NIGHT IN THE LONESOME OCTOBER
  BY
RICHARD LAYMON
LEISURE BOOKS
RAVE REVIEWS FOR
USA
r004KBESTSELLING AUTHOR
RICHARD LAYMON!
"Night in the Lonesome October
is scary. I haven't been this scared while reading
a piece of fiction in a long time."
-Bentley Little
Hellnotes
"Night in the Lonesome October
is at once one of the eeriest, and one of the most
immediate, horror novels of recent decades."
-Publishers Weekly
(starred Review)
"A brilliant writer."
-Sunday Express
"Laymon doesn't pull any punches. Everything
he writes keeps you on the edge of your seat."
-Painted Rock Reviews
"One of the best, and most reliable, writers working
today."
-Cemetery Dance
"Laymon is incapable of writing a disappointing
book."
-New York Review of Science Fiction
"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
"I've read every book of Laymen's I could get
my hands on. I'm absolutely a longtime fan."
-Jack Ketchum
SAL ACCLAIM [RD LAYMONI
nd deep He gives us characters that
-Mehitobel Wilson, Gothic.net
what makes characters work. Readers f leave burn
marks on the paper."
-Horrorstruck
Ray Bradbury's
Something Wicked This
j classic, you are in for a real treat.
The
will put you in the same vicarious world i since the
master."
-Denver Rocky Mountain News
an writer of the highest caliber."
-Time Out
(u.k.)
" A phenomenon. A genius of the grisly and the
-Joe Citro,
The Blood Review
dis.a
j super-tight and characters well detailed and i
makes the savage termination of so many of them
Bcking! The unbridled joy of a delightfully
fertile and
rtion at work."
-Terrorzone
tilde less-than
been putting out outstanding book after book."
-Delirium Magazine
F
aymon is a legend in dark fiction circles ...
a master of bre, a man on the cutting edge of the
horror genre."
-Scary Monsters Magazine
ATTACKERS IN THE NIGHT
Somebody slammed into me from the right. The impact
twisted me and sent me stumbling sideways through the
dark. I tripped over my own feet, fell as if
making a dive into shallow water, and slammed against the
ground so hard that I skidded.
In the distance past my feet, Eileen cried out,
"Eddie! Get him off me!"
I heard a smack like a fist striking bare skin.
"Leave her alone!"I yelled.
As I struggled to get up, I realized that I'd
lost my knife. I
had to
have it. Dropping to my knees, I swept my hands
over the ground.
Eileen whined ... part pain, part terror.
The hell with the knife.
I grabbed a heavy, jagged rock that was larger than
my hand, scrambled to my feet and rushed toward the
sounds from Eileen and what was happening to her.
The sounds sickened me. Sobs and giggles,
punches and slaps, yelps of pain, gasps for
air, muttered curses, wet slurps, frenzied
grunts-
Other
Leisure
books by Richard Laymon:
ISLAND
THE MUSEUM OF HORRORS
IN THE DARK
THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW
AMONG THE MISSING
ONE RAINY NIGHT
BITE
III THE
LEISURE BOOKS
NEW YORK CITY
To Jerry and Jackie Lentz, our fine friends who
always seem to know what we're laughing about.
A LEISURE BOOK[*REG]
September 2002
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue New York, NY

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be
aware that this book is stolen property. It was
reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher
and neither the author nor the publisher has received any
payment for this "stripped book."
Copyright [*copygg'2001 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: 0-8439-5046-3
The name "Leisure Books8andthe stylized Lwith
design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing
Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
Visit us on the web at
www.dorchesterpub.com.
AUTHOR8S NOTE
"Casey at the Batea8a poem by Ernest
Lawrence Thayer, was first published under the pen name
"Phin8in the
San Francisco Examiner
on June 3,1888. The classic poem contains
the famous final stanza:
"Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining
bright,
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are
light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in Mudville: Mighty
Casey has struck out."
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were
crisped and
sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October Of my most
immemorial year.,.
"Ulalume8Edgar Allan Poe
I was twenty years old and heartbroken the night it
started.
My name is Ed Logan.
Yes, guys can be heartbroken, too. It isn't
an affliction reserved for women only.
Except I think it feels more like an
empty stomach than a broken heart. An aching
hollowness that food can't cure. You know. You've
felt it yourself, I bet. You hurt all the time,
you're restless, you can't think straight, you sort of
wish you were dead but what you
really
want is for everything to be the same as it was when you were
still
with
her ... or him.
In my case, her name was Holly Johnson.
Holly Johnson.
God. I'd better not get started on her.
Suffice it to say I fell in love with Holly with
all my stupid heart and soul last spring when we were
both sophomores at Willmington University.
And she seemed to be in love with me. But then the
semester ended. I went home to Mill Valley and
she went home to Seattle where she worked as a
guidance counselor at some sort of fucking summer
camp and got involved with some
other
counselor. Only I didn't hear about that until
two weeks into the fall semester. I knew she
wasn't on campus, but didn't know why.
Her sorority sisters pleaded ignorance. On the
phone, her mother was evasive. "Holly isn't
home just now, but I'll tell her you called."
Then, on October first, a letter came. "Dear
Ed, I will always cherish the times we had..."
And so on. It might as well have been a letter bomb
... a letter carrying a voodoo bomb that first killed
me, then resurrected me as a zombie.
The night after receiving the letter, I stayed in my apartment
all by myself, drinking vodka (bought by a friend of legal
age) and orange juice until I passed out. In
the morning, I cleaned up the vomit. Then I had
to live through the worst hangover of my life.
Luckily, the letter had arrived on Friday.
By Monday, I'd mostly recovered from my
hangover. But not from my loss.
I attended my classes, going through the motions,
pretending to care, trying to act like the guy people knew as
Ed Logan.
That night, I studied until about eleven o'clock.
Tried
to study is more like it. Though my eyes traveled over
the lines of my
book my thoughts dwelled on Holly. I lingered
on memories of her And ached to have her back. And
agonized over vivid images of her making love
with my replacement, Jay.
He's so special and sensitive,
her letter had said.
How could she fall in love with a guy named Jay!
I'd known three or four Jays, and every last one of
them was an asshole.
He's so special and sensitive.
I wanted to kill him.
I wanted to kill her.
I hated her, but I wanted her back. I
pictured her return, myself weeping as we hugged and
kissed. She was weeping, too, and gasping, "I
love you so much, Ed. I'm so sorry I hurt you.
I'll never leave you again."
Yeah, right.
Anyway, that's how it was going Monday night.
Around eleven, I gave up trying to study. I
turned on the television, but just stared at the screen
without really seeing what was there. I thought about going
to bed, but knew I would end up wide awake,
tormented by Holly and Jay.
At last, I decided to take a walk. Just to get
out of my apartment. Just to be doing something. Just to kill
time.
Thoreau wrote, "You can't kill time without injuring
eternity."
Screw it, I thought. Screw Thoreau. Screw
eternity. Screw everything.
I wanted to go out walking in the night and get
lost
in the night and never come back.
Maybe I would get hit by a car. Maybe someone
would attack and murder me. Maybe I would hike
on over to the train tracks and look for a train with
my number on it. Or maybe I would just keep
walking forever, out of town, out of the state, just
out.
Out was where I wanted most to be.
Outside, the darkness smelled sweet and moist and a
soft wind was blowing. The October night felt more like
summer than fall. Soon, with the exertion of fast
walking, I was sweating inside my chamois shirt and
jeans. So I slowed down. I was in no hurry,
after all.
Though I'd started out with no destination in
mind, I found myself heading east.
No destination in mind?
Maybe, maybe not.
I hadn't set off on my walk with any plan
to make a pilgrimage to Holly's sorority
house, but that's where I went. My feet seemed
i
to take me there all on their own. Of course, that's
nonsense. I guided them there. We walked a
route we had walked so many times before. Instead of
hurrying eagerly to the front door, however, we
crossed to the opposite side of the street. We
didn't stop, but walked very slowly.
There was the veranda where Holly and I had so often
kissed goodnight -- sometimes for an hour or longer.
There, one story up and three windows from the south
corner, was the large picture window of Holly's
room.
Her former
room. The window was dark, now. Some other girl was
probably asleep in the room behind it... in the
same bed where Holly used to sleep.
And where was Holly now? In her own bed in her
parents" house near Seattle? Or in
Jay's
bed?
He's probably fucking her right this second.
I could picture it. I could feel it. I could
feel Holly's soft, warm body under me, her
eager mouth on my lips, her tongue in my mouth,
one of her breasts in my hand, her slippery wet
tightness hugging me.
Except it wasn't me, it was Jay.
He's so special and sensitive.
"Ed
?"
Shit!
Managing a smile, I turned my head. "Oh,
hi, Eileen."
Eileen Danforth, one of Holly's sorority
sisters and best friends. She held some books and
binders clutched against her chest. She was probably
on her way back from studying in the library or the
student union. The wind was blowing her long, dark
hair.
"How's it going
?"
she asked.
I shrugged.
"Guess you must've gotten Holly's letter."
Naturally, Eileen knew all about the letter.
"Yeah," I said.
"Rough."
I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak.
"Just between you and me, I think Holly blew it."
"Thanks."
"Can't imagine what got into her."
"I can," I muttered.
Eileen's face twitched slightly as if she
felt a small, sharp pain. "Yeah," she said.
"Me, too. I'm really sorry."
"Thanks."
She sighed and shook her head. "It's really a
shame. Who knows, though? Maybe you're better off."
"Doesn't feel that way."
Eileen pressed her lips together. She almost looked
ready to cry. "I know how it feels," she said.
"God, do I ever."
She lifted her eyebrows. "So, did you just come
over here to stare at the
house
?"
,
I shook my head. "I'm on my way to the donut
shop.
'Dandi
?"
"Yeah."
"At this hour?"
"It's open all night."
"I know, but... it's really
out
there.
"Seven miles
."
She grimaced. "That's a
long
way
."
"I've got nothing better to do
."
She looked into my eyes for a while. Then she said,
"Could you use some company? Just give me a couple
of minutes to drop off my books, and . .
."
I was shaking my head. "I think I'd rather be alone
."
"You shouldn't walk all that way by yourself
."
"I'll be fine
."
"It's the middle of the night."
"I know, but ..."
'Let me come with you, okay
?"
I shook my head again. "Maybe some other night
."
"Well, it's up to you. I don't want to ...
you know, make a nuisance out of myself
."
"It's not that
."
"I know. I understand. You just want to be alone
."
"Yeah
."
"But be careful, okay
?"
"I will be
."
"And don't do anything . . . crazy
."
"I'll try not to
."
"It isn't the end of the world, you know
."
I figured my mother would say exactly the same thing
if and when I phoned home and explained about
Holly.
"Just seems that way," Eileen added.
I don't think Mom would've added that.
"Yeah," I said.
"But things'll get better. They really will. You'll
meet someone else . .
."
That would probably be my father's commentary.
"You'll fall in love again
."
"God, I hope not
."
"Don't say that
."
"Sorry
."
"Do me a favor, okay? Bring me back a
couple of donuts
?"
This was Eileen to the hilt. I knew she wasn't
making the request simply due to a fondness for
donuts -- though Dandi's were spectacular. For one
thing, she had a car; she could drive out to Dandi
Donuts whenever the mood struck her. For another,
she was slender and very pretty and tried to stay that way
by avoiding such delicacies as donuts.
Which is not to say she never ate them. She did. But
rarely.
And I knew that tonight her real intent was to give me a
task . . . to divert at least a fraction of my
attention away from Holly.
"Sure," I said. "What kind do you
want
?"
"Glazed old-fashioneds
."
"The specialty of the house
."
"Yeah
."
Eileen smiled a little sadly and licked her lips.
"I can taste them now
."
"Only thing is, I'm not sure what time I'll be
back
."
"Before I have to go to my ten o'clock, I hope
."
"I'll try
."
"I'll be in the student union, drooling with
anticipation
."
"I'll make sure you don't go hungry
."
"Thanks
."
Keeping the books clamped against her chest with her
left arm, she reached out with her right hand and gave my
shoulder a gentle squeeze. I expected her
to say something more, but she didn't. After squeezing my
shoulder, she let go and turned away and went
trotting across the street toward the front of the
sorority house, her dark hair blowing behind her
head, her pleated skirt dancing around her thighs.
If she'd been Holly, I would've been
enthralled by how she looked.
But she wasn't.
Watching Eileen, I felt nothing.
That's not quite true. What I actually felt was a
vague wish that she would somehow
turn into
Holly.
Not Holly the faithless slut who'd dumped me for
her summercamp flame, but the Holly I'd known
last spring, the one I'd loved.
That
Holly.
God, how I wanted her to be with me again!
On the veranda, Eileen looked back at me and
waved. Then she pulled open the door. As she
entered the sorority house, I caught a
glimpse of the reception area.
I used to wait in there for Holly to come down from her
room. Last spring, I spent so many hours in that
reception area that it seemed like a second home.
There were easy chairs, a couple of sofas, several
lamps and tables. There was reading material, too,
to help visitors while away the time as they waited
for their girlfriends ... or daughters.
Old magazines, crossword puzzle books, a
few well-worn paperbacks. And an old,
hardbound copy of
Look Homeward, Angel.
I used to pick up the Wolfe book and read it and
look at the wonderful Douglas W. Gorsline
illustrations while I waited for Holly. The
waiting always seemed to last forever. But finally she would
come walking through the entryway, smiling and so beautiful
that it hurt me to look at her.
O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back
again!
I
Setting out from my apartment Monday night, I'd had
no intention of hiking seven miles to Dandi Donuts
and seven miles back. I'd just wanted
out,
just wanted
away.
Now, thanks to Eileen, I had a reason to go there.
A purpose for my walk.
If anybody asks, I thought, I can explain
I'm on my way to Dandi Donuts to pick up a
couple of glazed old-fashioneds for a friend.
Better than saying, "Just out for a stroll
."
Not that anyone was likely to ask.
Away from the campus, few people were wandering about. Only
rarely did a car pass by. Most students were in
their rooms, studying or messing around on their
computers or indulging in deep, philosophical
bullshit sessions with friends or having sex or
sleeping. Non-students were mostly in
their
rooms, too, I supposed. Reading, watching
television, having sex, or sleeping.
As I walked along Division Street, some of the
houses had one or two lighted windows. Others had
no lights on, but a window glowed with the trembling
light from a television. Most of the houses, however,
were dark except for porch lights. Some didn't
even have porch lights on.
Sometimes, I heard voices, thuds, laughter and
other quiet sounds coming from the houses I passed.
Many of them, though, were silent. A few birds were
awake in the trees or air. I heard them
twitter and warble. Mostly, though, I heard my
footsteps on the concrete of the sidewalk. Each
step came regularly. They all sounded just the same
except when I stood on something: a leaf, a stone,
a twig.
I noticed how quickly one step followed another, so
I slowed down. What was the hurry? My only
destination was a donut shop that never closed.
And it was only a random destination, anyway. I had
no real need to get there at all.
What about the donuts I'd promised Eileen?
Not exactly a promise.
But I'd told her I would get them and I intended
to keep my word.
More than likely, I would've headed for Dandi
Donuts even if
she hadn't entered the picture. So it was no big
deal. Not really. Except that now I had an
obligation to go there.
And to get back with the donuts before her ten o'clock
class.
I don't
have
to, I told myself. I don't
have
to go back to campus at all, or back to my
apartment, or anywhere. If I want, I can just
keep walking.
It struck me then that I was walking north. If I
kept on going north, I would eventually end up in
Seattle . . . the land of Holly and Jay.
Desire, rage and sorrow slammed into me.
But I kept on walking.
I'm
not
going to walk to Seattle, I told myself.
Actually, I'd thought seriously about
flying
there after I got Holly's letter on Friday.
Decided against it, though. If she wanted to dump
me for some asshole she met at summer camp, far
be it from me to interfere ... or to go pleading for her
love like some sort of total loser. She could keep
her Jay and I could keep my dignity. I got
drunk.
There would be no visits to Seattle by me.
With any luck, I would never again set eyes on
Holly Johnson.
I only wished I could take my
mind
off her. And that happened a few minutes later when
a man and his dog came down the sidewalk toward
me. The man, stout, swarthy and bearded, wore a
dark turban. The dog on his leash looked like a
Rottweiler.
A Rottweiler on one of those endless leashes that would
allow him several minutes of mauling time while his
owner tried to reel him in.
I almost crossed the street, but it would've been so
obvious.
The man might be offended or take me for a coward
... or even assume I'm some sort of
anti-turban bigot. So I stayed on my side
of the street.
As they approached, I smiled and nodded and
politely stepped off the sidewalk to let them by.
The dog, well ahead of the man, came trotting
over to me and began to sniff the crotch of my jeans.
One good chomp . . .
The man at the other end of the leash seemed uninterested
in his dog's activities.
"Nice doggie," I said in a soft voice.
Its muzzle nudged me. I took a step
backward, and it growled.
The man finally came along. Keeping his head
straight forward, he walked past us without even giving
us a glance. After he'd gone by, his dog licked the
fly of my jeans.
"Get outa here," I muttered.
Though at least fifteen feet away, the man
turned his head and glowered at me. "Speaking to my
dog is not permitted
."
"Sorry
."
He continued on his way, reeling in. The dog
gave me one last prod with his muzzle, then wheeled
around and went trotting after its master.
I scowled in their direction, but neither noticed.
I guess the fellow figured he owned the
sidewalk and his dog owned my crotch.
"Assholes," I muttered.
Neither of them noticed that, either. Which was maybe a good
thing; the bastard might've sicced his dog on me ...
or chased me with a scimitar. (if he had one on
him, I couldn't see it... but no telling
what
he might've had hidden inside his flowing robe.)
Anyway, I resumed walking and kept a sharp
eye out for dogs. Though none seemed to be coming,
several times my passing triggered fits of wild
barking from hounds behind fences or gates. They couldn't
get to me, but their mindless uproar announced my
presence to everyone in the neighborhood. All I
wanted to do was go by, silent and invisible, nobody
even knowing I was there.
Soon, the barking grew less frequent. Maybe
I was walking more quietly, or maybe I'd
simply entered a neighborhood with fewer dogs.
Whatever the reason, I began to feel more calm.
The night was very peaceful.
I saw a white cat scurry across the street and
take shelter underneath a parked car. I heard a
hooting owl. Sometimes, things were so quiet that I could
hear the soft buzz of the streetlights.
As I stepped off a curb, a loud
bring-bring-bringgg!
made my throat catch. I leaped back just as a
bike whished by.
I blurted, "Shit!"
"Wheeee!"
squealed the bike's rider -- a skinny old
woman in black spandex, wearing her ballcap
backward.
A
happenin"
crone.
Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled at
me. I couldn't see her face very well, but it was
pale and thin and I got the impression she was missing
most of her front teeth. For some reason, I got
goosebumps. They stayed with me as she faced forward
and pedaled off.
At the end of the block, she turned a corner. I
was glad to have her out of sight, but I started to worry
that she might be circling around for another pass at
me.
Maybe I'd offended her. Maybe she wanted
retribution. Maybe
she planned to reach out on her next pass and touch
me with a gnarled finger and whisper, "thinner," or
"toad," or "rectum," or something.
I didn't
really
think it would happen, but it sure did cross my
mind.
So I
did
cross Division Street.
For a while, I walked slowly and kept looking
back. I had a funny tickle in my chest that
felt like a giggle or a scream might be crouched
inside me, just waiting for the hag to come wheeling around the
corner.
Finally, to play it safe and give myself a chance
to calm down, I headed down a sidestreet. I
walked two short blocks, then came to Franklin
Street and resumed my journey northward.
She won't find me over here, I thought.
For more than half an hour, not much happened. I just
kept walking up Franklin. The houses seemed a
little older here than those I'd passed on Division
Street. Now and then, dogs barked. Fewer of the
houses had lights on. Only one or two cars
went by. I saw nobody out walking ... or
riding bikes.
But then from the east a girl came walking.
She moved in from the right, some thirty feet ahead of
me, following the sidewalk along the end of the
block. She happened to be facing forward. I
happened to be standing in the shadow of a tree.
I stopped and held my breath.
At the corner, she turned her back to me, stepped
off the curb and started crossing the street.
Standing motionless, I watched her.
I didn't begin to walk until she was about
halfway up the next block. Then I moved out
of the tree's shadows, went to the corner and stepped off
the curb.
I wasn't following her. I was simply continuing
on my course toward Dandi Donuts.
Not following her.
If she'd gone a different way at the corner and
I'd abandoned my previous route to pursue her,
then I
would have been following her. But that wasn't the case.
She had simply positioned herself ahead of me on the
sidewalk I was already using.
She had every right to do so, and I had every right to proceed
without changing my route.
That's what I told myself when I started to follow
her.
I walked at my normal pace for a while,
closing the gap that separated us. Then I slowed
down. I didn't want to overtake her.
Overtaking a woman on a sidewalk,
especially at night and when no one else is
nearby,
always
makes me uncomfortable. As I come up behind one,
she obviously worries she's about to be robbed,
raped or killed. Such women almost always cast a
nervous glance back at me while I'm closing
in. And then they stiffen as I hurry past them.
It's not that I'm a monster, either. I look
pleasant, cheerful and harmless. But I'm a guy.
That's apparently enough to make some women fear my
approach.
To avoid tormenting them, I've learned not
to overtake them on sidewalks. I cross the
street or turn a corner to get off their tails,
or I drastically slow my pace.
What usually happens, I cut my speed to a
dawdle and sometimes stop entirely for short periods
of time, hoping the woman will turn a corner, reach
her destination, or otherwise get out of my way.
When it becomes obvious that she'll be continuing in
front of me, I resign myself to passing her or
I change my own course.
Being in no hurry to reach Dandi Donuts... or
anywhere else. . . I saw no reason
to cross the street or turn a corner.
Just don't spook her, I told myself. Keep a
nice, slow pace and a good distance between us.
She'll never even know I'm here.
So far, the young woman in front of me seemed
completely unaware of my presence. She just kept
walking along with a bouncy, carefree stride, swinging
her arms, turning her head to
look this way and that (but never behind her). Her pale
hair was in a pony tail that bobbed and swayed as she
walked. She wore a dark sweatshirt, dark
trousers and sneakers. She carried nothing at all,
not even a purse. I thought this strange. Women
almost never go anywhere without a purse.
Where is
this
one going? I wondered.
Maybe to Dandi Donuts?
That was too much to hope for. More than likely, she was
on her way home from somewhere. I wondered if her
parents knew she was out on the streets at such an
hour.
Who says she lives with her parents?
For all I knew, she might've been in her
mid-twenties, living on her own, even
married.
But I doubted it.
Though I'd only seen her at a distance and never in
very good light, I'd formed an impression that she was
somewhat younger than me -- perhaps sixteen to eighteen
years old. If that was the case, she most likely
lived at home with her parents.
I'd also formed an impression that she was extremely
attractive.
In the glow of the streetlights, her face had looked
as if it
might
be beautiful. Distance and poor lights can be
misleading, though. Seen clearly, she might have
flaws. Or she might be twice the age I
suspected.
There was, however, more than enough light to reveal the fine
shape of her body underneath her sweatshirt and
trousers.
Not that I felt any desire for her. Thanks
to Holly, women had lost their appeal for me.
I did, however, feel a certain connection to her.
We were two strangers sharing the same route. We
had that in common. She was walking past the same parked
cars, same trees, same lawns, same
houses as me ... seconds sooner, that's all.
She and I were seeing similar sights, hearing very much
the same sounds, smelling and breathing nearly the same
air, feeling the same concrete under our shoes. In
all eternity and infinity, we were existing together in the
same time and place . . . almost.
I couldn't help feeling connected to her.
Connected and protective.
She seemed much too young to be roaming the streets
alone at such an hour of the night, so I intended
to make sure she got home safely.
I now had
two
missions: pick up donuts for Eileen and guard
my new companion.
I
was
her companion, though she didn't know it.
"I
won't let anything happen to you,
I told her in my mind.
Suddenly, she stopped walking. As I halted, her
head began turning to the left.
She's going to look back!
Though standing in the brightness of a streetlight,
I made no attempt to find cover; movement
might catch her eye. Total stillness was my best
defense.
Watching her, I didn't dare breathe.
After a few moments, I realized her eyes were on
a lean white cat sauntering in her direction from the
other side of Franklin Street.
She turned toward the cat and I saw her in
profile for the second time that night. Her outline .
. . her high ponytail, the tilt of her head, the
shape of her face, her slender neck, her high
breasts in front and her rear end pushing out at the
seat of her trousers ... I don't want to say
she looked athletic because that suggests
power.
That would give the wrong impression. More than anything
else, she seemed confident, springy and pert.
She squatted down. With her rear end a few inches
above the sidewalk, she lowered her head and spoke
to the cat. "Come here, kitty," I heard. A hand
reached out past her right knee and beckoned to it.
The cat opened its mouth wide and let out a loud
"Reeoww"
as if to say, "I see you. Hold your horses.
I'm on my way
."
Full of disdain and coyness until it finally got
to her hands.
Moments later, it seemed to slump and melt with
pleasure. She spoke softly as she caressed it,
but I couldn't hear what she was saying. She must've
spent three or four minutes petting it. When she
stood up to leave, the cat rubbed itself against her shins
and calves, slithered between her legs, acted as if it
wanted to wrap itself around her and stop her from going
away.
Almost tripping on it, she let out a quiet laugh
and leaped clear. The moment she began walking away,
I ducked behind a nearby tree. I peered around its
trunk and saw the cat prancing after her, tail
high.
"Row ww!"
She looked back at it and said, "Okay, but just for a
minute
."
Then she turned all the way around, facing the cat and
me.
I pulled back my head. Staring at the bark of the
tree an inch in front of my nose, I waited.
"Yes," I heard her say. "You're a
needy little fellow, aren't you? Yes, you are
."
I couldn't look at her. I could only listen.
She had a wonderful, strange voice. There was
nothing girlish about it. I would almost
say it sounded masculine, but it was too smooth and
lilting for that. It even had a hint of a purr in it as
she talked to the cat.
"Oh, yes, you like that, don't you? Mmm, yes. That
feels
real
good
."
When I risked a peek around the trunk, I found
that she was squatting over the cat, reaching down between her
spread knees to caress it with both hands. The cat was
stretched out on its side.
"Think you've had enough
?"
she asked it. "No such thing as enough, is there
?"
After giving it a final pat, she started to rise so
I had to quit watching.
A few seconds passed. Then the girl said,
"Bye-bye, kitty," in that rich, low
voice of hers.
I stayed hidden, listening. No more sounds came from the
direction of the girl or the cat. Finally, I dared
to take another peek. The cat was still sprawled on
the sidewalk, apparently too languid to move
on. The girl had already crossed the next street.
She wasn't looking back.
I left the shelter of my tree and hurried up the
sidewalk. As I stepped over the cat, I heard
the rumble of its purr. It raised its head and
squawked at me as if annoyed by the intrusion.
I kept on walking.
When I glanced back, the cat was still there, stretched
out long and slim on the pale concrete . . .
luxuriating in memories of the girl's hands, more
than likely, and hoping for her return.
By the time I reached the other side of the street, she was
halfway up the next block. I quickened my
pace, hoping to close the distance between us.
I felt as if my eyes were locked on her back.
But I must've glanced away for an instant. I'm
not sure what distracted me.
When I looked forward again, the sidewalk ahead of
me was empty.
My heart sickened.
Where'd she go?
My first thought was that she had been snatched away by an
assailant. Just where I'd last seen her, the yard
to the right was partly enclosed by thick hedges. He
might've dragged her out of sight... I started
to run.
But what if she'd wandered into the yard for a reason of
her own . . . maybe to visit a stray dog or
another cat?
I quit running.
Still moving too fast, I told myself,
Slow down. I'm just a guy walking by.
Though I tried to walk slowly, my heart raced.
What if she's down? What if some bastard's
raping her?
She'd be yelling, I thought.
Not if he knocked her out. Or killed her.
Aching to run, but holding back, I walked past the
row of hedges. The house was dark, its front lawn
shrouded by shadows. I kept walking, but slowly. Very
slowly. Watching and listening.
Nobody seemed to be down on the ground.
I heard no sounds of struggle.
Did he take her behind the house?
On the dark porch, something moved.
Looking straight forward, I walked on. I even
took a few additional steps after passing the hedge
at the border of the lawn. Then, crouching low, I
crept back to the bushes. I peered around them and
squinted toward the porch.
Several steps above the walkway leading to it, the
porch was enclosed by a low wooden railing. Its roof
sheltered it from most of the night's vague light.
Staring into that darkness, I wondered how I'd managed
to notice any movement at all. Perhaps I'd
only imagined it.
Then a thin, horizontal strip of grayness six
or seven feet high appeared in the blackness of the
porch. I didn't know what it was. As it slowly
thickened, however, I realized the gray strip was
made of vague light from inside the house . . .
growing wider because the front door was being opened.
But opened with such slowness, such stealth, that it seemed
to be some sort of forbidden act.
Chills tingled their way up my spine.
What's going on?
When the area of grayness was wide enough, a black
shape slipped through it. The shape seemed to have a
ponytail.
A moment later, the grayness began to narrow.
Then it was gone.
Suddenly, I smiled.
Of course!
The girl had been away from the house without her
parents" knowledge. She'd probably crept out after their
bedtime, maybe for a tryst with a boyfriend, and I had just
witnessed her return.
The little sneak!
I almost laughed. Not only was I giddy with
relief, but impressed by her daring.
From my place beside the bush, I continued to watch her
house. All the windows remained dark. This made
sense. After sneaking in so smoothly, she would hardly
start running around flicking on lights. No, she
would make her way through the darkness.
She had probably taken off her shoes in the
foyer. Carrying them in one hand, gliding her other hand
along the banister, she'd silently climbed the
stairs.
I knew the routine; I'd done it myself a few
times during my teenaged years. I knew how she
must be moving very slowly, fearful that a board might
squeak underfoot. And I knew the excitement that she
probably felt.
I also knew she might eventually turn on
a light.
Upstairs, if she played it smart, she would sneak
into her bedroom and take off her clothes in the
darkness. Once you've made an undiscovered
entry, your clothes are the only giveaway. Get
them off, put on your pajamas or nightgown or
whatever you wear at bedtime, and you've made it home
free. You can turn on your bedroom light if you
wish, go to the bathroom and turn on its light . .
. Even if you're seen, nobody will know you'd been
outside.
Waiting for a light to come on, I found myself staring at
the third upstairs window from the corner.
Stupid.
This wasn't Holly's sorority house, it was the
home of a stranger. Any of the windows might belong
to the girl's bedroom. Or none of them; her windows
might
face the rear of the house. Her room might even be
downstairs, though that didn't seem likely; in
old, two-story houses, the bedrooms were nearly
always upstairs.
Though several minutes went by, no light appeared
in any of the windows.
She'd had plenty of time to reach her
bedroom. She was probably in her room now,
undressing in the dark. In my mind, it wasn't
complete
darkness. A dim glow of moonlight entered through the
window, illuminating her as she pulled off her dark
sweatshirt.
But in which room? I wondered. Behind which window?
I suddenly realized that her bedroom was most
likely one with windows directly over the porch.
Three windows overlooked its roof. A simple
matter to climb out any of them, walk to the edge of the
porch roof, then slip down a support post to the
railing and hop to the ground.
Was that how the girl had escaped from her house earlier
that night?
I gazed at the windows above the porch. A couple
of them maybe all three -- were likely to be the
windows of her bedroom. She was probably standing just
beyond one of them. . disnear enough to take advantage of the
faint light coming in.
But I couldn't see her.
Each window looked like a mirror reflecting
black night and moonlight. Only a person standing
on the porch roof, face pressed to the glass, would
be able to see in.
I pictured myself up there.
It excited and appalled me.
You've gotta be kidding.
Then I suddenly realized I'd been squatting by the
hedge, gazing at the house for a
long
time . . . five minutes? Ten? What if someone
had noticed me lurking there and called the cops?
I
want to report a prowler.
A Peeping Tom.
Scared, I scooted around to the other side of the
bushes, got to my feet and walked away. I
walked fast. At any moment, a neighbor might
shout at me or confront me with a weapon. Or a
squad car might swing around one of the corners and roar
down the street to hunt me down.
I ached to break into a run and put some real distance
between me and the girl's house!
If I'd been dressed like a fellow out for a jog,
I might've tried running. But I was in my
chamois shirt and jeans. Such clothes would draw
suspicion from anyone seeing me race through the
night. So I held back. I even slowed the
pace of my walking and tried very hard to look
carefree.
I actually pursed my lips and prepared to whistle
a tune, but good sense put a stop to that.
I walked in silence, my heart hammering, my mouth
parched, my body spilling sweat from every pore.
Nobody shouted. Nobody chased me. No cars
came toward me from either direction.
At last, I reached the end of the block. I
crossed to the other side of Franklin and continued
westward on the sidestreet until I found my
way back to Division. Vastly relieved by my
escape, I walked two or three blocks north
on Division before I even remembered about the bike
hag.
A chill scampered up my hot, sweaty back and
raised goosebumps on the nape of my neck.
I whirled around and looked behind me.
No sign of her. Of course not.
Continuing on my way, I felt a little silly for
letting her scare me at all.
But I was glad she
had
scared me. I'd detoured over to Franklin
Street for no other reason than to get away from
her. If I hadn't done that, the girl and
I would have passed each other in the night, two
blocks apart, never converging.
For a while, I toyed with the idea that I'd been
meant
to flee from the bike hag and find the girl. (i often
think strange thoughts
in the dead of night.) Forces of good or evil had
perhaps given the hag a mission: scare the hell out of
Ed Logan so he'll run over to Franklin
Street. . .
Not likely.
But I'd been afraid she might reach out as she
pedaled by, touch me with a crooked finger and mark me
with a curse. So I'd fled. And maybe in fleeing
from a harmless, somewhat daffy old crone, I'd run
into the sort of curse I'd never expected.
Curse or blessing.
As I walked up Division Street on my way
to Dandi Donuts, I felt cursed
and
blessed . . . and bewitched. Not by the bike hag, but
by a certain mysterious girl who'd shared the
sidewalk and some of her secret life with me,
watching unseen in the night.
Still more than a block away from Dandi
Donuts, I could see the hazy glow from its
picture windows hovering over the sidewalk.
The houses had already been left behind. Businesses
lined both sides of the street: a deli, a barber
shop, a gas station, an Italian restaurant
called Louie's, a flower shop, a thrift shop.
All were shut for the night. Most were dark inside, but
some were dimly lighted.
The display window of the thrift shop, for instance. There,
gloomy lights illuminated a pair of sorry
mannequins with fading, chipped paint on their
faces. They stood frozen in odd stances, looking
cheerful for no good reason.
A slender, debonair man in a dusty top hat
and tails wanted to look like Clark Gable but one
side of his mustache was gone. His lady friend, her red
wig slightly askew, wore a red-sequined
dress like a "flapper" from the Roaring Twenties.
The original owner of the gown was probably as gone as
the missing half of Clark's mustache.
A fairly regular patron of Dandi Donuts,
I'd noticed the thriftshop window early during my
first year at the university. In the beginning, I'd
been amused by the battered mannequins and their
outdated costumes. I'd also enjoyed
looking at other items displayed in the window: old
tableware, vases, phonograph records, and even
a few framed paintings. But then, on my way
to Dandi Donuts alone one night, I'd paused
at the window longer than usual. That's when I
realized that the mannequins, clothes, and just about
everything else displayed behind the window were relics of the
dead.
They made me uneasy and depressed.
The next time I went to Dandi Donuts, I
walked on the other side of the street and didn't
look at the thrift-shop window as I passed by.
But I still knew it was there.
After that, I stayed away from the donut shop. I
pretty much intended to avoid it forever, but on a warm
night in the late spring of last year, Holly and
I were out walking. I knew that we'd walked a very
long distance, but I'd been paying attention
to Holly, not to our location. We were holding hands.
Suddenly, she stopped. I stopped, too. In
front of the thrift shop's window.
"Oh, wow," she'd said. 'Look at this stuff
."
I looked. Having Holly at my side, however,
I felt untouched by the gloom. "Clark
Gable," I said.
"Looks like half his mustache is
gone with the wind,"
I
laughed.
"Is this supposed to be Scarlet
?"
she asked.
"More likely Zelda, I think
."
"But she's
got
to be Scarlet. The red hair
."
"Well, maybe
."
"If you want her to be Zelda . .
."
"No, that's all right
."
"He put her in his books, didn't he
?"
"I guess so. I guess she's in
Tender is the Night.
But he didn't call her Zelda
."
Holly turned to me and put her arms around me the
way she often did, not hugging me exactly but
holding herself just slightly against me so I could feel
her breasts as she tilted back her head and stared up
into my eyes. "Will you put
me
in a book someday
?"
she asked.
"Sure I will
."
It always embarrassed and thrilled me when she spoke
of my being a writer -- as if she actually believed
it could happen.
"But use my real name, okay? Holly would be a
good name for my character, don't you think
?"
I nodded. I couldn't actually imagine her with any
name other than Holly.
"When you're big and famous," she said, "I'll
show the book to my kids and tell them how I knew
you back in the early days
."
"You mean
our
kids
?"
I knew she hadn't meant
our
kids, but I'd felt compelled to ask, anyway.
Soft eyes looking up at me, her face
solemn, she said, "You deserve someone better than
me
."
"What
?"
I'd heard her just fine.
"You'll find someone else, someone prettier than
I am, and smarter
"I don't
want
anyone else
."
"You only
think
you don't
."
"I love you, Holly
."
"You love your
idea
of me
."
"What's that supposed to mean
?"
"Maybe I'm not who you think I am
."
"Then who are you
?"
Smiling gently, she rubbed herself against me and said,
"I'm nobody, who are you
?"
"Throwing Emily Dickinson at me.

r
"You're not nobody. You're Holly Johnson and
I love everything about you
."
"Just remember my name, darling, when it comes time
to put me in that book
."
I had a tightness in my throat, but I managed
to say, "I'll never forget your name. But if you go
away and leave me, how will I know where to send
a copy
?"
"I won't leave you. You'll leave me. But
don't worry about sending me a copy. I'll read
all your books. I'll be your biggest fan
."
Then we'd kissed, standing in front of the thrift-shop
window with Rhett and Scarlet (or Zelda) staring
out at us. I'd felt broken inside. But afterwards
we'd gone on into the donut shop and Holly acted
as if nothing horrible had happened. After the
donuts, we went to a large wooded park and made
love under the trees and everything seemed sweeter, more
urgent and intense than ever before.
I remembered all that as I stood in front of the
window, staring in at the dummies for the first time after being
dumped by Holly.
"I'll
never leave you,
she'd said.
You'll leave me.
Yeah, right.
Bitch,
I thought.
And then I thought worse.
The tattered mannequins smiled out at me through the
glass. They looked exactly the same as they'd
looked the night I stood out here with Holly. For
them, nothing had changed. Lucky them.
I never should've come out here, I thought. North had
been a big mistake.
But then,
any
direction would've been a mistake of nearly the
same magnitude. There was almost no place to go where
I hadn't been with Holly when we were in love.
One place, I supposed, was just as bad as any
other.
And north, at least, had the advantage of
donuts.
As I walked through the hazy glow of light from Dandi
Donuts. I glanced inside. Someone at the counter
was making a purchase The display racks had a
meager selection, but I spotted several
old-fashioneds. Some were chocolate covered. As
for the others. I couldn't be sure whether they were plain
or glazed. I pushed open the door and stepped into the
warm, sweet aromas I knew so well.
The clerk -- someone new since last year -- was
busy giving change to a customer.
I walked up to the counter and bent over.
Three of the old-fashioneds were glazed. They looked
crusty and
mouthwatering. I decided to buy all three, save
two for Eileen and eat one here myself while I
enjoyed a hot cup of coffee.
A long walk like this, I deserved two donuts.
What should the second one be? A
chocolate-covered old-fashioned? Maybe a
maple bar? Or one of those fat, sugar-sprinkled
donuts that was loaded with jelly?
So many possibilities.
Most of them looked luscious.
From behind me came a familiar voice. "Hey,
Eddie. Fancy meeting you here
."
I straightened up, turned around, and spotted
Eileen waving at me from a corner table. She was
alone. In front of her was a white Styrofoam
coffee cup and a napkin with about half a donut
sitting on it.
She'd come!
Smiling and shaking my head, I walked toward her.
"Go ahead and get something," she said. "I'm not
going anywhere
."
"I was supposed to
bring
you some donuts," I said.
"I decided to bring myself to them
."
"So . . . you want to cancel your order
?"
"Guess so. I've already got one and a half
inside me
."
"Can I get you anything
?"
She shook her head. "Just go ahead and buy what you
want for yourself
."
So I returned to the counter. I bought a coffee and
two glazed oldfashioneds, paid for them, and carried
them toward Eileen's table.
She looked very fresh and pretty sitting there and
watching me. Her dark-brown hair flowed down and
draped the tops of her shoulders. Since I'd last
seen her, she had changed out of her sweater and pleated
skirt. She now wore blue jeans and a bright
plaid chamois shirt. Below her throat was
a wedge of bare skin. Her shirt wasn't
buttoned until almost halfway down. Slightly
crooked, it was open wide enough to show an edge of her
black bra.
As I sat down across from her, she said, "I changed
my mind about being a nuisance
."
"You're not a nuisance
."
"You wanted to be alone
."
"That's all right. I'm glad you're here
."
It wasn't quite a lie.
She beamed. "Really
?"
"Sure
."
"I just ... it's an awfully long hike out here, you
know? So I figured, well, I'd give you a good
headstart then drive on out and at least
offer
you a ride home. I mean, in case seven miles
was enough for one night
."
"How long did you wait
?"
I asked.
"Before leaving the house
?"
She shrugged. "About an hour and a
half. I set the alarm and took a little nap.
Thought maybe I'd pass you along the way. Then
I didn't, so I figured you must've gotten here
ahead of me. Only
that
sure didn't happen. Not that it matters. I
didn't mind waiting
."
"I took sort of an indirect route
."
"So I gathered
."
She didn't look as if she minded. She just
seemed glad that I was with her now.
"You sure went to a lot of trouble," I said.
"Nah. It was nothing
."
"It was a lot
."
"Well . . . That's okay. I'll be fine for my
ten o'clock. What about you
?"
"Nothing till one
."
"Oh, aren't
you
the lucky one
?"
I smiled at that and tried one of the donuts. My
teeth crunched through its crust and sank into soft,
moist cake inside. The sweetness seemed to flood
my mouth.
"What do you have at one
?"
Eileen asked.
I swallowed some donut. "Shakespeare seminar
."
"Ah. With Horrible Hillary Hatchens
."
I laughed. "Oh, yeah
."
"I had her last year. Yug
."
Eileen, by the way, was a year older than
me. A year older than Holly, too. She'd
been Holly's roommate at the sorority house
last year. Now she was a senior and, like me, an
English major.
Holly had been a psych major. That should come as
no surprise. As everybody knows, the field of
psychology mostly attracts people who are fucked
up.
"In case you haven't noticed," Eileen said,
"Hatchens hates guys
."
"I've noticed, all right
."
"Must've gotten dumped bigtime somewhere along the
line
."
"I can't imagine anyone
not
dumping her," I said.
"She's pretty cute, though, don't you think
?"
"I guess so. Cute but scary
."
Nodding and grinning, Eileen said, "It's hard
to imagine any guy having the nerve to ask
her out in the first place. She
likes
me and
I'm
scared of her
."
I sipped coffee, ate some more donut and nodded now
and then as Eileen continued.
"Anyway, I took pretty good notes last
year. I also have copies of all her exams.
You're welcome to borrow them. I'd let you use
my term paper, too, but she'd probably catch
on. She's a bitch, but she's not stupid
."
Grinning, Eileen added, "Though I'm sure she's
not as smart as she
thinks
she is. I mean, how
could
she be? Nobody's
that
smart
."
With that, she had me laughing. It felt good.
But even as I laughed at her attack on
Dr Hatchens, I wondered what was going on with
Eileen. Had she come all the way out here in the
middle of the night simply to cheer me up? Or was
she trying to start something?
Last year, she'd seemed like an older sister
to Holly. (indeed, she
was
Holly's sorority sister.) She'd always treated
me very well, but only because she considered me to be a
good boyfrstlover for Holly.
That's what I'd thought, anyway.
Maybe I'd had it wrong.
Or maybe that's how it
had
been last year. Now, however, Holly was out of the
picture. Maybe Eileen had hopes of stepping
in to take her place.
Hard to imagine why she would
want
to. I wasn't exactly a prize. She was much
too pretty to be interested in a guy like me.
After giving me a little while to work on my coffee and
donuts, Eileen said, "So how did your walk go
?"
"Not bad. It was nice to get out of my
apartment. And I think it helped take my mind off
. .
."
I couldn't force myself to speak the name.
"La
belle dame sans merci
?"
Eileen suggested.
"I guess you could call her that. I'd probably
call her something else. Short with four letters
."
Eileen laughed a bit sadly.
"Sod her," I said.
"Keeping it literary
."
"Right. Sod her and the steed she rode in on
."
Eileen laughed a bit more, then shook her head.
"It's so awful. I'm so sorry
."
"That's the way it goes
."
"Don't I know it
."
I nodded. I knew that she knew it. My
freshman year at Willmington, I'd seen
Eileen around campus quite a lot. I'd known who
she was, that she was an English major a year
ahead of me, and that she was supposedly engaged to her
high-school sweetheart. Her fianc@ewasn't
on campus, though. He was attending the University
of California at Berkeley . . . about a
two-day drive from Willmington. At some point
before Holly and I started going together last spring,
the guy dumped Eileen. After that, she went around with a
lot of guys, but none for very long.
"Maybe we're both better off," she said.
"I don't know
."
"It's just too bad these things always have to end so badly
."
"I'm not sure anything doesn't," I said.
"Oh, I don't know
."
A smile drifted across her face. "I was always very
glad to see the end of the Shakespeare seminar. I
mean, I love Shakespeare, but Horrible
Hillary Hatchens ..."
"That's a little different
."
"I know. You meant good things. Relationships and
stuff
."
"Yeah
."
"I've heard of people staying friends afterwards
."
"I think that's a crock," I said. "How can they
stay friends? If they love each other and one of them
stabs the other in the back ... I don't think so.
The stabber might want to stay friends, but not the
stabbee
."
Eileen laughed softly. "Being a
stabbee
myself, I guess I'd have to agree with you. I
pretty much just hate Warren. But I don't like
feeling that way. I wish it were different. And I
hate to think that you might end up hating Holly
."
"Yeah, well
."
I went ahead and ate my last donut. I
didn't enjoy it much, though.
Just like I didn't much enjoy talking about
Holly and busted relationships.
As I polished off my coffee, Eileen said,
"So, what's the verdict? Do you want to ride
back with me? Or would you rather hike those seven long,
lonely miles back to your apartment
?"
The question didn't exactly take me by surprise.
Until encountering Eileen in Dandi Donuts,
I'd expected to walk back . . . with a detour
over to Franklin Street for another look at the
house of the mystery girl.
I'd wanted very much to take another look at her
house. With the possibility, I guess, of seeing
her again.
I wanted badly to see her again.
But I couldn't refuse Eileen. Her offer
to drive me home was an unwanted gift, but I
didn't have the heart to turn it down.
"I'd rather ride back with you," I said.
The look on her face made me glad I'd
accepted.
We got up to leave. "Want any donuts for the
road
?"
I asked.
"No no no. I'll turn into a tub
."
Outside, we walked around the corner. Nobody
else was around. The air had the strange damp
smell that it only seemed to get in the hours after
midnight. I heard a shopping cart, but it sounded
far away.
Eileen's car was parked off Division Street.
That's why I hadn't seen it during my approach
to the donut shop.
She'd left it unlocked.
We put on our seatbelts and she started the car.
As she pulled away from the curb, I said, "This
sure beats walking
."
"Glad to be of service, sir
."
It's for the best, I told myself. Going back for
another look at the girl's house would've been a
very bad idea.
Do yourself a favor and forget about her.
Eileen drove around the block, returned
to Division, and turned left.
"Is this the way you came
?"
she asked.
"I went on over to Franklin. Too many people
walking dogs and stuff along here
."
"Maybe that's why it took you so long
."
"Oh, I took a lot of detours
."
"See any interesting sights
?"
"Not really. Just a lot of dark houses
."
"It's strange to be out this time of night," Eileen
said. "Everything's so quiet and still. It's almost as if
we're the only people on the face of the earth
."
"Yeah," I said.
And then I saw someone striding along the sidewalk
on the right side of the street. A girl in a dark
sweatshirt and trousers. She moved with a brisk and
bouncy stride, arms swinging, ponytail bobbing and
swaying behind her head.
My mystery girl.
She's out?
She was out, all right.
As we drove by her, I turned my head to see her
from the front.
"What is it
?"
Eileen asked.
I faced forward nonchalantly and said, "Just someone
walking by
."
"Maybe another donut hound," Eileen said.
"Maybe so
."
"You're still in the place on Church Street
?"
she asked.
"Yep
."
Last year, Eileen had been there fairly often for
one reason or another . . . always involving
Holly. She often dropped Holly off or
picked her up at my place. Sometimes, she came
over for small get-togethers of one sort or another.
Eileen and I had even been alone with each other in
my apartment now and then. It might be just the three of
us, for instance, and Holly would disappear into the
bathroom or run off on an errand. Nothing
had ever happened while Holly was gone. If
Eileen felt any attraction for me, she'd kept
it to herself.
And though she was very beautiful and I liked her as a
person, I'd never felt any
desire
for her. My primary desire in regard to Eileen
had been for her to
leave
so Holly and I could start fooling around.
"Are you in the same rooms and everything
?"
Eileen asked.
"Yeah
."
"Doesn't it bother you?
"Doesn't what
?"
"There must be a lot of memories
."
"I guess
."
Guess his
The final weeks of school last year, Holly had
almost lived there. Now, every corner of every
room, every piece of furniture, gave me
sweet, sad memories of her. Though alive
somewhere else (in Jay's bed?), she haunted my
apartment.
"She was planning to move
in
this semester," I said.
"I know. Have you thought about finding yourself a different
place
?"
"It'd be a lot of trouble. Anyway, it's no
big deal
."
"All those reminders ..."
"Yeah, well. Life goes on
."
I can be full of clich`es when I've got nothing
to say.
That pretty much killed the conversation until we
reached Church Street. The road had several
churches on it. One of them was next door to the
old, two-story brick apartment house where I
lived.
"That'd
be enough to make
me
move out," Eileen said.
"It doesn't bother me much
."
"I know. But it creeps
me
out
."
"Maybe because you're a heathen
."
She laughed. "Maybe because I'm not
."
She stopped at the curb in front of my building.
Hand on the ignition key, she asked, "Mind if
I come up for a minute
?"
"I. . . uh. .
."
Before I could decide where to go from there, Eileen
spoke again.
"I
really
need to use your bathroom. I'm sorry. I
should've gone at the donut shop, I guess, but
"No, that's all right. Come on up
."
"Thanks
."
She killed the headlights, shut off the engine and
plucked out her ignition key. "I'll make it
quick," she said. "I promise
."
"No problem," I said.
We hurried to the front door of the apartment
building. I unlocked it and let us in. Then I
eased the door shut. The interior was silent and
smelled of stale cigarette smoke.
We stepped through the vestibule, turned to the right and
walked softly, speaking not a word as we approached
the landlords" door.
Usually, it stood open.
The landlords, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, would be inside
with their television on. But they only pretended to be
watching it. They were
actually
watching the corridor outside their door, which led to the
only stairway. They seemed to have an abiding
curiosity about the comings and goings of their tenants. I
knew they would
love
to catch me going by with Eileen at this hour.
But this hour was apparently too late for them. Their
door was shut. As we crept past it, I couldn't
even hear their television.
I half expected their door to fly open as we
started to climb the stairs, but it didn't. Finally,
we reached the landing, made the turn and resumed
climbing.
"Safe," I whispered.
Eileen grinned.
Even though we didn't have much to fear from the Fishers
anymore, the late hour and the silence of the building
made me reluctant to speak. Quietly, we
reached the top of the stairs and followed the hallway
to the door of my rooms. As I eased my key
into the lock, I felt Eileen standing close behind
me, not quite touching me.
She followed me in.
A couple of lamps were on. I'd left them that
way before embarking on my walk.
I shut the door. Eileen put a hand on my
shoulder and whispered, "I'll just be a minute
."
"You don't need to whisper anymore
."
"Okay," she said, a trifle more loudly.
Then she took her hand off my shoulder and hurried
away. The bathroom was located off a narrow hall
on the way to my bedroom. She vanished into the
hall. A couple of seconds later, the door
bumped shut.
While I waited for her, I took a quick look
around. I hadn't expected company. The living
room was cluttered with books and magazines,
notebooks and pens and so on. It wasn't filthy,
though. I've got no problem with clutter, but I like
to keep things reasonably clean. For the quarters of a
lone male student who'd spent the past weekend
wallowing in despair, things didn't look too
bad.
I could hear Eileen peeing.
She hadn't lied about needing to go.
I went over to the coffee table, found the remote, and
turned my TV on.
A condom commercial
."
. . . puts the pleasure back into safety
."
I changed channels. An ancient
black-and-white movie showed Lon Chaney
Jr running through a forest. From his scared and guilty
look, I figured this must be
The Wolfman.
The toilet flushed.
I put down the remote and stared at poor, doomed
Lawrence Talbot.
"Anything good on
?"
Eileen asked as she came into the living room.
"All
the good stuff' s on now -- in the dead waste and
middle of the night. .
."
"When churchyards yawn," she added. Then she
yawned, herself.
I yawned, too.
They're contagious.
"Well," she said. "I'd better get going.
Thanks for the use of your facilities
."
"Thanks for the ride
."
"My pleasure
."
She reached the door ahead of me. Instead of
opening it, however, she leaned her back against it, put
out one of her hands and caressed my face. "Are you
going to be all right
?"
"Sure
."
"Are
you sure
?"
I shrugged.
"I'm
not so sure," she said. She took her hand away from
my face, but kept on gazing into my eyes. She
looked very intense and solemn. "That's why I
drove out there. You seemed so ... I don't know,
lost
."
"Good word for it
."
"I want you to be all right, Ed
."
."
" "Cause I know what it's like
."
"Yeah
."
"To lose someone you love
."
I nodded.
"It's hard. It feels like the end of the world
."
"Sort of
."
"But it isn't. It isn't the end of the world. You go
on. Even though you hurt, you go on. And good stuff
does happen to you again. You still have the hurt, but there's
also the good stuff. And sometimes you even forget about the
hurt
."
"If you say so," I said.
"I do. And I mean it
."
And then she glided forward away from the door and put
her arms around me and kissed me. Her mouth tasted of
lipstick and coffee and donuts. Her hands moved
up and down my back. I felt her breasts pushing
against me through our clothes. Then her hands went under the
back of my shirt, so I put my hands under the
back of
her
shirt. Her skin was warm and smooth all the way up
from her waist to her shoulders.
What happened to her bra his
She must've taken it off in the bathroom.
She plotted this!
I wondered vaguely how much she'd plotted and how
much had been spontaneous. I vaguely resented
being tricked and manipulated. I vaguely knew
I should stop this nonsense and politely ask her
to leave.
But the smooth soft bareness of her back indicated a
bare front.
She wouldn't have taken off her bra unless she wanted
me to go there. So I did. Soon, my hands were
savoring the heft and smoothness of her breasts. She
had bigger ones than Holly. When I fingered their
nipples, she moaned into my mouth and writhed.
Then she unbuckled my belt. She unbuttoned
my jeans and lowered my zipper and slipped her hand
inside my underwear. Her fingers wrapped around me,
smooth and cool.
Following her lead, I opened her jeans.
She had no underwear on.
I must've hesitated too long.
"Touch me," she whispered.
So I put my hand inside the front of her jeans.
The denim was damp against the backs of my fingers.
"In," she whispered.
I did. She was all wet and slippery around my
fingers.
Next thing you know, I was on my back on the living
room
carpet. We were both naked and Eileen was hunched
over me, knees on the floor by my hips, hands
clutching my shoulders, breasts swinging, head thrown
back as she slid herself up and down on me, up and
down.
We were still on the floor. Eileen was lying on top
of me. We were sweaty and out of breath. I gently
caressed her back.
She raised her head and looked me in the eyes.
"Told you there'd be good things
."
"Guess you were right
."
"Not the end of the world
?"
she asked.
"Nope
."
"Glad to hear it
."
Then she got off me, picked up her clothes and
disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. When she
returned a few minutes later, she was dressed.
She had brushed her hair. Her face was still flushed
and she had a sort of happy, dazed look in her
eyes.
I'd gotten up and put my jeans on.
We met at the door.
"I'm gonna be a wreck tomorrow," she said.
"You and me both
."
She put her arms around me and gave me a quick
kiss. "Gotta go
."
I nodded. "See ya
."
"Tomorrow, okay
?"
"Sure
."
I opened the door for her and watched her walk
light-footed and bouncy through the dim, silent
hallway. She swung her arms. Her
hair danced and swayed. Her jauntiness reminded
me of the mystery girl. At the top of the stairs, she
turned and waved.
I waved back. Then I listened for a while to make
sure nobody intercepted her.
When I heard the front door of the building latch
shut, I realized that I should've walked her down and
out to her car.
She'll be all right, I thought.
Worried, though, I hurried through my apartment to a
window in my kitchen that had a view of the street. From
there, I watched Eileen climb into her car and
drive away.
I just stood there staring down at the empty street for a
long time after she was gone.
Trying to make sense out of what had happened.
But mostly feeling empty and pleased with myself and
astonished by Eileen, and more than a little bit worried
about where it would lead.
I woke up in bed with my room full of daylight.
The other half of my bed was empty where Holly
should've been. I pictured her lying there asleep,
curled on her side, loops of russet hair
dangling across her face. On mornings before she
woke up, her face always seemed soft and very
young so that she looked like a sleeping child.
A feeling of sadness and longing came over me.
I wondered if there might be a way to get Holly
back.
It didn't seem likely. But even if she gave
up her Jay and returned to me, it wouldn't be the
same. She was different, now. Or maybe she was the
same as she had always been, but now she had shown her
true self.
Her true, horrid self.
The only good way to have Holly in my life from now
on would be to remember how it had been before the summer
came. When she was asleep in the bed beside me, for
instance.
The telephone rang.
With a groan, I turned over. The alarm clock
on my nightstand showed 11:48.
It was set to go off at noon.
As the phone kept ringing, I climbed out of bed and
hurried into the living room. I was naked. But the
sunlit rooms were warm, the curtains were shut and
nobody was here to be shocked so I didn't bother
to put anything on.
On my way to the phone, I stepped where I'd been
down on the carpet last night with Eileen
on top of me. I suddenly had a pretty good
idea who was calling.
"Hello
?"
"Hi, Eddie
."
I wasn't wrong. "Are you up and at "em yet
?"
"Oh, yeah
."
"I didn't want you to oversleep and miss your one
o'clock. Horrible Hatchens would be devastated
."
I almost smiled. "Oh, yeah, she'd miss me
."
"It's almost noon
."
"Getting there. I'd better put it in gear
."
Silence.
Here it comes.
"So," she finally said. "How
are
you this morning
?"
"Not too bad, I guess. How about you
?"
She hesitated, then said, "Pretty good
."
Another silence.
After a while, Eileen said, "So ... do you want
to get together later on
?"
I tried to put some enthusiasm in my voice.
"Sure. That's a good idea
."
"Maybe we could go somewhere and get a burger or
something
."
"Sounds good
."
"Why don't we meet at your place? I think it
might look a little funny if you came over to the
sorority . . . like I'm trying to take Holly's
place, or something
."
And of course you're not.
"I mean, everyone knows everything about you two over here
."
"Ah. Yeah
."
"So it might be better if you and I keep things
to ourselves for a little while. Don't you think
?"
"Good idea," I said.
"So why don't I come by your place at around five
or six? Maybe we can drive somewhere far enough away
so everyone won't know our business
."
Somewhere far away . . .
Suddenly, I was interested.
"There's an Italian place over by Dandi
Donuts," I said. "How about there
?"
"Great. So I'll pick you up around five and
we'll drive out
."
"Sure
."
"Okay, great. I'll see you then
."
"Great
."
"Now don't be late for class
."
"Thanks for the wake-up call
."
"Bye-bye, Eddie
."
"So long
."
I hung up and headed for the bathroom. I used the
toilet, then took a shower. In the shower, I tried
to figure things out.
Mainly, what to do about Eileen?
I liked her and I
really
liked what we'd done in my living room last
night. In fact, I started to get hard just thinking
about it.
But I didn't love her. I didn't want her
moving in with me. I didn't want to marry her. I
didn't want her to bear my children . . .
What if she's already pregnant?
Nan, I thought. We only did it once.
Once can be enough.
I hadn't used a condom. Had
she
used anything?
Sweet, sensitive Holly's idea of
birth control had consisted of good timing, pulling out,
and luck . . . apparently she didn't want
to dignify her lust by admitting it to a doctor or
pharmacist. She wouldn't let me use condoms,
either. According to Holly, she wanted to feel
me
inside her. That suited me fine, since I hated
condoms, too. As a result, though, we'd had a
couple of good scares when her period didn't show
up on time.
Sharing such scares with Holly had brought us closer
... or so I'd felt.
But I didn't want that sort of closeness with
Eileen.
I've gotta get out of this, I thought.
Sure, but how?
I gave it all sorts of thought as I finished my
shower, dried off, had myself a cup of instant coffee
and a chocolate pop tart, then brushed my teeth,
got dressed, gathered my books and headed for
campus.
Some stuff just isn't simple.
Maybe she isn't after any sort of commitment, I
kept telling myself. She knows how much I loved
Holly. She must know I don't love
her.
Maybe she only did that last night to cheer me
up.
Yeah, right.
I should be so lucky.
I never am.
By the time I entered Dexter Hall, generally called
the English Building, I'd decided that honesty is
always the best policy. I would simply have to confront
Eileen and tell her my true feelings.
"I'm afraid I don't love you, Eileen. I
wish that I could, but ... I don't think I'm
capable
of love anymore . . . not after Holly
."
The words felt true to me.
But they sounded in my head like a crock of shit.
There's no good way out of this, buddy.
Entering the seminar room, I smiled at Dr
Hatchens. She smiled back at me. It was one of
those snide smiles. "I'm glad you were finally able
to join us, Mr. Logan
."
I was two minutes late.
"I'm sorry, Dr Hatchens
."
"And so are we all," she said.
And I thought, Things could always be worse. At least
I didn't get maneuvered last night into fucking
Horrible Hillary Hatchens.
I had a hard time paying attention. Focusing on
Othello isn't so easy when you've got wench
troubles of your own.
Dr Hatchens knew I was in trouble, too.
"Would you like to contribute an opinion, Mr.
Logan
?"
"He loved not wisely but too well
."
I managed a feeble smile. Some of the other
English majors laughed, but Dr Hatchens
wasn't amused. "It might behoove you to pay
attention in the future
."
"I'm sorry
."
"We know
."
Shit.
While I waited for five o'clock, my
stomach hurt. Not from hunger, though. From nerves.
I'd decided to break it off.
Not even go to the restaurant with Eileen. Just tell
her quickly, as gently as possible, and get it over
with.
I'd been ready for her ever since about four. From then
on, I couldn't study, couldn't focus on anything
except our approaching confrontation.
I practiced speeches in my head.
They all seemed amazingly lame.
Just tell her the truth, I thought. She'll understand.
She'll understand, all right.
In my mind, I could see the pain in her eyes. The
tears. She said,
"But Eddie, I love you. I thought you loved me,
too
."
Or,
"Isn't it a little late to be telling me this
?"
Or,
'Fuck me and dump me, is that it
?"
Or,
"Go to hell. You're a lousy lay, anyhow
."
I imagined her saying plenty of other things, too .
. . none of them pleasant.
Sometimes, I imagined trying to comfort her. Other
times. I lost my temper.
"You seduced me last night. You plotted the whole
thing. Now that Holly's out of the way, you made the
big play to get me for yourself. I lost my head and
gave in. Which is what you counted on. But it isn't
going any further. It's over. It's finished. I
don't WANT you
."
Thinking that sort of thing, I cringed.
Five o'clock came and went.
I continued to stew.
Terrific. Now she's late. She doesn't even
think enough of me to show up on time. This'll make it
a lot easier.
At ten after, the buzzer rang and my stomach
jumped. Heart hammering, I walked to the intercom.
My legs felt weak. I seemed to be trembling
all over. I pushed the button and said into the
speaker, "Yes
?"
"It's me
."
"Okay, I'll buzz you in
."
I pushed the button to unlock the building's
front door. Then I opened the door of my
apartment and waited for Eileen.
I heard a quiet "Hi" from her, probably
addressed to the Fishers as she walked past their open
door. Then her footsteps were hurrying up the
stairway. She appeared at the top of the stairs,
gave me a smile and came striding toward me.
She wore a white blouse with the sleeves rolled
up her forearms, a short tartan kilt that swished
around her thighs, green knee socks and loafers.
"Missed you," she said and stepped into my arms. She
hugged me very hard at first, squeezing me against herself.
Then she relaxed her hold and kissed me gently
on the mouth.
"I'm really sorry I'm late," she said. "I
couldn't get my car started
."
"That's all right
."
"I guess we'll have to change our dinner plans.
Unless you want to walk out to the restaurant
."
"How did you get here
?"
"Walked. That's why I'm a little late
."
"Oh
."
"I got an early start or I would've been
really
late
."
"What's the matter with your car
?"
"Dead battery, I guess
."
She gave me a grimace that was so exaggerated that
I had to smile. "I left my headlights on
overnight
."
"How'd you manage that
?"
"I had a lot on my mind
."
She laughed softly and kissed me again. "Anyway,
we can walk out to that restaurant if you
want to. Might be fun
."
"Seven miles," I reminded her.
"Mmm. Maybe not so fun. A total of
fourteen, right
?"
"We could go someplace closer," I said.
"What if we call out for pizza
?"
Memories came pounding in. Many times, I'd
phoned for a pizza delivery for Holly and me so
we wouldn't need to go anywhere, just stay together, all
by ourselves in my apartment.
We'd done it sometimes when Eileen was here, too.
"I guess we could do that," I told her.
We decided on a large pepperoni pizza, and
I made the call. "It'll be half an hour,"
I told her.
"I've got an idea. You wait here. I'll
run out and pick up a bottle of wine. We'll
make a party of it
."
"I'm under age
."
"Oh, I know. You poor, dear thing
."
Smiling, she patted my cheek. "That's what
I'm
for. I'll be back in a jiff
."
So off she went.

