. He
used her skirt to make sure that no trace of
water remained on the weapon. Then he broke it
open and cleared the shell casings from the cylinder. He
wiped the cylinder.
"D
o you know how to use a handgun
?"
he asked Francine.
She nodded.
"I
used to go with a deputy
."
He stepped up to her and offered Patterson's
.38.
She stared at it.
"I
don't think
. .
."
Lisa snatched it from Trev's hand.
"n
o!"
"I
t's all right. See88She switched the gun to her
left hand, and held her right hand open in front of
her mother's eyes.
"S
ee? Clean
."
"O
K, give it to me
."
Francine took the weapon.
"G
o on and load it
,"
Trev told her, nodding toward the open
box of cartridges on his desk.
"T
hen put the box in your purse. You'll have to do the
reloading for both of us if things get bad
."
She
started sliding rounds into the cylinder.
LA
YMON
"I
'full
be back in a couple of minutes. I'm going out
back.
If I
come in acting weird, don't be afraid to use that
piece on me
."
Francine looked up at him, eyes narrow.
"B
e careful, officer
,"
Lisa said.
"I
t's Trev
,"
he told her. Then he hurried to a cabinet behind the
counter. It contained keys for three offduty patrol
cars. He gathered them, and ran for the rear exit of the
station.
He thrust open the door. He stepped outside,
hesitated for just a moment under the portico, then
took a deep breath and held it and entered the
downpour.
The rain pattered softly on the felt cowboy hat,
the shoulders of his shirt. It tapped the plastic
covering his hands and shoes. Though the lights of the parking
lot were masked
by
rain, the area ahead wasn't totally dark. He could
see that the rain was falling straight down, so at least
he didn't need to worry about it blowing in beneath the
wide brim of Patterson's hat, getting into his
eyes or mouth.
He made out the faint shapes of the three patrol
cars straight ahead. Over to the right were the personal
cars of Lucy, Patterson, and the four cops who were
out cruising (maybe wet and crazy
by
now and blowing away citizens).
Crouching at the rear of the nearest black and
white, he tried keys until he found one that fit
the trunk. The lid swung up. He felt around in
the darkness of the trunk until he found the
12-gauge Ithaca riot gun. He took it out,
slammed the trunk, and trotted to the next car. As
he opened its trunk and lifted out the shotgun,
RAINY
NIGHT
he considered using one of these cars instead of his own.
And decided against it.
With all hell breaking loose, he sure didn't
want to be driving around town in a cop car. Too
damn conspicuous. The crazies might zero in on
it.
Shotgun braced undereach arm, Trev walked toward
the station.
He resisted an urge to run.
Slip on the wet pavement, go down on your back,
and in comes the rain through the face holes.
He wished he hadn't thought of that. It made him
feel cold and shaky in the bowels.
But at least that cheerful scenario hadn't occurred
to him until now, when he was on his way back.
I'll have to wash off these Ithacas before we go, he
realized. Shit. Another delay. Might
already have waited too long.
God? Maureen, hang in there.
He switched one of the shotguns to his other arm,
pulled open the station door, stepped into the light,
flinched at the sight of Francine aiming a
revolver at his face, slipped on the tile
floor and fell on his butt.
"L
et's clean her up
,"
Buddy said, nudging the body with his toe.
"S
ee what our tarbaby looks like under that shit
."
LA
YMON
I still think we should call the cops," Sheila said.
Get real," Buddy told her.
I mean it. She tried to bash your brains out."
"No cops."
"Yeah," Doug said. "Let's keep her."
Grinning at Buddy, he said, "We were one babe
short. Now we got one for you."
"Crazy bitch," Buddy muttered.
Lou couldn't stop staring at the young woman.
She gave him the creeps, black like that. Ever
since he'd come into the foyer with the others and seen her,
he'd felt cold and shaky. Last night, they'd
done all that to Chidi. Now, a gal brings pizza
to the house and
she
shows up covered with wet stuff that makes her as
black as a nigger and she tries to whack Buddy.
Likeshe was some kind of avenging phantom, or
something. Fucking weird.
They'd checked outside and the
rain
was black. If it
was
Tain.
Lou had tried to tell himself that this was just an ordinary
woman who came to bring the pizza and got caught in
the storm. But that didn't ease his fears. Why in
hell was
black
crap coming down out there? Why in hell did she try
to brain Buddy?
He couldn't rid himself of the awful feeling that, somehow,
Chidi was behind it.
Buddy and Doug were spooked, too. Even
though they kept joking around and stuff, he could see it
in their eyes.
"Yeah," Buddy said after a few moments of silence.
"Let's lug her into the john."
U1VP. KAINY
MUHT
"I don't know if we should touch her," Sheila
said. Doug, mocking her in a trembling voice said,
"Oh, my, it might be contagious."
"It's nothing to kid about. I mean, we don't know
what that stuff is. It's
black."
Buddy spread his arms and smiled at her. His shirt
and pants looked smudged with soot from his struggle
with the woman. His hands didn't appear stained, but
they'd been black before he wiped them on the legs of
his trousers. Some faint, gray blotches still showed
on the inner sides of his wrists.
"If it's contagious, I've got it. And I'm
gonna
get
you!" He lurched forward like a zombie, reaching for
Sheila.
"Stop it!" she cried out, quick-stepping away from him.
"You're not amusing."
Baring his teeth, Buddy pivoted toward Cyndi.
She stood her ground. "Just quit it."
He dropped his act. "Look, gang, I got that
stuff on me and it didn't do anything."
"How do you know there isn't an incubation period?"
Sheila asked.
"What kinda period's thatVery Doug asked,
grinning. "That's when gals bleed from their
incubators," Buddy explained.
"I mean it, guys."
Deciding to take some of the heat off Sheila, Lou
said, "What she means is, maybe a space of time
has to go by before you show any symptoms."
"I know what she means, asswipe," Buddy said.
"And it's stupid. The rain only started a minute
or two
LA
YMON
before this babe went berserk with her rock. It's been
what? -- five or ten minutes since I nailed
her."
"Good point," Doug told him.
"So it doesn't do shit, touching her."
Doug seemed convinced, "I'll help you," he said.
Buddy looked at Lou. "OK," Lou
said.
"You guys take her feet. Whatever you do, don't
drop her, she'll fuck up the carpet."
Lou followed Doug around to the feet of the sprawled
woman. She was wearing low heels. A little bit of
green still showed where the shoes weren't stained with black.
She didn't wear stockings. Her shins and ankles
were streaky. The damp skirt of her dress reached
down just past her knees, and looked glued to her
legs. Here and there, its fabric was still green.
Lou realized that Doug had already lifted her left
ankle off the floor.
He didn't want to touch her.
But he wrapped both hands around her right ankle.
He'd expected her skin to feel cold. It was
warm, though. It felt good. Some of his dread seemed
to ease.
She's just a normal woman, he told himself, and
lifted. Doug brought her other leg high. Buddy,
squatting, grabbed her under the armpits. He
straightened up. The sudden increase in weight
nearly pulled her ankle from Lou's grip.
"Heavy mother, ain't she88Doug said.
Sure heavier than she looks, Lou thought, taking
careful steps as Buddy walked backward
with her. The woman looked slim. Pretty tall,
though.
RAINY
NIGHT
"I
s her skirt dragging
?"
Buddy asked.
"J
ust a little
,"
Cyndi said.
"W
ell, get it off the floor, damn it
."
Wrinkling her nose, Cyndi rushed in from the side.
She
reached under and pulled a handful of skirt toward her and
folded it over the gal's thigh. Then she scowled at
her hand.
"I
told you, there's nothing to worry about
."
Buddy changed direction toward the foot of the
stairs.
"W
e're going upstairs88Doug asked.
"M
y
room
,"
Buddy said.
Lou had figured they would carry her into the guest
restroom on the ground floor. But he realized,
now, that it only had a sink and toilet, no tub
or shower. Buddy's bedroom, on the second
floor, had its own john with a big bathtub.
And we're going to put her in it.
He wondered if they would take her clothes off. The
girls won't stand for that, he thought. Maybe
they'd
strip her but make us leave.
Buddy started up the stairs. The top of the gal's
head was pressed against his belly. Her shoulders were
bare except for straps that looked like wide
ribbons. The dress was low cut, but not
that
low. It didn't show any of her breasts or
cleavage. Her breasts were there, though, making the
fabric bulge. And they shook just a little as
she was jostled.
Oh, man, Lou thought.
Sheila and Cyndi, behind him on the stairs, weren't
saying anything.
LA
YMUN
They probably don't like this.
He suddenly wished the
girls
were gone. As much as he liked Sheila, she had a
real prissy
Streak.
She still wouldn't let him get into her pants, even
though they'd been going together since summer. She
sure
wouldn't go along with it if they wanted to mess around with
this gal.
Cyndi wasn't as big a prude as Sheila. But
she was likely to throw a fit if they tried something.
Especially Doug.
Shit. This gal's our captive. She's at our
mercy.
We could
do anything
to her.
But not with Sheila and Cyndi here.
Lou was surprised when he found himself at the top of the
stairway. The climb had been a cinch.
Cyndi sidestepped by, and led the way to Buddy's
bedroom.
Maybe she'll be OK, Lou thought.
They followed her into the room. She hurried ahead
of them and turned on the bathroom light.
Looking over his shoulder and changing course for the
john, Buddy said, "We'll put her right in the
tub so this stuff doesn't get on anything."
When they reached the tub, Buddy stepped over its
side. He lowered her while Doug climbed in with
her left leg. Lou leaned over the edge and put her
right leg down.
"OK," Buddy said. "Everybody out." Doug's
mouth fell open. "Hub?"
"Go on downstairs, all of you. Look in the
kitchen,
RAINY
NIGHT
find something to eat, have some more drinks
."
"I
thought we were gonna give this babe a bath
."
"n
ot we. Me. She's mine
."
"H
ey, man, we helped you get her up here
."
Lou, feeling robbed, nodded but didn't speak.
"y
eah, thanks
,"
Buddy said.
"n
ow get out
."
"T
hat's not fair
."
"C
ome on
,"
Sheila said, taking hold of Lou's wrist.
"W
e don't want any part of this
."
Speak for yourself, he thought. But he didn't argue.
He let Sheila guide him toward the bathroom
door.
"S
hit
,"
Doug said.
"T
his really sucks
."
"L
et's go
,"
Cyndi told him.
"B
uddy
."
"G
et off it
,"
Cyndi said, sounding a little miffed.
"W
hat do you want with her, anyway? You got me.
Besides, she's old
."
"S
he's not that old
."
Moments later, Doug followed Cyndi out of the
bathroom. His face was red. He looked as if he
might either start to cry or take a swing at
somebody.
"O
ne of you shut the door
,"
Buddy called. Doug turned around. He slammed
it.
"D
on't be such a sourpuss
,"
Cyndi told him, and thrust her fingers under his belt
buckle and pulled him up against her.
Lou wished Sheila would do something like that to him. But
dragging him toward the door, she said,
"L
et's go down and find some food
."
LA
YMON
Denise unplugged the cord, put aside
the lid, and dumped the popcorn into the plastic bowl.
When she set the popper down, Kara tossed in a
chunk of butter. It met the hot metal, sizzled
and started to melt.
"I'll do the butter and salt," Kara said. "You can
get the drinks. I think I'll have a New York
Seltzer. Do you know what Tom likes?"
"He's big on Pepsi, if you've got some."
"Oh, sure we do."
Denise went to the refrigerator. It was loaded:
cans of Bud, Diet Coke and Pepsi,
bottles of New York Seltzer and Michelob,
a jug of white wine. She took out two Pepsis
and a bottle of cherry-flavored seltzer.
"I hope he gets here pretty soon," Kara
said. "Popcorn's best when it's hot. It's
OK after it's cooled off, but I think it loses
something, don't you?" "Definitely."
"What'll we do when he gets here?" Kara asked,
looking away from the melting butter and furrowing her
brow with concern. "I really don't think we should
bore him with the birthday party, do you?"
"We can put on whatever you want." Denise took
three glasses down from a cupboard, then returned
to the refrigerator for ice cubes.
"I have some movies Mom taped off cable for me."
As Kara started to name them, Denise thought about the
tapes she'd rented for tonight. She wished she
RAINY
NIGHT
hadn't
left
them at home. They might not be suitable for Kara,
but
...
Why
don't I ask Tom over to my place? Lynn
said they'd be back early. He can follow me
home, and maybe we can watch one or two of them.
And it'll give us a chance to be alone.
The idea made her nervous and excited. She really
shouldn't have him in the house with her parents gone, but
it'd sure
be
neat. As long as they didn't get
too
carried away. And as long as nobody ever found out.
"S
o what do you think
?"
Kara asked.
"M
aybe one of those? Maybe not the Disney stuff, you
guys are too old for that. But maybe
Goonies or The Stuff.
Have you ever seen
The Stuff?"
"I
don't think so
."
"O
h, it's great
."
With a potholder, Kara lifted the popper and tilted
it over the bowl, dribbling butter onto the
popcorn.
"S
ee, there's this white goop kind of like marshmallow
topping? Only thing is, people can't stop eating it and it
turns them into these
awful
yucky monsters. It's really gross, but it's
funny, too, and it's not really a kid movie. You
think Tom'll like it
?"
"W
e can give it a try. But you must've already seen it
."
"O
h, I like to watch movies over and over again if
they're good
."
She shook the popcorn bowl and
jiggled
it up and down.
"I
bet I've seen
Willy Wonka
a hundred times
."
"A
hundred
?"
"W
ell, maybe just seventy-eight or eighty.
I
never actually counted
."
She set the bowl on the counter and started to sprinkle
salt onto the popcorn.
III
LA
YMON
And the doorbell rang. "He's here!"
"Made good time, didn't he88Denise picked up
the Pepsis and seltzer. "Do you want to bring the
glasses in?" She watched while Kara gathered the
glasses, pinning one between her wrist and chest, holding
the others in her hands. "Now, be careful."
"I don't drop things. I'm not like Dad."
The girl followed her into the living room. The
doorbell rang again as Denise set down the cans
and bottle on the table in front of the sofa. "Coming!"
she called.
She hurried for the door, leaving Kara behind to unload
the glasses.
She slid the guard chain off its track. "What's
the password?" she asked.
"C'mon, open up." She did.
Tom, face shiny black, lunged across the
threshold thrusting the steel tip of his umbrella at
Denise's midsection. She gasped and twisted
away. The dull point plunged under the pocket of
her shirt and streaked across her skin. Half the
closed umbrella rushed against her belly,
slick and wet, before its tip poked a hole through the
side of her shirt. As she fell, she grabbed it with
both hands.
The floor pounded her shoulder and hip. Keeping her
hold on the umbrella, she rolled over on it.
The weapon was wrenched from Tom's grip and snapped
against the tile.
He kicked the side of her thigh.
"STOP IT!" Kara shouted. "YOU STOP THAT!"
RAINY NIGHT
He kicked her in the ribs.
Why's he doing this!
Clutching the shoulders of her shirt, he yanked
Denise backward to her knees. Buttons flew
off. She tried to squirm out of the shirt, but only
managed to free one shoulder before Tom clamped an
arm across her throat. He jerked her head against his
belly,
bending her spine back, choking her.
Denise felt her head starting to go warm and numb.
Her ears rang. The lights, the furniture,
Kara watching with her mouth wide
-
all were rimmed with flashing electric blue.
She reached behind her. Hooked the backs of
Tom's knees. Jerked them forward and tried to throw
her weight against him.
His knees folded.
He fell, keeping his chokehold and tumbling
Denise onto him. She heard his wind blow out. With
both hands, she forced his forearm away from her throat.
He grabbed his wrist. She didn't have the strength
to resist the power of his two arms. But she tucked her
chin down to protect her throat. As his forearm shoved
against it, she writhed and pushed and sank her teeth
into the sleeve of his jacket and clamped down with all
her might.
Crying out, Tom tore his arm from her mouth. Denise
flipped over, rolled off him.
He rolled, reaching out as she got to her hands and
knees. He jerked her arm out from under her, tugged her
toward him.
And Kara, standing behind him, swung a fireplace
LA
YMON
poker like a golf club. Its brass handle struck
him above the ear. The impact knocked his head
sideways. His grip on Denise went loose.
She fell against him as he flopped onto his back.
She pushed herself up.
Tom was sprawled out motionless, Kara raising the
poker for another swing.
"n
o. don'tff8She lowered it.
On her knees, panting for air, Denise rubbed the
front of her neck and stared down at Tom. His
hair, normally the same light shade of blond as
Denise's hair, was slicked down and black.
Only the lids of his closed eyes and an area under
his chin were unsoiled
by
the ebony liquid.
"D
id
I
kill him
?"
Kara asked. Her voice sounded high and frightened.
The soaked front of Tom's jacket rose and
fell, so he was breathing.
"n
o
,"
Denise gasped.
"y
out only knocked him out
."
She
looked up at Kara.
"T
hanks
."
"W
hy'd
he go and do that
?"
"I
don't know
."
"G
ads
."
"I
've never ever seen him fight with anyone.
I
just can't
...
it's like he lost his mind. It's crazy
."
"W
hat
is
that all over him
?"
"I
don't know
."
'is the rain
dirty
tonight? It looks dirty.
I
thought rain was always supposed to be clean. Do you think
he
RAINY
NIGHT
got mad at you because he came over and got all
dirty like that
?"
"I
doubt it. Maybe the rain's toxic or something,
I
don't know
."
"y
out mean like poisonThat
"M
aybe.
I
don't know
."
Kara's red face contorted and her chin began
to tremble.
"W
ell, Denise
.
Tears came to her eyes.
"y
ou've got it on
you
."
Denise looked down. Below her white bra, her
skin was smeared dark gray from the umbrella. She
also noticed a red mark left
by
the steel tip. Though the dull point hadn't broken
her skin, the mark felt hot. She rubbed it
gently.
Raising her eyes, she saw Kara weeping
silently, her face flushed and tears running down
her cheeks.
"D
on't worry, OK?
I
feel fine. Just a little beat up.
But
I
don't feel weird or poisoned or anything
."
"A
re you sure
?"
"y
eah
."
She straightened her shirt and pulled it shut.
All
the buttons were gone except for one just below her
throat, which hadn't been fastened. With shaky hands,
she pushed that one into its hole.
"M
aybe you'd better wash
,"
Kara said.
"y
out know? Just in
case. .
."
"C
an you find something we can use to tie him up? Rope
or something
?"
Nodding, Kara wiped a sleeve across her wet
face.
"L
et me have the poker
."
Kara handed her weapon to Denise, then hurried
away.
LA
YMON
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, shethought, 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.
"W
ill these be OK?"
"F
ine
,"
Denise said, though she wished the ropes

or-
RAINY
NIGHT
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?"8He 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?"
LA
YMON
"E
xactly
."
A
reluctant smile curled up a corner of
Kara's mouth.
"n
eat idea
."
"W
hy
don't you go get the popcorn and our drinks? And
maybe a couple of cushions to sit on
."
"O
h, this is really weird. You mean we're going to go
ahead and have our party right here
?"
"M
ight as well. We'll watch Tom instead of the
television. We'll have a guardin" party
."
"A
what
?"
"G
arden 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.
its
Captives
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 headbeams 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 O8Casey'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

It
LA
YMON
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.
"E
verybody ok88he asked.
"I
t's insane, going out in this
,"
Francine said.
"B
etter 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.
"S
o where is it we're trying to go
?"
Francine asked.
"O
'Casey's Pizza
."
"G
od, it's so dark out here
,"
Lisa said.
"W
ill you be able to find the place?"
"I
'full find it
."
Somehow, he thought.
RAINY
NIGHT
"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
LA
YMON
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
"W
ichita Lineman
."
"T
ry to get some news
,"
Francine said.
"T
his is as close as we're gonna get to a local
station
,"
Trev told her.
"W
hat is it, Bakersfield
?"
Lisa asked.
"y
eah
."
"D
o you think they'd be playing music if
... T
"n
o,
I
doubt it. Bakersfield must be OK
."
"M
aybe it's only
happening. .
."
"T
hat 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
."
"n
othing about any rain
,"
Lisa said.
"W
ell, we're some hundred miles from Bakersfield
."
"M
aybe 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
."
RAINY
NIGHT
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 keepgoing. If it'sthe 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," Lisa muttered.
"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."
LA
YMON
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?"
"T
wo
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,
RAINY miGH-RATHER
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 Trev'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
to was
he gasped.
LA
YMON
He realized someone was shrieking in his ears. And he
realized he hadn't lost the axcman.
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.
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.
RAINY
NIGHT
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?
"H
ope 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.
"W
hat's your name88he asked. He sounded friendly. The
friendliness seemed mocking.
"M
aureen
."
"n
ame's Buddy
,"
he said.
"I
'm gonna be
your
buddy
."
He touched her back. His hand moved gently, making
slow circles.
LA
YMON
"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
RAINY
NIGHT
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.
It went away. As she struggled to push herself up,
Buddy rose from his crouch beside the tub. He wore
nothing. He was grinning. He had a wide neck.
His
LA
YMON
arms and chest were bunched with heavy muscles. His
penis was erect. Big and thick and pointing high.
He climbed into the tub.
His broad body blocked the shower.
Maureen kicked at his shins until he
squatted and grabbed her ankles. The water came
again, splashing her face and torso. He spread her
legs wide. He pulled her toward him. She
twisted and bucked as her back slid over the
slippery bottom of the tub.
Buddy sank to his knees. He tried to shove his
hands under her rump, but she knocked them away.
"Naughty naughty," he said, and punched her just
below the navel. Right fist, then left, then right again.
The blows bashed her breath out, made her guts
feel hot and mushy, tore all her strength out.
She tried to struggle, but couldn't move.
Buddy stuck his hands under her rump. He clutched
her buttocks and lifted.
Spine bent, arms hanging limp, the back of her
shoulders and head sliding along the tub's bottom,
she was dragged forward and impaled.
John, along with several other men, carried the
bodies into the kitchen. It was Dr Goodman's
suggestion.
Earlier, someone had called the police and Good-
RAINY
NIGHT
man had phoned for ambulances. While the
doctor's call had at least been picked
up, he'd been told that no units were available.
So there would be no cops, no ambulances. Not for a
while, anyway. Maybe not for a long while.
Dr Goodman thought it best, for everyone's sake,
to remove the bodies from sight.
Among the dead were Andrew Dobbs, the reporter from
People Today,
and the female photographer who'd charged into the
restaurant with him. She had no purse, no
identification. The man she'd bludgeoned to death with
her camera was Chester Benton, a local real
estate agent. The man whose throat had been ripped
open by Dobbs's keys was Ron Westgate, a high
school teacher.
Four dead.
And John, himself, had killed the woman. According
to Goodman, she'd probably suffocated as a
result of a collapsed trachea. John could've
told him that, but he'd feigned ignorance. Why
draw attention to himself?
Steve Winter, lugging her by the arms, knocked open
the door to the kitchen. John followed him into the
brightness with the woman's legs.
The savory aromas of the kitchen stirred his hunger.
After things had settled down a little,
Cassy had ordered the cooks and dishwashers (who'd
rushed out with knives and cleavers too late for the
actionggffreturn to their jobs. She planned to see that
everyone ate.
Good for her, John thought as he followed Steve
past a bank of ovens.
"I'm famished," Steve said. Apparently, the
wonderful odors were working on him, too.
"At least we don't have to worry about starving,"
John told him. "Good place to be in time of
siege." "You going to stick around?"
"Aren't you?"
"Carol wants to go home."
"I want to get home, too. Hell, my kid's
with a sitter. I don't know about going out there, though."
"What do you think's happening?"
"Shit if I know."
"You think it's the rain?" Steve asked.
"I've never heard of rain making people homicidal."
"I've never heard of rain being black."
"Hold up," John said.
They stopped and waited while two men came out of the
freezer, looking pale and cold.
"OK. Go on ahead."
John followed him into the walk-in
freezer unit. The air felt like cold water
seeping through his shirt. He wished he'd kept his
blazer on. Until he remembered where it was and
thought about Cassy's warm bare skin against its lining.
Looking over his shoulder, Steve stepped alongside
the body of Andrew Dobbs.
They set the woman on the floor beside him.
Steve scowled down at her black face. Then he
met John's eyes. "Do you think this is it?"
"It? What do you mean?" "You know."
"The end of the world?"
RAINY
NIGHT
"The Big One. World War Three. Only they
didn't nuke us, they hit us with some kind of
biological shit."
That had already occurred to John. He supposed it
must've occurred to everyone.
"Let's get out of here before we freeze up," he
said. He waited for Steve. The two walked side
by side toward the freezer door.
"So what do you think?" Steve asked as they stepped
into the warmth of the kitchen.
"I don't know what's going on, but I don't
think it's Doomsday. I sure hope
not."
Steve let out a nervous laugh. "You and me both."
"For godsake, don't bring up anything like that in
front of the women. They're spooked enough as it is."
They stepped aside as two men approached with the
body of Chester Benton, and John wished he'd
been quicker to take out the camera woman. Maybe it
wouldn't have helped, anyway. For all he knew, the
first blow might've been the fatal one that rammed a
shard of skull into the poor guy's brain.
"If it's not the Big One," Steve said, 'what do
you think it might be?"
"Something of ours?"
"We're not supposed to be developing chemical
weapons."
"What we're supposed to be doing and what we
are
doing ain't necessarily the same thing. You know?
Maybe the honchos decided to test out their new
secret weapon on the citizens of Bixby."
"No, that's. . ."
"Or maybe something just went wrong. Maybe that
K1gg.t1AK1J LA YMUN
boom wasn't thunder. Maybe it was some kind of
military transport blowing up, and it had
a nasty cargo."
"You think so?"
"Hell, I don't know. I'm a
painter,
for godsake. You're the science teacher around here."
"I'm no great research chemist. An MA in
biology, that's it. And a secondary credential."
"You must keep up on new developments."
"Yeah, well
Scientific American
hasn't run any articles on black shit that
gives people the hots for murder."
"Maybe you missed that issue."
Steve suddenly burst out with laughter. His face
went red and he covered his mouth. "John, you're
weird."
"That's what my kid tells me. Come on, let's
get out of here and cheer up the ladies."
They stepped around a couple of guys carrying the last
body.
"I don't know about you," Steve said, 'b I'm
going to wash my hands."
John glanced at his own hands. There was no black
on them. He'd thought there wouldn't be. He'd
checked the woman's ankles before picking
her up, and they'd looked clean. Apparently, the
legs of her slacks had protected them.
But he'd been touching a dead woman.
"I'll go with you," he said, and followed Steve from the
kitchen.
The dining room was dimly lighted. Most of the
people had returned to their tables. Lynn was now seated
across from Carol at a booth near the front wall.
She had a fresh margarita in front of her, and there
was an additional Mai Tai on the table.
Waitresses were scurrying around, most of them
carrying trays of drinks.
He spotted Cassy sitting with an arm around a
sobbing woman, Chester Benton's widow.
He turned away and walked with Steve to the
entryway.
A couple of chairs had been brought over. Men
sat in them, facing the doors and the prone body of
Bill. A meat cleaver rested on the lap of one
of the men. He had a croissant in one hand, a
martini in the other. The second man held a carving
knife and a glass of red wine. The young parking
attendant was glaring at his guards, but lying still,
making no attempt to free himself from the belts that
bound his hands and feet.
"Behaving himself88John asked as he stepped in
front of the guards.
"I guess he knows what'll happen if he
doesn't," said the man with the martini.
"Well, keep up the good . . ."
Someone knocked on wood. John snapped his head
sideways and stared at the doors. The knocking
came again. Not a rough pounding, but a rather polite rap
of knuckles.
The skin prickled on the back of his neck. "Ohl
shit," Steve muttered.
John looked around at the two seated men. The one
with the knife had slopped red wine onto the front of
YMON
his camel jacket, but he didn't seem to be
aware of that. He was gazing with wide eyes at the
door. The martini man stuffed the remains of the
croissant into his mouth and lifted the cleaver off his
lap.
The knocking continued.
"If I were you guys," John said, "I wouldn't
answer the door. Come on, Steve."
Steve watched the door over his shoulder as he
followed John into the cocktail lounge. Then he
met John's eyes and said, "This is
really bad shit. I don't know. I don't know."
"They seem like pretty sturdy doors. If you
want to worry about something, worry about the windows."
"Oh, thanks for mentioning it."
"You're the guy who wants to go home." "I think
I'll pass on that."
John scanned the dimly lighted room. A few
men and women were seated on bar stools. Small
groups sat at some of the tables. "Must be close
to twenty people in here," he said. "Maybe about thirty
others, including the help. That's a lot of manpower
if the place gets stormed."
"Stormed? Oh, Jesus. Great." "I'm not
saying it'll happen."
In the alcove at the far end of the room, people were lined
up to use the two pay phones. John wished
Lynn were among them instead of back in the dining area
sopping up margaritas and chatting with Carol.
As he stepped through the group, he heard a woman
at one of the phones say, "In the nightstand drawer
on your father's side of the bed. It's loaded, so
RAINY
NIGHT
be careful and don't let Terry get his hands on
it. There's a box of bullets in the top
dresser drawer, so make sure you get that, too."
John groaned and kept moving.
God, he wished he had a gun in the house. He
hated the things. He had vowed never to use one again.
And he'd always felt secure in the knowledge that he rarely
left Lynn and Kara by themselves. He worked at
home. When he went out, they usually came with him.
And he always figured he could defend them, if the
need arose, without using a firearm.
Then this happens.
He rammed open the men's room door. It just
missed crashing into someone about to come out. "Sorry,"
he muttered.
"Take it easy, partner," the guy said.
Inside, a young man in a corduroy jacket was
bent over, holding onto the sides of the sink and
gazing at his face in the mirror. He didn't
look away from his reflection when John and Steve
entered.
John stepped up to the sink beside him. "How you
doing?" he asked, starting to wash his hands.
The kid kept staring into his own eyes.
He was about twenty. He sported a thin, blond
mustache which was probably meant to make him look
older.
"Everything'll be OK," John said.
The kid looked at him. "We're all gonna
die."
"It's not that bad. I know how you're feeling, but
it's not that bad. What's your name?"
LA
YMON
"Andy." "Andy, I'm John. This is Steve."
Steve, at the sink to the left, leaned forward and
raised a sudsy hand.
"I've been in a lot worse than this, Andy. And
I'm here, all in one piece. You'll be fine.
We'll all be fine. Are you here with somebody?"
"My . . . friend. Tina88He said the name as if he
expected John to know her.
"Where is she?"'in the bar."
"And probably scared half to death," John said.
"Go out there and sit with her. Give her a hug.
You'll both feel better."
Andy just stared at him. "Do it. Now."
The kid hurried for the restroom door. "Nice little
pep-talk," Steve said.
John rinsed the soap off his hands. "I'm gonna
get in the phone line. Would you mind telling Lynn?
I'll be along as soon as I've gotten
through to the house. You stay with the gals, OK?"
He shut off the water and climbed out of the tub.
"SO"
he said, '" it good for you?"
Maureen didn't answer.