j
I found my wallet and took out enough money for the
pizza and a tip. Then I sank onto the sofa and
stared into space.
I can't just dump her, I thought. The least I can do
is wait till after we've eaten. No point in
ruining that. We'll have the pizza and drink some wine.
It'll be easier afterward.
Soon, Eileen arrived with a bottle of Merlot
and
the pizza. "We both got here at the same time,"
she explained.
I tried to give her the money. She shook her
head. "It's on me
."
"No, it's not
."
"Hey, this was all my idea. It's my
treat
."
"No, come on. Take it
."
"You can pay next time
."
As if there would be a next time.
"Well," I muttered. "Okay
."
I opened the bottle. Not having any
wineglasses, I took out a couple of tumblers and
half filled them.
"Where do you want to eat
?"
Eileen asked.
Holly and I always used to eat our pizza in the
living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Eileen knew that.
"We can eat at the table if you want," she said.
"The floor'll be all right
."
She frowned slightly. "Are you sure
?"
"If you'd rather sit at the table
"I always liked the floor
."
She let out a quiet laugh. 'For eating pizza.
That's what I meant
."
"Sure
."
She laughed again. "The floor it is," she said.
So we took everything out to the living room. Eileen
placed the pizza box on the floor. She sat on
one side of it and I sat across from her.
Glass in hand, she reached forward and toasted, "To the
good times that
aren't
all gone
."
"Okay," I said.
We clicked our glasses together, then drank. Then
Eileen opened the pizza box. As steam drifted
up, we reached in and pulled out slices of pie that were
dripping with strings of melted cheese.
The pizza was delicious. The wine was cool and
slightly tart. While I ate and drank, I had
a difficult time not staring at Eileen's legs.
They were sheathed in the green socks nearly to her
knees, then bare most of the way up from there.
"So how did Shakespeare go
?"
she asked.
"I was a couple of minutes late
."
"Uh-oh
."
"And then I couldn't think straight. My mind kept
wandering
."
"Guess you didn't get enough sleep last night
."
"How about you
?"
I asked.
She shook her head. "It was all I could do to stay
awake during my ten o'clock. I tried to take a
nap this afternoon, but couldn't pull it off. Too keyed
up, I guess
."
"Keyed up? About what
?"
"What do
you
think
?"
I just looked at her.
Suddenly blushing, she said, "I never meant for things
to go that way last night. I keep thinking ... it
must've looked so
calculated.
But it wasn't. If you think I planned to . .
."
She shook her head. "I didn't. I just wanted
to be your friend, try to help you. You were obviously so
miserable about Holly . . . That's why I drove
out to the donut shop. And then I really
did
need to use your John. It must've looked like an
excuse to get inside your apartment, but it wasn't.
I really had to
go.
But then ... I don't know
."
She took another drink of her wine, then shrugged.
"I just suddenly ... I wanted to make things
better. For both of us. I just suddenly
wanted
you. So I... you know, took off my stuff in the
bathroom
."
"Well, it sure made
my
night
."
"Glad to hear it
."
A sheepish look on her face, she said,
"Anyway, I just wanted you to know. In case you were
wondering. You weren't the victim of a wily,
plotting female. Not really
."
Then she took another drink of wine.
"I never thought I was. Not really
."
Her smile lasted only a moment. Then she said,
"I also want you to know ... I don't expect
anything from you. I didn't do that last night to trap
you. It just happened, you know? It doesn't mean we
have to start
going
together, anything like that. I have no intention of forcing myself
on you
."
Her smile flickered. "Not again, anyway
."
"It wasn't so bad
."
"Glad to hear it. But anyway, I know you're not in
love with me. Okay? I don't expect you
to love me. I can't take Holly's place. Not
in your heart. I know that. It's not what I'm after
."
"What
are
you after
."
"I just . .
."
Her eyes went shiny. "I just don't want you to be
miserable, okay
?"
With the back of a hand, she wiped her eyes. "It
hurts me ... what she did to you. And to see you so
... lonely and desolate. It just
hurts.
I want you to be
happy,
not . .
."
She
really
started crying. "Shit," she gasped. Shaking her
head fiercely, she set down her wineglass and
got to her feet.
I stood up as she went to the door. "Eileen
..."
"I've . . . gotta go. I'm sorry
."
She opened the door.
I hurried toward her, but she raised a hand.
"No," she said. "Don't
."
I stopped.
She stood in the doorway, her back to the hall,
crying and shaking her head. "I didn't come here to
... Never mind. I feel like. . . such an
idiot. I'm sorry. I don't know . . . what
I was thinking
."
"Who does
?"
I said. "Why don't you come back in? We'll have
some more pizza and finish the wine . .
."
"No
."
She raised her head, sniffed, and wiped her eyes.
"God. I'm sorry. I've gotta go
."
She suddenly looked around. Then, raising her hand
again like a cop halting traffic, she came forward and
sidestepped over to where she'd left her purse.
She picked it up. On her way back to the door,
she said, "See you sometime. I guess. If you
want
."
"If you really have to go," I said, "let me at
least walk you back
."
She shook her head. "That's okay. No thanks.
I wanta be ... I never meant to ... to
inflict
myself on you
."
"You haven't
."
"Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah
."
Backing through the doorway, sniffing, she
gave me a little wave with one hand. Then she turned
and hurried down the hall.
I just stood there, gazing at the empty doorway.
I wasn't sure what had just happened. Eileen
had certainly gone haywire. I'd never seen her
that way before, and it left me feeling shocked and
confused. And guilty.
Obviously, I should have stopped her from leaving.
She'd probably hoped I would stop her, but I
hadn't.
I
can still run after her.
But she'd told me not to.
Wants me to, anyway. She's probably
expecting it.
"Not tonight," I muttered, and shut my door.
I ate more pizza and drank more wine, wondering if
Eileen would come back. She might walk a couple
of blocks, change her mind and turn around. Who
knows?
At any moment, the buzzer might ring.
If it did, Eileen would come up and apologize for
her strange behavior and we would probably end up
in bed. Imagining that, I thought about the look and feel
of her last night and I hoped she would come
back.
If I hadn't let her go, or if I'd run after
her, we could've both been naked by now . . .
But then I'd be stuck with her.
At least for tonight.
If she rings the buzzer, I thought, there go my
plans.
That
might not be such a bad thing, either, because my plans
frightened me.
There was still some wine left, so I knocked the cork
back into the neck of the bottle. I put the bottle
and the remaining pizza into my refrigerator. By then,
Eileen had been gone for about twenty minutes.
I sat down and tried to read Coleridge for a
while, but I felt groggy and my mind kept
wandering. I was wasting my time, so I put the book
away and went into my bedroom. The clock on my
nightstand showed 7:10. I set the alarm for 11:00
p.m., then took off my clothes, shut off the light
and climbed into bed.
777.77777.77777.7,1
I found myself in darkness.
My first thought was that someone was buzzing me to be let
in.
Holly? Is Holly here?
Hope leaped up inside me, then fell. It can't
be Holly, I realized. She's gone. It's
Eileen. Eileen came back, after all.
stHis
let her in and we'll make love.
Just about then, I realized nobody was buzzing to be
let in. The sound came from my alarm clock.
Time to get up and start my adventure.
I reached out and killed the noise. Then I climbed
out of bed. I shivered as I hurried across my room
and turned on a light. The
air felt cool on my bare skin, but the shivers
probably had little to do with temperature, more to do with
tension and excitement.
I dressed myself in undershorts, blue jeans, a
dark-blue sweatshirt, socks and my brown leather
high-top hiking boots.
As I sat on an edge of the bed to tie my boots,
I changed my mind about them. They were excellent for
long walks, but what if I needed to be swift?
So I took them off and put on a pair of
Reebok running shoes instead.
I started to take my wallet, then changed my
mind. It was loaded with identification: my
driver's license, student ID, credit cards,
and so on.
What about money?
Nothing'll be open, anyway.
Dandi Donuts?
I took a ten out of my wallet, folded it and
stuffed it into a front pocket of my jeans.
What else?
Nothing else from my wallet. But I pocketed my
Swiss Army knife and my five-inch Maglite
before leaving the bedroom. They both went into front
pockets of my jeans. In the living room, I
grabbed my keys.
Anything else?
A pen and paper in case I needed to take notes.
I pulled a full sheet of lined paper out of my
notebook, folded it like a hanky and slipped it
into a seat pocket of my jeans. Then I slid a
couple of ballpoints into a front pocket.
What else?
A mask?
Why on earth would I need a mask?
Shaking my head, I left.
Downstairs, the Fishers" door stood open. I
planned to ignore the old couple, but
realized at the last moment that it might seem rude.
So I turned my head as I walked by, nodded and
smiled in.
No sign of Mrs. Fisher, but "the mister"
looked up from his easy chair -- positioned for a
view of the hallway -- and called, "Hey there,
Eddie
."
I had to stop. "Hi, Mr. Fisher
."
"How's things
?"
"Not bad. How're things with you and Mrs. Fisher
?"
"Oh, can't complain. Saw your friend Eileen
earlier. Had yourselves a nice pizza, did you
?"
"It was pretty good. Well, I've got to get
going. See you later, Mr. Fisher
."
"Have yourself a good time, son
."
"Thanks," I said, and took off.
It felt very good to be outside in the fresh October
night. The breeze was slightly chilly.
It carried a scent of chimney smoke and sent
leaves drifting down sideways when they fell out
of the trees along the road.
I made mental notes of my observations . . .
partly because I fancied myself a writer and partly
to keep my mind off my real reason for being out in the
night.
When you're up to something iffy, it's better not to think
about it or you might chicken out.
There's nothing iffy about this, I told myself. I'm
taking a walk, that's all.
Over to Franklin Street.
It's a free country, I thought. The sidewalks
are public property. I have every right to go over
to Franklin Street. Nothing at all wrong with
doing that.
I'm just a university student taking a late-night
walk, minding my own business, maybe on my way
to Dandi Donuts.
I'm not breaking any laws.
Nobody (except Eileen) knows I'm
heartbroken. And nobody in the whole world (except
me), knows how I hope in the chambers of my ruined
heart to find a certain girl.
Last night, she'd simply come walking
along. Her route had converged with mine as if by some
miracle of timing and placement.
I was pretty sure it wouldn't happen again.
But I intended to be waiting, tonight, at the same time
and place.
As I walked along, I kept a sharp lookout for
trouble. In particular, I didn't want to be
surprised by dogs or by the bike-riding hag.
She's probably a harmless old lady, I told
myself. Maybe even nice if you get to know her.
Yeah, right.
She could be Mother Theresa, for all I cared: I
didn't want her to
see
me, much less come wheeling up silently from the rear,
startle the crap out of me with her ringer and speed by
... close enough to touch me.
What if she
does
touch me?
It gave me the creeps just thinking about her and keeping
watch for her.
As Falstaff says, "The better part of valour
is discretion; in the
which the better part I have saved my life
."
Avoiding the bike hag wasn't likely to save
my life, but it would do wonders for my peace of
mind. Therefore, several blocks before the area where
she'd put in her appearance last night, I cut
over to Franklin Street.
I liked it much better there. Not only had I
bailed out of the hag's territory, but I'd entered the
mystery girl's
Though I still kept a sharp watch, it was no longer just
for signs of trouble; my watch now included the
possibility of spying the girl.
I walked slowly, turning my head, often looking
over my shoulder.
At length, I came to the sidestreet where I'd
first seen her I stopped at the corner and looked
She wasn't coming
No one was coming, either afoot or by car . . or
by bicycle.
From where I stood, I seemed to be the only person
out and about
Though the hour was late, I was early. I hadn't
kept careful track of time last night, but the girl
had probably come walking toward this corner between about
1215 and 12 30 am My educated
guess
My wristwatch now showed 12.05
At the earliest, she might not show up for another ten
minutes
Ten minutes. To most of us, ten minutes seems like
a very brief period of time Not long enough to do much of
anything However, ten minutes is ample time for a
shower A steak can usually be barbecued in ten minutes
or less And a healthy person can easily walk more
than half a mile in ten minutes At freeway
speeds, ten minutes can take you more than ten miles
But try waiting alone on a street corner in the
middle of the night, and you'll discover that ten minutes
can seem like a long, long time
I only lasted five During that period, six cars
went by. A hairy man in shorts and running
shoes, but no shirt, jogged up the middle of
Franklin Street but paid no attention to me. I
heard telephones in nearby houses ring on two
separate occasions I heard a woman shout,
"Don't you dare,"
Doors slammed shut three or four times. Two
cats ran across the road So did one opossum
Then a gal came striding up the sidewalk, heading
my way with two German shepherds
trotting semi-loose around her I couldn't tell for
sure whether they were wearing leashes, but I didn't
want to find out the hard way.
Abandoning my post, I turned right at the corner and
headed eastward on the sidestreet.
It was Maple Avenue.
Last night, the mystery girl had come from this
direction. With any luck, I might not only
avoid the hounds but encounter her.
I followed Maple Avenue for about ten minutes.
Though I saw no sign of the girl, the road led
me into a shabbier section of town. Single-story
houses with shingled sides, chain-link fences around their
yards, barking dogs often
in
their yards along with collections of debris. People in
this section of town didn't seem to throw anything
away. Instead, when it ceased to be useful, they
displayed it in their yards. Most of the yards were
littered with such items as old chairs, old sofa
cushions, old television sets, toilets,
tires, and often entire automobiles.
God only knew what sort of
person
I might encounter in such a neighborhood.
Fortunately, none seemed to be outdoors at the
moment.
At the railroad tracks, Maple Avenue
descended into a dark underpass so I turned around and
headed back toward Franklin Street, walking more
quickly than before.
It was 12:40 by the time I reached the intersection of
Franklin and Maple.
Had I missed her?
Maybe she's just a little late, I thought.
Or maybe last night was a fluke; the one and
only time she had ever, or
would
ever, walk that particular route at that time of night.
Then again, maybe she does it regularly, but only
once a week.
I looked one way. I looked the other. I
looked all around.
Where are you? Where are you?
You're somewhere, I told myself. And I'll find you.
If Ahab could find the White Whale, whose
far-flung boundaries were those of the seven seas, I
certainly should be able to locate one girl in the
small town of Willmington.
I approached her house from the opposite
side of the street and looked at it casually as I
strolled by.
The front porch and all the windows were dark, the
same as last night.
Was the girl still on her way home?
Had she already returned from tonight's journey?
Maybe she'd stayed in and had gone to bed early.
Was she there in a dark upstairs room, fast
asleep in her bed?
Not daring to stop and keep a vigil on the house, I
continued to the corner. I crossed to her side of the
street, went to the next corner, made a right and
hiked southward along the back side of the block.
At the corner, I made another right and returned
to Franklin Street. This time, I walked up
Franklin on her side.
As I neared her house, a light came on toward
the rear of its ground floor.
My heart lurched. Then it pounded fast and
sickeningly hard as I walked up the driveway of the
house next door, glanced around to see if I were
being observed, and slipped through a space in the
bushes.
The glow from the window pulled me like a promise of
treasure.
Never in my life had I crept up to a window in
an attempt to spy on anyone. This is not to say
I'd never been tempted to give it a try. In the
past, however, I'd always fought off the temptation; my
urge to sneak a peek was feeble compared to my terror
of being caught at it.
Tonight was different. Not only had my world been blasted
apart by the loss of Holly, but I was so vastly
intrigued by the mystery girl that I
had
to look into the window.
As I neared it, I felt weak with fear. I
trembled all over. Underneath my sweatshirt,
perspiration poured down my torso. My underwear
stuck to my sweaty rear end. My genitals felt
as if they were trying to shrivel up and vanish.
Fear of being caught was certainly part of it. But so was
fear of myself, that I should be doing this. And mixed with the
fear was a horrible, nerve-wracking anticipation of
what I might see when I looked through the window.
Someone
had turned on the light, and it was still on.
Someone
was in the room.
The girl?
Breathless and trembling, I looked around to make
sure nobody was watching me. Then I moved
closer to the window. Because the house had a
crawl-space, the windowsill was slightly higher
than my eye level.
Standing close to its left-hand corner, I hooked
my fingertips over the sill and raised myself on
tiptoes.
What if she's looking straight at me?
She wasn't.
Peering through the glass at the bottom corner of the
window, I saw a woman standing in the lighted
kitchen, leaning back against a counter. In her left
hand was a bottle of tequila. She held the
bottle by its neck, took a sip, lowered it by her
side, and just stared forward.
Not looking anywhere close to my window.
She didn't appear to be upset or nervous or
troubled. Not like she'd come into the kitchen to sneak a
few sips. More as if she'd simply found herself in
the mood for a taste of tequila and wandered in. She
seemed tranquil, almost languid.
Could this be the girl's mother?
Not likely. My mystery girl was probably at
least eighteen years old, and this woman
looked no older than thirty.
Her sister?
Whatever her relation to my girl, she was certainly
pretty. Even with mussed hair and no makeup
on, she looked a lot more attractive than most
women. Also, she had a good figure and her white
nightgown didn't hide much of it.
The nightie was very short, reaching only about halfway
down her thighs. Its top was cut so low that I could
see quite a lot of bare skin between her breasts, down
to a couple of inches below her sternum.
Also, the gown was diaphanous . . . made of such
fine, delicate material that I could see through it.
Her nipples were large and dark and erect. She
seemed to have a ladybug tattoo on her left
hip. And to paraphrase Mickey Spillane, I
saw that she was a natural blonde.
My genitals started to unshrivel. Rapidly.
She raised the tequila bottle and took another
sip. When she lowered it, the strap of her nightgown
fell off her left shoulder and down her upper arm.
Without the strap for support, the gown slipped off
her left breast.
I thought,
Holy shit!
She didn't seem bothered at all that one of her
breasts was naked. And why should she be? She was alone
in her kitchen in the middle of the night and had no
idea anyone might be watching her through a window.
No idea I was there, spying on her, getting harder
by the moment.
As she raised the bottle to her mouth for another
drink, her arm lifted the thin strap of her nightgown
only slightly. While she held the bottle up,
her arm obstructed my view of her breast. Then I
could see it again.
I knew I should look away.
Look
away? I should
run
away.
I was violating this woman's privacy, ogling her
body,
and
breaking the law.
I must've been nuts to come to her window at all!
But I'd done it in search of my girl, not to leer
at this sultry stranger.
I've gotta get out of here!
My eyes stayed locked on her.
I
can't
leave, I realized. Not as long as she keeps standing
there, looking the way she does.
Then her head began to turn in my direction.
I sank out of sight and took my fingers off the
sill.
What if she saw me?
I'd ducked pretty fast. Also, it's hard to see
out of windows at night, especially if you're in a
bright room and there isn't much light outside.
Mostly, you only see your own reflection backed
by darkness.
My face had been right up at her window, though, and
probably illuminated by the light from the kitchen.
She
might've
seen me.
Staying low, I crept alongside the wall toward
the front of the house. A safe distance from the kitchen
window, I slipped into a gap in the bushes.
Crouching there, I took a quick look around. I saw
nobody, so I stepped out onto the neighbor's
driveway.
At the foot of the driveway, I turned
to the right. . . toward the house. It seemed like a
wild, risky move. A person in my position
should've gone the other way. I was feeling reckless,
though. And lucky. And curious. So I stepped
past the row of bushes.
Toward the rear of the house, light still glowed from the
kitchen window.
Otherwise, the house remained dark.
Had
she seen me?
I suddenly doubted it.
For a moment, I considered sneaking back to the window for
another look.
Don't press your luck.
Already, I'd left the house behind.
I
As I neared the corner, a car turned onto
Franklin a couple of blocks to the north.
A cop car?
My stomach went squirmy.
She
might've
called the cops. Or maybe one of the neighbors
did.
No time to think.
I dodged up the nearest driveway, ran to the
front of the car parked there, sank to my knees and
hunkered down. Soon, the grumble of an engine
intruded on the night's other sounds. It came from the
north, growing louder, louder.
Though I cowered in hiding, excitement was mixed with
my fear. I had an urge to scream, but also a
strange inclination to giggle.
The car now seemed to be passing directly in
front of the driveway. I heard not only its
engine, but the hiss of its tires and a quiet song from
inside, Garth Brooks singing "The Dance
."
I took a peek.
The car was a large convertible with a guy behind the wheel.
False alarm.
Which didn't mean someone
hadn't
called the police. A squad car might be on its
way this very moment. If I left my hiding place
now, I might be caught out in the open.
I decided to stay put for ten minutes. If no
cops came along by then, I could be fairly sure
nobody had reported me.
My wristwatch showed 1:10 a.m.
The concrete was tough on my knees, so I turned
my back to the car and sat down. And waited.
Ten minutes. Again.
I sat there with my legs crossed and thought about how
strange it was that I should be hiding in front of a car
in a stranger's driveway at such an hour. What
would Holly think?
I'm here because of you, you filthy bitch. If I get
caught by the cops
... or
killed or something . . . it'll be thanks to you.
I hoped she would cringe with guilt for many years.
Fat chance. She doesn't give a shit what
happens to me. Probably never did.
That's not true, I thought. Be fair to her. She
cared.
Only not very much. And not at all once she ran
into Jay-Jay the Prick.
May she rot in Hell.
You don't mean that, I told myself.
Sure I don't.
Look on the bright side, I thought. If she
hadn't dumped me, I
never would've gone out wandering last night, never would've
seen
the girl.
I wouldn't have seen
the woman
tonight, either.
The bitch did me a favor.
I
should thank her.
Even while I sat there thinking such things, part of me
was appraising Ed Logan . . . finding him to be
melodramatic and bitter and childish . . . and
half mad.
Had I lost my mind?
Only a crazy person would set his alarm clock,
get up in the middle of the night and go searching through
town for a complete stranger he'd spent a while
stalking
the night before. And in the process, sneaking up to a
window and spying on a half-naked woman.
All of a sudden, I'd turned into a Peeping
Tom.
What next?
What had
better
be next, I thought, is home. Call the whole thing
off. Go back to my apartment and go to bed.
Get up in the morning and go to class. Get
studious. Get serious with Eileen. Face it,
she's probably better in every way than Holly
ever
was.
Images filled my mind of Eileen last night.
The surprise of finding that she'd taken off her bra
in secret. The delight of putting my hand down the
front of her jeans, slipping my fingers into her
juicy heat. And then how she'd felt gliding down,
wet and snug, slowly impaling herself on me.
How can stalking an unknown girl compare to that?
How can peering through a window at a woman in a
nightgown, even if one breast is showing, be more
tempting than what I'd already seen and done with
Eileen?
It's madness, I thought.
And this is the end of it.
I looked at my wristwatch. Twenty minutes
had gone by, so I abandoned my hiding place.
At the first corner, I turned right. At the next
corner, I turned right again and walked to Franklin
Street.
A turn to the left would take me back toward
home.
A turn to the right would take me toward
her
house again.
Naturally, I turned right.
My heart beat faster as I neared the house.
If the light's still on, I told myself, I won't
go over and look in. I'll just keep on walking.
I won't look.
The kitchen light was off.
Relieved but disappointed, I walked on.
Is
that where she lives? I wondered as I continued
northward on Franklin Street. It was almost
certainly the house I'd watched her enter last
night.
Later, though, I'd seen her several blocks
away while Eileen was driving us back from Dandi
Donuts. What was the girl doing out on the streets
again no more than an hour after sneaking into her house?
Maybe it
isn't
her house.
Last night, I'd suspected she might be
returning home from a rendezvous with her lover. But
what if I had it the wrong way around?
Maybe I hadn't seen her returning home, but
sneaking
into
the house of her lover?
Certainly possible.
If so, who was her lover? The husband of the woman
I'd observed in the kitchen? That could explain the
drinking.
What if
they're
lovers?
My God.
There is no husband? The woman lives alone in the
house, and the girl comes to her late at night. That
might even explain why the woman had gone into her
kitchen at such an hour; to have a few sips while
she waited for the girl to show up. Or maybe the
girl was late and the woman was worried.
Is
she there now?
When I'd passed the house just a few minutes
ago, the kitchen light had been off. Maybe the
woman had simply decided to quit drinking and go
to bed. Or maybe the girl had finally arrived.
I imagined them together in the kitchen. The
girl perhaps taking a sip of the tequila. Then
kissing the woman on the mouth. Then putting a hand
on her bare breast.
It got me pretty excited, thinking about that.
Should I go back to the house?
Are you out of your mind?
Forget about it, I told myself.
Especially
forget about it if they're a couple of lesbians;
I wouldn't stand a chance with either one of them.
It's just as well, I thought. Quit all this
nonsense before I end up in trouble.
Go home.
Why not go to Dandi Donuts first?
And eat a couple of those sweet, greasy donuts
two nights in a row? Bad idea.
But the place seemed like a safe, peaceful
refuge. I didn't
have
to eat donuts. Just sit there in the light and have a
cup of coffee, rest for the hike back.
What if Eileen's there?
She won't be, I told myself.
She
might
be. It's a place she might go if she wants
to find me.
I almost gave up on going to the donut shop. But
I didn't. For one thing, Eileen wasn't very
likely to be there.
stHis
check before I go in.
But it might not be so bad if Eileen
is
there. She cares about me. She'll drive me
home. We'll go up to my rooms and so what if
she isn't Holly ... so what if I'm not in
love with her?
To avoid walking by the thrift shop's window, I
stayed on Franklin and didn't cut over until
I was past Dandi. I walked west on Dale, the
sidestreet on which Eileen had parked her car last
night.
Tonight, her car wasn't there.
I looked in Dandi's windows, anyway. Two
customers were there, sitting far apart. Both were men.
So I entered. As I walked toward the counter, my
eyes slid over to the display case. Half a
dozen glazed old-fashioneds were there, crusty and
golden and glistening.
They looked luscious.
No way, I thought. I'll turn into a fat
slob.
The clerk came up to the counter.
"What can I get you
?"
"A medium coffee and two glazed old-fashioneds
."
So what if I turn into a fat slob?
Holly gonna stop loving me?
'For here or to go
?"
the clerk asked.
'For here
."
I wondered if he remembered me from last night.
And if he did, was he curious about Eileen and why
I'd come here without her tonight?
He must get all kinds, I thought.
I paid him, then turned around with my coffee and
donuts. And wondered where to sit. I wanted to stay
away from the two strangers. Neither of them, however, was
sitting near the table I'd shared with Eileen last
night.
Nor near the table where Holly and I had
sat together the night we'd come here last spring.
still"
never leave you. You'll leave me.
The table would be haunted by her. The ghost of my lost
love who wasn't dead but gone just the same.
Fuck up my appetite.
I went to a table at the opposite end of the room from
where I'd sat with Holly . . . one table away from
last night's table, which was straight in front of me.
That was okay, though. The memories of last night
didn't hurt.
In fact, they were pretty good.
I lifted my Styrofoam cup of coffee, gently
blew the steam away, and raised it to my mouth. My
nose and eyes felt the heat. When I took a
sip, the coffee was too hot on my lips and
tongue. I set it down.
Somebody stepped past me.
I looked up. The man stopped, turned around and
smiled down at me. He wasn't one of the
customers I'd already seen. Must've come in after I
did.
"I could use a cup of coffee," he said. "Can you
spare a buck
?"
Clean and well groomed, he didn't
look
like a bum. Women would probably consider him
handsome. With his golden hair and chiseled features,
he might've stepped off the cover of a romance
novel. He wore a blue chambray shirt that was
partly unbuttoned, tucked into a pair of tight
blue jeans.
Nothing at all threatening about him . . . except his
request.
And maybe his eyes and smile. His eyes seemed
too intense and his smile was too big, a little
lopsided and twitchy. He had clean, straight
teeth, but I felt as if I could see too many of
them.
I suddenly wanted to get the hell away. But what
about my coffee and donuts?
And what if this guy follows me outside?
"Sure," I answered. Though he'd only asked
for one dollar, I took a five out of my
wallet. "Have some donuts, too
."
My hand trembled as I reached out and handed the money
to him.
"Thanks, pal
."
He went over to the counter.
It's only five bucks, I thought. I can afford
it.
In fact, my parents were fairly well off.
Money had never been a concern of mine, but I
didn't like being
asked
for it. People had no right to ask strangers for money. It
was almost like a hold-up . . . using an implied
threat instead of a gun or knife.
The man came back and sat across the table from me.
Shit!
With my money, he'd bought a cup of coffee, a
jelly donut and a maple bar.
"What's your name
?"
he asked.
"Ed
."
"Thanks for the loan, Ed
."
Loan, my ass.
"You're welcome
."
Though his purchases hadn't cost more than two or
three dollars, he didn't return my change.
And I didn't dare ask him for it.
He raised his cup of coffee, squinting slightly
as the steam got in his eyes. Then he took a few
sips and set the cup down. "You mind me sitting
here
?"
he asked.
"No," I lied.
"Glad to hear it. I like you, Ed
."
"Thanks
."
"My kind of guy
."
"Ah
."
Oh, shit. He's gay. He's putting moves
on me.
There was nothing effeminate about him. If anything, he
seemed perhaps
too
masculine.
Some of them are like that, I thought.
He was certainly fit. Not bulked up, but trim.
A lot of them are like that, too.
"I'm Randy," he said.
"Hi, Randy
."
He reached across the table to shake hands. I didn't
want to offend him by refusing, so I shook his hand.
It was bigger than mine. He squeezed hard. Hard
enough to hurt.
Real nice, I thought.
After letting go, he asked, "You live around here
?"
He wants to go home with me?
"Not really
."
"Aren't you going to eat
?"
Nodding, I took a bite of donut. The outside
crunched. The donut probably tasted
spectacular if I could taste it.
He took a bite of his jelly donut.
I drank some coffee.
"Thought maybe you lived around here someplace,"
Randy said.
"Oh
?"
"I've seen you the past couple of nights
."
"Really
?"
What had he seen?
"It's the donuts," I said, and took another
bite. "I've been coming out here for donuts the past
couple of nights
."
"If you say so," Randy said.
Oh, God! Why is he saying this stuff? What
does he know? Has he been following me?
"Is there a problem
?"
I asked.
I
don't like Peeping Toms,
I expected him to say.
"No problem. I just want to talk
."
"Okay
."
"About that gal," he said.
Oh, my God.
"What about her
?"
"She your girlfriend
?"
Is
who
my girlfriend?
What
gal? Is he trying to find out if I'm straight?
"Maybe," I said.
"She's a real fox
."
I nodded slightly. Maybe Randy wasn't gay
after all.
"She's got a real nice rack on her
."
Was he talking about Eileen? Sounded that way.
Leaning toward me, he stared into my eyes. His
pale-blue eyes looked eager. "Does she put
out for you
?"
he asked.
Maybe they look that way, I thought, because of some
medical condition.
Yeah. Lunacy.
I was not about to tell a stranger that Eileen had
'put out" for me. On the other hand, I didn't have
the guts to tell him to mind his own business.
"No," I said.
"You've got one of those
platonic
relationships
?"
"Guess so
."
"Don't you
want
her
?"
"I didn't say that
."
"A great-looking gal. And those tits. Terrific
tits
."
"You don't have to talk about her that way. She's a
nice person
."
"If she's so nice, how come you're not putting it
to her? Bet she's really hot. Hot and juicy
."
"I wouldn't know
."
I'd hardly touched my coffee and donuts, but I
would've gladly abandoned them to get away from this
man. I didn't move, though. Far better to deal
with him in Dandi Donuts than out on the empty
streets.
A
"What's her name
?"
he asked.
"Sarah
."
"Sarah? Nice name. Suits her. What's her
last name
?"
'Lee" almost popped out of my mouth. I got as
far as the L, so I finished up with, "LaFarge
."
"Sarah LaFarge
?"
I nodded.
"A very euphonious name
."
"Guess so," I said. For some reason,
this guy using the word euphonious bothered me.
"Why isn't Sarah LaFarge with you tonight
?"
he asked.
"She had other things to do. We're just friends. We
don't . . .
go
together or anything like that
."
"Not your girlfriend, and yet she spent almost an hour
in here last night waiting for you. Sitting over there
all alone
."
"I didn't know it was that long," I said.
He nodded. "Then
you
had to show up and ruin my plans
."
Another sick feeling rushed through me. "Plans
?"
"You know."
I shook my head.
"My plans for
her.
For Sarah
."
"Ah
."
"I had special plans for her. You ruined them
last night, but now you're back. And so are my
plans
."
"I see
."
"Do you
?"
"You want to ... go out with her
?"
"Wanta go
in
her, Ed
."
"Hey, look . .
."
His smile spread, showing me his rows of straight
white teeth. "She'll love it. They all do. So
where does she live
?"
No harm in giving him a wrong address. So I
said, "I guess I can write it down for
you
."
"I have a better idea. Why don't you
take
me there
?"
"I don't have a car
."
"I do," Randy said.
Apparently, he could afford a car but not coffee and
donuts.
"Even if I took you there . . . she lives in a
secure building. You wouldn't be able to just go in and
get her
."
"She'll come out for you, won't she
?"
"It's . .
."
I looked at my watch. "Two-fifteen
."
"She'll come out for you
."
Nodding, I said, "Maybe
."
"Let's finish up our coffee and donuts
."
I resumed eating. So did Randy. He kept
smiling at me as he chewed.
As I chewed, I tried to think. Mostly, I
couldn't believe this was happening to me. Or
to Eileen, for that matter.
I
can't let this guy get her.
I took a deep breath and said, "I'm not so sure
it's a good idea to go over there, Randy
."
"Sounds like a good idea to me
."
"Not at this hour. Maybe you should give me your
phone number. I can pass it on to her tomorrow, and . .
."
"I don't have a phone, Ed
."
"Well, maybe we can arrange for her to meet you
someplace
."
"Do you think she'd do that
?"
"Sure. I mean, probably. Maybe
the three of us could get together for a lunch
."
He narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Maybe, maybe.
But I don't think so. What I really think,
Eddie, is that you want to keep her for yourself. There
won't be any lunch. You don't want me laying
a finger on her. Isn't that right
?"
"No. If she wants to have lunch with you, it's fine
with me. She's
not
my girlfriend
."
"Really
?"
"Really
."
'Let's go to her place
."
I looked at him.
"Right now
."
"But I told you-"
"I know what you told me. Let's go
."
I looked around the donut shop. Aside from me and
Randy, only one customer remained. He had his
back to us. The clerk wasn't behind the counter, either;
he must've gone into the back room.
"Come on," Randy said quietly.
I nodded. "Okay. But I need to use the
bathroom first
."
Tine. I'll go in with you. We can compare sizes
."
I got to my feet. 'Let's just leave," I
said. "I'll try to hold it
."
"Fine
."
He gestured for me to lead the way. I walked
toward the door. The clerk was still in back. The
customer didn't look around. I opened the door and
walked out into the night.
Randy came out and grabbed my arm. Hard.
"I don't think we should be doing this," I said as
he pulled me along the sidewalk. Rhett and
Zelda gazed out the thrift-shop window at us. "I
wasn't kidding about her being in a secure building.
We won't be able to get in. I think you
should let go of me and . .
."
"Think again
."
A Toyota pickup truck was parked at the
curb. Randy towed me into the street, pulled open the
driver's door and said, "Get in and move over
."
He kept the tight grip on my upper left arm
while I climbed into the pickup. Then he followed
me in. When he was behind the wheel, he shut his
door. Then he jerked my arm, pulling me toward
him, and stuck his face up to mine. "You gonna
give me any trouble
?"
"No
."
"Promise
?"
"I promise
."
"Good boy," he said and suddenly kissed me with his
mouth open.
It's
me
he wants? The Eileen stuff was a lie?
He shoved his tongue into my mouth.
Groaning, I twisted my head away. His lips and
tongue slid across my cheek. He laughed as I
wiped his spit off.
"How'd you like it
?"
he asked. He still had that grip on my arm.
"Not much
."
My voice sounded almost like a whimper.
"You'll get it again if you don't procure Sarah
for me. Fact is, I'll give you the works. It's
you or her, Eddie. Who will it be
?"
"Her," I said.
Randy let go of my arm, reached into a pocket of his
jeans and pulled out his keys. The keys jingled a little
while he searched for
the one he wanted. Then he reached forward and slid a
key into the ignition.
As he turned the key, I twisted sideways in
my seat and pounded a ballpoint pen into him. It
popped through his jeans and into the top of his right thigh.
He yelled,
"Yahh!"
I flung open the passenger door and leaped out and
ran. Not toward Dandi Donuts; I could too
easily see Randy chasing me inside and dragging me
out, nobody trying to help me. Instead, I ran
past the rear of his pickup and poured on the speed.
That's what they tell you to do so the driver can't chase
you without going in reverse.
I glanced over my shoulder to see what was happening.
The back-up lights came on.
Eyes forward, I didn't watch the pickup speed
toward me but I sure heard it.
To my right was Division Street, to my left a row
of store fronts. Nothing was open. I ran past
recessed entryways and display windows. If I
could get across the next sidestreet, I would be on
a residential block where I could cut across
lawns . . . but the street was too far away. And
if I did try to cross it, Randy might hit me
with his truck.
His truck appeared beside me, moving backward,
keeping pace with me. Its passenger door was still
open. If he got any closer to the curb, it would
hit a parking meter or light post.
I thought he might shout threats at me, but
he didn't.
Didn't make a sound, just stayed even with me.
What if he's got a gun?
I did a fast stop and reversed my direction.
He kept going backward.
Just as his brakes squealed, I turned my head
toward the store fronts and saw a dark space between
two of the buildings -- a space too narrow for
Randy's truck. I must've been looking the other
way when I ran past it the first time.
I rushed in.
Behind me, brakes squealed again. Tires skidded.
The engine shut off.
He's coming after me on foot?
A door slammed.
He is!
I
picked up speed. The space between the buildings was
only three or four feet wide and paved like a
walkway. It had a pale area at the very end,
probably where the buildings stopped. Down
in front of my feet, however, was blackness. No
telling what might be there. Invisible debris
crackled and crunched under my shoes. Sometimes, my
feet landed on small, hard objects.
I kicked a can and sent it skittering away. I
crunched broken glass.
At any moment, something might snag my feet and
send me flying headlong . . .
I wanted to slow down, but didn't dare.
Randy was coming, all right. I heard the quick pounding of his
boots on the pavement behind me. They had an uneven
rhythm. Because of his wound?
The way I'd stabbed his leg, it was a wonder he
could run at all.
I wished I'd gotten him with my Swiss Army
knife. But the knife was in the left front
pocket of my jeans. Randy would've seen me go for
it. If he missed that, he definitely would've
noticed me struggling to pry out one of its folding
blades.
So I'd used a ballpoint, instead.
Should've stuck it in his fucking throat!
At least he wasn't gaining on me. He didn't
seem
to be, anyway.
stHis
be okay if he doesn't have a gun.
He must