J
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
She thought, I'm going to kill you, you rotten
bastard.
"I
usually don't go off so quick
."
He sounded chipper.
"G
uess you're just too hot for me
."
Maureen lay still, gasping and sobbing. Her knees were
up. She felt Buddy's semen rolling slowly
inside her. Some of it leaked out and flowed down. She
clenched her buttocks together. The stuff felt like
thick glue.
A
big, white towel flopped onto her belly.
"L
et's go
,"
he said.
"D
ry off. I've got some friends
I
want you to meet
."
Holding the towel to her belly, she sat up. She
wanted to stuff it down between her legs and swab away
the sticky mess, but that would ruin the towel. So she
shook it open and started with her hair. While she
dried herself, she felt more and more of the stuff dribble out
of her. It tickled a little bit. It made her
anus itch.
Finally, after she'd dried her legs, she struggled
up to a squatting position and tried to rub away every
trace of the fluid.
"S
queaky clean88Buddy asked.
She looked at him. He was smiling, doing a merry
little dance as he rubbed an open towel across his back.
His penis was red. It was sticking out straight, partly
erect, bobbing and swinging as he moved.
"W
ant some more
?"
he asked.
She turned her face away, dropped the towel and
stood up. She stepped over the side of the tub.
Though dry, the skin between her buttocks still felt a
little tacky.
Her dress was heaped on the floor, partly covered
by
Buddy's discarded shirt and trousers. Crouching, she
reached for it.
"No way, babe," Buddy said.
Ignoring him, she clutched a corner of green
fabric and pulled it toward her.
Buddy flicked his towel at her. There was a quiet
whap,
and the damp end of it stung Maureen's shoulder.
Wincing, she grabbed her hurt.
"I'm the master," he said. "You're the slave. This
is my whip." He swung the towel beside his leg, the
circular motion winding the towel around itself. "Would you
like another taste of the lash?"
Maureen shook her head. She stood up, leaving
her dress on the floor.
"Excellent." Turning sideways, he
stretched the towel between his hands and twisted it. "You're
an excellent wench. I'm growing very fond of you."
And he snapped the towel at her again. It
unfurled, striking toward her right breast. Lurching
backward, Maureen jerked her arm up. The moist
tip lashed her forearm.
She almost reached out to snatch the towel from his hand, but
stopped herself.
He's the master, she thought. I'm the slave.
"You don't have to hit me with that," she told him.
"Just tell me what you want. OK? I'll do
whatever you want."
His smile widened. "Right now, I want to eat.
Into the bedroom with you."
Maureen turned to the door. She opened it. The
towel smacked her rump. Her throat tightened.
LA
YMON
Buddy followed her into the bedroom. "Sit down."
She sat on the side of the bed.
He went to a dresser. dropped his towel to the
carpet, and opened a drawer. Looking over his
shoulder, he said, "My first command, don't try
to get away. That would carry extremely severe
penalties, including but not limited
to torture, gang-bang and probable execution."
He removed a white T-shirt and a pair of
faded red gym shorts from the drawer.
He came toward the bed and tossed them to her. "Get
'em on," he said.
Maureen picked up the shorts, bent down, and
slipped her feet into them.
"My second command is to do precisely what I
ask of you. No questions, no delays. If you're a
very good girl, you might just survive the night."
You
won't, she thought, nodding submissively as she
drew the shorts up her legs.
Denise and Kara sat cross-legged on cushions,
watching Tom. Denise kept her hold on the
jumprope looped around his neck. But he hadn't
moved since being struck.
LA
MON
"Aren't you going to eat some?" Kara asked, her
voice muffled by a mouthful of popcorn.
Denise raised her right hand. "You could always wash
it."
"I don't want to leave you alone with him., "I
could always go with you."
"We've got to watch him."
"It's OK if you want to go and wash," Kara said.
"Just don't take all night. I'll yell my
head off if he moves a muscle."
"Are you sure you don't mind?"
"I think I'd like it if you didn't have any of that
stuff on you. It gives me the willies."
"OK." Denise slid the jumprope handle across
the tiles toward the girl's knee. "I'll be
quick," she said, stood up and rushed for the kitchen.
At the sink, she squirted liquid soap onto
one hand and turned on the hot water. She worked up
a lather. She rinsed. Before reaching for the roll of
paper towels, she shut the water off. She listened
for sounds from the front while she dried her hands.
So far, so good.
She checked her hands. Clean.
She unfastened the button at her neck and spread
her shirt open. Then she wadded some fresh towels,
dampened them, and rubbed the skin of her belly that had
been soiled by Tom's umbrella. The stains came
off as easily as if they were nothing more than muddy
water. When she was done, the wet ball of paper
towels was flat where it had pressed against her. It
looked like a rag used to clean off a window
sill
RAINY
NIGHT
that hadn't been dusted for a year. Still, no yell of
alarm from Kara.
She dropped the wad onto the counter. With a fresh
handful of wet towels, she rubbed her face. The
paper came away clean. But it was black when she
looked at it after scrubbing her neck. She wondered
if she'd gotten it all. She wished there was a
mirror. The bathroom had a mirror, but that was
too great a distance from Kara.
With some dry towels, she wiped her neck and
belly. She fastened the button of her shirt. Then
she tore off a yard of towels, moistened them, and
left the kitchen.
Hurrying through the living room, she saw Tom still
lying motionless near the door, Kara sitting on one
of the cushions and reaching into the popcorn bowl beside her.
The girl looked over her shoulder as Denise
approached. "Did you get it all off?"
"Hope so." On her knees beside Kara, she set
down the damp towels and spread the collar of her
shirt. "Did I miss any?"
"I don't think so. There's none on your
skin, anyway. Your shirt's dirty. Maybe you
could borrow one of Mom's blouses or something. You
want me to get one for you?"
"Not right now. I want to do this first." Picking up the
towels, she moved closer to Tom. "Thought I
might as well clean his face off."
"Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, what if
it wakes him up?"
"We've got him tied good." "Yeah, but still. . ."
LA
YMON
"He won't look nearly as scary once he's
cleaned up a little," Denise said, and gently rubbed
the wad of damp paper across his forehead. He
didn't stir. In the wake of the towels, his skin
looked clean and pale. She wiped his right cheek and
jumped as the telephone rang.
"I'll get it," Kara blurted.
"No, I will." She lurched to her feet and dropped
the towels.
"I bet it's Mom and Dad."
"Probably. You watch him." She ran for the
kitchen. The phone rang three more times before she got
to it. "Hello?"
"Denise? It's John. Is everything
all right there?" "Yeah, fine."
"You're both OK?" "Sure."
She heard him sigh into the phone. "Well, look,
I don't know what's going on but people are going nuts
outside. It apparently has something to do with the rain.
The rain's black out there. We just had three people go
crazy and come into the restaurant and kill some people."
"My god," Denise muttered.
It isn't just Tom, she thought. She'd felt sure
that he wasn't to blame, but knowing that other people had also
gone crazy made her feel better about him.
"Are you and Lynn OK?" she asked.
"We're fine. But we're stuck in here. I
don't know when we might get out. We'll get
home as soon as we can, but it might not be for hours.
I just don't know. We have to stay until the rain
stops."
RAINY
NIGHT
"Well, I'll stay here till you show up."
"You've got to. You can't go outside. Make
sure Kara doesn't go out, either. And whatever you do,
don't let anyone into the house."
"No. I won't."
"People might try to break in." he said, and
Denise felt a squirmy coldness in her bowels.
"I just don't know. I don't want to upset you.
But it's possible. I want you to round up some
weapons just in case. There's a hammer in the kitchen
in one of the drawers. Kara knows where to find it. And
there're plenty of knives. Grab a couple of
big ones. The bathroom door has a lock. It
isn't much, but it's better than nothing. You can
lock yourselves in if there's trouble."
"OK," she said, and stiffened as Kara appeared beside
her.
"Is it Mom?" the girl whispered.
Denise shook her head, and waved her away. "One
more thing," John said.
"Dad?" Kara whispered.
Nodding, Denise frowned and jabbed her finger toward the
front of the house.
"I know Kara won't be thrilled by this, but I want
you to turn off all the lights in the house."
"Can I talk to him?"
Denise shook her head sharply and kept pointing, but
Kara stayed.
"If the house is dark, I think there's less chance
of someone trying to break in. They're after people. At
least that's what I'm guessing. So they
might not
LA
MON
waste time with a house they think is deserted."
"OK. III do that as soon as I hang up."
"Fine, fine. Is Kara there?"
"She sure is. Just a second." Denise covered
the mouthpiece. "Don't mention Tom," she warned,
then passed the handset to the girl.
"Oh, hi, Dad." She stared at Denise while
she listened. She had a nervous look in her eyes.
Don't tell him!
"Yeah, everything fine. We're having a nice
party. We made some popcorn, and. . dis8She
fell silent. Her lower lip strained down, baring
her teeth. "Oh, gosh." I'd better check on
Tom, Denise thought.
But she wanted to hear Kara's end of the conversation.
"I will ... OK ... I love you, too ...
Bye." She reached high and hung up the phone.
When she turned to Denise, she wore her
spooked-by-the-boogeyman look, but there was no
hint of amusement. "What're we going to do?"
"What did your father say?"
"He said I should do whatever you tell me and
not give you any argument."
Denise gently squeezed the girl's shoulder.
"Everything will be OK."
Her face changed. She looked as if she might be
considering something that was very personal and very embarrassing.
"I hate to say this, but I think maybe we oughta
hide."
"Probably a good idea. But your dad mentioned a
hammer. Do you know where it is?"
RAINY
NIGHT
"Oh, sure."
"Why don't you get it and pick out a good sharp
knife for me? I'll be right back."
Denise strode quickly through the dining room, into the
living room.
She halted when she saw the foyer. Tom was gone.
"Oh my God," she muttered.
He'd left his shoes behind. Along with Denise's
belt, coiled and abandoned on the tile floor beyond
the cushions and popcorn bowl and soda glasses.
The two jumpropes were missing. So was the
fireplace poker.
Breathless, she took a few steps backward, then
whirled around and raced into the kitchen. "He
got loose."
Kara's eyes spread wide and she sucked in a quick
breath. In one of her hands was a claw hammer.
Denise rushed up to her and took it. She slipped
a
butcher knife from the wooden block on the counter.
"What'll we do?" the girl whispered.
"I don't know."
"I don't think I want to go around hunting for
him." "Me neither," Denise said. She hurried to the
kitchen entrance and looked out. "Let's just stay right
here. At least he won't be able to take us
by surprise."
LA
YMON
"Mom! Mom!"
Francine kept wheezing.
Trev slowed the car and looked back. Lisa was
shaking her mother
by
the shoulders so roughly that the woman's head was
flopping.
"T
hat isn't doing any good
,"
Trev said. He faced the front again.
"J
ust try holding her or something
."
"W
hat's
wrong
with her
?"
"D
oes she have asthma
?"
"n
o
."
"I
t's probably a panic attack
."
"M
om
to was
The woman went on sucking air with high, whiny
gasps.
Should've left them in the station, Trev thought.
If
he'd known the gal was going to lose it
.
Hell, she has every right.
Trev himself felt as if he were hanging over a
cliff
by
his fingertips and the slightest push might send him
plunging down into a chasm of panic.
He kept seeing the four black figures coming
toward his car. He kept seeing the severed head slam
against the windshield. And the body speared
by
the axe handle, still bouncing and swaying in front of the
hood, kept it all from receding into the past.
He wanted to
lose
the damn thing. But the guy was stuck fast.
He'd considered jumping out into the rain and just
ISO
RAINY
NIGHT
yanking him off the axe. It would've been worth the
risk of getting wet or being attacked by other
crazies. But he'd decided it was not worth the
loss of time.
The crash and detour had stolen four or five
minutes from him. From Maureen.
Let the bastard have his ride.
Trev hadn't returned to Guthrie. He'd gone
one block over, made another right, and now he was
speeding up Flower Avenue, parallel to Guthrie.
He'd lost count of the cross-streets. He'd
quit slowing down for intersections. He suspected
he must be getting close to Third.
We'll either crash and burn, or we'll be there
pretty quick.
He wished Francine would stop making those awful
gasping noises. He had half a mind to climb
back there and shut her up.
The center line ended. He hit the brakes. His car
fishtailed into the intersection. When it slid to a
stop, he peered out the windows. His headbeams lit the
side of a red Porsche. It seemed to be parked at
a curb.
If his sense of direction wasn't screwed up, the
skid had taken him across the northbound lane of the
cross-street. This should be O'Casey's side of the
street.
If this is Third.
The restaurant would be near the middle of the
block.
He steered away from the Porsche, drove slowly
alongside it, passed a Subaru, and came to an
alley. He swung into the alley and stopped.
LA
MON
"Wait here."
"You can't leave us!" Lisa blurted. Francine
kept wheezing.
"You can't get out," Trev said. He shut off the
wipers and headlights, and stuffed the keys into a
front pocket of his jeans. "I'll be back
pretty soon. Just keep your eyes open. Give
me one of those shotguns."
Lisa passed an Ithaca over the seat back.
"Keep the other one handy. And your mom's got
Patterson's revolver. Get it out of her purse
and have it ready."
"Pleaseff8Lisa cried out.
"I'll hurry. Just take it easy." He flung
open the door. Clutching the forestock of the shotgun,
he climbed out into the rain. He punched down the
lock button and slammed the door.
He took a couple of steps toward the front of the
car. Holding the shotgun by its barrel, he
leaned over the hood and pressed butt plate against
the dead man's shoulder. He shoved hard, thrusting the
body away. The axe handle came out. The guy
tumbled backward and dropped out of sight.
Trev saw no point in wasting precious time
to wrench the axe out of the hood.
He walked quickly past the rear of the car, stepped out
of the alley and headed up the sidewalk to his left.
A nightlight illuminated the interior of the shop beside
him. The place looked deserted. The sign near the
top of its display window identified it as Ace
Camera, and Trev's heart quickened.
RAINY
NIGHT
This was Third, all right. Ace Camera was
adjacent to O'Casey's.
Please, he thought. Please, let her be OK.
Just ahead, the overhang of O'Casey's awning
blocked out the rain. Beyond the curtain of darkness,
light spilled onto the sidewalk. Trev
hurried toward it. He thought of Hemingway and the
clean, well-lighted place. This was a dry,
well-lighted place. A safe refuge from the
storm.
Though he ached to get there, he also felt
dread. What if ... his
Don't think about it.
Then he was under the awning, out of the rain, standing in the
light. He gazed through the open space where
O'Casey's window used to be. He felt as if
his brain were squeezing itself into a cold, dark ball.
Numb, he made his way to the open door.
He entered and scanned the restaurant. Nothing
moved. He felt half blind, trying to see through the
eyeholes. With one hand, he pulled off
Patterson's hat and dragged the plastic hood
over his head. He set them on the nearest table and
breathed deeply and realized he was making wheezy
noises just like Francine.
He wanted to call out for Maureen and Liam, but
he knew he didn't have enough breath for that.
He moved carefully through the room. The hardwood
floor was slick with patches of dark water,
spilled beer and blood and slabs of pizza. It was
littered with window glass, overturned benches and
tables, broken steins, wine and soda glasses,
pitchers
LA
YMON
and plates. There were knives and forks on the
floor. Glass shakers of salt and pepper,
parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes. And
bodies. So many bodies.
He tried not to see the kids. He only glanced
briefly at the male adults. None was stocky and
red-haired. Two of the men, blood mixed with the
black of their skin and clothes, must have been
assailants from outside.
One of the dead women was also black.
Of the other females, one was obese. She lay on
her back with a wedge of pizza still in her mouth and a
wedge of glass in her throat. One, facedown,
looked tall and slender like Maureen, but had
blonde hair. One, curled on her side with her
arms around a small boy, was pregnant.
Trev squeezed his eyes shut.
I've gotta get out of here.
But he couldn't leave, not without knowing.
One female, head out of sight under a table, wore
a denim skirt that was rucked up around her waist.
She had heavy legs. She wasn't Maureen.
That left a slim, long-legged female sprawled
on her back across the top of the last table before the
order counter. Trev knew that he'd found
Maureen. He couldn't see her face or
the color of her hair. The way her head hung
over the far end of the table, only the underside of her
chin was in sight. But he knew.
And he knew that they'd done more than murder her.
Why
her?
It was obvious. Because she was so beautiful, Her
RAINY
NIGHT
looks must've turned on one or more of the invaders.
She usually wore corduroy pants or jeans.
They
were gone. Both her shoes were missing. She wore
white socks. A torn rag of red panties
dangled from her left ankle. Her thighs were
mottled with gray smudges. On the table between her
legs was a pizza. Her blood covered it. And
blood concealed the true color of her pubic
hair. Where her torso wasn't sheathed with gleaming
crimson, her skin bore dark streaks and stains.
A mouth-sized chunk of flesh was missing from her right
breast. Most of her throat had been chewed out.
Saliva kept flooding into Trev's mouth. He
knew he was about to vomit. He swallowed quickly, but
more saliva poured in.
He took a few more steps, staggering past the side
of the table, and saw the woman's face.
She wore a mask of blood. Her wide mouth
showed broken teeth. Raw pulp remained where her
nose should've been. One eye was gone, and all that
remained was a sloppy red pit.
Her hair hung toward the floor in thick, matted
ropes of red.
But here and there, blood had missed it. The hair was
blonde.
Blonde, not the auburn of Maureen. Thank
God, Trev thought.
He threw up.
When he was done, he looked across the aisle. There
were no bodies near the table there. Its surface was
clear except for a glass of red wine and a stein of
LA
YMON
beer. He stepped over to it. The stein was half
full. He picked it up and began to drink. The
beer was cool, but not chilly.
Maybe Maureen and Liam escaped, he thought.
He knew that the kitchen had a rear door. They
could've fled out into the rain. Or maybe they hid.
He was certain he would find their bodies in
the kitchen area.
Please, he thought. Don't let them be dead.
He set down the empty stein. He took a
deep, trembling breath, then strode to the open side
of the counter and entered the kitchen.
He saw no one.
Stepping past the ovens, he felt their heat.
Probably pizzas in them right now, as black as the
crazies who had committed the slaughter.
He found dials, and turned the ovens off.
He considered opening them and looking in. As he
reached for a handle, however, he remembered a book
he'd read a few years ago.
Phantoms.
The oven of an abandoned bakery had a severed head
or two inside. So he stepped away from the ovens.
"Maureen?" he called. His voice sounded high and
strange, and much too loud. But he forced himself
to call out Liam's name.
No response.
He found Liam on the floor behind the food
preparation island. The Irishman's body was
sprawled on top of a woman. Her slim, bare
legs were stretched out between Liam's. Her head was out
of sight beneath him.
RAINY NtGH-RATHER
Trev felt his mind shrivel and darken just as it had
done when he stood outside and first looked in at the
massacre. A vague, shadowy image came to him
of Liam throwing his body on Maureen to protect
her.
But there was so much blood on the floor around them.
He tumbled Liam off the woman. The handle of a
knife jutted from the middle of his chest.
The crescent blade of a two-handled pizza cutter
was embedded deep in the woman's neck.
They'd killed each other. Her black face was
intact. Not Maureen.
Her skin was stained ebony from head to toe. At first,
Trev thought she was naked. Then he realized she
wore a string bikini.
A bikini in November?
Changed into it, all the better to enjoy the sudden warm
downpour?
Trev's dazed mind pictured a bikini-clad young
woman prancing through puddles, dancing around a lamp
post, singing in the rain.
Gene Killer.
He heard himself chuckle.
He thought, Fuck, don't lose it.
Hang on.
And he hung on while he searched the rest of the
kitchen.
LA
YMON
"What's he doing?" Kara whispered. "I don't
know."
"Maybe he left."
Denise supposed that was possible. Since discovering
that Tom had gotten loose, she and Kara hadn't
seen or heard anything to suggest that he remained in the
house. Hemight've gone straight out the front
door.
Or he might be waiting for them just beyond the dining room
entry.
"Your dad said we could lock ourselves in the
bathroom," Denise whispered.
"We can't get there."
"We can if Tom left the house." "But what if
he didn't?"
"I don't like waiting here," Denise said, watching
from the kitchen doorway. "I know we'd be able to see
him coming, but we've got no door at all. He can
get right at us. If we could just make it into the
bathroom . . ."
Kara shook her head. "He'd get us." "Maybe
not. Not if it's dark."
A look of alarm filled the girl's eyes.
"Oh, I don't think I like that idea. Not even
one little bit. He might just sneak right up on us."
"I know it'd be scary, Kara. But it'd be just like
we're invisible. If we don't make a sound,
we might be able to creep right past him, and he'd
never even know we were there. Do you know where the fuse
box is?"
RAINY
NIGHT
"Sure, but I don't think . . ." She shut her
mouth, probably recalling her father's command to obey
Denise. "It's right over there," she said. She
turned from the doorway and nodded toward a closed
door just beyond the stove.
"It's not outside, is it?"8Huh-uh."
"Where are those flashlights and candles you talked about
right after we heard the thunder?"
Kara looked relieved. "Everywhere. Well, not
everywhere. I've got a couple of flashlights in
my bedroom and Dad has a big red thing by his
bed. It's
real
bright."
"Is there one here in the kitchen?"
"Yeah, right where I got the hammer from."
Why hadn't she mentioned that in the first place? Come
on, Denise told herself. She's just a kid.
"OK, what about candles?"
"You mean just in the kitchen? Because we've got candles
in a lot of . . ."
"Just here in the kitchen."
"Yeah. Mom keeps some in her junk drawer."
"Matches?"
Without saying a word, Kara turned around and reached
high. She snagged a wicker basket off the top
of the refrigerator and pulled it down. The basket
was filled with matchbooks. "Mom collects them.
Wherever she goes, she gets matches. They're
souvenirs. These are extras, though. She won't
mind if we use them."
Denise switched the butcher knife to her left hand.
LA
YMON
She reached into the basket. She lifted out a handful
of matchbooks and dumped them into the breast pocket of
her shirt. She took out a second handful. The right
front pocket of her corduroys held
the hammer, stuffed in headfirst. With her knife hand,
she swept the hanging front of her shirt out of the
way. She thrust the second bunch of matchbooks
into the pocket on her left.
"That should do it," she said. Kara set the basket
onto the refrigerator. "OK. I'll keep
watch here. You hurry and round up the flashlight and
candles."
While the girl was away, Denise stared through the dining
room, into the living room beyond its entryway. She
felt tight and sick inside. Though she hoped
Tom
had left the house, she couldn't bring herself to believe
it. By now, he'd had plenty of time to work his hands
free of the rope. He would be waiting for them. Even
in a house that was pitch black, their chances of sneaking
past him to the bathroom were slim.
Tom, why are you doing this to us?
She was terrified of him. At the same time, she
hated the idea of being forced to hurt him. If he
attacked, she would have to defend herself and Kara.
What if I kill him?
But I can't let him kill us.
Just make it to the bathroom, she thought, and we'll be
safe. He can't get us there, and we
won't have to fight him off.
Kara returned with the flashlight and four long, pink
candles.
Denise took two of the candles and slid them into a
RAINY
NIGHT
seat pocket of her cords. "You keep those," she
said. "Take some matches, too, just in case we
get separated." She removed a couple of
matchbooks from her shirt, and gave them to the girl.
"Do you want to keep the flashlight, too?"
Kara nodded.
"OK, turn it on and come with me." Denise
stepped past the stove. She opened the door and entered
a small room. It contained a water heater, a
mop, a couple of brooms, a dust pan, a yard
stick, a rag bag and a collection of neatly
folded grocery sacks. On the far side was a
door. She pointed at it. "What's through there?"
"The weather."
"Not a porch or anything?" she asked.
"No. That stuff'll get us all wet if we went
out." "Guess we don't want to do that, huh?"
"I don't think so." Kara pointed the flashlight
beam at a gray metal panel on the
wall. "There's the fuse box," she whispered.
Denise stepped up to it. She clamped the knife
between her knees so she could use both hands, slipped
her fingertips under the edge of the thin overlapping door,
and tugged. The door popped open with a squawk. She
yanked the other open. Within the panel were two main
switches and rows of clear glass circuit
breakers. "Ready?" she asked.
"I guess so."
She flicked both switches down. The light from the
kitchen vanished. The refrigerator ceased its
quiet hum. "Turn off the flashlight," she
whispered.
Kara shut off its beam.
LA
YMON
Reaching down, Denise slipped the knife from between her
knees. She pressed the flat of its blade against
her belly. She decided to leave the hammer in her
pocket so her right hand would remain free.
"OK," she whispered. "Now, stay behind me.
Maybe hold onto my shirt tail." She
stepped past Kara and felt a small tug as the
girl clutched her shirt.
They left the small room and slowly
crossed the kitchen. Their sneakers made quiet
squeaky sounds on the tile. Denise couldn't see
a thing in front of her. She reached out, hand
exploring the area ahead. After a few steps, her
fingertips brushed the refrigerator. Keeping to its
side, she moved straight forward.
The dining room carpet silenced their shoes. Denise
heard nothing except rain pounding the roof, her own
thudding heart and shaky breathing, and Kara's trembling
breaths behind her.
She touched the back of a chair, pictured the layout
of the dining room, and turned in the direction of the
entryway. She half expected Tom to be waiting
just inside the living room. Any second, he would
jump them.
He can't see us, she told herself. But he might be
able to hear us.
She had a sudden, strong urge to whirl around and
race for the kitchen.
She kept moving forward, sweeping the area ahead with
her open hand.
We must be in the living room by now, she thought. So
far, so good. Maybe we've already snuck past him.
Hell, he might be anywhere. He might be right in
RAINY
NIGHT
front of me. One more step, and I'll touch him.
Denise took that one more step. Felt nothing.
Took another. And another.
And gasped as her fingertips prodded something that felt
like fabric. She lurched backward, jerking her arm
away from it, and Kara bumped against her. A second
later came a quiet crashing noise. A pop of
glass.
The sounds of a lamp striking the carpeted floor, its
bulb bursting.
You hit its shade, she thought. You knocked it over.
And Tom knows right where we are.
No more point in sneaking.
She shoved the knife handle between her teeth. She
fumbled a matchbook out of her shirt pocket. She
flipped it open, tore out a match and struck it.
A blinding bright flare, then the fire settled to an
orange bloom. In its glow, she saw the lamp
on the floor at her feet. She saw the sofa and
much of the room beyond it. No Tom.
Thank God.
She spun around. He wasn't rushing at them from the
rear.
"Turn on your flashlight," she
whispered. "We'll make a run for it."
The flashlight shot its beam against Denise's
belly, then swung away. She shook out her
match. She pulled off her shirt. Matchbooks
spilled from the pocket as she wadded it. She
wrapped the sleeves around the clump of fabric
to hold the bundle together, knotted the sleeves
once, and clamped shirt

I
RICHARD
LA
YMON
between her knees. Then she struck another match.
She lit her shirt on fire.
"You're gonna
burn
yourself." "Probably," she muttered.
As flames climbed around the fabric, she grabbed
the knot, pulled the shirt from between her knees, and
turned away from Kara. She took the knife from her
teeth. "Go first," she said. "Run for the john.
Don't stop for anything."
The girl rushed past her.
Knife in her left hand, the blazing wad
of shirt in her right. Denise dashed through the living
room. She kept her arm high, carrying the
fireball overhead like a torch.
Kara, a few strides in front of her, cut to the
right at the foyer and dashed for the hallway.
No Tom. So far.
Where is he?
Denise's shoes slapped the tiles. She turned.
Raced after Kara. The pale beam of the girl's
flashlight skittered over the hallway carpet, the
walls and dark doorways. Then the carpet was under
Denise. Her torch cast orange light into the
gloom ahead, fluttered against the walls and carpet.
She felt heat surrounding her hand. So far, she
didn't think she was being burnt.
So your hand gets burnt, she thought. You can live with
it.
Just get to the john.
And a dark shape lunged out through a doorway and
blocked the hall and whipped the fireplace poker
at Kara's face. The girl ducked under it. Her
head

RAINY
NIGHT
rammed Tom in the belly. Instead of knocking him
down, the blow sent Kara stumbling backward. She
landed on her rump. Denise leaped over the girl.
Tom swung the poker. Its brass bar whapped
against her side. She shoved the blazing shirt at his
face.
Dropping the poker, he lurched to the side and
slammed a wall as he flung up both arms
to shield his face. Denise thrust the torch against his
arms. She knew his midsection was unprotected,
knew she could drive the knife straight into him with
her left hand. But she refused.
"KARAFF8SHE shouted. "GO! GO!"
The flames flapped against her face, curled hot
around her fist and forearm. But she didn't stab
Tom. She just kept jamming the fireball against his
crossed arms.
Kara rushed by.
Made it into the bathroom.
Denise pumped her knee into Tom's groin. His
breath exploded out. He spasmed against the wall.
Denise lurched away from him, dashed to the bathroom,
hurled the flaming remains of her shirt into the sink,
swung around and drove her shoulder against the door,
slamming it shut. Her thumb jabbed the
lock button down.
She slumped back against the door. As she gasped,
coughing on the smoky air, Kara turned on a
faucet. Water splashed down. The burning shirt
hissed. Its glow faded. In seconds, the
bathroom was dark except for the beam of the flashlight.
LA
YMON
Denise's right hand and forearm felt as if they were still
burning. She stepped to the sink, and set down her
knife, and splashed cool water against her skin.
"Are you hurt bad?" Kara whispered. "I don't
think so. How about you?" "I'm OK. Did you stab
him?"
"No." "How'd you get away?" "Kneed him in the
nuts." "Huh?"
"Never mind. Why don't you light a couple of the
." Denise jumped as something crashed against the door.
From the sound, she guessed Tom must've struck it
with the poker. She pulled her arm out from under the water,
hurried to the door, and pressed her back against it.
The next blow jolted her. That was a kick, she
thought.
While she braced the door, Kara lit a candle,
dripped some paraffin onto the side of the
sink, then stood the candle upright in the small
puddle.
Tom struck the door again.
Kara said, "Somebody better keep that gizmo
in." She stepped up close to Denise and clutched
the doorknob. Her small thumb pushed against the
lock button. "It can get popped out real
easy," she whispered. "It doesn't even take a
key."
She held the button in.
Denise curled a hand around the back of the girl's
head. As she caressed the soft hair, Kara leaned
forward, slumped a little against her, and rested a cheek
against her chest.
RAINY
NIGHT
"What are they
doing
up there?" Cyndi said. She studied the kitchen
ceiling as if it might give her a clue.
"I don't want to know," Sheila said.
"Maybe I oughta go up and check on 'em," Doug
offered.
Cyndi glowered at him. "Oh, you'd like that."
Lou sipped his vodka and tonic, then
squatted down and peered through the glass of the oven's
door. The frozen, fried chicken pieces spread
out on the cookie sheet looked as if they might be
done pretty soon. The crust, getting darker, was
shiny with juice or oil that bubbled. He could hear
faint sounds of sizzling and crackling.
The sounds reminded him of last night. Chidi tied
to the goalpost, wrapped in flame. That kid's skin
had sizzled and crackled.
The memory gave Lou a heavy, sick feeling.
I didn't do it, he told himself. I didn't do
any of it.
He knew that wasn't quite true. He hadn't done
the
bad
stuff, though. He hadn't cut on the kid or
burnt him. He hadn't killed him.
All I did, he told himself, was help snatch the
bastard and strip him and tie him up. I trashed him
just a little, maybe, but nothing serious. Nothing that even
would've put him in the hospital for godsake.
Buddy never should've done that stuff.
Now I'm in just as much trouble as him, and I
LA
YMON
didn't do a damn thing. Lisa's gonna spill
the beans on us. We'll be fucked.
We oughta be shutting up Lisa, not having a
goddamn party.
And Buddy's upstairs with the pizza gal as if he
doesn't have a worry in the world.
The whole thing's crazy.
And it's storming black shit outside and the crazy
bitch tried to kill Buddy, and we're all acting
like nothing's wrong. The whole damn world's gone
nuts.
"How's the chicken doing?" Sheila asked. She
crouched beside Lou and looked into the oven. "A while
longer, huh? I like it good and crispy."
You should've seen Chidi. He was good and crispy.
Sheila leaned against him. She caressed his back.
He felt her breast pressing his upper arm. Breath
tickling his ear, she whispered, "Do you think we can
get out of here?"
"Not while it's raining," Lou whispered. "Or
whatever it's doing out there."
She kissed his ear. Lou knew she was doing this so
Doug and Cyndi would think they were making out, whispering
endearments or something. "I don't like this. We oughta
get away. I just know Buddy's raping that
woman."
"Probably." The feel of Sheila and images of
Buddy putting it to the pizza gal started to make
Lou horny. He slipped a hand under the back of
Sheila's sweatshirt. Normally, she wouldn't have
allowed that with people around. But she didn't protest.
Her skin was warm and smooth. "It's not like we're
accomplices or
RAINY
NIGHT
anything," he whispered. "We're down here, you know?
He's up there. They might just be talking." "Oh,
sure."
"Besides, she tried to knock his head off." "That's
no excuse to ... violate her."
"I know," Lou whispered. He moved his hand over the
cross-strap of Sheila's bra. He knew she
would go ape if he tried to unhook it.
The lucky son-of-a-bitch, Buddy. Up there with the
pizza gal. Bet he got the bra off
her.
Everything else, too. The bitch was in no position
to argue.
Bet he violated her but good.
"Maybe Buddy's got some raincoats and
umbrellas around," Sheila whispered. "If we
covered up really good ...
"It's too risky." Then Lou came up with an
idea that he knew should please her. "Besides, there's
no telling what Buddy might do to the gal."
"That's what scares
me.
I
don't want to be around
"If we stay, we might be able to keep him in
line, you know? Stop him from. . ."
"Nobody stopped him upstairs."
You didn't, either, Lou thought. But he didn't
want to say anything that might turn Sheila against
him. He rubbed her shoulder, sliding the bra strap
out of his way.
"I won't let Buddy do anything
really
bad," he said.
"Oh, raping someone isn't
really
bad? What do you
call really
bad?"
LA
YMON
"I don't know. Like if he wants to get rid of
her or something."
"That's what I thought you meant. "Cause I'm
thinking the same thing. How's he planning to keep her
from going to the cops about this if he doesn't ... like
waste her?"
"Well, she
is
the one who started it."
"I'm not gonna be here for something like that." "We
won't let it happen."
"Yeah, sure."
"I mean it. I'll stop him." "Will you?,
"Damn right." Just like I stopped him last night,
Lou thought. "I'm not gonna let him kill someone
in front of us."
"How's the chick-chick coming?" Doug asked, stepping
up behind them.
"A few more minutes," Sheila said. She patted
Lou's back, then stood up. Lou stood up,
too, keeping his hand on her shoulder.
"I wish Buddy'd get down here," Cyndi said.
"He's probably already eaten, anyway."
"Very funny. Maybe one of us
should
go up and
"Help him," Doug said.
"You're really asking for it." "Think I'll get
it?"
"N. . ."
"Hi ho. everyone," Buddy said, stepping into the
kitchen with the pizza gal beside him. "What's
cooking?"
RAINY
NIGHT
"We found some chicken in the freezer," Cyndi
told him. "It's about ready."
"Well, we're just in time." He smiled at the
pizza gal and patted her rump. "Friends, this is
Maureen." Lou's hand dropped out from under
Sheila's sweatshirt.
Incredible, he thought.
"Turned out to be a white girl," Buddy said.
"Holy shit." Doug muttered.
Holy shit is right, Lou thought. She's a fucking
knockout.
She was taller than Buddy, but slender. Even from
across the kitchen, Lou could see the brilliant
emerald of her eyes. Her hair must've
been blow-dried. It seemed to float around her
face, a rich curtain of brown and rust and gold.
Lou couldn't recall ever seeing such a beautiful
face. Not in the flesh, at least. Maybe on
movie screens, in magazines, never in the same
room with him.
She wore a white T-shirt. One of Buddy's
undershirts? It was much too large for her. It hung
down so low that it covered all but the bottom inch of
her red gym shorts. It seemed to drape from her
shoulders, hardly touching her body anywhere except
her breasts. There, the shirt was pushed outward,
smooth over the soft mounds, peaked at the very front
by the thrust of her nipples. Her skin showed through the
thin fabric. Pink except for the darker disks at
the tips of her breasts.
Like the T-shirt, the shorts were far too big. They
looked as if they might fall down. Their legs
gaped
LA
YMON
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.
RAINY
NIGHT
"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."
LA
YMON
"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.
Denise's thigh muscles shuddered from the effort of
bracing the door with her back. She had taken over

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
made 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
RAINY
NIGHT
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
DON8T 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
ham-
mer. 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
LA YJWON
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 stabyou.
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.
RAINY
NIGHT
"Oh, I don't think so." The light went out.
"OVER HEREFF8DENISE 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
LA
YMON
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.
RAINY
NIGHT
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.
"Denny88Tom'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.
LA
YMON

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.
"E
verything OK88HE asked.
Neither of his passengers answered. Lisa
said,
"A
re
you OK?"
"I
didn't get wet
,"
he muttered, then slid his shotgun across the seat,
climbed in and shut the door.
"D
id you find your friend
?"
Lisa asked.
"n
o. Thank God
,"
he muttered.
"I
t was a massacre in there. Her father's dead
."
"W
hat'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
'full
tell you what we'll do
,"
Francine said.
"W
e'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
."
"T
he hell you can't
."
RAINY
NIGHT
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
'full
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.
LA
YMON
"If you shoot him, I'll shoot you."
"L
isa
to was
"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
RAINY NIGHT
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.
Alone 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.,
LA
YMON
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 people88Lisa 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
RAINY
NIGHT
nothing but undershorts and a ballcap. Trev swerved.
Not to avoid this one, to hit him.
The kid flipped high as the bumper knocked out his
legs. He lost his machete. His ballcap spun
away. He missed the axe handle. He bounced on
the hood and tumbled. His knee thumped the
windshield. Then he flew upward out of sight.
Trev heard some rough bumps on the roof before the
kid toppled off.
"I
can't stand it
to was
Francine blurted.
And Lisa said, "Maybe it's Maxwell's
grandpa." "What?" Trev gasped.
"He's some kind of a witch doctor. Maybe this
is his revenge, or something."
Ridiculous, Trev thought.
But what mad, poetic justice if it were true.
White boys murder a black kid. Next thing you
know, down comes the rain making
everyone
black and kill-crazy. Revenge in spades.
But black magic? Come on, Trev. "What do you
know about him?"
"Just that Maxwell ... he wouldn't ever let me
meet his family. He said they wouldn't like
him going out with someone like me ... you know, someone
white. But especially his grandfather. He said the old
man might do something weird if he ever found out. Like
put a hex on me. I told Max I wasn't
afraid of any hexes, but he said
I
oughta
be. He said his grandpa was really into that stuff, and it
worked. He even told me some stories about how his
grandpa got back at enemies and stuff. How
he'd cripple them
LA
YMON
up, or make them go crazy, or even die. Like
there was a doctor back on the island they came from,
and he gave Max's grandmother some drug she was
allergic to and she died. So Max's grandpa put a
spell on him, and the doctor went crazy and carved
up his whole family, his wife and kids and everything,
and when they found him he was still alive but he'd cut
off both his own feet and his left hand, and even his
you-knowwhat ... his dick. And he'd poked out both his
eyes."
"Oh, wonderful," Francine said, her voice
high and shaky.
"I mean, Max really
believed
his grandpa made the doctor do all that. And he was
afraid the guy might hurt me if he found out we
were going together. It kind of scared me, you know?"
"So you never met the grandfather?" Trev asked.
"I never met anyone in his family. Except his
sister. She's in the tenth grade. She promised not
to tell on us."
"Did Max ever mention black rain?"
"No. Huh-uh. I would've caught on right
away, if he ever had. It was just, you know, when you said
that about the Devil. I never even thought about Max's
grandpa till you said that. It just sort of clicked, you
know? That maybe this is all some kind of a curse and
maybe the old guy's
making
it happen."
"That's insane," Francine said. "What isn't?"
Trev muttered. "You don't honestly think . .
."
"it makes as much sense as anything else," he
said. "It makes a hell of a
lot
of sense. The motive, anyway.
RAINY
NIGHT
I'm not saying a guy could actually do this. But if
he could. it'd be a damn nifty way to get back
at the town he blames for murdering his grandson."
"Oh, for godsake."
"I know it sounds weird, Mom. But what if he
is
doing it? You know? And what if there's a way to make
him stop. Maybe the rain'll end."
"Did the grandfather live with the family88Trev
asked.
"Yeah. He had his own room in their house."
Trev knew that he'd seen the address on
reports. Fairmont Avenue, but he couldn't
recall the house number.
Near the north end of town, and he was heading south.
"Do you know the address?" he asked. "Huh-uh."
Trev made a U-turn.
"Our house is
that
way," Francine protested.
"First things first," Trev said. His headbeams swept
past the tattered body of a man bound to a lamp
post. Like Chidi tied to the goalpost
standard. This guy was black, but hadn't been born that
way. And hadn't been burnt. He had a gaping
pit below his ribcage. "You can't do this!"
"Mom!" "Damn it! It's a waste of time, and
you'll get us all killed."
"Maybe I can end the whole mess."
It might be too late for Maureen, he thought.
But if Chidi's grandfather was responsible, and if
LA
YMON
Trev could get to the house, there was a chance he could
put a stop to the downpour and save lives.
"You can't seriously believe some damn
witch doctor's
behind all this."
"Of course I don't," Trev said. "But I'm
going to proceed as if I do. Lisa, do you know if
they're listed in the phone directory?"
"Yeah, they are.,
"I'll have to make one more stop, then we'll head
straight out to Chidi's place and see what the
bastard's up to."

Soon after John joined the others in the booth,
Peggy brought plates of top sirloin,
baked potato and green beans. She explained that the
menu had been dispensed with, and the meal was complementary.
Lynn and Carol asked for fresh margaritas.
John and Steve exchanged glances.
"I
'm fine
,"
John told the waitress. He was halfway through
his second Mai Tai. A third would be nice, but
it would also be enough to impair his faculties.
"I'll pass on another one, too," Steve said.
After Peggy left, he added, "Hate to get busted
for DWI on the way home."
RAINY
NIGHT
Lynn laughed.
"I
'd
say that's the least of your worries.,
"W
hat
about
going home
?"
Carol asked.
"T
oo dangerous
,"
Steve said. and started cutting into his meat.
"I
f
I could think of any way to get home
,"
John said, 'we wouldn't be here. I'd give
anything to be with Kara right now. But
I
just don't see how it can be done. Maybe I'd be
able to handle whoever's outside,
I
don't know.
I
don't know how many there are, or how they might be
armed. But the problem's the rain.
If I
get wet, it's all over.
I'd
be just like them. Hell,
I
mightjust turn around and come in to nail

people
."
"W
e just have to wait for the rain to stop
,"
Steve said.
"E
at, drink and be merry
,"
Carol muttered. She tongued some salt off the rim
of her glass.
"I
hope Peggy hurries with those drinks.
If
I'm gonna die,
I
want to be good and sloshed
."
"n
obody's going to die
,"
Lynn told her.
"T
ell that to those poor slobs in the freezer. I'm
sure the news would cheer them up
considerably
."
"W
e're all going to be fine
,"
Lynn persisted. John reached around her back and
caressed her shoulder. You tell them, honey.
"B
efore we know it
,"
she said, 'the rain'll let up and we'll all go on
home and this'll
be
just like a bad dream. Isn't that right, honey
?"
"y
ep.,
"B
ullshit
,"
Carol said.
"E
at your food
,"
Steve told her.
"W
e're perfectly safe in here
,"
Lynn said.
"L
ook how
many of us there are. And we've got plenty of sharp
cutlery if push comes to shove." She twirled her
serrated knife in front of her eyes.
"A lot of good steak knives'll be against a horde
of raving lunatics."
"What horde?" Lynn said. "There's no point in
blowing things out of proportion. One person's
knocking on the door. For all we know, nobody
else is out there."
"Maybe half the town's out there," Carol said.
"We could open the door and see," Steve suggested.
"Oh, great. Why don't you just go and do that." "As
long as they're making no serious effort to
break in," John said, 'x really doesn't
matter a whole lot. We're safe right now. I
think we should go ahead and eat, and try not to worry
about it."
"Yeah, sure." She gave him a sullen look.
then lowered her head and began to cut her
meat.
Peggy showed up with the drinks.
"All quiet on the western front?" John
asked her. "Some nut's still pounding on the front
door. Other than that, not much is going on. A lot
of folks are getting pretty polluted. And there's
a bunch in the bar I think are getting ready
to abandon ship."
"Don't they know what'll happen to them?" Steve
asked.
"They just want to go home." Peggy shrugged, then
carried her tray to the next booth and set a martini
in front of Chester Benton's widow. Cassy, still
sitting with her, met John's gaze and smiled
slightly.
He returned the smile, then looked down at his
RAINY
NIGHT
plate. Don't think about her, he told himself, and
pictured her sprawled on the floor, the doctor
cutting her laces, spreading her bodice.
Knock it off!
"What about those people in the bar?" Steve asked. John
took a bite of beef. "What about them?"
"Maybe we ought to see what they're up
to." "That's not a bad idea," Carol said.
"What if they've
figured out how to get out of here?" "It's worth a
check," Steve said.
"Should probably try to talk them out of it," John
muttered. He didn't want to get involved.
Let them do what they want, he thought. If they're
fools enough to go outside ... It's not my job
to save people from their own stupidity. But they get wet.
and they might be our problem.
He remembered the guy in the men's room. Andy.
After calling home, he'd noticed Andy and the girl,
Tina, holding hands across their small table in the
cocktail lounge. They'd looked like a couple of
kids, helpless and terrified.
What are their chances if they go outside?
He took one more bite, then looked up at
Steve. "I think I'd better go on over there and
. . ."
The window beside the next table exploded. Cassy
twisted away from the flying glass, squeezing her
eyes shut and hurling up an arm to shield her
face. The Benton woman, closer to the window,
squealed and lurched sideways against her. John
realized she must've looked toward the
source of the sudden noise. Her face was a mask of
raw rips, studded with
LA
YMON
I
shards. A triangle of glass jutted from her
left eye. Lynn grabbed John's sleeve and
yelled "Don'tff8z
he lunged from the booth and a fat bald man, shiny
black, leaned through the broken window and caved in the
woman's forehead with a tire iron. John pulled
free. He didn't bother to dodge Steve, who was
leaning out and starting to rise. He shouldered him
out
of the way, rushed past the empty bench and table,
clutched Cassy's arm and tugged her from the booth.
She came up brushing against him, gasping warm breath
against his face.
The man in the window grabbed a handful of Mrs
Benton's hair and dragged her limp body toward
him. At least he's not coming in, John thought.
Taking her. Taking her out with him.
John swung Cassy away. He sprang onto
the cushioned bench. It was soft and springy under his
shoes. He took only one step before the
man hurled the tire iron at him, sidearm. He
shot up a hand to block it. The bar struck his
wrist. Instead of bouncing away, it took a quick
flip around his wrist and smashed him across the brow.
A strobe flashed behind his eyes. He fought to stay
on his feet.
Gotta stop him!
It didn't matter that the woman was probably
dead. Didn't matter much, anyway. Dead or
not, John didn't want the bastard to take her.
He brought up his knife hand. The knife seemed
to be missing. He stared at his empty hand. He was
sure he'd had the knife a second ago.
RAINY
NIGHT
He looked up.
He couldn't see much. The lights were
just
too faint. But he could see enough to realize the guy was
using both hands, now. The woman's head was clamped
between them, and he was pulling her toward the window.
John knew he was about to go down. He teetered
backward.
NO!
He waved his arm, struggling against gravity
and unconsciousness, and managed to correct the
direction of his fall.
He tumbled forward.
Onto the moving body. It dropped, trapped against
the seat and wall. Some glass in the woman's face
cut John's cheek.
He wrapped his arms around her.
You won't get her now!
He was vaguely aware of commotion around him. There were
shouts. The edge of the table shook against his side. More
sounds of breaking glass. Then people were pulling at his
legs. He held onto the woman. Together, they
slid over the cushion. Her legs went out from under
him. His knees followed, jabbing into them, and he
murmured
"S
orry" and tried to get off her.
He released her. Then he was carried backward and
lowered to the floor.
Someone bending over him. Lynn.
"O
h, you idiot. You fool
."
"I
didn't
...
let "im get her
."
"n
o, you didn't. God, John
."
LA
YMON
He tried to sit up, but she pushed him down, pinned
his shoulders to the
floor.
"Just stay put, honey."
Then Cassy was on her knees beside him, patting his
face with a cloth napkin.
"Are you OK?"
"He took an awful knock on the head," Lynn
said. Lynn stopped holding him down. She stroked
his hair while Cassy dabbed at the cuts.
"I keep some bandages in my purse," Lynn
said. "Stay with him?"
"Sure." When she was gone, Cassy said, "You
keep coming to my rescue."
"Glad to help," he said. He noticed the way the
blazer drooped, closed only by its two low
buttons. He glimpsed her shadowy right
breast, then forced his eyes away from it and watched the
way her short, glossy bangs swayed above his
face.
"Come away from thereff8Carol snapped.
Jesus
to was
"Steve!" "Where'd they all
come from
?"
"How many88asked a voice John didn't
recognize. "I don't know. A bunch."
"Let's block up that window."
RAINY
NIGHT

Trev parked in the alley near O'Casey's. His
headbeams lit the black heap of the axeman. He
shut them off, killed the engine and stuffed the keys
into his jeans.
"Hurry, OK88LISA said.
"I'll be as fast as I can." He grabbed the
shotgun and climbed out. The rain came down on
him. More of a soft shower than a downpour.
Making his way toward the street, he avoided
puddles. Though he hadn't checked the
bottoms of his feet, he was sure that his earlier
walking must've worn holes in the plastic under his
shoes. The thick rubber soles of his sneakers should
keep his feet dry so long as he didn't step in
anything much deeper than half an inch.
I keep wandering around in this stuff, he thought, and
I'm bound to get wet.
At the front of the alley, he checked both ways.
A body on the sidewalk to the right, several yards
away. At the corner, someone darted by and vanished
behind a parked car. But that was a good distance away.
Trev didn't think he'd been seen.
He turned to the left. The sidewalk ahead
looked clear. He walked quickly toward
O'Casey's.
He knew what he would find in there. He didn't
want to see those bodies again. Probably every shop
on Third Street had a telephone directory.
He could've gone into any one of them to look up
Chidi's
LA
YMON
address. But he
didn't
know what he would find in other places.
He didn't want surprises.
Also, the alley seemed like a good place to leave the
car. The women had been safe there, last time.
He stepped under O'Casey's awning and paused,
glad to be out of the rain. He took deep breaths.
Though he hadn't exerted himself, he felt winded.
Something trickled down the back of his neck. A
chill crawled up his spine.
Oh, my God!
Another droplet ran down his neck.
And he realized it was only sweat. He let out a
quiet, shaky laugh, and hurried into the
restaurant. He scanned the bodies. They
looked the same. He
headed for the kitchen, stepping around the bodies and
broken glass, being careful not to slip on the wet
floor. As he walked, more sweat trickled down his
neck and face.
He'd probably been sweating like a hog, all
along, and simply hadn't paid attention to it. The
hair at the back of his head was dripping. The
garbage bags felt slick and greasy against his
skin. Only his socks and underwear kept him from being
completely encased by the slimy, clinging plastic. And
they were sodden.
He had a sudden urge to strip free of the damned
wrappings. Feel the cool air on his body.
Strip down to his briefs and
stay
here. Have some beer. Throw together a pizza. Forget
about going back out in the rain.
The body of the woman sprawled across the rear table
put a quick end to that.
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
She looked
so much
like Maureen.
He stopped beside her drooping head, blinked sweat out
of his eyes, and studied her hair until he
spotted some blonde.
What if Maureen had bleached her hair?
Trev considered getting a wet rag and cleaning the
gore from her pubic hair, just to make sure it
wasn't auburn.
Don't get crazy. That isn't her. Stop wasting
time.
He stepped into the kitchen, removed Patterson's
hat and slipped the hood off his head. The fresh
air felt wonderful. He set them and the shotgun
on the counter.
He glanced at Liam. His friend. Maureen's father.
The poor girl. Both her parents gone.
She might be dead, herself, by now.
Trev turned away quickly and hurried to the
telephone. He threw open the directory. His
plastic mitten dripped dark liquid onto the
pages as he flipped to the Cs.
Chidi, Clarence was at 4539 Fairmont. He
memorized the address, then searched through the Os
until he found Liam's number again. He
snatched up the handset, picked up the same pen
he'd used before to punch in the number, and jabbed the
keys.
He heard the quiet ringing-
Answer
it,
answer it, answer it! Come on, Maureen!
Maybe she'd been in the shower, last time.
LA
YMON
I
I
it rang eleven times. Then it was picked up. Oh,
thank God. "Maureen?"
No answer.
"Maureen? It's Trevor Hudson."
"Hi, Trevor." A woman's voice, low and
husky, and not Maureen.
"Who is this?"8Maureen." The skin on the back of
his neck prickled.
"Come on over, honey. It's lonesome here. We'll
have us a party."
He closed his eyes. He felt as if his breath were
being squeezed out. "You're all alone there?"
"Sure am, sweetheart." "Have you got any
bodies?"
"Mine. And it wants you, Trevor. Real bad."
"I want dead people," he said.
"Maybe we can go out and find some." "None in your
house, though?"
"I wish there was. But you come on over, now.
OK? We'll have us a real good time."
"Fine," he said. "See you." He set the phone
down on its cradle and struggled to fill his lungs.

Tom held the flashlight on the fusebox, and
Denise flicked the switches. They stepped out of the
small room. Denise squinted when she met the
brightness of the kitchen. Kara, waiting there, let out a
sigh as if her world had just undergone a
tremendous improvement.
Denise smiled. "Better, huh?"
The girl bobbed her head. "Darkness is not one of
my favorite things."
"This is better, all right," Tom said.
His eyes shifted upward quickly to Denise's face,
and she felt herself blush. In spite of the towel
draped over her shoulders to cover her bra, she
suddenly felt almost naked. It hadn't bothered her
earlier, while they dried themselves in the bathroom and
made their way through the house by flashlight. Nobody
could see much, and she'd been too relieved by the
change in Tom to care much about modesty.
"Maybe we should get into some dry clothes," she
said. She turned to Kara. "You don't think your
folks would mind us borrowing. . ."
"Oh, no. Let's go and change. This feels
yucky." "Could I use the phone first?" Tom
asked her. "I want to call home and make sure
my parents are OK." "OK, sure."
He thanked her, then picked up the kitchen
extension. He tapped in the number. He smiled
nervously at Denise. His gaze dropped for a
moment. He looked
LA
YMON
away fast.
"H
i. Mom, it's me
...
No. nothing's wrong. Can I talk to Dad, though
?"
Covering the mouthpiece, he said,
"S
ounds like everything's fine over there
."
He took his hand away.
"y
eah, hi Dad. Nothing weird's going on over
there, is it?
...
Well, some guy tried to break in over here. The
rain's black, Dad
. . .
No,
I
mean it. And it's really dangerous. It's making people
into killers.
I
heard they broke into the Edgewood, too,
and killed some people there
...
No, I'm not on anything. It's really true.
I
don't know what's going on, but
I
wanted to make sure you're all right and warn you and
Mom. You oughta get out one of your guns and keep it
around. Don't let anybody into the house
... I
don't know why there haven't been any reports on
the TV. Maybe nobody knows about it
...
Look, if you don't believe me, take a look
at the rain. But be careful, OK? Don't get
any on you, or it'll make you want to kill people
...
You can't talk to them, they're not here
...
They're at the Edgewood. They called from there
. . .
Yes,
I
knew. I'm sorry. But jeez, it's no big
deal
. . .
If
I
try to come home, I'll get wet. Besides,
I
have to stay here and take care of Denny. She's all
alone, and there's no telling what might happen
...
OK, then ground me. For godsake, Dad, this is
a real emergency. I'm not kidding. Something really
terrible's going on, and
I
don't understand it, but it's sure happening
...
Just get a gun and watch out, OK? I've gotta
go
."
He hung up. His cheeks puffed out, and he blew
air through his pursed lips.
"G
uess you're in hot water
,"
Denise said.

I
RAINY
NIGHT
He laughed. "Well, at least they're safe.
Dad might want to kill me, but they're safe."
"Do you want to call your parents?" Kara asked
Denise.
She shook her head. "They're out of town." "I
hope it isn't raining where they are." "Me, too.
But it's a long way from here." "Can we change,
now?"
"Yeah, let's."
Kara led the way. Denise turned off the kitchen
lights and followed, Tom walking close behind her.
It felt good to know he was there.
So weird, she thought. A while ago, he was a
raving lunatic and you were scared to death of him. Now,
it's like he's your protector. All it took was enough
hot water.
"Maybe wecan find me some aspirin," he said.
She looked around at him. "Are you all right?"
"Just a headache, mostly." In a louder voice,
he said, "You've got a mean swing, Kara."
She looked back, contorting her face. "I'm
awful sorry."
"Hey, I'm glad you did it. God.
I just can't believe I was actually. . ."
"Don't worry about it," Denise said. She
paused in the living room to pick up the lamp she'd
knocked over.
"I hate it that I hurt you."
"I know. But you couldn't help it. And I got you
pretty good, too." At the other end of the sofa, she
turned off the next lamp. "I'm just glad you're
back to normal."
"Thank God we ended up in the bathtub."
LA
YMON
Denise crossed the foyer. As she reached for the
switch panel, Kara frowned. "You're not going
to make it dark again, are you?"
"You can turn on the hallway light. But your dad
thought we'd be safer if the house looks deserted."
"Most people leave lights on when they're gone,"
Tom pointed out.
"Yeah, you're right. OK." She dropped her hand
away from the switches.
Kara started up the hallway, then halted.
"Maybe it'd be better if somebody else goes
first."
Denise stepped forward. "Let's go
together." She took the girl's hand.
"Can I change first?"
"Sure." The hallway smelled smoky. Though
there didn't seem to be any ashes on the beige
carpeting, Denise's burning shirt had left a
grimy trail along the ceiling. She wondered if
soap and water might take care of it.
When they came to Kara's bedroom, Denise reached
around the doorframe and turned on the light. They
entered. Tom stopped in the doorway. "Are there
fresh towels somewhere?" he asked.
"Oh, that's a good idea. They're in the closet
by the bathroom."
He went to get some.
"Do you think he's OK?" Kara whispered. "I
think so."
"Me, too. He seems really nice. Though he
does tell a lot of fibs." She sat on the
edge of her bed and started to undress. "I try never
to tell a lie, especially to
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LA
YMON
turned away as she reached under her nightgown. She
took off her panties, spent a few moments
drying herself from the waist down, then stepped
into the dry underwear. She went to her closet. She
put on a pair of Alf slippers.
Then she led them down the hall to her parents' room.
"What do you suppose you want to wear?" "It's up
to you," Denise said.
"How about warmups? They'd be good and cozy."
"Fine."
Kara searched some drawers. She took out a royal
blue warmup suit for Denise. The jacket had a
hood, a zipper front, and white piping up the
sleeves. The pants matched, with piping up the
sides of the legs. "Snazzy," Denise said.
Kara gave her the suit, and a pair of white
socks. "Dad hasn't got anything as neat," she
told Tom. "Whatever," he said.
She found a gray sweatsuit and white socks for
him. He dropped the weapons onto the bed, and she
handed the garments to him.
"I'll change in the john," he said.
"We ought to stay together," Denise said. "Why don't
you just go in the closet?"
He left a towel behind for her, stepped into the roomy
closet, turned on its light, and pulled the door
shut.
"Don't come out till I say so," she
warned him. "Aw."
She laughed. She undressed in front of the
closet door. It had a full-length mirror.
RAINY
NIGHT
"y
out
really
got wrecked," Kara said.
Denise nodded while she dried her hair. She
looked as if she'd sunbathed in the nude and stayed
out too long. And maybe as if there'd been a tree
above her, a few leaves blocking out the sun so she
ended up with pale blotches here and there. The red was very
faint, though. She suspected it would go away
entirely in an hour or so.
The discoloring across her throat was a deeper red than
the burns. Where Tom had choked her. That would
probably turn into a bruise. The same with the
patch under her left breast. Where he'd punched her.
She had two crimson streaks across her belly.
One from the tip of the umbrella, a longer one from the
point of the fireplace poker he'd whipped at her
while she stood in the tub. The umbrella hadn't
broken her skin at all, but the poker had
scraped off a layer. The skin was ruffled up around
the edges of the wound, leaving a strip that looked raw and
juicy.
She pointed to it for Kara's benefit. "I'll have a
nice scab there."
"I had a really bad one on my knee. I had it
forever." "Did you pick it off and eat it?"
"Oh, gross!"
"Hey," Tom said. "I'm missing all the fun."
"Just admiring the wounds you gave me." "You should see
what you did to my arm." "Sorrrry. His
Kara laughed. "Can I come out, now?"
"No way. Stay put." Though Denise's skin
wasn't
LA
YMON
very wet anymore, it seemed moist and clammy. The
towel felt good. Her burns were a little tender, but
didn't hurt much. She gently patted the streaks
an her belly.
When she was done, she stepped into the warm-up pants
and pulled them up. They were soft and clingy. They
seemed to trap in the heat of her skin, making the
burns feel slightly worse. Otherwise, they
felt wonderful. She put on the
jacket. She raised its zipper to her throat, then
lowered it a few inches to let some air in.
She rapped on the mirror. "Yo.,
"I'm dressed. Are you?"
"Yep." He opened the door and came out. The
sweatsuit came with him. Drooping and baggy. He
looked like a kid lost in the clothes of a giant.
Denise laughed. Kara, grinning, shook her head.
"Your dad must be a pretty big guy," Tom
said. "Oh, he is."
"You aren't gonna lose your pants, are you?"
Denise asked.
"If I do, you'll be the first to know."
"I'm not sure
anyone
will know," she said.
"Look at this," he said, and pushed his right sleeve
up to the elbow. His forearm showed a red crescent of
teeth marks. But the skin wasn't broken.
Denise pursed her lips. "I did that, huh?"
"You should see what you did to her," Kara said.
Denise lifted the bottom of her jacket.
RAINY
NIGHT
"Yeah, I know. You weren't wearing that before,
remember?"
She blushed. That seemed to make her burns feel
even hotter. She pulled the jacket down again.
She went to the bed, sat down, and put on the
socks.
"What'll we do now?" Kara asked.
Tom picked up the fireplace poker. He
frowned at it, and turned it slowly in his hands.
"Well, I came over here for some popcorn."
"Yeah. Why don't we make a new batch and have
a nice party and watch some TV."
"Might as well," Denise said. "It might be a
long night."
Warriors
"Messy, messy stuff," Buddy said. He
dropped the last of his chicken bones onto the paper
plate on his lap, then leaned forward and set the
plate on the coffee table. He settled back
against the sofa. Smiling, he raised his hands to show the
others.
Lou, from his seat across the room, could see the shiny
grease and flecks of chicken fat on Buddy's
fingers.
"What're you trying to do," Sheila said, 'make us
sick?"
"It's just so messy. Sticky. Ick." With that, he
turned sideways and held his dripping hands in
front of Maureen's face. "Be a good girl and
lick them clean for me."
"For godsake," Sheila muttered.
Cyndi grinned. Doug tore a chunk off his
drumstick and turned his head to watch.
Maureen swallowed her mouthful. She stared at
Buddy, her eyes narrow.
"Do you have a problem with that88he asked.
She shook her head. With the back of her hand, she
wiped the grease from around her lips. Buddy took
LA
YMON
the plate off her lap. She sat up straight.
Then she opened up, and he slid his right thumb into her
mouth.
"Suck it, honey, suck it."
Lou's heart started thumping. Maureen shut her
eyes. She was breathing hard through her nose, her
breasts rising and falling under the thin shirt. Buddy
plucked the thumb from her mouth. It came out with a wet
slurpy sound. He stuck in his index finger.
"This is disgusting," Sheila said.
Buddy grinned at her, then pushed against
Maureen, his hand pressing her down until she was
slumped against the sofa back. The breath hissed through
her nostrils. She writhed a little. He took out the
finger and slid his middle finger into her mouth. "Yeah,
suck it hard, baby."
"Oh lordy." Doug murmured.
Her legs swung apart and she pushed at the floor
and one side of her shorts gaped. Lou could see up
the leg hole. He gazed at the shadowy smoothness
of her inner thigh. He almost had a view of her
groin, but not quite. If he got down and sat on the
floor ... But Sheila would catch on.
He squirmed. It's a good thing I can't see any
higher, he thought.
"When you're done with him," Doug said, "I could use
some of that. Don't know how I got chicken grease
all over my dick, but . .
Cyndi jabbed his arm.
"Just kidding, just kidding." "Shithead."
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
Buddy popped his middle finger out of Maureen's
mouth, and poked in his ring and pinky fingers together.
"oooh," he said. "So tight and wet. Love it.
Suck, honey, suck."
Sheila, sitting on the floor near
Lou's chair, twisted her head around and scowled up
at him. He knew his face was red. He knew he
was panting some. He hoped Sheila didn't know the
reason why, and just thought he was upset. At least his
legs were crossed so she couldn't see the bulge.
He shook his head to show her just how disgusting he
considered Buddy's behavior.
"Thank you so much," Buddy said. He took the
fingers from her mouth, clutched her breast and squeezed
it through the shirt. She gasped and her lips peeled
away from her teeth. "Just drying off," he said. He
turned his hand over and wiped its back against her
shirt. Lou watched how it pushed her breast in, and
how the breast came springing back when it went away.
"I don't believe you," Sheila said.
Buddy grinned at her. "If you don't like it, go
home."
"I don't think we should all just sit here and let
him do stuff like this."
"Buzz off," Cyndi told her. "She deserves
anything she gets."
Buddy jammed his left hand into Maureen's mouth.
All four fingers at once. She choked, grabbed his
wrist and shoved his hand out. As the fingertips cleared
her lips, he drove his right fist into her
belly.
LA
YMON
Her breath gusted out. She lurched forward, hunching
over
her
thighs, and wheezed for air.
"You're such a bastard." Sheila said. "It's no
wonder Lisa dumped you."
The mention of Lisa made Lou go tight and cold
inside. For a while there, he'd been able to forget about
her, forget what they'd done to Chidi.
Buddy grinned at Sheila. "She didn't dump
me. She just got a hankering for some dark meat.
That's all over now."
"Done," Doug said.
"W
ell
done." Buddy chuckled.
"That's sick," Sheila muttered
Lou reached to the lamp table for his drink. He picked
it up. The cold, wet glass was slick in his
sticky fingers. He thought about Maureen sucking his
fingers clean, but the idea of it didn't turn him
on. This damn talk about Lisa and
Chidi.
Maureen was still bent over, huffing for breath.
'i sure hope Lisa's all right," Buddy said.
He looked at Cyndi. "You said she's
babysitting tonight?"8allyeah."
"You wouldn't know where, would you?"
"Oh, sure. They live just down the block from me.
The Foxworths. That's where she is."
"I think I'll give her a call and check up
on her." "She isn't interested in you," Sheila
said.
"Oh, don't be too sure about that." He grabbed
the back of Maureen's neck and pushed, using it like
a handle to help himself off the sofa, shoving her down
hard against her thighs. "Keep a sharp eye on my
RAINY
NIGHT
honey, folks. But no feelies. That means you,
too, Sheila." He winked at her.
She gave him the finger.
That's twice in one night, Lou thought. She's
sure getting brave with Buddy. Any braver, and
she would probably get herself stomped.
Buddy laughed and strode out of the room. Lou finished
his vodka.
"Don't you gals need to use the powder room?"
Doug asked.
"Take a leap," Cyndi told him.
"I think we've all got to stand up to Buddy,"
Sheila said. "We shouldn't just sit here and let him
do things to this woman. It's horrible."
Maureen raised her face. She looked at
Sheila. "Thanks," she murmured.
"You shut up," Cyndi said.
"Lou!" Buddy called. The faint voice came from
far away. "Get in here, would you? Lisa wants
to talk to you."
Lou's heart thumped. He felt as if he were
falling. But he got up from the chair. On wobbly
legs, he stepped past Sheila and headed for the
kitchen.
What does she want to talk to me for? It
doesn't make sense.
Thanks a lot for murdering Maxwell, you fucking
bastard.
I didn't kill him. It was Buddy. What's
going on?
He entered the kitchen. Buddy was standing by the wall
extension. But he didn't hold the phone. It was
LA
YMON
hanging where it belonged. Buddy had the directory
open in his hands.
Did she hang up?" Lou asked.
I didn't call her, numbnuts. Are you
kidding?" Thank God.
What's going on?"
Checking out the address. We're gonna pay the
cunt a visit."
What?" Are you deaf or just stupid?"
"What do you mean, pay her a visit?"
I been thinking about her all day, man. Sooner or
later, she's gonna lose it and squeal on us."
Yeah. I think she might."
You, me and Doug are gonna go over and take care
of her. It's perfect, man. We tell the gals
we're all done messing with Maureen and want
to take her back to her place. They'll be glad
to get rid of her, you know? They're both so fucking
jealous you can taste it. We leave them here. They'll
be our alibi, you know?"
I'm not so sure Sheila'll lie for us."
Don't worry about that, man. She'll do whatever
we say."
"So we leave them here and take Maureen
with us?" "That's the idea."
"What'll we do with Maureen?"
"Anything we want. You're both aching for her."
Lou moaned. "You'll let us ... ?"
"Damn right. Then we'll dump her and drop in on
Lisa. Take care of her."
RAINY
NIGHT
"Kill her?"
"Don't worry, man. I'll do it."
Lou leaned back against the doorframe and stared at
Buddy.
He's gonna let me at Maureen.
"Then we'll all be in the clear. Neat, huh?"
"Wait. Wait. What about the rain?" "What about
itVery
"If we get wet. .
"So, we don't get wet. No big deal.
I've got umbrellas, raincoats. Go on
back and tell Doug to come here. Then keep an eye
on our babe. Those gals might let her get
away if they get the chance."
"This is wild," he muttered. His mind felt
numb. Buddy slapped him on the shoulder, and he
headed for the living room.
We can't do this, he thought.
But, oh, we sure will.
Trev, shaken by his talk with the stranger at
Maureen's house, pulled the plastic hood down
over his head and put on Patterson's hat.
The way she'd talked, it was obvious that she'd been
out in the rain. A crazy. A killer hoping for some
action. Hoping I'll come by so she can nail me.
LA
YMON
She might just get the chance, Trev thought. He
picked up the shotgun and made his way toward the
door.
She'd claimed there were no bodies in the house.
She could've been lying. But he wanted to believe
her. If Maureen wasn't dead in the house, then
she might still be alive. Either in the house, hiding,
or away somewhere.
So how do you play it? he wondered.
Maureen didn't seem like the kind of woman to run
and hide if she realized someone was breaking into her
house. Hell, no. She'd attack.
But who's to say the intruder went in alone? She
could've been with a whole gang. Just because she'd
claimed to be there by herself, lonesome ...
They jumped him as he stepped out onto the
sidewalk. One leaped onto his back and hooked
an arm around his throat. Another, a skinny naked
man, came in from the front driving a knife toward
his chest. He rammed the muzzle of his shotgun into the
knifeman's belly and pulled the trigger. As the
blast slammed the guy away, he pumped a fresh
shell into the chamber.
He pivoted, planning to ram backward against the
doorframe, and saw a third assailant, out of
sight until now because the damn hood killed his
peripheral vision. This one swung a baseball
bat at his face. He had no time to aim. He
tugged the trigger. The shotgun bucked. Its load
ripped through the man's upper arm, tore it away in
a mess of flying tissue and bone, and spun him.
RAINY
NIGHT
Staggering beneath the weight on his back, Trev turned
in a full circle to make sure there were no others.
None. Then he went blind as the arm across his throat
jerked sideways, shifting the plastic bag and
sliding the eyeholes away from his eyes.
He stumbled backward. Struck something that made the
person on his back grunt. Sounded like a
woman. Probably is a woman, he thought. Not
much force in the choke hold. More like she was just trying
to hold on and ride him.
He took a step forward, then threw himself back
hard, pounding her against the obstruction. This time, the
impact brought more than a grunt. She cried out in
pain. The pressure on Trev's throat eased.
Reaching up with his left hand, he yanked the arm
away. She slid down his back. He pulled her
sideways just enough to give himself a target, then shot his
elbow into her body. A good solid blow that pounded the
air out of her. He felt her start to slump,
trapped between his back and the wall or whatever it was that
he'd battered her against.
Lurching away from her, Trev adjusted his mask
until he found the eyeholes. He was standing over the
man who'd come at him with the knife. The guy wore
sneakers. He had a cave just above his groin.
Trev pumped the shotgun. As he started to swing
around, he saw a man standing by the curb, trying to fit
his severed arm onto the gushing stump below his shoulder.
Trev blasted him in the chest. The guy
LA
YMON
flopped backward and slammed against the
side of a parked car.
He whirled toward the woman.
She was on her rump, legs stretched out, back
against the doorframe of O'Casey's. Her arms were
folded across her belly and she was gasping for air.
She gleamed black in the light from the restaurant.
Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her pained grimace
showed the white of her teeth.
Trev pumped the shotgun and aimed at her face.
A kid. She looked no older than fifteen or
sixteen. Her bangs were pasted to her forehead. She
wore a
jumper over a blouse with a frilly collar. Her
sodden, pleated skirt clung to her thighs. She
wore knee socks and loafers.
Kid or not, Trev thought, she's a killer now.
If I don't shoot her, she'll go on her merry
way and maybe nail someone.
Tie her up, leave her in O'Casey's?
He didn't want to waste the time. Besides, she
might get loose and end up hunting for victims
again. Or other crazies might find her and kill
her.
Do they kill their own?
They'd either kill her or set her free.
"Come on," he said. Crouching, he grabbed the
girl's wrist and dragged her to her feet. She
tried to pull away. He tugged and she stumbled
forward. With a growl, she drove her head into his
stomach. Trev brought his knee up. She folded and
dropped. "Now
stop it!
I want to help you."
He reached down. He clutched the black rope of
RAINY
NIGHT
her pony tail and pulled, trying not to hurt her but
applying enough force to give her the message. She
stood up. Left hand gripping the pony tail, right
hand pressing the shotgun to her spine, he guided her
toward the alley.
"J
ust stay cool
,"
he said.
"y
ou'll be all right. Just keep walking. You'll be
fine
."
He hoped nobody was coming up behind him.
Only once did the girl try to struggle free.
Trev yanked her hair back and jabbed the muzzle
into her back, and she yelped and settled down.
"I
t's OK
,"
he told her.
"I
t's OK. We're almost there
."
He swung her into the alley. The car was there, and he
heard the rain drumming on it as he pushed the girl
closer to its rear.
"G
et down
,"
he said.
She tried to turn around, so he tugged her pony
tail. She went to her knees. He nudged her with
his knee until she turned sideways. Then he
forced her down onto the pavement. He stepped over
her. With a foot on her rump to keep her from getting
up, he propped his shotgun against the bumper. He
dug out his keys and unlocked the trunk.
He straddled her, jammed his hands under her
armpits, and picked her up. The girl squirmed.
She
kicked backward, the heel of her shoe striking his
shin.
"D
amn itff8he gasped, and shoved her headfirst into the
trunk. Then he slipped a hand under her skirt,
clutched the side of her right thigh, and swung her
legs up and over the side. She tumbled into the dark
trunk. He slammed the lid.
LW
LA
YMON
Picking up his shotgun, he hurried to the driver's
door. Francine unlocked it for him. He
climbed in, jerked the door shut, and locked it.
"Everything OK?" he asked.
"What happened?" Francine asked. "What did
you put in the trunk?"
"A girl."
"One of
them
?"
"Yeah. Just a kid."
"You're taking her
with
us?" "It was either that or kill her." "You should've
killed her."
"I told you, she's just a kid. She didn't ask
for any of this. She's a victim, same as everyone
else."
"She's one of
them!"
"She's one of us, now." "Great. Just great."
"We heard some shots," Lisa said.
Trev poked his key into the ignition and started the car.
He turned on the headlights. "That was me. Three
of them tried to nail me when I came out of
O'Casey's."
"Are you all right?" Lisa asked him. "I had
to drop a couple."
"And bring one along," Francine muttered. "They
didn't hurt you?"
"I'm fine." He started backing the car out of the
alley.
"Did you find the address?" Lisa asked.
"Yeah, I got it." Eyes on the rearview
mirror, he swung the car onto Third Street.
He started forward.
RAINY
NIGHT
Heading north. Toward Chidi's house. But also
toward the home of Liam O'Casey, where a
strange woman had answered the phone.
Both on the north side of town. Chidi's house
a couple of miles closer.
Trev knew what he ought to do -- hit Chidi's
first. See if the grandfather's playing with magic. More
important to stop the rain than to bust into Liam's
on the chance Maureen might be there.
But if he could save Maureen . . .
You've got a few miles to go before you have to make up
your mind, he told himself.
He told himself that. He already knew his first stop would
be Liam's house.
Following John's instructions, Steve brought the people
from the cocktail lounge into the entryway, where they
joined the restaurant staff gathered
by
Cassy, and John's group from the dining room.
John stood with his back to the double doors. For the
moment, nobody was pounding on them. The only pounding
was inside his head. He rubbed the lump on his brow.
He hoped the aspirin would kick in soon.
"I
think everyone's here
."
Cassy told him.
LA
YMON
"OK," he muttered. Then he raised his voice.
"Could I have your attention, please?"
The murmuring faded.
"We need to get organized, here. You're
probably all aware that a guy broke through a
window a few minutes ago and killed Mrs
Benton. Well, apparently there's quite a crowd
outside."
"Just how many are we talking about?" asked a stocky,
florid man near the front of the group.
"Steve?" "I just took a quick look out the window,"
Steve said. "I didn't have time to make an
accurate head count, but I'd guess anywhere from
twenty to thirty."
"Oh, dear God," a woman muttered.
Other people moaned, shook their heads, moved closer
to their spouses or friends, whispered.
"They were scattered along the sidewalk in front,"
Steve went on. "There was a pretty good bunch right
outside the doors."
"Why are they doing this?" asked Tina. Her boyfriend
Andy squeezed her shoulder.
"They're after the fine cuisine," said a small guy
in a plaidjacket.
"This is no time for levity," Dr Goodman
pointed out. "Levity in the face of disaster is a
hallmark of the American character."
"Oh, shut up," said a woman John figured
must be the guy's wife.
"They're outside," Cassy said, 'because they want
to come in and kill us. That's pretty obvious,
isn't it?" "But why?" from Tina.
RAINY
NIGHT
"It doesn't matter why
."
John said.
"I
'm sure it has something to do with the black rain. But
that's not our concern, right now. What we need to do is
get organized so we can protect ourselves
."
"H
ey
."
said a big guy with a beer mug in his hand.
"W
ho died and made you king shit
?"
"I
t's all yours
,"
John told him.
"y
out can be king shit
."
The guy sneered.
"y
out trying to
be
a wiseguy
?"
"I'm totally serious. You take over.
I
don't want this, anyway
."
Cassy frowned at him.
"H
ey, John, come on
."
"I
don't even want to be here, much less be the guy
giving orders. Let macho man
. .
"L
ook, buddy.
.
."
"H
ey,
shove it
,"
Lynn told him.
"I
f
we waste time arguing, those jerks are going to break in
and God only knows what'll happen to us. So just
shut up and listen to John. We've got to have a
leader and
I
don't know most of you people, but
I
know my John and he's the man for it
."
John looked at her. He felt a
swell of pride at the way she was taking on the
bastard, but he wished she would shut up. He
didn't
want
to be the leader. The only reason he'd gotten
involved was because someone had to take control fast and
nobody else was doing it.
"G
imme a break, lady
,"
the guy said.
"I
know who he is. He's the
fuckin" painter
."
I'm not so anonymous after all, he thought.
"y
es, he's a painter
."
Lynn said.
"H
e's an
artist
."
LA
YMON
"W
e want a pansy artist running the show
?"
"H
e also served two tours in Vietnam
,"
Lynn said.
"A
nd he holds a third degree black belt in
Karate
."
Thanks a lot, John thought.
But the guy who'd called him a pansy grew a
sickly smile and took a step backward.
Everyone stared at John.
Now they think I'm a miracle worker. Really
appreciate it, Lynn.
"O
K
,"
he said.
"I
see that quite a few of us already have weapons. After we
break up here, I want everyone to get a
knife
."
"S
ome of you got them with your dinner
,"
Cassy added.
"W
e'll bring more out from the kitchen in just a minute
."
"W
e should also make ourselves some clubs
,"
John said.
"L
egs from tables and chairs, maybe.
A
good blow to the head'll put a man out in record time
."
"H
ow about putting knives on the ends of the clubs
?"
Andy suggested.
"W
hatever you can think of. Use your imaginations. Just
put together the meanest weapons possible
."
"W
hat've
they
got
?"
asked the red-faced man who'd asked about their
numbers.
"S
ome of them must've gotten into a hardware store
,"
Steve said.
"H
andyman's down at the end of the block
,"
Dr Goodman said.
"F
igures.
I
only took a glimpse, but
I
saw knives, tire irons, hammers, hatchets
and axes
."
RAINY
NIGHT
A woman let out a quiet whimper. There were
moans from several others, including men.
"I want us to split up into groups," John said.
"Cassy's told me that the rear door opens out
into the alley. It has no handle on the alley
side, it's a solid door and it's locked. Our
main areas of vulnerability are the windows and the
front doors here.
"I want a group of men at the doors with me.
Steve. You," he said, nodding at the man who'd
called him a pansy. "Y." He indicated an
oriental wearing a chers floppy cap and holding a
meat cleaver. "And you two," he said, giving the nod
to a pair of husky men from the cocktail lounge.
"OK. The rest of you, form into two groups. One
group will be stationed in the bar area, one in the dining
room. Your job is to watch the windows. Anyone
tries to break in, deal with him. Or her. Don't
let it stop you if the invader's a female.
Remember, it was a woman who killed Chester
Benton."
"Equal opportunity maniacs," said the guy who
believed in levity.
"If there's any kind of concerted
assault, just call out and the rest of us'll come over
to reinforce you. Any questions?"
"What about getting out of here?" "Yeah. Some of us have
kids at home."
"So do I," John said. "But we won't do our
kids any good if we get killed."
"Won't do "em any good staying here, either."
"If you want to leave," John said, '; my
guest. But you've got a street full of
bloodthirsty nuts outside,
LA
YMON
I
and the rain. From all appearances, the rain'll turn you
into one of them. But if you want to risk it, go on
ahead. It's pretty clear to me that we stand the best
chance by sticking together in here and holding down the fort."
"They come in here with axes and shit, we're dead
meat."
"Yeah, what if they overrun us?"
Overrun.
The word sent a shock of cold through John.
"We're not going to let that happen," he said, trying
to keep his voice steady.
"Yeah, and how do we stop it? All they
gotta do is bash in the doors, thirty of 'em coming
pouring in with their damn hardware. We won't stand a
chance in hell."
"What'll we do then?" a woman blurted.
"We're all gonna die," Tina muttered.
John saw panic spreading through the group like a
brush fire on a windy day. Eyes widened.
Faces blanched. Tina and another woman began
to sob. A small, long-haired man near the back
whirled around and ran off into the cocktail lounge.
Men and women hugged each other and spoke in low,
urgent tones.
As if sharing a silent cue, Lynn and Cassy
both raised their arms at once.
"Please," Cassy called out.
"Everyone just calm down," Lynn snapped.
"We'll be all right." As the group quieted down,
she looked at John. "Tell them, honey."
Fighting his own fear, he lifted his voice. "The
guy's
RAINY
NIGHT
right. If we're overrun, we're in deep
trouble." "John!" Lynn gasped.
"So we have to make sure that doesn't
happen." "Good plan," said the humorist.
"I do have a plan," John said. "First we arm
ourselves and take our positions. Like I told you, my
group mans the doors. Then we let 'em in."
"What
?"
"He's flipped."
"That's the craziest damn thing I ever heard."
"We let 'em in
one at a time
."
"Oh, right. Sure."
"One at a time, two if we can't help it.
Yank 'em in, slam the door on the rest, take
care of the ones we've got. Put 'em out of
commission one at a time, thin out their force."
Lynn squeezed his arm. Cassy frowned at him,
nodding, her lips a tight line. Steve shook his
head. "That
is
crazy," he said. "Let's do it."
"What's the deal with Lisa?" Cyndi asked when
Buddy and Doug came back into the room.
"She's just fine." Buddy said. "Wants me
to take her out tomorrow night. That's if things
are back to normal with the rain."
LA
YMON
I
"Has she had any trouble?" Sheila asked.
"Nope."
"Maybe everyone else is OK." Lou said.
"Maybe it wasn't the rain that made Maureen do
that."
"It was the rain," Maureen said.
"Why don't we turn on the TV and see if
there're any reports about itea8Lou said.
"Feel free."
He got up from his chair, went to the television and
turned it on.
Buddy sat down beside Maureen. She stiffened as he
reached toward her. But he frowned and drew back his
hand. Looking from Cyndi to Sheila, he shook his
head. "I guess I didn't realize how much I
still ... care for Lisa."
"Yeah," Sheila said. "You've really been
acting like
you care for her."
"I know," he muttered. "I know. I feel like a
... apig." He met Maureen's
eyes. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about
all this, about everything. I just don't know what got
into me." He contorted his face to show his misery. This
is all a damned act, she thought.
"At least you had an excuse for your behavior,"
he said. "The rain got you. You couldn't help what
you did. I just ... I feel awful. Can you forgive
me?"
Maureen said, "I forgive you." What's going on?
she wondered.
Lou, squatting in front of the television, flicked
from channel to channel with the volume low.
Buddy turned and looked at the others. "I'm going
to take her home."
RAINY
NIGHT
"You're kidding, right?" Cyndi asked. "No,
I'm totally serious."
"You idiot, you raped her. You can't just let her
go."
"I won't tell," Maureen said.
I I believe her," Buddy said. "She tried
to kill me.8To Maureen, he said, "We're even,
right?"
"Yeah." "You're out of your gourd,"
Cyndi told him.
"I'm all for it," Sheila said. "I think he
should
take her home."
"It'll be risky," Buddy said. "But it's the right
thing to do."
"Since when have you cared?" Sheila said.
"I never should've . . . messed with her. Talking
to Lisa just now ... God, I've never felt so
rotten." He glanced from Doug to Lou. "You
guys'll come with me, won't you?"
Maureen's stomach went cold. "Now hold on,"
Sheila said.
Lou turned off the television. "Nothing," he said.
"Just the regular shows."
"So, you in with me?" Buddy asked him. "You mean,
taking Maureen home?" "Yeah."
"Sure." "I don't know," Doug said. "We
shouldn't leave the gals here alone."
"They'll be a lot safer here." Buddy pointed out.
"We don't know what's going on in the streets.
That's why I want you two along with me -- in
case we run
LA
YMON
into trouble between here and Maureen's place." "Just put
her out the door," Cyndi said. "Good idea,"
Sheila said.
"I can't do that." He gave Maureen a miserable,
guilty look. "I owe her. After all this, the least
I can do is make sure she gets safely
home."
"What're you trying to pull88Cyndi asked.
"I'm not an animal, for godsake. I feel
bad, OK?"8ALLYEAH, sure."
"I think it's the right thing to do," Lou said. He
turned his eyes to Sheila. "Don't you think so?"
"I guess. But what about me and Cyn?"
"You'll be fine here," Buddy said. "We'll be
back before you know it."
"This really sucks," Cyndi muttered.
"What kind of car do you have88Buddy asked
Maureen.
"A Jeep -- A Cherokee."
"We'll have to take that. My folks went off in the
BMW, and we can't all fit in the Austin. Where's
the Jeep, out front?"
She nodded.
"Do you have the keys?"
"No." She rubbed her face, and tried
to remember what she'd done with them.
In my coat pocket.
She'd taken off the coat, thrown it down on the
front lawn just after the rain got her.
"You can't even get to her Jeep." Sheila said.
"You'll get wet."
"I'll cover up and go after it," Buddy told her.
"I'll
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
pull it into the garage. That way, they won't have
to worry about the rain."
"You have it all figured out, huh?" Cyndi said.
She gave Maureen a sweet smile. "And
guess what happens to you, cutie, when the three of
them get you alone."
Maureen didn't need the hint. She'd already
figured it out -- "I trust them," she said.
"We're not going to lay a finger on her," Buddy
protested.
"Who's talking about fingers?"
"I
'm
not gonna touch her," Lou said, giving Sheila a
solemn look.
"Me neither," Doug said.
"If you do," Cyndi told him, "I'll know it.
I'm gonna check you out when you get back."
He laughed. "Is that a promise?"
"Damn right. And if you think I won't know the
difference, man, you've got another think coming."
"Jeez, can't wait."
"If they try anything," Buddy said, "I'll bust
their heads."
"Yeah, sure."
"I left the car keys in the ignition," Maureen
said. "Thanks." He slapped her thigh, but not very
hard. Then he got up and hurried from the room.
Maureen saw Doug and Lou exchange glances.
She heard quick thuds as Buddy raced upstairs.
Doug slipped an arm around Cyndi's back.
"How's about a little something for the road?" he asked, and
pulled her closer.
LA
YMON
"G
et real. I'm sure I'm gonna get you all
turned on and then you go off with
her
."
"O
h, come on. Be nice
."
"W
e'll see about being nice. When you get back
."
"P
lease
?"
He put a hand on her breast. She shoved it
away.
"C
ome on. There's no telling what might happen
to me out there
."
"I
know what better not happen
."
"W
e could all get killed
."
"W
ouldn't
that
be too bad
."
"I
f
it's that dangerous
,"
Sheila said, 'y shouldn't go
."
She faced Lou.
"I
don't think
I
want you going out there
."
"W
e'll be careful
."
"H
e doesn't want to miss his chance at Miss
Pizza Pussy
,"
Cyndi said.
"T
hat's not true
,"
he snapped.
Sheila stared at him.
"I
f
you do fool around with her, you can just forget about me.
I
mean it.
I
won't have anything to do with you. Ever
."
"I
promise. We're just going to drive her home.
Honest.
I
don't even
want
to go. But
I
have to. They'll need me if there's trouble
."
Maureen heard Buddy rushing down the stairs. Her
heartbeat quickened. It pounded so hard that she felt
sick. Her lungs seemed tight, constricted. She
couldn't bring in enough air to
fill
them. Her hands, pressed tight against her thighs, were
wet and cold.
Take it easy, she told herself. Don't let them
suspect anything.
Buddy came into the living room. He wore a
black
RAINY
NIGHT
raincoat, heavy gloves of red leather that looked as
if they were designed for snow skiing, and rubber boots
that reached nearly to his knees. In one hand was an
umbrella. He was grinning. "This oughta do the
trick, huh?"
"Haven't you got anything for us?" Doug asked.
"What for? No need for anyone to leave the car
except Maureen." He looked at her. "You can
use this stuff when you go to your house."
She nodded. She knew it was a lie, like everything
else he'd been saying. When they finished with her,
they would just throw her out.
They won't get me
in,
she told herself.
"OK," Buddy said. "You folks can take her out
to the garage and open the door for me. I'll be with you
in a minute."
That's about how long I've got, Maureen
thought. About a minute before he gets to the Jeep,
sees that the keys aren't there, and comes running back.
She got up from the sofa, "Be careful," she said,
and squeezed Buddy's arm through the slicker.
"Don't get wet."
He looked a little surprised. He smiled.
Maureen held onto his arm, and they walked together,
the others close behind. When they reached the foyer, she
released his arm and stepped away. He opened the
umbrella. He raised it overhead, pulled the
door wide, and said, "Here goes nothing."
"Don't get any on you," Doug warned.
Buddy's smile looked a little nervous. "No
way," he said. Then he stepped out.