have one, I thought, or he would've used it by now.
Unless he's afraid of the noise.
I suddenly smashed full-speed into something. I
didn't know what it was, at first. As I plowed it
down and tumbled over it, though, the feel and sounds and
aromas told me it was probably a shopping
cart... a cart parked sideways in the narrow
space and loaded past the brim with the treasures of
its homeless proprietor.
I landed on
him.
He was cadaverous and stank of garbage and
cigarette smoke and excrement and he screamed in
my face. I tried to shove myself off him. His
coat felt like sticky, moist tweed.
He clutched my shirt.
"Gotcha!"
he gasped.
"Let go!"
He didn't. I slugged him in the face and he
let go and I scurried off him and ran for the grayness
at the end of the buildings.
Just as I got there, somebody either fell over the
shopping cart or kicked it.
I broke into a lighted alley, cut to the
right and ran hard for the cross-street at the south end
of the block. Along the way, I glanced over my
shoulder again and again.
No sign of Randy.
At the mouth of the alley, I dodged to the left and
ran across the street.
No traffic anywhere in sight.
No people, either.
I ran farther to the left, rounded the corner of the
block and raced past the first two houses. They had
porch lights on, but the third house didn't. That
porch wasn't screened in. It had no door,
either, but was roofed and surrounded by a wooden railing about
three feet high. The railing had a row of thick
bushes in front of it.
I ran up to the porch, silently climbed its
stairs and dropped to the floor behind the railing,
totally hidden from anyone going by.
Every so often, a car passed. Or a truck. I
didn't dare take a peek. I figured it might
be Randy in his pickup truck, searching for me.
But I'd been on the porch about half an hour, and
he hadn't found me yet. He probably
wouldn't
find me, either -- at least so long as I
stayed put.
stHis
wait another hour just to make sure.
Ten minutes times six.
The hour would pass very quickly if I fell asleep.
I was wide awake, though, sitting with my legs
crossed, my back toward the front railing. From the
half hour I'd already waited, my butt ached and
my back felt a little sore.
Off to my right, maybe eight feet away, the porch
had an old-fashioned swing that hung by chains from a
ceiling beam.
I could stretch out on that, I thought.
But it would probably make all sorts of noise
if I put my weight on it. It was noisy enough
without
me.
The swing liked to move all by itself. With the help of a
breeze, I supposed.
After long silences, it would stir, taking me
by surprise with groans and creaking sounds.
But that wasn't my biggest problem with the swing.
About fifteen minutes into my first half hour, I'd
noticed something unsettling about it.
Though some areas and shapes on the porch
looked black, there were also gray places. I
couldn't always quite be sure what I was really seeing.
Sometimes, when I looked at the swing, I thought
someone was sitting on it. Just sitting there, not moving
at all and staring at me.
I knew nobody
was
on the swing, but it gave me the heebie-jeebies just
the same.
I tried to stop looking at it, but it kept pulling
my eyes back . . . almost as if part of me
enjoyed
the torment.
If I'm staying any longer, I thought, I'd
better get it settled crawl over, reach out and
touch the swing to
prove
nobody's there.
But what if I reach out and my fingers meet someone's
knee? Or what if a hand suddenly clutches my
wrist?
Ridiculous. These were fears for a five year old,
and I was twenty.
Amazing, though, how being alone in a strange place
at three o'clock in the morning shaves the
years off. I
felt
like a kid again. A kid in bed late at night,
wide awake, gazing at the partly open door of his
closet, waiting for a horror to spring out and come for
him.
Forget Randy . . . who's that on the swing?
Nobody, I told myself. Nobody's there at
all. It's just shadows.
Then 'nobody" struck a match.
In its flare, I glimpsed a leering, ancient
face. An instant later, the match flew at me,
followed by a quiet cackle.
As the match scratched a bright curve through the night
and bounced off the sleeve of my sweatshirt, the sound
I made was a quick, high-pitched,
"Eeeeeee!"
Then I was scurrying up, twisting around and leaping from
the top of the porch stairs. I hit the ground
running. Without a glance back, I cut diagonally
across the front yard. The sidewalk felt like a
racetrack. I sprinted, arms pumping, legs
flying, clothes flapping, sneakers smacking the
concrete.
At the corner, I sprang off the curb
and dashed across the next street. Partway down the
block after that, I slowed to a walk and looked
back.
Nobody behind me.
I'd been chased this far only by my goosebumps.
Though breathless and sweaty, I still felt their chill.
I was crawly almost everywhere: thighs, balls,
spine, arms, nipples, nape of neck, scalp and
forehead.
God Almighty, I thought. I must've been on that
porch for thirty-five or forty minutes . . . with
him!
Why'd he just
sit
there?
What was he
doing
there?
Probably just likes to sit out on his porch at
night and watch the world go by.
At three o'clock in the morning?
Hell yes, I thought. That's when all the good stuff
happens.
I chuckled nervously.
Continuing to walk, I turned halfway
around to make sure nobody was coming toward me from the
rear.
The coast looked clear.
For no good reason, it suddenly occurred to me that
perhaps the old man was
stranded
on the swing. Maybe he was paralyzed from a stroke
or something, and his family had put him outside after
supper so he could enjoy the autumn evening. Then
they'd forgotten he was out there and gone to bed.
He hadn't moved or spoken to me because he
couldn't.
He only had use of his hands. The match had been
his version of an emergency flare.
But why the cackle?
Because he's a lunatic, that's why. This damn town
is FULL of lunatics!
It isn't the town, I told myself. It's the hour.
At this hour, probably
everyplace
is full of crazy people. All the sane citizens
are either at night jobs or asleep in their beds.
The loonies rule the town.
But what if the old guy
is
paralyzed? I wondered. Maybe he tried to ask
me for help but the cackle was the best he could do.
Should I go back and check on him?
"Shit," I muttered.
I sure didn't want to do that. But I felt that
maybe I
ought
to.
No!
If he was capable of striking a match and
throwing
it at me, he could've let me know he was there when
I first showed up. He wasn't stranded on the porch;
he was just a nutty old shit with a mean streak.
I didn't go back.
Near the end of the next block, I heard the sound of
an engine. I looked back. Headlights pushed
their brightness into the intersection behind me. Not waiting
to find out if they belonged to Randy's pickup ... or
whether it would turn in my direction ... I ducked
and plunged into a row of bushes.
On the other side, I found myself at the edge of a
lawn. In front of me was a two-story house,
all its windows dark.
Crouched and motionless, I listened.
The engine sound was gone. If not gone, it had faded
with distance until it blended in with the rest of the night's
quiet hum and buzz.
Unless perhaps the driver had stopped and shut his engine
off.
Maybe nearby.
Maybe because he'd spotted me.
Staying low, I crept away from the bushes and
hurried to the rear corner of the house. The back yard
appeared to have a picnic table, lawn chairs and a
barbecue. I didn't see any people, so I
hurried across the grass . . . keeping my eyes
on the chairs.
Nobody
seemed
to be in any of them. Looking at them gave me the
creeps, anyway.
When I came to the cinder-block wall at the other
side of the yard, I looked back.
I saw no one.
With nobody chasing me, climbing the six-foot
wall held no appeal. So I walked alongside
it, making my way slowly through the shadows between the
wall and the house. Ahead of me, beyond the front yard
of the house, was a sidewalk and a street.
-
What street? I wondered.
I had no idea.
I'm lost?
The notion gave me an uneasy flutter that was
different from my fears of bodily harm by Randy,
different from the eerie fright the old man had given
me. This fear felt like a slip toward unreality.
What if I'm really lost and can't find my way
home?
"Ain't gonna happen," I whispered, trying
to calm myself with the sound of my own voice.
Soon as I get to a corner and see the street
signs . .
On the sidewalk directly in front of me,
maybe thirty feet away, the mystery girl
sauntered by. Face forward, one hand stuffed into a
seat pocket of her jeans, one hand swinging by her
side, hips swaying, ponytail flipping behind her
head.
She looked as if she owned the night.
I didn't move, just stood there astonished and
watched her.
When she was out of sight, I began to doubt my
senses. Certainly,
someone
had just walked by. But
her?
It seemed too strange and wonderful.
I hurried to the sidewalk and looked to the right.
There she was! Almost to the next corner.
When she started across the street, I followed her.
All thoughts of going home were lost. I'd found her!
She was in sight! If I ran, I could catch up
to her in a matter of seconds, see her close
up, talk to her . . .
Scare the hell out of her.
I didn't want to scare her, though. I didn't
even feel up to meeting her. For now, all I
wanted was to follow her and watch her. My mystery
girl.
While earlier I'd felt the terror of a child waiting
in bed for the closet monster to come for him, now I
felt like the same child on a wonderful Christmas
morning at first glimpse of the tree's bright colored
lights and the treasures brought by Santa.
Awestruck, shivery with an almost painful sense of
pleasure, I followed her down the next block.
So far, she hadn't looked back.
I picked up my pace. The gap began
to close. She grew larger, more distinct. The nearer
I came to her, the nearer I yearned to be.
Careful! Slow down! Can't let her know I'm
here!
We must've both heard the engine sound at the same
moment.
Randy?
I froze.
The girl didn't freeze, didn't flinch,
simply glided off to the side and vanished among the
shadows of a lawn.
I rushed over to a tree in the grassy strip between the
sidewalk and the curb. It had a trunk as wide as
my body. I hid behind it, standing and ready to run.
Peeking around the side of the trunk, I saw a car
cruise through the intersection. A car, not a pickup
truck. But it had a rack of lights on its roof.
Cops!
The police car seemed to be in no hurry. It
rolled through the intersection, crackles and beeps and
senseless jabber coming from its radio, and kept on
going.
Its sounds faded.
I watched the lawn where the girl had vanished.
And watched it.
Minutes went by, but she didn't reappear.
What's she waiting for?
While I waited, my mind replayed her vanishing
act: the grace and speed with which she'd whirled and
leaped and plunged into darkness. Like a ballerina. Like
a sprite. Like a ninja.
Maybe she turned herself into a shadow.
Sure thing, I thought, scoffing at the notion even
though it almost seemed possible given the strangeness
of the night and the way I felt about the girl.
I continued to wait.
She didn't come out.
What if she knew I was back here and now she's
staying hidden, waiting to see what
I
do?
Suppose I just resume walking and pretend I
don't even know she exists?
Heart thudding, I stepped out from behind my tree. On
the sidewalk, I looked all around as if afraid
someone might be spying on
me
(in case she was watching). Then I followed the
sidewalk toward the corner.
She's probably watching me right now!
My throat tightened. My mouth went dry. My
heart beat even faster and harder.
Watching me, appraising me. Have I been stalking
her? Am I a threat?
Soon, I was striding casually past the place where
she'd vanished.
I kept my face turned away.
See his I'm not interested. I don't even know
you're there. Besides,
I'm harmless. You've got no reason to be
afraid of me. Why don't you come out?
She didn't.
I reached the corner, stepped off the curb and walked
across the street. I continued past the corner house,
then doubled back in its yard and crouched in a dark
place behind some bushes and waited for the girl to show
herself.
I waited and waited.
And began to suspect that she wasn't even there
anymore. Instead of hunkering down and hiding,
maybe she had slipped off into the darkness and hurried
to someplace far away.
I wanted to return and search the lawn for her.
But she
might
still be there, patiently waiting. My return would
confirm she had a stalker.
It wasn't worth the risk.
At last, I gave up and headed for home.
I was lost for a while, and had to check the signs at
three different intersections before I found a street
name I recognized. That street would lead me back
to Division, so I followed it. Not all the way,
though. Often, I took detours in case someone
might be tailing me. A few times, I ducked out
of sight behind trees, bushes or fences.
The sky was gray with the approach of dawn by the time I
entered my apartment building. The Fishers" door was
shut. I made my way silently upstairs. The
long, dim hallway was empty. I went to my
door, tried to make no noise as I unlocked
it, and stepped into my room.
I shut the door, locked it.
Safe!
It took me about five minutes to wash, brush my
teeth, use the toilet, take off my clothes and
climb into bed. Rolling onto my side, I reached
out and picked up the alarm clock. And groaned.
If I set it for 7:00 a.m., that would give me
almost two hours of sleep and leave enough time
to work in a quick shower before heading off for my eight o'clock
Romantic Literature class.
Oh, well. That's why I'd taken the nap last
night.
I set the alarm, turned off the lamp, rolled
over and shut my eyes.
Far as I know, I fell asleep right away.
And dreamed horrible dreams. Several times, I
flinched awake with a frightened gasp, breathless, my
body bathed in sweat, only to look at my clock
and discover it was too early to get up. So I
closed my eyes and tried again and fell into another
nightmare.
I only remember the last of them.
I was lost among the dark streets of town, hurrying
from block to block. Every time I found street
signs, they bore strange names. stHis
never get back in time for class!
As I hurried along, I saw a girl at the
next corner. She wore a loose, white gown that
drifted behind her as she walked.
Maybe she knows where I am!
I hurried after her.
Is it
the girl"!
I wondered. I couldn't tell.
But she was walking away, so I broke into a run.
I quickly gained on her. As I closed in, I
realized she might be frightened by my quick approach.
So I called out,
"Excuse me, miss. I think I'm lost. Could
you help me . . .
?"
She turned around.
She was an old, old man. . . the man from the
porch. Cackling, he raised his arms and trotted
toward me. I whirled around and ran.
He's an old bastard,
I thought.
He'll never catch me.
When I looked back, however, he was riding a
bicycle and gaining on me fast.
I turned to face him. I wanted my knife, but
when I tried to take it from the pocket of my jeans,
I realized I was naked.
Where did I leave my clothes?
I couldn't even remember taking them off.
But there was no time to worry about them now, because the old
man in the gown was speeding closer on his bike. He
was hunched over the handlebars, grinning, a
pencil clamped between his teeth.
Oh God, he's gonna get me with the pencil!
I'll die of lead poisoning!
It isn't lead, I thought. It's graphite. I
felt some slight relief at the realization.
"Gonna shove it up your ass, honey!"
he yelled.
"Gonna give you the works!"
If only I had my knife! I looked down again
to make sure I didn't. I was still naked.
Damn! This is what I get for taking off my
clothes! It's all Holly's fault!
I seemed to recall we'd been making love in a
park somewhere, and that's why I was naked.
Where is she?
I wondered.
Maybe she can get this guy off me.
Did he get her first?
"Got her right here!"
the old man answered from behind me as if he'd heard
my thoughts.
How can he talk with a pencil in his mouth?
I looked back.
The pencil was no longer clamped between his teeth. It
was in his hand, upright, poked into Holly's
neck stump ... He held her severed head high in
his right hand like a big, all-day sucker on a stick.
Her eyes were open, her hair flowing in the breeze.
"Hi, honey!"
she called to me,
"Stop running away
."
I felt glad to see her, but also horrified.
"What do you want
?"
I asked.
"The works,"
answered Holly's severed head.
"The whole works!"
My alarm went off.
Thank God.
I shut it off, then flopped onto my back
feeling nervous and exhausted and slightly nauseous.
How about cutting the eight o'clock?
And do what? Go back to sleep and have another
nightmare or two? No thanks.
Besides, my teacher for Romantic Literature was
Dr Trueman, a truly sweet and daffy old
scholar who would take my absence as a personal
affront. I
had
to go.
So I hauled myself out of bed, groaning, and stumbled
into the kitchen. There, I peeled the plastic lid off
the coffee can, held the can under my nose and inhaled
deeply. The warm, calming aroma of French roast
filled my head. My eyes drifted shut. I
sighed.
I'll sleep all afternoon, I told myself. Just have
to make it through my one o'clock, then I'll come back
here and hit the sack till dinner time.
I spent a couple of minutes making the coffee.
When it started dripping into the pot, I headed off to the
bathroom to take my shower.
As the hot spray splashed against me, I tried
to think about what had happened last night. Not the
dreams, the real stuff. But the real stuff almost
felt unreal and dreamlike. Almost. I knew what
was real and what wasn't.
After pondering it all, I concluded that I'd been
lucky. I'd accomplished part of my mission: got
to see and follow the mystery girl again, even though she
managed to disappear. I'd been treated to a good,
long look at the woman in the kitchen and didn't
get caught at it. The geezer on the
porch had freaked me out but done no real harm.
Most important of all, I'd escaped from
Randy.
He
kissed
me!
It disgusted me to remember it... and scared me to think
about what he might've done if I hadn't gotten
away.
I felt proud, though, of how I'd taken care of
him. I'd been in minor scuffles from time to time, but
I'd never really defended myself before ... or needed
to. I'd certainly never stabbed anyone until
last night.
In my mind, I heard the
pop!
of the ballpoint punching through his jeans. I felt it go
into him and the way the sides of the hole in his thigh held
the pen upright and made it twitch in my hand.
I really nailed the bastard.
The pen
is
mightier than the sword, I thought, and smiled.
If only I'd
had
a sword!
But the pen had done just fine, and it seemed
particularly appropriate since I considered myself
a writer.
I'll have to write about all this someday, I thought as
I climbed out
of the shower. Maybe write a story about the woman in
the kitchen. What was she really doing in there sipping
tequila by herself at that hour of the night?
Was
she waiting for the mystery girl?
Or maybe do a story about the old man on the
porch. What was
he
doing there?
Call it "The Old Man on the Swing
."
I smiled at the thought and pulled my towel off its
bar and began to dry myself. "He was an old man who
sat alone on a swing on his front porch and he
had gone eighty-four days now without scaring the shit out
of anyone
."
Or I could write about Randy and how he sat down
across from me at Dandi Donuts . . . and
how he'd kissed me and pushed his tongue into my
mouth.
I won't write about that, I decided. I might
write about everything else that happened last night, but
not about that.
Maybe a story about the homeless guy sleeping in the
space between the two buildings . . . his
No. I won't write about him, either.
What about the mystery girl?
Oh, yes.
Someday.
Maybe.
Done drying, I headed for the kitchen to get a cup of
coffee and wondered if I would ever see her again.
Not unless she just pops up, I thought. I'm not
gonna go out like last night again. No way. Never
again. I must've been out of my mind. Lucky I
survived.
Walking from my apartment house to the campus a few
blocks away, I kept an eye out for Randy and for
his Toyota pickup truck.
Would he look for me in daylight?
He might.
Might look for Eileen, too.
He'd only seen us far to the north, but it
wouldn't take a genius to figure out we might be
university students.
stHis
have to warn Eileen.
My classes kept me on campus until three
o'clock. Between them, I wandered around outside, sat on
benches, had a burger and Pepsi in the student
union, and spent a while reading in the library. I
kept my eyes open for Eileen, but didn't see
her anywhere.
After my last class of the day, I considered heading
over to her sorority house. But it was out of the way and
she might not even be there. Besides, I hadn't been
able to figure out what to tell Eileen and I felt
too tired to think straight.
So I walked back to my own place and went to bed.
When I woke up, my room was dark. I didn't
know what was going on. My clock showed 8:15. That
helped me figure things out, since the sun would've
been up by that hour of the morning. Pretty soon, I
remembered that I'd climbed into bed for the nap. Then
I remembered the rest.
Something had to be done about Eileen.
After getting dressed, I went into the kitchen and
microwaved the leftover pizza from last
night.
While it was heating up, I checked my answering
machine. No new messages. It hardly
surprised me. Eileen didn't want me to think
she
was forcing
herself on me, so she probably intended to leave the
next move to me.
While I ate my pizza, I read some of
Wordsworth's
The Prelude,
but couldn't concentrate very well. Maybe I would've
done better with
The Prelude
if it had been a real barn-burner, but it wasn't.
At best, it was quiet and lovely and nostalgic.
At worst, boring.
My mind was mostly elsewhere while my eyes moved
over the words. Just as I was about to give up, however,
a passage caught my attention:
"Sometimes it befell
In these night wanderings, that a strong desire
Overpowered my better reason, and the bird
Which was the captive of another's toil
Became my prey; and when the deed was done
I heard among the solitary hills
Low breathings coming after me, and sounds
of undistinguishable motion, steps
Almost as silent as the turf they trod
."
A couple of days ago, I wouldn't have given the
lines a second thought; now, it was as if they'd been
written
about
me -- a night-wanderer whose desire overpowered his
better reason. "The bird' might be the mystery
girl. And the final four lines hinted of danger from
someone "coming after me
."
Someone like Randy, perhaps.
I read the passage again and again, feeling its deep
mystery and magic, struck by the strange union of
circumstances that had compelled me to discover it on this
night of all nights.
After marking the passage with a yellow Hi-liter, I
kept on reading. Wordsworth had my full attention
for about ten more seconds. That's when he started
rhapsodizing about bird eggs and I began wondering
how to get in touch with Eileen.
Call her on the phone? More than
likely, she wasn't in her room; she usually
did most of her studying in the student union or the
library. Even if I
could
reach her on the phone, I probably shouldn't; it
might look as if I were trying to avoid her.
Better to go out and find her in person.
I put Wordsworth and Fitzgerald
(the Great Gatsby
for my Twentieth Century American
Literature class) into my book bag, slung the
strap over one shoulder and left my rooms.
Downstairs, the Fishers" door stood open. They
had their television on. Keeping my head straight
forward, I walked as if I were in a big hurry and
got past their door without being beckoned.
But the Fishers were a minor nuisance. Randy was a
real threat, and he might be anywhere outside.
Cruising the streets, searching for me or Eileen.
Or parked and watching.
Or walking.
I looked for him constantly on my way toward
campus.
Though I carried my Swiss Army knife in a
pocket of my jeans, it didn't give
me much comfort. Neither did my ballpoint pens. My
assault on Randy last night had only succeeded
because I'd taken him by surprise. Next time, he
wouldn't let me get away with it.
There'd better not be a next time.
He might not even
try
to find us, I told myself.
The hell he won't.
But maybe he won't hunt for us this far south.
Maybe he stays in his own area, and we'll be
safe as long as we don't go there.
Maybe. But I doubted it.
Every so often, a pickup truck went by, putting
fear into me. Each time, I got ready to run but the
pickup kept on moving. Now
and then, men who matched Randy's physical shape
came walking toward me. One even had a limp.
None, however, was him.
What if it goes like this from now on? I wondered.
Watching for Randy all the time, everywhere I go, never
knowing when he'll pop up and grab me ...
give me the works.
Or maybe he'll grab Eileen, instead. Drag
her into his car and take her someplace
desolate.
Where no birds sing.
What if he already has her?
My stomach cringed.
I should've
warned her]
What was I thinking? Why didn't I phone her
room the instant I got back to my apartment this
morning?
It hadn't even occurred to me.
She's probably fine, I told myself.
If she isn't, it's all my fault.
By the time I reached campus, I was frantic.
First stop, the student union. Otherwise known as the
Tigers' Den. Willmington University's teams
(and students in general) used to be known as the
Braves. Then came the era of political
correctness. "Braves' was deemed to be a slur
against Native Americans, so a new name had to be
found. We chose to be Tigers. Our student
union, the Braves' Cave, became known as the
Tigers' Den.
It was crowded. Students sat at almost every table: some
by themselves but most of them with friends. They were talking,
laughing, eating snacks, drinking coffee
or soft drinks, some even trying to study -- books
spread out on their tables. The food line was closed
for the night, so several students were busy trying to buy
refreshments from vending machines.
I knew many of the people I saw, and smiled and nodded
at those who noticed me, even exchanged a few
words with some of them.
"Hey, Ed, what's up
?"
"Not much. How about you
?"
"Hangin' in. Come on over "n sit with us
."
"Can't. Thanks, though. I've gotta run
."
That sort of thing.
Several of Eileen's sorority sisters were in the
Den. Among them, someone probably knew where
to find her. I stayed away from them, though. For one
thing, Holly would've come up. For another, they
didn't need to know I had any interest whatsoever in
Eileen.
I left the snack area of the Tigers" Den and
wandered across the room to the lounge section. There,
students sat in armchairs and on
sofas. Many were by themselves, reading. Several couples
occupied the sofas, talking quietly, some holding
hands.
Holly and I had sat together on these sofas so many
times last year . . . trying to study but never for
long, soon holding hands and talking, staring into each
other's eyes, often laughing at little things, giving
each other a pat on the thigh or back. We'd
probably been on every one of the sofas at one time or
another.
We drank our coffee black. We often ate red
vines. They were usually stale. Holly taught me
how to make them soft and mushy by dunking them in
coffee. Sometimes, we took turns eating the same
vine and it excited me to know that my end of the candy had
just been in Holly's mouth.
The memories made me feel hollow and hungry
and sick.
The memories and the loss.
Lovers were here, but Eileen wasn't. I hurried
away and was glad to get outside.
I headed for the library. Holly and I hadn't
really spent any time there together, so it felt like safe
ground. As I walked from the student union toward the
library, the intensity of my loss slowly
faded ... to be replaced by worries about Eileen.
The worries felt better. But they grew stronger
while I searched the library.
What if she's not here?
Then I'll see if she's in her room at the
sorority house.
What if she's not there?
That's when to really start worrying, I told myself.
But even if she isn't in the library or her
room, it won't mean that Randy got her. There are
a lot of other places she might be.
Like where?
I found her on the second floor of the stacks in a
far corner of the room at a study carrel reading
Crime and Punishment.
Thank God, I thought.
It felt great to find her safe.
And I was struck by how wonderful she looked,
sitting there in the light of a reading lamp. Her thick
hair, which usually looked brown, shimmered with
secret threads of gold and russet. Her face
looked warm and smooth. She frowned as if
concentrating deeply on her book. She wore the
bright plaid chamois shirt that she'd had on the
night we made love.
"Hi," I said very quietly.
She raised her head, saw me, and smiled.
"Hi, yourself," she said.
So that I wouldn't loom over her, I crouched.
"I've been looking for you," I said.
"Really
?"
"Yeah. Would you like to go somewhere
?"
"Sure. But can it wait a while? I really need
to get some reading done
."
"Same here
."
"How about an hour
?"
"Fine. There're some empty carrels
."
"Okay. See you in an hour
."
I found a study carrel only a few away from
Eileen's and along the same wall. With everything that
had been going on the past few days, I hadn't
actually started
Gatsby
yet. So I pulled it out of my book bag and
started reading.
I got through about half the first page.
What sort of shit is this?
I knew it was supposed to be a great book.
It'll probably get better, I told himself.
And I tried to read more, but just couldn't.
Some other time.
For certain books, your mind has to be in just the right
mood.
I put
Gatsby
back into my book bag and pulled out my volume of
Wordsworth. I felt totally incapable of reading
that,
too.
"Screw it," I muttered.
Then I reached into my bag again and pulled out a rather
battered old paperback.
The Temple of Gold
by William Goldman. I always kept it in my
book bag, just in case. It was like an old friend I
could trust.
So I opened
The Temple of Gold
to the bookmark for my current reading of it, and jumped
in.
A hand gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I
looked. It was a girl's hand. Turning my head
further, I found Eileen standing over me. Her
left hand was still on my shoulder. Her right arm was
busy holding her books and binders against her chest.
"Finish early
?"
I asked.
"It's been an hour and fifteen minutes
."
"Huh
?"
"What're
you
reading
?"
I held it up so she could see the cover.
She nodded and smiled. "What class is
that
for?"
"None. I just like it
."
"All caught up with your assigned stuff
?"
"You've gotta be kidding
."
"Anyway, if you can tear yourself away from it, I'm
ready to go
."
'Let's go
."
I put the book away, got up and hung a strap
of the bag over one shoulder. I walked ahead of
Eileen down the narrow aisle toward the staircase,
then opened the door for her.
Stepping past me, she patted me on the rear end and
whispered, "So what's the handle, Zock
?"
"You've
read
it!"
"Hasn't everyone
?"
"It isn't even in print
."
"I know. They've got nothing in print but
The Princess Bride
."
I followed Eileen down the stairs, watching her
long hair bounce and sway, thinking that Holly had
never read
The Temple of Gold
and wondering what was wrong with me that I wasn't in
love with Eileen.
As we walked down the outside steps of the library,
she said, "So, did you come by for your nightly dose of
Eileen's insanity
?"
"Can't live without it
."
She smiled at me. At the bottom of the stairs,
we just kept walking, no discussion of where we were
headed.
"My pleasure," she said. "Anything I can do
to take your mind off you-know-who
."
"I've got other things on my mind
."
Though we were walking side by side, Eileen seemed
to be leading the way. We went in the general
direction of her sorority house. Was I simply
walking her home?
Many other things were in the same direction.
It doesn't matter where we're going, I thought.
After a while, Eileen said, "What sort of things
are
on your mind
?"
"You
."
"Me
?"
"I wanted to make sure you're all right
."
"I'm fine
."
"You didn't seem so fine last night. When you
left
."
"Ah, well, that was simply a matter of
self-preservation. Preserving my self-esteem.
Getting out before I made an even bigger idiot of
myself
."
Eileen was on my left and my left arm was free.
Her arms were full of books and binders, so I put
my hand on her back. She looked at me.
"You weren't making even a
small
idiot of yourself," I told her.
"Yeah, I was. That's all I can ever do when
I'm around you anymore ... go off the deep end
."
"Nan
."
"Yeah
."
I caressed her side, feeling her smoothness through the
chamois shirt.
Looking straight ahead, Eileen said, "I should've
just stayed away from you. The last thing you need is
me
messing up your life
."
"Funny you should mention it," I said, my heart
suddenly beating
hard. "Messing up people's lives. Because you've got
it turned around. I'm the one messing up
your
life
."
"Well, you haven't made it any easier, but it's
not your fault
"There's somebody after you because of me
."
Eileen stopped walking and we faced each other.
"What're you talking about
?"
"There's this guy," I said. "He saw you in the
donut shop when you went out to meet me. I guess
he was about to make a move on you, but he backed off
because I showed up. The thing is, he wants to meet
you. He tried to get your name from me
."
"Did you tell him
?"
"I gave him some fake name. Then he wanted to know
where you live. I wouldn't tell him that, either
."
For a long time, Eileen just stood there looking into my
eyes. Then she said, "I don't get it. When
did this happen
?"
"Well, Monday night's when he saw you
."
"I got that part
."
"Well, I went back to Dandi last
night. That's the first time I ever saw the guy. He
sat down at my table
."
"You went there last night, too
?"
I nodded. "After you left, I started to feel
pretty lousy. I needed to take a walk
."
"I wish you'd told me. I was feeling pretty
lousy myself. I would've gone with you
."
"Thank God you didn't
."
"What possessed you to go out there again
?"
"It was just a place to go. Someplace that's open
."
"But it's so far away. What time did you go
?"
"I don't know
."
Figuring the truth would make things worse, I said,
"I studied for a while after you left. So it was
maybe around nine-thirty or ten
."
She shook her head. "And you went by yourself, I take
it
."
I nodded, shrugged.
"That's
so
dangerous, Eddie. Even a nice little town like this .
. . it's probably not so nice in the middle of the
night. Probably no place is. No place that
has people, anyway
."
And places that don't have people, I thought, probably
have other dangerous things roaming the night.
"Well," I said, "I don't plan to go out there
anymore. But I'm afraid the damage is already
done. This Randy guy
"Is that his name? Randy
?"
"Yeah
."
She cracked a smile.
"What
?"
"A guy named Randy with the hots for me
."
"He's not very amusing," I told her.
"Is he handsome
?"
"I guess so. In a Ted Bundy sort of way
."
"This guy sure rubbed
you
the wrong way
."
"Yeah, he sure did. You know what he said? I
asked him, "You want to go out with her88Meaning you. And
he answered, "No, I wanta go
in
her.""
Her smile went away. "Oh, swell," she
muttered.
"He's not a nice guy
."
"Not if he'll say a thing like that
."
"It gets worse
."
"What
?"
"He made me get into his pickup
truck. He wanted me to show him where you live
."
"He
what?"
"He wanted to get his hands on you last night. And
he tried to force me to help him
."
She grimaced. "You're kidding me
."
"I was supposed to bring you out for him
."
"My God
."
"I wouldn't have done it
."
"I know
."
Gazing into my eyes, she said, "You
didn't
do it
."
"I got away from him. He chased me, but I lost
him. The thing is, he's still . .
."
"The thing is," she interrupted me,
'thanks
."
We were standing on a lighted section of walkway just
north of the quad. Trees were all around us, their
branches casting shadows on the pavement and grass.
To my right was Donner Hall, one of the freshman
dormitories. Just ahead was Division Street.
To the left, out of sight below a steep embankment, was
the Old Mill Stream.
"Come with me," Eileen said.
I followed her to the left. We walked into the
darkness of the trees. A couple of park benches were
at the edge of the embankment above the stream, but
nobody was using them. Eileen set her books and
binders and purse on one of them. I put my book
bag down beside her purse.
In front of the bench, we turned toward each other.
She reached out, took the front of my shirt in both
her hands and pulled me against her. She kissed me with
her open mouth. As she rubbed herself against me, she
let go of my shirt and wrapped her arms around my
back.
Why here? I wondered. Did she have to lead me
here
of all places?
Last spring, more than once, I'd stood in this very
place with Holly. Embracing her, kissing her,
exploring her body.
I shut my eyes.
She is Holly, I told myself. Holly's right
here with me now in my arms . . .
Yeah, sure.
I couldn't kid myself. The feel was all different,
and so was the smell. Eileen was nearly my own
size. I kissed her without bending over. Her
breasts pushed against my chest, not my stomach, and they
were larger than Holly's. She wasn't pudgy like
Holly, either. She felt firm in places where
Holly was soft. And she didn't use whatever
perfume Holly had always worn. Instead of
Holly's sweet, heartbreaking aroma, Eileen
simply smelled fresh and clean as if she'd just
stepped out of a shower.
Why would I
want
to pretend she's Holly? I wondered.
The hell with Holly.
We kept on holding each other, kept on
kissing. The feel and smell of her soon pushed
all thoughts of Holly out of my mind and there
was only Eileen, here and now, and fresh memories
of her as she'd been on Monday night when we
made love.
Tonight, she wore a bra. I unhooked its back.
Then I moved my hands to her front, slipped them
beneath the loose cups of her bra and filled them with the
warm softness of her breasts.
Her mouth was slippery against mine.
Breathing hard, she used both hands to unfasten my
jeans. When they were open, one hand pulled the elastic
waistband of my shorts toward her and the other hand went
down the front. Her fingers curled around my penis.
I pressed my hand against the crotch of her jeans.
The denim felt warm and moist. She squirmed,
rubbing herself against my fingers, and started to make quiet
whimpery sounds.
Then she gasped, "Wait
."
"What81
"Wait. Not here
."
She slid her hand off me, took my wrist and
eased my hand away from her jeans. I still had one hand
on her breast. "We'd better not do it here," she
whispered.
"B. .
."
"Someone might see us
."
"Okay
."
I fastened the waist button of my jeans, but
didn't bother to pull up my zipper or buckle
my belt.
Eileen didn't fix her bra, either.

"We'll go down there," she said, and nodded toward the
stream.
We hid our books underneath the bench, but Eileen
said, "I'd better take this along," and hung the
strap of her purse over one shoulder. Taking my
hand, she led me to the edge of the embankment.
'Let's try under the bridge," she said.
"Nobody'll see us there His
"What about the trolls
?"
I asked.
"Trolls my ass
."
I laughed. "Okay. Let's do it
."
The slope was steep and slippery. On the way
down, Eileen let go of my hand and put her arms out
for balance. I thought about how her breasts were loose
underneath her shirt. Not that I could see much; the heavy
trees looming over us blocked out so much light that
Eileen was nothing but a vague shape with the purse
swinging by her side.
At the bottom of the slope, we walked carefully
alongside the stream. Though we remained in darkness,
pale light from the streetlamps above the bridge
glowed ahead of us. A couple of times, I heard
cars go by. I couldn't see them or even the
bridge.
Soon, the bridge came into view through the branches
... the Division Street bridge with its low stone
parapet where Holly and I used to linger, staring down
at the creek.
Don't start thinking about Holly, I told myself.
The hell with her.
At least we'd never gone
under
the bridge together. I'd wanted to. One night,
walking Holly back to her sorority, we'd
stopped along the bridge the way we
nearly always did and I asked, "Have you ever been under
there
?"
"No. Have you
?"
"Just once
."
"How was it
?"
"Nice and private
."
She'd given me a look. "Oh, really
?"
"Want to go down and take a look
?"
"Now
?"
"No time like the present
."
"It's almost midnight
."
"No time like almost midnight
."
"I'm
not going down there
."
Smiling, she'd said,
"Trolls
live under bridges
."
"Not this bridge. This one's troll-free
."
"So say you
."
"I could go down first and take a look around
."
"Oh, no you don't. What if they
get
you? And then I'm left up here all by myself while the
trolls have you for a midnight snack. Thanks, but
no thanks
."
"Then come down with me
."
"No no no no no
."
"Where's your sense of adventure
?"
"It doesn't extend to sneaking under bridges at
midnight. I mean, seriously. No
telling
who
might be under there
."
"Well, okay
."
I'd been disappointed that night, but now I was glad
Holly and I hadn't ventured under the bridge. It
was one of the few places where I
hadn't
been with her.
But as Eileen and I walked closer to the bridge,
I saw the darkness of the area down there.
"I'm having second thoughts about this," I said.
"It might not be so safe
."
Eileen stopped, half turned, looked back at
me and reached out her hand. I took it in mine. She
didn't say anything, just gave my hand a squeeze
and kept hold of it as she started walking again.
A car went over on the bridge, tires hissing
on the pavement, engine grumbling, radio heavy on
the bass and giving out low
thump-thump-thumps
that I could feel in my chest. I looked
up but couldn't see the car. Its sounds faded.
"Have you been down here before
?"
I asked.
"Never at night
."
"Me neither
."
"Good," she said. "This'll be a first for both of us
."
We were about to enter a clear area when Eileen
suddenly stopped. Her back stiffened. With her right
hand, she pointed up at the bridge.
A girl about halfway across stopped walking and
leaned over the parapet. A moment later, a guy
showed up beside her. He leaned over the low wall,
too. They both gazed down toward the stream. . . and
toward us.
I was fairly sure they couldn't see us. Not if
we stayed put. But they probably
would
see us if we continued forward.
The girl turned her head toward the boy. He
turned his head toward her and put an arm around her.
Then they kissed. They kissed for a long time
as if nothing else mattered in the world. I knew
exactly how it was. It made me sad. Not just for
myself, but for them, too.
Eileen and I stood motionless in the dark below them,
watching.
A car went by, but it didn't disturb the two
lovers.
Finally, they stopped leaning over the parapet. Standing
up straight, they wrapped their arms around each other
and resumed kissing.
"Okay," Eileen whispered.
We hurried on.
The stream was about ten feet wide as it flowed toward
the darkness under the bridge. On both sides of it were
broad areas of dry, rocky ground littered with
fallen branches and various items that had
probably been thrown off the bridge: beer cans,
a hubcap, an old bicycle wheel, a grimy
white sneaker, a broken pair of sunglasses.
Eileen looked back at me. "This place could
use a clean-up," she whispered.
"Yeah
."
"You okay with this
?"
she asked.
"Fine
."
She squeezed my hand, then faced forward. A few
more steps, and we would be under the bridge.
I looked up, but couldn't see the lovers or
anyone else.
"I'd better go first," I said.
"Be my guest
."
Though she moved aside, she continued to hold my hand
as I stepped past her. "Maybe you'd better let
go," I whispered.
She released my hand, then took hold of the back of
my shirt and walked behind me into the darkness.
Almost utter darkness.
To our left and right, I could see only black.
Straight ahead of us was more black -- about thirty
feet of it -- then a dim gray smudge where the
underpass ended and the stream continued on toward the Old
Mill a couple of blocks away.
"Who turned out the lights
?"
Eileen whispered.
"The trolls
."
"Very funny
."
I walked deeper into the darkness, moving slowly,
Eileen still holding onto my shirt.
"Be careful," she said.
Under here, the air seemed to have a moist chill and it
smelled of old, wet things.
Rocks tipped and rolled under my shoes, scraping
together, softly bumping. But I also stepped on soft
objects that made squishy sounds. My shoe hit
a can and sent it clattering. A couple of times, I
crunched broken glass.
This reminded me of running through the narrow, dark
space between the buildings last night, Randy chasing
me.
The place where I'd fallen over a shopping cart,
tumbled onto a bum.
Eileen tugged my shirt. "This is good," she
whispered.
I started to turn. If I'd turned all the way
around, Eileen would've had at least a hint of light
behind her. But I only turned part of the way before her
hands met my chest. I was facing the stream . . . and
blackness.
"I didn't know it'd be so dark in here," Eileen
whispered.
Though I felt her breath on my lips, I
couldn't see her at all. "Do you want to leave
?"
I asked.
"Huh-uh
."
She touched her moist, warm lips against mine and
began to unfasten the buttons of my shirt. While
she worked on my shirt, I worked on hers. When
both were open, we eased our bodies together. I
felt the cloth of her rumpled bra up near my
collar bones. Below that, her breasts were warm and soft
against me, her nipples stiff. Lower, she was warm
smooth skin all the way down to the waist of her
jeans.
We kissed with open mouths.
Her purse still hung from her right shoulder. I felt
its straps when I reached around her. They didn't
get in the way, though.
I ran my hands up and down her back, savoring
her silken curves. She shivered and hugged me more
tightly.
Too cold
?"
I whispered.
"A little. And a little scared
."
"Wanta go to my place
?"
"No. This is good
."
Her arms loosened their hold on me. Then they went
away. I felt her breath on my face and the warm
pressure of her breasts against my chest and small
pulling sensations at my waist as she unfastened my
jeans. Reaching into my shorts, she caressed me.
Then her breasts eased away from me. I felt her
mouth kiss my chin, the side of my neck, my chest
and my belly as she crouched, pulling down my
shorts and jeans.
Then no part of Eileen seemed to be touching me.
I stood there alone, shivering.
What's going on?
I looked down, but couldn't see her . . . couldn't
see anything in the darkness, not even my own bare
legs.
"Eileen
?"
I whispered.
No answer came.
"What're you doing
?"
A warm, wet something flicked against the front of my
penis, then slid under it.
Felt like a tongue.
II
As it drew back, I was encircled by a moist,
pliant ring. It slipped down me, taking me in.
Lips?
"I sure hope that's you," I whispered.
In response, the mouth tightened its hold and
sucked. Warm hands slid up the backs of my
legs and cupped my buttocks. The mouth took me
in deeper as the hands squeezed and pulled.
Then the mouth slid off me.
"It's only me," Eileen whispered.
She slowly stood up, keeping her body close
to mine so that her breasts rubbed me and my penis rubbed
her.
When she was upright in front of me, I unfastened
her jeans. I slipped a hand down inside the
front of her panties. She was wet and slippery
and hot. My fingers made her writhe and
flinch. Whimpering, she took care of shoving down her
jeans and panties. Her thighs parted.
I took my hand away. She guided my penis between
her legs.
Between them, but barely into her.
We tried for a while. Then I whispered, "This
isn't working too well
."
"I should've worn a skirt. Damn. I've
gotta get these jeans off. Hold onto me,
okay
?"
"Where
?"
"My shoulders, I guess. Just don't let me
fall. Gotta get my shoes off first
."
While I held her shoulders, she bent down in
front of me. I felt her hair against my belly
and penis. She twisted and swayed, rocked from side
to side, and gasped a couple of times when she lost
her balance. I held her steady, though, and kept
her from falling. Finally, she whispered, "There
."
She stood up and eased in against me. She
was bare and warm and smooth. She'd removed her
jeans and panties. Even her purse and bra were
gone, though I didn't think she could've taken them
off while I'd been holding her steady. All she
still wore was her chamois shirt, which was wide open.
I was stiff against her belly. As we kissed, she
rubbed against me, her hands roaming over my back and
rump.
Then, almost as if we knew what we were doing, she
parted her legs and I bent my knees. I felt the
wet curls of her pubic hair along the underside
of my penis, then only cool air when I was
crouched enough to be under her.
Her fingertips found me, guided me. She eased
downward and I felt her slick flesh open around
me. I straightened my knees.
Eileen dug her fingers into my back and moaned as
I slid up high and deep.
She raised one of her legs and hooked it behind me and
I went in deeper yet. I wanted the feel of
both her legs up around me so I pulled at the
back of her other thigh. She brought it up and I was
in all the way.
Both feet off the ground, Eileen clung to me as
if she were climbing a tree trunk while
I clutched her buttocks. She grunted as I
thrust. I could feel her breasts going up and down
while I bounced her. They slapped the fronts of
my shoulders. Whimpering, she clutched my head.
And suddenly she was twitching and grunting. I'd been
trying to keep control of myself, but her frenzy pushed
me over the edge. I started to jerk and throb inside
her. As my semen spurted, she squeezed my head
between her breasts.
And something went wrong.
She let out a frightened squeal as her weight shifted
backward.
Gripping her buttocks, I pranced forward through the
blackness in hopes of getting our balance back.
But my feet tangled in something
- her jeans? -- and down I went, Eileen clinging
to me, me clinging to her, me buried deep inside
her.
I thought we would probably fall into the stream.
We didn't, though.
When her body struck the ground, she let out a
hurt grunt. Her arms fell away from around my
head. Under my face, her chest was heaving, her heart
thudding.
As I started to push myself up, she clutched
my shoulder. In a voice that was high and shaky and
quiet, she said, "Someone else is here
."
I didn't want to believe her, but I did.
"Are you sure
?"
I whispered.
"Yessss. Oh, God
."
"It'll be all right
."
"He pulled my hair . . . made us fall
."
Someone in the dark with us, standing so near to us that he could
reach up and pull Eileen's hair . . . someone so
stealthy, so silent, that we'd been utterly unaware
of his presence.
The fear made my skin crawl like last night when the
old man on the porch struck his match. I wanted
to leap up and run like hell.
I couldn't do it, though. My pants were down around
my ankles Eileen, under me, was naked.
And hurt? She'd taken a hard fall, gotten
herself pounded against the ground with all my weight on
top of her and God-knew-what underneath
her.
"Are you hurt
?"
I whispered.
"Not that bad
."
"Bleeding
?"
"Yeah. A little, anyway
."
"We've gotta get out of here
."
From somewhere off to my left came sniffy sounds like
someone laughing softly through his nostrils.
Eileen's arms clamped around me and her thighs
squeezed against my hips. Her body was trembling
under me.
"It'll be all right," I whispered, my lips
against the side of her neck.
"I'm so scared
."
She started to cry. Small spasms shook her
body. Her hitching sobs sounded awfully loud in the
dark.
I went, "Shhhh
."
So did the person who had hissed his laughs.
So did someone else, over to the right.
Eileen gasped and went rigid.
In a secret corner of my mind, I'd
suspected that the stranger in the dark might be Randy,
that he'd somehow followed us down here. It had been
my fear but also, in some way, my hope. Randy was
horrible, but at least he was known to me. He had a
name, a face . . . and I'd already hurt him
once.
When I heard the second "Shhhh," I decided
Randy had nothing to do with this. Also, I suddenly
remembered the Swiss Army knife in the pocket
of my jeans.
Jeans that were wrapped around my ankles.
"Let go," I whispered against Eileen's neck.
She kept on holding me tight.
"Let go of me," I whispered again.
Though I spoke softly, the strangers in the dark
could probably hear every word. I didn't want
to mention the knife.
"Please," I said.
"You'll run away."
"No, I won't. Just let go
."
"Promise
?"
"I promise
."
She loosened her hold on me. With my hands on the
ground on both sides of her, I pushed myself up.
Then, holding onto my jeans and underwear, I rose
to my feet.
"Eddie
?"
Eileen asked.
"I'm right here
."
As I fastened my jeans, my belt buckle
clinked.
"Get my clothes for me," she whispered.
"I will
."
But first I reached into the front pocket of my jeans
and pulled out my knife. I shifted it to my left
hand, felt the blunt edges of the closed blades and
tools, and tried to catch the slotted side of a
blade with my thumb nail.
"Eddie
?"
It was almost a squeal.
"Huh
?"
"Where
are
you
?"
"Right here
."
"He's
touching
me!"
Somebody slammed into me from the right. The impact
twisted me and sent me stumbling sideways through the
dark. I tripped over my own feet, fell as if
making a dive into shallow water, and slammed against the
ground so hard that I skidded.
In the distance past my feet, Eileen cried out,
"Eddie! Get him off me!"
I heard a smack like a fist striking bare skin.
"Leave her alone!" I yelled.
As I struggled to get up, I realized that I'd
lost my knife. I
had
to have it. Dropping to my knees, I swept my hands
over the ground.
Eileen whined . . . part pain, part terror.
The hell with the knife.
I grabbed a heavy, jagged rock that was larger than
my hand,

II
scrambled to my feet and rushed toward the sounds from
Eileen and what was happening to her.
The sounds sickened me. Sobs and giggles,
punches and slaps, yelps of pain, gasps for
air, muttered curses, wet slurps, frenzied
grunts.
I expected to be taken down, myself, at any
moment.
But then I came to where the sounds were.
I was glad I couldn't see what was being done
to Eileen or who was doing it.
I piled on.
It
was
a pile on: me on top, the attackers underneath
me, Eileen almost certainly on the bottom.
Heads, arms, asses everywhere.
More than two attackers. Three? Four? I
couldn't tell.
I laid into them with my rock.
Their turn to cry out.
I couldn't see them and they couldn't see me. I
think they hurt each other as much as I hurt them.
During the minute or two it lasted, I got
elbowed, punched, scratched and bit.
Then nobody was between Eileen and me. I lay
gasping for breath on top of her sprawled, twitching
body, the rock still clenched in my hand. Where my bare
skin was against her, she felt wet and sticky.
"Are you okay
?"
I whispered.
Crying, she shook her head. I felt it against my
cheek.
"Let's get out of here," I said.
"Where ... are they
?"
"Gone. I don't know. I think they ran off
."
"Let's hurry," she said.
I pushed myself up. When I was on my knees, I
reached down and took hold of her wrists.
"Can you sit up
?"
I asked.
She started to rise, so I pulled her arms. She
winced and whimpered.
Soon, we were both on our feet. She felt
wobbly, though. I had to hold her up. "I'll
carry you," I said.
"My clothes
."
'Let's get out of here before we get jumped again
."
Before she could argue, I dropped the rock and swept
her up in my arms. She was too exhausted or
hurt to fight me. I carried her. cradled against
my chest, toward the gray blur at the mouth of the
underpass.
With every step, I thought we might get attacked again.
Finally, I carried her out of the darkness. We were in the
open for
a few seconds, in plain sight of anyone who
might be looking down toward the stream. I didn't
look back, but nobody called out.
I hurried with Eileen into the shadows of the trees
along the shore. There, I lowered her
gently onto the grass. Then I glanced around.
'Looks like we're safe," I whispered.
She squeezed my hand.
We were shrouded in darkness, but not total darkness.
For the first time since venturing under the bridge, I could
see Eileen. I thought she would at least still have her
chamois shirt, but it was gone like the rest of her
clothes. She seemed to be bloody in places.
"Can you tell if you're bleeding badly anywhere
?"
I asked. "Like if an artery got hit, or
something
?"
"Nothing like that
."
"You sure
?"
"I'm just. . . leaking a little here and there
."
"Okay. Good. Now, I guess we'd better
get you up top and somewhere safe, and I'll go find
a phone and . .
."
"We left my
purse backslash
she blurted as if suddenly remembering.
"Oh shit," I said.
"All my
stuff's
in it
."
Nodding, I took off my shirt. "Put this on
."
I gave it to her. "I'll be right back
."
"No. You'd better not
."
"We can't leave your purse
."
"I can cancel the credit cards and-"
"They'll
know who you are ... where you live."
In a very small voice, she said, "But I don't
want "em to get
you
."
"I'll be fast," I said. "If anyone comes after
you,
yell, okay? Yell or scream, and I'll come
running
."
"Maybe we'd better get help
."
All I did was shake my head. There was not a
moment to lose -- not even in explanations -- if we
hoped to get her purse back.
I whirled around and raced toward the bridge.
Nobody was up top.
When the blackness swallowed me, I stopped
running. I put myself backward in time and tried
to retrace the route I'd taken with Eileen.
I heard nobody.
They probably ran off, I told myself. For all
they know, the cops are on the way.

I His
Crouching, I reached down and patted the ground. I
felt moist earth, rocks and twigs.
Who says I'm even close?
I got down on my hands and knees and crawled.
I wished I had gloves on. Not because of the cold,
but because of the things I found myself touching in the darkness.
Some were sharp, some mushy, some hard, some slimy.
At last, I found a shoe. It felt and smelled
like a fairly new athletic shoe.
After wiping my hands on my jeans, I continued
searching in the same area and found the rest: Eileen's
other shoe, her jeans, her bra and her purse. Her
panties and chamois shirt didn't seem to be
there.
Better get out of here while I still can.
But I liked Eileen's chamois shirt. I
didn't want her to lose it and
I sure didn't want someone
else
ending up with her panties.
On the chance that Eileen might have a flashlight, I
put a hand into her purse and felt around. I touched
her billfold, various cylinders and small
cases, a hair brush, a pocket-sized spiral
notebook, and several unidentified items
wrapped in plastic and paper. No flashlight,
though.
Digging deeper, I found a treasure trove of
loose objects near the bottom of her purse:
sticks of gum, coins, half-used rolls of something
shaped like Lifesavers, a couple of condoms in
plastic wrappers, an array of pens and pencils and
markers, a couple of cigarettes and a book of
matches.
Yes!
I pulled out the matchbook, flipped open the
cardboard cover, tore out a match and struck it.
The head flared, hurting my eyes. I was blinded
for a second or two.
When I could see again, I yelped.
In the murky glow of the matchlight, I saw a bare
foot on the ground just out of my reach.
No one was standing on the foot.
It was toes up. The ankle and shin looked hairy.
Just above the knee, the leg vanished into darkness.
Looking around quickly, I saw nobody else within the
aura of light cast by my match.
The match was starting to burn me. I shook it out,
struck another, then hurried over to the man. He was
naked. He lay motionless on his back. He had
long, wild, filthy hair. His eyebrows,
mustache and beard were so thick that he hardly seemed
to have any face at all. After a moment, however, I
located his small, sooty nose. Then I found his
deep-set eyes with their closed lids.
The hair on the right side of his head was matted
flat, shiny red with blood.
Had I done that to him with my rock?
It seemed likely, but not certain. The
melee had been chaos. No telling who had done
what to anyone.
The man looked dead.
Serves him right, I thought. He attacked us.
Probably tried to rape Eileen.
With that.
It was upright, big and glistening.
Did he rape her?
The match started to burn me, so I shook it out. I
struck another.
The guy was still motionless on his back.
I went looking for my Swiss Army knife. It
almost certainly carried my fingerprints, so I
couldn't leave it down here with a dead man.
Finding it wasn't easy.
Two matches later, however, I spotted its bright
red handle on the ground near a smashed Budweiser
can. I hurried over to it and picked it up.
I shook out my match. Standing in total darkness,
I pried open one of the blades. Then I held
knife in my left hand with the matchbook. With my right
hand, I struck a fresh match.
I was too far away to see the body.
What if he's gone?
99
If
What if he's coming at me?
I walked in his direction. A few seconds
later, the murky light from my match found him. He
was still sprawled on his back.
I stepped up to him. His eyes were still shut. I stared
at his filthy, hairy chest. It didn't seem
to be moving.
He's probably dead, I thought.
But he's got a hard-on. Can a dead guy have a
hard-on?
I had no idea. Seemed possible, but not
likely.
It suddenly occurred to me that it looked bigger than
before.
It's growing?
I muttered, "Oh shit
."
What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this
mortal coil. . .
Don't freak out, I told myself. He's
probably not dead.
If he isn't, I'd better help him. Check
his wounds. Call an ambulance.
Then I thought about what he'd done to us.
"Fuck it," I muttered.
I lit a new match, then did a quick search for
Eileen's chamois shirt and panties. Other
clothes were scattered around: coats, shirts,
trousers, shoes. Even a couple of hats. All
of them looked filthy. Eileen's shirt and
panties, however, didn't seem to be among them.
Fast as I could, I gathered up her purse,
shoes, jeans and bra and hurried out from under the
bridge.
No sooner did I escape from the darkness than I
began to fear the worst for Eileen.
I
shouldn't have left her alone.
The others probably got her . . .
I came to the place where I'd left her in the
shadows, and she wasn't there. I crumbled inside.
They
did
get her.
"Eddie
?"
Her voice came from the wrong direction. I jerked
my head sideways and looked toward the stream. Still,
I couldn't see her.
"Where are you
?"
Several yards upstream, a pale arm lifted into the
air. Below it, a face was a pale smudge against the
black of the water.
I set down her things and walked toward her along the
bank. "You okay
?"
I asked.
"Not bad. How'd it go
?"
"I got your purse and most of your clothes.
Couldn't find your shirt
."
"Any trouble
?"
I crouched down on the grass a few feet away
from her. She was submerged to her neck in the stream.
"The creeps must've all run away," I said.
"Probably figured the first thing we'd do is call
the cops
."
"Why don't you come in and wash up," Eileen
asked. "We can figure out what to do
."
Shaking my head, I said, "I think we should get out
of here. Get you to the student health center
."
"Not the health center
."
"The ER
?"
She stood up, her body rising out of the black
water pale and gleaming in the moonlight. "How about
your place
?"
she asked. Her torso ended at the water's
surface. "I don't much want to be alone right
now . . . tonight. If it's all right with you . .
."
"You should probably see a doctor
."
"I'll see one if I need one. I can look
myself over when we get to your place. Unless you
don't
want
me to come over
."
"I want you to come over
."
"Thanks, Eddie
."
She waded toward me, silvery where the moon lit
her wet skin. I watched how her breasts moved.
Their tips looked like large black coins. Her
navel was a small black dot. With each step she
took, the level of the water lowered.
Seeing the dark patch of her pubic hair, I thought
about the guy under the bridge.
She'll tell me what she wants me to know.
When the water level was down around her knees, she
shuddered and wrapped her arms around her chest. "Do I
still get to wear your shirt
?"
she asked.
"Sure
."
It was on the grass near my feet. I picked it
up and handed it out to her. She put it on. "Ah,
that's better
."
She fastened a button down near her waist, then
climbed out of the stream.
I led the way back along the shore to the place where
I'd left her purse and clothes.
"This is fantastic," she said. She picked up
her purse and took out her billfold.
"A reward won't be necessary," I said.
"You'll get a reward, all right. I can't
believe you actually went back under there
."
"I can't either," I said.
"I was so scared. I was afraid they'd get you
."
"Still might," I said. "We really shouldn't hang
around here any
longer than necessary
."
I looked toward the bridge. It was out of sight,
hidden by the thick tangles of tree branches
looming over the embankment.
"I think we're all right here, don't you
?"
Eileen asked.
"Never know
."
She looked inside her billfold.
"I didn't take anything
."
"I know
you
didn't
."
"I'm sure they didn't, either. If they'd seen
your purse at all, they would've taken it
."
"That's probably true
."
She put the billfold back into her purse.
"I did steal a matchbook," I confessed.
She looked up at me. "Went through my purse,
huh
?"
"For a good cause. I needed some light
."
I took the matchbook out of a pocket of my jeans
and dropped it into her purse. "Thanks," I said.
"Any time
."
She crouched and set her purse on the ground, then
searched through her clothes. Soon, she looked up at
me. "You didn't happen to find a pair of
panties
?"
"They seem to be among the missing
."
"Oh, swell
."
"Sorry
."
"So one of those . . .
trolls . . .
took them
?"
"Not necessarily. I might've just missed them
."
"Hope so," she said. "I hate to think that. .
."
Shaking her head, she stood up and stepped into her
jeans. "We must've been nuts," she muttered as
she fastened the waist button.
"Yeah
."
She pulled up her zipper and smiled at me. "It
was sure something, though. Huh? I mean,
before
. . .
?"
"It was something, all right
."
"I've never . .
."
She shook her head again. "It was
really
something
."
"I'll say
."
She bent down and picked up her bra. "Want
to wear this
?"
she asked.
"I don't think so
."
"Nor do I
."
She stuffed the bra into her purse, then sat on the
ground and started to put on her shoes.
"Are you okay
?"
I asked.
"Pretty okay, all things considered. We're
alive, right? And not too badly hurt. Could've
been a lot worse
."
"That's for sure
."
"What I really want to do is go to your place and
take a nice hot shower and then get somewhat smashed
."
"I've only got about half a bottle of wine
."
"We can pick up something on the way over
."
Shoes on, she stood up. "You must be freezing,"
she said.
"Just a little
."
"My poor sweetheart
."
She opened the shirt wide and stepped against me and
put her arms around me. The heat of her body
seeped into my chilled skin. "How's this
?"
she asked.
"Not bad
."

ttl
At the top of the embankment, we
retrieved our belongings from under the park bench. I
wore my book bag like a small knapsack and
carried Eileen's books and binders against my chest.
That way, I didn't feel quite so cold or bare.
But shirtless I was. Scratched and bloody,
too, as I found out when we entered the glow of a
streetlight.
Because of her soak in the stream, Eileen wasn't
bloody. Her face, however, looked somewhat
battered. Also, her hair was wet and stringy.
To avoid being seen by campus security or by anyone
we knew, we walked
around
the university campus instead of through it.
That's how we ran into Rudy Kirkus.
I'd known Kirkus since my freshman year.
We were both English majors, so we'd spent quite a
lot of time in the same classes. Also, we were both
on the staff of the university's literary magazine,
The Roar.
A smug know-it-all, he seemed to consider himself
God's gift to literature and good taste.
He was an easy guy to recognize at a distance.
Well over six feet tall and skinny, he
walked like a drum major at the head of his
own parade. His uniform was a corduroy jacket with
patches on its elbows, a blue chambray shirt,
blue jeans, loafers and an ascot. He
always
wore a silk ascot around his neck.
If I'd seen Kirkus approaching us, I
would've dragged Eileen in a different direction.
Fast. But he came at us from around the corner of the
bank at Ivy Street, a block south of
campus.
"I
say backslash
he said. He clapped me on the shoulder.
"Eduardo, old man. And Eileen! What ho
?"
Kirkus was a native of San Francisco, but
he affected a British accent and mannerisms.
He'd probably picked up most of his act
by watching those old Sherlock Holmes movies with
Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce.
"How's it going, Kirkus
?"
I asked.
"It goes, it goes
."
Nodding, he put his hands behind his back and began his
usual routine of going up and down, up and down on
the balls of his feet. Head cocked to one side,
he eyed my chest. "I say, old chap, a bit
nippy to be roaming about the streets
sans
shirt
."
"Don't knock it till you've tried it," I
told him.
He cocked his head toward Eileen and eyed
her
chest. If another guy had stared that blatantly,
I might've been miffed. But this was Kirkus. Her
breasts, obviously braless under the shirt, would be of
no interest to him . . . except perhaps as objects
of disdain.
"Hello!" he exclaimed.
"You're
wearing his shirt. The plot does thicken, hey what
?"
He bobbed, grinning.
"I'm afraid I left home without mine,"
Eileen told him. "This chap was nice enough to lend me
the use of his
."
Kirkus continued to bob, but his grin vanished while
he hoisted an eyebrow. "You're having me on
."
"Not at all," Eileen said, appearing perfectly
serious.
"And why are you wet
?"
he asked.
"A touch of rain, old bean
."
He still bobbed, but both his eyebrows lowered and crept
toward the bridge of his nose. "And your injuries
?"
he asked. He glanced from Eileen to me, bobbing and
frowning, not so much a drum major, now, as a stern
headmaster determined to get to the bottom of the
mischief. "Have ourselves a bit of a row, did we
?"
Eileen looked to me for this one.
"A spot of trouble with a canine, I'm afraid.
Out on the moor. A huge brute with glowing eyes
."
"I see
."
He took a deep breath, began to sag, then
straightened up again and threw back his head.
"Well, have your sport with me
."
I suddenly felt bad. Kirkus was a
pretentious and arrogant boob, but that was no
excuse for mocking him. "Hey," I said. "I'm
sorry
."
"Me, too," Eileen told him. "We've had
a tough night
."
"Ah
."
He seemed pleased by our contrition. "Quite all right
."
"As a matter of fact," I told him, 'we
got jumped by a gang of teenagers a few minutes
ago. They beat us up pretty good and tore off
Eileen's shirt
."
"Rum go," said Kirkus.
Shrugging, Eileen said, "Well, we got away from
them.
You'd
better watch out for them, though
."
"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself,"
he said.
"Just be careful," Eileen said. "They're nasty
bastards. They pissed in my hair
."
Kirkus eyed her hair, sniffed the air a couple
of times, and took a step backward.
"We don't want everybody knowing about this," I
explained. "In fact, we don't want
anybody
else knowing about it
."
"It's terribly humiliating," Eileen added.
"And disgusting
."
"We've taken you into our confidence," I said.
"We'd like you to respect it," said Eileen.
"Righto
."
Kirkus gave a stiff nod, bounced, and said,
"Mum's the word
."
"Thank you," Eileen told him.
"Thanks, Rudy," I said.
"And thank
you
for the warning. If the young hooligans have a go at me,
they'll rue the day
."
I reached out and patted his arm. "Knock "em dead
."
"Where were they
?"
he asked.
Eileen turned sideways and pointed behind us. "A
couple of blocks back
."
The boarding house where Kirkus lived was in that
direction.
Scowling, he asked, "How many ruffians did you
encounter
?"
"Six or seven," I said.
He nodded briskly.
"I guess you'll have to go past them to get home,"
I added.
"Quite
."
"They might be gone by now," Eileen pointed out.
Kirkus straightened up and tossed back his head.
" "Danger knows full well that Caesar is more
dangerous than she.""
"You say soea8I told him.
"Ta," he said, and stepped past us.
"Good luck," I told him.
"Give "em hell," Eileen said.
As Kirkus strode bravely down the sidewalk,
we crossed the street. Halfway up the next
block, we both glanced back. Kirkus was nowhere
to be seen.
"Hope he doesn't hurt them," Eileen said.
I chuckled and felt a little mean.
"Poor sod," Eileen said.
We both laughed.
"You know," I said, 'he might not be such a bad
guy if he didn't go around acting like such a fucking
know-it-all snob
."
"A
bloody
know-it-all snob
."
We laughed some more.
On the next block, we came to the Grand
Market.
"You might want to wait out here," Eileen
suggested. "I'll go in and get the stuff
."
I nodded.
"Don't go away
."
She went inside. I stepped around the side, away
from the main street, and stood close to the wall.
Though a few people went by, nobody paid attention
to me.
Eileen was gone for a long time. That's how it seemed,
anyway.
At last, she stepped around the corner with a
brown-paper grocery sack in her arms. "Ah, there
you are," she said. 'Look what I got for you
."
She set down the bag at her feet, reached in and
pulled out something that appeared to be a black cloth.
Grinning, she held it high and spread it open.
"A Dracula cape," she explained.
"So I see
."
"A nice one, too. Put it on
."
"Now
?"
"Come on. I know you're freezing
."
She brought it toward me. "It was the best I could do.
They didn't seem to have any clothes in there.
Lucky for you, they've got a great bunch of
Halloween costumes
."
"I'm supposed to
wear
this
?"
"You can throw it on over your book bag. Wrap it
around yourself like a blanket
."
"Well . .
."
"Better than freezing
."
"I suppose
."
I set my armload of books and binders down on
the sidewalk, then took the cape from
Eileen. I swung it around behind me. It draped
my book bag and shoulders. I wrapped it around my
front. It felt smooth and warm. "Pretty
good," I said.
"You look smashing, as Kirkus might say
."
With that, Eileen stepped closer. She found a
couple of dangling cords and made a bow of them at
my throat. Then she slipped her hands inside the
cape and caressed my chest. "I should've bought you some
vampire teeth
."
I bared my own teeth at her.
She laughed softly and kissed me.
When we resumed our journey, Eileen carried her
own books and binders and purse. I carried the
grocery bag close to my chest with one hand while I
held the cape shut with the other.
In the bag were two cans of squirt cheese (sharp
cheddar and sharp cheddar with bacon), a box of Ritz
crackers and a liter bottle of dark rum.
Though most of the businesses along the street were shut
for the night, people walked past us now and again. Some of them
noticed what I was wearing, and smiled.
With a university in the middle of town, they
were used to all sorts of antics. A guy in a
vampire cape three weeks before Halloween was no
big deal.
After we left the business district behind, the
sidewalks seemed to be empty. Every so often, a
car went by.
We were about two blocks from my apartment house when
Eileen glanced over her shoulder. Facing forward
again, she muttered, "Somebody's back there
."

I looked, but saw only the empty sidewalk
stretched out behind us. I checked the street, then the
sidewalk on the other side of the street. "I
don't see anyone
."
Eileen looked again. "That's funny
."
"Maybe he went in a house," I suggested.
"Or ducked out of sight
."
We kept on walking.
"What did he look like
?"
I asked.
"Just a guy. I
think
it was a guy. He was pretty far back and I
only caught a glimpse of him
."
"Wasn't Kirkus, was it
?"
"I don't think so
."
"Old guy, young guy
?"
She shook her head. "I have no idea. But whoever
he is, let's not lead him to your apartment
."
I'd already thought of that. I nodded. At the next
corner, instead of going straight on to Church
Street, we turned to the left.
"What was he wearing
?"
I asked.
Eileen shook her head again. "Something dark. A
long coat, maybe
."
"Like a trenchcoat
?"
"I don't know
."
"This really sucks," I muttered.
"Think it's someone from under the bridge
?"
"God, I hope not. But I guess it might be.
Or that Randy guy I was telling you about. Or
maybe it's just somebody who happened to be walking
behind us
."
"Let's find out," Eileen said.
We both glanced back. Nobody was behind us. Not
yet, anyway.
"Come on," I said.
Side by side, we ran up the sidewalk. The first
driveway had a car parked in it. The house's
porch light was on, but all the windows looked dark.
Our pursuer -- if we had one -- still hadn't
rounded the corner. We rushed up the driveway and
crouched in front of the car.
I'd been spending a lot of time, lately, hiding
in front of parked cars.
But always alone.
This time, Eileen was hunkered down beside me, her
upper arm lightly touching mine. I could
feel its heat through my cape. She turned her
face toward me. "This is kind of exciting," she
said.
"If you say so
."
I felt mostly anxiety . . . bordering on
dread. And I felt weary. Too much had already
happened tonight. I wanted to be safe in my apartment
with the lights on and the door locked. Underneath all that,
however, I did feel a certain thrill at being
crouched down and hiding with Eileen.
After a while, she said, "What's taking him so long
?"
"How far back was he
?"
She shrugged, and I felt her arm move against mine.
"Just a block
."
She straightened up slightly and peered over the
hood. "I don't see anyone
."
"We'll hear him when he goes by
."
She stayed up, half crouched, her books and
binders clutched to her chest.
"We don't want him to see you," I whispered.
She sank down beside me, and I felt the rub of her
arm. "I don't think he's coming," she said.
"Let's wait a while longer. Maybe he's
being careful
."
"We might've lost him
."
I nodded.
We crouched together in silence, waiting. Out on the
street, a car went by. Its sounds slowly faded
away. I listened for footsteps, but heard none.
Eileen turned her face toward mine. "He
probably wasn't following us in the first place
."
"Maybe not," I said.
"Maybe he just happened to be going in the same
direction as us
."
"Yeah
."
"Happens all the time
."
"Sometimes," I said, 'they
are
following you
."
"Not this time, I guess
."
'Let's make sure," I said. "He might just
be waiting for us to come out of hiding
."
"Guess you're more deeply paranoid than me
."
"More than likely," I said.
"I don't like being on someone else's property
."

r t
"We're not hurting anything
."
"They might not see it that way
."
She twisted partway around and looked toward the house.
I looked, too. From where we were crouched, we
couldn't see any of the windows.
"Guess they can't see us," Eileen whispered.
I looked toward the house next door. "Neither can
they," I said.
Eileen faced me. "We're pretty
well hidden, aren't we
?"
"Pretty well
."
"Not as well as under the bridge, though
."
I wished she hadn't mentioned the bridge. "This is
sure better lit," I whispered.
"I was so scared
."
"Me, too
."
She set her books and binders down on the
concrete. "Hold me," she whispered.
I put down the grocery sack.
On our knees in front of the car, we turned
toward each other. Eileen spread my cape open and
eased in against me. She put her hands on my back
below the bottom of my book bag. I hugged her
gently. She was trembling, but felt warm against my
body.
"That was so terrible," she whispered close to my ear.
"A lot worse for you
."
"They were all over me
."
And in you? I wondered. But I couldn't ask.
"You know what bothers me the most
?"
she asked.
"Huh-uh
."
Here it comes.
"They could see us
."
"I guess so
."
"They
must've
been able to see us," she said. "They knew right where
we were . . . and where to grab and ... or they couldn't
have done all that. But it was pitch-black in there
."
"Not completely," I said.
"We sure couldn't see them. Or even each other
."
"They'd probably been under there long enough for their
eyes to adjust
."
"But it was
so
dark. God, it was dark
."
She pressed herself more tightly against me. The
concrete was hurting my knees. "You can't see in that
kind of darkness no matter
how
long you've been in it
."
"They must've
."
"I know. I know. They were probably there the whole
time. Just
standing there silent. You'd think we would've at least
heard them breathing
."
Or undressing, I thought.
Unless they stripped before we got there.
Maybe they'd been skinny-dipping in the stream.
Didn't seem likely. Not on a chilly night
like this.
"Or smelled them," Eileen said. "Did you
smell them? They stank when they were on me, but I
never smelled them till then
."
"I didn't, either
."
"I thought we were alone
."
"Same here
."
"I mean, we should've been able to
hear
them or something. It doesn't make sense
."
"Huh-uh
."
"And to think they were right there while we ... did all
that
."
She shivered in my arms. "And we didn't even know
it
."
"Ninja bums," I whispered.
She laughed softly, quietly, her breath blowing
hot against the side of my neck, her body shaking.
"Very funny," she whispered.
For a while after that, we didn't say anything. Just
held each other. She stopped trembling. I could
feel the slow, easy rise and fall of her
chest as she breathed.
"We've probably been here long enough," I
said.
"My knees are killing me," she said.
"Me, too
."
"My knees aren't even touching you
."
We both laughed a little at that.
"You're pretty funny for a scholar," I told
her.
"I'm no scholar. Kirkus is the scholar
."
"He just thinks he is
."
"Hope he got home all right
."
"Think he believed us
?"
I asked.
"The teenage gang attack? Yeah. He believed
that, all right
."
"Nice touch, the pee in the hair
."
She laughed. "Did you catch him sniffing? The
look on his face, you'd think he smelled it
."
I put my face against her hair. It seemed
damp and heavy against the side of her head.
"How does it smell
?"
"Fine
."
"I hope nothing awful was in that stream
."
"You can take a nice bath when we get to my
place
."
"Can't wait," she said.
"Ready to go
?"
"Hope I can still stand up
."
I knew just what she meant; my knees felt
rained, too.
We eased away from each other. Eileen picked up
her stack of books and binders and clutched them to her
chest. I grabbed the top of the grocery sack with one
hand and held the front of my cape shut
with the other.
My knees made crackling sounds when I stood
up.
Eileen groaned. "Next time we do this," she
said, "we should bring kneeling pads
."
"That's a very good . .
."
Bring-bring-bringgg.
It was too late to duck.
She came coasting down the sidewalk from the left,
a skinny old hag in black spandex, her
ballcap turned backward, her bike tires
humming softly, almost silent.
As she glided toward the driveway, her head
turned toward us.
Her face was dark with shadows.
She sees us,
I thought, though I couldn't see her eyes.
As her bike sailed across the end of the driveway,
she turned her head even more so she wouldn't lose
sight of us. She kept watching us until she
passed the neighbor's hedge.
Eileen and I stood side by side, motionless and
silent.
From the right came the
bring-bring-bringgg
of the bicycle bell.
Eileen looked at me. "What the
hell
was that
?"
she whispered.
"The bike hag," I said.
"You know her
?"
"Not really
."
Bring-bringgg.
It came from farther away.
"I wanta get outa here," Eileen said.
'Let's go
."
"Oh God, the church," Eileen said as we
crossed the final street on our way to my apartment
building. "Nothing more fun than an old church
late at night. I wonder who's waiting
there
to scare the crap out of us
."
"No one, I'm sure
."
"I'm not sure of anything," she said.
"You want something good to worry about, how about Mr and
Mrs. Fisher
?"
"Oh, they're harmless
."
"If they see us like this . .
."
I shook my head.
"We'll tell them we were set upon by a gang of
teenaged ne'er-do-wells
."
"Sure
."
"Worked on Kirkus," she pointed out.
"Kirkus is an idiot
."
I stepped ahead of Eileen, unlocked the door and
let us in. I shut the door silently. Leading the
way, I crept through the foyer.
The Fishers' door was open, light spilling out into the
gloom of the hallway. From where I stood, I could
hear their television. The music sounded like
Halloween.
"Great," I muttered.
"It's okay," Eileen whispered.
"I'm wearing a
vampire
cape
."
They'll just think you're zany. Come on
."
Eileen left me standing there. As she walked past the
Fishers' open door, she kept her face forward and
didn't look in.
I hurried after her.
On my way past the door, however, I had
to look.
Mrs. Fisher stood just inside the doorway, leaning
forward on her cane. She stared at me through her
thick glasses. Her eyes looked as big as
eggs. I jumped and said, "Oh, hi
."
"Hi back," she said, grinning.
I had to stop.
"What's that outfit ya got on there, Eddie
?"
"A vampire cape. It's for Halloween
."
"What's Holly got on
?"
she asked.
Holly?
I backed away as Mrs. Fisher hobbled into the
hallway. Eileen had stopped at the foot of the
stairs.
"Hi, Mrs. Fisher," she said.
"Come on back and let me take a look at ya,
Holly
."
Eileen smiled and approached.
"What sorta get-up's that
?"
Mrs. Fisher asked her.
"Just my usual clothes
."
"If you say so
."
Mrs. Fisher, herself, was wearing a huge gray
sweatshirt with the old Willmington University
logo on the front. Around the logo, purple letters
read, HOME OF THE BRAVES. She had a
white bath towel wrapped around her waist.
It reached down almost to her knees like a skirt. From
the towel down, her heavy legs were bare. She wore
blue tennis shoes that didn't have any laces.
"Thought ya had on yer Halloween get-up," she
said.
"Not tonight," Eileen said.
"Eddie, he's already got his
."
Turning her giant eyes on me, she said, "Come
on in and show Walter
."
"We really have to get going
."
"It won't take but a second. Give him a
laugh
."
She reached out for me, but I sidestepped toward the
stairway and she missed. "Now don't be so shy,
Eddie
."
"It's awfully late," I said. "I'll show
Walter some other time, okay
?"
"Well
"We'll see you later, Mrs.
Fisher," Eileen said.
"Well, awe right. You two go "n" run on
along. Good seein' ya again, Holly
."
"Thanks," Eileen said. "Same here
."
"My, but you've grown
."
"Thanks
."
"Still just as nice as pie
."
"You, too. See you later
."
At the foot of the stairway, we looked back at
her. She waved goodbye with her cane.
"Night," I said.
"Don't let the bed bugs bite
."
We hurried upstairs. I felt squirmy from the
encounter, but Eileen was smiling.
The second floor hallway was murky with dim,
yellowish light. All the doors were shut.
"She's not so bad," Eileen whispered.
"At least she didn't make any trouble
about you coming up here
."
"Maybe because she thinks I'm Holly
."
"She liked Holly a lot
."
Unlocking my door, I added, "Everyone did.
Guess everyone still does. Except me
."
We entered my rooms and I shut the door.
"I'm not such a big fan anymore, myself,"
Eileen said.
While she set her books and binders down on the
coffee table in front of the sofa, I carried the
grocery sack into the kitchen and put it on the counter.
I reached under my cape and removed my book bag.
As I swung it onto the table, Eileen came
in.
"Okay if I take a shower
?"
she asked.
"Sure. I'll get you a clean washcloth and
towel
."
She followed me to the bathroom. I
flicked on the light, then went to the nearby linen
closet. The washcloth and towel I took down were
pink and soft. I'd bought them last year for Holly
to use when she spent nights with me.
I carried them into the bathroom for Eileen.
"I might need some bandages when I'm done," she
said.
I opened the medicine cabinet and showed her where they
were.
"I'll try to be fast," she said.
"Take your time. No hurry
."
"Go ahead and help yourself to the rum. You don't have
to wait for me
."
"Okay. See you later
."
Leaving her in the bathroom, I shut the door.
But I didn't help myself to the rum. Instead, I
went into my bedroom. With the light on, I turned
to the mirror. My hair was mussed, my face
dirty and scratched. Spreading the cape open, I
bared my teeth and snarled at the mirror.
Big, bad vampire.
Sure.
I
did
look scruffy and a little scary, though.
Should've tried this with Kirkus.
Or the bike hag.
I almost smiled, but my mind suddenly hit me with a
picture of the bum I'd found underneath the bridge.
Feeling hot and sick, I turned away from the
mirror and removed the cape. Then I took off the
rest of my clothes, put on my robe and flopped
down on my bed to wait for Eileen to finish her
shower.
The guy's probably okay, I told myself.
He had that erection.
I should've checked his pulse.
If I'd tried that, he might've grabbed me.
Suppose he
is
dead?
He's not, I told myself. But if he is, they
won't know we had anything to do with it.
We'll have to keep our mouths shut about what happened
under there.
What about Kirkus? He knows we were in a fight.
He might tell on us.
So who cares his It was self-defense anyway.
It's not like I murdered the guy.
But I felt hot and sick from thinking such thoughts.
So stop it, I told myself. Think about something
pleasant. Think about Eileen.
As I gazed at the ceiling and listened to the hiss of the
shower, I pictured her standing under its spray. Steam
swirled around her like hot fog. Water splashed her
face, ran down her body. She was ruddy and
gleaming . . .
Just like Holly.
I shut my eyes.
Holly and I had taken showers together sometimes.
Stood facing each other beneath the hot spray, me
sliding soapy hands over her breasts, Holly
lathering my penis, her slippery hand gliding up and
down.
Should I go to her?
It's Eileen, not Holly.
Holly wouldn't want me, anyway. The slut
has her Jay.
It's Eileen in the shower now.
Maybe she wants me to be with her. Maybe she's
hoping I'll come in, and she'll be disappointed if
I don't.
No no no, I thought. She doesn't want me
now, not after what they did to her. She wants her
privacy while she cleans up and tends to her
wounds.
In my mind, however, I go to her. I sweep
aside the shower curtain and there she stands under the
spray, looking at me and weeping and holding out her
hands for help. She is scratched and scraped and
gashed and chewed, blood spilling from a dozen wounds.
Blood squirts from her nipples. It gushes from
her vagina as hard as water from a garden hose,
pounding the bottom of the tub and splashing against her
ankles and shins.
Help me,
she says.
I climb into the tub.
I'm bleeding to death!
And I say,
Maybe it's your period.
No! They did it to me. Help! Please!
With my fingertips, I pinch her nipples to shut off
the squirting blood.
Yes! But the other! The other! Plug it up!
With what?
I already know what. It's hard and ready.
Keeping her nipples pinched, I position myself under
the hot gusher and push up into her, stopping the rush of
blood.
"Eddie!"
Did it!
"Can you come here!"
Where's she calling from?
Doesn't matter, I think. I can't go anywhere.
If I pull out, she'll bleed to death. This was a
really bad idea. Should've taken her to the emergency
room. Never should've tried to plug her like this.
But it feels so good.
Too good. When I come, I'll get soft and
she'll bleed out and . . .
"Eddie? Can you come in here
?"
I woke up. I was lying on the end of my bed, my
legs hanging off below the knees, my feet on the
floor. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I saw
that my robe hung open. I was stiff and hard, but not
in Eileen.
Nobody in the room but me.
"Eddie
?"
She IS calling!
I lurched up, ran to the bathroom and knocked on
the door. "Eileen
?"
"You okay
?"
she called over the hissing, splashing sounds of the
shower.
"Yeah. Fine
."
"I kept calling and you didn't answer
."
"I guess I drifted off
."
And dreamed a little dream of you.
"I thought something had happened
."
"No. Everything's fine
."
"Can you come in
?"
she asked.
I opened the door and entered.
The bathroom was hot and steamy. Eileen's clothes,
including my shirt, were piled on the floor. I
stepped over them and walked toward the bath
tub. Through the frosted white plastic curtain, I
could see the vague contours and color of her body.
I saw no red.
"Can you come here
?"
she asked.

"Sure
."
I stopped on the bath mat.
"You probably need a shower, too," she said.
"Probably
."
"Want to come in now
?"
I opened my robe and looked down. Still partly
aroused from the dream, I was sticking out straight.
Embarrassing. But a little exciting, too.
Maybe it'll go down if I wait a while.
"Eddie
?"
"Huh
?"
"Coming in
?"
"Just a minute
."
She was facing me through the curtain. One of her
breasts seemed to be touching the frosted plastic.
I gave up any hope of shrinking.
So I took off my robe and tossed it out of the
way. Eileen, obviously watching me, pulled the
curtain aside. I climbed into the tub.
It wasn't much like the dream. Though her wet skin
gleamed, no blood squirted or gushed out of her
body. The injuries that I could see were contusions and
scratches. She also looked as if she'd been
bitten in several places. The teeth hadn't
broken her skin, but they'd left marks.
"You don't look too bad," I said.
"Neither do you
."
I had worse abrasions than Eileen. More
scratches and bite marks, too.
She began to slide a bar of soap over my body.
"I'll get you all nice and squeaky clean,"
she said.
She already looked squeaky clean, herself.
Her sliding hands made me soapy all over. Then
she wrapped her arms around me, pressed
her body gently against mine and kissed me with her
mouth open. She moaned and squirmed. I was upright
and thick against her belly. She felt slippery and
soft all the way down to her knees.
A few times, she flinched when I touched bad
places on her back and buttocks.
Soon, I was down on the bottom of the tub with
Eileen straddling me, clutching my shoulders, her
breasts wobbling and lurching as I drove up into her.
Sometimes, the hot spray of the shower was blocked by her
body. Other times, it got me full in the face.
Standing outside the tub while I gently dried
Eileen, I found that she did have a few cuts on
her back and buttocks. They looked red and raw,
but were no longer bleeding.
I put antiseptic and bandages on them.
Then she asked if I had a hair drier.
"Afraid not
."
"That's all right
."
She held out her hands for the towel.
I gave it to her, then watched while she rubbed her
hair vigorously with it, her arms high, her breasts
shaking. Her breasts had marks on them. Not
from me, but from what the others had done to her under the
bridge.
What
had
they done to her?
"I'll be a few more minutes in here," Eileen
said. "You want to run ahead and make the drinks
?"
"Sure
."
"How about rum and Coke for me
?"
"Coming right up
."
I put on my robe and headed for the door.
"On the rocks," she added.
I glanced over my shoulder at her. She looked
wonderful standing there with her arms up, smiling at me
from under the bunched towel.
"You can leave the door open," she said. "Let the
steam clear out
."
Nodding, I turned away and went into the kitchen. I
made the drinks. Then I carried them into the living
room and returned to the kitchen for the Ritz
crackers and squirt cheese.
When I came out, Eileen was standing in the living
room. Her hair, still moist but neatly brushed,
hung down to her bare shoulders. The pink towel was
wrapped around her waist, one end tucked in at her
hip.
"Wow," I said.
"But a little nippy," she said. "Got anything for
me to wear
?"
"Oh. Sure. I'm sorry
."
"No problem
."
I hurried past her and she followed me down the
hall to my bedroom. I took a cotton
nightshirt out of a dresser drawer. Holding it up
for her to see, I asked, "How's this
?"

t
It was red and had Goofy on it.
Eileen frowned slightly. "Was this Holly's
?"
"It's mine
."
"I bet she wore it, though
."
"Yeah
."
Holly had worn it a lot. The nightshirt had
looked great on her, short and clingy.
"I can get you something else," I said.
Shaking her head, she stepped forward and took it from
me. "No, this is fine
."
She plucked the towel away from her body, tossed
it onto my bed, then put the nightshirt on over
her head. The thin cotton drifted down her body.
It was shorter on her than on Holly.
She raised her arms to sweep her hair out from under the
nightshirt's neck, and the hem lifted higher than
her groin. When she lowered her arms, it descended.
Smiling, she asked. "Do I look okay
?"
"Great
."
"It's a little short
."
"I don't mind if you don't
."
She grinned. "I'm ready for a drink. How about you
?"
"Sure am
."
This time, she led the way. I walked to the living
room behind her, my eyes on the smooth curves of
her buttocks as they flexed under the clinging
nightshirt.
We sat down beside each other on the sofa.
I picked up both drinks and handed one to her. She
raised her glass toward me. "To being safe and
clean and together," she said.
"I'll drink to that
."
We drank.
"Mmmmm, good," Eileen said. "You make a mean
rum and Coke
."
I laughed. "It's not totally disgusting
."
After a few more sips, Eileen set down her
glass and picked up the Ritz crackers.
"Let's dig in
."
While she opened the box of crackers, I peeled
the seal off a canister of squirt cheese.
"Can't believe how hungry I am," she said.
"We had an active night
."
"I'll say. My God. Here, give me
."
I popped the lid off and passed the canister to her.
Upending it, she squirted a small pile of
orange cheese onto a cracker in her hand.
"Open wide," she said. I opened my mouth and she
stuffed the cracker in. I chewed. The cracker
crunched. The cheddar was creamy and tangy and I could
taste the bacon flavor.
Eileen prepared a cracker for herself. She ate it
while I drank more of my rum and Coke. As she
chewed, she closed her eyes. She looked as if
she were relishing a rare delight. After swallowing,
she sighed. "Fantastic
."
"Pretty darn good
."
Squirting cheese onto another cracker, she said,
"I can't believe how hungry I am
."
"You go ahead and eat that one
."
"No, you
."
She pushed it into my mouth, then took another drink
and started preparing another cracker. "It might have
something to do with all that sex," she said.
I nodded and chewed.
"But I bet it makes people hungry when they have
close calls. All that adrenalin. Do you know any
physiology
?"
"Not much
."
"Me neither. But I've been in some earthquakes and
I always feel hungry afterward
."
A smile spread across her face. "Horny, too
."
She popped a cheese-loaded cracker into her mouth.
"You think we're so hungry because we got attacked
?"
Chewing with her mouth shut, she nodded.
Though I felt the heat of a blush spread over my
skin, I asked, "And horny?"
She nodded some more.
"Those bums piling on you made you horny
?"
Frowning slightly, she shook her head. She
swallowed and took a long drink. "Not that.
Surviving. Escaping. Getting away in one
piece.
That's what does it
."
"I thought you meant getting attacked
."
"God, no. You must be kidding
."
She suddenly went silent and stared at me, looking
appalled. "You think I
liked
having those guys on me
?"
"Not really, but ..."
"They were vile. They stank. They were all over me,
slobbering on me, groping me, hurting me. They were
naked.
I could feel their
cocks.
They were trying to
rape
me. And you think I
liked
it
?"
Now or never.
"They
didn't
rape you, did they
?"
I asked.
She looked as if I'd slapped her. She gaped
at me, her mouth drooping.
"I mean, if they did, you might need . .
."
"They didn't.8Her voice was low and steady, her
eyes locked on mine.
"Are you sure
?"
"I think I would know
."
"Okay
."
"You don't
believe
me
?"
I didn't want to tell her about the bum I'd
found when I went back for her purse and clothes.
"I believe you," I said, trying to sound convincing.
"It's just that. . . they were on you for a couple of
minutes . .
."
"Tell me about it
."
"I got to you as fast as I could, but they might've
had time . . . maybe one or two of them . .
."
"Well, they didn't
."
"Okay
."
She looked shocked and sad. "I can't believe you
even felt it necessary to ask
."
"But if they did-"
"If they
did,
do you think for one second I would've invited you into the
bathroom
to fuck
me? Do you think I would endanger your life that way
?"
"No
."
I sounded like a guilty kid on the verge of tears.
"You're damn right I wouldn't!"
"I'm sorry
."
"Not half as sorry as I am. I can't
believe
you, Eddie. My
God!"
"I'm sorry
."
I reached out for her.
"Don't!" she blurted and scooted away from me,
her glass and the squirt cheese in her hands, the box
of Ritz crackers resting on her lap. The Ritz
box tumbled off. Crackers spilled out on the
cushion between us.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have asked
."
"But you did. You did
."
Leaning forward, she slammed her glass and the squirt
cheese onto the table. Then she got to her feet.
"I'll be going now
."
"No, wait. You can't. .
."
"Just watch
."
She hurried around the end of the coffee table, but I
leaped to my feet and intercepted her. I grabbed her
by both upper arms.
Instead of struggling to free herself, she stood motionless
and stared me in the eyes. In a steady voice, she
said, "Let go
."
"I only asked because I care about you
."
"You think I'd
keep
something like that from you? You think I'd let you
touch
me if any of those filthy pigs had
"No. No, I don't
."
"The hell you don't. You must think I'm
a real prize. Just 'cause I put out for you a
couple of times, you've got me mistaken for some
sorta hot-to-trot piece of ass like Holly
who'd rather have a hot cock in her pussy than . .
."
She cut off her words and stared at me. Her mouth
hung open. Her eyes glimmered with tears.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
Though stunned, I shook my head as if what she'd
said about Holly didn't matter.
And it didn't matter nearly as much as what I
needed to tell her: "When I went back under the
bridge to get your stuff, I found a body. One
of the guys who attacked you
."
She gaped at me.
"What do you mean, "a body"? Like a
dead
body
?"
"Or unconscious. I don't know. But he ...
he looked as if he'd . . . you know,
been
in someone
."
"What do you mean
?"
"It was wet
."
"Didn't get that way from me
."
"Or from me," I said.
She gave me a sad little smirk. Then she stepped
against me. It was a good, familiar feel. Arms
around me, she lowered her face into the curve on the
side of my neck. I could feel the wetness of her
tears.
Softly, she said, "So you thought this guy had nailed
me, but you went ahead and put
yours
in me anyway
?"
"Well
"What kind of idiot are
you?"
"An optimistic idiot
?"
She laughed, her body shaking against me. Then she
settled down. We held each other for a long time in
silence.
Later, Eileen rubbed her face dry on the
shoulder of my robe. She sniffed and looked at
me. "This guy under the bridge
?"
she said. "Are you the one who put him out of commission
?"
"Probably. When they were on top of you like that, I
went sort of nuts with my rock. If he's dead,
I'm probably the one who killed him
."
"Oh, boy," she said. "What'll we do
?"
"Nothing
."
"Just pretend it didn't happen
?"
I shook my head. "We don't have to pretend
anything. We just accept that somebody got hurt when
we defended ourselves
."
"Got what he deserved," Eileen said.
"Yeah
."
"But what about the police
?"
"Want to report it
?"
I asked.
"No!"
"Didn't think so
."
"But we don't want them coming after us, either. What
if we left something behind
?"
Her shirt and panties.
"I don't think we did," I said. "I searched
around pretty good when I went back
."
"I'm still missing a couple of things
."
"I know. But they weren't there
."
She stared me in the eyes and said, "I think we'd
better go back
."
That was not what I wanted to hear.
"It was pitch-black under there," she said.
"I used your matches
."
"We've got to go back with a good
flashlight
."
"Now
?"
"The sooner the better. Before someone reports the
body. In fact, what we
really
should do is get rid of it. Make it go away
."
"You're kidding, right
?"
"If nothing else," she said, 'we both
bled
down there. If the cops do any kind of real
homicide investigation, they'll pick up samples
of our blood. And your semen
."
I was feeling worse by the word.
"We probably left footprints, too," she
said. "God knows what else. Like maybe your
fingerprints on the murder weapon
."
"It was a rock
."
"Any smooth surfaces
?"
"I don't think so. Anyway, maybe the guy
isn't even dead
."
"But if he is, he's down there in a crime scene
jammed
with evidence against us
."
For the next hour or so, we talked about what to do.
We ate more cheese and crackers and drank more rum
and Coke. Though I made the drinks light, I
felt a little high by the time we were done talking.
In my bedroom, we got dressed. I had enough
clean clothes for both of us. Eileen wore her own
shoes, but brown corduroy trousers that belonged
to me, and the same dark blue sweatshirt that I'd
worn during my adventures the night before. I
dressed myself in a chamois shirt, jeans and the
Reeboks.
I decided to leave my wallet behind, but I
pocketed my Swiss Army knife. As I took
my five-inch Maglite off the night stand, Eileen
said, "Too bad you didn't have
that
with you
."
"Didn't know we'd be going under a bridge
."
"Is this the best flashlight you've got
?"
"The only one I've got. It's pretty good,
though
."
I found a dark blue knit cap for Eileen, a
Yankee ballcap for myself.
"What about gloves
?"
Eileen asked.
"Ball mitts
?"
Like I said, I'd had a few.
"Like rubber gloves or something. Dishwashing gloves
?"
I shook my head.
"Glove gloves
?"
she asked.
I shrugged.
"What do you do in winter
?"
"Put my hands in my pockets
."
"Ah. Then that's it, I guess
."
With that, she pulled her hat on.
We went to the door. Before opening it, I turned
to her. "We sure we wanta do this
?"
"I think we have to
."
She looked very cute in the stocking cap, her hair
stuffed inside it so that she looked boyish. She had
a pale crumb of Ritz cracker at the left
corner of her mouth, adhering to the down above her lip.
With a fingertip, I brushed it away.
She leaned forward and gave me a kiss that was brief
but soft and warm.
"Let's get it over with," she said. "I don't
want to be late for my ten o'clock
."
"I hope that's a joke
."
"No joke
."
"Whatever we're gonna do," I said,
"we'd better have it done before sunrise
."
"Oh, I know that
."
She opened the door.
We had the hallway to ourselves. On the way
downstairs, I worried about encountering the Fishers.
We found their door shut, however, and hurried past
it and got out of the building without being seen.
We had already decided on a route . . . one that
would keep us at least a block from campus until
the very end.
We walked quickly.
A cool breeze was blowing. It had the strange,
moist smell that only comes 'in the dead waste and
middle of the night
."
I'd been out on the streets
last
night at this hour, and later. In trouble even then, but
in more trouble now.
What the hell's happened to my life? I
wondered.
The answer was easy.
Holly.
Holly had broken my heart. She was why I'd
started my night wandering. She was why Eileen had come
into my life, and Eileen had drawn in Randy and led
me down into the darkness under the bridge where the trolls
got us ... and I got one of them.
Thanks a lot, Holly.
But maybe it's more Eileen's fault than
Holly's.
Eileen's only in this because Holly dumped me.
Maybe I ought to be
thanking
Holly for bringing Eileen into my life.
Maybe not.
One thing's for sure, I thought; Holly deserves
credit for the mystery girl. I never would've seen her
if Holly hadn't smashed my world.
I
wonder where she is?
Probably a few miles to the north.
Strolling down a sidewalk? Sneaking into a house?
Maybe keeping her rendezvous with the tequila
drinking woman I'd watched in the kitchen?
What if Randy gets his hands on her?
It's Eileen he wants.
Too bad, asshole, the trolls beat you
to the punch.
No, they only tried.
Where's
Randy
now? I wondered.
Right behind us.
Wouldn't that be terrific?
I had an urge to look over my shoulder, but fought
it off. For one thing, Eileen would question me about it. For
another, what if he's actually back there?
As I walked along beside Eileen, I felt more and
more certain that someone was following us.
I dared not look back.
Words from a poem crept into my mind:
"Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in
fear and dread, And having once turned round walks
on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a
frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread
."
How apt! I thought.
Wordsworth? No, I'd never read much Wordsworth
till this semester. Poe? I didn't think so.
I'd memorized several of Poe's poems, but this
didn't seem to be from any of them.
Coleridge!
Almost for sure.
It felt
like Coleridge. I knew only three Coleridge
poems by heart, "Christabel," "Kubla
Khan," and "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
."
This definitely wasn't "Kubla Khan
."
I gave Eileen's hand a squeeze. She looked
at me, and I recited the verse.
"Thanks for creeping me out," she said, smiling.
"It just popped into my head
."
"Can't imagine why
."
"Does it ring a bell
?"
" "It is an ancient Mariner, and he stoppeth
one of three.""
"Ah! Okay. Thanks. I thought it might be
"Christabel.""
" "Mariner.""
"I should've known
."
""Instead of the cross, the Albatross
about my neck was hung
."
his
"Nice poem for a night I killed someone
."
Eileen squeezed my hand. "If he's dead,
we'll deal with it
."
"If you say so
."
"One way or another
."
"What do you mean
?"
I asked.
"Well, we'll have to see what's feasible. Maybe
we can take him for a drive, dump him somewhere
outside of town. Maybe in Gunther Woods
."
"Is your car working
?"
"Got a new battery. It's fine now. I've
been thinking maybe we bring him up closer to the
road, then go get my car and put him in the trunk
."
I imagined us trying to carry the dead, naked bum
up to the road.
Without gloves.
"I don't know," I muttered.
"We'll see," said Eileen.
After taking a very circuitous route, we came upon
the Old Mill Stream a block east of the
Division Street bridge. As we descended its
embankment, I realized I'd forgotten for quite a
while to worry about anyone following us.
Nobody was following us, I thought.
Oh, yeah?
Now I was worried again.
When we reached the shore of the stream, I whispered,
"Let's wait here a minute and make sure
nobody's coming
."
"Was someone behind us
?"
"Not that I know of. Just wanta be careful
."
Nodding slightly, Eileen whispered, "Nothing
wrong with a healthy dose of paranoia when returning
to a crime scene
."
We crouched among some bushes. Eileen put an
arm across my back, and I could feel her breast against
the side of my arm.
Breath tickling my ear, she whispered, "If
somebody's following us, I hope it ain't one a
them frightful fiends
."
"You and me both
."
For a while after that, we were silent and listening. I
heard the breeze in the leaves around us. I heard a
car, but it sounded far away. Now and then, a bird
twittered. An owl hooted. Something small
scurried over the ground somewhere up the embankment from
us.
I was aware, every moment, of Eileen's breast touching
my arm. I could feel its warmth through the layers of
my shirt and her sweatshirt. I felt its slight
movement each time she breathed in or out.
Is she doing this on purpose to get me excited?
I wondered.
At least it's taking my mind off our troubles.
"I don't think anyone's coming," she whispered.
"Ready to go
?"
"Might as well get it over with
."
When we stood up, the side of my arm lost her
warmth and felt chilly.
I took the lead. We walked along a path by the
shore of the stream. Though I held my flashlight
ready. I kept it off.
We walked in silence.
Soon, the Division Street bridge came
into sight. The area underneath it looked black.
We can't go under there, I thought. The others might've
come back by now.
At least I've got a flashlight this time.
Not very far from the bridge at all, I stopped and
studied the area. Because we were approaching from the
opposite side, everything looked much the same, but
reversed, as if I were observing my memories of
earlier that night in a mirror.
It was different in other ways, too. No lovers were
lingering by the parapet. No cars were going by. And the
approach to the blackness below the bridge was more
cluttered with foliage than it had been on the
opposite side.
To enter, we would need to force our way through tangles
of bushes. Or wade in the stream.
Either way, I thought, they'll probably hear us
coming.
I turned to Eileen and whispered. "How about calling
it quits
?"
"How about going to jail
?"
"I just think we might be pressing our luck
."
"Just think how great we'll feel after it's taken
care of
."
"I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this
."
"It'll be fine. We've got the flashlight
."
"Yeah
."
"If anyone's in there . . . anyone
alive . . .
we'll take off like bats outa hell
."
"I suppose
."
"It'll be all right
."
"I sure hope so
."
"Why don't you give me the flashlight and I'll
go first
?"
"Nah, that's all right
."
Not waiting for any more suggestions, I turned away
and headed for the dark passageway under the bridge.
I felt tight and heavy inside. My heart
hammered. My penis retreated and my scrotum
shriveled. My bowels squirmed.
This is
not
a good idea, I thought.
But I kept moving, anyway.
Being a guy isn't always a picnic. To keep
women from thinking we're jerks or cowards -- and
consequently scorning or dumping us
- we do what they want us to do. Even when we
don't want to do it. Even when we know better.
I knew
this
was a bad idea.
But I'd already voiced my objections and Eileen still
thought we should go through with it.
Okay. Let's just see.
I started trudging through a waist-high thicket. It
snagged my jeans, rustled and crackled. Dry
leaves crunched under my shoes. Twigs snapped.
They'll hear us coming a mile away.
I halted. Eileen put a hand on my back and
stopped behind me. I turned the flashlight on.
Its beam drove a narrow, widening tube of brightness
into the black, lighting air and ground, the stream,
rags and an old mattress and mashed cans and
broken bottles.
But no naked man sprawled on the ground.
No people at all.
Until I swept the beam a small distance to the
left. Near the far end of its reach, it dimly
illuminated a low, squatting circle of men.
Hairy, filthy, bloody.
All of them looking at us.
Chewing.
Blood spilling from their mouths.
Behind my back, Eileen grunted with shock and
despair and horror as if she'd just watched a panda
get beheaded.
I shut off the flashlight fast.
Eileen whispered, "Fucking shit
."
Whirling around, I gasped, "Let's go!"
They didn't get us. I don't really think they
tried very hard. We heard them scurrying and grunting
behind us for probably less than a minute. When we
climbed the embankment, they apparently quit. . .
not willing to risk being seen by whomever else might be
up and about at such an hour.
Eileen and I kept running. We ran for blocks
and blocks, gasping for breath, often glancing back,
our shoes slapping the pavement of sidewalks and
streets. A few times, we ducked out of sight
to hide from approaching cars.
Mostly, though, we just kept running. I hardly
paid attention to where we were . . . just so we were running
away
from the bridge. Then Eileen hit my arm and pointed
across an empty parking lot toward a
Speed-D-Mart and laundromat, both open
24 hours a day.
"Come on," she gasped.
As we ran through the parking lot, I thought she wanted
us to go inside one place or the other ...
to get off the streets and hide? Then I spotted
our destination; a pair of pay phones between the
entrances.
The narrow walkway in front of them was empty.
Unusual, I thought.
Though I'd been disoriented for a while, I now
knew where we were. I'd used this
Speed-D-Mart myself many times. And there were usually
panhandlers loitering nearby, shuffling along with hands
out, murmuring requests for money.
Not tonight, though.
Bet I know where
they
are, I thought. Having a little midnight snack.
It's way past midnight.
Instead of snatching up one of the phones, Eileen
turned around and slumped against the wall. She panted
for breath. She wiped her face with a sleeve.
"You okay
?"
I whispered.
"You kidding?
Jeezus!
You see what they were doing
?"
"I think so
."
"Jeezus!"
"Well, we left "em in the dust
."
"They were
eating
him
."
"Looked that way
."
"Yaaahr
"It's all right. We got away
."
"We've gotta call the cops," she gasped.
"Maybe they can get "em
."
"I hope so
."
"It's okay with you
?"
"Yeah
."
"I don't think we ... need to worry about . . .
getting blamed
."
I nodded. Any evidence of me or Eileen at the
crime scene would be insignificant, if not
obliterated entirely by the gang of trolls.
"I'll do it," Eileen said. She pushed herself off
the wall and lurched over to one of the phones.
"I don't think we have any change," I said.
"Doesn't matter. You can . . . don't need it
to call the cops
."
"Oh
."
I hadn't known that.
She picked up a handset and tapped nine-one-one
on the keypad.
"Anonymous
?"
I asked.
She nodded. "Is this a bad idea
?"
"I think we have to
."
"Yes," she said into the mouthpiece. "Somebody's
getting murdered down by the Mill Stream under the
Division Street bridge
."
She hung up. "There
."
She picked up the handset again. Holding it in the
sleeve of her sweatshirt, she quickly rubbed its
surfaces. Then she hung up again. With a sleeve,
she wiped the keypad. "Let's get out of here
."
We ran around the nearest corner and down the block.
After turning the next corner, we slowed to a walk.
We were both huffing for air. Eileen took hold of
my hand. We walked quickly, not talking, keeping
watch on the area around us.
Once, we hid when a car approached. We
didn't hide again, however, until we were just around the
corner from my apartment. Beside us was the churchyard's
wrought-iron fence. "Let's go in here," I
whispered.
Eileen looked behind us.
"Come on
."
I pulled her hand.
"What
?"
"Just wanta make sure
."
I thought she might resist, but she stayed with me as
I led her through the gateway of the old cemetery. The
church in front of us looked dark at every window. The
graveyard was illuminated only by the dim glow from
nearby streetlights. Through
the bars of the fence, I could see the sidewalk where
we'd just been.
"What're we doing
?"
Eileen whispered as we hurried among the
tombstones.
Most of them weren't large enough for us to hide behind.
"Here
."
Near the fence was a vault the size of a small shed.
We crouched down behind it.
"What're we doing here
?"
Eileen asked again.
"Just want to make sure nobody's following us
."
"Did you see anyone
?"
"No
."
"Thank God for that, anyway
."
In silence, she looked around the graveyard. We
had our backs to the vault, but both of us were
squatting like catchers behind home plate, not leaning
against it.
Though I didn't watch the sidewalk, we were near
enough to hear anyone walking by.
Or pedaling by?
It isn't the bike hag I'm worried about, I
thought. It's the trolls from under the bridge. Or
Randy.
"We could've picked a different place,"
Eileen whispered.
"Sorry
."
"Bone orchards aren't my idea of a good time
."
"Lots of good hiding places, though
."
"Yeah. No telling who
else
might be hiding here
."
"We'll be fine," I told her.
We went silent. She put a hand on my back.
It felt warm through my shirt. After a while, she
said, "I wonder what's happening under the bridge
right now
."
"Cops must be there
."
"Yeah
."
"Hope they went in force
."
"The trolls are probably long gone
."
I nodded, certain Eileen was right.
"Think they were really eating him
?"
she asked.
"Looked that way
."
"How
could
they
?"
"It happens
."
"Right under the bridge? That's on
campus,
for godsake
."
"It probably doesn't happen every night
."
"Nobody's
missing,"
she said. "Not that I know of. We'd hear about it if
anyone disappeared
."
"Maybe they only eat their own
."
"Ooof
."
"Anyway, maybe that's
not
what we saw. We only got a glimpse
."
"I guess it'll be on the radio first," she said.
"The radio gets everything first
."
"Can't wait
."
"Whatever happens," she said, "we play
ignorant
."
"Right
."
"The cops have no reason to suspect us of anything
."
"We're a little beat up," I reminded her.
"If they question us, we'll give them the story we
gave Kirkus. But they won't. Nobody'll
even notice we're banged up except a few
students and maybe some faculty, and we can tell
them anything we want
."
"Sounds good
."
"But we'd better work on the story we told
Kirkus. Come up with details so we'll be able
to get our stories straight
."
"Where'd we say it happened
?"
I asked.
"Let's wait till we get inside
."
"Sure
."
"Can we go inside
now?"
"Maybe give it a few more minutes
."
"I have to pee
really
badly, Ed. And I'm wearing your pants
."
"Ah. Okay. I guess we can go in
."
We stood up and looked around. Then, holding hands,
we walked through the graveyard to the place where we'd
entered. I leaned out the gateway.
Nobody was in sight.
So we left and went around the corner and past the
front of the church and up the walkway to the front
door of my apartment building. I unlocked the
door. We went inside.
The Fishers' door was shut.
The upstairs hallway was dim and deserted. I
unlocked my door and we entered my room. When the
door was shut, Eileen wrapped her arms around me
and whispered, "Safe
."
When I woke up Thursday morning, I raised
my head off the pillow and looked at the clock on
the nightstand.
10:32
I rolled the other way. Eileen's side of the bed
was empty.
Considering what we'd been through last night, I'd
thought she might cut her ten o'clock class. She
must've gotten up and gone to it, though.
I imagined her sitting at a desk in the English
building. I wasn't sure which class she had, so
I didn't imagine a teacher. Just Eileen sitting
there, her face bruised and scratched. I pictured
her rubbing her eyes. Yawning. How much sleep
did she get, maybe three hours?
I wondered what she was wearing. Had she gone back
to the sorority house for clean clothes of her own?
Or did she go to class in my corduroy trousers
and sweatshirt from last night? With no bra on?
Imagining her breasts loose under the sweatshirt, I
started getting hard.
No panties, either?
A troll got her panties.
Trolls suddenly swarmed through my mind,
sickening me, scaring me, shrinking me. Knowing the
torment would continue so long as I remained in bed,
I threw the sheet aside and climbed out.
As I put my robe on, the comfortable aroma of
coffee reached me. Eileen must've brewed a pot
before leaving.
I went into the bathroom, used the toilet, then
hurried to the kitchen. On the table, a sheet of lined
notebook paper was standing up like a pup tent. The
side facing me had handwriting on it.
I picked up the paper and read it:
Dear Eddie,
As you may have realized by now, I decided not to miss
my ten o'clock class. We must keep up appearances
so as to avoid arousing suspicion.
We ought to go about our respective lives as if
nothing has happened. (in other words, you should
attend your regular classes, too.)
For the sake of not drawing any undue attention
to ourselves, I think it would be best if we stay apart
for a period of time, Let's give our faces an
opportunity to heal before we allow ourselves to be seen
again side by side.
This won't be easy, but I think it might be the
smart thing to do, as we do NOT want anyone
to suspect we were involved in any way with what
happened last night.
I will miss you so much, Eddie. Please do not
mistake this note for any sort of "brush-off
."
In no way am I trying to dump you. I feel so
very good when we're together.
Hope you sleep late and wake up missing me.
Talk to you later.
All my love, Me PS Burn after reading.
I smiled when I read the PS. Then I filled
a mug with coffee, sat at the table and read her
note again. It made a lot of sense to go about our
lives as if nothing were wrong. It also made sense
to stay away from each other until our faces looked
better.
But her denial that this was a 'brush-off made me
worry that it might be exactly that, or a
preliminary move in that direction.
Why did she even bring it up?
Just to reassure me, probably. Just to remind me
that she's not Holly.
Several times, I reread the line, "I feel so very
good when we're together
."
She'd closed the letter, "All my love
."
It's pretty obvious how she feels, I thought.
She loves me. She doesn't want to stay away
from me, just thinks it's necessary to avoid arousing
suspicion.
Unless she's lying.
She's not lying, I told myself. She's not
Holly. If I start thinking they're all like
Holly, I'm screwed.
Eileen means what she says.
Probably.
I hid her note, then came back into the kitchen,
turned on the radio and poured myself another mug of
coffee. Rush Limbaugh was on, talking about
Bill and Hillary and obstruction of justice.
We'd done a little obstructing of our own, I
thought... at least to the extent that we didn't
report everything we knew. We'd conspired to do more,
but the trolls had saved us from that.
Oughta send them a thank you.
Dear Friends,
Just a quick note to express my gratitude for the
way you all
pitched in and cleaned up our mess last
night. Next time, I'll
provide the wine. Perhaps a nice Merlot.
Bon appetit!
Eddie
I smiled, but felt raunchy about it.
Next time?
There won't be a next time, fellows. You're
probably all in jail by now.
Rush's program broke for news, weather, and a
load of commercials. I sat at the table and stared
at the radio, listening, hardly daring to breathe.
The news at the top of the hour regularly covered
major latebreaking stories on the international,
national, state and local levels.
For a local story, half a dozen homeless guys
cannibalizing one of their pals under a campus
bridge ought to qualify.
There was no mention of it.
At six minutes after eleven, the break ended and
Rush came back.
I gaped at the radio.
How could they not cover a story like that?
All sorts of possibilities swirled through my
mind: the cops had kept quiet about it (possibly
to avoid freaking out the good citizens of
Willmington); nobody had been sent to the scene in
response to Eileen's call; she hadn't actually
talked to a 911 operator; the cops had gone to the
wrong bridge; or they'd gone to the correct
bridge, but found no mutilated body, no
evidence of murder.
Another possibility: a couple of cops
might've gone to the correct bridge and gotten
ambushed by the trolls. I strongly doubted that one,
though. The dispatcher would've known where they went. If
they failed to report in, all sorts of back-up
would've poured into the area.
The news story then would've been enormous.
So what
is
going on? I wondered.
I had a couple of hours before my Shakespeare
seminar, so I decided to head for campus early and
do some looking around.
It was a wonderful October day, chilly and fresh,
sunny, the air carrying a scent of woodsmoke.
I wore jeans and a chamois shirt,
my Yankees cap and sunglasses. The cap and
sunglasses made me feel like a cliche1. They
did, however, conceal some of my injuries.
Most of the people I passed on my way to campus and
then through the quad paid no attention to me: they were
hurrying toward urgent destinations, or ambling along
and chit-chatting with friends, or dwelling deep in their
own thoughts of glory, disgrace, nooky, or what have
you. A few of them noticed me and nodded. I nodded
and smiled in return.
Walking through the campus, I looked for signs that
an alarming story was on the loose. I saw only
the usual. Some students and faculty bopped along
eagerly. Others seemed blas`e". This one looked
frantic, that one smug, this one blissful, that one
petulant, this one cheerfully confident.
Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be going on.
Then Stanley Jones came striding my way. He
was a fellow English major, so we'd been in
several classes together. I'd even visited his
apartment a few times last year when we were
collaborating on a project about Edgar Allan
Poe. He lived on the same block as
Kirkus. Therefore, he couldn't reach campus without
crossing Division Street.
As he approached, I said, "Hey there, Stanley
."
Though he'd been looking glum, he
raised his head and smiled when he heard my voice.
"Hey, Ed
."
"How goes it
?"
"SOS
."
(translation: "Same old shit
."
were Then his eyebrows flew up. "What happened to
you?"
"What do you mean
?"
"You get stomped or something
?"
""My head is bloody, but unbowed.""
"Shit, man
."
"Actually, I crashed and burned playing
Frisbee yesterday. Ran into a tree
."
"It messed you up, man."
"You should've seen the tree
."
Stanley laughed and shook his head. Then
he frowned. "Hey, tough about Holly
."
I hadn't expected that. It felt like a heat bomb
exploding in my chest. "Thanks," I muttered.
"Really sucks
."
"Yeah
."
"Shit
."
"Yeah
."
Grimacing, he said, "But you know what they say:
can't live
with
"em, can't shoot 'em
."
I'd heard it before, but I laughed a little anyway.
Then I asked, "Who says so
?"
Which got a pretty good laugh from Stanley.
"Right on," he said. "Anyway, I gotta
haul ass over to the library. See you later, huh
?"
"Right
."
"Watch out for low-flying aspens
."
"Good one, Stan
."
He continued on his way.
Tough about Holly.
Thanks for the reminder, pal.
He was just trying to be nice, I told myself. But
I felt the loss of her all over again for a while.
It might've lasted a lot longer, but the bench came
into sight.
The bench, nearly hidden among the trees, was where
Eileen and I had left our books last night before
descending the embankment and going under the bridge.
Give it a quick look, make sure we didn't
forget anything.
I started toward it, then changed my mind.
I've gotta act like everyone else. The worst thing
I can do is draw attention to myself.
I stayed on the walkway and continued striding along
as if I had someplace to go. Someplace east of
campus. Someplace on the other side of Division
Street.
I looked straight ahead. I looked
to my right. I looked up and down. But I didn't
look to the left.
Not until I stood at the curb of Division
Street.
Before crossing, a person is
supposed
to look both ways.
I did so. And when I finally turned my head to the
left, I saw not a single police car.
No cars or vans or trucks or vehicles of
any kind at all were stopped on the bridge or
anywhere near it.
I saw Eileen once that afternoon. I was on my way
to Shakespeare, climbing the stairs toward the
second floor of the English building when she came
trotting down the stairs, her books and binders
hugged to her chest.
She was indeed wearing my university sweatshirt and
corduroy trousers. No hat, no sunglasses.
She'd made no attempt at all to hide her
injuries.
She had one black eye. She wore a small
bandage above her left eyebrow, another on her right
cheekbone, another on her jaw. She had a
swollen, split lip, a bruise on her
chin and a bruise on her left cheekbone.
When we converged on the stairway, others were above and
below us. She met my eyes, flashed me a quick
smile and trotted on down. I felt a soft
puff of breeze as she passed me.
I wanted to turn around and watch her a while
longer, but resisted the urge.
The afternoon edition of the local newspaper mentioned
nothing about a murder under the Division Street
bridge or anywhere else in town.
The five o'clock news said nothing about any killing
whatsoever in the peaceful community of Willmington.
What gives? I wondered. It
did
happen, didn't it?
At about seven o'clock that evening, I was studying at my
kitchen table when the telephone rang. I jumped.
My heart lurched. Frightened, I hurried to the
phone and picked it up. "Hello
?"
"Hi, honey
."
Eileen's voice.
Honey.
"Hi. How's it going
?"
"I don't know. Not bad, considering. Strange,
though. I'm glad I at least got to
see
you today
."
"Same here. You had my clothes on
."
"Hope you don't mind
."
"I like it
."
"They're nice and comfy. My own things are all
messed up . . . what's left of them. I threw
them in your hamper, by the way
."
"Fine. Maybe I'll do a wash tonight
."
"Do you know how to get bloodstains out
?"
"Not exactly
."
"Maybe I'd better take care of it
."
"Coming over
?"
I asked.
"Not tonight. Did you read my note
?"
"Yeah
."
"I think the less we're seen together, the better.
I mean, we're both pretty messed up. Our
faces
."
"What've you been telling people
?"
"My boyfriend beat me up
."
"Huh
?"
She laughed. It sounded good. "What about you
?"
she asked.
"I've been saying Kirkus tried to bugger me
."
She laughed even harder. "Oh, that's awful,
Eddie. You should be ashamed of yourself
."
"Oh, I am, I am. What I
actually said is that I ran into a tree chasing a
Frisbee
."
"That's pretty good. In my story, I fell out
of a tree
."
"What were you doing in a tree
?"
"A kid's kite got stuck in it. Over at the
park? So I climbed up to set it free for him
."
"That was very heroic of you
."
"I know. I'm a wonderful person
."
"We both have a tree motif," I pointed out.
"Great minds," she said.
There was a pause.
"So," she said, 'd you suppose anyone's listening
in
?"
"Not likely
."
"Not that it matters. I mean, we didn't really do
anything wrong. Right
?"
"Right," I said.
If you don't count me probably killing a guy.
Plus a small conspiracy to destroy the evidence.
"Have you noticed," she asked, 't nobody seems
to know anything about it
?"
"I noticed, all right
."
" "Tis passing strange.""
"More than "passing.""
"Maybe the cops thought my call was a prank
."
"Maybe that's it."
"I mean, I've thought about this
a lot,"
she said, 'and nothing makes sense. I think they either
didn't
send
any cops to the bridge or the cops showed up but
couldn't find anything wrong
."
"A good chance it's one or the other," I said.
"You know . . . his Shit! This isn't good. I
wanted those guys
in
jail, you know
?"
"Me, too
."
"That bridge ... I go across it every day . . .
two, four,
six
times a day. And at
night.
Are they under there every night
?"
"I don't know
."
"I took the long way around to get home this afternoon.
I mean, I don't want to walk across that bridge
anymore. But they might be under
any
bridge, you know? And where are they during the
day
?"
"Wandering around begging for money, I suppose
."
Eileen was silent for a few seconds. Then she
said, "What're we going to do
?"
"Well, they don't seem to be grabbing people off the
streets. We would've heard about it
."
"We haven't heard about
this,"
she said.
"I know, but the guy last night was one of their own.
If a student got snatched, we'd never hear the
end of it
."
"That's true, I guess
."
"So I don't think we need to worry too much.
As far as we know, the only reason they . . .
bothered
that guy was because he was already dead
."
"If he
was
dead
."
"Yeah
."
It was nice to think that maybe I
hadn't
killed him.
stHis
never know for sure.
"So what should we do about them
?"
Eileen asked.
"Stay out from under bridges
."
"That's a given. But do you think we should try calling
the police again
?"
"If you want to. I don't see much point in
it, though. We called last night when it mattered.
If they didn't take care of it then . . .
maybe we oughta just figure they missed their chance.
At this point, we're probably better off if
they
never
find out about last night
."
"You think we should just stay out of it
?"
"Pretty much. It was one thing, you know, when they had
a chance of catching the trolls red-handed. That
won't happen now. Too much time's gone by
."
"They probably scattered right after we got
away," Eileen said.
"Right. And by now, there's been time for them to go back and
clean the place up
."
What if they left the remains of the body, cleaned
up after themselves but left Eileen's shirt and
panties there for the cops to find?
Would they be sneaky enough to do a thing like that?
"I just hate to leave it this way," Eileen said.
"What if somebody else goes under the bridge like
we did, and
they
end up getting . . . you know, attacked by those people
?"
Something suddenly occurred to me. "You know what?
"Those p8w probably stay away from there for
months.
They know they were seen
."
"That's true," Eileen said. "I bet you're right
."
"Wanta go under and look around
?"
"Oh, sure, the very moment hell freezes over
."
I wondered if I should go under just to see what they'd
left behind. The idea of it terrified me.
Not a chance, I thought.
But I
should.
I won't.
"Not to change the subject," I said, "but how
long do you want to stay away from me
?"
"I don't
want
to stay away from you at all. I just think it'll be the
wise thing to do. Don't you
?"
"I guess so
."
In a voice lower than before, she said, "I already
miss you
."
"I miss you, too
."
"We'll have to just be phone friends for a while
."
"It's not the same," I said.
"I know. I'm sorry
."
"Not your fault
."
"In a way, it is. It was my big idea to go under
the bridge last night. If we hadn't done that,
none of this would be happening
."
"It was worth it
."
She made a quiet laugh. "Think so
?"
"Sure
."
"You're so . .
."
The way her voice went, I knew she was starting
to cry.
"It's all right," I told her. "Everything's
fine. We'll just stay apart for a few days ...
till our faces heal up, right
?"
"Right," she said.
"Then we'll be back together and everything will be fine and
we'll stay out from under bridges forever
."
"Uh-uh
."
"In the meantime," I said, 'this'll give us a
chance to catch up on our studies
."
She sniffed. "And our sleep
."
"Exactly
."
By the time we hung up, we were both still in agreement
on the two major issues: we wouldn't give the
police another call and we would stay away from each
other for the next several days.
I stared at the phone and sighed.
I missed Eileen badly. I missed the sound of
her voice and the look of her and the feel of her. I
wanted her here in my apartment. Sitting on the sofa
with me. Sipping wine. Wearing maybe my robe and
nothing at all underneath it.
But since that was not to be ...
My heart racing with excitement, I went into my
bedroom and set my alarm clock for
11:00 p.m. Then I shut off the light, took
off my clothes and climbed into bed. The sheets were
cold at first, then warm.
For a while, I felt too agitated to sleep.
Too many thoughts, some exciting, some unpleasant, were
swirling through my mind.
Calm down, I told myself. Just settle down and
fall asleep and eleven'll be here before you know it.
I slept hard. When the alarm blared at eleven
o'clock, I shut it off and considered getting out of bed.
Forget it, I thought. I need a full night of
sleep. I need
several
full nights of sleep.
Anyway, it's too dangerous out there.
"And every fiend, as in a dream, Doth stalk the
lonesome night
."
I didn't know where the lines came from, but they sounded
like Coleridge.
Eileen might be able to identify them.
She's not here.
That's the point, I realized. That's why I set the
alarm, to wake me up to go wandering, to go looking for the
mystery girl.
Do I really want to do that? It's bad out there.
Too damn many fiends. I just need to go back
to sleep.
Go out tomorrow night. Better yet, don't. Who
needs it?
If I keep going out, they'll get me.
But if I
don't
go out, I'll never see
her
again.
I didn't see her last night. I won't see
her tonight, either, if I stay in where it's nice and
safe.
Suddenly, sleepy no more, excited and frightened
instead, I climbed out of bed. My room was
chilly. I shivered as I hurried into my clothes.
Downstairs, the Fishers" door stood open.
Oh, great.
What am I, their entertainment?
I ought to move out, I thought. Find myself a place
where I can come and go without a couple of spies keeping
track of my every movement.
Face forward, I raised my hand hi greeting and
walked quickly past their doorway. On my
way by, I heard Andy Kaufman doing his
Latka voice. A
Taxi
rerun.
When their doorway was behind me, I picked up my
pace. I didn't look back. As I turned the
corner to the foyer, however, my peripheral vision
picked up someone back near their room. A Fisher
. I couldn't tell which -- was watching me from the
doorway. He or she didn't speak.
Take a picture, I thought. It lasts longer.
I hurried through the foyer, worried that the Fisher
might ask me to come back.
No call to go rushing off. Come on back and chat a
spell.
Thanks, but no thanks.
I got outside. Even as I put space between
myself and the building, I imagined being called back
to their door.
Say, what're you up to, going out at this hour?
Say, what happened to your face there?
"None of your business, folks," I muttered.
You shouldn't oughta go off roaming by yourself this time of
night, I
imagined the old man warning me.
Ain't safe. That's when all the fiends come out, you
know, and they're lookin" to give you the works.
Thanks for the warning, I thought. You're telling me
nothing I don't already know.
In truth, I'd already taken certain fiends
into consideration, choosing a route that would keep me west
of Division Street until I was well north of the
bridge.
I would not only stay away from Division until I
was past the bridge, but also past the sorority house.
I didn't need memories of Holly inflicting
themselves on me. Nor did I need Eileen to look
out a window and see me walking by.
The road I followed northward was Fairmont
Street. Like Division, it passed over the Old
Mill Stream. Its bridge looked almost the same
as the other, but older and shabbier. Four light posts
were built into the parapets, two on each side of the
street. They had old-fashioned white globes
over their bulbs. All the globes were intact, but
three were dark.
No cars were coming. No people were anywhere in sight.
They're all
under
the bridge, I thought.
The Division Street bridge might've been
better than this.
I considered turning back, trying another route.
Don't be a wuss.
Approaching the bridge, I quickened my pace.
They probably
are
under this one, I thought. Or maybe hunkered down,
clinging to the other side of the parapet, waiting to leap
over and grab me when I go by.
Why don't
I
just run across it?
Not unless something happens.
As I started across the bridge, I stepped off the
curb and took a
diagonal route to the middle of the street. Then I
walked the center line to keep a lane of pavement
and a sidewalk between me and; either side of the bridge.
Space to see them coming.
Of course, I might get hit by a car. :
Nothing was coming, but that could change in a matter of
seconds. ,
stHis
have plenty of time to get out of the way.
I hurried over the bridge with long, quick strides,
swinging my arms high, watching both sides and
straight ahead, glancing over my shoulder every few
seconds to make sure I was safe from behind.
So far, so good.
I was halfway across when, a couple of blocks up
the street, headlights brightened an intersection. My
stomach tightened.
The unseen car was on a sidestreet. It might
continue straight ahead, turn left or turn right.
Only a left hand turn would bring it in my
direction.
The car stopped at the corner. I could see its
front bumper, but no more. Too many trees and
bushes stood in the way.
Couldn't tell if it was a police car.
Couldn't tell if it was a pickup truck.
If it was either, I didn't want to be seen walking
down the middle of the street. I hurried to the left.
The vehicle moved forward and its headlights swept
an arch of brightness through the intersection as it turned
left.
Not a patrol car or pickup truck, thank
God.
Some sort of dark, medium-sized van.
Hugely relieved, I hopped the curb and strode
along the sidewalk, too close to the parapet for
comfort.
Almost across.
The van was rumbling closer.
I glanced over my shoulder. Nobody was sneaking
up behind me.
The parapet ended. I'd reached the other side of the
bridge slightly nervous but safe and sound.
The van, slowing down, eased toward the curb in
front of me and stopped. In the glow from a nearby
streetlight, I could see that it was black. Its
front passenger window glided down.
Oh, God, what now?
I stopped, remaining on the sidewalk.
The passenger seat appeared to be empty. The
driver leaned toward it, looked out at me and
spoke. Because of the engine noise, I couldn't make
out her words. I shook my head.
" . . . over here," she called.