arl
LA
YMON
Maureen swung the door shut and locked it. She
snatched up the dangling guard chain and fitted it
into the slot before a hand yanked her arm away and spun
her around.
"What the hell are you. Cyndi blurted.
Maureen's fist crushed her nose. Cyndi
stumbled backward, crying out, clutching her
face. She bumped into Sheila. They both staggered
away, Sheila grabbing the girl to keep her from
falling. "Guys!" Sheila cried out.
Lou stood there with his eyes wide, his mouth hanging
open. Doug hurled himself forward, slamming
Maureen's back against the door. As her breath
blasted out, she wrapped her arms around him. She
squeezed him tight against her body. He
squirmed, trying to get loose. Until her mouth
found his lips. She kissed him hard. His mouth
opened. She thrust her tongue in. Then he was
moaning.
"Doug!" Lou shouted.
"Look what she's
doing
to was
Sheila cried out. Maureen let go of Doug and
pulled her shirt up. His hands went to her breasts.
"Make her stop!"
As Doug's greasy hands groped her breasts,
Maureen tugged open his belt.
"Oh, my God," Lou muttered. "Lou!"
She unfastened the button at Doug's waist,
pulled his zipper down.
"Stop her, damn itVery
She slipped her hand down the front of his under-
RAINY
NIGHT
wear, curled her fingers around him. Gently stroking,
she eased her mouth away. Doug, writhing, sucked
the side of her neck. "Lou." she gasped. "I
want you, too. Now. Quick."
"Don't you ... to "Sheila let go of Cyndi and
grabbed Lou's arm. While Cyndi sank to her
knees, Lou shoved Sheila hard. "You
bastardff8she shrieked.
Lou came forward. He was gasping, his face
scarlet.
Maureen held Doug's penis with one hand. With the
other, she pushed his pants down around his thighs.
"On your knees, honey," she gasped. "On your
knees."
"Buddy'll kill youff8Sheila blurted.
Cyndi looked up, but didn't move. She just
knelt there, bloody hands cupped to her nose,
eyes blinking.
Lou came in from the side as Doug, on his knees,
pulled Maureen's shorts down. She took
Lou's hands and pressed them to her breasts. They
stayed there, fondling her. She felt
Doug's mouth between her legs. With a hand behind Lou's
head, she drew his face to hers. She kissed him.
Sheila, letting out a wild squeal, launched herself
at Lou. She yanked his hair, pulling him away.
Lou whirled around, swinging at her.
Maureen shot her knee up.
It caught Doug under the chin, hurling him backward.
Lou's fist missed Sheila's chin. She plowed
into him, driving him back, snatching his hair again with
LA
YMON
one hand. As Sheila's other hand raked his cheek,
Maureen yanked her shorts up and leaped over
Doug's sprawled body. He grabbed her foot,
but she jerked it free.
She ran.
Ran from the foyer, through the dining room, into the kitchen.
Heard nobody in pursuit. Snagged the door
latch down.
Tugged open the sliding glass door and rushed
outside into the rain.
"You bastard! You bastard!" Sheila cried, driving
Lou back to the wall as she punched him and clawed
him and tore at his hair.
"Stop itff8He caught one of her hands.
The other punched his cheek. "She's getting away!"
"You bastard!"
Then Doug was behind Sheila, throwing his arms around her,
hurling her aside. She tripped over her feet and
hit the floor hard.
"Buddy's gonna kill us!" Doug yelled as they
raced for the kitchen.
"We'll get her," Lou gasped. "We'd
better!"
RAINY
NIGHT
were screwed, Lou thought. The bitch! Made me do that
right in front of Sheila.
He knew Sheila was done with him. All
Maureen's fault. And Buddy would go ape when he
found out they'd let her get away.
She hasn't gotten away yet!
In the kitchen, Lou saw the open door just as Doug
lurched to a stop.
She went out?
Maybe a trick.
Lou haked beside Doug. They both scanned the
kitchen. No Maureen. No spaces where she
might be crouched, hiding. No cupboard or
pantry doors that looked large enough to conceal
a person.
Their eyes met.
"We've gotta get her," Lou gasped.
"Here goes nothing." Doug rushed outside, Lou
at his back.
The warm rain splashed Lou's face, tingled against his
scalp, soaked his clothes. And he realized he'd
been foolish to fear it. There was nothing bad about this
rain. It felt great. He spread out his arms and
tilted back his head, moaning as a strange
excitement pulsed through his body.
He ached with desire.
For a moment, he didn't know what he desired.
Then it came to him.
His head snapped down and he grinned at Doug.
Doug, already turning, rushed him. Grinning, too.
Teeth white in his black face. Doug dropped
low. He
LA
YMON
drove his head into Lou's stomach. As Lou's breath
exploded out, he glimpsed Maureen.
Someone, anyway.
The black smudge of a head that seemed to be
floating on the surface of Buddy's
swimming pool several yards away.
But he didn't care. He cared only about the pain
in his belly, the hot desire pounding through his blood.
His chin hit Doug's back, crashing his teeth together.
He was carried backward and down. As his rump
struck the patio's concrete, he grabbed Doug's
sides. The momentum slammed him down, but he
kept his grip on Doug and the boy tumbled over him,
landing on him, mashing his face. His teeth clamped
down on the seat of Doug's jeans. Felt flesh
under the heavy fabric. He bit hard and Doug
yelped and flinched.
He tried to catch Doug's head between his thighs.
Got it for an instant. But the head twisted free.
He spread his legs, hoping to scissor it again, but
the head dropped and struck his groin.
Pain blasted his body.
Through the daze of agony, he realized that Doug had
scurried off him. He rolled onto his side,
clutching his genitals and curling up.
RAINY
NIGHT
Maureen, watching from the middle of the pool, wanted
to join in.
Rip them up. Tear their flesh. Lap up
their blood. Yes!
She slipped beneath the surface and swam for the side and
thought,
Am
I
nuts?
They're at each other. This is my chance to get
away.
Her urge to savage the two boys was gone, leaving
her with a heavy feeling of repugnance.
How could I even
consider
... his The rain.
Oh, Jesus.
The black, warm rain. It had soaked her when she
dashed from the house, and she remembered how she'd
suddenly wanted to turn around and rush back inside
and kill them all. But she'd been moving too fast
to halt herself before plunging into the backyard pool. The
water had engulfed her, and the urge had passed. It
had returned when she stood up and watched the boys
come out.
The same vicious impulses would take hold again
if she came up for air.
Some rain on my head, I'll be just like
them. Staying underwater, Maureen turned herself around.
She breast-stroked for the middle of the pool, angling
downward, fighting her buoyancy that was like a
balloon in her chest trying to lift her to the
surface.
W
LA
YMON
Gotta stay down!
Her lungs burned. They seemed to be squeezing
themselves tight, wanting to force her breath out to get
ready for fresh air.
Maureen let the breath slip from her mouth. As she
felt herself begin to sink, she tugged the baggy gym
shorts down her legs and off. -
She draped them over her head.
She guided herself slowly upward and broke the
surface, the shorts hanging like a big, floppy
hat. She sucked air into her lungs.
She was facing the deep end of the pool. And the diving
board.
She slipped beneath the water, caught the sodden rag as
it started to drift away, and swam for the board. She
needed to get under it. There, she might be able to breathe
without the rain touching her, making her crazy.
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.
RAINY
NIGHT
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 hurting, 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
LA
YMON
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.
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.
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
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.
"H
ey, pal, let me in
."
"B
usy
to was
Lou cried out.
"H
ey
to was
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.
LA
YMON
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.
RAINY
NIGHT
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. "Noff8he
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.
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
LA
YMON
I
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."
RAINY
NIGHT
"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 itVery
"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,
LA
YMON
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 fell
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."
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
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 ruckcd
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.
LA
YMON
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.
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.
RAINY
NIGHT
"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."
6wwrw
LA
YMON
"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 goff8Buddy snapped. "Shit."
"You dorks let Maureen get away. Now,
come on
to was
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
RAINY
NIGHT
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?"
LA
YMON
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 horror.
What have we done!
He burst to the surface screaming.
The warm fingers of the rain tapped his face, entered his
mouth, and his scream twisted into laughter.
"What's so funny?" Doug wanted to know.
"Everything's beautiful."
"It'll be beautiful if we find her." "I call
first tibbies."
"Bullshit." "Hey, you got Cyndi and Bud
got Sheila. It's my turn."
"Whoever finds her first," Doug said.
Turning away, he called in a sing-song,
"You-whooooo, Maureeeeen. Where
arrrre
youuuuuu?" Lou scanned the dark surface.
No Maureen. Could she hold her breath this long?
he wondered. What if she'd drowned? Better for
her to drown than get away. But the idea pulled
at him with disappointment. He wanted her alive.
He wanted to make her blood burst out. He
wanted to bury himself in her hot gore.
RAINY
NIGHT
Lights suddenly pushed away the darkness around the
pool. Peering through the black shower, Lou saw
Buddy by the switch panel at the rear of the house.
Then the pool lights came on. Instead of the
brilliant shimmering blue that Lou remembered from
summer night parties, the water looked murky. Like
used dishwater. Its surface, calm except for
ruffles set in motion by Doug swimming toward the
deep end, was spickled with tiny geysers spashed up
by the raindrops.
Lou turned in a slow circle, scanning the
depths. Though the water was cloudy with gray, he could
see the bottom. At least at the shallow
end. When he studied the other end, he realized he
couldn't make out the drain at the deepest point. So
the gloom obscured the very bottom.
Maureen couldn't be that far down, he thought. Not if
she's alive.
And dead, wouldn't she float to the surface?
Doug stopped beneath the diving board, reached up and
grabbed its edge. "I don't think she's in here,"
he called to Lou.
"Me neither."
Buddy walked out to the end of the board and gazed down.
"You see her?" Doug asked.
Buddy shook his head. "Dive on down and check the
bottom."
"Thanks, but no thanks." "Do it. I
"You and the horse you rode in on. I went under a
minute ago and it scared the shit out of me."
LA
YMON
"Scared of the dark?"
"You wanta check the bottom, help yourself. Have
fun."
"Fuckin' woos."
"I don't think she's in here, anyway." Lou
called. "She must've climbed out and run
for it."
Shivering, he waded to the side of the pool. He
tossed his barbecue fork onto the concrete, then
boosted himself up. At once, the rain began to soothe
his chill. Twisting around, he sat on the edge and
scooted backward. He stretched out. The rain
poured down on him, caressing away the cold from the
pool, melting his goosebumps, covering him like a
warm blanket. He shut his eyes and opened his
mouth.
It felt so good.
He didn't want to move.
His drifting mind imagined that the rain was blood.
Maureen's blood. She was suspended above him,
maybe in some kind of a harness that held her
horizontal over the ground. She was naked and
sobbing. Blood poured from wounds all over her
body. Blood from her face spilled onto Lou's
face. Blood from the severed stub of her tongue
dripped into Lou's mouth. Blood from her breasts
splashed against his chest. From her vagina came the
blood that pattered the front of his pants and soaked
through, hot against his groin. He imagined the harness
lowering her slowly. Closer and closer. Soon, she
would be on him.
"Get off your ass!" Buddy shouted. "Doug, get
RAINY
NIGHT
out of there. We gotta find that bitch and put her
down
."
Yanked from his fantasy, Lou groaned. But then he
realized it had only been make-believe. When we
find her, he thought, it can get real.

Trev steered up the driveway and stopped under the
carport.
"Do you want me to come with you?" Lisa asked. "I
know Maxwell's sister."
He shut off the lights and engine. "This isn't
Chidi's house."
"What?" "it belongs to the man who ran the pizza
parlor. I've got to see if his daughter's here."
"Oh, for godsake," Francine muttered.
"I won't be long. Sit tight." He opened the
car door, then hesitated, wondering whether he should
leave the key in the ignition. A crazy woman had
answered the phone. She might still be inside. She
might not be alone. If something should happen to him ...
But if he left the key, Francine
might just drive away.
"What is itVery Lisa asked.
"Nothing. You two keep your eyes open. Don't
be
LA
YMON
afraid to use those guns if there's trouble." He
pulled out the ignition key. Then he dragged the
shotgun across his lap. He climbed out, locked the
door, and shut it.
As he stepped past the rear of his car, he heard
thumping from the trunk. His prisoner. He wondered
if she had enough air.
Don't want her to suffocate, he thought.
So he propped the shotgun against the bumper and
unlocked the trunk. The lid sprang up, shoved
by the girl. "HeyPeople he yelled as she scurried
to her knees. "Get down!"
She snarled. Before she could leap, his fist caught the
point of her chin. Her arms flew out. Her head
snapped back and rang against the underside of the trunk
lid. As she started to slump away from him, he
reached in. With both hands, he grabbed the shoulder
straps of her jumper. He tugged her forward and down
so the lid wouldn't hit her, then slammed it
shut.
"Damn!" he gasped. He struggled for air.
Just trying to be a nice guy, and she goes for me!
He felt angry and betrayed, but mostly he felt
scared.
As if he'd offered a nice chunk of meat to a
stray dog, and the damn thing had turned into Cujo.
Should've expected it, he told himself. He picked
up the shotgun. Consider it a lesson. Don't
trust anyone, and watch your ass or they'll take
it apart for you.
Still shaken by the encounter, Trev stepped around
RAINY
NIGHT
to the passenger side of his car. He climbed two
stairs, tried the knob of the house door, then peered
through the glass.
Liam's kitchen. Its lights were on. He saw
no one, alive or dead.
On the table were Liam's salt and pepper shakers.
China Leprechauns. Trev's throat went
tight. He'd spent a lot of time at that table,
drinking Guinness and laughing with Liam and Mary.
They'd seemed a bit like leprechauns, themselves.
Full of blarney and mischief. They never
tired of joking about themselves, a couple of folks from
County Kerry coming to the States and opening a
pizzaria.
Sure, 'n there's no accounting for the whims of a
Kerryman.
Trev's vision went blurry. He blinked his
eyes clear, then stepped down to the driveway.
If the woman who'd answered the phone claiming
to be Maureen wasn't a guest, she'd broken
into the house. Better to find where she entered, and go in
that way, than to smash through a door or window.
Keeping his shotgun ready, Trev passed the
bushes at the corner of the house. He looked over
the low stucco wall of the porch. The front door --
what remained of it -- was shut. Light spilled out
through a ragged gap above the handle.
Someone had bashed through the door.
Trev pictured a wild, axe-wielding woman
bursting into the house, going after Maureen.
She would've had some warning, though. All that noise.
Maybe she got out in time. If she was inside, at
all. And if she didn't try to defend the place.
LA
YMON
At the door, Trev crouched and peered through
the gap. The living room lights were on. He
didn't see anyone. On the carpet just inside were
dark water drops and footprints, but they faded
away after the intruder had gone a short distance.
Only one set of footprints. Made by sneakers.
Large for the shoes of a woman, but it had been a
woman who answered the phone.
A big gal. But apparently alone.
He tried the knob. It turned, and he eased the
door open until it met the wall. He stepped
into the house.
He closed the door. He pulled off his hat and
plastic hood, and dropped them to the floor. That was
a lot better. Now, his vision wasn't limited
to the eyeholes. The cool air felt good on his
face.
A few strides took him to the center of the living
room. The sofa, easy chairs, lamp tables and
television stand were flush against the walls. Nobody
could be hiding behind them. Nobody seemed to be lurking
in the corners. He saw no bulges in the window
curtains.
Trev moved slowly toward the dining room. The
chandelier above the table was dark. The only light was that
which spilled in from the living room. Stopping
in the archway, he sank to a crouch. He peered through
the bars of chair and table legs. Staying low, he
scanned the rest of the room. Nobody.
Over to his left, the kitchen door was shut. A
strip of light showed at the bottom. He had
checked the
kitchen from the door beside the Carport, but someone
might've entered after he'd headed for the front.
Leave it for last, he decided.
Beyond the kitchen door was the opening of the short
hallway that led to the two guest bedrooms and the
bathroom. The master bedroom was on the far side
of the table, just to the right. Its door stood open. It was
dark inside.
Trev rose from his crouch. He sidestepped
silently to the right. As he rounded the end of the table,
he could see down the hallway.
Dark. Except for a strip of light beneath the
bathroom door.
His breath hitched. His heart kicked.
Easy, he told himself. The light doesn't mean
she's in there. Go charging, she might just pop out of a
room and plant an axe in your head.
He crept to the doorway of the master bedroom. He
scanned the darkness. Nothing moved. All
he heard was his thudding heartbeat. Bracing the
shotgun with his left hand, he eased into the room and
elbowed the light switch. Lamps came on at
both sides of the bed. He studied the beige carpet
and found no water stains. To the right of where he stood,
the closet door was shut.
She might be in there. Or hiding at the far side
of the dresser or bed.
Probably in the bathroom, he thought. But this was no
time to take anything for granted.
Trev strode quickly forward, stepped up onto the
bed, and walked across it. The mattress was springy
LA
YMON
under his feet. The bed creaked a little, but he doubted
that the noise would carry beyond the room. Nobody beside
the dresser. Nobody hiding alongside the bed.
Turning around, he made sure the closet door was
still shut. Then he stepped down, knelt, lifted the
hanging coverlet, and checked the space beneath the
boxsprings. Suitcases. He let out a
trembling breath, then got to his feet.
Only the closet remained. He dreaded opening its
door. But he had no choice.
He stared at it as he made his way around
the end of the bed.
If the woman was in there, she'd probably heard
him walking on the bed. She might even be able to hear
his approach. Though his shoes were silent on the
carpet, the plastic bags encasing him in their slick
heat made crinkling sounds that might be picked up
by keen ears behind the door.
He imagined her waiting in the darkness, the axe
raised overhead.
He took a deep breath and held it. Reaching out,
he closed his hand around the knob. He clamped the
shotgun's stock tight against his side, hooked his
mittened fingertip over the trigger, jerked the door
open wide and leaped back.
Nobody lurched out at him.
He saw only rows of clothing on hangers.
Liam's shirts and pants along the right side,
Mary's blouses, slacks and dresses to the left.
Liam hadn't gotten rid of her things yet. Now,
he wouldn't have to.
RAINY
NIGHT
Shoes on the closet floor. Trev crouched
to make sure nobody was hiding among the hanging
garments.
And saw a pair of feet, legs bare to the knees
where they vanished behind curtains of clothes. His breath
shot out and he lurched backward. His calves
struck the bed. He dropped onto the mattress.
"You in there." His voice was high and shaking. "Come
out. Right now."
Silence from the closet.
What if it's
Maureen?
Maureen would've answered.
"Maureen?" he asked. No answer.
"OK, lady. Come out or I'll shoot."
"Trevor?"
A chill squirmed up his spine.
"Are you Trevor, the guy that called?" Whoever she
was, she sounded scared.
"I'm Trevor."
"You ... you're one of
them
."
"I pretended to be one of them when we talked.
I'm a police officer. Come out of there. Now."
"Did you get the stuff on you?" "No. But you
did."
"Yeah, but ... I don't wantcha
killing me." "Just come out."
Deep in the shadows of the closet, Mary's clothes
slid toward the front. Trev heard hangers
skidding on the rail. A woman squeezed her way
clear, stood up straight and faced him.
"Don't you shoot me, now."
LA
YMON
Trev got to his feet. He kept the shotgun
trained on her chest.
She stepped forward.
Trev let her stride through the doorway, then said,
"H
old it right there
."
"y
es sir
."
She halted and stared at him. She looked
terrified.
She was a big woman, just as her footprints had
indicated. Probably over six feet tall, with
broad shoulders. Her brown hair was matted down.
She looked to be in her mid-thirties.
A
pretty face, with hints of creases where they'd be
if she grinned and laughed a lot.
She wore a faded green bathrobe. Probably
Liam's. It was tight across her shoulders. The
sleeves ended well above her wrists. Her chest
wouldn't let the front close completely, but the
edges of the robe met at her waist where the cloth
belt was tied. The robe reached almost to her knees.
Trev saw no black on her skin.
"y
out came in from the rain
,"
he said.
"y
eah,
I
did. And I know what you're thinking. But
I
ain't one of them. Not any more
."
She didn't
seem
like one of them. But Trev kept his guard up and
kept the muzzle pointed at her chest. Her skin
looked pale and sleek between the lapels of the
robe.
"I
'm OK
,"
she said.
"H
onest
."
"y
out didn't sound OK when we talked on the phone
."
"W
ell,
I
weren't
OK then.
I
still had the black on
RAINY
NIGHT
me. But then I took me a bath and now I'm
OK."
He stared at her, confused. "What do you mean?"
-Well, it passed. You know? I just went real
wild when the rain got me. I was out for a
walk and the rain got me and Oust run around wild for a
spell. Ijust didn't know what to do with myself. Then
I got my hands on a hatchet out in a tool shed
and I busted in here. I gotta tell you, I was
all hot to bust some heads. I ain't in here but a
few minutes, and you called up. You said you'd come
on over, so I figured I'd knock
your
brains out." She frowned at Trev. She nibbled
her lower lip. "I'm right sorry about that. But it was
like I had a hoodoo on me. I wanted to bust your
head something fierce."
"But not now88Trev asked.
"Not after I got clean. I stripped down and took
me a hot shower. You know? The rain out there, it felt
so dam good. But I didn't want to go outside,
what with you coming over. So I figured the next best
thing'd be a hot shower. But it didn't feel the
same, at all. And before I know it, I don't
feel like bashing heads no more."
"The shower
cured
you?"
"Well, it's like I said. All that wild feeling just
leaked right out of me. All I felt then was
scared. So I come in here and hid."
"There's nobody else in the house?"
"I sure don't think so. I ain't seen
anybody but you." "Let's have a look. You go f
irst."
He followed her out of the room. "What's your name?"
he asked. "Sandy Hodges."
LA
YMON
"In there," he said. Sandy stepped into the first guest
room and turned on the light. "Stand over there and
don't move." She stepped to the far wall. She
watched while Trev searched. He found no
blood, no body. A woman's clothes were hanging
in the closet, and he supposed they must belong
to Maureen.
Where
are
you?
At least she wasn't in this room.
Nor was she in the next. The second guest room
had a convertible sofa that was still pulled out. Green
pajamas were wadded on top of the sheets. For a
moment, Trev wondered who'd been sleeping here.
Then he remembered that Liam had mentioned
using one of his spare rooms. The poor man hadn't
been able to sleep in his own bed since Mary's death.
"Are you OK?" Sandy asked.
He shook his head. "I knew the people who lived
here."
"Well, I hope they're OK." "Let's
check the bathroom."
She led the way, opening the door and stepping over the
damp, black clothes heaped on the floor: socks
draped over sneakers, corduroy pants, a
flannel shirt with panties and a bra on top.
A moist white towel hung from the shower curtain
rod. The tub was empty, its enamel still beaded here
and there with clear drops of water.
Trev leaned against a wall. He felt weak with
relief. She's not in the house. Sandy didn't
bash her head in. God knows, Maureen might be
dead or in bad trouble, but at least she isn't here.
She could be all right.
RAINY
NIGHT
-Where's your hatchet?" he asked. "Under my
duds," Sandy said.
Stepping away from the wall, he nudged the pile with
his shoe until he spotted the wooden
handle. "You'd better get dressed," he said.
Sandy raised her upper lip. "I can't put them
things on. They'll get me all dirty and I
might go wild again." He supposed that was true.
"You don't want to go out in that," he said.
"Well, I don't much wanta go out at all."
"I can't leave you here."
I I don't see why. . ."
"Maureen might come home." There was a roughness in
his voice that made Sandy draw her head back.
"Well, I wouldn't hurt her or nothing."
Softening his tone, he said, "I'm not going to leave a
stranger in her house. Besides, she might come home
wet. If that happens, she'll attack you. I
don't want either one of you getting hurt."
"Well, I don't wanta get wet again."
"I've got a car just outside the kitchen. It's not
in the rain."
"Where do you aim to take me?"
"Just away from here. You won't have to leave the car.
Come on." He backed his way out of the bathroom,
watching her. She stepped over the pile of clothes,
taking a long stride to avoid them, the robe
slipping away from her thigh. She made no
attempt to snatch up the hatchet.
She's either a right, Trev thought, or she's putting
on a good act.
LA
YMON
But he didn't think he was ready to turn his back
on her.
He waved her into Maureen's room, and followed
her in. "Find something to wear," he said.
She pulled open a dresser drawer and lifted out a
pair of black panties. She frowned at him.
"You don't gotta watch me, do you?"
"Put them on."
"Well, shoot." She turned away from him, bent
over and stepped into the panties. She drew them up
beneath her robe, groaned and pulled them down again.
"These little things'll cut off my dang circulation."
"We're wasting time. Try the closet. Maybe
she's got a coat or something."
Sandy entered the closet. She pulled a string
to turn on the light bulb, then searched among the
hanging clothes. "Reckon this is a pretty big
gal," she said. "Not as big as me, but she's
tall, ain't she?"
"Yeah." The talk of Maureen made him feel
empty. "Now, here." She pulled a tan
trench coat off a hanger. "This oughta do just fine."
Still in the closet, she faced Trev. "You just
gotta
watch me?"
Shaking his head, he turned around. "That's a sight
better," she said. "Don't try anything."
"You sure don't trust me very much."
"I'm just trying to keep alive."
"Well, same here." A few moments later, she
said, "OK, I'm decent now."
Trev turned. She came out of the closet with the
robe in one hand. Maureen's coat was tight across
her
RAINY
NIGHT
shoulders and chest, but the sleeves reached to her wrists
and the bottom of the coat covered her to the knees.
Though she hadn't been able to button it, the belt
cinched it shut.
"You'll need shoes," Trev said. "You'll have
to wear your own, I suppose."
Nodding, she stepped to the dresser. She took out a
pair of white socks. "^the'll probably fit
OK. Maybe you can wash off my shoes for me. You
got them bags on."
"Let's go." He waved her ahead, and followed
her toward the bathroom.
"Maybe we can dig up some trash bags for me,"
she said.
"We've already wasted too much time. We'll just get
your shoes ready, and take off."
"You're sure in a mighty rush to get out in that
rain. You sure we shouldn't just oughta stay right here and
be safe?"
"I've got to make one more stop. Then we'll see
about finding a place."

So far, the trick was working fine.
They'd taken care of three outsiders, one each
time, keeping the right hand door of the restaurant
latched
LA
YMON
with the steel pegs at its top and bottom, shoving
open the door on the left, grabbing the first crazy
to squeeze in, and taking him down while Terry and
Rafe jerked the door shut again by tugging on the table
cloth they'd passed through its handle.
They'd killed one intruder. He was a skinny,
giggling man who came in swinging a crowbar.
As John chopped his arm, Gus jammed a steak
knife into the side of the guy's neck and severed the
carotid artery.
"Let's not kill them if we don't have to,"
John had said while they dragged the body out of the
way.
"We don't kill 'em, what'll we do with 'em?"
Gus wanted to know. He was the one who'd called
John a pansy.
"Let's try to disable them, then maybe tie them
up." "Great. That how you handled the VC? No
wonder we lost the fuckin" war."
"This isn't a war. These people are just like us except they
happened to get caught in the rain."
"Like a mutt happens to get rabies."
"John's right," Steve said. "We should try
to take them alive if we can."
"More risky that way," said Roscoe the chef.
"Fuckin' right, more risky."
"I'll handle the next one," John told them.
The next one had charged into the restaurant with a
knife in each hand. John broke both his arms,
then his nose. The screaming man was dragged into the
cocktail lounge where people huddled over him and bound his
feet.
RAINY
NIGHT
The third outsider was a teenage boy with a Mohawk
haircut and a monkey wrench. John took the
wrench away. Gus clobbered him with an uppercut that
lifted him off his feet. The first part of the kid to hit
the floor was the back of his head. From the noise it
made, the stiff brush of hair hadn't been much of a
cushion. He was taken into the cocktail lounge
to be trussed.
"We do much more of this," Gus said, "folks are
gonna start running low on belts."
"Let's worry about one thing at a time," John
told him.
"This is working pretty good so far," Steve said.
John stationed himself at the door. He glanced at
Terry and Rafe, off to the side with the table cloth.
Steve stood next to him. He checked the rear.
Gus and Roscoe, waiting, nodded.
"Let's do it," he said.
Terry and Rafe let the cloth droop. John
shoved the door open. This time, those outside were
ready. Two of them hit the door, forcing it wide.
The crowd surged forward.
"Oh shit!" Steve cried out.
The first to rush in was a woman in a nightgown. She
drove a screwdriver down at John's face.
He blocked it, slammed a fist into her belly, and
hurled her sideways for Steve. An elderly
man tried to bring down a golf club, but it was too
long. Its head knocked against the top of the
doorframe. John chopped both sides of his
neck, grabbed the front of the man's jacket,
kneed him in the groin, then swung
LA
YMON
him aside for Roscoe. A kid rammed his head
against John's hip. John's elbow punched into the
back of his neck. The kid flopped and two men
blocked the doorway, elbowing each other as they
tried to squeeze through at the same time.
John yanked the knife from his belt. He shoved it
up under the ribs of the man on the right. John
recognized him. Henry, the night man from the
Shell station.
Damn! He pulled the knife out and kicked high,
the blow shoving Henry into the crowd. Gus crashed a
chair leg down on the head of the man on the left.
As that guy started to slump, John slashed his
throat and shoved him. That one knocked against
the pair bracing the door open. John ducked,
snatched up the hanging table cloth and threw himself
backward.
A woman with a clawed gardening tool leaped over
Henry's body. She managed to get her arm
inside. The door slammed on it. She shrieked and
dropped the weapon. John gave the cloth some
slack. The woman's arm jerked out of the gap. With a
quick tug, he jerked the door shut. Steve rushed in
from the side and locked it.
John stepped over to the wall. He leaned back
against it, gasping, and let his legs fold. He
slid down the wall until his rump met the
floor.
It seemed as if everyone from the restaurant had
poured into the entryway. Some just stood around looking
shocked. Others were gathered in small groups,
probably surrounding the crazies he'd
RAINY
NIGHT
brought in. He heard quiet murmurs, weeping,
voices high-pitched with alarm, the thumps of blows
landing on the kid, the golfer and the woman. He thought
he should get up and tell them to stop, but he just sat
there.
Too close. It had been too damn close. His
trick had backfired, could've gotten everyone
killed.
He saw Cassy push her way into one of the groups,
heard her snap,
"Q
uit it! That's enough
."
Then Lynn came through the crowd and sat down beside
him.
She
slipped an arm across his shoulders.
"P
retty rough88she asked.
"G
od
,"
he muttered.
"y
ou're not hurt, are you
?"
He shook his head.
"S
o much for brilliant plans
."
"y
out did fabulous, though. Really. The plan really
did
work. You got
...
how many of them? SixThat
"P
lus two outside
."
"S
o eight. That's fabulous. That's really whittling
them down, honey. We got eight of them and they
didn't get any of us
."
He faced Lynn. She had a forced smile and a
sad, rather frantic look in her eyes.
She'd led a peaceful, sheltered life and there was no
reason in the world for her to understand. But she did.
John could tell. She knew this wasn't pretend,
knew that lives had been lost, that he had killed people
whose only crime was getting caught in the black
rain, and that he hated all this.
"I
'm so sorry
I
made you come here tonight
,"
she said.
LA
YMON
"W
e didn't know what would happen
."
"I
f
Kara
gets. .
."
"S
he'll be fine
."
He wished he could believe that. Lynn was silent
for a while. Then she said,
"I
used to have these horrible daydreams. About earthquakes
and nuclear war.
I
always thought, what if something like that happened and we
weren't all together?
I'd
see myself out grocery shopping or something, and
I
knew
I
couldn't get home. And that was the worst part, not being with
you and Kara
...
at the end
."
Sobbing quietly, Lynn lowered her head.
"T
his isn't the end
,"
John said. He put his hand on her thigh, and
realized he was touching skin. He looked down. Her
leg had come out of the slit side of her gown. He'd
given her a rough time about wearing the outfit. Hurt
her feelings. Over something as minor as a dress.
They
might not survive the night. Kara might
...
Kara will be all right, he told himself.
He moved his hand up the smooth warmth of Lynn's
thigh.
"I
t
is
a nice dress
,"
he said.
She sniffed.
"O
h, sure
."
"R
eally
."
"I
wore it for you, you know
."
"I
know
."
He eased his hand under the slick fabric, and felt
a quick surge of desire when he realized she wore
no panties. She caressed his shoulder. More of her
leg came out of the slit. He touched her soft
curls, slipped his hand lower and spread his fingers,
opening her. She squeezed his shoulder. Breath
hitching, she
RAINY
NIGHT
squirmed a little, rubbing herself against his hand. He
curled a finger into her. She moaned.
With her free hand, she wiped tears from her face.
She looked as if she didn't know whether to keep
on crying, or laugh, or beg him to stop, or reach
for his zipper. She said, "Jeez, John."
"Jeez yourself, lady. You got nothing on under there."
"All these people.
"I'm sorry I gave you a bad time about it. About
coming here. About everything. I love you."
"I love you, too." She gave a loud, wet
sniffle. She moved his hand away, but didn't let
go of his wrist as she got to her feet -- "Come with
me," she said.
John stood up. As she led him through the foyer, he
saw that people were busy with belts, binding the three he'd
let in. Nobody paid attention to him or Lynn.
She hurried ahead, pulling him through the cocktail
lounge. One woman was hunched over the bar, nursing
a drink. Otherwise, the room was empty.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"Not far." Lynn glanced over her shoulder at him.
Her smile was crooked and strange.
"You're kidding," he said. "Oh, yeah?"
"They might need me out front."
"They can do without you for a while. Can't theyThat
"They'll have to, I guess."
Lynn pushed open the door marked Damsels and
pulled John in. The restroom appeared
deserted. As the door swung shut, she leaned
back against it. She

sti
LA
YMON
pulled at her single, glossy sleeve, baring her
shoulder. As the sleeve descended her arm, the top
of her dress peeled down from her breasts. She
shook her hand free. With a funny half-smile,
she used both hands to twist the dress at her hips.
Its slit came to the front. She slipped the
dress higher until golden hair filled the peak
of the opening.
"H
oly smoke
,"
John whispered.
Lynn said nothing. Gazing into his eyes,
she pulled at the knot of his necktie. The
movement made her breasts sway a little. He held
them, caressing the stiff nipples with his thumbs while
she opened the buttons of his shirt.
Cassy came into his mind. The way she'd looked
when she stretched back to put his blazer on.
Even before he could feel any guilt for thinking of
Cassy, he forgot about her as Lynn guided one of
his hands down between her legs. He stroked her there.
She was wet and slippery. Moaning, squirming, she
unfastened his pants. They dropped around his
ankles, and she pulled at his shorts, dragging them
down, freeing him.
She curled her fingers around his straining penis. They
glided down it, and up, and down again.
"I
'm not quite sure how to go about this
,"
he said. Lynn chuckled.
"y
ou'll think of something
."
"H
ope nobody comes in
."
"T
hen we'd better get on with it
."
"W
hat about the floor
?"
"y
uck
."
"A
nd hard on my knees
."
RAINY
NIGHT
She swallowed. She shook her head. She looked
as if she were in pain. Her tongue darted out and
licked her lips. just fuck me right here against the
door," she said.
Fuck me?
John had never heard her say that before. Somehow, the
words didn't sound foul. Just blunt and urgent.
"Fuck me," she said again.
And he no longer cared how, as long as he did it.
He moved forward and Lynn spread her knees
wide and he went up against her feeling the
firm soft push of her breasts, her arms going around
him. When he tried to crouch, the door at Lynn's
back stopped his knees. He pulled her away from
it, clutching her buttocks through the slick dress,
urging her closer.
And he slid up into her as she sank down, wet and
tight and hugging.
Her legs came up around his hips. They seemed
to be climbing him. The higher they climbed, the
deeper he plunged.
Then he had her pinned to the door. He kissed her
mouth. It got away, and his lips met her chin.
Her mouth was a moving target, and he stopped trying
to kiss it. He watched her eyes, and she watched his
as the hard thrusts jammed her upward and she slid
down against the door only to be pounded up again. She
grunted and bit her lips and whimpered. She whipped
her head from side to side. She let go of him with her
arms. Slumped back against the door and jerking up and
down against it, she rubbed and squeezed her breasts.
John had never seen her like this before.

LA
YMON
12
"D
enny88She awoke with a start and found herself lying
crooked on the sofa, her legs hanging to the floor
and her head resting on Tom's lap. Kara still
slept at the other end.
"n
ews bulletin
,"
he said. His hand, just above Denise's face, pointed
at the television.
"T
hey broke into the show
."
She turned her eyes to the TV and recognized
Chris Donner, the Eyewitness News
anchorwoman.
"dis . .
been receiving sketchy reports that a crisis has
developed in the nearby town of Bixby. Our
news staff received its initial telephone call from
a citizen of Bixby shortly after seven-thirty this
evening, in which we were informed that a storm was dropping
rain onto the town which appeared to
be
black. We were further told that the
caller's spouse, caught in the mysterious storm,
quote "went out of her senses and attacked me for
no good reason8unquote.
"in our attempts to verify the story, we tried
to make contact with various Bixby officials. Our
calls to the mayor, fire department and police
department have gone unanswered.
"S
ince that time, we have received numerous calls from people in that
area. We have determined that an emergency situation
exists in Bixby, and we have notified officials
in surrounding areas.
'x appears that the storm began shortly after seven
RAINY
NIGHT
oeaclock this evening, that it is generally confined to the
city limits of Bixby, and that the black rain-like
substance falling from the sky may be causing those who
come into contact with it to commit acts of violence. We
understand that affected citizens are roaming the streets,
and breaking into business establishments and homes in
search of victims. Though the reports we've
received have been sketchy, we understand that an
undetermined number of people have been killed
by
these roaming marauders.
"L
et me repeat that, at this time, the
Crisis is occurring
only in Bixby and in the areas immediately surrounding its
city limits. The situation is not taking place in
any of the neighboring towns.
If
you are not a resident of Bixby, there is no
cause for alarm.
"W
e ask that our viewers who
are
in Bixby remain indoors. Under no circumstances
should you venture outside. Also, it is imperative
that you avoid contact with anyone who has been
exposed to the rain. Many of those people have armed themselves, and
they should all be considered extremely dangerous.
"W
e take you now to Stan Fisher, live at the
scene. Stan?"
"T
hank you, Chris
."
The screen showed a tidy, middle-aged
man wearing a bow tie and an open sweater. He was
standing in lights beside a van marked
"E
yewitness News
."
Staring grimly into the camera, he said,
"I
'm here at a roadblock set up
by
the CHP on Route 12 two miles south of the town
of Bixby. County and local law enforcement
agencies are cooperating with the Highway Patrol in
an effort
LA
YMON
to seal off all roads leading into the stricken
community.
Nobody is being allowed to enter the area."
The TV showed Chris at her news desk, the
picture of Stan Fisher on a screen behind her as
she spoke into a telephone. "Stan," she said,
'is anyone coming out?"
"As a matter of fact, Chris, three cars have come
out just since we arrived. Unfortunately, we
haven't been able to interview any of the
survivors. They were immediately taken into custody. I
presume that authorities are questioning them even as I
speak to you."
'in effect, they're being quarantined?" "That seems
to be the case, Chris."
"Do you know whether they had come into contact with the rain?"
'x appears that they hadn't." Stan again filled the
TV screen and the camera pulled back, showing a
man in uniform beside him. "Chris, this is Commander
Brad Corkern of the Highway Patrol. Sir,
what can you tell us about the situation in Bixby?"
He held his microphone toward the man.
"Well, Stan, I'm afraid we don't know a
whole lot at the present time. As you've mentioned,
we're doing what we can to prevent people from going into the
rain area. We've had a total of eleven people come
out since the time we established the roadblock here."
"How were they?"
"Rattled. Plenty rattled. But they don't
appear to be infected."
"Infected. Is it a disease of some kind?"
"We don't know what it is. We've talked to these

I
RAINY
NIGHT
people, and they indicate that anyone who gets wet from the
rain
-
or whatever it might be
-
takes on violent behavior. Many of them
reported witnessing assaults, and they saw quite a
few dead bodies before they got out of the area
."
"D
o you have any idea what might be causing such
violence?"
"T
he dope
,"
Tom said.
"T
he guy already told him."
it's like
I
said, Stan, we can't explain it
."
The TV showed Chris in the studio as she said,
"A
sk him
if
it's something like acid rain
."
The camera stayed with her, showing Stan in the
background as he touched a button in his ear, nodded
and said to the commander,
"C
ould this have anything to do with acid rain?"
"T
his is
black
rain, Stan. I don't know from acid rain.
Isn't that something to do with Canada
?"
From Chris again,
"A
re there chemical plants in the area
?"
"C
ould this be caused
by
a problem at a local chemical plantThat
"W
e're looking into that, Stan. We're also
looking into the possibility that some kind of
biological agent has infiltrated the area
."
"B
y
"biological agentea8y're referring to a bacteria
or virus that may have gotten into the rain?"
"S
omething like that, yes
."
"I
s there a possibility that Bixby has been
subjected to any kind of biological or
chemical warfare weapon
?"

LA
YMON
"I
'd
say that's
highly
unlikely.
I
don't think it's in anyone's best interest
to speculate about such things. We've got enough on our
hands without folks jumping to conclusions and panicking
about some kind of war breaking out. This is purely an
isolated situation. Nobody who isn't in
Bixby has anything to worry about
."
Chris said,
"S
tan, ask if the storm is moving, and in which
direction
?"
"D
oes the storm appear to be moving toward any other
populated area
?"
"F
rom all we can tell, it's stationary over Bixby.
Like
I
said before, there's no call to alarm anyone.
If
it does begin moving, we'll let folks know in
plenty of time to evacuate or take protective
measures
."
"S
tan, ask if any rescue efforts are under way
."
Stan nodded.
"I
s any effort being made to send authorities into the
area to restore orderThat
"W
e're looking into the possibility. Until we've
been able to determine the cause of the contamination,
however, we're extremely reluctant to take that
measure.
If
we send in armed men, not knowing what they might be up
against in terms of the conditions at the root of this thing,
we'd be risking the possibility that they'll become
infected and turn their weapons on innocent
civilians. Right now, I'm afraid, our wisest
course of action lies in adopting a waitand-see
posture, preventing people from entering the town, and making
sure that nobody who's been infected is allowed
to get
by
us and possibly carry the problem to other areas
."
The camera pulled in close on Stan. "That's the
latest from Commander Brad Corkern of the Highway
Patrol, here at the scene on the outskirts of
Bixby. This is Stan Fisher reporting for
Eyewitness News. Back to you, Chris."
"Thank you, Stan." She hung up the phone. The
screen at her back went blank for a moment, then
showed a map of central California with a black
circle ringing Bixby. "Our mobile news unit
will remain at the scene, and we'll bring you further
reports as the situation develops in Bixby, where
a black rain of mysterious origins appears to be
contaminating the residents, breeding violence and death.
This is Chris Donner for Eyewitness News,
returning you now to our regularly scheduled
program."
A commercial for Excedrin came on.
"Cute," Denise muttered. "What's this,
Excedrin headache number three?"
Tom looked at her, narrowing his eyes. "People are
driving right out of this mess."
"Some are."
"Maybe we should give it a try."
Her stomach went tight and cold. "Are you kidding?"
"If we can make it to one of those
roadblocks. . "Tom, too much could go wrong.
We're safe here." "Right now, we are. But
God, who knows? This
could go on for a long time. Sooner or later, some of
those lunatics might break in. What'll we do
then?" "I'd rather take my chances here. Really."
"I think we should get while the gettin's good."
LA
YMON

Lou, searching the alley behind Buddy's house,
caught a glimpse of someone ducking behind a garbage
can.
All
right!
he thought.
When Buddy had ordered them to split up and search for
Maureen, picking Lou to hop the high redwood fence
and check the alley, he had nearly given up hope
of being the one to get her. He was sure she'd gone a
different way, probably fleeing along either side
of the house and escaping through a gate rather than trying
to climb the fence at the rear. Buddy and Doug had
taken those routes. One or the other of them would end
up with Maureen, and Lou would be out of
luck.
Now, he realized how wrong he'd been. She
had
gone over the fence.
She's mine, all mine.
Lou's heart thudded wildly as he strode toward the
garbage can. The rain felt great splashing against his
bare skin. running down his body in hot
rivulets. He thought about stopping long enough to take
off his pants so he could feel the rain all over
him. And feel Maureen's body and blood all
over him when he took her. Too tricky, though.
He knew he couldn't get his pants off without
removing his shoes. Then he would have to put the shoes
on again because what if she made a run for it and he
had to chase her? He sure didn't want to go
racing down the dark alley barefoot.
RAINY
NIGHT
Nail her first, he decided. Get her down so she
can't run. Then you can take your time stripping and doing
her.
His breath came in rough gasps as he halted in
front of the garbage can. The can was just off the alley
blacktop, set in a strip of weeds
alongside someone's fence.
She might think she was hidden just fine, but Lou could
see the faint dark curve of the top of her head.
"Come on out, honey," he said.
She didn't move. She didn't make a sound.
Lou heard only his own heartbeat and ragged breathing,
the rain pattering against his skin, hissing on the alley
pavement, thumping the hard rubber lid of the garbage
container.
He kicked the barrel aside. It skidded, tumbled
over.
Maureen, beautiful Maureen in her clinging wet
T-shirt and baggy shorts wasn't cowering in
front of him.
Lou muttered, "Fuck."
Squatting in the strip of weeds was a bony, naked
man who leered up at him, said, "Hi-ya,
honey," and sprang. Lou leaped backward as the
man lunged at him, driving the jagged end of a
broken bottle at his stomach.
"NOFF8LOU yelled.
He lashed out with his barbecue fork and sucked in his
belly, expecting the glass fangs to bite deep.
The man jerked his head back. The tines missed
him, but
LA
YMON
the bottle jabbed short. Lou grabbed his wrist.
He shoved it sideways an instant before the man
smacked against him. They both went down. The
bottle shattered, off to Lou's left, and then his
back hit the alley and the man pounded down on top
of him and pinned both his hands to the wet asphalt.
"G
et off
meff8Lou squealed. "Get
off me
to was
"You're mine," the man piped.
Lou twisted and bucked. The man's skin was
slippery and hot against his chest and belly. Something was
pushing against his groin. He realized what it was, and
he whimpered.
"Get
off
me, you bastard!"
A crazy thought came to Lou's mind: he ought to be
just as turned on as the filthy madman writhing on
top of him. It had been that way when he fought Doug
by the pool and when he'd gone for Sheila.
This shouldn't be any different.
But it sure was.
He felt no lust, just terror and revulsion.
Lou opened his mouth to scream, and the man's mouth came
down, slimy against his lips.
He's kissing me! Oh my God no!
Before Lou could twist his face away, the teeth
chomped in on his lower lip and yanked, and he
shrieked as his lip was ripped off. The man spat it
out. It stuck to Lou's cheek and the head darted down
again and he felt the man suck on the raw wound.
Lou jerked his head aside. Growling, the man
clutched both sides of his face and wrenched it
upward and clamped his mouth to the wound again.
RAINY
NIGHT
He sucked furiously, his growls softening to moans
of pleasure. His fingernails dug into Lou's
cheeks. He licked and sucked and gnawed on the
open flesh. He writhed, rubbing himself against Lou's
body.
And Lou, through the pain and horror, realized that the
man's hands were holding onto his face. They weren't
pinning his own hands to the alley. Not now. They couldn't
be.
Stretching his right arm out sideways, he lifted the
barbecue fork. He swung its long rod up, and
eased it down until the tines were an inch from the side
of his assailant's neck -
He rammed them in.
A
harsh gasp blew spittle and blood into Lou's
mouth. The man twitched and shuddered. Lou rolled,
throwing him off and tugging the fork from his neck. The guy
was on his back, mouth and eyes wide, one hand
clutching his throat as if he were trying to strangle
himself. His heels were shoving at the alley, thrusting his
rump off the asphalt, scooting him along on the
backs of his shoulders and head.
Lou crawled toward him. Past the man's head. The
guy scooted closer. Lou caught the head between his
knees. Holding it there, he raised the long fork
overhead with both hands and drove it down. He
missed his target and the tines ripped furrows in the
guy's
left cheek. He tried again. This time, he hit where
he wanted. The bridge of the nose. One of the twin
tines on each side. They punched into the corners
of the eyes and went deep.
The orbs burst. The man's shriek only
lasted an
LA
YMON
instant. While he flapped and bounced, Lou
pressed down hard on the fork handle and shook it.
Stir him up a little.
He grinned, but winced as the pulling sensation burnt
the raw tattered flesh where his lower lip should've
been.
He got me. He sure got me. But not as good as
I
got him, the dirty old shit.
After the man stopped moving, Lou waved the fork back
and forth a few more times. Then he pulled it out. As
he licked the tines clean, he remembered
Maureen.
Buddy and Doug had probably gotten her by now.
They probably sent me on this wild-goose chase
just so they could have her without me.
Lou got to his feet. Staring down at the dead
man, he cautiously tongued his wound. Some of his
lip was still there. He'd thought the whole
thing
had been ripped off, but only a thin strip, right in
the middle, actually seemed to be missing.
He touched his cheek where the piece had landed. It
wasn't there now.
He stomped on the man's face.
Then he rushed back to Buddy's section of fence.
He tossed his fork over the top, grabbed the edge,
boosted himself up and dropped to the other side.
Nobody in sight. The patio and pool lights were
still on. Lou picked up his fork. He studied the
murky depths of the pool as he hurried around it,
wishing Maureen would come to the surface and he could
jump in and have her all to himself. But the pool looked
empty.
"Lou!"
RAINY
NIGHT
He spotted Doug by the corner of the house. "Any
luck?" Doug called.
He shook his head, afraid of how it might feel
if he tried to speak. But he smiled and the pain
came, anyway.
If Doug was asking about
his
luck, it meant they hadn't found Maureen.
He ran to meet his friend.
"Shit, man. What happened to you?"
"I ran into a guy," he said, and realized that those
particular words hadn't required him to move his jaw
or mouth. No extra pain.
"You kill him?" "Yeah."
"Hot damn." Doug slapped his shoulder. "We
haven't turned up Maureen or anyone else.
Buddy's kicking up a shit fit. Come on."
Lou followed him alongside the house and through the
gate.
In the driveway, Buddy was sitting on his
Harley. "Did you find her?" he asked.
Lou shook his head.
"What the fuck happened to your mouth?"
"A guy got . . ." He closed his lips to form
the m of 'me" and felt as if burning oil had
been dumped on his wound.
"Lou murderated him."
"Big deal. You dickbrains let Maureen get
away." "She's gotta be somewhere," Doug said.
"Yeah, well we can't waste the whole night
looking for the bitch. Saddle up. We're gonna
pay Lisa a visit."
LA
YMON
Lisa? Lou wanted Maureen, not
Lisa. Then he remembered. Last night. That
Chidi bastard. Lisa might tell on them. They
really ought to kill her.
But she wasn't like Maureen. She wasn't tall
and slim and beautiful. She was short and her tits were
too big.
"I want Maureen," he said.
"Tough shit. You should've thought of that before you let her
get away. Now let's move itff8He kickstarted
his Harley. its engine thundered.
Doug clamped his butcher knife between his teeth as if
he were a pirate. Then he mounted up.
Lou stepped to his bike. He swung a leg over
it, and lowered his rump against the warm puddle gathered
on its seat.
He wished he could stay behind. Maybe he could find
Maureen.
But he didn't want to be left alone.
There might be others around like that horrible man in the
alley.
Besides, Maureen might be far away by now. Better
Lisa than nobody, even if she was kind of a
pig. She's babysitting, Lou reminded himself.
Won't be
alone. There'll be a kid, maybe a
couple of them. Maybe girls.
Yeah!
He pushed the fork under his belt so it pressed against his
side like a saber, then fished out his keys.
Collision Course
at I
..
Maureen, flat on her belly under her Jeep,
head just below the front bumper, squirmed backward
as the three boys swung their motorcycles around and
roared down the driveway. They turned away,
however, so she needn't have worried about headlamps
finding her.
As the bikes sped off, she scooted herself farther
back until she was clear of the tire. Then she
scurried out from under the Jeep, dragging her coat beside
her. Still sprawled on the road, she waited until
the bikes disappeared around a corner.
Seconds later, she was sitting behind the steering
wheel. She dug into a pocket of her coat, found
the keys, and slid the Jeep key into the ignition.
"n
ow I've got you
,"
she muttered.
Grinning, she started the engine. She pulled away from
the curb. As she picked up speed, she put on the
windshield wipers. But she left the headlights
off.
By the time they know I'm coming, she thought, it'll be too
late.
This was working out even better than Maureen had
hoped. Earlier, when she'd climbed out of the
LA
YMON
pool, she'd ached to rush straight into the house and
find whatever weapons might
be
handy and tear the boys apart. The boys
and
their damn girlfriends. But she'd known she wouldn't stand
much chance against the four of them
...
five, if Buddy should come back in after discovering
she'd lied about the keys.
As much as she'd wanted their blood, caution had
won out. So instead of blundering into the house, she'd
raced to the front.
She'd
rounded the corner just in time to see Buddy
burst in through the door and slam it shut. Then she'd
snatched up her coat and taken shelter under her
Jeep.
To wait for them, to watch for her chance. Waiting,
she'd heard distant screams, some far-off bangs that
sounded like gunshots. Somewhere, people were getting creamed.
She
imagined bodies being ripped
by
knives, blown open
by
bullets. She saw guts spilling from a slashed
torso. She saw herself kneeling over a stranger,
sucking blood and clots of flesh from a bullet
wound. Thinking about such things took her breath away and
made her moan and squirm against the pavement.
A
couple of cars had gone
by,
their tires swishing over the wet road.
Then she'd heard a strange, quiet rumbling sound
accompanied
by
clicks and clatters. Roller skates? Sure
enough, when she raised her head and peered
back she saw a guy on skates dancing and
whirling his way up the middle of the street. He
must've been well over six feet tall. He
appeared to be entirely hairless. He was shiny
black under the streetlights.
All
he wore
RAINY
NIGHT
was a long scarf wrapped around his neck. Its
tails should've been flying behind him as he sped
along, but when he twirled Maureen saw that they were
plastered to his bare back.
He carried an assault rifle with a banana
clip. Watching his approach, Maureen had
wondered about her chances of jumping him and taking the
gun.
if
she got her hands on that sucker, she could blast
Buddy and Doug and Lou and Sheila and Cyndi.
She could blow their heads off.
He'd
blow off mine if
I
tried, she thought.
Then, fearing that he might spot her, she'd
scurried deeper into the dark beneath the Jeep.
He'd pranced and twirled past her hiding place,
and the sound of his roller skates had faded to silence.
Some time later came the quick smack of footfalls
on the sidewalk. Maureen had pushed herself
sideways, savoring the rough rub of the street against
her breasts and belly and groin, and peered over the
curb. Two women
-
fat things in hair curlers and clinging housecoats,
were chasing a kid. One of the women brandished a
cordless electric carving knife. The other
didn't seem to be armed. Those were probably her
scissors sticking out of the kid's shoulder. The kid
wore pajamas. He looked no older than
seven. He seemed to be outrunning the gals.
Maureen wanted the electric knife.
It was no assault rifle, but a lot better than
nothing.
She
started to squeeze up between the curb and the undercarriage.
But the squawk of gate hinges warned her in time,
LA
YMON
and she slid back under the Jeep moments before Buddy
appeared beside the house. She watched his feet as he
rushed around. Then someone joined him. Either Lou or
Doug, she supposed. She heard voices, but the
pounding rain and the distance prevented her from making out what
was being said.
When one of the boys approached the Jeep, Maureen
knew she was about to be found. More excited than
frightened, she'd wondered whether to stay in the tight
space, or scurry out and attack. But the kid
never looked under the vehicle. Apparently, he just
peered in through the windows. Then, he'd gone away and
there was more talk.
Working her way toward the front, she'd seen Buddy
and Doug standing by their motorcycles near the top of the
driveway. After a brief conversation, Doug went
through the gate. Buddy waited by his bike.
Alone. Now, driving her Jeep in pursuit of the
boys, Maureen was glad she'd resisted her urge
to go for Buddy while he was waiting by his bike.
She'd been very tempted. She'd wanted to crawl out
from under the Jeep and let him see her, pull off her
T-shirt and shorts as he approached. The rain
would feel wonderful on her bare skin. She would
caress herself, tell Buddy how much she
wanted him. And he would put his knife away
to free his hands for touching her.
It had worked with Doug and Lou in the house. It would
work with Buddy.
And just when he was so overcome with lust that he
RAINY
NIGHT
didn't care about anything else, she would strike.
Crush his balls. Grab his knife. Rip him
open.
It would've worked. It would've been great.
But she'd stayed under the Jeep thinking about it and was still
there, savoring the fantasy, when Doug showed up with
Lou.
it's probably a good thing I didn't try, she
told herself. Something might've gone wrong. And this
way I can get all three of them. Without any
risk.
They were a block ahead of her, riding abreast up the
middle of the street.
The noise of their engines should keep them from hearing her
approach.
She pressed down harder on the gas pedal and felt
the surge of speed press her back into the seat. The
three boys on their choppers grew. Lou,
on the right, didn't have a shirt on. Maureen
grinned as she imagined how the pavement would shred his
skin. But she steered for Buddy. The Jeep wasn't
wide enough to take down all three at once, and she
wanted to nail Buddy on the first pass. He rode
between the other two. Smash him down. Maybe get
Doug at the same time, then swerve to the right and try
for Lou.
The distance closed.
Four car lengths separated Maureen from her
quarry. Then three, then two.
Buddy glanced back over his shoulder.
"A
dios, bastard
to was
Maureen yelled, and floored the accelerator.
As she roared down on him, lights pushed in from
LA
YMON
the left. A car. Just ahead. Speeding toward the
intersection.
Oh, my God!
Maureen shoved at the steering wheel and braced herself
for the impact.
Moments before spotting the headlights and
motorcycles speeding in from a cross-street,
Trev figured he was about a mile from the Chidi
house.
A
few more minutes, and he would be there. With his carload
of women.
Sandy had seemed relieved when she stepped out the
kitchen door and found two other females in the
backseat of his car.
"y
out got yourself quite a collection here
,"
she'd said.
"T
here's another in the trunk
."
"y
out ain't gonna put me back there, are you?"
"S
he's one of
them
,"
Trev
said, and opened the passenger door.
Sandy said,
"H
owdy, ladies
,"
as she climbed in. Trev hurried around to the
driver's side and slid in behind the wheel. As he
backed his car out of the driveway, Sandy turned around
in her seat. Her knee pushed against the side of
Trev's thigh.
"I
"m Sandy Hodges
,"
she said.
RAINY
NIGHT
"I'm Lisa Walters. This is my mom,
Francine."
Trev swung onto the street. He started forward.
The knee nudged him. He looked down. Through the
eyeholes in his mask, he saw that Sandy's leg was
out of the trench coat, bare all the way up her thigh.
He felt a strange mixture of desire and
sadness. That was Maureen's coat, but not
Maureen's leg, not Maureen's groin just out of
sight under the draping fabric.
He wondered if he would ever see her again.
Damn it, he shouldn't have been so timid about getting
to know her.
If
only he'd realized that time was so short.
It's too late for regrets, he told himself. You
can't go back in time and change anything. Just gotta
live with your mistakes. And your losses.
"I
sure am glad to meet you two
,"
Sandy said. 'x was getting to where
I
was starting to feel like there wasn't anybody else
sane but me in the whole darn world
."
"I
'm not sure how sane we are
,"
Francine said, and let out a peculiar laugh as if
to prove her point.
"W
ell, you're sure a sight for sore eyes,
I
tell you that
."
"I
bet you were awfully glad Trevor showed up
,"
Lisa said.
"T
hought he aimed to kill me, is what
."
"W
e bundled him up real good so the rain wouldn't get
to him
."
"W
ish
I
had me an outfit like that
."
"T
hey're garbage bags
,"
Lisa explained.
LA
YMON
"And they feel horrible," Trev said. "Be glad
you're not wearing these things."
"Well, I feel right naked."
"Are you and Trev ... do you go together88Lisa
asked.
"Never seen him before tonight."
"I thought you were his girlfriend, or something." "Me?
Nope." To Trev she said, 'is Maureen your
gal?"
"Not exactly. She's the daughter of a friend."
Sounding annoyed, Francine said, "So she wasn't
even home? You took us all the way over there for
nothing?"
"Mom." "Shit. He's been dragging us around all
night on this wild-goose chase of his, looking for
this woman. He's damn near gotten us killed.
And he
still
hasn't found her. We could've been out of here
by now."
"You been searching around like she says, Trevor?"
"Tried a couple of places."
"We could get out of this rain and be safe if he'd just
quit this damn nonsense."
"Mom," Lisa said again.
"I think that's mighty noble," Sandy said. "Your
Maureen's a lucky gal, having a fella like you
searching high and low for her."
"Noble, my ass," Francine said. "You'll think
he's noble when he stops again to go looking and we get
jumped by crazies and they kill us all."
"You got quite a burr up your hindquarters, lady."
Lisa laughed.
RAINY
NIGHT
"W
hat sort of a hick are you
?"
Francine snapped.
"y
out fall off a haywagon on your way to the rodeo
?"
"G
osh, Trevor, how long you been putting up with this
gal
?"
"S
eems like ages
,"
he said, smiling.
"I reckon as how
I'd
of given her the boot if
I
was
you
."
"I
t's crossed my mind. But she's Lisa's mother.
Lisa's a good companion
."
"L
isa's what got us into this mess
,"
Francine said.
"B
ut you wouldn't know that, would you, Daisy May?
My
wonderful daughter here took up with a jungle
bunny and
. .
."
"I
don't like your mouth one whit, lady
."
"T
hank you
,"
Lisa murmured.
"y
out
tell her
,"
Francine said.
"I
'full
bet she'd be very interested in knowing all about it, so
she'll know just who to blame when one of these maniacs
murders her
."
"I
started going out with this guy
,"
Lisa said.
"A
nd some kids killed him last night. Because
I
was going with him. And because he was black
."
"I
'm mighty sorry
."
Sandy said.
"O
h, you haven't even heard the best part yet.
Tell her the best part, honey
."
"W
e
don't even know it for sure
."
"T
he coon's grandpa is some kind of a witch doctor
,"
Francine explained.
"H
e's put a hex on the whole town. That's what's
happening here. That's why we've got the black
rain. It's grandpa's idea of payback
."
LA
YMON
"Well, that's a load if I ever heard one."
"It might be true," Trev said. "We're going
over to his place right now to check on it."
"You're telling me this
is
a hoodoo?" "I plan to find out."
"Well, don't that just beat all? What're you
aiming to do about it?"
"Make him stop."
"Aren't you scared he'll hex
you
?"
"I guess he might try." Trev realized he
hadn't given any thought to that possibility. But the
idea of it didn't frighten him, and he wondered why.
Maybe because you don't really believe the old guy
has any special powers.
If he doesn't, why are you bothering to check him
out?
Just on the off-chance he
does?
I'll find out soon enough, he thought. Can't be more
than a mile from the Chidi house.
A few more minutes, and he would be there. With his
carload of women.
Beyond the yard of the corner house, the headlights of
three motorcycles pushed pale beams through the
night. Trev flinched and Sandy yelled, "Look
out!"
The riders were black. Crazies. For an instant,
Trev considered taking them down. But he
thought better of it. Those were big bikes. A
collision might put Sandy through the windshield. He
swerved to the right, hoping to cut behind them.
He shouted, "Hang on!" His front tire
bounced over the curb. Then the rear tire hit and the
car tilted and he
RAINY
NIGHT
heard Francine squealing behind him but it was OK,
he'd missed the bikes, the nearest speeding by just
ahead of his bumper as he came off the corner and he
waited for the jolt of his tires coming down and something
hit them.
It felt like the sledgehammer of a giant bashing the
rear side of the car. He heard screams, a roar of
sundered metal and bursting glass.
The blow slammed his teeth together and threw him against the
door, knocking Patterson's hat off his head,
then hurled him back against his seat. The world outside
the windshield twisted and tipped sideways. Something
clipped his cheek. The shotgun? Sandy dropped
onto him. Sparks flew at the windshield,
tossed up by the side of the car skidding over the
pavement.
He glimpsed the red brake lights of
whatever had hit them. Then the spin of his car wrenched
the lights out of view.
Maureen's quick swing to the left had almost taken her
past the rear of the car that came racing in over the
corner of the block, tipped up and riding on its
outside wheels. Almost. Her bumper caught it just
behind its back wheel.