Shaking my head some more, I took a couple of
steps closer to the van.
" . , . find . . . street. . . know ... it
is
?"
Asking directions? It might be a trick.
The whole town isn't crazy, I told myself.
Maybe this person is really lost.
I stepped to the curb and leaned forward. The woman
behind the wheel had a thin, pale face. Hair as
dark and sleek as oil hung to her shoulders. She
seemed to be wearing a shiny black blouse.
"Sorry," I said. "I couldn't hear you too
well. Where are you trying to go
?"
"Why don't you climb in
?"
Confounded, I didn't know whether to be flattered or
frightened. . . or neither.
"I thought you needed directions," I said.
"Just climb in. I want to ask you something
."
"I can hear you from here
."
"Come on," she said. "What's the matter with you?
I just want to talk to you
."
"About what
?"
She unfastened the top button of her blouse.
"Get in, then I'll tell you
."
"I don't think so
."
"Please
?"
She unfastened another button. Then another.
"Scared
?"
"No
."
Then another. "I bet you're lonely, aren't you
?"
"No
."
"Walking out here all by yourself at this hour
."
"I've got to get going
."
"Why don't you just climb in here with me
?"
She slid the blouse aside.
Everybody's nuts!
I stared at her pale breast and its dark
nipple.
"Now
will you climb in, honey
?"
"Uh, no thanks
."
Through the quiet rumble of the engine noise, I heard
soft laughter. It didn't come from the woman, though.
It came from somewhere behind her in the van and it sounded like
men.
I think I squealed.
I know I ran like hell.
I expected the van to speed after me in reverse, just
as Randy had done a couple of nights earlier. Then
the gal would hit the brakes and the side door would
fly open and her hidden men would leap out and chase me
down.
Nothing like that happened.
As I dashed for the nearest corner, I glanced back
and saw the van take off ... driving forward, its
doors still shut. be
Just some sort of prank? I wondered. Give the
kid a scare?
Sure.
Afraid the van might return, I ran
across the street and around the corner and hid behind the
trunk of a tree. Several minutes to went by.
Maybe I should head for home as soon as it's
safe, I thought. One close call is enough for one
night.
And miss the girl?
I might not be able to find her, anyway. Besides,
it's not worth the risk.
What if I'd gotten into the van? His
Don't even think about it, I told myself. I
didn't
get in; that's what matters. ,
On the other side of the street, a man walked by with a
Great Dane on a leash.
That's what I need, I thought. An enormous,
dangerous dog. Keep the fiends at bay.
The man and his dog vanished around a corner, but I
remained in hiding. The van didn't return. No
other vehicles went by, either. I finally stepped
away from the tree and began to walk in the direction from
which I'd come.
Discretion being the better part of valour . . .
What is
wrong
with this town, anyway?
Maybe there's a lunatic asylum nearby and they
open its doors at night, let all the inmates
run loose in the streets.
Have a good time, darlings. Raise some hell. But you
must be back before sunrise.
Nice.
Might make for an interesting story, I thought.
Sort of far-fetched, but a situation like that would
explain what's wrong. Something
has
to be wrong with this place. Every town isn't like this at
night.
Or maybe they are.
Soon, I found myself approaching the Fairmont
Street bridge. It stood between me and home. I
looked at its empty, shadowed street, its low
stone parapets, and the darkness on both sides.
I would have to cross it sooner or later. This
bridge or another, and God only knew what
might be lurking under any of them.
Nothing will happen, I told myself.
I'd walked across such bridges hundreds of times
in the past couple of years -- often late at night
-- without any trouble.
That was before
I
knew.
We used to joke about trolls lurking under the
bridges, but we never
knew.
Well short of the bridge, I halted, suddenly
reluctant to cross it again.
Aside from whatever fears I had in regard to the
bridge, I hated the idea of being a quitter.
I'd set out to search for the girl. Was I really going
to call it quits because some creeps in a van scared
the hell out of me?
If I quit tonight, I may never see her again.
I
have
to see her, I thought. And talk to her. And find out
her name and why she roams the streets at night and
whether she's lonely and what it's like to be with her.
Shaking my head, I turned my back to the bridge
and left it behind.
I kept a sharp watch. Every so often, the approach
of a person or vehicle forced me to duck out of
sight. As time went on without any more troubling
incidents, however, my courage seemed to grow. I
spent less time hiding, more time hurrying from
block to block.
After making my way northward on Fairmont for
nearly an hour,
1 turned right on a sidestreet. I followed it
to the east and came upon Division Street, then
continued eastward until I arrived at Franklin.
As I found myself nearing region of the mystery girl,
my fears seemed to fade beneath the excitement of
possibly encountering her. Instead of watching all
around me for dangers, I watched for her.
She's
somewhere,
I told myself. If not on this sidewalk, on
another. Or she might be in one of these houses.
Or even crouching behind bushes somewhere, hiding from a
suspected threat.
She might even be hiding from me.
Perhaps I had already walked past her and she'd watched
me from the shadows.
Please don't hide from me.
I told her in my mind.
I'm nobody to fear. I would never hurt you.
At length, I came upon the house that she'd entered
on Monday night. . disthe house where, on Tuesday
night, I'd watched the tequila woman.
I looked toward the kitchen window, but it was dark.
From what I could see as I walked by, the entire
house was, dark.
At the end of the block, I crossed Franklin.
I came back on the other side of the street and
hid among bushes in a front lawn directly!
across from the house. I
My wristwatch showed 12:40.
backslash
Everyone's probably asleep in there, I thought.
But who?
The tequila woman almost certainly lived in the
house.
What about the mystery girl? I'd seen her go in,
but she'd shown up later the same night over on
Division Street. Had she only come here to visit
the tequila woman or some other member of the
household?
Perhaps, I thought. Or perhaps this
is
her house. Monday night, she might've returned
home for something that she needed, sneaked in and grabbed
it, then headed off for her main destination.
I could see a problem with that theory, though. After
watching her go in, I'd hung around for a
while, then walked to Dandi Donuts and spent time
there with Eileen . . .
Where Randy watched
us.
Don't start thinking about him. Get back to the
problem.
Where was I? The girl. The time lapse.
Between the time she entered the house and when I later saw
her on Division Street, more than an hour had
gone by.
Her two locations were only about a five-minute
walk from each other.
An hour, maybe longer, was unaccounted for.
If she'd spent it inside the house, she hadn't just
rushed in to grab something ... or change shoes or go
to the bathroom or take, care of some other simple
matter. She'd been inside too long for' anything
of that sort.
Why would someone return home in the middle of the
night, stay an hour, then leave? What did she do
in there? Take a nap? Take a shower? Bake a
cake?
Make love?
Making love in her own house, then leaving within the
hour,: didn't make sense to me.
I couldn't think of
any
good reason for her to sneak into her own house at that time
of night, stay an hour, then leave.
It's not her house?
But that doesn't mean she isn't in it. She might
be inside right now. Or she might be on her way
over.
I made up my mind to stay put. There was a good
chance she would either show up or leave before too long.
All I needed to do was wait.
I waited. And waited.
Of course, she might be fast asleep in her own
house on some other block. Or she might be having
a maple bar at Dandi Donuts or roaming along
a sidewalk miles away. She might be almost
anywhere.
What if Randy snatched her, gave her the works?
She's fine, I told myself.
Or she's dead under a bridge . . . his
She's fine.
Or captured by the van people . . . his
No. She's fine. But she isn't likely to
stay
fine if ...
I heard a distant engine. It slowly grew
louder. From the rough grumbly noise, it sounded
powerful. It might belong to a truck. Or a
pickup truck.
Randy on the prowl?
Maybe it's the van.
Though I was well hidden among the bushes, my
heart pounded hard as I watched the street in front
of me.
Headlights brightened the pavement.
A police car passed by, moving slowly.
Keep going! I
told it.
Keep going! Keep going!
It did.
When it was gone, I crouched there trembling and sweaty
and breathless.
Oughta be glad it was cops, I thought. They might be
the ones to save my ass if things go really wrong.
A lot of good they did last night.
What
did
they do last night? Did they even
look
under the bridge?
Maybe they're in cahoots with the trolls.
That seemed awfully far-fetched, but sometimes
far-fetched stuff is true.
When they pick up suspects at night, maybe
they take them underneath one of the bridges and turn them
over to the trolls.
Ridiculous. But it might make for a story.
Why would the cops do something like that? For a bottle of
wine? For a piece of the action? A piece of the
person pie?
Got it! The cops kill two birds with one stone:
they eliminate
suspects permanently, plus they keep the
trolls from going after decent folk for fresh meat.
But what do
they
get?
The satisfaction of a job well done.
I chuckled softly.
That makes
two
story ideas. Not bad for one night.
Even if I don't find the girl, this has been a
pretty worthwhile . . .
Across the street, a dark shape drifted
down the porch stairs and cut across the lawn toward the
sidewalk. Out of the shadows, the shape had a light,
springy stride. Behind it, a ponytail bounced and
swung.
I gaped at her, astonished. Though I'd hoped very
much to find her, I hadn't really expected to have an
easy time of it. The search might have taken three or
four nights, or even a week or two. It
might've taken a month. There had also been a real
possibility that I would never see her again at all.
And here she was, coming out of the very house I'd seen her
enter on Monday night.
At the sidewalk, she turned to her right and headed
north on Franklin Street. When she reached the
end of the block, I scurried out of my hiding
place.
What if tequila woman's watching?
Nobody seemed to be on the porch. The front
door appeared to be shut. All the downstairs and
upstairs windows that I could see were dark, and
nobody was visible at any of them, looking out.
If she saw me, it's too late to do anything about
it.
Staying on my side of Franklin, I walked
toward the end of the block.
Tomorrow night, she'll tell the girl.
If not sooner. Maybe she'll tell her on the
phone tomorrow. Or in class. Or at work.
Honey, when you left the house last night I
observed a stranger creep out of the bushes across the
street and commence to follow you.
In my mind, she spoke with a mellow drawl like a
Tennessee Williams character.
You'd best take care. Perhaps you should stay away from
here until the matter has been resolved.
Then again, there was no good reason to assume she'd
seen me. When the time came for the girl to leave, she
might've remained in bed. Or perhaps she had gone
to the kitchen for a nightcap.
In fact, she might've slept through everything. For
all I really knew, someone other than tequila
woman was the object of the girl's visits to the
house.
What if
that
person looked out and saw me?
Nobody saw me!
Probably not, I told myself. But if someone
did,
the girl will probably find out about it tomorrow.
Tonight might be my only chance.
I crossed the street, and we were both on the same
sidewalk.
Though we walked nearly a block apart, the narrow,
straight strip of concrete joined us.
Her pace was more gradual than mine. She strolled
along as if out for no other purpose than to savor
the night. For a while, I allowed myself to close the
gap. Then I slowed down.
As on the night of our first encounter, I felt the
strange awareness that in all the vast reaches of time and
space, she and I were now occupying the same moment and
place.
In so many different ways, we might've missed this
rendezvous.
And yet, here it was.
The forces of chance or nature or God had drawn
us together on this night of all nights of the year. With a
little help from my own determination to find her.
Now what? I wondered.
I wanted to
know
her, not just follow her.
I've gotta get closer.
How? So far, she seemed unaware of my
presence. That wouldn't last for long, however, if I
tried to catch up.
She sees me coming, she'll take off.
Not for the first time in my life, I wished I were
invisible. I would hurry up the sidewalk, stay
only a stride or two behind her for a while to watch
the way she moved, then rush ahead and walk
backward to study the front of her. Unseen, I
would be free to stare at her for as long as I wished.
I wouldn't have to go away, not even when she reached her
home. I could simply go inside and stay with her.
Perhaps she would take a bath before going to bed.
I imagined standing nearby in her bedroom while she
pulled her sweatshirt off.
Yeah, right,
I thought.
In my dreams.
On the off-chance I can't turn invisible, I thought,
what
should
I do?
Instead of closing in from behind, how about making my
approach from the front? That would be less likely
to spook her. Run around the block and get ahead of
her. Maybe even start walking
away
so she's behind
me.
Then I slow my pace. I slow it way down and
she closes in. Maybe.
Great plan, I thought. Better, anyway, than
trying to turn myself invisible.
Moving in the right direction.
Only one little problem. In putting my plan
into effect, I would make the detour and return
to Franklin Street and the girl would be gone. That's
how things work in real life.
Looked good on paper . . .
In fact, she might
not
be gone. There was a good chance she would continue to walk
north on Franklin for a while.
Not if I try to circle around. I'll lose her
for sure.
Better just to hold back and follow her at a safe
distance. See what happens. With any luck,
maybe she'll lead me to her home.
A few minutes later, she crossed Franklin
Street.
Good thing I'd decided not to circle around.
She would've been gone, just as I'd suspected.
Leaving Franklin behind, she headed westward on the
sidestreet. After she walked out of sight, I ran
across Franklin. I slowed to a casual stroll as
I approached the corner. When I came to the end
of the block, I casually turned my head to the right,
then to the left.
The sidewalk was clear.
I
lost her?
Before I had time for dismay, a stir of motion drew
my eyes to her. She was crossing the street, almost
to the other side. Fearing she might glance back, I
looked for cover. The streetlamp posts were too
narrow. So was the trunk of the nearest tree. But a
car was parked at the curb, so I rushed over and
crouched beside it.
A lousy place to hide. It offered me concealment from
the girl, but from not much else.
Peering over its hood, I saw her walk across the
front lawn of an old, two-story house by the
alley. No lights shone in any of the windows. The
porch, too, was dark.
In the glow of the streetlights, she climbed the porch
stairs. Then the shadows consumed her. I
watched for the front door of the house to open. Perhaps a
strip of gray would appear and widen, such as I'd
observed on Monday night.
Perhaps not.
I detected no sign of the door being opened or
shut.
There would be nothing to see, I told myself, if the
house is as dark inside as the porch.
Maybe, however, she didn't open the door at
all.
What if she's still on the porch?
Maybe this isn't where she lives, and she's hiding
on the porch because she fears she's being followed.
"Because she knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind
her tread
."
Caught a glimpse of me following her, maybe,
and thinks
I'm
a fiend. It made me feel ashamed.
I'm not a fiend,
I told her in my mind. I
would never do anything to hurt you. There's no reason in
the world for you to be afraid of me.
Sure, I thought. Right. No reason?
How about I'm
stalking
her? Why shouldn't she be afraid of me? For all
she knows, I might be hoping to abduct her . . .
take her into the woods somewhere (or under a bridge),
and rip off her clothes and do things to make her
scream.
I imagined her in a dark place, hanging by her
wrists, naked and writhing.
I
would never do that,
I told her in my mind.
But she had no way of knowing. She couldn't be blamed
for fearing me.
Is
she watching from the porch?
I felt terribly vulnerable, crouched beside the car.
Somebody might come along. Even now, someone in a
nearby house might be watching me. Maybe the
cops had already been called.
If they don't come out for bloody murder under a
bridge, I thought, they won't come looking for me.
Think not?
I needed to find a better place to hide. But if
the girl was watching from the porch, she would
see me abandon my place by the car and her worst
fears would seem justified. I would lose any chance
of befriending her.
She's probably in the house, I told myself. I
missed her opening the door, that's all.
But if she's on the porch . . .
I heard a car coming. It sounded far away. I
couldn't figure out which direction it was coming from.
Just what I need!
Anyone driving by on Franklin to my right or on the
north-south street to my left (its name escaped
me) would have a chance to see me hiding behind the parked
car.
But if I run off,
she
might see me.
What'll I do?
The sound of the engine grew louder.
Shit oh shit!
The parked car giving me such limited shelter was low
and close to the curb. I couldn't possibly crawl
under it, not from this side.
As headlights brightened the intersection of Franklin
Street, I lay down flat on the grass by the car
and lowered my face against my crossed arms.
Along with the engine sounds and the hiss of the tires on
the pavement, I heard familiar music. Warren
Zevon. "Excitable Boy
."
The sounds grew louder as the car moved through the
intersection.
I raised my head.
A small, pale pickup truck just like Randy's.
I dropped my head and shut my eyes. The
pickup continued through the intersection, heading south on
Franklin.
It might not be Randy's, I told myself. I
hadn't seen the driver, and he probably hadn't
seen me. There must be lots of compact,
light-colored pickup trucks in a town the size
of Willmington.
It was Randy, all right. He's cruising the
streets, looking for me. Looking for Eileen.
How about the mystery girl? I wondered. Would she
do?
It sickened me to think of what Randy might do to the
girl if he ever got the chance.
Does she know about him? Does she watch out for him?
She probably watches out for everybody . . .
including me.
Suddenly realizing that Randy (if that was him) might
circle the block and come for me, I shoved myself up
and ran. I ran across the street and across the lawn and
up the porch stairs. Breathless, heart thudding, I
halted in the darkness of the porch.
The girl didn't seem to be there. Remembering the
old man who'd frightened me so badly, however, I
tiptoed around and checked the porch swing and in all the
patches of blackness where a person might be hiding.
Nobody was on the porch except me.
Afraid that Randy might drive by at any moment,
I sank down in a dark corner with my back to the
railings.
He'll never see me here.
Listening for the approach of his pickup, I heard
only a faint
shhhh
that might've been the noise of distant engines. The
sounds were so indistinct that some might not be coming from cars
or trucks or vans. Perhaps an airplane was
going by, high and far away. Perhaps some of the sound was
the hiss of breezes passing through treetops all
over town.
Randy's pickup was certainly nowhere nearby.
Unless he'd killed the engine.
Maybe he did see me and he's coming back on
foot.
I wished I hadn't thought of that.
I sat motionless and frightened for a while, hardly daring
to breathe. After maybe ten minutes, however, it began
to seem that Randy wouldn't show up.
He probably hadn't seen me, after all Maybe
the pickup truck wasn't even his
As my fears of Randy faded, I turned my mind
to thoughts of the girl She had gone into this very house She
was somewhere inside it at this very moment
If the walls and floors were invisible, she would be in
plain sight Upstairs, probably Maybe in the
bathroom, or maybe in her bed
Had she gone to bed without washing her face? Or
brushing her teeth? Or going to the toilet?
From my corner of the porch, I should have been able to hear
water running through the pipes I'd heard nothing of the
sort
Maybe she finished in the bathroom before I came
over I'd watched the porch from across the street for at
least five minutes, maybe even ten Plenty of
time to scrub the face, brush the teeth and use the
toilet She could've done all that before I arrived
While I'd been searching the porch and
sitting in a corner and worrying about Randy, she
might've gone into her dark bedroom, taken off her
clothes, put on whatever she liked to sleep in, and
climbed into her bed
She's probably in bed right now, I thought Curled
on her side, covered to the shoulders by a sheet and
blanket Wearing what? She didn't seem like the
sort to go for a frilly nightgown or teddy More
likely, she wore pajamas or a simple
cotton nightshirt
How about nothing at all?
A little chilly for that
And so I imagined her under the covers in a white
nightshirt I could see her under there The way she was
curled on her side, half her face was buried in
her pillow and her rear end showed below the nightshirt's
hem
If I were invisible, I would sneak into the house and
find her bedroom I would stand by her bed and watch her
sleep and listen to her breathing I might even draw
the blanket and sheet carefully down her body,
let them drift to the floor at the foot of the bed in
order to see her uncovered
Her white nightshirt almost glows in the darkness Her
skin looks dusky I can see the curves
of her bare buttocks, the shadowy cleft between them
Maybe she doesn't sleep in a nightshirt, after
all Maybe she sleeps in the nude
Much better
Moaning in her sleep, she rolls onto her back
As if stumbling out of my fantasy, I suddenly
wondered if the front door was locked
The girl might've forgotten to lock it after sneaking
in. Also, from what I'd heard and read, a fairly
large percentage of people rarely lock the doors of
their cars or homes at night. Especially in
small towns.
What if this door isn't locked?
I could open it and sneak in. In the darkness of the
house, I would be
almost
invisible. I could go to the girl's bedroom and stand
by her bed and . . .
Not a chance. Not me.
But I could.
I
could
do plenty, I thought. But I'm not
going
to. I must be losing my mind to even
think
about it. For one thing, I might get caught. For
another, I wouldn't do it even if there were no chance
whatsoever of being caught.
Is that so? I thought. Then why the fantasies about
being invisible? The only reason to be invisible is
to do whatever you want without getting caught.
Well, I'm
not
invisible. If I go sneaking into the house, somebody
might catch me in the act. Clobber me. Shoot
me. Hold me for the police. And what'll the girl
think? She'll figure I'm a criminal or a
pervert. She'll
never
have anything to do with me after that.
But if everyone is sleeping and I'm very quiet. .
.
Again, I imagined myself standing over the girl's bed,
staring down at her.
I'm
not
going in, I told myself. Besides, the door's
probably locked.
If it's locked, that settles it.
That would settle it, all right. Opening someone's
unlocked door was one thing -- and maybe within the
realm of possibility -- but
breaking
in was totally out of the question.
Just see.
My fear and excitement began to grow.
No big deal, I thought. Just get up and go to the
door and see if it's locked. Why not? What's the
worst that can happen? If I get caught at it,
I can play drunk or confused and pretend I'm
at the wrong house. Anyway, it's probably not
a crime to try a door.
No crime, but wrong. I knew it was wrong,
knew it was a bad idea (like going under the bridge
last night), but got to my feet anyway. Standing
motionless in my corner of the porch, I looked around
the neighborhood. Here and there, the streets were well
lighted. Trees, however, cast shadows on the
pavement and lawns. In every direction, the lighted
places were surrounded by motes of darkness.
Anyone
might be lurking in those dark places, watching. Or
watching from behind a parked car. Or from behind bushes.
Or from inside a house across the street.
I was in darkness myself, however, and probably almost
unseeable.
So I made my way toward the front door,
walking slowly, putting my feet down gently. A
couple of times, floorboards creaked under my
weight. The sounds made me cringe, though they were so
quiet that nobody else could've heard them.
I'm not really doing this, I thought.
And yet, I was.
My journey to the door seemed to take ages. I
couldn't even see it, though I had a general idea
of where it ought to be ... a straight shot from the top
of the porch stairs.
Reaching through the darkness with one hand, I touched a
stiff, tight screen.
Two
doors, not just one. Doubles my chance of being locked
out.
Feeling my way downward and sideways, I found
the handle of the screen door.
Don't do X.
I pulled gently and the screen door swung toward
me. Its hinges, apparently well lubricated,
made almost no sound at all.
One down, one to go.
What am
I
doing?
Propping the screen door open with my shoulder, I
touched the inner door. Smooth wood, slick with
layers of varnish. Its handle felt like thick,
cool brass. With my thumb, I pressed down
slowly on the lock release. It sank down and
down and I heard the bolt slide back.
I pushed forward slightly. The door eased away
an inch or two.
Holy shit, it opens!
Now shut it and get the hell out of here!
I pushed the door open a few more inches. Though I
knew it was open, I couldn't see the jamb, the
door, or the gap between them.
Dark as hell in there.
I really
would
be invisible.
Don't even think about it.
I had never in my life entered anyone's place
without being invited. I had never cheated, never
shoplifted, never driven a car through a stoplight
(on purpose), never told a major
lie, never bullied anyone, never started a fight,
never in fact done
anything
particularly immoral, unethical or illegal.
. .
Oh, yeah, killed that guy last night.
If I
did
kill him, it was self-defense. Stabbing Randy in the
leg had been self-defense, too.
Oh, yeah, and I spied on the tequila woman.
That was pretty bad. Not nearly as bad, however, as
sneaking into a stranger's house in the middle of the
night.
Do this, I thought, and I'm really crossing a line.
And where will it end? Maybe it won't stop with watching
the girl sleep. Maybe I'll feel compelled
to remove her covers, and after that I'll . . .
No! All I'll do is look.
Don't even do that! Shut the door right now and get
the hell out of here!
Before I could pull it shut -- or open it wide --
the handle was jerked from my grip.
I gasped with surprise. So did someone inside the
house and close in front of me.
The girl?
A low, husky voice murmured, "House
inspector
."
"Huh
?"
I asked.
A hand pressed against my chest. "No need to be
alarmed," the girl said, pushing me aside. As she
stepped by me, she added, "You passed with flying
colors
."
Then she lurched forward, raced across the porch and
leaped from the top of the stairs. Silhouetted by the
streetlights, she seemed to hang in midair for a
moment, arms spread out wide, her right leg thrown
forward, her ponytail high behind her head. As she
dropped, her sweatshirt lifted, baring her
midriff.
The screen door banged shut.
Her sneakers clapped against the walkway and she
took off running for the street.
I didn't leap from the porch, but descended the
stairs in a couple of quick bounds and sprinted after her
-- chasing her, but also fleeing from the house
because someone
must've
heard the door slam.
The girl was fast. Not as fast as me, though.
I narrowed the gap between us, but didn't try to stop
her. We were still too close to the house.
We raced across a street, dashed around a corner,
ran down a sidewalk, cut across another street
in the middle of a block, then ran down another
stretch of sidewalk.
I remained four or five strides behind her,
listening as she panted for breath, hearing the smack of
her sneakers, watching her ponytail leap and swing,
her bulky sweatshirt flop, her arms pump, her
legs fly out one after the other.
It was wonderful to be chasing her. But awful, too.
She must've been terrified.
"Hey," I said.
"I didn't steal anything
."
"I'm not chasing youea8I blurted. "We're just. .
. fleeing in the . . . same direction
."
"I didn't hurt. . . anyone
."
"I just. . . want to talk
."
"Leave me alone
."
"Stop running. Please
."
"Get outa here
."
I stayed a few strides behind her until she ran
into the next street. Then I picked up speed,
caught up to her and ran alongside her. She
turned her head and scowled at me.
Even in the poor glow of the streetlights, I could
see that she looked younger than me. Maybe
eighteen, maybe as young as fifteen or sixteen.
And far more beautiful than I'd imagined.
"Can't we ... just talk
?"
I asked.
Matching strides, we leaped over the next curb.
The narrow sidewalk forced me closer to her.
"Stop, okay
?"
I asked. "You can't . . . outrun me. Why not

?"
She rammed me with her shoulder. As the impact
knocked me to the right, I reached out and grabbed a
handful of her sweatshirt. I kept hold of it as
I raced off the edge of the sidewalk. My feet
hit the lawn. My legs crossed. Then came a
wild, twisting dive.
My side slammed the damp grass. I slid,
tumbling, holding on tight to the girl's
sweatshirt, bringing her down with me. She landed on
me, squirmed and rolled off. I scrambled onto
her, sat on her and pinned her arms to the ground. She
grunted and writhed. I held on.
"N. . . gonna hurt you," I said.
"Get off
."
"Calm down. Please. Just... lie still
."
She thrashed and bucked, but couldn't throw me.
Finally, she stopped. She lay beneath me, chest rising
and falling as she fiercely panted for air.
"J. . . take it easy," 1 said. "Okay?
Not gonna hurt you
."
Gradually, she regained control of her
breathing.
"Are you all right
?"
I asked.
"Let
me up
."
"You'll make me chase you again
."
"I've had enough running
."
"So you won't try to run away
?"
I asked.
"You're too fast for me, anyhow
."
I was too fast for her, but she would probably try
to run again, anyway, if I let her up. We were
in the front yard of a house, however, quite close to the
sidewalk and street. We weren't in shadows, either.
"Look," I said, 'we can't stay here.
Somebody'll see us
."
"So let me up
."
"I don't want you to run away
."
"I won't. Okay? Let me up
."
I wanted a friend, not a captive. So I climbed
off her and stepped back. She said, "Thanks
."
Her sweatshirt was twisted and rumpled, her belly
bare. She sat up, straightened her sweatshirt,
then got to her feet. Reaching back with both hands,
she brushed off the seat of her jeans.
"I'm sorry you fell," I said.
"I didn't exactly fall, now, did I
?"
"Well, I helped
."
"You grabbed hold and took me with you
."
Reminding her that she was the one who had shoved me off
the sidewalk didn't seem like a great idea, so
I answered, "I was afraid you'd get away
."
"You claimed you weren't chasing me. We were "fleeing
in the same direction"
?"
A corner of her mouth curled up.
"Sorry
."
"You didn't want me to get away, but you weren't
chasing me. How does that work
?"
"It's complicated
."
"Why don't you just let me go, okay? I didn't
steal anything. I didn't hurt anyone. Your
family's fine
."
Not wanting to lie, I avoided the word
my
when I said, "And the house passed inspection with flying
colors
?"
A slight smile drifted across her face. "It's
splendid. Come on, let me go. Please? I can
tell you're a nice guy. You don't want to get
me in trouble, do you
?"
Ist
can tell you're a nice guy.
Maybe she'd only said it to soften me
up, but it gave me a pleasant, warm feeling.
"I don't want to get you in trouble," I said,
following her to the sidewalk. I'd like to help you,
if . .
."
"Then just let me go
."
"Tell me one thing and I will," I said. "What were
you doing in the house
?"
"Okay. But let's get away from here first
."
We walked side by side to the end of the block and
around the corner. Then she stopped, turned to me and
said, "It's sort of embarrassing. I needed a
bathroom. Very badly. I knew I wouldn't be able
to get to my own house in time. There aren't any
public facilities for miles, and I didn't
want to do it outside. That'd be too gross. So
I decided to try a house. I went to three or
four . . . they had locked doors. But yours
didn't, so I let myself in
."
"You could've rung the doorbell and asked permission
."
She grimaced. "I know. But it's ... what, about
one-thirty? Nobody wants someone ringing the
doorbell at this hour. Besides, it was so
embarrassing.
Can you imagine going to the door of a stranger's house
and asking to use their bathroom
?"
I was embarrassed to be
hearing
about it. Even though I knew she was lying, my mind
gave me images of her entering a bathroom and
pulling down her jeans. Then I remembered that
Eileen had gotten herself invited into my apartment
Monday night by claiming a need to use the toilet.
What is it, some sort of standard ploy?
Maybe it's chapter twelve in
The Girl's Guide to Male Manipulation.
("As the male animal is naturally both
embarrassed and aroused -- and embarrassed
by
his arousal -- when confronted with the elimination
processes of the female, the "bathroom8gambit
is a surefire winner . .
."