LA
YMON
The jolt thrust her forward, stiff arms folding at
the elbows. But she was well braced. The impact
wasn't as severe as she'd expected. She
didn't even hit the steering wheel.
She plowed right through, bashing the car out of her way, then
saw that she was speeding toward the far corner. A
mail box there. A tree beyond it. She wrestled the
steering wheel to the right.
And spun out.
She gasped. Her Jeep twirled. She saw the
car she'd hit skidding along on its driver's
side. Then it was whipped out of sight like something
glimpsed from a carousel.
When she came to a stop, she couldn't believe her
luck. Her Jeep was upright near the
middle of the intersection, facing in the very same
direction she'd been driving before the accident.
The lights of the motorcycles were specks in the
distance.
Maureen stepped on the gas. Nothing happened.
She twisted the ignition key. The engine roared
to life.
Far away, the bikes turned to the right and disappeared.
She jammed the gas pedal down. The tires
grabbed, and she sped after her prey.
RAINY
NIGHT
Trev, pinned on his side between the door and Sandy,
suddenly realized he could only see with one eye.
He started to panic, then remembered the bag on his
head. He pulled an arm out from under Sandy and tugged
the bag off. He could see again.
Sandy's head. Hanging hair hid her face as she
shoved at the window of his door in an effort to push
herself up.
"You OK88HE asked
I I been better," she gasped.
From behind Trev came moaning sounds. "Lisa?
Francine?"
"I think Mom's knocked out," Lisa
said in a squeezed, breathless voice.
"You OK88TREV asked. "Kind of."
"How are the windows back there?"
Silence for a moment. Then he heard a quick, high
suck of breath. "Oh my God, Trev! The
whole rear window's busted!"
The rear window, he told himself. Not the back
passenger window. Otherwise, rain would be pouring
down on Lisa and her mother.
"Is rain getting in?" he asked.
"I can't ... Just some trickles."
"For godsake, don't let any of that water touch
you."
"It's OK so far. But it's kind of starting
to run."
LA
YMON
"Don't let it touch you!" "I'll try.,
"G
otta do better than try
."
"T
his is some fix
,"
Sandy said. She sounded fairly calm about
it.
"W
e'll be all right
,"
Trev said.
"H
ow do you figure that?"
"C
ause we're the good guys
."
"R
eckon that's what they said at the Alamo
?"
'if
you can get off me,
I'll
try to get out the back window
."
"T
hat'll do us a heap of good
."
"y
ou'd better do something quick
to was
Lisa blurted.
"T
ry to cover up the window with those bags you've got
back there
."
He heard the rustle of plastic.
"it's just kind of running in along the
...
MOM! Oh God, Trev, Mom's face is in
it!
I
didn't see
...
There's a
puddle
to was
"D
on't touch it
to was
he snapped. Twisting so his back was against the door,
he shoved at Sandy's shoulder and chest. She got a
knee onto his hip. Then she put her other foot
against the door.
"T
ry to stand up
,"
he told her. Then, to Lisa, he said,
"y
our mom's still out cold, isn't she
?"
"y
eah.
I
think so. She's moving a little, though
."
"O
h shit
."
Hanging onto the steering wheel, Sandy pulled herself
up. Her weight lifted off Trev's hip. As
she rose, her head bumped the passenger window.
She
hunched down some.
RAINY
NIGHT
"I think Mom's starting to wake up," Lisa said.
"T
he guns! You've got the revolver and shotgun
back there! Get rid of them! Throw them out the window
to was
"I
f I
can find 'em
."
"D
on't let your Mom get them!"
Trev struggled to sit up. He reached under the
hanging tail of Sandy's coat, clutched her leg,
and pulled at it. She wobbled a little, but held
steady. Then she bent down. She grabbed the front
of his shirt and tugged. He squirmed and kicked, and
came to rest with his rump on the window. The car
wobbled slightly as he slumped backward against its
ceiling.
He turned his head toward the rear and found
Francine close enough to touch.- She was slumped against
the side of the car, face against the window. She was
moaning softly. The darkness hid her eyes. He
couldn't tell whether they were shut or open.
Lisa was half standing, her back to Trev, right
foot on the window sill below her mother's chin, left
knee propped on the woman's hip. As he
watched, she tossed the shotgun underhand through the high,
narrow gap of the rear window. Its barrel clamored
against the open lid of the trunk, bounced back toward
the window and dropped out of sight.
The trunk!
Trev remembered the girl he'd left there. He
suddenly felt sick.
The right rear of the car must've taken a terrible
impact to pop open the trunk that way.
She can't be alive, he thought.
A kid. Just a kid. A girl in a jumper and
knee socks. I killed her.
The revolver, tossed by Lisa, clunked against the
trunk and fell.
If
she's not dead, we've just given her two guns.
Francine raised her head. Trev leaned toward
her and pounded it down. It struck the window with a thud,
and the woman went limp.
"What'd you do?" Lisa blurted, looking around at
him.
"Hit your mom. We can't have her waking up and going
crazy on us."
"Jeez." "I'm sorry," he muttered.
Fingers suddenly clenched Trev's hair. "Hey,"
Sandy said. "I got me an idea. Why don't
we see we can't knock the car back down on its
wheels? Get on up here." She pulled his hair.
Trev stood up, his back rubbing along the
ceiling. Sandy maneuvered until she was standing in
front of him. She pressed her body against his.
"Give me a hug," she said.
He wrapped his arms around her.
"Lisa," she said, 'y stand there on the back door.
On the count of three, we'll hit the seats.
Trevor, you just throw me backward hard as you can.
Lisa, tackle your seat." She pushed her cheek
against the side of Trev's face.
"I guess I'm ready," Lisa said. "Here we
go. One, two,
three!"
Trev rammed Sandy backward, smashing her
against the seat. Her breath gushed hot against his ear.
The car rocked away beneath the impact, teetered, and
started to fall.
My
God, it's working!
The car seemed to drop for a long time. Then Sandy was
smashed up against him, grunting. He felt the
tires bounce. And heard a rip and clank and
knew at once that the front axel had given out.
"We did itff8Lisa sounded as if she might cheer.
Trev grabbed the seatback and pulled himself up.
Kneeling between Sandy's legs, he looked
out the windshield. The wipers swept back and forth,
clearing off the black raindrops.
The car had a tilt, thanks to the axel, but Trev
was glad to see the world right-side up again. He
smiled at Sandy. Her face was a pale oval that
showed white teeth.
"I guess we're still in a fix," he said. "But
at least we're down."
The engine had quit. The headlights were still on,
driving pale tunnels into the darkness ahead. The car
had come to rest near the right corner of the intersection.
He peered through the windshield, then through the windows on
each side. He saw nobody.
Lisa leaned forward and crossed her arms on the
back of the seat above Sandy. "What are we going to do
now?" she asked.
"We won't be driving anywhere," he said. He
crawled backward until the door stopped his
shoes. Sandy raised her knees. The trench coat
spread open
LA
YMON
to its belt. Trev looked away while she
scooted backward and sat up. She tugged at the
coat to cover herself, then leaned back against
the passenger door. Smiling at Lisa, she reached
up and stroked the nape of the girl's neck.
"Seems to me," she said, 'we either stay right here or
we don't. We stay put, we got water coming in
the rear and we got Francine already wet. She's
bound to go for us when she comes to her senses."
"We could tie her up," Lisa suggested.
Trev said, "There's no telling who might come at
us from the outside."
"W
e can't
leave the car," Lisa said.
"Well now," Sandy said, 'we can if we want
to. We'd get wet and wild, but that ain't
necessarily the worst thing in the world. I been there,
you know. And your mom, she's already that way.
Trevor, you'd have to get yourself wet along with us."
Trev's heart suddenly felt like a fist trying
to punch its way out of his chest. "We'd turn
into killers," he said, his voice shaky.
"That don't mean we'd have to kill each other.
Back when I was wet, I ran into some other:; in the
rain. I had kind of a hankering to go for 'em, but I
was plenty more interested in getting after folks that was still
dry. If we was all to step out and get
ourselves soaked . . ."
"Were you still able to think straight88Trev asked.
"Pretty much. Just that I had these nasty desires,
is all. Except for that, I was pretty much like
normal."
"So do you think the four of us . . ." Trev had to
RAINY NiGH-RATHER
pause and catch his breath. "Could we walk on over
... to the Chidi house? And take care of
business?"
"Don't see why we couldn't. After we get there and
finish up whatever we've gotta do, we can shower off
and be OK again."
"Would we kill everybody there?" Lisa asked.
"I reckon we'd sure want to."
"But if it's only the grandfather causing the trouble . .
."
"Lisa's right," Trev said. "Maybe the whole
family's in on it with the old man. But maybe not.
We might end up killing some innocent people. And not just
at the Chidis. Maybe we won't be able to control
ourselves and we'll stop along the way. Once we're
changed, we might not even
care
about getting there. What if we just go on a
rampage?"
Sandy shook her head. "Well, we might."
"I don't want to go around killing anyone,"
Lisa said.
"OK," Trev said. "Look. I can go out on my
own and not get wet. With any luck, I should be able
to make it to the Chidi place on foot in six or
seven minutes. We're only about a mile away.
If it is the grandfather . . ."
The door behind Sandy flew open. The overhead light
came on. Sandy gasped with surprise and flung
her arms wide as she flopped backward. Her right
arm swung out into the rain. Her left hand clawed at
the door frame. Lisa's hand darted down and
grabbed a lapel of her coat, but the coat merely
pulled open and didn't stop her fall. Trev
gripped her ankles.
LA
YMON
And cried out "NOFF8Z the girl from the trunk
hooked an arm under Sandy's chin and tried to drag her
from the car.
Not dead. The crash had freed the teenager, not
killed her.
At least she hasn't got the guns,
Trev thought.
He heard himself groan as he watched the raindrops
splatter black against Sandy's face and coat and
chest. She was stretched out straight, only her rump
and legs still on the car seat, the girl tugging at her
head. She writhed and kicked against Trev's
restraining hands.
He let go of one ankle and reached for his revolver.
Her other ankle jerked free. Her legs slid
away from him. He snatched the weapon from its
holster. He brought it up, hating what he had to do,
feeling betrayed by the girl he'd tried to save,
thinking
It's her or Sandy
but knowing it was already too late for Sandy as he pointed
his. 38 at the girl's chest just above the bib of
her jumper and tried to find the trigger through his
slippery plastic mitten and Lisa threw open her
door. "Don'tff8he yelled.
Ignoring him, she leaped out into the rain at the same
moment Sandy's thrashing legs dropped toward the
pavement. The girl from the trunk couldn't handle a
woman of Sandy's size. She fell backward,
pulling Sandy down on top of her. Lisa rushed
at them, Her pale sweater looked as if
it were being eaten by the darkness. She dropped to her
knees beside the two, and tried to tug the girl's arm
away from Sandy's throat.
Trev, holstering his weapon, crawled across the seat.
Don't do it, he told himself. Get your hood on
first.
RAINY
NIGHT
But he knew he had to get wet. He had to be like
them.
No!
if the rain got him, he might lose control. He
might never make it to the Chidi house.
He twisted away from the open door, spotted his
plastic hood crumpled on the far edge of the seat,
reached back and grabbed it, then snatched
Patterson's cowboy hat up off the floor. His
shotgun was there. He made a quick decision to leave
it. The
12-gauge would require both hands. Besides, a
blast from that would almost certainly be fatal, and he
didn't want to kill any of the girls.
He pulled the bag over his head, blind for a moment
until he found the eyeholes, then jammed the
Stetson down to hold it in place.
He crawled across the seat and climbed out.
Sandy was sprawled on top of the girl from the trunk.
Lisa had one of the girl's
arms
pinned to the street. Sandy was trying to sit up.
Her trench coat was wide open, still on her shoulders
but leaving the rest of her body naked except for her
socks and sneakers as she pushed backward at the
pavement. Her skin gleamed black under the
streetlight. Trev stared at her, feeling an
unexpected rush of heat. Then he hurried forward,
careful not to step on any legs. He ducked down,
grabbed Sandy's coat by the shoulders, and pulled her
up.
She threw herself against him. As he staggered backward
a step and braced himself, Sandy ripped open his
shirt. He felt her fingernails through the thin
LA
YMON
plastic. Before they could tear it, he caught her
wrists. He shoved her arms down against her sides,
then forced them up behind her back. She came tight
against him.
"Sandy!" he yelled in her face. "Stop it!"
She shook her head and squirmed. Through the
plastic glued to his chest, he could feel the heat of
her skin, the rub of her breasts, the stiffness of her
nipples.
Her head darted toward his face.
He rammed her arms up higher. She squealed and
tossed back her head, rising as if going up on
tiptoes, arching her spine. He felt a soft,
curved ridge pressing his groin and realized he had
an erection.
"Damn itff8he snapped. "Settle down or
I'll break your arms off!" He gave them an
upward yank. She shrieked and tried to climb his
body.
Letting go, he shoved her away. She stumbled
backward and fell to her rump beside the struggling
girls. Trev pulled his revolver. He aimed it
at her chest. "Come at me again, I'll shoot you!
You're gonna do what I tell you!"
She sat there, glaring up at him.
Trev kept the gun on her, and turned his eyes
to the girls. They were a rolling, snarling tangle as
they punched and bit and scratched one another. Trev
rushed forward and kicked. His shoe caught Lisa just
under the armpit and sent her tumbling off the other
girl.
Standing above her, he aimed at her face. "Get
up slow or I'll kill you."
Lisa bared her teeth.
RAINY
NIGHT
Glancing from her to Sandy, he stepped over to the girl
from the trunk. She'd obviously been no match for
Lisa. She was sprawled on her back, whimpering
as she gasped for breath. The bib of her jumper had
been torn down. Her blouse was ripped open and
pulled off one shoulder. The skin of that shoulder
looked mangled. In the glow from the street light,
Trev saw blood there, mixed with the running black
rain water. Her pleated skirt was rucked up around
her waist. A knee sock had come down and was
bunched above her ankle. Trev nudged that ankle
with his shoe.
"Get up," he said.
He stepped backward, sweeping his weapon from side
to side.
"I'm in command," he told the women as they slowly
rose to their feet. "You'll do whatever I say.
Anybody causes trouble, I'll shoot. If you
behave yourselves, we might all get through this mess
alive. Is that ... ?"
From behind him came the metalic snick-snack of
someone working a pump action.
He whirled around.
Francine. She stood by the car's open door,
grinning, a shotgun at her hip.
The one he'd left in the car.
Jesus!
He jerked his trigger. In the instant before the hammer
dropped, he heard a clack from the shotgun and
realized it was empty. He had no time to turn his
muzzle away. The revolver bucked. Its blast
crashed
LA
MON
in his ears. Francine flinched. Her mouth fell
open. She lowered her head and turned it as if trying
to find the stain of something carelessly spilled.
Dropping the shotgun, she lifted a hand and touched
her sweater midway between her left shoulder and the top
of her breast. She took the hand away, turned
sideways and looked at her fingers in the light from the
car. Then she looked at Trev. "You shot me, you
bastard," she said. "You . . ." She pitched forward
and fell flat. Trev cringed at the sound her face
made hitting the pavement.
Lisa rushed in, and he realized he'd forgotten
about the women at his back.
He swung around. Sandy and the girl from the trunk,
both hurrying forward, abruptly stopped. Standing
sideways, he was able to keep them covered and still
watch Lisa.
He felt sick. He'd shot her mother.
The girl, on her knees, pulled Francine
onto her back. She tore the sweater off the
woman's shoulder, jerked the bra strap out of her
way, sank down and pressed her mouth to the wound.
"Lisaff8She ignored him. He heard sucking
sounds. He rushed forward, kicked her sprawling,
then crouched beside Francine. He pressed an open
hand against the woman's chest, felt her rib cage
rise and fall.
She was breathing.
Keeping his eyes on the other three, he holstered his
revolver. He grabbed Francine under the armpits
and
RAINY
NIGHT
pulled her up. Careful not to knock the Stetson
off his head, he hoisted her onto his shoulder. He
clamped his left arm across the backs of her
legs, and stood. He drew his gun. "OK
ladies," he said. "Let's go."
John was waiting by a sink when the door opened and
Tina, Andy's girlfriend, entered the restroom.
"Oh!" she gasped.
A blush warmed John's face. He smiled.
"Just waiting for my wife," he said, and nodded toward
a toilet stall.
'is she all right88Tina asked.
"Yeah, she's just fine. Thanks. Anything happening
out there?"
"It's all just so awful." "What?"
"Well, you know." She sighed and shook her head.
Her eyes were still red from crying, her face smudged and
streaked with makeup that had dried after running. "Just
everything."
"They haven't opened the doors again, have they?"
"Oh, no. They sure haven't. Not since you did
it and everybody tried to get in." She drew her
arms in close to her sides and shuddered. "Everyone's
just so scared
LA
YMON
and crazy. And they're wondering where you went off
to."
"Thought I'd better stay with Lynn," he said.
Then he called out, "Honey, I'll wait for you
right outside the door."
"OK. I won't be much longer."
To Tina, he said, "Sorry if I startled you."
"No, that's all right."
He went out the door, noticed that no one was using the
pay telephones, and stepped over to one. He dug
into his pocket for change. He lifted the receiver
off its hook. Its black plastic was slippery with
his sweat. He realized he was suddenly trembling.
Reaching toward the coin slot, he hesitated. What
if nobody answers?
But he knew that he had to make the call. Denise
would probably pick it up. He could talk to her,
to Kara. If everything was all right, it would lift a
terrible weight off his mind.
He took a deep, shaky breath, then dropped a
quarter into the slot. He punched in his home
number. Some hissy sounds.
A ringing.
Answer it! Come on!
It rang four times. Five.
Sweat trickled down John's sides. Six.
Seven. Eight.
Damn it! Please!
A soft click and clatter. "Hello?"
"Denise!"
"Mr Foxworth?"
RAINY
NIGHT
"Thank God." "We're OK."
"Thank God," he said again.
"Are you and Mrs Foxworth all right?"
"Fine. We're fine. It's insane around here, but
... we're holding on. Nothing's happened at the
house?" Silence.
"Denise?" "Yeah?" "Is something wrong?"
"No. But look, I have to tell you something. My
boyfriend's here. Tom? I didn't mention it before, but
... anyway, Lynn said it'd be OK if he
came over."
"Your boyfriend?" "Yeah. Tom Carney." "When
did he show up?"
"It was after the rain started, but ... "Oh, my
God. He didn't get
wet
?"
"Well, yeah. But he's OK now. Nobody
got hurt. He got ... washed off, and
he was fine."
"What?" "Yeah. You know the rain? At least with
Tom, he stopped being crazy once it was cleaned
off. He was just the same as usual."
John gazed at the phone. His mind seemed to be
reeling.
They had a guy with them. He must've come in crazy,
maybe even attacked them. But they were OK. They
hadn't been hurt. And somehow, the black stuff had
been washed off and he'd returned to normal.
LA
YMON
It doesn't make them permanently nuts.
The implications of that ...
"Mr Foxworth?"
"I'm here. Are you sure Tom was all right again after
he got clean?"
"I'm positive." "Jesus," he muttered.
"Kara's right here -- Do you want to talk
to her?"8Sure."
"But don't hang up," Denise said. "I want
to talk to you about something."
"Fine. OK."
A moment later, Kara said, "Oh, hi, Daddy."
Oh, hi. As if it came as big news
that he was on the line. Those were always her first words into a
telephone, even when she was the one instigating the
call. Tears filled John's eyes. "Honey."
"How are you?" she asked.
"Mommy and I are just fine," he said through the
tightness in his throat. "We're still at the
restaurant. How's everything there?"
"Pretty neat. We had popcorn and I had a
New York seltzer and we watched my birthday
on the VCR but I fell asleep."
"Sounds like you're having a great time." John used
his sleeve to wipe his eyes, but more tears came.
"Wish I was there," he said.
"Me, too. When're you and Mommy coming home?"
"I don't know, honey. I think we'll have to wait
till the rain stops."
"Can I stay up till you get home?"
RAINY
NIGHT
"Well, stay with Denise and Tom. You don't have
to go to your bedroom. Sleep on the sofa if you get
tired."
"I'm not tired now." "How's Tom?"
"Oh, he's real nice. I guess Denny told
you what happened, didn't she?"
"A little."
"Well, we beat up Tom real bad and knocked
him out. I bonked him right on the head. But he's
fine now."
"You're a tough little monkey, huh?" "I am not a
monkey, Daddy."
"No, you're not. I love you, honey."
"I love you, too. Can I talk to Mommy?"8ation
right now. She's in the bathroom." "Oh. OK."
"You be good, honey. Now, let me talk to Denise
again."
"OK, bye."
A moment later, Denise said, "Me again. What
I wanted to tell you, there's been some news on the
TV. They said this is only happening here in
Bixby."
"Well, that's good to know."
"Yeah. But the thing is, Tom has this idea about the
three of us trying to drive out. You know, go where it
isn't raining? He's got an umbrella, and
he's already found your raincoat and some galoshes. I
don't know. I think we ought to stay here. What about
you?"
LA
YMON
"y
es.
For godsake, don't leave the house. There's no
telling what you might run into."
"Yeah, that's the way I see it, too." "Let
me talk to him."
"Sure. Just a second."
John heard a quiet whoosh behind him, realized it
must be the restroom door opening, and turned to see
if Lynn was there. She met his gaze. And suddenly
went rigid. Her face lost its color. A
frantic, stricken look came to her eyes.
I've been crying, he thought. Shit! He said
fast, "Everything's fine."
Lynn shut her eyes. She let out a breath, went
a little limp, and leaned her side against the door
frame. "Mr Foxworth88A stranger's voice.
"Hello. Tom?"
Lynn opened her eyes. She looked confused.
"Yes. Denny said you wanted to speak with me."
Nodding, he forced himself to smile for Lynn. "I
want you to stay in the house, Tom. Forget about
trying to get out of town, OK?"
"Well, you know, if we can get to one of the CHP
roadblocks, we'll be safe."
"Don't try it. Not with my daughter. And not with
Denise. If you want to go by yourself, that's up to you.
But what I'd really like you to do is stay in the house
and take care of the girls."
"Well ... I wouldn't go off and leave them,
sir." "Then you'll stay put?"
John heard nothing for a few moments. Then came a
quiet sigh. Tom said, "Yes, sir. I'll
stay. I'll protect
RAINY
NIGHT
them as best I can if anything happens."
"Good man." Lynn pushed away from the wall and
stood up straight again, frowning as she stared at
John. 'is it true what Denise said about you
getting wet?" he asked.
"Yes, sir. The stuff got on me when I came
to your house from my car. But I didn't hurt
anyone. Denise, a little. But she's OK. I
never touched Kara."
"I'm glad to hear it. But you're all right,
now?"8allyes, sir."
"You got clean, and then you were all right?"
"Uh-uh."
"That's great news, Tom. It's been
nice talking with you.?
"You, too, sir. And you can count on me. I'll
stay right here and take care of everything."
"I really appreciate it." He smiled again at
Lynn. "Is Kara still there?"
"Sure," Tom said. "You want to talk to her?"
"Her mother does."
"Here she is."
John stepped aside and held the handset out for
Lynn. Her eyes filled and her chin started
to tremble. She rushed forward and took the phone.
"Kara?" A moment later, in a choked voice, she
said, "Oh, hi to you, too."
While she talked, John stood next to her. He
caressed her back. It shook against his hand each time
she sobbed.
She's really been through it tonight, he thought. We all
have.
LA
YMON
Now she's weeping, overcome with love for Kara and
relief that the girl is OK and probably
despair that she might never see her again.
A
few minutes ago, she'd been mad with
lust.
It's having death right outside the door, John
thought. Death trying to get at you. Makes life so
urgent and sweet.
His hand drifted down to her rump. He squeezed it
gently through the slick fabric and she smiled at him
and sniffed and told Kara,
"W
e'll be home pretty soon, honey
."
After she hung up the phone, she turned to John and
held him tight.
"I
want us to be home with her
,"
she said.
"I
know. So do I."
"W
hat'll we do
?"
"W
e'd better get back to the others.
"C
an't we leave
?"
"y
out know we can't. Not yet
."
He took Lynn's hand and led her through the
cocktail lounge to the foyer. Everyone seemed to be
g
athered near the closed doors. his
Can
I
have your attention
?"
John called out.
People turned to him. The talking faded.
"W
here the heli've you been
?"
Gus snapped.
"I
was on the phone
."
"F
or ten fucking minutes
?"
"S
hut up
,"
Lynn told him.
"I
found out a couple of things
,"
John said.
"I
talked with someone who saw a newscast, and
Bixby's the only place where this is happening. Every
place else is fine
."
Some of the people appeared relieved. He heard
RAINY
NIGHT
murmurs of "Thank God," and "Well, that's
something,
anyway
,"
and
"A
t least we're the only ones.
Gus muttered,
"L
ot of good that does us
."
Dr Goodman said,
"D
o they know what's causing the situation
?"
"I don't know
,"
John said.
"B
ut I think it's reassuring that it's confined to this
area. Authorities are aware of it. Apparently,
the Highway Patrol has set up some
roadblocks nearby
."
"W
ill they be coming in to rescue us
?"
Carol Winter asked.
"I
don't know
."
"W
e can't depend on that
,"
Cassy said, stepping toward the front of the
group. She smiled at John, then turned to scan
the others.
"W
e've got to take care of ourselves
."
"T
hey haven't tried anything for a while
,"
said an elderly woman.
"P
robably waiting for us to open the doors again
,"
Peggy said.
John raised a hand to regain their attention.
"I
found out something else. The madness isn't permanent.
Once the rain has been washed off, the people
apparently become normal again. Now, we've got
several of them tied up in here. Those who haven't
been disabled can help us defend this place if we
clean them up. So let's form a group and take them
into the kitchen
."
"T
hrow 'em in the dishwasher
,"
suggested the little man who believed in levity.
"T
here are a couple of wash tubs
,"
John said.
"L
et's get started
."
LA
YMON
Maureen slowed her Jeep as she drove through an
intersection. She glanced both ways. Cars were
parked in driveways and along the curbs, but the
street looked deserted.
"Where
are
they?" she muttered.
The last she'd seen of the three motorcycles was just
after the collision when they'd been turning right onto a
sidestreet. By the time she'd reached the corner,
however, they'd been gone.
She'd headed down that road, looking for them.
Maybe the bastards had reached their destination, and she
would spot their bikes in front of a house.
She'd scanned the curbs, the driveways, the
front lawns of the houses along the street. She'd
checked both ways at the corners, peering down the
crossstreets in search of their lights.
But this was the fifth or sixth intersection she'd
passed without finding any sign of them.
They'd had a big headstart. Still, if they'd gone this
far, she should've seen them when she first turned onto
the road. So they must've taken one of the earlier
sidestreets.
Maureen swung across the road, pulled into a
driveway, reversed her way out, and started back in
the direction from which she'd come.
I'll Find them if I have to drive down every street
in the whole damn town, she thought. Find them and
waste their sorry asses.
RAINY
NIGHT
If that car hadn't cut in front of her ...
Snarling, she pounded the steering wheel.
For a few moments, she considered driving back to the
scene of the accident and killing the ones in that car.
She'd caught a glimpse of those inside. There'd
been three or four in there. She could have a field
day. If they were still hanging around. They're
probably long gone, she thought. Unless they were
hurt.
And they might be armed.
Also, they were strangers. Killing them wouldn't be
half as good as killing Buddy and Doug and Lou.
Those guys had messed with her. Buddy, for
godsake, had raped her. She remembered how
she'd wanted to kill him for it even before she escaped
from the house and got herself wet again.
Her mind went back to the rape. She could feel
herself sprawled on the slick bottom of the tub, the
hot shower pouring down, Buddy pulling at her
buttocks and thrusting into her. The memories took
her breath away. She felt heat spreading outward
from her center. Her nipples tingled as they pushed
against the damp fabric of her T-shirt. She
imagined herself reaching up for Buddy, pulling him down
against her, sinking her teeth into his throat. Blood
spurting down her throat while his cock twitched
deep inside her, pumping her full of semen.
Trembling, she let out a sigh.
That would've been just incredible.
She remembered how she'd felt only pain and
outrage and shame when Buddy had actually taken
her.
LA
YMON
No thrill at all. Even the desire to kill him
hadn't brought any feelings of lust.
I was sure different then. "Weird," she
muttered.
She suddenly had an urge to feel the rain, so she
cranked down her window and put her arm out. The warm
drops splashed against it. How nice it would be to have a
convertible, to feel the rain pouring down on her. She
cupped some in her hand. As she rubbed it over her
face, she glimpsed a stop sign.
I could stop and get out, she thought. Just for a minute.
No, I've got to find them.
The rain would feel good on her. But their blood would
feel better.
Then she realized she had just gone through the intersection
without even looking for the guys.
She stepped on the brake. The Jeep came to a
stop, and she shifted to reverse. She started to back
up, but changed her mind.
They'd probably gone up one of the streets closer
to where they'd turned onto this road. One of the First
few.
She continued driving forward while she thought
about the matter.
They'd probably made a left. A right would've
taken them parallel to Buddy's street, and back in
the direction they'd started from. If they'd wanted to do
that, they would've headed the other way when they came out
of Buddy's driveway.
Maureen grinned.
RAINY
NIGHT
it was so obvious. They'd gone left.
That means I make a right, she told herself, since
I'm coming from this direction.
I'll start at the first street they could've turned
onto, check it out for a while, then work my way
back on the next one.
She sped up.
She'd gone two blocks when a man dashed out of a
driveway. She pressed down harder on the gas
pedal, hoping to hit him. But he was running too
fast. He would get by her in time, and she was
reluctant to make a swerve for him, fearing she
might spin out and crash. He suddenly flung his
arms wide and seemed to dive at the pavement. He
skidded to a halt right in front of her. Maureen
saw the feathered shaft of an arrow upright in
the middle of his back. She looked to the side and
glimpsed the man with the bow. Standing on a front
lawn. Wearing a breechclout, a feathered band around
his head. Drawing another arrow from his quiver. Then
she bumped over the body in the street.
Moments later, something thunked her Jeep. An
arrow? The bastard shot at
me!
She had a sudden urge to back up and go after the
guy, run him down.
Hell no, she thought. Keep wasting time, and I'll
never find Buddy and his pals.
LA
YMON
"Does anybody want to see more of my birthday
party88Kara asked as
Fistful of Dollars
came to an end.
"I think we should keep this channel on," Denise
told her. "They might have another news report."
"Oh. OK."
Denise, smiling, patted the girl's knee. And
gripped it when she heard a growling rumble of engine
noise. She glanced at Tom, then stared at the
front door. The roar seemed to be coming from
beyond it. As if a motorcycle or a souped-up car
was thundering by on the street outside. She waited for the
sound to fade away. But it grew louder and louder and
ended abruptly.
A chill squirmed up her back. "Uh-oh,"
Tom said.
She turned to him. He was gazing at the door. He
looked as if someone had just invited him to eat a
worm.
"Is something the matter?" Kara asked.
Denise ducked forward, snatched the remote control
off the table, and shut off the television. "Somebody
stopped in front of the house," she whispered.
Kara's lips formed an o, then stretched away,
baring her teeth as her eyebrows climbed her
forehead.
"Sounded like motorcycles," Tom whispered. "More
than one88Denise asked.
RAINY
NIGHT
He shook his head. "Three or four, maybe."
"Does that mean somebody's coming
here?"
Kara asked.
"We don't know," Denise said.
"Let's be real quiet. if they think no one's
home . . ." Her voice trailed off.
Kara snuggled up against her. Tom put a hand on
her back. The three sat motionless on the sofa,
gazing at the door.
They all flinched when the bell rang.
Denise glanced at the table beyond her knees. The
fireplace poker was there, along with the hammer and
butcher knife.
The doorbell rang again.
"Should we see who it isThat Kara whispered.
"Shhhh."
Someone pounded on the door. Each blow shook it.
Each blow felt to Denise like a punch in the
stomach. She struggled to breathe. Her cheeks
tickled. She rubbed them with one hand, and found the skin
pebbled with goosebumps.
"Lisa88a voice called through the door.
"Lisa?" Kara whispered, frowning up at
Denise. "She was supposed to be sitting for me
tonight." "Yeah. I know."
"It's Buddy," the voice called. "Come on,
open up." "Buddy Gilbert," Denise muttered.
"Oh, great," Tom said. "And he thinks Lisa's
here." "They go together," Denise said.
"They did till she started running around with Max."
LA
YMON
He pounded the door again. "Open up, Lisa! Come
on, I know you're in there."
"He's probably got Doug and Lou with him,"
Tom said.
"Lisa!" Buddy shouted. "Let me in! Right
now! Or I'll bust the fucking door down!"
"The F word," Kara whispered.
Tom leaned forward. He snatched the poker off the
table and got to his feet.
"What're you doing?"
"I'd better tell him Lisa isn't here.
Maybe they'll go away."
"Fat chance."
A hard blow rattled the door in its frame.
As Tom hurried toward the foyer, Denise picked
up the hammer. She went after him, glanced back and
saw Kara following, the knife in her hand.
Tom pressed his shoulder to the door. "Buddy?"
"Who the hell are you?"
"Tom Carney."
"What the fuck are you doing there, Carney?"
"Lisa isn't here."
"Bullshit. Let me in."
"It's the truth," Denise said. "Lisa was
supposed to be here. but she canceled out."
"Who're you?" "Denise Gunderson." "Denise,
huh?"
The way he said her name, she thought of how he leered
at her in school. The look had always made her
feel crawly.
RAINY
NIGHT
She heard some quiet voices through the door. Then
Buddy
said,
"y
ou're
bluffing. I know damn well Lisa's there. She
got you two for body guards, or what?"
"She's not here!" Tom shouted. "Bullshit." He
crashed against the door.
"We've got guns!" Tom yelled. "Now
knock it off! Get out of here or I'll start
shooting! I swear to God, you hit the door one more
time and I'll put some bullets through it!"
Denise heard more faint conversation from outside. Then
silence.
She stared at Tom. Grimacing, he shook his head
as if he thought the warning about guns was a pretty
lame idea, but the best he could do.
He looked surprised when the motorcycles
grumbled to life. A grin spread across his face.
He whispered, "I'll be damned."
"Get away from the door," Denise said, suddenly
fearing that Buddy might try to ram it down with his
bike.
"You don't think ... ?"
"I don't know." She rushed over to the picture
window and swept the drapery out of her way.
Clamping the hammer between her knees, she cupped her
hands against the glass and peered out.
Far to the right, she saw the three boys mounted on their
motorcycles. The bikes turned in tight
circles near the end of the driveway, their
headlights sweeping across the window. Then the bikes
roared down to the street, swung right and sped out of
sight.
LA
YMON
Denise stepped away from the window. Tom and Kara
gazed at her, their eyes wide. "I don't
believe it," she said. "They really
left."
Kara beamed. "They just didn't want to get shot
to smithereens."
Tom, with a weary smile, sagged against the door.
"God," he muttered. "That was a close one."
"I wonder if they'll be back," Denise said.
"Yeah. I wouldn't put it past those creeps.
Did you see who was with Buddy?"
"Two other guys. I didn't get a very good
look, but I think they were probably Doug and Lou
like you thought."
"Probably. Those three are always together."
"I wonder what sort of plans they had for
Lisa." Tom shook his head. "Did you hear what
happened at the dance last night?"
Denise had agreed to miss the football game and the
dance that followed so her parents, being away for the
weekend, wouldn't have to worry about her.
"It was on the news about Max," she said.
"Well, that was afterward. But I saw Jim Homer
today, and he said Buddy and Doug and Lou showed up
drunk and really gave Lisa and Max a bad time.
They got themselves booted out."
Denise felt herself sinking inside. "You don't
think ... you don't suppose they're the
ones who
did
that to Max?"
She saw Tom's face go red. His lip curled
up. "What happened to Max?" Kara asked.
RAINY
NIGHT
"Somebody murdered him last night," Denise
explained.
"Oooo, yuck."
She frowned at Tom. "Kara's mom ... she
told me on the phone that Lisa couldn't come here because
her mother was taking her to the police station. It sounded like
Lisa wanted to tell the cops something about the
murder."
"Oh, my God," Tom muttered. "I guess
it'd crossed my mind that those guys might've ...
But ... I can't believe they'd actually do that
to someone. They're real jerks but ... I mean,
to actually . . ."
"Can we change the subject?" Kara asked.
Denise glanced at her, then met Tom's eyes.
"I bet they came here to kill Lisa."
"They're wet," he said. "They'll kill anyone
they can."
"But if they think she's here .
"Maybe they're heading for her house."
"Or maybe they just rode away to trick us,"
Denise said, 'and they'll come back on foot."
Lou hadn't wanted to leave. Not with Denise there.
But he followed Buddy and Doug away down the
street, hurting with disappointment.
LA
YMON
They swung into the driveway of a house at the end
of the block, only four homes away from the
Foxworth place. Lou shut off his engine, kicked
down the stand and climbed off.
"Why'd we stah here?" he asked, being careful not
to move his lower lip, forming the words deeper inside his
mouth than usual. He knew they sounded garbled, but
he didn't care. "I thought we were going
to Lisa's."
"W
e
are going to Lisa's dickhead."
Lou's heart quickened. "Huh?"
Doug shook his head, smirking at him. "You
didn't believe that shit they handed us back there,
did you?" He hesitated. "I guess
not."
They strode down to the sidewalk and started back.
"Those asswipes were probably lying about the guns,
too," Buddy said. "But just in case, we're
gonna go in careful. Find ourselves some windows."
Lou nodded. He wasn't sure how going in
carefully would solve the problem of being met
by firearms. It wasn't likely, after all, that
windows had been left unlocked. Glass would have
to be broken. The noise would ruin any chance of
taking them by surprise.
Lou didn't want to get shot.
But Lisa had to be killed, that was for sure.
And Denise was in the house. Denise Gunderson.
We're going back. Oh yeah, we're going
back! He'd missed his chance for Maureen, but
Denise
... whenever he saw her in school, he ached with
strange feelings of desire and sadness. She was more
than just beautiful. There was something fresh and innocent
about her that made him hollow inside.

I
RAINY
NIGHT
Lou remembered the empty feelings of loss that she
always stirred in him. But they weren't here, now.
"Cause I'm going to get her, after all. Tonight.
He pictured her tied spread-eagle to a bed.
He saw himself ripping her clothes off. Pushing the
tines of his barbecue fork against one of her breasts.
Watching the skin dent as she writhed and screamed.
Seeing the points break through her skin and slide in.
And that would just be the start.
Lou's heart pounded like a hammer. His breath came
in shaky gasps. His penis strained against the front
of his pants and he wanted to let it out but the guys
would laugh at him.
Buddy halted in front of the house next door to the
one where Denise waited. "Let's go around the
back," he said. "Find us some windows."
"A
ll
right!"
Doug said.
Lou grinned, and winced with pain from his torn lip.
Then he slid the barbecue fork out of his belt. "I
want Denise." he said.
"You get who you get," Buddy told him.
Trev knew they weren't making good time.
It slowed him down, lugging Francine around on his
shoulder. And it slowed him down, keeping the others
covered in front of him.
LA
YMON
Without the women, he would've been at the Chidi
house by now. But he couldn't leave Francine to die
from her wound or be killed by any of the crazies he
sometimes glimpsed in the distance. Nor could he allow
the other three to run wild and maybe kill innocent
people.
For one reason or another, all four women were here
because of him. They were in his care. They were his
responsibility. He planned to make sure they
lived through the night.
No matter how much they slowed him down. Only a
couple more blocks to go, he told himself. Lisa was
the worst. She kept walking backward,
staring at him and Francine. Trev was sure that his
gun was the only thing that kept her from attacking. The
girl from the trunk behaved herself. She
walked beside Sandy, her head low. Trev supposed
that her injuries must've taken her spunk out.
Sandy hadn't caused much trouble, so far. She'd
thrown Maureen's trench coat to the
pavement soon after they began their journey, and
Trev had told her to put it back on. She'd
drawled, "You aim to plug me if I don't?" and
kept on walking. He had decided it wasn't
worth fighting about. And he found that he didn't mind
watching her stride along, naked except for her
socks and sneakers. Sometimes, she turned around,
grinning and rubbing herself. Trev wasn't sure whether
she was trying to be seductive in hopes of getting
close so she could put her teeth into him, or whether
she was simply aroused by the feel of the rain.
RAINY
NIGHT
"Why don't you turn around before you trip?" he
told Lisa.
Instead of obeying, she halted, crouched, spread her
arms and growled.
Trev aimed his gun at her face. "Keep
moving." The girl from the trunk continued walking
forward, but Sandy pranced up behind Lisa and slapped
the side of her head. "Do like he tells you," she
said.
Lisa whirled around. "You bitch!" she snapped.
-We can take him!"
"You're dumber than a dead dog's
butt, girl. He'd put holes in us sure."
"He won't shoot us." Lisa bared her teeth at
him. "You like us, don't you." It wasn't a question.
"You want to
save
us, don't you."
"My own skin comes first, Lisa," he told her.
She lurched toward Sandy and grabbed the woman's
arm. "Come on. Help me."
"Not on your life, gal." Sandy tugged her arm from
Lisa's grip and the blast of a gunshot crashed in
Trev's ears and Lisa's head jerked sideways
as if it had been kicked. A mess flew out from her
left temple. "Down!" Trev shouted.
He dropped to a crouch as Lisa toppled to the
pavement. Sandy threw herself flat by the curb. The
girl from the trunk turned around slowly as if
confused. "Get down!" Trev yelled at her.
Another shot. A bullet kicked sparks off the
hood of a parked car. The way the girl leaped
backward. it must've just missed her. She squatted
quickly beside the car.
LA
YMON
Trev dumped Francine off his shoulder.
He spread himself out flat on the street.
A slug whined off the pavement near his face.
He twisted his head to the left. Lost his
eyeholes. With one hand, he turned the bag until
he could see again.
A man in plain sight. An old, bald guy in
a plaid shirt, standing some fifty feet away under
the shelter of his porch roof. The porch was lighted.
Even as Trev spotted him, the geezer levered his
rifle and put another shot through the screen. The
bullet chopped the curb near Sandy.
He's not wet!
He killed Lisa and he's not even fucking wet!
"Hold your fire, damn itff8Trev yelled.
"I'm a police officer!"
"Whoop-de-doo, fella!" He swung the barrel
in Trev's direction and fired again. The bullet
struck the street somewhere behind Trev's head.
"Stop it! Just let us pass. We've got no
business with you."
Except you killed Lisa,
Trev thought.
"I got business with you!" the man called. He
levered another round into the chamber as Trev shoved
himself up to his knees and the bag blinded him
and he threw it off along with Patterson's hat and
he could see again and the rain felt good on his head and
he braced his aiming hand and the man sighted in on him
and fired. Something stung Trev's thigh. Something
else slopped against it, and Trev snapped off four
shots as fast as he could pull the trigger. The old
man jerked, staggered backward and fell out of sight.
RAINY
NIGHT
Trev looked down. A mess clung to the leg of
his jeans. A chunk of skull, hair still clinging to its
patch of scalp. slid down the denim. It had come
from Francine's head. There was a cavity above her
right ear.
He set his revolver on the pavement and tugged the
plastic bags off his hands.
There was a slash at the side of his jeans just above the
knee.
Like one of the cuts in Lisa's jeans.
I'm a fashion plate, he thought, and chuckled
softly.
His skin under the slash felt burnt. The bullet
must've nicked him.
I'll live, he thought.
He touched the glop that had splashed the leg
of his jeans. It felt spongy and warm. He
scooped some off and stuffed it into his mouth. Moaning
at the good taste of it, he shoved his fingers
into Francine's head and started to dig out more.
"Trevor!" Sandy stood in front of him. He
took his fingers out of Francine's head and reached for
her. He wrapped his slippery hands around her
buttocks and drew her closer. When he pressed
his mouth between her legs, she grabbed his hair. She
yanked his head backward. He gazed up between her
breasts at her frowning black face.
"Grandpa Chidi," she said. "Remember him?"
Trev nodded. He remembered. But he didn't
care. He strained against Sandy's grip, trying
to get his
LA
YMON
mouth on her again, but she jerked his hair so hard that
tears filled his eyes. He cried out.
"I reckon we gotta finish what we started,"
she said. "OK, OK."
She released his hair and stepped back. Trev
reached down for his gun.
She stepped on his hand. Her knee crashed against his
forehead. The blow knocked him backward.
His hand pulled out from under her shoe, But without the gun.
He pushed himself up.
Sandy had the gun. It was aimed at his face.
"Get up off the street," she said. "We got us
a job to do."