"Can you
?"
she repeated.
"Can I
?"
"Imagine the embarrassment
?"
"Oh. Sure. It'd be terrible
."
Nodding, she said, "So I just snuck in and took
care of it. All I did was use the toilet. I
didn't bother anyone. I didn't take anything.
Do you want to check my pockets
?"
She pulled her sweatshirt up a few inches higher
than the waistband of her jeans.
I saw the skin of her belly. "I don't have
to check," I told her.
"You believe me
?"
"I'll take your word for it
."
"Thanks
."
She lowered the sweatshirt. "Can I go now
?"
"If you want. I won't chase you
."
"Will
you flee
in the same direction
?"
"I
was,"
I said. "The slamming door probably woke up
everyone in the house
."
She looked perplexed.
"I don't live there
."
"What
?"
"It's not my house
."
"Not your house. Then what were you doing there
?"
"Hiding," I said, and began to walk again. She
stayed with me, walking slowly by my side.
"Hiding from what
?"
she asked as we strolled together down the sidewalk.
"A guy in a pickup truck. He's after me
."
"Why's he after you
?"
"I'm not sure, but... He saw me at Dandi
Donuts a few nights ago. I was there with my
girlfriend
."
"You have a girlfriend
."
Eileen was part of the story and had to be mentioned, but I
could've referred to her as a 'friend" or a "former
girlfriend
."
Calling her anything other than a girlfriend or
lover, however, would've been like a lie. I didn't
want to betray Eileen that way. Nor did I
wish to lie to this girl.
Plus, the mention of a girlfriend was sure to make me
seem less threatening.
Maybe it's Chapter Twelve in
The Guy's Guide to Female Manipulation.
("As the female animal naturally suspects that
all males are predators, many of their
basic fears are allayed by the belief that the man in
their presence has his eyes and penis set upon
different prey
."
were
"Her name's Eileen," I said. "We're
students at the university
."
"Willies," she said.
I nodded, smiling. I'd heard the term before: it was
what townies often liked to call us.
"Wet Willies," the girl added.
"That's us
."
"So the two of you were at Dandi ..."
"Yeah. And this guy saw us together. Apparently, he
liked the looks of Eileen
."
"Is she pretty
?"
Not as pretty as you, I thought. Would've been dumb
to say it, though. Better if she thinks I'm
totally devoted to Eileen. "Very pretty," I
said.
"So what did he do? This guy
?"
"Nothing at the time. That was Monday. We didn't
even know he'd seen us. But I went back to the
donut shop on Tuesday night and he was there. He
wanted me to take him to Eileen
."
"She wasn't with you
?"
"Not on Tuesday
."
"Why not
?"
I
left her behind so I could spend the night hunting for
you.
That would go over big.
With a shrug, I said, "She wasn't feeling very
well
."
A lie? Not necessarily. Not exactly the
truth, either. "So she stayed behind
."
"Where
?"
"In her sorority house
."
"Which one
?"
"Alpha Phi
."
The girl nodded.
"You know where that is
?"
I asked.
"I know where everything is. Everything in
this
town, anyway. So you were at Dandi Donuts without
Eileen, and this guy
"He made me go outside with him and get into his
pickup truck. He planned to drive me over
to the sorority house, and I was supposed to bring
Eileen out so he could take her off in his truck.
He said he wanted to "give her the works.""
The girl wrinkled her nose.
"But I got away from him. That was Tuesday night,
and I guess he's still after me. I saw his pickup
go by tonight, so I ran over to that house and hid on its
porch. That's why I was there when you came out
."
"You were about to go in
."
Taken by surprise, feeling caught, I felt
myself blush. Luckily, we were walking through a patch
of shadows just then. Even though the girl was looking at
my face, she probably couldn't see that it was red.
"I wanted to find out if the door was locked," I
explained.
"So you could hide from him in the house
?"
Trying not to lie, I said, "Any port in a storm
."
Before she could hit me with another question, I said, "The
guy's name is Randy, by the way. He drives a
light-colored Toyota pickup truck. You should
watch out for him when you're out at night. He might
try to get you
."
"I'll be careful
."
"My name's Ed, by the way. Ed Logan
."
"Okay
."
"It's fine if you don't want to tell me your name
."
She just looked at me.
"I guess there's no point in knowing your name,
anyway, if you're leaving
."
"I can stay a while," she said.
"Really
?"
I almost blurted,
Great!
Not wanting to seem too excited, though, I
simply smiled and said, "Good
."
"But I'm not going to tell you my name
."
"No problem
."
"You can call me whatever you want
."
"Okay. How about. .
."
The name "Holly' almost leaped out.
Are you nuts? Don't call her that!
"How about what
?"
she asked.
"Bertha
."
She laughed. "Thanks anyway
."
"Esmeralda
?"
"Give me a break
."
"Rumplestiltskin
?"
"Oh, sure
."
"I'm doing the best I can
."
"You get one more chance
."
"How about Chris
?"
I suggested.
"With a C-H or a K
?"
"C-H
."
"Not bad," she said. "But how about Casey instead
?"
"The initials or the word
?"
"C-A-S-E-ally
."
""Oh, there is no joy in Mudville,"" I
said.
She smiled. "This Casey doesn't strike out
."
I laughed. "Glad to hear it. And I'm glad you
know the poem
."
"Doesn't everyone
?"
"Probably not
."
She would be a lot more likely to know it, however,
if
Casey was her actual name. "It's pretty
popular, though," I admitted.
Up the street several blocks ahead of us,
headlights appeared.
"Uh-oh," I said.
Smiling, Casey gave me a Clint Eastwood
squint and asked, "Feeling lucky, punk
?"
"Huh
?"
"Want to ride it out
?"
"Huh
?"
As the vehicle kept coming toward us, its headlights
seemed to grow larger and farther apart.
"Ride or hide? Do we stand our ground and hope
for the best, or duck out of sight
?"
Was she serious?
"Might be cops," she said. "Might be that fellow
Randy. Might be worse. No telling what we
might get. That's part of the fun
."
"You do this a lot
?"
"All the time. Only at night, though. You'd have
to be nuts to play it in daylight
."
I laughed.
Though the vehicle was a lot closer now, I still
couldn't make out its shape. The engine sounded
grumbly and low.
If we wait much longer . . .
"What's it gonna be
?"
Casey asked.
I was pretty sure what
she
wanted. "Ride it out," I said.
"Good man
."
Grinning, she patted me on the back like a pal.
So we went on walking side by side. I felt very
brave and daring and eager to run like hell.
Casey smiled at me. "Fun, huh
?"
"Oh, yeah
."
At the end of the block ahead of us, the vehicle
came through the intersection. I could see it well in the
glow of the streetlights. It was a Jeep ... or
one of those imitation Jeeps . . . with an open top
and roll bar.
"Ah," said Casey. "It's the Wigginses
."
We couldn't see the occupants yet, so she must've
recognized their Jeep.
As it neared us, the Wigginses came into view. The
driver had blonde or gray hair in a
flat-top crew cut. She wore shorts and a
sleeveless tan shirt as if she were driving through a
desert at high noon. Her arms and legs looked
powerful. She seemed to have a tattoo on her thick
upper arm, but I couldn't make out its details.
The passenger looked like a slender replica of the
driver. She had a matching crew cut. Her
outfit was the same except for its smaller size
and the fact that her shirt had short sleeves rather than
no sleeves at all.
Going past us, the driver glanced our way. I
expected Casey to wave, but she didn't. Nor
did the driver wave at us. She simply gave us
a glance, then returned her gaze to the road ahead.
The passenger never seemed to notice us at all.
After they went by, Casey smiled at me. "That's
how we play Ride or Hide
."
"Ah
."
"It's always more exciting when you ride it out
."
"I'm sure,"
"Admit it, you liked it
."
"I'm just glad it was only the Wigginses
."
"Could've been worse," Casey admitted.
"They didn't seem very friendly
."
"We're not precisely on speaking terms
."
"Or waving terms," I added.
"Waving is against the rules
."
"Really
?"
"Of course
."
tilde
"So who are they? The Wigginses
."
"Sisters. Walinda's the big one. Linda's her
kid sister
."
"Linda and Walinda Wiggins
?"
"That's them. Ever hear of them? They used
to be pro wrestlers
."
"You're kidding
."
She shook her head. "They were in the ring for about five
years. Even won some championships. They've
got the trophies to prove it
."
"They don't wrestle anymore
?"
"They gave it up after Linda lost her arm
."
"Lost her
arm?"
I realized I'd only seen her right arm.
"Not in the ring. Here in town a couple of years
ago. Nobody knows how it happened. Walinda
drove her to the emergency room at about two in the
morning. Her left arm was gone at the shoulder
."
"Nobody knows
how
she lost it
?"
"Well, I guess Linda and Walinda
know, but they wouldn't say
."
"Weird," I muttered.
"Lotta weird stuff goes on around here,"
Casey told me.
"I've noticed
."
"Wanta know what's
really
weird
?"
"What
?"
I asked.
"They've
got
the arm. It's in their house. They keep it in like a
fish tank -- an aquarium -- only the tank
doesn't have any fish in it. Just Linda's arm. In
some sort of preservative. Formaldehyde or
something like that
."
"You're kidding
."
"I've seen it with my own eyes
."
"Holy . . . cow
."
"It's exceedingly gross," Casey said.
"I can imagine. Are Linda and Walinda nuts
or something
?"
"Either nuts or zany. Sometimes, it's hard to know the
difference
."
I could hardly believe the mystery girl and I were
walking along together, talking and laughing and she
actually seemed to like me. It may seem strange,
but even though I wanted to leap for joy, I somehow
also felt a little like crying. I struggled, however,
to keep it all to myself.
I needed to be very careful about everything I said and
did, or risk scaring her off.
As we continued our way up the sidewalk, Casey
said, "Maybe you can teach Eileen how to play
Ride or Hide
."
"She's not much of a night owl
."
"You have to get her out really late, after
midnight at the very
least,
or Ride or Hide isn't worth playing
."
"And why is that
?"
I asked.
"You know why
."
"Because that's when everyone who comes along is either
crazy or zany
?"
"Yep, you got it. Not everyone, though
."
"Not you and me."
She laughed. "Speak for yourself, Chucky
."
"It's Ed
."
"I know. Anyway, I think maybe
half the
people out at an hour like this are normal. You've got
some people, it's their job to be out. Like cops, for instance.
And truckers. A
lot
of stuff gets delivered at night. And a lot of
cleaning up gets done. And fixing up. You've got
maintenance crews on the streets sometimes, repairing
sewer lines or traffic lights, stuff like that. Then
there're also some people whose lives are reversed because
they've got a late shift or early shift where they
work. You see some of them out at night. It's sort
of like daytime for them. Plus, there are a few who just go
out wandering because they love what it's like at night
."
"Like you
?"
I asked.
She tossed me a quick smile. "Maybe.
Anyhow, that pretty much accounts for the half that
aren't crazy.
Just about everyone else is, which is why you only play
Ride or Hide at night. Somebody comes toward
you, you've got a fifty-fifty chance of running
into trouble
."
"You've given it a lot of thought," I said.
"I pay attention, that's all"
"Do you come out every night88The question was asked before I
realized it might be a mistake
She answered, though "Pretty much How about
you'""
"Off and on," I said "Not very often, really,
until this week This makes four nights in a row
His
"You're getting hooked'
"Looks that way'
"What does Eileen think about it?"
"She doesn't always know She doesn't know I'm
out tonight, for instance His
"Will you tell her about it?"
"I don't know Probably not She wouldn't be
thrilled that I went off in the middle of the night without
her She might feel left out Plus, she knows
it's dangerous And if I told her about you " I
shook my head "She probably wouldn't take it very
well'
"Think she'd be jealous9'
"More than likely His
"Even though we aren't doing anything9"
"Well, we're spending some time together and she's not
here His
"I'd better leave," Casey said She humed
ahead of me, turned around and walked backward
"Nice to meet you, though Maybe we'll
run into each other."
"No, don't go Please Not yet'
"I'd better It's been fun, though His
"How about one more round of Ride or Hide9" I
asked
"I don't know, Chucky It might be a long
wait'
"Might be a short one," I said
A corner of her mouth tilted up She kept
walking backward "I don't want to get you in
trouble with Eileen His
Maybe telling her about Eileen hadn't been such a
hot idea, after all
"There won't be any trouble," I said "She
doesn't have to know about any of this So how about it9
One more round9"
She seemed to think about it for a few seconds Then
she said, "Okay Sure As long as we don't have
to wait too long His
"Great"
She stopped and waited for me When I caught up
to her, she turned around and walked beside me "I
suppose we can give it fifteen or twenty
minutes," she said
"Do you need to be home by a certain time?"
She looked at me and chuckled "What do you think?"
"Well you're obviously not out here at
this
hour with anyone's
permission. You look pretty young to have a place of
your own, so you probably live at home with your
parents. Or parent. My guess is, you sneaked out
of the house after they went to sleep. How am I doing
?"
"Very logical," she said.
"Accurate
?"
"Maybe
."
"If I'm right, then you probably need to get
home before your parents get up in the morning
."
"Very good. I can see you're a brain
."
Laughing, I said, "Thanks. S. Is dawn your
deadline
?"
"Maybe
."
"What about school
?"
I asked.
"What about it
?"
She seemed cheerful, not at all reluctant
to discuss the situation, so I pressed on. "Are you
still
in
school
?"
"Do I look like I'm in school
?"
"Not at this exact moment. .
."
"You
are
sharp, Ed
."
"Have you got classes in the morning
?"
"Maybe. Do you
?"
"An eight o'clock
."
"Are you sure
you
have time for another round of Ride or Hide
?"
"I don't mind missing a little sleep
."
"Neither do I," said Casey. We walked along
in silence for a short time. Then she smiled at me and
asked, "Do you want to guess my grade
?"
"A-plus
."
She shook her head. "Something needs to be done about
your sense of humor
."
"Wonderful, isn't it
?"
She laughed. "Sure. If you prefer to think so
."
"You wanted me to guess your grade level? Like
freshman, sophomore . . .
?"
"There you go
."
"Well, I'd have to say you must be a senior
."
"Why's that
?"
"Your obvious maturity, intelligence and wit
."
She bounced her knuckles off my upper arm.
"Your physical strength," I added.
She laughed.
"So, am I right? Are you a senior
?"
I
"Maybe
."
"Maybe?
You aren't going to tell
?"
"You're assuming I even
go
to school
."
"You said you do
."
"Did I? Really
?"
"I thought so."
"Think again, Chucky
."
"Are you saying you
don't
go to school
?"
"Not admitting to anything
."
"How about your age
?"
"How old do you
think
I am
?"
Grinning, I shook my head. "Lotta good it'll
do. Even if I guess right, you won't admit it
."
"Are you sure
?"
I laughed. "No, I'm not sure
."
"Can't hurt to give it a try
."
"Okay. I'll say eighteen
."
"Wishful thinking
."
I blushed, taking her remark as a reference to the
state's legal age of sexual consent.
"Try again," she said.
"Younger
?"
"I'm not giving clues
."
"Okay
."
"Put your powers of reason to work
."
"Unless you're extremely mature for your age,
you're probably no younger than fifteen. You have
awfully well developed verbal skills for any
sort of teenager at all
."
"Why, I'm flattered, sir
."
"From your physical appearance, I'd say you're
definitely under twenty-one. I'd probably
rule out twenty, too
."
"If I'm under twenty-one, I'm obviously not
twenty-two
."
She grimaced. "Gripes, your humor is rubbing
off on me
."
"It's an improvement
."
She blurted out a laugh, then glanced around as if
afraid she might've given away our presence.
I looked around, too. I had no idea where we
were. The houses on both sides of the street were
looking shabbier and farther apart than those that had
surrounded us earlier. The street seemed darker. But
I saw nobody watching us, no traffic coming.
"So how about my age
?"
Casey asked in a hushed voice.
"Okay. Probably somewhere between fifteen and
nineteen. Am I close
?"
"Maybe
."
I growled. She laughed. Then she said, "Look.
You're such a brain
."
"Not really
."
"Sure you are. So try this out. Take your own
age, double it, divide by two, then subtract the
number of your feet
."
"My shoe size
?"
"How many
feet
do you have at the end of your legs
?"
"Okay
."
I gave it some thought, then gave her my answer.
"Eighteen
."
"Ah!"
"You're eighteen
?"
"Don't you remember, I told you there wouldn't be
any clues
?"
"But
the formula]"
"That was for me to find out
your
age. Which is twenty. Am I right
?"
"Right"
Casey laughed She looked wonderful laughing.
Though I ached to put my arms around her and hold her
close to me, I only smiled and shook my head
"Anything else you'd like to know9' she asked.
"As if you would
tell
me His
"Give it a try
."
"I don't have a clue in the world as to where we are
."
She looked around. "No problem. I know
precisely where we are
."
"If you're going to take off pretty soon, how
would you like to lead me somewhere familiar?"
"Where
is
familiar?"
"Well, I know Division and Franklin fairly
well
."
"Let's head back," she said. "But we'll use
a different route It's always more interesting that way His
"Good idea
."
We continued walking in the same direction. At the
end of the block, however, we turned right at the
corner. We made another right at the next
corner, too, and headed back in the direction from which
we'd come, but one street over.
"Just so you'll know," Casey said, "Franklin and
Division are straight ahead
."
"Thanks
."
"In case we get separated
."
"I hope that doesn't happen
."
"One never knows If we have to hide, we might
lose each other'
"How'll I find you again88I asked.
She turned her head and stared at me. "Maybe you
won't
."
"If you don't want me to . .
."
"We'll see
."
Don't push it, I told myself.
"Want to check out the park88she asked.
"Sure
."
"This way " We cut across the street. At the
corner, we went to the left. We followed the
sidewalk to the end of the block.
There, eater-corner from us, was what appeared to be a
public park.
We trotted through the empty intersection.
Just on the other side was a baseball field.
Nothing fancy, just a backstop behind home plate,
one small set of bleachers along the first-base line
and another set along the third-base line. The
field was equipped with banks of lights for night
games, but the lights were dark.
"I don't see anybody," Casey said. "Do
you
?"
"Looks deserted
."
"Keep your eyes open
."
We stepped around one end of the backstop.
"There's a playground over that way," Casey
said. She pointed toward the far end of the park. I could
make out the vague shapes of monkey bars, swing
sets, slides and other equipment. "Want to go
over and look
?"
she asked.
"Sure," I said.
Side by side, we walked up the middle of the
baseball diamond, over the pitcher's mound and on
past second base. The base bag was missing. So
were all the others. "I wonder where the bases go at
night," I said.
"Home," Casey said.
I laughed, but not loudly. It felt strange to be
walking across a baseball field at such an hour.
Leaving the diamond behind, we headed out through center
field. The grass whispered under our shoes. Though
there seemed to be no light except for the glow of the
moon, we both cast shadows ahead of us.
There were no trees nearby.
I looked over my shoulder just to make
sure nobody was watching us.
Casey looked, too
"So far, so good," I said.
"Hardly anyone's ever around here after dark. Not
unless there's a night game. It's too exposed
."
"I've noticed that
."
"The night loonies get nervous when they're out in
the open
."
"Night loonies
?"
"You know
."
"I guess so," I said. "The town's full of
"em
."
"Half full," she corrected me.
"Aren't you afraid of them
?"
I asked.
"They don't hurt anyone," she said.
I couldn't believe my ears.
"They
don't?"
She gave me a one-sided smile. "They don't
hurt anyone they can't
catch.
If they catch you, though, forget it
."
"What do they do
?"
I asked.
"They
get
you. And that's all she wrote. You're gone. Unless
you manage to escape. They almost got me once.
It was pretty soon after I started coming out at
night. I didn't know any better and tried
to help this guy. Must've been three o'clock in the
morning. He looked like your typical homeless
guy, going down the middle of the street with all his
stuff in a shopping cart. I was on a sidewalk and
we went past each other heading in opposite
directions. I was all set to run, but he kept
going. You know how noisy those shopping carts are
?"
"Oh, yeah
."
"All of a sudden, his wasn't. I turned around
to see what was going on, and the guy was down, just lying
there on the street, not moving. So I went running
over to see if I could help
."
She shook her head. "Stupid move
."
By this time, we'd left the outfield behind and were
approaching the children's playground area. Studying the
shadowed darkness, I saw nobody wandering about, no
strange shapes on the park benches, nobody on the
swings or monkey bars or slides or
teeter-totter or carousel, nobody anywhere else
in the area.
"When I bent down to help the guy," Casey
said, "he bashed me on the head with a bottle.
Anyway, I think that's what he did. The
seizure . . . whatever ... it'd been a fake-out
to lure me over and get me. He knocked me out.
When I woke up, I was
in
his shopping cart. It
had
been piled up to the top, so he must've gotten rid
of most of the stuff to make room for me.
Guess he figured I was a better class of
junk
."
We walked over to a swing set. Casey sat on
one of the swings. I stood in front of her, but off
to one side.
"He hadn't taken out
all
his crap," she explained. "I could feel some of it
under my back
."
"How did you fit in
?"
"It was a pretty big cart," she said. Smiling,
she pushed her feet at the ground and moved herself
back and forth a little. "I only fit in from my head
to my butt. My legs were sticking up over the top
of the basket and my feet dangled in front.
Anyway, I was pretty shocked to find myself in a
predicament like that..."
"I'll bet
."
"When you're stuck in a grocery cart, there's no
easy way
to escape. I couldn't just leap out and run
away, so I played possum
."
"You must've been scared to death
."
"I sort of was and sort of wasn't. I'd been in
some bad situations before and I'd gotten out of them in
one piece . . . more or less. So I figured
I'd get out of this one, too
."
"I guess you did," I said.
"Guess so
."
She smiled up at me. "I'm here
."
"How did you get away
?"
"Well, I kept
hoping
someone would see us and stop him. Like a cop, for
instance? I mean, nobody could exactly look at
us without seeing me in the shopping cart. He didn't
even bother to cover me. I was right there in plain
sight
."
"At three o'clock in the morning," I
added.
"Right. But it's not as if
nobody's
out at that hour. You know that
."
"I know, all right
."
"I heard a jogger once. And I thought I heard
a bike go by. Even a few cars, too. I think
the jogger and bike went right past us on the same
street. None of the cars did, but I heard them go
through intersections pretty close to us. Nobody said
anything or did anything. They just kept going
."
"Maybe they didn't see you
."
"Half of them were probably weirdos, themselves
."
I smiled. "Yeah
."
"Anyway, the guy finally got where he was taking
me. He turned the cart over and dumped me out, but
he must've already figured out I was playing possum.
When I tried to get up and run, he grabbed me and
pounded me half senseless. Then he swung
me over his shoulder and carried me down a slope.
I had a pretty good idea where we were, and
figured he was taking me down by the stream where we'd
be good and hidden. I figured he planned to molest
me, you know? For starters
."
I nodded. My mouth was dry, my heart pounding
hard.
"When we got down to where the stream was, I thought
he would throw me down and do it. I wanted him
to try. That's when they're easiest, when they're all
hot and ready to stick it in. Only thing is, he
didn't stop and put me down. Instead, he turned
and carried me along the shore. He was gonna take
me under the bridge
."
Casey frowned up at me. "One thing about
bridges, Ed. You don't want to go under them at
night
."
"I've noticed," I muttered.
"I figured I'd better do something real fast and
get away. Before
I had a chance, though, he calls out,
"Come "n get it!"
And he gets
answers
from under the bridge. Like a bunch of guys are already
there waiting for him. Maybe a couple of gals,
too
."
Shaking her head, Casey muttered, "Damn.
That
scared me. I thought my skin was going to crawl off
my bones. It scares me just remembering
."
"It scares me just listening," I said.
"Well, I wasn't about to let him take me
under
there. The way he had me, I was sort of drooped
over his back with my legs down his front, and he
had just one arm across my legs to hold me steady. His
other hand . . . well, it was feeling up my rear
end. I hadn't fought him, so far, just stayed limp and
kept my mouth shut, so he wasn't expecting
anything.
"All of a sudden, I grabbed hold of his trousers
with both hands and kicked my legs up for all I was
worth. . . like unbending myself. He couldn't hold
on. For a second, I was straight up,
teetering on the back of his shoulder. Then I
flipped the rest of the way over and dropped to the ground
behind him. I landed on my feet, but just barely. I
was so off balance I fell back against him . . . which
steadied
me
but knocked him flying. I think he actually bumped
into some of the others. Sounded like one or two of them went
down. And maybe they blocked the shore for a few
seconds so none of the others could get by very fast. I
don't know what really happened, just that I ran like
my ass was on fire and nobody ever caught me
."
"Thank God for that," I muttered.
"I don't like to think about it much . . . what they
might've done to me. I sure didn't like the way
he called, "Come and get it.8That's what my mom
used to say when it was time for supper
."
"What do you think he meant
?"
I asked.
Swaying back and forth, Casey looked up at me
and sounded almost amused as she said, "He took me
most of the way there in a grocery cart. I
guess that's a clue
."
r
Chapter Thirty-eight
"Where'd this happen
?"
I asked. "What bridge
?"
"I'm not sure. It was before I knew the town very
well. I do know backslash backslash it was one
of the bridges that crosses over the Old Mill
Stream
."
"On Division
?"
She shook her head. "No. That's right by the
campus. This was a pretty good distance to the west.
Maybe over near Fairmoni or . .
."
She mentioned a couple of other street names, but I
only heard Fairmont; the street I'd taken
north earlier that night to avoid Division.
"I live near there," I said. "Near
Fairmont
."
"Well, don't go under the bridge. I'm not sure
that's where the guy tried to take me, but it doesn't
matter much. You never know which bridge they'll be under
."
"You've studied them
?"
I asked.
"I sees what I sees
."
"You think they ... eat people
?"
She shrugged. "Whatever they can get into a shopping
cart
."
I nodded.
"At this point
."
Casey said, "you're supposed to tell me I'm
nuts. People don't eat people
."
"People eating people," I said, "isn't as unusual as
most people would like to believe
."
"Well, they seem to do it around here. The night
loonies, anyway. How about giving me a
push
?"
"Sure
."
I stepped behind Casey's swing. Bending over
slightly, I put my hands behind her shoulders and
gently pushed. She glided forward, the chains
creaking.
"Harder," she said.
When she came back at me, I thrust harder and
she went higher. I took a couple of steps away
so she wouldn't collide with me on her return.
Her back pressed against my hands and I shoved again.
"Harder," she said.
Next time, I shoved harder. My hands were lower on
her back. There seemed to be nothing between the
sweatshirt and her skin. I felt the curves of her
ribcage.
"You're doing good," she said.
"Thanks
."
Soon, I had her flying. On her upward
course, she leaned far back, pulling at the chains,
her legs out straight, her ponytail hanging toward
the ground. On the way down, she sat up
and bent her knees, bringing her feet up close to the
bottom of the swing, and her ponytail went in against the
back of her neck.
I had to keep moving farther away to avoid being
stuck. As she went higher, my contact with her back
traveled lower and lower. My open hands pushed at
her flanks, then her hips, then the sides of her
jean-clad buttocks, and then the edge of the swing
seat.
Finally, she went so high that slack came into the
chains. She and the swing fell for a moment. Then the
chains went taut, the swing lurching and jerking and going
crooked. Casey laughed. She swept downward,
twisting.
"Want me to . . .
?"
"I'm fine," she said.
I moved out of the way. Casey began to pump, and
soon she had the swing gliding along on a steady
course.
"Nicely done," I said.
"Thanks
."
"You didn't really need a pusher
."
"No, but I liked it. Why don't you grab a
swing
?"
I'd rather watch you, I thought. But I didn't say
it. Instead, I sat on the swing next to hers. The
wooden seat and cool chains felt good and familiar.
Too familiar to be memories from childhood.
I suddenly remembered that I'd been at a
playground last spring with Holly. On a warm,
scented night near the end of the semester, we'd sat
side by side on swings very much like these. Neither of us
had done any real swinging; we'd just sat and talked
softly for a very long time.
I could picture Holly sitting there in the darkness,
her head turned toward me, her hands on the chains,
her bare feet in the sand under the swing. She'd been
wearing white shorts. Her skin had seemed much
darker than the shorts.
Was
this
the playground where we'd been? I couldn't be sure.
I realized that I didn't much care.
Nor did I feel the sadness and longing and
bitterness that usually came with memories of
Holly.
"Gerrr-onimo!"
Casey called, but not very loudly.
Her voice pulled me into the present and I raised
my eyes in time to see her leave the swing at the
height of its arc. She seemed to let
go of its chains and remain high in the air as the seat
fell away from under her, twisting and flopping. After a
moment poised in midair, she dropped as if she'd
stepped off a high dive.
Legs straight, arms spread out, she plunged
toward the ground. The image reminded me of her
earlier jump from the porch. This, however, was a
straight descent and a much greater fall. Her
ponytail flipped up higher than the top of her
head. Her sweatshirt flew up to her armpits. I
saw her bare back: I glimpsed the side of her
left breast.
The ponytail and sweatshirt leaped down. Her
knees bent. As if shoved from behind by an invisible
bully, she stumbled forward very fast for a few paces
then fell to her hands and knees.
I jumped off my swing. Hurrying toward her, I
asked, "Are you okay
?"
"I'm splendid
."
She tumbled over and rolled onto her back.
Smiling up at me, she put her folded hands
underneath her head and raised her knees. "It's like
flyingea8she said.
"And crashing
."
She laughed softly. "It didn't hurt much
."
"You like pain
?"
"I'm not a big fan, but I'm not scared of a little.
It was worth some pain to fly like that
."
Smiling down at her, I shook my head.
"You think I'm nuts
."
"A trifle peculiar, perhaps
."
She chuckled. Then, in a low and raspy voice as
if imitating an old geezer -- probably one of
her relatives -- she said, "That's a peculiar
one, that Casey. Been a touch daffy ever since she
fell on her head
."
"You fell on your head
?"
I asked.
"Oh, sure," she replied in her usual
voice. "A few times. And I've gotten
clobbered on the noggin plenty of times, too. Good
thing it's so hard
."
She took a hand out from under her head and knuckled her
brow as if rapping on a door. Then she frowned.
"What
?"
"Nobody home
."
I grinned.
Casey sat up. She reached out a hand the way people do
when they want a pull to their feet. I took hold
of it. As I tugged her up, glad for the feel of her
hand in mine, I watched her face. She seemed
to be looking into my eyes.
When she was standing, I tried to let go of her hand.
She kept hold of mine. Neither of us moved. We
stood there, holding hands
and gazing into each other's eyes My heart pounded
harder and I felt a tightness in my
throat
She squeezed my hand
I started to pull her toward me, but she shook her
head and put her other hand against my chest "Just
friends," she said "Okay?"
Though I sank inside, I also felt a certain
joy that she had accepted me as a friend
"Sure," I said "Friends His
Still holding hands, we shook on it as if making a
deal "Don't look so glum," she said
"I'm not glum'
"We hardly even know each other Besides, you've already
got Eileen His
Was Eileen the
real
reason Casey intended to be 'j friends" with me?
I almost told her that Eileen and I had broken up
It wouldn't exactly be a lie, we had agreed
to stop seeing each other -- at least for a few days,
to avoid arousing suspicion about our injuries But it
would be a betrayal of Eileen A lie to Casey,
too, whether or not I preferred to call it that
Besides, maybe Casey only considered me
"safe" because of my relationship to Eileen
"I'm happy just to be your friend," I said
"Good " She shook my hand again "I'm glad that's
settled. Now we can just have a good time and stop thinking
about that other stuff'
Had
she
been thinking about that other stuff?
Obviously. I suddenly felt almost gleeful
Just as suddenly, fear swept through me
"What88Casey asked
I let go of her hand and pointed She turned around
"Where88she asked
"On the backstop His
When she saw him, she didn't make a sound, but
her head moved slightly up and down
Past the playground, beyond center field and second
base and the pitcher's mound and home plate, perhaps
three feet off the ground, someone was clinging like a
monkey to the chain-link backstop
He seemed to be on the other side of it, facing our
way
My skin crawled
"Anyone you know88Casey asked. She sounded calm
"I don't think so His
"Isn't Eileen, is it?"
"I think it's a guy
."
She turned her head and smiled at me. "I think
so, too
."
"A
big
guy," I pointed out.
"Isn't Randy, is it
?"
"Looks too big to be Randy
."
Her smile grew bigger. "Wanta go find out
?"
"Not especially. Aren't you scared
?"
"He's pretty far away. And he seems to be
happy just watching
."
As if the man had heard Casey and wished to prove
her wrong, he scurried down the backstop.
My stomach seemed to flip.
He dropped to the ground.
"Shit," I muttered.
He trotted around one end of the backstop then turned
our way and broke into a run.
"Oh, dear," said Casey. Then she faced me,
smiling, and asked, "Ride or hide
?"
"Run," I suggested.
"Good thought," Casey said. "Let's go
."
She whirled around and took off across the playground.
I ran close to her side, but slower, letting her
stay in the lead. She knew the area better than I
did. Also, I wanted to stay slightly back
to guard her rear.
When I looked over my shoulder, the man was still
chasing us. He seemed to be dressed in black,
floppy clothes. He chugged along with his head down,
his heavy legs moving fairly well for such a big
guy, his hands punching at the night. There was something
off-kilter about the way he ran. That Hemingway character
from "The Battler" came into my mind. Not Nick
Adams, but the crazy boxer, Ad Francis.
Paul Newman played him in the movie, but this
guy was a lot bigger than Paul Newman and I
had a feeling he was no Ad Francis. I
wished
he were Ad Francis.
At the other side of the playground, I
looked back again. He was still pounding after us.
Not gaining on us, though.
We leaped off the curb and took a diagonal
course toward the other side of the street. No cars
were coming. None was even in sight except for those parked
along the street and in driveways.
We ran up a driveway to the sidewalk and
swung to the right. The sidewalk was narrow, so I
dropped back. Running directly behind Casey,
I matched her stride for stride and watched her
ponytail prance.
As we neared the end of the block, I looked over
my shoulder. I couldn't see our pursuer at first.
Then I spotted him way back, pounding his way
past a teeter-totter.
"We're leaving him in the dust," I gasped.
"The game's not ... Ride or Run," Casey
said. "It's Ride or Hide
."
"Yeah, but. .
."
"Like this
."
She suddenly veered to the left. I followed her off
the sidewalk, onto the grass of a lawn,
and up half a dozen wooden stairs to the front
porch of a house.
The porch was dark. It had a swing and I hoped an
old man wasn't sitting there, watching us in
silence.
We're nowhere near that house, I thought. But I
wasn't sure. I had only vague notions about
our location.
"Be very quiet," Casey whispered. Then she
opened the screen door of the house.
"What're we-
?"
"Shhhh
."
She opened the main door.
I followed her in. Standing on the other side of the
threshold, I eased the screen door shut. Then
I stepped out of the way and Casey closed the solid
wooden door very quietly.
She took hold of my arm. I looked at her, but
could hardly see her at all.
Off to one side, a dim gray luminescence seemed
to be entering the living room through a large window. I
could make out the vague shapes of furniture over
there, but the foyer where we stood was almost
black.
Though Casey's hand remained in the same position
on my arm, I could tell that she was moving. She
pulled slightly. I leaned toward her and she
whispered, "We'll stay here till he's gone
."
Her breath was soft and warm against the side of my
neck.
"Whose house is this
?"
I whispered.
"Ours
."
The news came as a vast relief, and also brought a
sense of joy that she trusted me enough to bring me to her
home.
If she was telling the truth.
It seemed like quite a coincidence, Casey's own
home just happening to be across the street from the
playground and such a handy place to hide when we
suddenly found ourselves being chased.
Or maybe not such a coincidence. After all, ever
since I'd joined Casey, she had been leading the
way. She'd brought me into this, area of town, taken
me to the playground, led me to this house.
Maybe the man chasing us was incidental and Casey
had meant to bring me here all along.
"We'd better take off our shoes," she
whispered, her breath stroking my neck.
She let go of my arm.
Balancing on one foot, then the other, I removed
my shoes.
"Give them to me," Casey whispered. "I'll
put 'em with mine
."
I reached out with a shoe in each hand. She touched my
hands found my shoes and took them away. Stepping
by, she brushed against me.
Moments later, she took hold of my arm again.
"Let's go upstairs, she whispered.
Upstairs. To her bedroom?
What had happened to just being friends?
I felt stunned, thrilled and scared.
Calm down, I told myself. Just because we're going
upstairs doesn't mean we'll make love.
"We've gotta be very quiet," she whispered.
"Don't wanta wake anyone
."
"Who else is here
?"
"Let's take a look
."
"Don't you know
?"
"Shhhh
."
Casey in the lead, we sneaked through the foyer and
climbed a stairway. The darkness was so deep that
having my eyes open or shut made no difference.
I kept them open anyway. Casey kept hold
of my right arm. I slid my left hand up the
banister. We moved very slowly, very quietly. Every
so often, a stair creaked or groaned.
My God, I thought. I'm sneaking upstairs with
Casey, the mystery girl.
My excitement was nearly unbearable. So was my
fear.
What if her parents catch us?
What if they don't, and she takes me into her
bedroom and we make love?
What if our pursuer saw which house we ran to,
and comes in to get us?
I was pretty sure Casey hadn't locked the
front door.
I imagined the big man lumbering up the
stairs, pulling out a knife as he reached the
second floor.
Fee, fi, fo, fum . . .
Shit.
At the top of the stairs, Casey guided me to the
left. We moved along silently on the carpet.
Ahead of us, a window seemed almost bright with the gray
of the night outside. The gray seeped in, filling
that end of the hallway but dimming away as it neared us,
leaving most of the corridor black.
A growly sound sent shivers up my spine.
Casey halted.
She'd stopped us in front of a doorway. The
growly sounds came from that direction, and I realized
they were snores from someone sleeping. No, from
two
people sleeping. To our left was a doorway. The room
beyond it was slightly less dark than where we stood.
Casey pulled gently on my arm and I followed
her into the room. It had a very large bed between two
windows. The window curtains were shut, but light from
outside came through them and from spaces at their edges.
There seemed to be two people asleep on the bed. Their
heads were on pillows. One person was covered to the
shoulders with blankets, while the other,
curled on her side, had no sheet or blanket
on her at all. She seemed to be wearing dark
pajamas, but her feet were bare. The room was
chilly. I thought her feet must be cold.
I supposed these two people must be Casey's mother and
father.
Strange that she would bring me into their bedroom while
they slept.
She must have her reasons, I thought.
Though I wanted to get out of the room, Casey still
held my arm. She led me past the right side of the
bed, all the way to the window. There, she let go of
my arm. With both hands, she parted the curtains.
Light from outside poured in. At first, it seemed
so bright that I feared it might disturb the sleepers.
But they continued to snore and I realized that the light
from outside was not very bright, after all.
As Casey spread the curtains all the way open,
quiet, skidding sounds came from the top.
The sleepers went on snoring.
Casey moved sideways to make room for me at
the window. I eased over until my arm touched
hers. Looking down through the glass, we had a fine
view of the area in front of the house.
That's why she'd brought us into this room.
Except for shadowed places, the lawn and
sidewalk and road were well lighted
by streetlamps. We could even see portions of the
neighbors' property to both sides of Casey's
house and across the road.
Nobody was in sight.
Where is he?
Maybe, having no idea where we'd gone, the chaser
had run on by to search for us on different streets,
different blocks. Maybe he'd quit and wandered
off.
Or maybe he knew exactly where we'd gone.
He might be hiding down there, waiting for us to come out.
Maybe in those bushes across the street. Or behind one
of the parked cars. Or behind the trunk of the tree in
Casey's front yard. Or on the porch of this very
house,
or already inside.
If only we could
see
him!
Suddenly, I wondered if he could see
us.
Standing this close to the glass, we might be visible
to someone looking up at the window.
As if Casey shared the thought, she bumped gently
against my side. I moved out of the way. She reached
high with both hands and slid the curtains shut.
Taking me by the arm, she led me toward the bedroom
door. About halfway there, however, she stopped.
She gave my arm a squeeze, then let go. I
slowly turned and watched her drift through the darkness
to the side of the bed where the uncovered woman was
sleeping.
She draped a blanket over the woman's bare
feet.
The woman kept on snoring.
Casey came back to me. Her hand found my forearm
and she led me out of the room.

r*
She guided me down the hallway and into another
bedroom. I hoped it might be hers, but the
curtains were open. In the glow from outside, I saw
the shape of someone on a single bed beneath one of the
windows. A head lay on the pillow. The rest of the
body was hidden under a blanket.
For a moment, I thought this might be a fake person
-- a dummy put there by Casey before she crept out
of the house. But sounds of slow, steady
breathing came from that direction. Unless Casey's
ruse was sophisticated enough to include sound effects,
the shape on the bed was a real person.
Beneath the other window was a second bed. Empty.
Was
this
Casey's bed? Did she share the room with a sister?
Its blankets looked smooth and straight. If
Casey had gone to bed earlier in the night, she'd
apparently made the bed before departing for her
adventures.
Breath soft against my ear, Casey whispered,
"We'll wait here for a while
."
Then she stepped away from me and silently shut the
bedroom door.
After that, she led me by the hand to the empty bed. "Lie
down," she whispered.
Heart thudding wildly, I sank onto the bed. It
made some quiet creaking sounds. I scooted over
to the far edge to make room for Casey. On my
back, I watched her sit on the edge of the
mattress, swing her legs up, and lie flat.
She turned her face toward me. "You can take a
nap if you want," she whispered.
I found her hand and held it. She gave my hand a
squeeze.
"I don't think I can sleep," I said, hoping
my quiet voice wouldn't disturb the other girl.
"Why not
?"
"I'm a little nervous
."
"About what
?"
"Everything
."
She turned onto her side, facing me. I
turned onto my side, too. The mattress
shook slightly as she scooted closer to me. She
put an arm behind my back. I felt her breath on
my lips, her breasts touching me through soft
fabrics, the warmth of her thighs touching mine. I
reached over her side and laid my hand on her
back.
"You don't have to be nervous," she whispered.
"We're safe here
."
I almost mentioned that she hadn't locked the front
door. If I'd said it, though, she
might've gone downstairs to correct the situation.
I wanted her to stay just where she was.
"Try to sleep," she whispered.
"That'd be a good trick
."
"All you've got to do is relax. Think nice
thoughts
."
I closed my eyes. My thoughts were nice, all
right. All about Casey on the bed with me.
From the feel of her breath, her lips were only an
inch or two away from mine. I longed to kiss her,
to scoot closer and hold her body tightly against
mine, to slip a hand up the back of her sweatshirt.
Is that what she's hoping for? I wondered.
Back in the playground, she'd stopped me when I
made a move to kiss her.
Just friends,
she'd said. And,
We hardly even know each other.
And,
You've already got Eileen.
Had she changed her mind?
Not likely.
Then what're we doing in her bed?
It's just a place to stay while we wait for things
to get safe outside.
Really? The living room would've been fine for that.
But we're not in the living room, we're in her
bedroom.
Suppose she
does
want me to make a move? If I don't do it,
she'll think I'm either a chicken or I'm not
interested in her.
But she's already told me
not
to. If I go ahead and try it anyway, she'll
think I'm a jerk. I imagined her saying,
What part of the word 'no" don't you understand?
Casey would never say such a thing. No halfway
considerate person would
ever
say such a crappy thing to someone. She might like me
less, though.
"Maybe I'll try counting sheep," I
whispered.
She didn't answer.
My comment, pretty inane if I do say so myself,
hadn't required an answer. Still, her
silence seemed a little odd.
"Casey
?"
I whispered.
Her warm breath blew against my lips and chin. The
breeze went away as she slowly filled her
lungs. Then the air returned to my face.
She's asleep!
She breathed with an easy, peaceful rhythm that sounded
much the same as the breathing that came from the other bed.
How could she let herself fall asleep? She and I
were supposed to be in this together.
I felt abandoned and disappointed.
And worried.
After all, I was a stranger in this house. Casey
was my host, my guide, my protector. So long
as she remained asleep, however, I was on my own.
I
can wake her up.
The way she'd dropped off so fast, it was obvious
that she needed sleep. I probably needed it,
myself, but I was too keyed up.
I'd better
not
fall asleep, I thought.
I pictured myself waking up in daylight with Casey
in my arms, her parents and sister standing over the bed,
glaring down at me.
Wouldn't that be lovely?
It won't happen, I told myself. The moment I
start to get drowsy, I'll wake Casey up and
tell her I have to leave. She can either see me to the
door or stay here. In the meantime, I'll just let
her sleep.
But what if I drift off?
That sort of thing can sneak up on you. I might just
close my eyes thinking I'll rest them for a few
moments . . . and not wake up till six or
seven.
I thought about setting my wristwatch alarm.
Unfortunately, the watch was on my left wrist,
and my left arm was trapped underneath me. Just as
well, probably. Though the alarm's noise was a
quiet beep, it might be loud enough to wake up the
girl in the other bed.
Casey squirmed in her sleep. Her back slid
under my hand and she made a soft "Mmm" sound as
if she liked how my hand felt. When she quit
squirming, I went on rubbing her back. I
caressed her in slow, gentle circles,
making the sweatshirt move over her smooth skin.
I didn't intentionally work the sweatshirt upward.
After a while, however, it got rumpled. Feeling
my way downward, I discovered that the sweatshirt no
longer overlapped the top of her jeans. A distance of
two or three inches separated them. In the space
between them was Casey's bare skin.
I put my hand there. She continued to sleep. Her
skin felt smooth and slightly cool.
At the very back, the waistband of her jeans was pursed
out slightly. Probably something to do with the way she was
curled on her side.
I turned my hand and eased my fingers in. An inch
or so down, I felt the thin elastic band of her
panties. Keeping my fingers outside the
panties, I stroked the top of her buttocks through
the slick fabric.
Her breathing stayed the same, so I knew she still
slept.
I thought how easy it would be to slip my fingers
under
the elastic.
Just a little bit.
I knew I shouldn't do it.
What'll it hurt? She's asleep.
She'll never even know I did it.
It's wrong.
But I was already pretty excited by that point.
Unwilling to stop myself, I went ahead and snuck
my hand down under the back of her panties. I
slid my fingers slowly across her buttocks and
stroked the smooth, warm valley between them.
Casey still slept.
Fearful of disturbing her if I explored too
deeply, I kept my hand fairly high on her
rump.
When she moaned, I moved my hand higher -- and out
from inside her panties.
Moments later, her breathing returned to the slow in and
out of her sleep rhythm.
"Casey
?"
I whispered.
She didn't respond, so I slipped my hand beneath
the bottom of her sweatshirt. She felt good and
warm under there. My hand glided slowly, savoring her
smoothness and curves. I caressed her from side
to side, slowly making my way upward all the way
to the backs of her shoulders.
And now the front?
I wanted badly to do it. I was hard and aching.
My hand continued to caress her back. The way she was
curled on her side, her left breast still pushed
against me.
It's already touching my chest, I told myself.
What's the difference if it's touching my hand?
Plenty.
Underneath her sweatshirt, my hand moved slowly
downward until it almost came out. Then I eased it
up her side, feeling the curves of her ribcage.
Her arm, draped over my side, wasn't in the
way. I stopped my hand on the warm skin just below her
armpit.
She still breathed slowly, deeply.
The ball of my thumb rested against a rising
smoothness that was probably the side of her breast.
Now all I needed to do was bring my hand toward me.
Are you out of your mind? What if she wakes up?
I'll tell her I thought she was awake the whole
time.
You wanta blow everything just to cop a feel? Are you
nuts? Go find Eileen, you can mess with her tits
to your heart's content.
I didn't care about Eileen's.
I ached to touch Casey's. Especially the
one I could feel against my chest and against the side of
my hand.
If she catches me, she'll hate me.
If she doesn't catch me, I thought, I'll
hate myself. I saw nothing particularly wrong with
caressing her back while she slept -- or even
her
low
back -- but to feel up her breasts was crossing the
line.
If I don't draw the line at that, what next?
Unfasten her jeans and put my hand down the front
of her panties? Slip a few fingers into her?
I imagined myself doing just that.
Aching with lust, I gritted my teeth and slid my
hand downward, out from under her sweatshirt.
I placed my hand safely in the middle of her
back and sighed.
Casey went on sleeping.
I don't know how much time went by -- perhaps five
minutes, maybe ten -- before I realized that sounds
of slow, steady breathing no longer came from the
direction of the other bed.
Casey's head blocked my view. I raised my
head enough to see over her with one eye.
While I watched, the girl in the other bed turned
onto her side and pushed herself up on one elbow.
"Hey," the girl said, her voice a fairly
loud whisper.
Going squirmy inside, I didn't say a thing.
I didn't move.
"Is that you
?"
she asked.
Time to call in the troops. I grabbed Casey's
arm and shook it. "Mmm
?"
Lowering my head, I whispered, "She's awake
."
"Mmm
?"
"Who
is
that
?"
the girl asked. She sounded somewhat concerned, but not
alarmed.
Casey made another quiet, "Mmm," sound.
Then her lips pushed softly against mine. They were
open and warm and moist and too quickly gone.
Moaning again, Casey rolled onto her back and
turned her head toward the girl. "Hi,
Marianne," she whispered.
"Is someone with you
?"
"Yeah
."
"A
boy?"
"Yeah. His name's Ed. He's my new friend
."
"Hi, Marianne," I whispered.
"Hi, Ed
."
Casey sat up and swung her feet to the floor.
"Ed's a student at the university
."
"Cool," said Marianne.
"Marianne's in the eighth grade," Casey
explained.
"Cool," I said.
Marianne laughed softly.
"Ed's real nice," Casey explained to her,
"but he already has a girlfriend so I guess I'm
out of luck
."
"I wouldn't say that," I whispered.
She looked around at me, then stood up and moved
silently across the floor to Marianne's bed. There,
she said, "How're you doing, honey
?"
"Oh, not so bad
."
Casey bent down over the bed. She put her arms
around the girl, who then reached up and embraced her.
They clung to each other and didn't let go. After a
while, someone began very quietly to sob.
"It's all right," Casey whispered.
"No it's not
."
"Sure
."
"I thought. . . you weren't coming back
."
"I'm here
."
"Thought you . . . didn't care about me ...
anymore
."
"I'll always care about you
."
"But you . . . didn't come
."
"It hasn't been that long, has it
?"
"Yes it has
."
"A week
?"
"Longer," Marianne said, and sniffed. "Almost
two. Twelve nights
."
"I'm sorry
."
"I've missed you so bad
."
"I've missed you, too
."
"Then why didn't you
come?"
"I have lots to do
."
"Was it "cause of him
."
"No, no. I only met Ed tonight. But
I have lots of places I need to go. I come here as
often as I can
."
"I wish you'd come more
."
"I know. So do I. But I'm here now
."
"Yeah
."
They released each other. Marianne scooted over.
Casey lifted the covers and crawled into the bed.
After a few minutes, she eased herself out of
Marianne's bed and came toward me. By the sounds
of the breathing I heard, Marianne must've fallen
asleep.
Bending over me, Casey whispered, "We can go now
."
I made my way slowly across the mattress. Then
Casey took my hand and pulled. I stood up.
Keeping hold of my hand, she led me out of the room
and down the dark hallway to the top of the stairs, then
down the stairway.
At the bottom, we put on our shoes. Though I
expected Casey to lead me straight to the front
door, we turned away from it. In a
corridor that was nearly pitch black, she
whispered, "Do you want to use the bathroom
?"
"Here in the house
?"
"Yeah
."
I had to go fairly badly, but I said, "I
don't think so
."
"Okay. I'll be right out
."
She let go of my hand. I heard a few soft
footfalls. Then, just to my right, a door bumped
quietly shut.
A moment later, a strip of yellow light appeared
across the bottom of the door.
Maybe this
is
her house, I thought.
From the sound of her urine drilling the water, she
must've had to go very badly. It went on for a long
time. After it stopped, I heard a faucet come on.
She was washing her hands, but she hadn't flushed yet.
Under the circumstances, maybe you
don't
flush.
She opened the door a crack. The bathroom light
was still on. Her face close to the crack, she
whispered, "You sure you don't want to go
?"
"I'm sure
."
She nodded, then stepped away from the door. After the
toilet flushed, she came back and turned off the
light. I heard the door open. She found my arm,
then my hand. Her hand felt cold from the faucet.
Instead of turning us around and heading for the front
door, she led us toward the back of the house. The
carpet ended. In the vague light from the windows, I
saw cupboards, counters, a stove and a
refrigerator.
"Thirsty
?"
Casey asked.
"I don't think so
."
"Hungry
?"
"Shouldn't we get out of here
?"
"Why
?"
"This isn't really your house, is it
?"
While she continued to hold my hand, her free hand
patted me on the chest. "So that's the problem
."
"Yeah
."
"Don't worry about it
."
"It isn't your house, is it
?"
"Not exactly
."
"I didn't think so
."
"But we've got permission
."
"Whose
?"
"Marianne's. We're like her guests
."
"What about her parents
?"
"They're asleep
."
"God, I hope so
."
She laughed softly.
"Do they know you sneak into their house in the middle of the
night
?"
I asked.
"God, I hope not
."
She patted my chest again, then released

IT
my hand and walked over to the refrigerator. She
opened it. Light flooded out. Looking over her
shoulder, she asked, "What'll you have
?"
"Nothing
."
"A Coke? A beer
?"
"No! Are you nuts? We've gotta get out of
here
."
"How about a maraschino cherry
?"
"No!"
She removed a jar of the bright red cherries from a
shelf in the refrigerator door, unscrewed the
lid and held out the jar toward me. "Come on, help
yourself
."
"It's stealing
."
"Nah
."
I shook my head and refused to take a cherry, so
she turned away and set the Lid down on a shelf
inside the refrigerator. Going into the jar with her
thumb and forefinger, she pinched a long stem and lifted
a cherry out of its clear red juice. She let a
few drips fall into the jar, then tilted back her
head, opened her mouth and lowered in the cherry. She
brought her teeth closer together. A small tug
jerked the cherry up against them and the stem came off.
She chewed and I heard the wet squishy sounds and
could almost taste the cherry's sweetness.
I liked maraschino cherries very much, but not
enough to take one that didn't belong to me.
"I
know
you want one," Casey whispered.
"No thanks
."
"Come on
."
She inserted her thumb and forefinger again and fished for a
stem. "It's okay with Marianne. She says I
should make myself at home
."
"But her parents
."
"The hell with them. They're creeps. They're
horrible to her.8She caught a stem and lifted out a
cherry. Holding it above the jar. she whispered,
"Open up
."
I opened up and tilted back my head. Casey
raised the cherry above my mouth. Then she teased me
with it, bumping it against my lips a few times before
lowering it into my mouth. I brought my teeth closer
together and she plucked the stem off. The loose cherry
rolled around inside my mouth. I got it
between my molars and squeezed it a little. It felt
springy. Juice seeped out of it. Then I chomped
and the cherry exploded, flooding my mouth with sweet
juices.
"You've eaten of the forbidden fruit," Casey
whispered. "Now your ass is doomed
."
I almost burst out laughing. I fought it back, though.
"Thanks a lot," I said.
Laughing softly, Casey screwed on the lid and
returned the jar to its place on the shelf of the
refrigerator door.
"Now can we go
?"
I asked.
"Whenever you're ready, Eddie
."
She shut the door, and darkness clutched the kitchen.