Of those from outside the restaurant who'd been
taken- alive, the kid with the Mohawk haircut
remained unconscious and one man had broken arms.
There was no point in washing either of them.
Four others were in good enough shape to help defend the
place: Bill the parking attendant; a kid of about
sixteen wearing only a T-shirt; a young woman
dressed in a nightgown; and the old fellow who'd
tried to strike John with his golf club.
Bound and struggling, they were carried into the kitchen and
placed on the floor near the wash tubs.
RAINY
NIGHT
The tubs were about two feet deep. Each looked
large enough to permit someone to sit down or kneel.
John stoppered the drain of one, and turned on the
water.
"Let's do Bill first," Cassy suggested.
Roscoe the chef dragged the young man to his
feet. John held a knife on him while
Roscoe removed the belts lashed around his arms and
legs. Lynn and Cassy held onto his arms.
He struggled against them until John pressed the
blade to his throat. "Calm down, pal."
Bill glared, but stopped resisting.
Steve and Carol kept watch on the other three as
Roscoe, Lynn and Cassy stripped Bill down
to his underwear. He was mostly black to his neck.
From his shoulders to his feet, he looked clean
except for his hands. Apparently, he hadn't been
under the rain long enough for it to penetrate his clothes to the
skin.
"I don't think we'll have to put him in,"
Cassy said. "Yeah," John agreed. "Just dunk
his head and hands."
Roscoe shoved Bill against the sink and pushed his
head down into the water. Lynn and Cassy plunged
his hands in. The three of them held him under,
Roscoe rubbing his hair. The water turned murky
gray. Then they let him up. He lurched out of the
water, gasping. His hair was blond, his face red.
He looked around, blinking.
Cassy gave him a dish towel. He frowned at
her. "How are you?" she asked.
He shrugged. "OK. I guess it worked, huh?"
"Did it?" Cassy asked him.
LA
YMON
"I
guess
I
hurt you, huh? When
I
came in
?"
"Yeah."
His face flushed to a deeper shade of red.
"Jeez, I'm really sorry."
Cassy met John's eyes. She smiled. "It
really did work," she said. "This is great."
"Let's do the rest," John said. "Bill, you can
get your clothes back on and go out to help the
others."
He scowled down at his wet, stained clothes.
"It's all right," John told him. "Secondary
contact doesn't seem to bother anyone."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It means the rain actually has to get you,"
Cassy explained. "You can touch someone
who's black, or you can touch their clothes, and it
doesn't make you weird."
"That doesn't make any sense," Bill said.
"Maybe not," Cassy told him. "But it's
true."
Bill wrinkled his nose, then crouched and picked up
his clothes and moved out of the way.
"OK," Lynn said. "Who's next?"
"Her." Roscoe said. He pulled the woman up
by her arms, stepped behind her and began to remove the
belts while Lynn and Cassy held her.
Unlike Bill, she looked as if she'd been out
in the rain for a long time. Her hair was black,
matted down and stringy. Her nightgown was a sodden,
clinging rag. The women peeled it up and dropped it
to the floor. John saw that the rain had seeped right
through it. She was black from head to toe.
Steve gave the chef a hand and they lifted her into
RAINY
NIGHT
the sink. She sat down in the water, knees up.
John stepped aside to make room for the women.
They went to work with dish rags, starting at her head.
In seconds, her hair was blonde again. Water
streamed down, sluicing through the black,
leaving strips of pale skin. They scrubbed her
face, her neck, her shoulders. John watched
rivulets run down her breasts, drops fall from
her nipples. Then Lynn blocked his view and he
looked away.
Do the kid next, he thought. Probably a better
fighter than the old man.
"That should just about do it," Lynn said. "Missed some
on her shin." Roscoe told her. The woman in the
tub began to weep.
The boom of a gunshot made John jump.
Lynn's head snapped around. Her eyes were
suddenly frantic.
Faint shouts of alarm came from somewhere beyond the
kitchen. Screams. Another explosion. John
raced for the kitchen doors.
"Noff8Lynn yelled.
"Stay hereff8He slammed through a door and burst
into the dining room. Men and women rushed by, some
hunched low, others glancing back in panic. A
few ducked under tables. Dr Goodman hurled a
chair through a window. As the glass shattered, he
dived out into the rain.
"My Godff8It was Steve. Behind him.
"What's happening?" Carol's voice.
She must've come out with Steve.
Another blast.
LA
YMON
John ran toward the foyer, but stopped abruptly
when he saw that the doors stood wide open.
Crazies were already in, throwing themselves onto those
who'd stayed to fight. In their midst stood a man
with a short-barreled shotgun. A gunbelt laden with
equipment hung around his waist. On the chest of his
drenched shirt, a shield gleamed. A police
badge.
As John watched, the cop shoved the muzzle of his
shotgun into the belly of a waitress -- Peggy --
and pulled the trigger. The blast folded her in half
and lifted her feet off the floor.
She was still in the air when John whirled around. He
glimpsed Steve and Carol dashing for the broken
window.
Planning to take their chances with the rain.
Better that, maybe, than staying to be slaughtered in
the restaurant.
John rammed through the door into the kitchen. He saw
Roscoe running for the alley exit, pulling the
naked woman from the tub along behind him.
Lynn and Cassy were still by the tub. They both held
knives. They both stared at John with terrified
eyes.
"This is it," he gasped. "We're being overrun."
Overrun.
Like his firebase.
He'd survived that. He would survive this. The
same way. But with Lynn and Cassy. This time, he
wouldn't be the only one to make it.
"What'll we do88Lynn asked. "Get
invisible," he said.
They looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.
RAINY
NIGHT
"Strip," he said. He snatched the clump of
black nightgown off the floor and tossed it
to Lynn. "Put it on."
As she caught the gown, John saw the look in
Cassy's eyes. She seemed to understand what he had
in mind. And to understand that there was only one black
nightgown, and he'd given it to his wife. She
looked like a kid who hadn't been picked for a
game, and was trying not to show her letdown.
She flinched at the sound of a gunshot. This blast had
a hard, flat sound. Not the shotgun. A
revolver. "Get your clothes off," John told
her.
Two more shots.
In the wake of the blasts, John heard screams and
shouts and wailing and giggles. Sounds of a madhouse
where slaughter was in full swing.
Dropping to his knees, he cut through the belt that
bound the teenaged boy's hands together. The kid started
to fight him. John slashed his throat. Clamping the
knife between his teeth, he tugged off the boy's wet
T-shirt. It had been all black a moment
ago. Now the black was mixed with red. He threw the
shirt to Cassy.
She looked stunned by what he'd done. But she
pulled the shirt over her head. It came down
halfway to her knees.
Lynn already wore the nightgown.
Both women looked sickly pale where they weren't
covered by the garments.
"Come here," he snapped. "Quick." They rushed up
close to him.

MI
LA
YMON
John flung blood at their bare legs from the
pumping throat of the boy.
"G
et plenty on you. Quick
to was
Crouching, they cupped blood and spread it over their
hair and faces. Lynn washed her shoulders with it.
John painted their legs.
Then he got up.
"T
he freezer
to was
"W
here
?"
Lynn asked.
He pointed at the freezer door.
"H
urry
,"
he gasped.
"G
et in there and play dead."
"W
hat about you
?"
Lynn blurted.
"I
'full
be all right. Go!"
The women ran for the freezer, Lynn glancing
back, her face dripping crimson, a look in
her eyes as if she thought she might never see him
again.
John crouched beside the body of the boy he'd killed.
When he heard the heavy thud of the shutting door, he
clamped the knife between his teeth and lifted the body.

They sat on the sofa, Kara watching while Denise
and Tom fashioned their weapons.
Tom had broken off the ends of a broom and a mop
they'd found by the water heater, leaving each shaft with a
jagged point. Kara had fetched a ball of twine
RAINY
NIGHT
from a kitchen drawer. They'd gathered more knives and
returned to the living room.
The living room, Denise thought. The heart of the
house. Its center.
She supposed this wasn't precisely the
center, but it was close enough. From here, they should be able
to hear anyone attempting to break in, and get to the
trouble spot fast.
She worked quickly, lashing the handle of a long, serrated
carving knife to the blunt end of her broom handle.
Tom finished making his spear and offered it to Kara.
"Can't I just use my poker?" she asked. "I'm
pretty good at bonking people."
Grinning, Tom rubbed the bump on his head.
"Yeah, I noticed."
"Keep your poker," Denise told her. "But I
want you to have a knife, too."
"OK." "We'll wipe 'em out with these things,"
Tom said. "Maybe they won't show up," Denise
said. She grip-
ped the bound handle of the knife and put some pressure
on it. The twine made quiet creaky sounds. The
knife didn't wobble at all. "Decent," she
muttered. "Sheena."
"That's me. God, I hope we don't have to use
these things."
"I wonder if we should split up, kind of stand
guard at different parts of the house."
"We do not want to split up," Kara said. "They

LA
YMON
that in all the movies, and it's absolutely
silly." Denise smiled. "She's right."
"I don't know if we should just sit here. We could
patrol the house."
"Together?" Kara asked.
"I think we're better off . . ." A noise of
crashing glass stopped Denise's voice. Her
heart kicked.
Tom leaped up, staring toward the opening of the
hallway. "A bedroom?"
"Sounded like it."
"Oh, gosh," Kara muttered.
"Let's get 'em!" A knife in one hand, his
makeshift spear in the other, Tom ran for the hall.
Denise leaned forward with her spear and snatched
another knife off the table. She got to her feet and
waited for a moment while Kara gathered up her poker
and knife. Then she went after Tom. The girl was
quick. Denise didn't need to hold back. Kara
stayed close behind her as she ran to the foyer, cut
to the right and raced up the hall.
She caught up with Tom when he stopped in the
doorway of the master bedroom. He elbowed
a switch. Light filled the room. Peering past
him, Denise saw no broken window. She stepped
aside. Tom rushed past her, and she followed him
to Kara's bedroom.
Again, he flicked on a light. This time, he
didn't stop in the doorway. He dashed across the
room. Running in after him, Denise checked the
windows but her view of the one on the left was blocked
by Tom's body.
RAINY
NIGHT
"C
areful
,"
she gasped. Lurching sideways, she caught sight
of the window.
A
hole near the bottom. As big as a head.
Splintered edges.
Nobody was reaching in.
She saw only darkness through the break.
Tom stopped a yard from the window to avoid stepping
on glass with his stocking feet. He crouched toward
it and gazed out.
"S
ee anything
?"
"H
uh-uh
."
Denise scanned the pale blue carpet. It was
littered
with shards and bits of glass. She saw nothing that
might've been hurled through the window.
"T
he screen's still on
,"
Tom said.
"M
aybe it was a trick
,"
Kara said.
"W
hat do you mean
?"
Denise asked.
The girl frowned.
"y
out know.
A
division
?"
Tom whirled around.
"A
diversion
to was
Denise felt her stomach drop.
"O
h my God
,"
she muttered.

John dropped the dead boy to the floor beside the
freezer door. Lying down, he pulled the body
on top of him. He grimaced as its cheek
pressed the side of his face.
LA
YMON
It was worse last time, he told himself. Last time,
he'd buried himself under three bodies. One was
Lieutenant Becker, and Becker's belly had
been split open and his guts were all over John.
He'd been underneath the corpses so long that, by the time
he finally struggled free, Becker's intestines had
dried against his fatigues. They'd come with
him when he got up. He'd had to peel them off.
Hours under those corpses.
This won't be as bad, he told himself.
He wondered how long Lynn and Cassy could last
inside the freezer.
They shouldn't have shut themselves in, he realized. With the
door shut. the cold would build up too fast. And
he wasn't sure whether the door could be opened from the
inside. If something happened to him, they might be
trapped.
He listened. Screams and laughter and shouts still
came from the other areas of the restaurant. But he
didn't think anyone had entered the kitchen. Not
yet.
He shoved the body off, got to his feet, took
a quick look around, then tugged open the freezer
door. Among the bodies of the journalists and two
men
who'd been killed by them, Lynn and Cassy lay
sprawled on their backs. They should pass for
crazies, all right, in their soiled wet nightgown
and T-shirt. But one glance convinced him that they
wouldn't pass for dead. The blood in their hair, on
their faces and arms and legs made them look damn
gory, but hardly concealed that they lay there
stiff and shivering.
RAINY
NIGHT
He whirled around to make sure once again that no one
had entered the kitchen.
"Come out of there," he said. "It won't work.
Hurry."
Lynn pushed herself up on her elbows. "What's the
matter?"
"Don't ask questions," Cassy said, saving John
the trouble.
Both women got to their feet. Hunched over, they
rushed to the front. Lynn's teeth were gritted and
she was rubbing her arms. Cassy hugged her chest for
warmth. Then they were out and John threw the door
shut.
"What'll we do now?" Lynn gasped. "Stick with
me."
They followed John as he hurried to the old man
who'd tried to bash him with a golf club. The guy was
still bound with belts and sitting near the tub with his back
against a counter. He wore a sport jacket over
his knit shirt. Some of the jacket's plaid still
showed, but it was mostly stained black by the rain.
John kicked him in the head. The man
fell onto his side, dazed but conscious. John
slashed the belt that bound his arms behind him. He tore
off the jacket and struggled into it.
"Get your knives," he said.
Lynn and Cassy searched around and found the knives
where they'd dropped them before getting into the wet
garments.
"Now what88Lynn asked.
LA
YMON
"We go out there. We act like the crazies."
"You're kidding," Lynn said.
"Let'sgo."
As he rushed for the kitchen doors, he heard
Cassy behind him say, "Here goes nothing."

Denise let Tom take the lead. She ran
close behind him, Kara at her side.
They'll be in by the time we get there, she thought.
Probably smashed the window and headed for the other
side of the house while we were on our way to check it
out. We got into Kara's room and couldn't even hear
them breaking in for real.
She raced out of the hallway. Had enough time for one quick
look at the living room -- long enough to see
that nobody was there -- and then the house went dark.
"Uh-oh," Kara murmured.
"Hold up,," Denise gasped at Tom. She
skidded to a halt near the front door. Kara
brushed against her arm.
The thud of Tom's footfalls stopped. Denise
saw his faint shape moving toward her. She heard
him panting for breath.
"They're at the fuse box," she whispered.
"Someone is. Or was."
RAINY
NIGHT
"Maybe the juice went off," Kara suggested.
"Hang on." Denise stepped in the direction of the
door. Holding her spear upright, she reached out
until she touched the wood. Then she moved
sideways, running her hand Over the door, its
frame, the wall. Draperies brushed her
knuckles. She clamped the shaft between her legs,
fingered the draperies, found their drawcord and
pulled.
The drapes slid open. A hazy, gray glow
came in from the window. She glanced out. Through the
falling rain, she saw a streetlight casting dim
silver onto the top of Tom's car.
Across the street, a porch light burned.
"It's not the power," she whispered. "They're in the
house."
"Get away from the window," Tom said.
She wrapped her hand around the shaft of her spear and
stepped backward. Turning to face the living room,
she gazed into the shadows. The light from the window
helped. She could make out the dim shapes of the sofa,
the lamps, the television.
The entrance from the dining room was as black as the mouth
of a cave.
"We oughta be able to see them coming," Tom whispered.
His face was a faint oval blur. His gray
sweatsuit was slightly less visible than his
face. Though Denise couldn't see him clearly,
he didn't blend in with the darkness around him. Neither
did Kara in her pink nightgown. She looked down
at herself. Her warmup suit was royal blue, but it
appeared to be black. Her
LA
YMON
I
hands were dusky gray. Her white socks almost
seemed to glow.
"They'll see us, too," she said.
Tom squatted down. Denise and Kara did the
same. "Where the hell are they?" he muttered.
"They're being sneaky. They think we've got
guns, remember?"
"I sure wish we did," Kara whispered.
"Wouldn't it be neat if you could wish for something and
make it come ... ?"
"Shhhhh," Denise warned her.
From off in the distance beyond the living room came the sound
of a thud. Someone muttered, "ShitVery
"Stay with Kara," Denise muttered. "What're you
... ?"
"Shhhh." She lowered her spear to the floor,
shifted the knife to her right hand, and crawled toward the
living room.
I'm out of my gourd, she thought. She struggled
to stop breathing so loudly. Her heart wanted to pound
the air from her lungs. She felt as if she might
wet her pants. But she kept moving.
Away from the front door. Away from Tom and
Kara. Closer to the three unseen intruders who'd
come here to kill them all.
She sank to her belly and squirmed forward. She
passed an end table. Made her way into the narrow
gap between the coffee table and the front of the
sofa. Through it and past the other end table. Across an
area of open floor to the front of an easy chair
close to
RAINY
NIGHT
the wall. The wall that stood between her and the dining
room.
She got to her hands and knees. The chair blocked
her view of the dining room entrance, but she could see the
area through which the boys would have to pass when they went for
Tom and Kara.
She waited. She held her breath until her
lungs burned and she feared her head might
explode. Then she let her air out slowly and
inhaled. Sweat stung her eyes. The handle of her
knife felt oily.
Come on, she thought. Let's get it over with.
She wondered if this was the dumbest thing she'd ever
done. Probably was.
Putting herself out here alone. Seemed like a good idea
at the time.
It is
a good idea. I can't let those bastards get
Kara. Or Tom, for that matter.
Off beyond the chair, something moved. A low,
bulky shape that was darker than the darkness. Like a
black animal creeping forward.
One of the guys. Crawling.
Denise stared at his head. She couldn't make out who
he was. Probably Buddy. He was the worst of the
three (if it's them at all), and he would be in the
lead.
She suddenly feared that he might sense he was being
stared at. She tried to force herself to look away, but
her eyes refused to leave him. So far, he seemed
to be watching the area in front.
At last, his head disappeared behind the sofa. Denise
saw another crawling shape behind him. This one had a
faint sheen on its back. Whatever light

M
LA
YMON
there was seemed to be gleaming off its wet. black
skin.
This is them, all right, she thought. One of the three had
been shirtless when she'd watched through the window and seen
them ride away.
Keep moving, she willed him. Don't look over
this way. Just keep your eyes on Buddy.
The third crawled into view.
Denise held her breath. She waited. The feet
of the second intruder vanished behind the sofa. Number
three was out in the open. Then the sofa blocked her
view of his head.
Do it!
She leaped up, took four quick strides across the
carpet, saw the kid look back over his shoulder.
"Shitff8he cried out. She rammed the knife down.
It sank into his back. "Noff8he squealed.
"Guys!"
She jerked out the knife and stabbed him again. This time.
it struck something hard. The kid, shrieking, flopped
flat. Denise tugged at the knife. It didn't
come out. Her hand slipped off it. The blade must've
gone into bone.
The other two guys were scurrying up, coming for her.
"Tom!" she yelled.
"Gotcha gotcha gotcha," gasped the kid
duckwalking toward her.
She leaped sideways, twisting in the air as she
dived over the back of the sofa. Something stabbed her
hip, tore skin and ripped the side of her pants.
She landed on the cushions. face up.
RAINY
NIGHT
Her knees caught the kid dropping onto her. His
breath gusted out. She shoved at his bare chest, felt
his weight shift, and saw him tumble away. He
crashed against the edge of the coffee table and fell to the
floor.
Denise flipped herself over. On hands and knees,
she scuttled along the sofa. From the other side
came thuds and grunts. Tom must've come to help
her. Reaching out, she grabbed the table lamp. She
hooked her other hand over the sofa back and pulled
herself up.
Tom was there about to drive the knife end of his spear
into the chest of the kid at his feet. But Kara, a
running blur in her pale nightgown, came up behind
him swinging her poker.
"Noff8Denise blurted.
The brass handle crashed against the side of Tom's
head. He dropped his spear and stumbled away,
reeling.
"Kara!" The girl chased after him and hit him again.
He went down on one knee, covering his head.
"W
hat're you doing
to was
The sofa shook with a sudden jolt. A hand grabbed
Denise's ankle.
"Gotcha!" She swung the lamp off the table and
twisted around. A dark arm darted up. She
glimpsed a rod of some kind in the hand. Yelped as
spikes jabbed deep into her right buttock. Then the
base of the lamp clubbed the guy's face. His head
was knocked back.
LA
YMON
He released her ankle. The spikes were yanked from
her rump.
She climbed onto the sofa's back. Straddling it,
she saw Buddy down on the floor. Tom, over
by the wall. was on his knees, both arms over his head
to protect it as Kara struck downward again with her
poker. It whapped his arms and he cried out.
"Kara! Stop it!"
Buddy sat up. Denise threw herself off the sofa.
She dropped both knees onto him, smashing him
flat. His arm hooked around her back. He
rolled, hurling her to the floor beside him. "What're
ya ... tryin" to do to me?" he gasped.
Not Buddy's voice.
"Tom?" She ran her hands over his chest.
Felt a sweatshirt. A dry sweatshirt. "Oh
God."
"That was Buddy who'd had the spear? And Tom on the
floor about to be stabbed when Kara came along?
Didn't seem right. But this was Tom on the floor
beside her.
Denise rolled away from him as Kara yelped.
Looked up. Saw Kara spin away. Her hands
looked empty. Buddy -- the real Buddy -- had
the poker. He swung it at her. Denise heard the
rod hiss through the air. It missed the girl.
Buddy staggered, fell to his knees.
Then hands dug into Denise's armpits and pulled her
up.
"Your room, Kara!" Tom shouted. "Run to your
room.,
The girl glanced back, then ran for the front of the
house.
RAINY
NIGHT
Denise got her feet under her, stumbled as Tom
thrust her forward. "Goff8he snapped.
We can finish "em!" Go!"
She raced after Kara and heard Tom close behind
her. Her buttock felt as if it were
burning inside. Her pants were wet and clinging around
the wound. Warm blood spilled down the back of her
leg. Each time her right foot hit the floor, pain
bolted through her body.
Shouldn't be running away, she thought. We almost had
them.
With what?
Did we
all
lose our weapons?
Like some kind of a damn nasty joke. We go in armed
to the teeth and now we've got nothing.
I
got one of the bastards,
she reminded herself. That's something, anyway.
Ahead of her, Kara hinged to the left and vanished
into the doorway of her bedroom. Denise rushed in.
She felt a shove. As she staggered forward, the
door slammed.
"Gotta block it shut," Tom gasped. "I'll
hold it. You two, get something over here. A
dresser or something."
LA
YMON
14
Maureen was beginning to give up hope of ever finding
them. Maybe the guys hadn't stopped, at all.
Maybe they'd just kept on riding and were miles
away
by
now.
I'll
get them, she told herself.
I'll
get them if it takes forever.
But maybe this searching was pointless. She wondered if
she should return to Buddy's house. Wait for them
there. Sooner or later, they would probably show
up.
She saw the motorcycles.
Three Harleys standing in the driveway of a corner
house. But no Buddy. No Doug or Lou.
She knew they'd gone into the house.
Grinning, she swung her Jeep onto the
driveway and stepped on the gas.
This'll bring 'em running!
Three hogs, all in a row. She hit the first
bike, smashing it into the second before her front
tires bumped over it and she rammed the second
bike into the third. The third stayed up
somehow
-
maybe locked to the front of her Jeep
-
and it skidded along sideways with shrieking rubber
until she crashed it through the garage door.
It came loose when she backed up.
She
bounced her way over the other bikes, metal
groaning and crunching, glass bursting. Then she was
on smooth pavement again.
Maureen grinned at the debris.

I
RAINY
NIGHT
She couldn't even see the third bike. It was somewhere
in the darkness under the remains of the garage door.
She beeped her horn.
"Come on out, guys. See what happened to your
hogs.

She scanned the front of the one-story house. The
porch light was off, but the draperies behind the
picture window glowed. The draperies
didn't stir. The front door didn't open.
Maureen honked again. This time, she kept the horn
blaring for a long time.
Nobody came from the house.
"They deaf or something?" she muttered.
She shut off the engine, took the key from the
ignition, and climbed out. The rain poured down on
her. It felt even better, more exciting, than she
remembered. She stopped at the rear of the Jeep,
threw back her head and arched her spine, savoring the
touch of the water as it splashed her face and soaked
through the front of her T-shirt. One hand held the
keys, but the other was free to peel the shirt up above
her breasts. The raindrops made her bare skin
tingle. They tapped against her breasts, teased her
nipples, slid down her body like the tips of
tongues. Trembling, she pulled the elastic band
of the shorts away from her waist and let the hot little
streams run down to her groin and thighs.
Take off your clothes and lie down on the grass,
she thought. Forget about Buddy and his friends. Let the
rain ...
LA
YMON
Buddy and his friends.
Maureen let the elastic snap back against her
belly. She bent over the tailgate, very aware of
how the rain now fingered her back, soaked through the seat
of her shorts and streamed down her legs, but struggling
not to let the exciting feel of it overwhelm her.
I'm gonna get those suckers, she told herself.
I'm gonna roll in their blood and that'll be even
better than the rain.
She held her right hand to steady it, and pushed the key
into the lock. She twisted the key. She opened the
tailgate. She leaned into the darkness, savoring the
way her sodden shorts pulled taut against her
buttocks but regretting the loss of the rain on her
head and back. Soon, she found the jack. She
dropped the keys, wrapped her hand around the steel
bar of the tire tool, and pulled it out.
Turning away, she swung the bar through the air.
"Break their heads apart," she muttered.
She rushed toward the house. The grass was thick and
slippery. She wanted to dive onto it and. roll
over. But she kept running.
She pressed her way through shrubbery at the front
of the big window. Leaves rubbed against her. Limbs
poked and scraped her.
Then she was at the window.
She drew the tire iron back and hammered it through
the glass.
RAINY
NIGHT

"I think this is it," Trev said.
"Well, is it or isn't it?" Sandy asked.
He'd checked the street sign at the corner. This
was Fairmont, all right. Crouching, he looked more
closely at the house number painted on the curb.
4538. Back at O'Casey's, he had
memorized Chidi's address. He was pretty
sure it was 4538 Fairmont. But was that right?
He'd had to struggle so hard to remember the
address. As if the rain had submerged it, hidden it
at the bottom of a deep and murky pool, forcing him
to go down through the dark heat and search.
"I'm pretty sure," he said.
"Well," Sandy said, "I reckon we'll know
soon enough." She waved his revolver, gesturing him
toward the house. "Come on along, Rhonda," she
said to the girl from the trunk.
Trev stepped over the curb, crossed the strip of
grass and then the sidewalk. Looking back, he
saw Sandy and Rhonda a few strides
behind him. Sandy had her left hand on the girl's good
shoulder. As if Rhonda were her kid sister, or
something.
Weird how she'd started acting.
She'd been like an animal in heat before the shootout.
Then, all at once, she was different. She got
serious. Trev didn't understand. Mostly, it
pissed him off. But part of him, far down under the
churning new desires, was glad she'd taken command.
Down
LA
YMON
there was the memory of a mission
-
to stop the rain and somehow save Maureen. He knew
the mission was important. He knew that he cared
about it. But he also knew that too much was in the way.
Hungers to rip flesh, taste blood, tear
into throats and breasts and guts.
Sandy's and Rhonda's, for starters. Then, anyone
else he could find.
But Sandy, gun in hand, kept all that from happening.
And got him here to the Chidi house.
Under his dark heat and anger stirred a lost man who
was grateful.
Walking backward over the lawn, he watched how
Sandy's skin gleamed black in the light from the
porch. He was pretty sure he'd fired four
rounds at the man with the rifle. Before that, one
into Francine. Which left only one in the revolver.
Maybe Sandy would use it on the Chidis. Then he
could get her.
He tripped and dropped down hard on the concrete
stoop.
Sandy came closer, one hand still on Rhonda's
shoulder.
"G
et up
,"
she said.
Trev stood, climbed the two steps, and moved to the
front door. There was no screen door, just a
panel of dark wood with a handle and peephole.
"W
ant me to ring the bell
?"
he asked.
"D
on't be a jerk, Trevor. See
if
it's locked
."
He tried the handle, then shook his head.
"D
idn't reckon they'd make it easy for us
,"
Sandy said.
"O
K, go on and kick it in
."
"T
hey
might be waiting and kill us
."
Rhonda said.
RAINY
NIGHT
Trev was surprised to hear her speak, though he
knew she'd been talking with Sandy along the way.
"I'll go in first, honey. Trevor, get on with
it."
"You'd better hang onto me." he said. "The
stoop's slippery. I'll end up on my ass."
Sandy studied his eyes for a moment, then nodded. She
pressed herself against his back and wrapped her
left arm across his chest. Her right hand shoved the gun
muzzle against his ribs.
Do it so we both fall, he thought.
Hell, it would probably happen anyway.
Kicking open doors wasn't as easy as it looked
on TV. His foot was likely to bounce right back
at him and knock them both flat.
Of course, Sandy might pull the trigger.
But maybe she wouldn't. With a little luck, he could
get the gun away from her once they hit the
concrete.
"What're you waiting for?"
"Be careful with that gun," he said. Then he raised
his right leg, drew his knee in toward his chest, and
drove his foot at the door. The heel of his shoe
struck beside the handle.
Pain didn't streak up his leg. The door
didn't throw his foot back at him.
Instead, he felt an instant of hard resistance and the
door burst open and slammed the wall behind it.
He was still off balance when Sandy hurled him forward.
He tripped on the threshold, staggered across some
carpet, and fell to his hands and knees. Sandy
rushed past him. She was crouched low, head
LA
YMON
turned away, sweeping the revolver from side
to side. Trev crawled toward her. She swung
around and
jabbed the muzzle against his forehead.
"M
ind your manners, pal
,"
she said. Taking a step backward, she straightened
up and looked toward the doorway.
"C
ome on in, Rhonda. Nothing in here's gonna
hurt
you
."
The girl stepped inside and shut the door. She
gazed into the living room.
"A
re they dead
?"
she asked. Perplexed, Trev got to his feet.
He looked past
Sandy.
A
teenaged girl lay sprawled on the sofa.
One arm hung toward the floor. Trev saw no
blood on her tan corduroys or white blouse.
She looked as if she might be asleep. But if
she'd been sleeping, the clamor of their break-in
should've shocked her wide awake.
An adult male was slumped in a reclining chair
in a corner of the room. He wore gold-rimmed
glasses, a pale blue sport shirt, dark
slacks and black socks.
A
book lay open on his chest as if he'd dropped
asleep while reading.
Nobody else was in the room.
"I
reckon we got the right house
,"
Sandy said, her voice low.
"y
eah
,"
Trev said.
He'd never seen any of the Chidi family except
Maxwell, the boy dead and charred, bound to the
goalpost. But these two were probably his sister and
father. It wasn't likely that Trev had
gotten the address wrong. And there were only a few
black families in town.
Not really black, he thought as he stared at the
girl.
We're
black.
RAINY
NIGHT
Her hair was black, all right, but her skin was a
deep, rich brown.
Sandy went to the sofa and bent over the girl. In the
bright lamplight, she didn't look nearly as good
as before. Her wet skin gleamed, but it was streaky and
Trev liked the soft brown of the girl's skin
better than the dirty black of Sandy's.
"This gal's breathing," Sandy said.
Trev moved closer. Sandy, keeping an eye on
him, stepped over to the man.
He watched the girl's chest rise slowly and sink.
He could see her white bra through the blouse, pale
against her dark skin. He glanced over at Sandy.
She was bending over the man.
"They musta been drugged or something," she said. He
ripped the girl's blouse open and heard the sudden
click-clack of a cocking gun.
"Just leave her be." Sandy had the revolver pointed
at his face.
"Hey, come on," he said. "Let me have her. You
take him."
"That's just the rain talking."
"SO
what? You're wet, too. What's the matter with
you?"
"I got it reined in, buster." A half smile
tipped a corner of her mouth. "You'd best rein it
in, same as me. We gotta find gramps and
put a stop to all this. Now I can do it by myself, or
you can help me." She straightened her arm, closed
her left eye, and seemed to be sighting in on him
down the entire length of her arm.
"I'm on your side," Trev said.
LA
YMON
With her thumb, she eased the hammer down. She
lowered her arm. "Let's have a look around," she
said, and nodded toward the dining room.
Trev went first. He glanced back at the girl
on the sofa.
Get back to you, he thought.
Just need to wait for Sandy to use that last
bullet. Nobody in the dining room.
He headed for the kitchen, and suddenly grinned. There was
no need
to wait for Sandy to use the last bullet. The fool
had cocked the revolver and let the hammer down on
its only live round. She'd have to go through five
spent shells before the cylinder would bring the good
cartridge back into firing position. I've got
her!
I've got them all!
Should be a knife in the kitchen, he thought. A good
sharp knife would come in handy.
He entered the kitchen. The faucet was running. On
the floor in front of the sink was a shattered plate.
A woman sat at the table, arms folded beneath her
face.
The mother, Trev thought.
She wore white jeans and a green blouse. The
hair draping her face was glossy brown with red
highlights. The look of it stirred something deep
inside Trev.
Can't be her natural color, he thought. Might
be.
He frowned at the thick auburn tresses.
Hair just like Maureen's, he realized.
RAINY
NIGHT
"I
spect gramps must've doped their food," Sandy
said.
Hair just like Maureen's. Maureen.
Trev tried to focus his mind on her. He
remembered her smile and the soft, amused challenge
in her eyes.
Hold onto it.
He stepped to the counter and drew a long knife from
its wooden holder.
"D
rop it, Trev
."
He turned to Sandy. She aimed the useless
revolver at his chest.
"P
ull back the hammer and let it go five times
,"
he said.
"T
hat'll put a live round into position
."
One of her eyes narrowed, its lid
twitching slightly.
"T
ry to save it for grandpa
,"
he said.

With Lynn and Cassy close beside him, John ran
into the midst of the carnage. It was worse than he'd
imagined. The air was dense with screams and shouts and
growls, rippling with horrible giggles. It stank of
excrement and urine. Everywhere he looked, people were being
slashed and hacked and bludgeoned. The dead were being
killed again. Clothes had been torn from bloody
victims. He saw people being eaten,
LA
YMON
raped, sodomized. One man had his head
completely buried inside the split torso of
another like a dog searching for a hidden treat: even as
he delved, a drenched woman chopped an axe
into his spine and let out a wild laugh.
Shouldn't have come out here, John thought. No, this is
best. This is how we blend in.
He nudged Lynn toward a waitress scurrying
nearby. The woman still wore the bodice of
her costume, but her skirt was gone. The handle of a
knife protruded from her shoulder blade.
"G
et her
,"
John yelled. Lynn caught on and hurled herself
onto the woman's back. Cassy, with a quick nod
to John, leaped onto the two.
None of
the real crazies joined in. They were all too
busy.
John scanned the crowd quickly, seeking a
restaurant patron to attack.
He saw the cop. Reloading. The man was several
strides away, standing
motionless in the swamp of gore and thrashing bodies,
his head down as he stuffed cartridges into the cylinder
of his revolver.
John didn't want to go for him. He wanted to
blend
in, damn it, join in the fighting and be
invisible.
I'm not a damn hero, he thought.
He just wanted to survive and make sure Lynn
survived so they could get home to Kara.
He didn't want to go for the cop even as he leaped
over someone squirming atop a body, elbowed a
man
aside, and saw the cop snap the loaded cylinder
into place. He knocked the gun aside with one hand
and smashed the heel of his other hand up against the
underside of the cop's nose. The nose crunched,
went soft and flat as John's blow drove its
ridge bone up into the brain. The head flew back.
The cop staggered away, stiff and twitching, and
dropped to the floor.
Took him out of the picture, John thought.
That was all he'd intended -- to stop the man from
running amok with a loaded gun.
He suddenly felt like an idiot.
He
could use the gun.
He saw a hand reaching for it. The bloody hand of a
man
on
his knees, whose sweater was wet and black. John
stomped down, popping the man's elbow. He ducked
and snatched up the revolver, shot the man in the
head, then looked at the cop.
He glimpsed a plastic name plate on
the chest of the uniform. HANSON.
Hanson hadn't snapped his cartridge case after
reloading. A dozen rounds had fallen out when he
hit the floor. John dropped to his knees,
scooped up a handful, and dropped the ammunition
into his shirt pocket as he got to his feet -
He spotted Lynn and Cassy, still on top of the
waitress. Cassy had tugged the knife out of the
woman's shoulder. She held it in her teeth while
she pinned the waitress down and Lynn pretended
to chew on the nape of the gal's neck.
It's working, John thought.
LA
YMON
They looked like the real article, and nobody was
bothering them. Not yet.
John made his way toward them. Just get to them, he
thought. Stay there, shoot anyone who tries to take
them. But even with the extra bullets in his pocket,
he knew he didn't haveenough ammo to kill all
the crazies.
He glimpsed someone rushing at him from the side.
He whirled. A man with a steak knife. Black
face grinning.
He swung the revolver up. Steve
Winter?
"No!" he yelled.
As the knife flashed down at his chest, John
sidestepped and chopped Steve's wrist. The knife
flipped away. He slammed the gun barrel against
Steve's head. The man started to drop. John
grabbed the front of his shirt and hurled him
sideways, watched as he toppled over the back
of a woman hunched over bloody remains, watched
him roll and come to a stop near Lynn's feet.
Where's Carol?
John spotted Steve's wife near the open
doors. She was on her knees, biting the face of a
screaming man while a guy with a pocket knife
split open the man's leg from hip to knee.
John rushed to get her. Somebody grabbed his
ankle. He pulled free, leaped over a couple
of struggling women, and saw the gal with the axe prance in
from the right. She had the axe overhead. Maybe she
wasn't going for Carol. John decided he
didn't care who she was going for.
RAINY
NIGHT
He aimed and fired.
She wore a sleeveless gown. The slug
punched through her skin just under the armpit. Its impact
nudged her sideways. She jogged along, knees
pumping up the front of her dress, axe still
raised. She angled toward the doors like a
sleepwalker in a big hurry. The doorjamb at
the far side stopped her. She struck it with her
face, bounced off and fell back.
Rushing forward, John grabbed Carol's wet
hair. He yanked, jerking her head up.
The man with the pocket knife glared up at him.
Dr Goodman.
"She's with me," Goodman said, as if this was some
kind of a damn prom and John was trying to put
moves on his date.
The same knife he'd used to cut the laces of
Cassy's bodice was now deep in the thigh of the man
who was gasping and writhing on the floor.
Goodman tore the knife out and waved it at
John. "She stays with me!"
"No she doesn't," John said, and shot him in the
forehead.
He looked around quickly. Nobody rushing them. He
jammed the revolver into a rear pocket of his
slacks, chopped the edge of his hand against Carol's
neck hard enough to black her out but not kill
her, then hoisted her onto his shoulder and carried her
toward the corner of the foyer -- toward Lynn and
Cassy and the waitress and Steve -- where he would
make his stand.
LA
YMON

After searching the rambling house, Maureen returned
to the living room. She saw bright red footprints
on the gray carpet.
Someone had followed her into the house!
A chill spread goosebumps over her skin. She
turned, watching the bloody tracks wind their way
through the room toward the kitchen.
One set of tracks. One intruder.
She clamped the tire iron between her knees, rubbed
her sweaty right hand on the side of her sodden
shorts, then gripped the bar again.
She gazed at the tracks.
Whoever made them had been damn sneaky. She
hadn't heard a sound while searching the house. She
hadn'tfell the presence of anyone.
From the feel of the house when she first came in through the
window. she'd been sure it was deserted. Somehow,
she'd known that nobody was here. But the
Harleys had been left out front, so she'd gone
ahead and searched and found nobody.
But damn it,
someone
had come in after her. Someone awfully stealthy.
Stalking her.
That can work both ways, Maureen thought. She started
to follow the bloody footprints. Her heart
raced. Her stomach felt fluttery. Her skin
crawled as if a basketful of spiders had been
dumped on her head. With her left hand, she reached
up to where her
RAINY
NIGHT
T-shirt was still bunched above her breasts. She
tugged it down.
What if he's creeping up behind me!
She whirled around.
Saw two sets of red footprints coming toward her
across the carpet.
The second set ended at her own bare feet. She
stared at them.
She sighed.
"A Woozie," she muttered.
Winnie and Piglet go hunting and almost
catch a Woozie.
She remembered that long ago she'd been a writer
of children's books. Long ago, this morning.
"And now I'm reduced to Woozie hunting," she
said.
She laughed softly. Then she sat down on the
carpet and crossed her legs and gazed at her
lacerated feet and wept.

The dresser rammed Denise's back.
It's like being in the bathroom again, she thought. Trying
to keep Tom out.
But now Tom was beside her, helping to hold the door
shut.
LA
YMON
The dresser wasn't much of a barricade. Too
lightweight. The first smash of the door would've
toppled it over if they hadn't been bracing it up.
Had it been any heavier, though, she and Kara might
not have been able to push it to the door in time.
She was glad they'd done it. At least the dresser
put a little distance between her back and the door -- and the
two crazy bastards on the other side.
They hit it again. Hard. The dresser's
top edge jammed against Denise's back, shoving her
forward, bending her knees. A drawer slid out. It
pounded her rump, hitting her wound and sending a throb
of pain down her right leg. She thrust her heels
into the carpet. Wincing, she drove the dresser
backward.
The door slammed.
Her right leg started to jiggle. She grabbed her thigh
and tried to hold it still.
"We can't keep this up," she whispered. "We have
to," Tom said.
"Look what I found," Kara said. A tube of
frosty light suddenly appeared in front of the
girl. She waved it. The tube carved a twirl of
brightness through the air. "My
Star Wars
light sword," she explained.
Some weapon, Denise thought. It looked like a
cylinder of translucent plastic attached to a
flashlight. But she was glad Kara had found it.
Better than being in the dark.
"I wish it was a real laser sword like Luke
Skywalker. . ."
"See what else you can find." Tom gasped.
As Kara vanished into the closet with her
light, the
RAINY
NIGHT
door bashed the dresser forward. Denise winced and
shoved herself back. Her right leg gave out. The
door banged shut, and she dropped. The open
drawer caught her rump. Wood splintered. The
drawer broke away and she found herself sitting on a
soft cushion of clothes. She flipped over, got
to her knees, scurried forward and pushed her shoulder
against the dresser just as the boys hit the door again.
The blow shook Denise, but she stayed on her
knees. The dresser tipped for a moment before she and
Tom could force it back.
"Buddy!" Tom suddenly called. "Yeah?"
"Let's talk."
"Nothing to talk about, dickhead." "Who do you really
want?"
"Huh?" "Can we make a deal?"8Like what?"
"I can make it easy for you. I'll let you have the
girls, but you've gotta promise to leave me
alone." He's conning them, Denise told herself.
Stalling for time.
Isn't he?
God, what if he means it?
"Yeah, sure, okay," Buddy said.
"How do I know you won't try to nail me if I
let you in?"
"You got my word, man."
"Cross your heart and hope to die?" "Yeah,
fuck. Cross my heart."
LA
YMON
"And hope to die?"
"Yeah yeah yeah. Cut the stupid games and open
up."
"OK. Just a second." He put a hand on
Denise's head. She winced. He gently stroked
her hair and whispered, "Get ready for another
hit."
Denise turned her head as Kara came up behind
her. In the glow of the sword, she saw that the girl
held a small leather bag and a thick, foot-long
pink pencil in her left hand. Clamped against her
side was a metal baton.
"Your second's up, asshole," Buddy said.
"Just hang on."
Kara handed the pencil to Tom. She gave the baton
to Denise. It had rubber bulbs at each end.
"He's just shitting us." Someone else's
voice. Lou? They hit the door. The dresser
rocked. Denise shoved her shoulder against it. Kara
threw herself at it. Tom grunted as he pushed. The
dresser dropped back and the door crashed shut.
Denise twisted the rubber bulb off one end of the
baton. It popped off with a hollow, ringing sound.
"Let 'em in and try to take 'emThat she whispered.
"Jesus, I don't know."
"I think the smart thing to do," Kara said, 'is to go out
the window."
"We'd get wet," Tom muttered.
"Better wet than dead," Denise muttered.
"Maybe."
Kara helped at the dresser as the boys struck the
door again. Then she ran to her bed. She tore the
top
RAINY
NIGHT
cover off, rushed past the end of the bed and threw the
blanket on the floor beneath the window.
So our feet won't get cut, Denise realized.
Kara dropped her light saber onto the blanket.
She stepped to the broken window, unlocked it, and
shoved up the lower sash. Some glass fell off,
clattering when it hit the sill.
Denise got to her feet. She dropped back against
the dresser. Her right leg felt rubbery, its
muscles still trembling but no longer twitching out of
control.
She hoped the leg would carry her to the window. The
door jumped, slamming the dresser against her back.
She dug her heels into the carpet. This time, the
door didn't rebound and crash shut. Buddy and
Lou were giving it all they had. She heard them
grunting with effort. She felt the dresser start
to scoot on the carpet.
Twisting her head around, she saw the dim shapes of
fingers clenching the edge of the door. She shoved herself
upward, the dresser's rim digging into her back.
Then she was high enough to get her right elbow over the
top. With a flick of her wrist, she whacked her
baton against the fingers.
Somebody yelped. The hand jerked out of sight and the
door slammed shut.
"Goff8Tom whispered.
Denise raced across the room. Ahead of her, Kara
was shoving at the window screen.
LA
YMON
19
Trev led the way through the Chidi house, Sandy and
Rhonda close behind him. In the hallway, he
glanced into the dark rooms until he came to a
closed door.
He pressed his ear against it and heard soft mumbling
sounds.
He looked over his shoulder. He nodded. "Let's
take him," Sandy whispered.
With his left hand, Trev turned the knob and gently
swung the door inward. Smoke, fanned by the opening
door, rolled and swayed away in front of him.
He smelled a terrible stench. He held his breath
and tried not to gag.
He'd encountered the same odor last night. At the
stadium. It had come from Maxwell Chidi. The
reek of burnt hair and flesh. But Maxwell's
stink had combeen mild compared to this.
What's the old bastard doing in here?
Trev could still hear the low, incoherent mumbling. It
came from somewhere ahead and to his right. Through the swirling
smoke, he saw the tongues of candle flames.
Dozens of them. All around the room. In the
direction of the voice, he saw a blur of slow
movement. And a blaze too large for a candle.
He stepped silently toward it. He
jerked to a halt as something brushed his arm. Turning his
head, he saw Sandy beside him. She was squinting in the
direction of the voice. Her eyes were red from the
smoke, tears cutting pale streaks down her
black face. Her left
RAINY
NIGHT
hand was clasped against her mouth, pinching her nostrils
shut.
Trev blinked tears from his own stinging eyes. He
looked again toward the side of the room. Though he
tried to hold his breath, what he saw made him
gasp.
Much of the smoke had cleared away. Probably
poured out through the doorway.
A
murky, orange haze remained. Thin enough to let him
see too much.
He gagged once, but the white-haired man didn't
seem to notice. Maybe in a trance, Trev thought
as he willed his throat to relax. Sandy suddenly
hunched over and vomited. Still, the man paid no
attention.
Trev wondered where Rhonda was. Maybe she'd
stayed in the hall. Lucky her.
Grandpa was crouched, facing the wall. He was naked.
His brown skin gleamed like polished wood. As he
chanted softly, he ripped pages from a book that
lay open on the floor. He rolled the pages
into a tube, held them over a candle until they
ignited, then raised his blazing torch to the charred and
runny flesh of the corpse on the wall.
A
female. Rather small, but not a child.
Old
enough to have breasts. She was nailed upside-down to the
wall, her arms and legs stretched out wide. Trev
could see no skin on her that hadn't been burnt.
Her hair was gone.
On the floor beneath her head and shoulders was a
plastic tub brimming with black fluid. Bits of
gray ash floated on its surface. So did
small, white globs of congealed grease.
As Trev watched, disgusted and amazed, the old
LA
YMON
man filled his mouth with something from a golden urn in his
left hand. He raised the blazing roll of pages
to his lips, then spewed a fine spray through the
fire. A gust of burning fluid swept
across the girl's crusty black midsection, spread
out and streamed down. Flaming rivulets slid over
her breasts and between them, down her neck and face.
Trev heard sizzling, crackling sounds, saw
streamers of smoke rise from the fiery streams. When
they ran off her shoulders and head, their fires died.
Black drops fell like rain and splashed into the
tub.
Grandpa, still mumbling, crumpled the remnants of the
burning pages and snuffed them in his hand. He let the
ashes drift to the floor, then reached down to the
book. He flipped through several pages. Trev
glimpsed a color plate of Jesus surrounded
by lambs.
A
Bible.
The old man ripped the pages from their binding. He
started twisting them to form another torch.
Trev turned to Sandy. She was still doubled over. Her
hands were on her knees. Trev dropped his knife,
reached through strings of hanging mucus and took the
revolver from her right hand. She made no effort
to keep it.
He walked slowly toward the squatting man, who
had already lit the
Bible
pages and filled his mouth from the urn. As fire
sprayed at the girl, Trev pressed the muzzle
against the base of the old man's skull and pulled the
trigger.
For just an instant, he wondered if Sandy had
turned the cylinder to the correct position.
RAINY
NIGHT
She had.
The blast jerked the gun in his hand. The old man's
head lurched as if it had been clubbed. Still
squatting, he pitched forward. The top of his head
smashed against the upside-down face of the girl. His
knees hit the floor. He slid down, the wound
above his neck pumping blood, his head rubbing the
girl's face. The charred mess came apart like a
shattered jigsaw puzzle, sliding down over
bloody bone, bits of it clinging to his white
hair.
His head splashed into the tub. It went under.
The girl had lost her lips. She seemed to be
grinning at the old man's fate.

Lou rubbed his shoulder.
"Come on, man," Buddy muttered. "It hurts."
"Now!" Together, they rammed against the door. This time,
it wasn't shoved back at them. Something on the other
side scooted away, then crashed to the floor.
Buddy squeezed between the edge of the door and the jamb.
Lou followed.
Saw Buddy hurl his spear. Its dim, fleeing
target
dived through the window, and the spear stuck in the wall just
beneath the sill.
Lou scanned the dark room. Nothing moved. Had
they all managed to get out?
He caught up with Buddy. Side by side, they
raced for the window. He whipped the barbecue fork from
side to side, relishing his memory of stabbing its
tines into Denise's firm rump, aching to sink it
into her breasts.
Outside the window. a girl sprang up. Her arm
shot over the sill. She flungsomething from a small
bag, then dropped out of sight.
Buddy gasped, "Fuck!" One of his legs flew
sideways. He tumbled, crossing in front of
Lou, tripping him. Lou fell over Buddy's
back. His forehead bumped the shaft of the spear. The
long fork in his right hand whapped the blanket
spread under the window. His other hand pounded down,
something like a small rock jamming its heel.
He picked the object up. A marble!
Is that what the bitch had tossed into the room? A
bunch of marbles?
Lou scurried off Buddy. He crawled onto the
blanket. Beneath it, glass crunched. A tiny,
hard ball dug into his knee. Another marble.
He got to the sill and pulled himself up. Poking his
head out the window, he caught a glimpse of
Denise, the girl and Tom dashing alongside the
house.
He crawled through the window and jumped. Standing on the
fallen screen, he saw the three disappear around the
house's corner.

J
RAINY
NIGHT
And realized that the night air was clear. The rain had
stopped.
He tipped back his head, scowling, wanting to feel
the hot rain on his face, wondering where it had gone.
Above him, the clouds parted. The glare of the full
moon hurt his eyes and made him squint.
Buddy, spear in hand, leaped from the window. "Let's
nail 'em, man! Which way'd they go?"
Lou nodded toward the front of the house.
They ran over the slippery grass, Lou longing for the
rain to come back but knowing he would soon have Denise
-- and that would be great.

John knew he'd blown it. He shouldn't have taken
the cop's revolver. He shouldn't have gone on the quick
rescue mission to save Carol. He'd made the
crazies too damn aware of him. In spite of his
bloody face and the wet, black jacket he'd
taken from the old man in the kitchen, they seemed
to realize he wasn't one of them.
Twelve, fifteen -- maybe more -- were converging on
the corner of the foyer where he knelt with Lynn and
Cassy,
Should've just played along. Might've made it.
Lynn and Cassy had given up their act. They were
LA
YMON
crouched on either side of him. They held their
knives ready. The waitress cowered behind Lynn,
hanging onto her shoulders and gazing with terror at the
approaching mob.
At least the crazies were holding back. None
eager to get shot.
But John knew he only had three rounds left
in the gun. He could feel the weight of the extra
cartridges in his shirt pocket.
A lot of good they'd do.
He wouldn't have time to reload. Three bullets
left.
Take out the ones with the best weapons: the bearded guy
with the axe; the woman in panty-hose who had the
hatchet; the fat naked guy with the meat cleaver.
That would still leave people with knives, hammers,
screwdrivers, crowbars and one crazy bastard with
pruning shears.
They'd all be on him the instant they realized his
gun was empty.
John knew he was good. In hand-to-hand combat, he
could take any of them.
But not all of them.
He glanced at Lynn. "When I start shooting,
run for it."
She shook her head. "I'm not leaving without you."
"You've got to. You've gotta get out of this."
"John."
"Just do it. Get home to Kara." He
elbowed Cassy. "Run for it when I open fire.
You and Lynn." "Right," Cassy said.
RAINY
NIGHT
John aimed at the axeman, two yards away, and
fired. The bullet knocked a hole through his chest.
He staggered backward a few steps, bumping into those
behind him.
"G
O!"
John yelled.
He got to his feet, sweeping his gun from side
to side. The crazies, muttering and snarling, glared
at him but stayed away.
A
few of them flung up arms to shield their faces.
He glanced to his right. Lynn was beside him, standing
there, scowling at the black faces.
"GO
to was
he shouted. She shook her head.
"D
amn it!"
On his left, Cassy stood hunched over, jostling
the knife in her hand like some kind of
fifties delinquent eager to join in a rumble.
This is mad, he thought. We'll all be killed.
Three of us against the mob. Cornered. They're still not
attacking.
Let's at least get out of the foyer. Maybe make
it to a window.
He sidestepped, nudging Cassy, taking quick aim
at the nearest crazy, who gasped and ducked.
Lynn stayed with him. They made their way to the
entryway between the foyer and the main dining room.
Cassy checked the rear.
Then they backed out of the foyer. The crazies came
toward them, but none was foolish enough to charge.
"W
e'll try for a window
,"
John muttered.
It felt better, being in the big, open room.
A
little better, anyway.
LA
YMON
They
stepped past overturned chairs and abandoned tables.
Some of the tables had been swept clear in the
melee. Others were still cluttered with the remains of
interrupted dinners: plates, glasses,
silverware and wine bottles shimmering in the soft
glow of the centerpiece candles; some plates loaded
with food, others nearly empty.
As John and his women (he realized the waitress
was still with them) backed their way through the room, the
crazies fanned out.
Can't let them circle us.
Cassy tripped over a body. Her back pounded
the floor. The fat man with the cleaver, maybe pushed
beyond caution
by
what he saw as Cassy swung her legs up
to roll clear of the body, rushed at her. Bellowing.
Waving his cleaver overhead.
John fired. The bullet struck him under the left
eye. The eye popped from its socket. The man
veered away from Cassy, his piles of flesh
flopping like a bloated bag of pudding. He crashed
down on a table top.
Cassy scrambled to her feet as the table
overturned. One shot left, John thought.
"G
o for the window
to was
he yelled.
A
woman with a steak knife rushed in from the right. John
swept his revolver past the others and put a
bullet into her chest.
That's it.
But the others held back, not realizing his gun was
empty.
Lynn was still beside him. John glanced toward
Cassy. Saw her squat
by
the fat man and snatch up his
RAINY
NIGHT
cleaver. The guy was half buried under the linen
tablecloth. A pile of linguini in red sauce was
sliding slowly down his back.
Flame licked up from a corner of the tablecloth that
had fallen into the shattered chimney of the table's
candle.
Cassy, cleaver in hand, rushed over to John's
side. He ached to reload. The weight of the
cartridges in his shirt pocket pressed against him
like a cruel joke. The instant he broke
open the cylinder ...
He looked past Cassy at the fire. Half the
tablecloth was blazing. The dead man's hair steamed.
Flames leaped around his massive torso. His skin
crackled and bubbled.
John stuffed his left hand into his pocket,
clutched as many cartridges as he could, and threw them
at the fire. They spread apart in the air. Some
dropped into the flames, while others bounced off the
body and rolled away on the hardwood floor.
A crazy yelled, "Hey!"
"Dumb fuck!" shouted another.
Others looked surprised, others scared, some
angry. A few whirled away and fled.
Cassy suddenly hurled her cleaver. It tumbled
end over end, sliced off a man's ear and chopped
into the chin of a woman behind him.
"Let's get 'em!" a man yelled. Now she's
done it, John thought.
Nobody charged, but the remaining ten or so crazies
started moving in.
"Stop or I'll shootff8John snapped.
LA
YMON
Cassy threw her knife at the nearest
man. He twisted away and ducked. The handle of the
knife struck his side. The knife fell to the
floor. He grinned. Now Cassy had no
weapon.
Had she lost her mind?
John was sure of it when she peeled the big,
loose T-shirt over her head. The males among
the crazies gaped at her.
"Cassy!" he shouted.
She rushed to the fire and threw her shirt into the
flames. Then Lynn was beside her. Lynn yanked the
nightgown up her body, and off, and flung it onto
the fire.
As the flames surged high, devouring the clothes, the
crazies attacked. Ignoring John's gun.
Ignoring John. Apparently no longer caring about
the bullets as they charged toward Lynn and Cassy.
"Run!" John yelled.
He lunged sideways. The nearest man dived for
Cassy. John's kick caught him in the hip,
turning him in midair. The guy dropped back-first
onto the pyre and screamed. John drove his elbow
into the face of a giggling lunatic. He pivoted and
crashed his revolver against the forehead of an old
woman.
He was hit hard in the back. Lynn shrieked and
hurled herself onto someone behind him. He spun around
in time to see her throw a skinny little guy to the
floor. She landed on top. She pounded her knife
into the guy's chest. A woman rushed in from the side,
hatchet raised. She started to swing it down at
Lynn's head. John's kick flung her
backward.
RAINY
NIGHT
Off to the side, two men had Cassy down. One
pinned her arms to the floor. The other was sitting on
her legs. She squirmed and writhed, twisted and
bucked. But they had her. John saw the guy on
her legs pull a screwdriver from between his teeth.
Gotta help her!
A woman dropped to her knees beside Lynn and bit
the back of her thigh.
"Noff8John yelled.
Before he could move to help either woman, arms grabbed
him around the legs. Someone jumped on his back.
He staggered, trying to stay up. An arm came down
from the front, driving a knife toward his chest. He
caught the wrist of the knife-hand. As he fought
to hold the knife back, a blast crashed
in his ears.
Blood flew from the head of the man sitting on
Cassy's legs. His screwdriver was already speeding
down. Its blade dented the skin below her left
breast. Then the handle popped up from the man's fist.
The screwdriver tilted and started to fall. He
flopped down on top of her.
Another round of ammunition exploded in the fire.
Then another. Something zipped past John's face.
He twisted the wrist. The knife fell from his
assailant's hand. He shot his elbow backward,
connected and heard a grunt through the ringing in his ears.
Then the rain came down.
Cold rain, pouring onto his head.
A woman with a hammer sprang at him from the
front. His knuckles caved in her throat. Her
weight
LA
YMON
struck him. He stumbled back, falling onto the
one holding his legs and the one clinging to his back.
He blinked water from his eyes.
Above him, a ceiling sprinkler cast down its cold
spray.
The fire,
he thought.
Jesus, the fire did it.
Cassy hadn't lost her mind, after all.

Denise and Tom raced over the wet grass, side
by side, cutting diagonally across the front lawn,
heading for the sidewalk at the end of the hedge.
And Denise suddenly wondered where Kara was. The
girl had been right behind them when they'd come around the
corner of the house. She heard no one back there,
now. She looked over her shoulder. Kara was gone.
She slid to a stop and whirled around.
At first, she didn't see Kara. Her stomach
sank. Then she spotted the girl among the bushes
near the front stoop.
"Kara!" she shouted.
Buddy and Lou came around the corner of the house.
running slowly, heads turning.
They're gonna get her!
"Guys!" she yelled.
RAINY
NIGHT
They sprinted toward Denise and Tom.
And didn't notice Kara there in the shrubbery. They
ran right past her -- Buddy had a spear
in one hand. Lou waved some kind of long fork overhead
and let out a whoop.
"Denny!" Tom gasped.
She couldn't move. She couldn't run off and leave
Kara.
The boys dashed closer and closer.
Water suddenly shot up from the ground. Geysers of
it, sprouting everywhere. Denise flinched as cold
spray
from
a nearby nozzle seeped through her warmup suit.
Kara had turned on the lawn sprinklers?
Lou cried out as if he were being scalded. Buddy,
laughing, leaped one of the showers. He stopped laughing
when he slipped. He landed flat on his back.
Tom took hold of Denise's arm. He looked
at her. In the moonlight, she saw him smile and
shake his head.
"It'll be all right," she said. "That kid's
amazing." "Yeah, isn't she?"
But Lou didn't stop and throw away his fork. He
kept running toward them through the fountains of cold,
clear water. And Buddy was already scurrying to his
feet, lifting his spear.
Why
aren't they quitting?
Maybe they haven't been washed clean enough yet.
Lou, bare to the waist, looked pale under the
moonlight. Buddy's hair was blond again, his
face white.
But the two guys acted the same as when they'd been
black.
LA
YMON
I
Buddy, still running, threw his spear. Tom shoved
Denise aside. She stumbled, trying to stay up.
Her foot struck a sprinkler head. Crying out,
she fell sprawling. As she slid to a halt, she
rolled onto her side and saw Tom running from
Buddy. He only took a few strides before
Buddy leaped and tackled him.
Then Lou walked out of the spray beyond Denise's
feet. He had the fork in his right hand. His left hand
was tugging at the belt of his pants.
"L
eave me alone
to was
she gasped.
"I
t's over! Lou, it's over
to was
"H
uh-uh
."
She squirmed away from him, shoving herself over the
grass with her heels and elbows. Lou unfastened the
button at his waist. He started to pull his zipper
down and Kara jumped onto his back. Denise
jerked the baton up from her side. She rammed it
upward with both hands. Lou fell, his belly striking
the end of the metal tube, driving the baton down.
She yelled as the weight of Lou and Kara pounded the
baton's rubber knob against her ribs.
Lou shrieked as the pipe punched into him.
Denise bucked and squirmed. The weight shifted.
Lou and Kara tumbled to the
left.
They hit the grass. Denise saw the baton
jutting out of Lou. He had dropped his fork. He
grabbed the baton with both hands and pulled.-Inches of
it slid out of him. The end made a hollow sucking
pop when it came free. Blood poured from a hole
the size of a nickel.
Kara, behind his back, got to her knees.
"A
re you OK
?"
RAINY
NIGHT
"Yeah." Denise sat up. "Thanks. You . .
." She saw the spear come flying out of the spray too
late to warn Kara.
The girl yelped with surprise when it hit her.
The knife ripped through the nightgown glued to her
body, ripped through her skin, glanced off, and struck
Lou's back with a heavy thunk. Kara grabbed her
slashed thigh. She turned to look over her shoulder.
Buddy rushed in through the moonlit, silvery shower.
"No!" Denise cried out. She jerked the baton from
Lou's limp hands. As Buddy grabbed Kara from behind
and hoisted her overhead, Denise scurried over
Lou.
He clutched the front of her jacket.
"Gotcha." Her knee rammed the bleeding hole in
his belly. Someone said, "Put the girl down
easy, you bastard."

Buddy turned around, holding the little girl high over
his head as if she were a barbell.
"P
ut her down
,"
Maureen said.
"W
here the fuck did you come from
?"
Maureen stood shivering in the cold spray. The
lust
LA
YMON
for killing was gone. But not the need.
"y
out raped me, mister
."
"G
uess what? I'm about to do it again
."
Behind him and just off to the side, a girl crawled over
Lou's twitching body, scampered to her feet and
rushed forward. She tossed away a shiny weapon of
some kind.
"A
ll
you're gonna do is die
,"
Maureen said.
The girl leaped, reaching up, grabbing the kid and
pulling.
Buddy yelled,
"H
ey
to was
He tried to hold onto her, and stumbled backward
a step as the kid was yanked from his hands and fell into the
arms of the girl. He looked over his shoulder to see
what had happened.
Maureen thrust the tire tool into his belly. His
breath huffed out. He doubled over. Maureen swung
with all her strength. The steel bar crashed through his
cheekbone, snapped his head sideways. He hit
the grass and rolled, his back cutting off the spray
of a sprinkler.
Maureen straddled his chest. She raised the bar over
her head and swung it down with both hands, caving in the
top of his skull.
Aftermath
In7l
Tom was sitting up when Denise and Kara got
to him. "Are you ok88Denise asked.
He nodded and winced. His face looked battered and
puffy. Blood no sooner spilled from the split
skin above his eye than it was washed away by the
spray.
"Buddy sort of punched my lights out," he said.
Denise gripped one of Tom's arms. Kara took
the other. They helped him up. The three of them
walked over to the woman. She was sprawled on the
grass beside Buddy, knees up, arms spread out, a
tire iron resting across her belly. The bar went
up and down, wobbling as she gasped for air. She
squinted up at them through the rain of a nearby
sprinkler.
"Hi," Kara said. "Thanks for helping us."
"Glad to."
"Would you like to come into the house?"
"I think so. Yeah." She pushed herself up. The
tire tool rolled down to her lap. She grabbed
it, and got slowly to her feet.
Tom crouched down over Buddy. "Jeez. What
happened to him?"
"Me," the woman said.
LA
YMON
"Good going," Tom told her.
"Where'd you come from?" Kara asked.
She pointed down the block. "I'd just come out of the
house over there. I saw what was happening."
"Thank God," Denise muttered. She stepped
over to
Lou and pulled the spear from his back. Looking around
at the others, she said, "We'd better keep some
stuff, just in case."
"And let's leave the sprinklers on," Kara said.
"If anybody comes on the lawn, it'll make them
good again." "It didn't make Buddy and Lou good."
Denise told her.
The woman made a funny sound. It was sort of a
laugh, almost a sob. "With them," she said, "I
don't think it was just the rain. Where's the other one?"
"In the house," Denise said. "I stabbed him."
"So that's it, then," the woman said.
"Unless someone else shows up. Come on, let's
get inside."
With a towel wrapped around his waist, Trev stepped
through the steamy bathroom. He stopped at the door.
His hand hesitated on its knob.
They're still black, he thought. What if they try
to nail me?
RAINY
NIGHT
They
won't.
Sandy has it 'reined in
."
I
hope.
He opened the door. Sandy stood in the corridor,
leaning back against the wall, holding Rhonda
by
the shoulders. The girl was slumped against her, head
resting between her breasts.
"y
out save some water for us, pa?"
"I
t's all yours
."
He stepped past them, and watched as Sandy pushed
away from the wall and guided the girl into the
bathroom. The door swung shut.
Trev hurried down the hallway. He averted his
eyes from the closed door of the room where grandpa
Chidi had worked his terrible magic.
In the master bedroom, he rid himself of the towel.
He stepped into a pair of soft, dry
corduroy pants belonging to the father. He put on
socks and a pair of Reebok shoes that were slightly
too large, then slipped into a flannel shirt.
He remembered that the woman in the kitchen was about
Maureen's size. Maureen's clothes had been
too small for Sandy. But the father's things should be about
the right size. He gathered another pair of
corduroy pants, a sweatshirt and socks. The
man had a set of snake-skin cowboy boots in his
closet.
A
smile worked its way across Trev's face as he
picked them up.
They ought to suit Sandy just fine.
He carried his load through the hallway, and put it
down
by
the bathroom door.
In another room, he found clothes for Rhonda: a
LA
YMON
pleated skirt, a white sweater, socks and white
tennis shoes. He put them beside the garments he'd
picked for Sandy.
He went to the living room. The father and the
teenaged girl still slept.
Whatever grandpa had used to drug them, Trev hoped
it kept on working. He didn't want to be here when
they woke up.
He entered the kitchen. In a cupboard near the
sink, he found the family's liquor supply.
He took out a bottle of Irish whiskey,
carried it to the table, and sat down across from the woman.
Auburn hair. Just like Maureen's.
He twisted the cap off the bottle. "I'm sorry
for your troubles, lady," he said. And then he
drank.
"U
h-oh
,"
Tom said. He turned away from the picture
window.
"A
car's stopping out front
."
A
sick feeling made Denise's stomach sink.
She
went ahead and pressed the bandage across the twin
punctures on her right buttock, then
pulled up her soggy pants. She winced as the
elastic waistband was dragged over the torn skin of
her hip.
Kara rushed toward the window. She had the fire-
RAINY NIGH-RATHER
place poker in one hand while her other hand pressed
a washcloth to her lacerated thigh.
Denise picked up the spear she'd taken from Lou's
back
-
Maureen, with her tire iron, hobbled toward the
window on her bandaged feet.
Kara got to it first. She pressed her face against the
glass.
"I
think it's Mom and Dadff8She dropped her poker
and rushed to the front door.
"W
aitff8Denise snapped.
"S
omeone's getting out
,"
Tom said.
The girl unlocked the door, threw it open and
left the house.
Denise ran after her. She found Kara standing just
outside the door, eyes on the big, dark shape
of a man dashing through the sprinklers with a knife.
She raised her spear.
"D
ad
to was
Kara cried out.
"H
oney
to was
He ran closer.
Denise recognized him. John Foxworth, all
right. And he didn't look black.
"I
think it's OK
,"
she said as Tom and Maureen came out.
John threw away his knife. He opened his arms.
Kara leaped from the top of the stoop. Somehow, he
managed to stay on his feet when he caught her.
She wrapped her arms and legs around him.
While they embraced, Denise saw a woman
hurrying across the lawn. She recognized the dress
first. It was the slinky, one-armed gown with the
slit up its side. The dress that Lynn had
felt so uncertain about wearing.
Ll
LA
YMON
ONE
RAINY
NIGHT
The woman rushed closer, and Denise recognized
her face.
Lynn went to her husband and daughter. She wrapped
her arms around both of them.
Tom put a hand on Denise's back. She leaned
against him and sighed.
Then another woman came striding through the
sprinklers. She wore a skirt and a dark blazer.
The blazer was buttoned at her waist. She
didn't seem to be wearing a thing underneath it. She
suddenly smiled. "Maureen? Is that you?"
"Cassy?" Maureen trotted down the stairs.
Moments later, those two were embracing.
"I guess they know each other," Tom said.
"Guess so."
"Everybody's hugging but us."
"Looks that way." Denise dropped her
spear. She turned to Tom, slipped her arms around
him, and squeezed him hard.
In spite of the sun's warmth, Maureen felt a
chill spread over her skin when she saw a
splintery gap in the front door of her house.
"I
'full
go in first
,"
said the CHP officer. One of a

virtual army that poured through the streets of Bixby
soon after the rain had stopped. He'd come to the
Foxworth house a few hours after dawn.
"His name was lack Conroy. He'd already taken
Cassy back to her apartment, and gone inside to make
sure there were no lurking crazies. Then he'd
driven Tom and Denise to Tom's home. He'd
stayed with them, but hadn't needed to go inside because they were
met on the porch by Tom's family.
Now, he drew his revolver. With his left hand, he
threw the door open. He rushed into the house,
crouching. "Freezeff8he shouted.
Maureen went in behind him.
On the living room sofa, hands in the air,
sat Trevor Hudson. When he saw Maureen,
he clamped his lower lip between his teeth and looked as
if he might be about to cry.
"It's all right, Jack," she said. "I guess
he looks clean."
"I'm clean," Trevor said, his voice
trembling. "Do you know this man?" Jack asked.
"Yeah. He's a friend. An old friend of the
family." "So, it's OK to leave?"
Maureen nodded. "Thanks for the ride." "Glad
to help. Take care."
He left.
Trevor got to his feet. "I hope you don't
mind me coming in like this."
"It's nice to see you."
It's nice to see you, too. God. It was a bad
night." No kidding."
LA
YMON
"B
ut you made it. I'm so damn glad you made it
."
'is Dad around
?"
From the look on Trevor's face, she
knew.
"O
h, my God
."
"R
ory's fine.
I
talked to him. He's worried about
you
."
"B
ut Dad
... ?"
"H
e didn't make it. I'm sorry
."
Maureen dropped onto the sofa. She didn't
cry.
She
felt only stunned and weary. Trevor sat down
next to her. She slumped against his side, and felt
his fingers gently stroke her hair.
RICHA8LAYMON
Richard Laymon is the author of over 30
novels and 65 short stories. Though a
native of Illinois and a long-time Californian,
his name is more familiar to readers in Great Britain,
Australia, New Zealand and the rest of the world (where
he is published in 15 foreign languages) than
it is to most Americans. He is the author of such
novels as
The Woods Are Dark, Out Are the Lights,
Tread Softly, Resurrection Dreams,
Midnight? Lair The Stake, Quake, and
Savage.
He has also written
The Beast House Chronicles comprised of The
Cellar Beast House,
and
The Midnight Tour.
Two of his novels
(flesh and Funland)
and his short story collection
(a
Good, Secret Place)
were nominated for Bram Stoker Awards given by the
Horror Writers Association. Richard lives
in Los Angeles with his wife, Ann, and his
daughter, Kelly.
Check out the
Richard Laymon Kills!
website at:
www.rlk.cib.ne
.