t
The kitchen had a door to the back yard, so we used
it. After the darkness inside the house, the night
seemed very bright. We stood on the elevated deck
just outside the door and looked all around.
No sign of the man who had chased us.
No sign of anyone else, either.
We descended a few stairs to the yard, then went
around the side of the house. At the front corner,
we stopped in the shadows and stood motionless for a long
time.
Nobody was in sight.
"I guess the coast is clear," I said.
"Looks that way
."
Still keeping careful watch, we made our way to the
sidewalk. "I'll stick with you for a while
."
Casey said. "Then maybe we'd better call it
a night
."
"You have lots of other places to go
?"
She took hold of my hand. We started walking
toward the end of the block. "I have certain things
to do," she said. "Places I go
."
"Like Marianne's house
?"
She shrugged. "Marianne's my friend. I visit
her when I can
."
"Not often enough
."
"Her house came in handy, didn't it
?"
Nodding, I asked, "Does she leave the front
door unlocked for you
?"
"Doesn't have to. Her parents never lock it
."
"They have no idea you sneak in
?"
"Haven't got a clue. If they ever found out, they
would
start locking the door. Not that it'd keep me out
."
"You also go through locked doors
?"
She beamed a smile. "They're my specialty
."
"You're a very bad girl
."
Her smile went slightly crooked. "Think so
?"
"Not really
."
"Good. I don't think so, either
."
"How come locked doors are your "specialty"
?"
"I'm good at opening them
."
"And going into places where you don't belong
?"
"People don't necessarily lock their doors to keep
me
out. They're
more worried about burglars and killers and other
assorted denizens of evil
."
"Or maybe to keep out everyone who isn't
invited
inside
."
She smiled at me. "They might invite me in if
they knew me
."
"I'm sure they would
."
"Marianne would
."
"Not her parents, though
."
"Not hardly. But you can't please everyone, and I
don't even try. That's a nice thing about night
roaming; you're mostly on your own and don't have
to deal with people. You can watch them. You can hide from them.
You can even get to know them pretty well if you
want, but they never have to know
you
."
"Like going around invisible
."
"Precisely
."
"And being invisible, you make a habit of sneaking
into people's houses
?"
Her smile broke out again. "It's been known
to happen
."
"Why do you do it
?"
"Why not
?"
"It's against the law. It's dangerous
."
"It's exciting
."
"Is that why you do it
?"
I asked.
"I just do it. I like to do it and I do it.
You
did it tonight. What'd you think
?"
"I thought you lived there. In fact, you
said
it was your house
."
She gave my hand a squeeze. "I was speaking
figuratively, college boy
."
"How is someone else's house yours
figuratively!"
Not even pausing to consider her answer, she said,
"It's
like
mine while I'm in it
."
Laughing, I said, "That's a stretch
."
"Perchance
."
Suddenly, a thought struck me with concern and sorrow.
"Do you
have
a home
?"
"What makes you ask
?"
"You're roaming around all night, obviously going
into
other
people's homes
."
"Does that mean I don't have one of my own
?"
"It might
."
"But not necessarily
."
"Where
do
you live
?"
Her smile died. "Wherever I want
."
"You don't
have
a place
?"
"Of course I do
."
"I mean a place of your own. Not somebody
else's house. Your own house or apartment or
something
."
"Maybe I do and maybe I don't
."
"You don't," I said.
"Think not
?"
"Where are your parents
?"
I asked.
"Who says I have any
?"
"Are you an orphan
?"
"That'd make them dead
."
"So you
do
have parents
."
"Somewhere
."
"But not here
?"
"Let me ask
you
something," she said.
"Okay
."
"Do you want to see me tomorrow night
?"
"Sure
."
"Why
?"
"Why? Because . . " Be careful, I warned myself.
"I like being with you
."
"Why
?"
"I don't know. Because you're interesting. And funny
."
"Isn't Eileen interesting and funny
?"
"Sort of. Not like you, though
."
"But she's your girlfriend. You said so yourself. Don't
you want to be with
her
tomorrow night
?"
"Which night is that? This is already Friday morning .
.
."
To me, it's still Thursday night
."
"When does it become Friday
?"
"Sunrise
."
"So "tomorrow night8is Friday night
?"
"Exactly
."
"I'm free," I said.
"What about Eileen? Friday night, shouldn't you be
seeing your girlfriend
?"
Oh, boy.
"We agreed to stay away from each other for a few
days
."
"How come
?"
I wanted to tell Casey the truth. Easy enough
to explain about getting attacked and probably
killing a guy and the rest that happened Wednesday
night; my real problem would be admitting that I'd
gone under the bridge to have sex with Eileen.
"I think I mentioned she hasn't been feeling very
well
?"
Casey nodded.
"It's probably nothing serious, but she doesn't
want
me
to catch it. So we definitely won't be getting
together tomorrow night
."
"Are you sure you didn't have a fight with her
?"
I frowned and said nothing.
"You look like you were in a fight with
somebody
."
I
almost cringed. I'd forgotten about the bruises and
scratches on my face. "Oh, that," I said.
"You didn't beat her up, did you
?"
"No!"
"What happened to you
?"
Stalling, I shrugged. Then I thought of something.
"There's this guy I know, Kirkus. He's a real
jerk
."
So far, I wasn't lying. "We're both on the
staff of the university's literary magazine. We
get together a couple of times a month to read the
stories and poems that people submit. Anyway,
Kirkus read this story of mine . .
."
"You wrote it
?"
"Yeah. Anyway, Kirkus read it and said it was
lousy. "Pedestrian and sophomoric, full of
gratuitous violence and sexea8he said. So I
called him a tight-ass, illiterate old prig
and one thing sorta led to another
."
Still the truth. "Next thing you know, I said something he
really
didn't like and he punched me in the face. So I
punched him
."
I smiled and shook my head. "It was all pretty
dumb. We threw a lot of punches and both of us
got bruised up a little. It was no big deal
."
All
the truth.
But it had happened the previous May.
"So you and Eileen didn't have a fight
?"
What if Casey sees her?
We
didn't
fight.
"No," I said. "We've never had an actual
fight
."
"Do you ever hit girls
?"
"Not if you don't count Kirkus
."
"I thought he was a guy
."
"Nobody's absolutely sure. Anyway, I
think Eileen's just down with a bug. Like maybe the
flu or something
."
"What happens when she gets well
?"
I took a few moments, trying to think of a good
answer. Then I said, "She's never up past
eleven or twelve, anyway. And she lives over
at the sorority house, not with me. So I can come out
whenever I want to
."
"On the sly
?"
"She doesn't have to know everything I do. We're not
. . .
engaged or anything. We haven't even been going
together all that long
."
"How long
?"
Since Monday night. And this was Thursday night,
by Casey's calculations.
"Well," I said, "we got to know each other
last spring, but we didn't really start going together
until this semester
."
"So that makes it okay to see someone else behind her
back
?"
"I'm not exactly
seeing
you. We only met. . . what, a couple of hours
ago
?"
"But we're getting together tomorrow night, aren't we
?"
"I hope so
."
"Will you tell Eileen about it
?"
"Probably not
."
"So you
will
be seeing me behind her back
."
"Yeah, but we're not doing anything
."
"We're doing something
."
"Well, yeah, but not-"
Casey stepped up against me, wrapped her arms
around me and kissed me on the mouth. As the kiss
went on, I put my arms around her. We were
pressed tightly together. I could feel her breasts and
ribcage against my chest, her belly against mine, the
curve of her mons pushing against my crotch.
Her mouth eased away. "Are we doing anything yet
?"
"Sure are
."
"Just so you know," she said. Then, "See you tomorrow
night
."
"You're leaving
?"
She walked backward, smiling. "Going, goinggg.
. dis8She whirled] around. As she ran down the
sidewalk, she called over her shoulder
"Gone!"
"But where'full . .
."
. . . she dodged out of sight behind a hedge . . .
" ... we meet
?"
She didn't answer.
I ran past the hedge, but she wasn't there. I
couldn't see her anywhere.
"Casey
?"
I called.
She didn't answer.
I wandered around looking for her, thinking that perhaps she was
playing a small prank and might turn up again.
Finally, I realized she was gone for the night.
Giving up, I took a few moments to figure out
which way to go for Division Street, and commenced my
journey home.
A few times, I had occasion to play Ride or
Hide. Each time, I hid.
I watched from my hiding places.
A police car cruised by. So did a moving
van. And Linda and Walinda Wiggins in their
Jeep. (why were
they
still out?) But I didn't see Randy's pickup
truck or the van I'd encountered at the
Fairmont Street bridge.
A guy in a sweatsuit ran down the middle of the
street alongside his Doberman, which may or may
not have been on a leash. I heard the tinny rattle
and clank of a shopping cart somewhere nearby, but saw
neither the cart nor the person pushing it.
I didn't see any trolls at all ...
'night loonies," as Casey called them.
I didn't see the bike hag, either.
Most of all, I didn't see Casey.
When I came to the Franklin Street bridge
over the Old Mill stream, I ran across it.
Soon after that, I was safe inside my apartment.
After a couple of hours of sleep, a shower and a cup
of coffee, I left the building to head for my eight
o'clock Romantic Literature class and found
Eileen coming up the sidewalk toward me.
I felt a moment of alarm. But she
looked cheerful. Seeing me, she smiled and waved and
quickened her pace.
It was a windy autumn morning. Her thick hair
blew, some of it flying across her face. She wore
a green sweater, a plaid skirt and green knee
socks. Her breasts went up and down inside the
sweater with the motions of her walking. The wind flung
her skirt against her legs.
She looked wonderful.
Except for her face. Even her face, however,
looked better than when I'd seen her yesterday
morning. She still had bandages above her left
eyebrow, on her right cheekbone and on her jaw, but
her eye and lip were less puffy. Nor did her
bruises show. I guess she'd covered them with
makeup.
"Good morning," she said.
"Hi
."
"Surprised to see me
?"
"Yeah
."
Surprised and disoriented. Though I'd only been
with Casey for a couple of hours last
night, Eileen now seemed a little foreign to me:
bigger, heavier, older, more steady and mature, more
stable, less dangerous and less exciting.
All she carried was the purse hanging from her
shoulder. When she opened her arms, I swung my
book bag down to the sidewalk. We embraced.
She squeezed herself against me and I felt the soft
push of her breasts. Her cheek was cool against my
face.
"I've missed you so much," she whispered.
"Me, too
."
Then I added, "Missed you
."
Then she eased her hold, moved her face back and
kissed me on the mouth ... a gentle touch to avoid
hurting her split lip. Stepping away, she said,
"I just thought I'd come by and see you safely to your
eight o'clock
."
"Good deal
."
I shouldered my book bag and we started walking.
"Anything going on
?"
I asked.
"Not a thing. It's like nothing ever happened Wednesday
night
."
"Let's hope it stays that way
."
"I'm halfway thinking nothing
did
happen. Except I can feel the aftereffects.
And
see
"em when I look in a mirror
."
"You're looking a lot better
."
"You, too. But I still
feel
like a disaster
."
"You got it a lot worse than me," I said, and
wondered again if her injuries included rape.
"The worst part was staying away from you yesterday. I
hated
that
."
"Me, too
."
"And I got to thinking it was really sort of pointless.
I mean, what've we got to hide
?"
"Murder
."
"You didn't murder anyone. Even if you
did
kill that guy, it was self-defense. But there
doesn't seem to be any sort of investigation going
on. I don't think they've even found his body.
As far as the cops go, nothing happened. So I
don't know if we really need to stay away from each
other any more
."
"I don't know," I said. "People see us side
by side, they've gotta figure we got hurt
together
."
"We have our tree stories," she said. Though she
smiled, she looked troubled. Apparently, she had
expected me to go along with her new idea.
It took me a few moments to remember the tree
stories. "I ran into one chasing a
Frisbee, and you fell out of a tree rescuing a
kitten
?"
"A kite
."
"Yeah. In my professional opinion as an
amateur writer, the two stories are somewhat
lame and marginally believable, taken separately.
Put them together, though, and nobody'll believe them
."
"Do you really think it matters
?"
"It might matter if the body turns up
."
"Maybe," she said. "But Kirkus saw us together
right after it happened, anyway. He knows we got
beaten up
."
"He won't tell
."
"He won't
?"
"Nah. If he thought I killed someone, the last
thing he would do is turn me in. He might threaten
to, but he wouldn't actually do it. He'd
keep what he knows a secret and try to control me
with it
."
She smiled. "You really think so
?"
"Pretty sure
."
"Why on earth would he do that
?"
"He's got the hots for me
."
"Wooo!" she blurted, and laughed. Then she said,
"You're awful."
"I might be awful, but I think I'm right. He's
careful not to let it show too much
"Disguises it with overt hostility
?"
Eileen suggested, smiling and nodding.
"Exactly
."
"I'd never thought of it that way. I've always just seen
him as a self-important pain in the ass, but you
might be right
."
"If I am, we probably don't need
to worry about Kirkus tipping off the cops
."
"He might do it in a fit of jealous rage
."
"Nah
."
"Or good citizenship might overcome his lust for you
."
"I doubt it
."
"Anyway," said Eileen, 'x's a moot point
since there's no body and no investigation
."
"Yet," I added.
"I don't think there
will
be. Those awful creeps under the bridge must've
done something . . . hidden the body somewhere . . .
maybe buried it.
"Or devoured it completely," I threw in.
"All but the bones
."
"Even
the bones, maybe. Dogs eat bones down to nothing
."
"Ug
."
Closer to campus, the streets and sidewalks were
busy with students and faculty members. I
recognized most of them. So far, however, nobody
seemed to be paying attention to Eileen or me.
"Maybe we'd better split up," I said.
"Do we have to
?"
"If we don't, we'll have to start fielding questions
about our faces. And it's the sort of thing people will
probably talk about and remember
."
"I don't think it'll matter
."
"I'm the one who killed the guy
."
"You don't know that for sure
."
"Let's just play it safe. Okay? Just for today,
let's keep our distance. It's Friday, so we'll
have the whole weekend to heal up some more before everyone
starts seeing us together
."
We both stopped at the corner.
Eileen's smile was gone. "You think we should stay
away from each other till
Monday?"
"It might be a good idea. Just to play it safe
."
Frowning, she asked, "Is something going on
?"
"It was your idea in the first place, you know. Staying
away from each other till our faces heal.
Remember your note
?"
She nodded, but she didn't look happy.
"And we discussed it last night
."
"I know," she said.
"I thought we'd agreed that we shouldn't be seen together
for... I don't know,
several
days
."
"I guess we did," she admitted.
"So if we just wait till Monday . .
."
"Being
seen
together isn't the same as
being
together. We can still be together if nobody's around to see
us, can't we? What would that hurt
?"
My chances of being with Casey tonight.
Realizing I was in hazardous territory, I said,
"You're right," and tried to look pleased. "The thing
is not to be
seen
together. So how about coming over to my place later on
?"
"You don't sound very sure
."
"No, I'm sure. Yeah! It'll be great.
We'll need to stay in, but. .
."
"No problem
."
She seemed happier. "I tell you what; I'll
bring everything over. Drinks, food. You won't have
to do anything but be there
."
"Great!" I said.
"What time should I come by
?"
The earlier, the better.
"How about five
?"
"You got it. See you then
."
Smiling, she whirled around and went striding off down
the sidewalk, hair and skirt blowing in the wind.
I muttered, "Just great
."
Kirkus intercepted me as I walked past the
student union. Raising a hand, he called out,
"What ho, Eduardo!"
Speaking of the devil, I thought.
I wasn't surprised to see him, though; like me,
he was in Dr Trueman's eight o'clock Romantic
Lit class. More often than not, he met me along
the way to it, suddenly popping out of a door or out from
behind a nearby tree as if he'd been waiting in
ambuscade.
"Hey there, Rudy," I called to him.
He came striding toward me, bouncing on the balls
of his feet. Around his neck was a tangerine-colored
ascot. He wore his usual corduroy jacket,
blue chambray shirt and blue jeans.
Though just about everyone else on campus lugged book
bags on their shoulders, jaunty Kirkus carried
a large leather briefcase.
I hadn't seen him since Wednesday night, but
I'd spoken badly about him much more recently ...
to both Casey and Eileen. He had no way of
knowing about any of that. I felt a little guilty,
anyway.
"How you doing
?"
I asked as he caught up with me.
"Tip top, old bean
."
"Glad to hear it. No trouble with the ruffians
Wednesday night
?"
For a moment, he seemed at a loss. Could he
possibly have forgotten the incident? Before I had a
chance to kick myself for mentioning it, he tipped back his
head and said, "Ah! None at all. No, indeed,
I glimpsed neither hide nor hair of the
hooligans. I'd rather hoped to retrieve
Eileen's blouse, but they must've gone off with their
prize
."
He looked pleased, no doubt with his choice of
gone off.
"And how fares the fair Eileen
?"
he asked.
"Fairly well
."
He rolled his eyes upward to disparage
my
word play.
"She's improving," I added.
"Looked as if she'd had a bit of a rough go
."
"She's pretty embarrassed about the whole thing
."
"Eileen embarrassed? I say,
you
were the chap without the shirt
."
"Right. By the time
you
saw us
."
"Ah, yes. You'd lent your garment to the damsel.
Quite the chivalrous gesture, what
?"
"I couldn't let her walk around half naked,"
I said. Discussing the matter with Kirkus made me
feel squirmy, but I had a plan growing in my
mind. "After those creeps tore off her blouse, she
was . . . she had nothing on up there
."
"Braless in Gaza, was she
?"
Nodding, I said, "Must've been six or seven
guys got to see her ... you know
."
"Her precious boobies
."
"I shouldn't be telling you this
."
"Oh, please do
."
"They touched her, too. Some of them . . . you know .
. . felt her up
."
"Oh, dear. Before or after they whizzed on her hair
?"
I'd forgotten that part of Eileen's story.
"Before," I said. Shaking my head, I
went on. "She's
really
embarrassed by the whole episode. She doesn't
want anyone to know about it. If people hear about that sort
of thing, they picture it in their minds. And they
talk. Pretty soon, everybody's thinking about
Eileen without a top on and guys groping her and
pissing on her and all that
."
"Quite so
."
He smiled. "I'm thinking about it even as we speak
."
Maybe he's not so gay, after all.
I said, "Eileen sure doesn't want everyone
on campus picturing her like that
."
"Certainly not
."
"So maybe you could just forget you saw us
."
"Hardly possible, dear fellow, to forget such a
rare and wondrous sight
."
Wondrous sight? 7 was the shirtless one.
"Okay," I said, "you don't have to
forget
it. How about just keeping it to yourself? Eileen and I would
both be very grateful
."
The corners of Kirkus's mouth turned upward and
his eyes sparkled. "Mum's the word, old sport
."
With that, he pressed his lips together and locked them with
an invisible key. He tossed the key over his
shoulder and brushed off his hands.
"Thanks," I said.
"You're quite welcome, really
."
"And don't let Eileen know we had this talk,
okay? She'd be really upset if she found out
I'd blabbed to you
."
"Righto
."
He clapped me on the back.
Side by side, we climbed the concrete stairs
toward the side entrance of the English building.
Suddenly I noticed, a few steps above us, the
backside of Horrible Hillary
Hatchens. Her head with its pixie haircut
looked very small up there. She wore a white
pullover sweater, a tight gray skirt, and
cowgirl boots. For a woman with such a slight
build, she had a remarkably broad rear end.
Luckily, I wouldn't be sitting in her class again
until the following Tuesday, which seemed like years
away.
As Hatchens entered the door at the top of the
stairs, Kirkus asked, "When shall I join you for
dinner
?"
"Dinner
?"
"How about tonight
?"
"I'm seeing Eileen tonight
."
"Splendid! We'll make it a threesome!"
The top stair had a dip worn into its concrete by the
tread of countless feet. It was generally considered
special. I considered it mostly a safety
hazard, and carefully stepped around it.
Inside, the building smelled like floor wax and
old wood. It was also quite dark. Daylight
had a way of refusing to enter the old windows.
I spotted Hatchens strutting down the first-floor
hallway. She seemed to be predominantly
butt.
Kirkus and I started climbing the stairs toward the
second floor. The stairwell above us appeared
to be deserted. The way sounds traveled and
reverberated, however, voices and tramping feet and the
creaking sounds of stairs and banisters seemed to be
coming from all around us. Kirkus's voice joined them.
"Dinner
?"
he asked.
"What about it
?"
"You, me and Eileen. Tonight
."
I shook my head. "I don't know if she'll like
that idea
."
"Oy, vaht's not to like
?"
he asked, switching from his phony British voice
to his phony Jewish-mother voice. Kirkus was a
man of numerous, if feeble, talents.
"A nosh, a nosh, my kingdom for a nosh!"
"Jeez
."
"Your shiksa, she von't even know I'm there
."
"Yeah, right
."
"So, vee haff a date
?"
"Now you're starting to sound like a Nazi
."
"Yah? Vee haff
vays
to make you talk, yankee dog!"
At the top of the stairs, we turned to the right and
headed down a wide hallway toward our
classroom. The hall was nearly deserted. I
glanced at my wristwatch. Five till eight.
Though class rarely began on time, most of the other
students were probably already seated and ready.
"Zo," said Kirkus. "Dinner tonight
?"
"I guess so, but only if you swear you'll never
tell anyone about Eileen ..."
"Unt her vunderbar boobies unt zee
pee in her hair
."
"Right
."
Smiling, Kirkus patted me on the back.
"I'm quite looking forward to our engagement, Eduardo
."
"My place at five
."
"And your place is where
?"
I told him the address. "Do you know where that is
?"
"I'll find it
."
"I'm sure you will
."
I hardly dared hope otherwise.
Stepping aside, I let Kirkus enter the
classroom first. I followed him through the doorway.
Just as I'd thought, nearly everyone had already arrived.
There must've been fifteen of them. They were gathered rather
loosely at the seminar table, some talking to friends, a
few using the time to catch up on Wordsworth, some
drooping in their seats as if barely
conscious.
"What ho!" Kirkus greeted the whole gang.
He was ignored by many, groaned at by several. A
few other students rolled their eyes upward in
despair.
""Awake!"" Kirkus proclaimed.
""Arise! Or be forever fallen!""
"You and the horse you rode in on," muttered Connor
Blayton, a gruff and whiskered aspiring
playwright.
I went to my usual place on the left side of the
table. My chair was between Stanley Jones and
Marcia Palmer. Stanley smiled at me as I
pulled my chair away from the table. "How goes it,
man
?"
I asked.
"SOS
."
"You said it
."
I sat down. "Good morning, Marcia
."
Not looking away from her open book, Marcia
nodded.
"Is that the one where he wanders lonely as a cloud
?"
I asked.
"Grow up," Marcia said. She wasn't among
my fans.
"I'm working on it," I said.
"Work harder
."
"Pithy
."
She turned her head and scowled at me. She was a
senior, probably the smartest of all the current
English majors, beautiful and blonde and a
grade-A bitch. At the moment, she looked ready
to seethe. "What did you say
?"
she asked.
"Pithy
."
"That'd better be what you said
."
"It thertainly ith what I thaid
."
"Know what
?"
"What
?"
"Get fucked
."
I gave her my warmest smile.
"Cretin," she muttered, and turned away.
"That hurt," I said.
She ignored me.
Into the room bounded Dr Trueman,
silver-haired, ruddy of cheek, dressed in a
trim tweed suit and red bowtie. He carried a
weathered brown briefcase with wide leather straps and
large buckles. Stopping at the head of the table, he
regarded us with his sparkling eyes. "Fresh faces,
newly scrubbed! Youth! Passion! Love!" He
fixed his merry eyes on me. "King Edward of
Willmington!"
"Sir
?"
"For godsake, what befell your face
?"
"Mayhem, sir
."
"I hope you saw to it that your enemy paid dearly for his
insolence
."
"I destroyed him entirely, sir
."
"Bravo!" Dr Trueman plonked his
briefcase on the table and applauded me. So did
about half the students in the room, while others
shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Marcia
hung her head and shook it slowly. Kirkus was
among those who joined the applause.
Only I knew I'd told the honest truth.
About halfway through Dr Trueman's class, I
realized that I'd invited Kirkus over to my
apartment for a supper that was being provided by Eileen.
stHis
bring everything over,
she'd said.
Drinks, food.
She would bring them for two, not three. And she
wasn't likely to be delighted by the presence of
Kirkus.
She needed to be told of the additional guest.
Warned.
Around noon, I saw her at a distance. I
didn't call out or go after her, though. For this sort
of news, I preferred the telephone.
Back in my apartment shortly after three o'clock that
afternoon, I made a call to Eileen's room. I
hoped to get her answering machine, but she picked up
the phone herself.
"It's meea8I said.
"Hi, me
."
"About dinner tonight. .
."
"Uh-oh
."
"I'm afraid Kirkus has invited himself over
."
"Kirkus? Are you kidding
?"
"It's sort of an extortion thing. I had a little
talk with him about Wednesday night and he agreed
to keep his mouth shut. Thing is, dinner seems to be
part of the deal
."
"Wow. Maybe he
does
have the hots for you
."
"Maybe he just wants a free dinner
."
"Well, you caught me just in time. I was about to head
for the store. I'll pick up a little more of a few things
."
"I'm really sorry about this
."
"Oh, don't be. It's not your fault he finds
you irresistible
."
"Very funny
."
"I guess he and I will be vying for your attention
."
"Won't be any contest," I said.
"Just the same, I'll dress for the occasion
."
The words sank in. My imagination took over and
my body reacted.
"What do you have in mind
?"
I asked.
"You'll just have to wait and see. I'd better get
going. See you around five
."
"See you
."
Suddenly, Kirkus or no Kirkus, I was
eager for five o'clock to arrive.
By about four, I'd finished showering and dressing. I
sat at the kitchen table to study Chaucer, and had just
about worked my way to the end of "The Prologue of the
Wyves Tale of Bathe" when my buzzer went
off.
I marked my place and glanced at my wristwatch.
Four-thirty.
At the speaker, I said, "Who's there
?"
"Your intellectual and moral superior
."
"Impossible," I said.
"Open up, old boy
."
Leave it to Kirkus to arrive half an hour
early.
I buzzed him in. Then I just stood there,
annoyed. I soon heard footfalls coming up the
hallway, but waited for his knock before I" opened
the door.
He'd changed clothes for the occasion. His blue jeans
looked to brand new. He also wore a
white shirt instead of the usual blue chambray.
Instead of his corduroy jacket, he wore a
jacket of light brown suede. He now sported a
royal blue ascot, not the tangerine one he'd
worn to Romantic Lit.
Head tilted back, he smiled in at me and bobbed
up and down on the balls of his feet. "I'm
early," he announced.
"No problem
."
"And I come bearing gifts
."
He held out a bottle of white wine.
"Thanks
."
I accepted it, stepped out of the way and said, "Come
on in and take a load off
."
He entered my apartment and looked around. "The
beckoning fair one isn't here yet
?"
"Not yet. Would you like some of this wine
?"
"We might prefer to save it for dinner
."
"Eileen's bringing something to drink. I could open this
now if you want
."
"If you like
."
He went to a window and looked out. "How inspiring be
to dwell in such proximity to a church
."
"It has a nice little graveyard," I said,
taking the bottle into the " kitchen. "You can't see
it from here
."
I almost told him that my bedroom had a view of the
graveyard, but the less said to Kirkus " about my
bedroom, the better.
While he continued to stare out the window, I opened the
bottle. I located a couple of water
glasses. As I poured wine into them, I',
asked, "So how'd you lay your mitts on the wine?
Not twenty-one yet, are you
?"
"Certainly not. Are you
?"
"Not till next year
."
"Then why would I be twenty-one while you're not?
We're both juniors
."
"Maybe you had to repeat the fourth grade," I
suggested, carrying the glasses into the living room.
He turned away from the window and faced me. "In
fact, I
skipped
a grade
."
"Wow! Really? So you're only nineteen
?"
"A mature nineteen
."
"If you say so
."
He smirked at me. "Considerably more mature
than you, I dare say
."
"Well, shit yeah. I don't even
own
an ascot
."
I put a glass into his hand, then said, "Thanks
for bringing the wine," and took a drink from
my glass. It didn't taste bad.
"No toast
?"
he asked.
"No toast, no bacon, no eggs
."
"And little or no wit," he added.
I almost laughed, but didn't want to give him the
satisfaction.
"Good wine," I told him.
"Thank you
."
"Who picked it out for you
?"
"Ah, Logan
."
"Ah, Kirkus. Why don't you have a seat
?"
"Merci,"
he said, and wandered over to the armchair. Stopping in
front of it, he turned around and faced me. He
took a sip of wine. Then he said, "I'm really
quite overwhelmed by your generosity in inviting me to dinner
."
"I'm pretty sure you invited yourself
."
"Did I
?"
Smiling, he sat down.
"That's how I recall it," I said, and sat on
the sofa a safe distance from him.
"As I recall, you requested a service from me and
kindly invited me over to show your gratitude."
"Something like that
."
"You
are
grateful for my pledge of silence, I take it
?"
"The pledge doesn't interest me much, but the silence
does
."
Smiling unpleasantly, he took a sip of wine.
"If you hope for my cooperation, it might behoove
you to treat me with a certain amount of consideration
."
"Behoove
?"
"There you go again."
"A thousand pardons
."
Raising both eyebrows, he asked, "Would you
prefer that I leave? I could, you know. I could quite
easily remove myself from the premises . .
."
""And take thy beak from out my heart. .
."
his
He stood up.
Staying seated, I patted the air and said, "Down,
boy. Down. Just kidding. Stay. I promised you
dinner. Eileen's expecting you. She's even
picking up extra groceries. We'd both be
tres
disappointed if you force us to eat without the glory of
your presence
."
Kirkus sat. He smiled. He said, "You are
such a wad
."
"Want to call a truce
?"
I asked.
"Calling a truce would presume we're at war.
Are we at war, Eduardo
?"
I shrugged. "Not really. A war of wits, maybe
."
"For which you are sadly lacking in weaponry
."
I tried to think of a comeback, but nothing worthwhile
popped into my mind -- tending perhaps to prove his
point.
He sipped his wine and looked smug.
I said, "Actually, I used to be marvelously
intelligent, witty and urbane -- but then they
stole my ascot
."
"Oh, how droll
."
"Noel Coward and Somerset Maugham chased me
three blocks for it
."
Looking singularly unamused, Kirkus set his
glass on the lamp table, reached to his neck with
both hands, untied his ascot and held it out to me.
"Perhaps you would like to borrow mine," he said.
Three big, blue letters were tattooed across his
throat.
FAG
"Is it real
?"
I asked. "A real tattoo
?"
"Of course it's real
."
Maybe real, but amateurish. The sort of
tattoo that a person might do to himself with a sharp
instrument and ink, shaky hands and no artistic talent
at all. "Oh, man," I said. "What were you
thinking
?"
"I hardly did this to myself, dear fellow
."
"Somebody
else
did it to you
?"
"Oh, yes
."
I must've been gaping at Kirkus like a stunned
fish.
"Perhaps you would enjoy hearing about it," he said. "You
seem to have a special fondness for the morbid and
outre. Perhaps you'll enjoy putting me in
one of your stories
."
I shook my head. "No, that's all right. Really.
Why don't you go ahead and put your ascot back
on
?"
"Let it replace the one stolen by Coward and
Maugham," he said, and tossed it to me.
Halfway between us, the silken cloth fluttered open
and drifted to the floor.
I went over to it, crouched and picked it up. Taking
it to Kirkus, I said, "I had no idea you've
been wearing these things to hide your tattoo
."
"Is that why
?"
"Isn't it
?"
"For that and for the style
."
Laughing softly, I reached out with it. He plucked
it from my fingers.
On my way back to the sofa, he said, "I won't
tell you the whole sad tale; I'll make it
brief
."
"You don't have to tell me anything," I said, and
sat down.
"Oh, but you'll find it "right up your alleyea8s
to speak. Lurid, brutal, sordid and trite
."
"Oh, thanks. In that case, I've
got
to hear it
."
"I know
."
"If it's such a good story, maybe you should save it
until Eileen gets here
."
"That would hardly be appropriate
."
He wrapped the ascot around his neck and began
to tie it. "This is for your ears only
."
"Are you sure you want to tell me
?"
"We'll
both
have secrets to keep
."
"You said I could write about it
."
"Someday
."
I looked at my wristwatch. A quarter till
five. "Maybe you oughta just skip it
."
"Oh, no. I insist
."
He took a drink of wine, then commenced. "I'm
sure the basics are all quite familiar to you: the
overly sensitive, fatherless boy with the relentless and
irrepressible mother; the boy being picked on
by Neanderthals at school; taking refuge in the
safety of books. All terribly trite and
predictable ..."
I took a drink of wine and wished I were elsewhere.
With any luck, Eileen would show up immediately.
"The other kids used to laugh and call me names
."
Like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I thought,
and felt a strange urge to laugh. Then I
realized

name was Rudy, short for Rudolph. His name seemed
like a bizarre and not-so-funny joke.
"I could never walk down a hallway at
school," he explained, 'without someone tripping me
or bumping into me or knocking the books out of my
hands. During recess and lunch, a great sport was
to grab me and stuff me into a trashcan. Sometimes,
a group of jocks would jump me and run off with my
pants. And of course I was regularly beaten up.
In short, I grew up friendless, trusting no one,
fearing and despising my tormenters. Not unlike the
childhood of countless other chaps
."
"I knew a few," I told him. During my
schooldays, I'd only been a level or two
higher on the social scale, myself, and I'd
befriended guys who were worse off than me. I
couldn't tell Kirkus that, however. You can't say
"one of my best friends was a geek . . . or gay
... or black ... or Jewish . .
."
It might be true, but you can't say it. There's a
lot you can't say.
So I kept my mouth shut about the cool band of
social rejects with whom I used to hang
out.
After a deep sigh, Kirkus resumed.
"Ironically, they were calling me a queer, a homo
and a fag long before I'd ever engaged in any sexual
activity with
anyone:
boy, girl or aardvark. Apparently, my
appearance and manner were the only oddities they
required
."
"It's pretty rotten," I said.
"You may not believe this, Ed, but I was a
nice
young lad. I'd yet to develop my aloof and
cynical demeanor, nor the smug pomposity that you
seem to find so irritating
."
"Hard to imagine you without "em
."
"Oh, I was a dear
."
I laughed softly.
"However, they hated me anyway. My chief
oppressor was a chap named Dennis Grant, a rather
typical high school bully: strong,
fat, ugly and stupid. He tormented me constantly
-- usually in front of his friends, of course, in
order to show off his toughness. Then one afternoon I stayed
at school late to help one of the teachers. By the time
I'd finished, the hallway was deserted. Except
for Dennis. He was waiting for me with his knife.
He pulled me into one of the bathrooms and made me
get down on my knees. Then he opened his fly and
hauled out "George." Why he called it
George, I have no idea
."
Kirkus tried to smile, but couldn't manage it.
His eyes were suddenly shiny.
"I said to Dennis, "What am I supposed to do with
that88He said, "You know what to do with it, you fuckin"
fag.8I said, "Look who's calling who a
fag.8That, as it turned out, was a vast error
."
A couple of tears leaked out of his eyes. He
rubbed them away with the back of a hand. "At any
rate, after pounding me to a sticky pulp, Dennis
gave me my first taste of George there on the
filthy bathroom floor. And thus was I
introduced into the joys of the gay lifestyle
."
All I could say was, "Jeez
."
"It lacked a bit in the way of romance and comfort
."
He pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, then
sighed and put his hanky away. "We
did,
however, have a smoke afterward
."
"Did he do the tattoo
?"
Kirkus shrugged. "I've never learned whether the
artistry was performed by Dennis or by his buddy,
Brad
."
"This Brad was there, too
?"
"Oh, no. Not at all. Dennis and I were quite
alone that day in the school bathroom . . . and quite
alone on every occasion afterward. Or so we thought
."
"It happened more than once
?"
"Oh, my dear Eduardo, Dennis got together with me
almost daily after that
."
"You couldn't stop him
?"
"I saw no point in trying. He'd done what
he'd done. I'd done what I'd done. It did
seem horrid at first. Before long, however, I found
myself looking forward to our sessions. Dennis was rather
magnificent, really
."
I tried not to look aghast.
"Unfortunately, his friend Brad caught us in the
act one fine evening in Dennis's garage. In a
valiant attempt to maintain his dignity, Dennis
pretended to be the victim of an unwarranted
assault by yours truly and they
both
beat me senseless
."
Lightly stroking
the front of his ascot, Kirkus said, "I
returned to consciousness the next morning naked in a
dumpster behind a 7-Eleven store . . . tattooed
with perhaps the only three-letter word Dennis and Brad were
capable of spelling correctly
."
"My God," I muttered.
"And that's my tale. Lurid enough for your taste
?"
"It's awful, Rudy. Jeez
."
"It isn't the worst thing that has ever happened to me,
but it is the tale of my tattoo
."
"What happened to Dennis and Brad
?"
"I haven't a clue," said Kirkus. "I
left all that behind when I came to Willmington. I
brought nothing of it with me except the memories, the
scars and the tattoo
."
"You could probably get the tattoo removed
."
"Oh, certainly
."
Again, he stroked his ascot. "Unfortunately,
I'm rather fond of it
."
"If you're fond of it, why do you hide it
?"
"It's private. I share it only with
certain special friends. Friends like you
."
"Ahh
."
"You
are
my friend, aren't you
?"
"I guess so," I said, feeling slightly
sick. "In a way. I mean, you're okay
except when you're being a pompous, smug asshole
."
"You're such a dear," he said.
"I can do without you calling me that. And I don't
want you trying any funny stuff with me, either
."
"Have you ever given it a try
?"
"No, and I don't aim to, either
."
"As the sage says, "Don't knock it till
you've tried it
."
his
"Sometimes, the sage is full of shit
."
"Ah, Logan! You never cease to astonish me.
Is
anyone
more plebian than you
?"
Chuckling, he picked up his glass. He drank
it empty, then held it out in my direction. "More,
please
?"
A few minutes later, Eileen arrived. I
buzzed her in, then opened the door and stood at the
threshold to watch for her. She soon appeared at the
top of the stairs, a grocery bag hugged to her chest.
She wore a yellow windbreaker, but it reached down
only to her waist. It seemed to be covering the top
of a forest-green evening gown. The gown's skirt was
clingy, reached down to her ankles, and had a slit
up the left side.
"Back in a minute," I said over my shoulder.
Kirkus answered, "No rush, old man
."
I hurried down the hall. As Eileen walked
toward me, her left leg came out of the slit, went
back in, came out again. She obviously
had no stocking on. Her leg looked very bare.
When I took the bag from her, she put a hand behind
my head and I leaned toward her. The bag was between us.
Our bodies crunched its paper, squeezed whatever
was inside it and made a couple of bottles clink
softly. We kissed. Her face felt cool from the
weather outside. I took it easy on her lips,
but then she slipped her tongue into my mouth and we
really went at it for a while, Eileen moaning and me
growing stiff.
Too soon, she eased away from me. She was wet
around the mouth. She smiled. "I've been wanting
to do that
."
"Me, too
."
"Guess we'd better not keep Kirkus
waiting," she said. "What did he do, get here
early
?"
"Half an
hour
early
."
"Was it edifying
?"
"Oh, yeah
."
I carried the groceries. As we walked side
by side, she said, "It's a little warm in here for this,"
and took off her windbreaker. Her gown had a
plunging neckline; it plunged nearly to her waist,
her long V of bare skin gradually narrowing on its
way down.
"Wow," I said.
She smiled. "Like it
?"
"You look fantastic
."
Putting a hand on my shoulder, she leaned toward
me. Breath tickling my ear, she whispered, "If
Kirkus has on the same outfit, I'll just die
."
"Oh, you bitch
."
We both laughed, but it tapered off before we reached the
doorway of my apartment.
As we entered, Kirkus stood up.
"Hi, Rudy," Eileen said.
"Eileen. Aren't
we
looking splendid tonight!" He bobbed on the .
balls of his feet, tilted his head to one side and
said, "On our way' to the prom, are we
?"
"Just an old frock," Eileen said. "Glad you
could join us tonight
."
be
"My pleasure
."
"Do you like Mexican
?"
"Mexican of what variety
?"
"Of the food and drink variety," Eileen said.
"Such as beef fajitas and my infamous
Hoocha de los
Muertos
."
"What's that
?"
I asked, grinning.
"Let's go in the kitchen and I'll show you
."
I followed Eileen into the kitchen, Kirkus tagging
along behind us. I set the grocery bag onto the
counter. Eileen peered inside, then i reached in and
took out a quart bottle of Cuervo Gold
tequila. Next, out came a somewhat smaller
bottle of Triple Sec.
Holding a bottle in each hand, she turned around and
assumed a serious demeanor. "This," she said, 'and
this. A glass, some ice, and a
lot
of this
."
She gave the tequila bottle a shake. "Then a
wee tad of this
."
She shook the Triple Sec. "Stir briskly
with a coffin nail
."
"A cigarette
?"
I asked.
"Don't be absurd. The nail from a coffin
."
"Ah. Well, I don't think I have one of those
."
"In that case, a finger will have to do. But don't
worry, I'll take] care of it. Ed, why
don't you get down the glasses
?"
I removed three glasses from the cupboard.
Eileen instructed me were' to add ice cubes. Then
she instructed Kirkus and I to wait in the living
room. "Too many people in the kitchen! I'll be out in
a minute with the drinks
."
"Which you fully intend to stir with your finger
?"
asked Kirkus.
Smiling, she twirled her forefinger in the air.
"How sanitary," he said.
"The alcohol kills the germs," she explained.
"You know that, don't you
?"
Laughing, I left the kitchen.
Soon, we were all in the living room, sitting around
the coffee table, sipping our
Hoocha de los Muertos
and munching on tortilla chips dipped in salsa.
Eileen was beside me on the sofa. Each time she leaned
toward the table, slack came into the top of
her gown,
letting me see most of her right breast. . .
including a bruise near the front that couldn't be
seen when she was sitting up straight.
The smooth, pale breast, smudged by the bruise,
excited me and reminded me of what we'd gone through
together and made me feel closer to her. It also made
me feel like a louse. Eileen was too beautiful,
too smart and funny and good, to deserve having me
slip away at night to seek out Casey.
Luckily, with the drinking and talking, I didn't have
a whole lot of time to dwell on how I was betraying
her.
When our glasses were empty, Eileen took them
into the kitchen. She came out with two fresh drinks.
I vowed to take things more slowly with my second
Hoocha.
They were nothing but booze
- margaritas minus the citrus additives -- and
my head already felt light.
Her back to Kirkus, Eileen bent over at the
waist and set both the glasses on the table. The
front of her gown loosened and drooped. I could
see her entire left breast. It was swaying
slightly. Its nipple was erect. From
her smile, she knew exactly what I could see.
Remaining bowed, she asked, "Should I bring you in some
more chips
?"
"I can come out and get them
."
"No, no, stay right where you are. I'll bring them in
."
She straightened up and turned toward Kirkus.
"How you doing, Rudy
?"
He grinned. "Tip-top
."
"Hand me my glass
?"
she asked me.
Hers wasn't quite empty. I picked it up and
gave it to her.
"Gracias,"
she said.
"Da nada,"
said I, and immediately wondered whether I'd responded
in Spanish or French. It shouldn't have been a
problem; I'd had only one drink so far.
As Eileen went into the kitchen, I tried
to think of 'y're welcome" in French.
Da Nada?
Or was that Spanish, as I'd intended? Then I
thought of Hemingway. "Our nada who art in nada
."
So it
is
Spanish. But no, maybe not. He'd spent all
that time in Paris.
"Something amiss, old boy
?"
asked Kirkus.
He was about the last person to whom I would confess such
befuddlement. "Eileen is a miss," I said,
making an effort to speak clearly.
"I heard that," she said, coming out of the kitchen with the
bag of tortilla chips. "Hell, I was hoping
to be a hit, not a miss
."
"Miss as opposed to Mrs.," I explained.
"So you say," she said, and bent over the table just as
she'd done
before and shook more chips into the bowl. Just as before, I
gazed at her breast. "Can I get you anything else
?"
she asked, remaining bowed. I met her eyes. She
looked vastly pleased with herself.
"You're driving the poor lad to madness," said
Kirkus. Though he couldn't see what I could, he
obviously realized what was going on.
Eileen's smile widened. "Am I
?"
she asked me.
"I'm fine," I said.
"Good
."
She straightened up. "Now you two boys will just have
to get along without me for a while. My fajitas are
beckoning. Just give a shout if you need anything
."
She turned toward the kitchen.
I didn't want her to go. "Could you use a hand
?"
"Nope, thanks anyway. You stay out here and
entertain our guest
."
"You might not be able to find everything
."
"If I get stuck, I'll give you a shout
."
She went on into the kitchen. A few moments later,
the sounds of her activities were joined by Willie
Nelson and Ray Charles singing "Seven Spanish
Angels
."
I took a drink and smiled at Kirkus. "Great
music," I said.
"Once again confirming your pedestrian taste, good
fellow
."
"Up yours
."
"Don't say it if you don't mean it
."
I laughed and shook my head. "That'll be the day
."
" "The lady doth protest too much,
methinks.""
"I ain't no lady
."
"Ah, and
vive la difference
."

Though I understood the French (or was it
Spanish? -- damn the
Hoocha de los Muertosf),
I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. I
scowled at him.
"Oh, don't pretend to take offense. You're
flattered and you know it
."
"Huh? Flattered
?"
Leaning forward, speaking quietly, Kirkus said,
"And well you
should
be, here in your apartment with
two
beautiful people, both of whom would simply love to eat
you alive
."
For an awful moment, it ran through my mind that perhaps
Eileen and Kirkus had set a trap for me, that
they intended to have
me
for dinner. After what I'd seen under the bridge
Wednesday night -- and what I'd heard from
Casey -- it didn't seem terribly
far-fetched.
Yeah, right.
Of course, I knew full well what Kirkus
had really meant.
"Don't even think about it," I told him.
"I can hardly resist
thinking
about it, dear boy. You're so luscious
."
"You wanta knock it off
?"
"Oh, lighten up. I'm not about to pounce on you.
I am a gentleman, after all. I've never forced
myself on anyone
."
"Glad to hear it
."
"If you want me, though, just whistle. You know how
to whistle, don't you? Put your lips together
"Give me a fuckin' break
."
Eileen came out of the kitchen. She was wearing my one
and only apron -- which I had never worn, myself.
"Eddie, you want to come in here and clear off the table
?"
"Saved by the belle," I said.
Kirkus smirked. "You're excused
."
After removing my computer and books and papers from the
kitchen table, I put out the place mats, napkins
and silverware.
"Won't be long, now," I said to Kirkus.
At his seat facing the coffee table, he raised his
drink toward me, winked, and took a sip.
I went over to Eileen. She was standing in front of the
stove, an area of the kitchen that couldn't be seen from the
living room. She held a spatula in one hand and
her drink in the other. I stepped behind her, slipped
my hands underneath her apron, wrapped my arms around
her waist, and looked down over her shoulder. On the
burner was a skillet full of sizzling strips of
marinated steak.
"Smells great," I said.
She finished her drink, then set down her glass.
"How goes it with Kirkus
?"
"He wants me
."
"Don't we all
."
"But he promises to leave me unmolested
unless I whistle
."
The way Eileen's cheek pressed against my face,
I figured she must be smiling. "Do you know how
to whistle
?"
she asked.
"You were eavesdropping
?"
Her head shook. "Saw the movie
."
"That wasn't in the book, you know.
To Have and Have N.
The whistling business
."
"I didn't know that
."
"Now you do
."
"It feels wonderful to be well informed," she
said, and pushed her rump against me and moved it from
side to side, rubbing my groin.
I whistled softly, close to her ear.
She asked, "Was that for me or for Kirkus
?"
I tried to put a hand inside the front of her
gown, but she clutched my wrist through the apron. "Not
now, honey. You better go on back and keep our
friend company
."
"I can help you
."
"I'll take care of everything. It'll just be a
couple more minutes. Go on, okay? It's not
polite to leave him alone
."
"All right
."
I gave the side of her neck a kiss, then
returned to the living room. "What's up,
Rudolph
?"
"Oh, please His
I went to the sofa, sat and picked up my drink
My glass was still half-full of my second
Hoocha de los Muertos,
but the ice had melted I took a sip It was still
fairly cold
On the radio, Randy Travis was singing "Heroes
and Friends
."
"It's almost ready," I said
"I'm in no hurry," Kirkus said
"Are you having a lovely time?"
"Quite
."
"Glad to hear it" I dipped a chip into the
salsa, then maneuvered it into my mouth without dripping
As I crunched the chip, Kirkus said, "We should
do this more often Next time, I'll host the affair at
my place
."
I almost said, "Don't hold your breath," but I
was feeling too good to be mean even to Kirkus The
aroma of the fajitas was wonderful, Eileen was wearing
the wonderful dress, I'd had fine views of her
wonderful breasts, I planned to go out later and have a
wonderful time with Casey, and I was wonderfully,
mildly high from the
hoocha
"Well," I said, "just let us know when you want
us"
He raised both eyebrows "Will you really come88For a
moment, I glimpsed hope and sadness in his eyes
They were quickly hidden, however, behind his usual
haughty demeanor
"Maybe," I said "I guess it'll depend
."
"On what, dare I ask?"
"Let's just see how things go tonight"
"I shall be on my best behavior His
From out in the kitchen came the beep of the microwave
"I'll prepare my specialty," Kirkus said
"What's that88I asked him
"Pork roast'
"Not
long pork,
I hope His
He frowned "Long pork?"
Eileen appeared in the kitchen entryway She had
taken off the apron and she was smiling "Come and get
it, guys His
Kirkus and I went to the table and sat down Eileen
took our glasses "Go ahead and get started,"
she said "I'll make refills
."
"What should we do88I asked
"Grab a tortilla, spread it with sour cream or
avocado or whatever, throw on some meat and cheese
and lettuce, whatever, roll it up and chow
down"
"Easy for you to say," I said
Soon, she came over with all three glasses
full of her special
concoction. Then she sat down. She raised her
glass and said, "Good for what ails ya
."
Kirkus and I picked up our glasses. We
all leaned forward and bumped each other's glasses.
Kirkus sipped his drink.
"Grande,"
he said.
"Mucho grande
."
I
sipped mine.
"Rio Grande
."
Eileen sipped hers and said, "Mississippi
."
I hoisted my glass. "To Mark Twain
."
"Oi," said Kirkus.
"You got a problem with Mark Twain
?"
"He's
so
plebian. No wonder you adore him, Eduardo
."
"Huck Finn's
the greatest novel ever written
."
I felt a moment of guilt over betraying
William Goldman. But if I'd tried
to claim
The Temple of Gold
or
Boys and Girls Together
as the greatest novel. . .
"Oh, please," Kirkus said.
"It is
."
"American," Eileen said. "Greatest
American
novel, maybe. Gotta leave out the British and the
Irish and the Russians and the French. .
."
"What'd the French ever write
?"
I asked.
"Dumas
?"
Eileen said. "Hello?
The Three Musketeers.
And De Maupassant
."
"Let's not forget Sartre and Camus and the great
Simone," Kirkus said.
7 like Simone," I proclaimed. "He's good
."
"She," said Kirkus.
"I like that detective of his, Maigret
."
"That's Simenon," Eileen corrected me.
"Georges Simenon
."
"I was speaking, old boy, of Simone de
Beauvoir
."
"Oh. Of course you were. She sucks
."
Eileen laughed.
"You must simply adore playing the fool,"
Kirkus told me.
"Anyway," I said, 'if we can get
back to
Huckleberry Finn,
the greatest American novel ..."
"Highly overrated," said Kirkus.
"Hemingway says it's the best
."
"Proving my point," said Kirkus.
"I'd have to go with
Atlas Shrugged,"
Eileen said. "That's the best book I've
ever
read, and they don't even teach it in school
."
"They don't
?"
I said.
"No school I've ever heard of. That's "cause
all the teachers hate her. They lie about her. They
won't teach her books
."
Scowling, Eileen spread some sour cream on a
steaming, flour tortilla. "They're
afraid of every damn thing she ever wrote. Most
teachers are commies, in case you haven't noticed
."
This was a side of Eileen I'd never seen before --
the intoxicated side, I suppose
."
"Commies
?"
said Kirkus. "Dear me
."
Narrowing one eye at him, Eileen said, "My dad
fought the goddamn commies in Vietnam. You think
there's something
funny
about that
?"
"I apologize if I've tread on your toes,
my dear ... or the toes of your father's combat
boots. But really,
communism?
You must admit the subject is a trifle
passe
these days. Which also makes Ann Rand's books
passe
."
"Ever read one
?"
she asked.
"I wouldn't waste my time," Kirkus said.
She pointed her fork at me. "How about you, Eddie
?"
"I'm afraid not. I'd like to, though
."
She turned her fork to the steak platter and placed a
few strips of meat on her tortilla.
"Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead, We the
Living.
We're forced to read every goddamn book that ever came
down the pike by the
chosen
few.
The Great Gatsby,
for godsake.
The Pearl,
for godsake
."
"The Scarlet Letterea'1
I joined in.
"Not to mention
Madame Ovary,"
she said. "What the fuck is
that
about
."
Kirkus shook his head and looked very disappointed in
us.
"Hundreds
of books," Eileen continued. "Books by every
Tom, Dick and Charlie that ever put pen to paper,
but Ann Rand? Huh-uh. Not Rand. She's better
than most of them,
nobody's
better, but they try to keep her away from us
"cause they hate her message
."
"Her message is selfishness, my dear," said
Kirkus.
Eileen sprinkled grated cheese on top of her
beef, then began to roll her tortilla. "That's
what they want you to believe, "cause they don't
want you reading her. Know what her real message
is
?"
"I fear you're about to tell us
."
"Nobody has a single goddamn right," she said,
"to take what doesn't belong to them. Like a
government, for instance. The government's got
no right to make us do anything . . . not even for what
they call "the common good.8We're nobody's
slaves. We have an absolute right to the fruits of
our own labor and we don't owe jack-shit
to society. You ever hear of John Gait
?"
"Of course," said Kirkus, and sighed.
"Who is John Gait
?"
"Who
is
John Gait
?"
Eileen asked him.
"He's obviously a creation of your literary
goddess
."
I
"He turned off the lights of the world
."
As she spoke the words, her voice went husky and
tears glimmered in her eyes.
"And that means
?"
asked Kirkus.
"That's what they don't want you to find out," said
Eileen. She wiped her eyes, then took a
drink, then said, "Read the book" and picked up
her rolled tortilla.
"Atlas Shrugged?"
I asked.
She nodded and sniffed.
"Perhaps I'll give it a try," Kirkus said.
"A novel capable of reducing the stout Eileen
Danforth to tears
"Watch that "stout8business," Eileen said.
"It was a reference to your character, not your physique
."
"Something wrong with my physique
?"
"Not at all, deary. From the standpoint
of this
observer, it's really quite spectacular
."
"Thanks
."
"Is it not truly spectacular, Eduardo
?"
he asked me.
"I'd say so," I said. A little
worried about his negative, I added, "It is
."
"Of course, he
has
to say so, being your boyfriend
cum
loverboy pun intended, of course -- whereas 7 am
truly disinterested and speak the truth without fear of
reprisal. From a perspective of complete
objectivity, I can say that your physique is
truly extraordinary. At least what I've seen
of it. I'm sure Edward has the advantage over
me in that regard
."
I muttered, "Jeesh
."
He eyed me. "You do have a flair for words, old
boy
."
To Eileen, he said, "Speaking of which, I understand that
the entire gang of ruffians Wednesday night had
the pleasure of feasting their eyes on your undraped
titties. Seems that everyone has seen them but me
."
Staring at him, she tilted her head
sideways. "Where did you pick up that bit of
news
?"
Kirkus looked at me and smiled. "Was I not
supposed to tell
?"
"What ever happened to "mum's the word"
?"
I asked.
"I wasn't aware you meant it to apply to the fair
Eileen
."
I groaned.
"No problem," Eileen said. Then she shoved some
of her tortilla between her teeth and tore off a
mouthful. As she chewed, her eyes again became shiny.
She swallowed and wiped her mouth with a napkin. Then
she said, "Excuse me
."
She shoved back her chair, stood up, and walked
out of the kitchen.
From where I sat, I watched her stride across the
living room and
enter the hall. Moments later, a door shut. She
had apparently gone into the bathroom.
"Oh, dear," said Kirkus, and smiled. "Do you
suppose it was something she ate
?"

"Probably something
you
said," I told him.
Looking delighted, he said, "Woe is me
."
"Asshole
."
"Don't be too quick to blame me, old boy. She
might simply be hurling. Those are powerful drinks.
I'm more than a trifle smashed myself
."
"I'd better go check on her
."
"Oh, don't be too hasty. Give her some time.
Whatever her problem may be, she would probably rather
not have an audience quite yet. Why don't we both
stay here and enjoy the repast before it gets cold?
Give Eileen an opportunity to recover in
private
."
"Maybe you're right," I said.
"I most frequently am
."
"When she does come out, keep your mouth shut about
Wednesday night, okay? The last thing she needs
is to have you rubbing it all in. We're trying to put
it behind us
."
"Quite so," said Kirkus. "My mistake
."
We both commenced to eat our fajitas. By the time we
were done, perhaps ten minutes later, Eileen still had not
returned to the table.
"I'm going to check on her," I said, scooting
back my chair.
"Give her my regards," said Kirkus.
As I'd suspected, the bathroom door was shut.
I knocked gently.
"What
?"
"Eileen? It's me
."
"Leave me alone
."
"What's wrong
?"
"Just go away
."
"Is it what Kirkus said
?"
The door suddenly opened. Eileen grabbed the
front of my shirt and pulled me in and shut the
door. Her eyes were red and wet, her face streaked
with tears.
Still clutching my shirt, she said, "What did you
tell him? Did you tell him
everything
?"
"No
."
"It was suppose to be our secret. How could you
blab
to him
?"
"I didn't tell him anything. Not about what really
happened. Nothing about under the bridge. All I
told him was the stuff we made up about the gang of
teenagers jumping us. The same thing we told him
Wednesday night
."
"Oh really? Know what? I don't
recall telling him they ripped off my
caret caret
an less-than caret feasted their eyes on my
undraped titties
."
"That's just Kirkus. The undraped stuff
."
"What else did you tell him
?"
"I think . . . well,
you
told him they pissed in your hair, remember
?"
"Of course I remember
."
"I reminded him of that. And I told him that you
felt really humiliated by the whole thing and that's why
you didn't want anyone to know about it
."
"What else
?"
"That's about it
."
"About

?"
My face heated up.
If she didn't hear it from me, she might hear it
from Kirkus. "I think I mentioned something about them
touching you
."
"Touching me
?"
"Fondling you
."
"Where
?"
"I guess your breasts
."
"You told Kirkus they fondled my breasts
?"
"I think I mentioned something along those lines
."
"Thanks a lot
."
"He's gay
."
"That makes it all right
?"
"It was just so he'd understand why he has
to keep his mouth shut
."
"Well, thanks a lot
."
"I'm sorry. If I'd known it would upset you like
this, I never would've told him anything
."
"What else
did
you tell him
?"
"Nothing. That's it
."
"Are you sure
?"
"Pretty sure
."
"You didn't figure it would make a better story
if they fucked me
?"
"No
."
"Well, I appreciate your restraint
."
"Come on, Eileen, don't be this way
."
"And what way am I being
?"
"You're blowing it all out of proportion. I mean,
the whole idea was to make him realize how
humiliated you'd feel if he told anyone
"Really should've had me gangbanged
."
"Cut it out
."
"What'd you tell him about
you!
You've got a bunch of creeps ripping off
my
clothes and feasting their eyes on
my
undraped titties and groping
me,
what'd they do to
you?
Seems sorta one-sided if you ask me. You're
making stuff up, why not have them tear off
your
clothes and grope
you.
Hell, that would've made a
better
story, don't you think? Considering Kirkus
."
"Maybe
."
"I mean,
you're
the one he's got the hots for
."
"You
were the one wearing
my
shirt when we ran into him Wednesday night
."
Her eyes widened slightly. Her mouth opened as
if she were about to say something. She blinked a few
times. Then she said, "Oh
."
Then she said, "That's a point
."
Then she said, "Even still
."
I put my arms around her. "I'm sorry I
told him all that stuff
."
"It's just. . . if it just wasn't Kirkus.
He's such a shit. I don't like him knowing stuff like
that. Or thinking stuff about me. Thinking about me naked
."
"He's gay," I said again.
"Maybe he is and maybe he isn't
."
"I'm pretty sure he is
."
"Even still
."
She pushed her face against the side of my neck.
It felt warm and wet. She sniffed. "And I've
gotta be wearing this stupid dress
."
"It's a wonderful dress
."
"In front of him
."
"He doesn't care
."
"Oh, I bet
."
"Shall we go out and ask him
?"
She shook her head. "I'm so embarrassed
."
"You shouldn't be
."
"And I drank too much
."
"We all did
."
"But I'm the one who fell apart right in front of
God and everyone
."
"I'm sure God forgives you. I know I do, and
who cares if Kirkus does
?"
She stroked the back of my head. "I love you so
much, Eddie
."
"Now I
know
you're drunk
."
"I do. I've loved you from the very start, even when you
were going with Holly. Did you know that
?"
"Not really
."
The sound of Holly's name gave my stomach a
twist.
"You never even suspected, did you
?"
"No
."
"I know. I never let anyone know how I felt.
It was just for me to know. But I ached inside. I ached
for you. It hurt so much to see her with you that way. I
wanted so much for it to be me
."
"And now it is," I said. The words made me
feel like a louse.
Eileen hugged me hard and kissed the side of my
neck. "I'm so glad," she said. "I'm so
glad
."
"We should probably get back to the kitchen," I
said. "You'll feel better after you've had some more
to eat
."
She nodded. Then she took a deep breath and
sighed. "Okay," she said. "But I ...
I need to change first
."
"Change how
?"
She laughed and sniffed. "My clothes. I don't
want Kirkus seeing me in this again. Even if he
is gay
."
"He is
."
"Can I wear something of yours
?"
"Whatever you want
."
We let go of each other. I opened the bathroom
door and Eileen followed me into the hallway.
"I'll just be a minute," she said, and headed for my
bedroom.
"See you later," I said.
I found Kirkus on the living room sofa, the
remains of a drink in one hand, his legs crossed.
At the sight of me, he said, "I was beginning
to feel abandoned
."
"Eileen'll be along in a minute
."
"How is she
?"
"Pretty upset
."
"Not with me, I hope
."
"With both of us. She didn't like me telling you that
stuff. She thought it was too personal
."
"We embarrassed her
?"
I nodded.
"How peculiar
."
"What do you mean
?"
"Did you by any remote chance happen to notice
what she's wearing? And she's thrown into a tizzy by a
few words regarding the very assets she is so
brazenly displaying for all the world to see
?"
"It's two different things," I said.
"A left and a right
?"
"Knock it off
."
I sat in the armchair. "She'll be out in a
minute. She's changing clothes
."
"Oh, pity
."
"When she does come out, how about. . . r
"I'll be an angel," he said. "For you
."
"Thanks
."
I would believe it when I saw it.
We sat there for a few minutes and didn't talk
much. Every so often, I glanced toward the hallway.
"She doesn't appear to be appearing," Kirkus
said.
"I'd better see what's going on
."

*
I went down the hallway to my bedroom. The door
was shut. I knocked softly, but Eileen didn't
respond so I eased it open. The light was on.
Eileen, still in her gown, was lying on my
bed, snoring. Her arms were limp by her sides, her
legs hanging off the edge of the mattress, her feet
not quite touching the floor. Her left leg, free of the
slit in her skirt, was bare all the way up to her
hip.
I took a step toward her, then changed my mind.
Leaving the lamp on, I stepped into the hallway and
silently shut the door.
When I entered the living room, Kirkus raised his
eyebrows.
"She's out," I said.
"Out
?"
"Asleep
."
"Passed out, you mean
."
"I don't know. Anyway, I decided not to wake
her up
."
"Good idea
."
Shrugging, I said, "So I guess that's about it.
Thanks for coming over, Rudy. Maybe we'll do it
again sometime
."
"But the night is young
."
"Well, I'm a little tired myself. I'll
probably take a nap, then try to hit the books
for a while
."
Instead of getting up, Kirkus smiled and spread
out his arms along the back of the sofa. "I really
shouldn't leave without properly thanking the hostess
."
"You can thank her tomorrow
."
"Oh, that would never do. I'll stay. She's bound
to wake up sooner or later
."
"Kirkus
."
"Be nice, Eddie. I am, after all, your guest
."
"The party's over, okay? Time to go
."
"Now, now. You don't want to ruin a beautiful
evening by turning surly at the end, do you? Why
don't you offer me another drink? Those
Hooches
are certainly tasty. We'll both partake of
another while we have ourselves a nice chat, and then
I'll be on my way
."
I was about to protest.
"Pleeeease," he said, and batted his eyelids.
"Don't do that
."
"One more itsy-bitsy drink. For the road
."
"Then you'll go
?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die
."
With an outstretched forefinger," he grandly crossed
his heart.
"All right
."
I started toward the kitchen. "We'll have one more:
drink, then you'll leave. No ifs, ands or buts
."
"I shall hightail my tail out the door
."
"Okay
."
In the kitchen, I took our glasses off the table
and put ice into to them. I didn't want another
drink, myself. I'd had more than enough already, and was
afraid that one more might knock me] off my
feet.
I had plans for those feet.
But I couldn't figure an easy way to fake the
look of a
Hoocha,!
so I went ahead and made two real ones. I
carried them into the! living room.
Kirkus patted the sofa beside him. "Sit here
."
"Thanks anyway," I said.
"I'm not a leper, old boy
."
"I know
."
Keeping the coffee table between us, I set down his
glass.
"Please
."
Again, he patted the cushion by his hip. "Don't
worry, I won't molest you
."
"Glad to hear it
."
I took my own drink back to the armchair and be
sat down.
He smirked slightly. "You're afraid of me
."
"I'm not afraid of you
."
"Then sit with me
."
"I'm fine here
."
I took a small sip of my drink, then put it
down on the lamp table.
"Actually," Kirkus said, 'though I've often
assailed you for various aspects of your rather
unfortunate personality, I never dreamed you were a
homophobe
."
"A homophobe? Is that something like a xylophone
?"
"I'm not amused
."
"Neither am I, as a matter of fact.
All of a sudden, you're calling me names
."
"If the shoe fits . .
."
"I would really expect a more original figure of
speech, Kirkus, from someone of your erudition
."
He chuckled softly, shook his head, and took a
drink. "Sit where you like," he said.
"Thanks for the permission
."
Slumped on the sofa, he took another drink.
Then he stared at me. Then he sighed. "Eduardo,
Eduardo
."
"Rudolph, Rudolph
."
"What must you think of me
?"
"Right now, I just wish you'd leave so I can take a
nap
."
"I'm rather sleepy, myself
."
He yawned elaborately and patted his
mouth. "And I've such a
long
walk home. Perhaps I should take a brief nap
here before I leave
."
"Yeah, sure
."
"We'll
both
nap
."
"Right
."
"No
?"
"No
."
"My God, man, what are you afraid of
?"
There was no answer that wouldn't either offend Kirkus
or cause him to mock me, so I simply shrugged.
"You're afraid I'll molest you while you
snooze," he said.
Bingo.
"I didn't say that," I said.
"I would never do such a thing
."
"If you say so
."
His eyes suddenly twinkled. "Shall we give it a
try
?"
"No
."
He laughed. "Coward
."
"Gimme a break
."
"No," he said, frowning. "You give
me
a break. Don't automatically think the worst of
me. What have I ever done to make you suspect I
would molest you in your sleep
?"
"Nothing I can think of at the moment," I
admitted.
"And I
would
never do it
."
Breaking into a smile, he said, "Tempted though I
might be
."
"Well, I aim to save you from the temptation.
Drink up, okay
?"
"You're a hard man, Eduardo
."
"Yeah
."
"Of course, I
adore
hard men
."
With that, he raised his glass as if toasting me, then
drank the rest of his
Hoocha de los Muertos.
I stood up and went to the door and opened it.
"So it's the bum's rush, is it
?"
"I wouldn't put it that way. Party's over, that's
all. Time to fold your tent like the Arab and-silently
steal away
."
"How poetic," he muttered.
"Knew you'd like it
."
He struggled off the sofa, stretched and yawned, then
came to
the door and stopped in front of me. He bobbed up
and down a couple of times on the balls of his feet.
Then he said, "Well, old caret man, it's been
a slice
."
"Yep
."
"Please inform Sleeping Beauty that I adored the
repast and her cocktails were marvelous
."
"I'll tell her
."
He stuck out his hand. I shook it. When I tried
to let go, he held on.
"Until next time at
my
place," he said.
"We'll see
."
He released my hand. Backing into the hallway, he
said, "Still mates
?"
"Mates
?"
"Friends, laddie
."
"I guess so
."
"Jolly!" He twirled away and strolled down
the hallway.
I shut my door.
"All right!" I whispered.
Though glad to be rid of him, I also felt
slightly ashamed of myself. I'd treated him
badly. He'd brought it on himself, but that didn't
make me feel any better about it.
I carried our glasses out to the kitchen. His was
empty, but mine was nearly full. I poured the
remains of my drink into the sink. Then I cleared
off the table and started to do the dishes.
For a long time, I couldn't take my mind off
Kirkus. In some
"dis
ways, I felt sorry for him. He'd had some
tough times in his life. There was no excuse for the way
kids had abused him in school. . . and the
tattoo]
The last thing he needed was
me
adding 1 to his grief.
I should really be nicer to him, I thought. I ought to be
his friend.
Then I thought, How can I be his friend when he acts like
a total asshole half the time?
For a while, I wondered
why
he was such an asshole.
He really isn't one, I thought. It's an act.
A very obvious act.
Which made it even more strange. Why would he or
anyone else put on an elaborate performance
designed to annoy people? Did he
want
everyone to despise him?
Apparently.
Some sort of self-destructive thing?
Maybe it's to keep people at a distance so he
doesn't get attached to them. Get attached, and
they can hurt you.
Dump you.
Like my good old friend, Holly, hurt me.
As I scrubbed the skillet in which Eileen had
prepared the fajitas, I wondered what Holly was
doing at the moment. I glanced at my wristwatch.
A quarter till eight. Maybe on her way to the
movies with Jay-Jay the Wonder Boy.
Or are they in bed?
I pictured Holly on her back, a handsome
strange boy on top of her, plunging into her . .
. and I felt no jealousy, no bittersweet
longing for Holly, no pain, no anger, not much of
anything at all.
I didn't really
care
what Holly was doing. Didn't care at all.
As I dried the skillet with a dish towel, I
wondered what Casey might be doing at the moment.
Not even eight o'clock yet. Was she in a house
somewhere? Her own, or someone else's? Or was she
outside, roaming the dark streets?
If I went out now, would I have any luck finding
her?
I can't go out now, I reminded myself; Eileen's
here.
She's asleep.
Is she?
I finished the dishes, then went down the hall to my
bedroom. Gently pushing open the door, I saw that
the lamp was still on. I opened the door wider and saw
Eileen. She was still crooked on my bed, her legs
hanging off. She didn't look as if she'd moved
at all since the last time I'd seen her.
Dead to the world, but snoring up a storm.
She's so out of it, I thought, she probably won't
wake up for hours. If left alone, she might
sleep through the entire night and halfway through tomorrow
morning.
She'll never know I'm gone.
I can't just go off and leave her, I told myself. It
wouldn't be fair. She came over to be with me. She
made those great drinks and the dinner. She loves me.
I can't just
abandon
her.
She's asleep.
But what if she wakes up later? She might. And
then she'll know I went away.
Leave her a note.
Sneaking around the bedroom, I gathered my blue
jeans, chamois shirt, sneakers, knife and
flashlight while Eileen continued
to snore.
I carried them into the hall and set them down. Standing
in the doorway, I watched Eileen for a while.
Especially the skin revealed by the plunging top of
her gown. And her left leg outside the slit.
Exposed to the hip, and no sign of panties.
Isn't she wearing any?
I
could find out . . . simply sneak over to the bed and
ease my hand through the slit.
She isn't.
But if she does have panties on, I thought, she
would be glad to have me take them off.
Except she's asleep.
Asleep.
Staring at Eileen, I remembered being in the bed with
Casey last night. The feel of her warm breath
on my face as she slept. The feel of her
breast. And how I had furtively explored her .
. .
I suddenly ached to be with Casey.
No matter that Eileen loved me, that Eileen was
sprawled on my bed, that Eileen's body was almost
within sight and touch beneath her gown. No matter that she
was beautiful and passionate and smart and
wonderful. No matter any of it; I needed to be
with Casey.
I was tempted to turn off the bedroom light. In the
dark, Eileen would probably sleep longer. Again,
however, I feared that a sudden absence of light might
wake her. So I left it on and silently shut the
door.
In the living room, I changed into my dark clothes
and slipped the knife and flashlight into my
pockets. Then I went into the kitchen to write my
note.
It wasn't easy. The first version had so many words and
entire sentences scratched out that I finally threw it
in the wastebasket and started over again.
Come on
."
I thought. She'll wake up and I'll
never
get out of here.
Finally, it was done.
Your dinner was great! Kirkus loved it, too, and
he thanks you profusely. (i finally got him
to leave.)
Hope you had a good sleep. I didn't want
to disturb you, so I left you as-is.
I'm feeling a little restless, myself, and am going for a
walk. The walk is why I'm not here, in case
you're wondering.
Please don't leave. You're welcome to stay
all night. I'm counting on finding you here when I
return. Tomorrow's Saturday. No classes. We
can sleep in. Maybe I'll bring us back some
donuts for breakfast.
Done except for the closing.
It required, "Love, Ed," but I was
reluctant.
Go ahead, I told myself.
I
could
just sign it, "Me
."
She'll hate it if she doesn't find "love"
at the bottom of the note.
But what if I don't love her? Should 1 write
it anyway?
Not
writing it would be like a blatant denial that I love
her. I don't want that.
Why not?
Maybe I
do
love her.
Then why am I sneaking out to find Casey?
Muttering, "Screw it," I signed, "Love,
Ed
."
I gave the note a final, quick proof-reading, then
folded it in half and stood it up like a tent in the
middle of the kitchen table. On my way to the door,
I was tempted to look in on Eileen again to make
sure she was still asleep.
If she's awake, I'll call it off. I'll
stay. We'll make love and . . .
Forget it, I thought. If she is awake, I
don't want to know it.
I stepped out into the hall, eased my door shut,
made sure it was locked, then headed for the stairway.
My heart was beating fast. My legs felt shaky.
How can I do this to her?
Easy, I told myself.
But it wasn't easy, not really. I knew it was
wrong to sneak out, leaving Eileen on her own.
Especially
wrong because I was abandoning her to go on a quest for
Casey.
I'm stabbing her in the back.
No, I'm not, I thought. More than likely,
she'll be asleep the whole time I'm gone.
Is she
less
stabbed in the back, I wondered, if she doesn't
~know about it?
Probably not. I've
done
the deed whether Eileen's aware of it or not. I'm
just as much of a bastard either way.
No better than Holly.
So
don't
go, I told myself.
I started making my way slowly, quietly down the
stairs.
Go on back, I told myself. Destroy the note
. . .
still
can't.
I can't give up Casey. Maybe it won't work
out, anyway, but I have to see it through and find out.
Can't just quit on her when we've only just gotten
started. Not out of some stupid loyalty
to Eileen.
What did I really owe to Eileen, anyway?
I'd no sooner been dumped by Holly than
Eileen had jumped all over me.
I'm not her lover, I'm her prey.
With those thoughts racing through my mind, I felt
justified and
"dis
liberated and rotten as I hurried down the final
stairs and heard voices from the Fishers' room.
One voice belonged to Mrs. Fisher.
The other came from Kirkus.
Yellow light was spilling onto the carpet runner
in front of the Fishers' doorway.
I stopped.
My chances of sneaking past the door without being seen were
pretty much zip.
Just great, I thought.
Maybe it's a sign; I'm not
meant
to leave the building. I'm not meant to go out and see
Casey tonight. I'm meant, instead, to return to my
apartment and be with Eileen.
"Fuck what's meant," I muttered.
I strode forward. My heart pounded
faster. The voices from inside the room grew
louder, more distinct.
" . . . sure it will be splendid," Kirkus
said.
"Well, come on by tomorrow and I'll . .
."
I walked past the doorway. In my peripheral
vision, I glimpsed the back of Kirkus. He
seemed to be well inside the room.
"There goes young Logan, now," said Mrs.
Fisher.
Shit.
"Where's
he
off to
?"
inquired Kirkus.
I kept moving, faster than before.
I rounded the corner, then rushed across the foyer to the
building's front door. As I pulled it open,
Kirkus called out, "Eduardo!"
Caught!
Briefly, I considered bolting.
Play it cool!
Holding the door wide open, I looked
around and smiled at Kirkus. "I'm just on my
way out," I said. "You coming
?"
He nodded and hurried toward me. I held the
door for him, then followed him outside.
"Waylaid by the landlady
?"
I asked.
"Not at all," said Kirkus. "Agnes is a
dear. We've been having a marvelous time, and it
appears that I'll shortly be your neighbor
."
What
?"
"They have a vacancy upstairs, a mere two
doors away from
you
."
"And you're thinking about moving in
?"
"It's very nearly a done deal, old boy
."
He slapped me on the back. "Isn't it
wonderful
?"
"Wonderful
."
I tried not to sound aghast.
"I'm so thrilled
."
At the sidewalk in front of the building, I
stopped and faced him. "We can talk about it tomorrow,"
I said. "I have to get going
."
"Decided against the nap, did we
?"
"I felt like getting some fresh air
."
"Well, allow me to accompany you. Together, we'll
drink deep of the brisk October night
."
"I was hoping for some peace and quiet
."
"I'm fine with that," said Kirkus. "Mum's the
word
."
I turned to the right and started walking. Kirkus
stayed by my side.
After a couple of minutes, he said, "Does the
fair Eileen realize you've deserted her
?"
"She's asleep
."
"And so you availed yourself of the opportunity to sneak
away
."
"Give it a rest, huh
?"
"Did you sneak out in hopes of finding
me?"
"In your dreams, Kirkus
."
He laughed softly. "One can hope
."
"Don't you need to be getting home
?"
"Not at all
."
What does it take to get rid of him!
"Nothing would tickle me more," he said, "than
to while away the night with you, Eduardo
."
"I'd really prefer to be alone
."
"You're just saying that.
Nobody
likes to be alone
."
"Speak for yourself
."
"Where are we going
?"
he asked.
"I'm
going this way," I told him.
"I'm
going this way, too
."
So far, we were both walking northward along
Fairmont Street. Even though I'd come out much
earlier than usual, it made sense to start heading in
the right direction.
"Such a splendid night," Kirkus soon said.
"The chill October breeze, the blowing leaves, the
dancing shadows. I feel as if I" in the midst
of a Ray Bradbury story
."
"I feel like I'm in a Gore Vidal
."
Kirkus let out a whoop of laughter and
patted me on the butt "Naughty boy!"
When the Fairmont Street bridge came
into sight, Kirkus asked, "Where
are
we going, old boy
?"
"Onward," I said.
"Beyond the bridge
?"
"Far beyond the bridge
."
"You must have a destination in mind
."
"Dandi Donuts
."
"You jest
."
"Nope
."
If he stays with me, I thought, that's exactly where
I'll go. Maybe have a couple of donuts and a
cup of coffee, pass some time with Kirkus, then
lose him and go looking for Casey.
"That's
miles
away
."
""I have miles to go before I sleep.""
"Oh, dear
."
"You can come along if you want, but it's up to you. With
or without you, I'm going to Dandi Donuts
."
"You must be mad
."
"TRUE! -- nervous -- very, very dreadfully nervous
I had been and am; but why
comw
you say that I am mad?""
"Delightful! A quote for every occasion
."
"Just trying to impress you, old bean
."
"If you hope to impress me, quote Camus
."
"In that case, you'll have to remain unimpressed
."
We began to make our way over the bridge. Of the
four old-fashioned lamps by its sides, three of the
globes were dark and one glowed with murky
light. The same as last night.
We were about halfway across when Kirkus said,
"Don't you just adore the Old Mill Stream
?"
"It's pretty nice
."
Saying, "So picturesque and romantic," he
turned aside and stepped over to the parapet.
Though I halted, I didn't join him.
He glanced back at me. "Are you in such great
haste for donuts that you have no time to linger and enjoy the
beauties of the night
?"
"Pretty much
."
"I should think a setting such as this would have a special
appeal for you. It's so ... Poe-ish
."
"The stream
?"
"The old, gloomy bridge. Don't you think so
?"
"I
suppose
."
He beckoned to me. "Please
."
I
just stood there and looked at him.
He shook his head.
"I
promise not to molest you
."
"Comforting. Are you coming
?"
"You come here
."
"I
don't think so
."
"My
God, man.
All I
want to do is linger here for a few brief minutes and
enjoy the view
."
"I'm not stopping you
."
I started walking away. Glancing back, I said,
"See you later
."
"I
wouldn't go off and leave
you,
old man
."
Though he sounded nearly as smug as usual, I
heard a note of pain in his voice. "Okay,"
I said. "I'll wait for you
."
"Thank you
."
He turned away. Bending over, he put his
elbows on the parapet. His head moved slightly from
side to side, up and down. Then he looked back
at me. "It's a splendid view," he said.
"I've seen it
."
"Come here and see it with me
."
"Thanks anyway
."
He muttered, "It's thrilling to
be
loathed," and turned away. Oh, great.
His back to me, his elbows on the parapet, he
lowered his head. I watched him for a while. Then
I
asked, "You okay
?"
He neither answered nor moved. "Rudy
?"
Still no response, so
I
went over to him. Close
by
his side,
I
bent over and put my elbows on the parapet. The
area below us was so dark that I could hardly see the
stream. "Nice view,"
I
said. "I can't see a thing
."
He didn't look at me, just leaned there with his head
drooping and stared down.
"Hey,"
I
said. "Cheer up, okay
?"
He kept staring down for a while. Then he said,
"Perhaps
I
should jump
."
"Up
and down for
joy
?"
"You're so amusing
."
"You mean "jump8z in
off the bridge here
?"
"It seems like a fine idea
."
"A
smashing idea,"
I
said. "Asshole," said Kirkus.
"I wouldn't do it if
I
were you
."
,If
you
were
me, you might
."
"Well, shit yes. Put it
that
way
."
He laughed, but it sounded dreary. "Edward, Edward
."
,Is there something going on that
I
don't know about?"
"I
don't believe so
."
"No hideous, fatal disease?"
"My
health is splendid
."
"Won't be if you jump off this bridge
."
"Ever the wiseass
."
"I'm not kidding, man. It might
look
like a long way down, but it isn't. You might break
a couple of bones, but it isn't likely to kill you
."
"Perhaps we should find out
."
With that, he flung a leg up and over the parapet.
instead of trying to grab him,
I
said,
"I
wouldn't
."
He swung his other leg up and over, then sat there,
his feet hanging toward the stream, his hands flat against
the concrete on both sides of his rear end.
"If
you fall,"
I
said, "it's gonna really fuck you up
."
"I'm already fucked up
."
"Be that as it may
. .
."
"Besides,
I
have no intention of falling
."
"Best laid plans
. .
."
"The plan is to jump, not to fall
."
"You don't want to do that
."
"We shall see
."
With more agility than
I
expected from Kirkus, he rose from his sitting
position and stood up. The top of the parapet was
plenty wide enough to stand on, but
I
wouldn't have wanted to do it myself. It made my stomach
feel funny to see Kirkus up there. He stood
fairly straight, but with his knees bent slightly and
his arms out for balance.
"Okay,"
I
said. "Great. Now come on down
."
"You don't believe
I'll
jump?"
"I
believe it. Come on down, okay?"
"Why?"
"You're scaring me
."
"You care if I jump?"
"Of
course
I
care. Come on, Rudy. I don't want you to get
hurt
."
"You do nothing
but
hurt me
."
"It isn't
... I
don't
mean
to. It's just
...
you can be real annoying sometimes and it's fun to give you
a hard time. It's nothing to jump
off
a bridge about. Especially a low bridge
."
."
"I'm
sorry.
Okay? Just come on down. I tell you, you don't
want to jump. I don't want you to jump.
We're friends, aren't we7'
"Would that we were
."
From somewhere beyond Kirkus -- and below him -- came a
couple of fast claps. A husky voice called,
"Come on V jump, Tinkerbell. We gotcha
."
Another two claps.
Kirkus looked down and squealed, "Oh, dear
God!" and lost his balance. He swung his arms,
trying to steady himself.
The audience below him -- five or six
spectators, by the sounds of them -- whistled, cheered
and clapped.
I grabbed Kirkus around both thighs and jerked
hard. With another squeal, he fell.
Onto me.
His weight rushed me backward until I fell
off the curb and into the street and he smashed down on
top of me. My back slammed the pavement. Then
my head hit.
Clonk!
The impact seemed to shake my brain. I saw a
brief, dazzling display of fireworks.
Kirkus rolled off. On hands and knees, he
looked down at my face and gasped, "Are you
okay
?"
I groaned.
"Oh, dear God
."
"I'll live," I mumbled.
"What've I done to you
?"
"Never mind. J. . . help me up
."
"No, no, you shouldn't move. I'll go
call an ambulance
."
"Don't. I'm okay
."
"You might have a concussion or ..."
I reached up and grabbed his arm. Hard. "Just help
me up. I'll be okay. I'm sure as hell not
gonna . . .
wait
here while you . . . run off to call an ambulance.
Not gonna let
them
get me
."
"They did seem rather . . . unsavory
."
"We've gotta get outa here
."
He raised his head and looked around. "Perhaps you're
right
."
Letting go of his arm, I shoved at the pavement and
braced myself up on my elbows. Though my head
ached and felt too heavy for my neck, it didn't
seem to be bleeding. Nothing, at any
rate, was running down my scalp or the back of
my neck.
I turned my head slowly. A car was coming, but it
seemed to be a couple of blocks away. No
sign of the group from under the bridge.
Kirkus crouched behind me, grabbed my sides just below
my armpits, and helped me sit up. Then he
held on while I struggled the rest of the way to my
feet.
"Thanks," I said.
He still held on.
"You can let go
."
"You won't fall
?"
"We need to get out of the street
."
He moved to my side and clutched my upper left
arm. I staggered
to the curb and stepped onto the sidewalk. With my
free hand, I reached up and fingered the back of my
head. I had a big lump there. Touching it, I
winced.
The car was almost to the bridge.
I muttered, "Ride or Hide
?"
"Pardon
?"
"Nothing
."
Immediately, I wished I hadn't mentioned the game.
It was Casey's and mine, and I felt cheap for
speaking of it in front of Kirkus.
The car came closer. Its headlights made me
squint. I looked away. Soon, the car passed
us. It kept on going.
Still clinging to my arm, Kirkus turned me southward
and guided me along. We'd taken several steps
before I realized what was going on. "Hey," I
said. "Whoa
."
He didn't stop, kept pulling me.
"Wrong way," I said.
"I'm taking you home
."
"No. Huh-uh. I'm not going back
."
"I'm afraid you are, old boy. You're in no
condition to be hiking anywhere, much less to some donut
shop on the outer edges of nowhere
."
I jerked my arm from his grip.
"Edward!"
I dodged around him and headed north. Of course,
he hurried after me. Not looking back, I raised
my hands and said, "Don't touch me
."
"Please. This is no time to be foolish
."
He reached for my arm, but I knocked his hand away.
"Don't mess with me!" I walked as fast as I
could, though every stride pounded jolts of pain up my
neck and into my head.
Kirkus kept after me, staying a couple of paces
back. We left the bridge behind, but I didn't
slow my pace. "This is madness," he said. "You
can't simply continue on your merry way; you're
injured
."
"Thanks to you," I reminded him.
"It was your own fault. You should've let me jump
."
"You weren't jumping, you were falling. And those guys
down there would've had a field day with you
."
For a while, we didn't talk. Kirkus simply
remained behind me, silent as I walked northward.
A couple of blocks later, he said, "I
suppose I ought to thank you
."
"Don't bother
."
Quickening his pace, he came up alongside me and
put a hand on my back. "You saved my life,
Eddie
."
"More than likely
."
"And now you're hurt, and it's my fault
."
"Looks that way
."
"I'm so sorry
."
"Hey," I said, "it's all right. Okay
?"
"I owe you my life
."
"You don't owe me anything
."
"1 d. I do. Not only because you saved me, but because
you
cared
enough to save me. Cared about
me.
Nobody has ever cared about me before
."
"I don't care
that
much
."
Laughing softly, he patted my back. "Enough
to reach out and drag me back from the brink of
destruction
."
"Forget about it, okay
?"
"I'll never forget about it
."
"Just do me one favor, then," I said.
"Anything
."
"Don't try something like that again. Next time, I'll
let you
fall
."
He patted my back some more. "Oh, Eduardo,
you're so
tough
."
"Hands off, okay
?"
His hand stopped patting me, but remained on my
back. "And how's the head
?"
"Not great
."
"Shall I kiss it and make it better
?"
"No
."
He chuckled. "I thought not
."
"I really don't need this, Kirkus
."
"Don't need what, old boy
?"
"I'm in no mood to be fending you off
."
"Then don't
."
Whirling, I knocked his hand away from my back.
"Just
stop
it! Stop touching me!
Stop flirting,
or whatever the hell it is you're doing. I don't
appreciate it. Just leave me the fuck alone
."
"Oh, dear
."
"Know what
?"
I asked.
"I sense you're about to enlighten me
."
"We might actually stand
some
chance of being friends if you'd stop acting like such a fag
all the time
."
"Oh, my. Aren't
we
distraught
."
"Just leave me alone. Go home
."
I turned and walked away from him.
He came striding after me.
Over my shoulder, I said, "Get outa here.
I've had it with you. Go find someone else to bother
."
"Very well," he said. "Good
."
He halted. "Perhaps
I'll
wake up Eileen and bother her
."
I
stopped and turned around to face him. "Leave
Eileen out of this
."
"You obviously hope to leave Eileen out of this
...
your peculiar little adventure. Exactly why
did
you sneak out of your apartment tonight? Don't tell me
you're on a quest for donuts. Even if I'm
gullible enough to believe such rot, I doubt that
Eileen is. She'll more than likely
suspect the worst
."
"I should've let you fall
."
"Now, don't be surly. Eileen needn't know
anything
."
Smiling, he came up the sidewalk. He stopped
in front of me and reached out and patted my shoulder.
"Your secret is safe with me," he said. "Shall
we be
off?"
"Extortion must be a way of life with you
."
"I
prefer to think of it as persuasion
."
Side
by
side, we resumed our northward walk.
"Don't you simply love autumn88he asked after
a while. "The crisp, fresh wind, the blowing
leaves? The tang of woodsmoke in the air?"
"It's adorable," I said.
"Oh, dear. You're in a snit
."
"I just wanted to take a walk
."
"I
know, I know. And you're
having
your walk
."
"It's not the same
."
"It's ever so much better," he said. "You have me
along for companionship
."
"Whether
I
want you or not
."
"Of
course you want me. You're simply too
plebian to admit it
."
"Oh, yeah
."
"Deny it all you please. We both know that you find
me desirable. Deep down, you want me.
The thought of kissing me makes your little heart go
pitty-pat
."
"The thought of kissing you makes me want to barf
."
"Shall we experiment?"
My
heart didn't go pitty-pat, it thudded. "Don't
even think about it,"
I
said.
"One little kiss.
I
know you want to
."
"No
."
He forced me off the sidewalk. Grabbing both my
arms, he turned me and pushed my back against a
tree.
"Don't
."
"You'll like it.
I
know you will
."
"No
."
"Yes
."
His face moved in closer to mine. "Yes," he
said again. I turned my face away.
Lips brushing my cheek, he said, "Just one kiss
."
"No
."
"You want me to leave, don't you88he whispered.
"I'll
leave if you kiss me.
I'll
leave and
I
won't go to Eileen.
I'll
go back to my own apartment and you'll be free to meet
with your secret flame and nobody will ever know any of
this happened
."
"I haven't got a secret flame
."
"Liar, liar, pants on fire
."
"And I'm not gonna kiss you
."
"Afraid you'll enjoy it?"8Fuck you
."
"Certainly, if you'd rather
."
One of his hands turned my face toward him and he
planted his mouth on mine. I pinched my lips
tight together. Moaning. he tried to push his tongue
in. And then
I
felt his other hand against the front of my jeans,
rubbing me.
My
fist got him in the solar plexus. He
whooshed
against my mouth, folded over. Stumbling backward,
he crossed the sidewalk and dropped onto his ass
on someone's front yard. He sat there, hunched
over, hugging his belly and wheezing.
"You got your kiss,"
I
said. "Now go home
."
He didn't even lift his head.
I
wiped my lips with the back of my hand, turned away
from him and broke into a run. At the end of the block,
I
glanced back. He was on his hands and knees on the
sidewalk, looking at me.
I cut across Fairmont, raced up a
sidestreet and turned left at the next comer. The
running made my head hurt worse, made it
throb with pain. Also, I knew
I
looked conspicuous. When people run for exercise, they
wear proper outfits: shorts or warm-up suits
or sweatclothes, not jeans and a chamois shirt.
Late at night, my clothes hadn't mattered very
much; almost nobody was around to see me. But this was
well before the bedtime of most adults. It was also a
Friday night, so many of them had probably gone out
to movies or friends' houses. Plenty had remained
at home, too. Nearly every house was well
lighted. Through picture windows,
I
glimpsed people in their living rooms. Some were
watching television or reading. Others appeared to be
having parties.
Few of those inside the houses probably saw me
run
by. I
was definitely noticed, however,
by
some who were outside. They seemed to be everywhere: on
their way to or from cars; taking walks, alone or in
couples; taking their dogs for a stroll; walking or
running for exercise
-
in proper attire, of course; standing outside their
houses while they puffed at cigarettes; driving
by
in cars and vans and SUV'S and pickup trucks.
It crossed my mind that Randy might drive
by
and recognize me, but the thought didn't bother me
much. For one thing. my head pounded so badly that I
couldn't be bothered. For another,
I
was more worried about being spotted
by
Kirkus.
He was probably coming after me. Maybe
I'd
lost him, but
I
couldn't count on it.
I
needed to get out of sight. Find a place to hide,
to rest, to wait. Give Kirkus time to give up and
go home.
I
stopped running. Though
I
panted for air and poured sweat, my head didn't
feel quite so horrible.
If I could just lie down for a while
...
But where?
A
few hours from now, most of the lights would be off.
Most of the people would be in bed. I would be surrounded
by
good, dark places were I could hunker down and rest
unseen. Now, however, the night seemed alive and
terribly crowded.
I've
got
to go somewhere,
I
thought.
if
only
I
knew where to find Casey. This early, she might be
anywhere.
Probably in her own house,
I
thought.
If
she has one.
I
had no idea where that might be, or whether it even
existed.
She must live somewhere.
Doesn't matter, I told myself.
I'll
find her later. At the usual time. I hope. For
now,
I
just need a place to hide and rest. Marianne's
house?
The extra bed in her room would be wonderful. At
this hour, however, her parents would probably still be up
and around. Marianne might welcome me, but her
parents certainly wouldn't.
How about the park across the street from her house?
I
could go to the playground area and lie down on the
grass for a while.
I remembered Casey on the grass after her jump
from the swing.
Nice to be in a place where
I'd
been with her.
But then
I
remembered the man leaping down from the backstop and
running toward us. The memory of him sent chills
crawling up the back of my neck.
My
head began hurting worse.
Forget the park.
I
wondered if the tequila drinking woman over on
Franklin Street would let me in.
I
could ring her doorbell, explain that I'm
Casey's friend and need a place to rest for a while.
No way.
First,
I
would never have the guts. Second, she might not be the
one to answer the door. Third, I had no idea
what sort of relationship
-
if any
-
she had with Casey. Unlikely as it seemed,
maybe she wasn't even aware of Casey's
visits to her house.
She must be aware of them. Twice,
I'd
seen Casey either entering or leaving the woman's
house.
I started Walking in that direction.
Not with any intention of ringing the doorbell or
attempting to enter. But it was where
I
would probably start looking for Casey later On,
so why
not go there now?
I
was just as likely to find a hiding place near that
house as anywhere else. Maybe in the backyard,
or behind a neighbor's house, or across the street.
It seemed like a fine idea.
It was a long way off, though. Could
I
go that far without Kirkus spotting me? And with such a
stiff neck and throbbing head?
If I could just take something for the headache and lie
down for a while!
No doubt Casey would be able to get me some
aspirin.
Hours from now.
So many hours,
I
suddenly realized, that
I
could walk back to my apartment, take some aspirin,
lie down for a while, and be back out on the streets
in plenty of time to start searching for her.
Only two problems with that: Kirkus and Eileen.
Kirkus might intercept me. At my apartment,
Eileen might already

awake. Or she might wake up before
I
could leave again.
Better to live with the headache than to risk losing a
night with Casey.
A
couple of minutes later, grimacing and rubbing my
neck and turning my head, I looked toward a
house and realized it had no lights on.
All
the windows were dark and so was the porch.
No cars were parked in the driveway. The stretch of
curb in front of the house was also empty.
By
all appearances, nobody was home.
In my imagination,
I
saw a medicine cabinet loaded with pain
relievers.
I
saw a bedroom with a king-sized bed.
If
nobody is home
...
Don't even think about it, I told myself.
Casey would do it.
By
the time
I
reached the front porch,
I
was so frightened that my heart was thudding wildly and my
head felt as if it might explode.
The area near the welcome mat was littered with
fliers and brochures. They looked as if they'd
been piling up for several days, maybe longer.
Nobody
is
home.
Just to make sure,
I
pressed the doorbell button. From inside the
house came a faint sound of ringing.
Nothing more.
I
rang again, waited a while longer, then reached forward
and found the screen door's handle.
I
pulled and the door swung toward me. Bracing it with
my body,
I
reached for the handle of the main door.
What if Casey opens it from the inside?
I
thought. And comes out and says,
House inspector.
The memory made me smile.
Of
course, Casey didn't come out of this house. Its
door was locked.
Good,
I
thought. That's that.
I
wanted aspirin and a bed so badly that
I
might've gone in, had the door been unlocked, but
I
certainly wouldn't
break in.
It's not exactly breaking in if
I
use a key,
I
thought.
Not that I'll find one.
I didn't find the key under the doormat.
I
did find it on a thin ledge above the door.
Why
anyone would lock a house then leave its key near
the front door is beyond me. But some people do. Maybe
they have an overpowering fear of locking themselves out. Who
knows? People do plenty of strange and foolish things.
Hand trembling,
I
pushed the key into the lock and turned it. The latch
clacked back, very loud.
I
flinched. Then
I
waited, listening. No sounds came from inside the
house or from anywhere nearby.
I
heard only my own quick breathing, my own pounding
heart. So
I
eased open the door and looked in.
Darkness. Nobody's home,
I
told myself again.
I
can just walk in, find the medicine cabinet and help
myself to a couple of aspirin.
It's no big crime.
Take some aspirin. Forget about lying down, just
take the aspirin and get out fast before someone comes
home. In and out in two or three minutes.
But I couldn't move.
I
just kept standing there, staring into the darkness.
Do it,
I
told myself. Don't be such a chicken. The place
is empty.
What if someone comes back?
I'll be
in and gone in two minutes.
I can't do it. It's wrong.
Not
that
wrong.
If
Casey were here, she would've gone in
by
now,
Whatever,
I'd
better stop standing here on the porch
thinking
about it. Someone'll come along and see me.
The tension was making my head throb with pain.
I really need some aspirin!
I imagined Casey smiling at me, shaking her
head, saying,
You could've been in and out in the amount of time you've
been standing here worrying about it.
I
entered the house, shut the door, stood motionless and
listened: Silence except for some electrical
hums and a quiet, clicking sound that probably
came
from
a clock.
The air felt warmer than outside. Much warmer.
Apparently, the owners had forgotten to turn down the
thermostat before going away.
Unless someone's here.
The thought made my head hurt worse. Nobody's
here,
I
told myself
I
pulled the Maglite out of my pocket, but didn't
turn it on. Even if the house were empty, someone
outside might notice my light if I used it.
But
I
kept it in my hand, just in case, and started walking
slowly through the house. Because of dim light coming in through
windows, I could make out the general shapes of things
well enough to avoid falling over furniture. And
well enough to find doorways.
I
made my way through the living room. Here and there,
small dots glowed in the darkness from the television,
the cable box, the VCR. Bright green numbers near
the floor showed
9:20.
What if they've got an alarm?
Again, pain soared into my head.
Half the people in this town don't even lock their
doors. The odds of anyone having an alarm
...
Just get it done and get out!
At the rear of the living room,
I
hurried through the dark rectangle of an entryway.
In almost total darkness,
I
twisted the head of my flashlight and the bright, narrow
beam leaped out.
I
was in a hall with doorways on both sides.
Framed pictures hung on the walls.
The nearest loomed near my shoulder.
I
glanced at it and saw a hideous face. For just an
instant,
I
doubted it was just a painting.
I
gasped and leaped away. Then
I
found it with my flashlight.
Wild red fright-wig, enormous crimson nose,
white-painted skin and a gawdy, scarlet smile.
A
clown face. It looked demented.
I
hurried forward, glimpsed another clown painting,
then swept my light through a doorway and discovered a
bathroom.
I
ducked inside and closed the door.
And felt
-
stupidly
-
as if
I'd
shut it to keep the clowns out. Trembling,
I
stepped away from the door, turned around and
swept the bathroom with my flashlight: toilet,
tub with shower doors, counters, and a mirror above the
sink. The mirror reflected the flashlight beam and
my haggard face. They swung away when
I
pulled at one side of the mirror and it opened on
hinges.
Behind it was the medicine cabinet. Shelves lined with
medications and ointments. Including Tylenol and
Extra Strength Bufferin.
I
snatched down the Bufferin, fought open its
"child-proof" cap and shook a couple of tablets
into my trembling hand.
Holding them, I closed the plastic bottle and
returned it to the shelf.
I
shut the medicine cabinet, then turned the cold
water on.
What if somebody can hear it?
Nobody's in the house,
I
told myself again. Nobody but me, (and those damn
clowns.)
I
tossed the pills into my mouth. Bent over the sink.
Cupped water into my mouth and swallowed them.
After they were down,
I
drank more water. Then
I
shut off the faucet.
I
dried my hands on my jeans.
I
wiped my wet mouth on my sleeve. And
sighed. Still frightened, but pleased with myself.
Now,
get out of here fast.
Turning away from the sink,
I
realized
I
needed to urinate. It's not that urgent,
I
told myself. Just hold it and go later.
I'm in a bathroom, for Pete's sake!
Last night,
I'd
been in worse shape but
I'd
refused to use the toilet in Marianne's house.
That was different. That house had
people
in it.
I
stepped over to the toilet and lifted its lid and
seat. The bowl looked reasonably clean. Holding
the flashlight in my teeth,
I
unzipped and pulled out and started to go. It
sounded very loud in the silence. Like Casey last
night.
Is anybody listening?
Stop it. Are you
trying
to scare yourself?
Done and zippered shut, I considered leaving the
toilet unflushed. It was sure to make a lot of
noise. But
I'd
already made plenty of noise, so why worry about a
little more? Besides, it would be crude not to flush.
I
wanted to leave the house exactly as
I
had found it
-
minus a couple
of
Bufferins.
SO I
Pushed the handle down. With an explosive gush of
water, the toilet flushed.
Time to get!
I
took the flashlight out of my mouth. Holding it in
my left hand,
I
opened the bathroom door with my right.
I
stepped out and looked both ways. To my right were the
living room, the foyer and the front door. To my
left, the hall continued on another twenty feet
or so. More doorways in that direction. And more
wooden picture frames on the walls.
Did every frame contain a painting of a clown?
Take a look and see.
Oh, sure.
I
was tempted, though. And excited
by
the idea of not fleeing from the house.
I'm already in,
I
told myself I've taken care of business.
I
can leave any time I want. So why not check the
place out for a minute or two?
At least check the rest of the paintings,
I
thought. See if they're all clowns.
I
can tell Casey about it. I can write about it.
(what sort of person collects clown paintings?
A
clown, himself. Or a circus fan. Or a John
Wayne Gacy fan.)
Heart thudding fresh waves of pain into my head,
I
turned to the left and made my way silently up the
hallway. Each time
I
approached a painting, I aimed my light at it.
Every painting depicted a different clown. They all
looked slightly mad.
Afraid of making noise, I didn't try to open
either of the closed doors that
I
came upon. Two more doors, however, stood wide
open.
I
stepped into the first doorway, shined my light around and
felt as if
I'd
entered a one-room museum devoted
entirely to clowns. In one corner stood a
life-size mannequin in full clown makeup and
costume. Along the walls were glass-fronted
cases displaying clown dolls, circus posters,
old newspaper articles, and items of clown gear
such as wigs and rubber noses and
floppy
shoes and baggy trousers.
I
made my way quickly along the cases, shining my
light through the glass, excited
by
this strange discovery.
Most of the newspaper clippings, brown with age, had
to do with Clement O8Toole, who portrayed a
clown called Sunny Boy. None of the hallway
paintings had shown Sunny Boy. He was a large,
fat clown. Wearing a straw hat and baggy
overalls, he resembled an oversized Tom
Sawyer. He had the standard enormous red nose, but
his white-painted face had yellow streaks radiating
away from his eyes and mouth
-
the rays of Sunny Boy's sun,
I
suppose.
The clippings had dates from the 1950's through the
1980's. Not daring to stop and read them, I only
glanced at some of the headlines and dates. Clement
must've been a real star. But in
1988,
he'd nearly died in a circus tent fire.
He'd survived his burns, but was horribly
I
disfigured and Sunny Boy never put in another
appearance under the Big Top-
Clement must be at least seventy
by
now, I thought. If he's still alive.
Almost ready to move on,
I
turned my flashlight to the mannequin in the comer of the
room.
It was dressed and made up to look like Clement's
Sunny Boy.
Someone
had gone to a lot of trouble and expense.
Sunny Boy looked as good as what you might see
in an actual wax museum, except something
seemed to be wrong with its face. Some of the
wax had apparently melted, bubbled, flowed into odd
shapes.
Too much heat somewhere along the line, I thought.
A
shame. It wasn't very noticeable from a distance, but
up close
...
And up close, the dummy's eyes looked old and
bloodshot. Goosebumps started creeping up my
spine. Keeping my flashlight on the dummy,
I
backed toward the door.
I
wanted to whirl around and run, but was afraid to take
my eyes off it.
Don't be ridiculous. It's just a dummy.
A
very lifelike dummy.
In the hallway,
I
swung my light out of the room and walked away.
Enough of this place.
I
was almost to the living room when a frail, reedy
voice
-
like the voice of an old, old man
-
tremored down the hallway from behind me. It
quietly sang,
"Oh, Sunny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are
calling
...
from glen to glen, and down the mountainside
.
.
."
I ran through the house, somehow managing not to crash
into furniture or walls. Outside,
I
leaped off the porch, ran to the street and across the
street, and kept on running. I raced around a
comer, crossed another street, turned another
corner, kept on running, and finally, in a
neighborhood of expensive-looking homes, came
upon a two-story house with a lighted porch but dark
windows.
The area behind the house was enclosed
by
a fence, but the gate wasn't locked.
Quietly,
I
entered. Then I crept alongside the house. In
back,
I
found a swimming pool.
The pool wasn't lighted. Neither was the patio or
any rear window of the house.
The patio had a barbecue grill, a
glass-topped table surrounded
by
iron chairs, a couple of aluminum patio
chairs, and a lounge with a small table beside it. On that
table was a drinking glass.
I
picked it up. It was made of sturdy plastic, and
had a puddle of liquid in the bottom.
Probably from melted ice cubes. Someone must've
enjoyed a cocktail out here earlier.
Had he or she also gone swimming? It had been a
nice, sunny day, warm for October.
Bending over, I swept a hand over the plastic
tubing of the lounge. It felt smooth and cool and
dry. The tubing sank under my weight as
I
sat on it. I lowered the backrest and lay down.
Pale, moonlit shreds of clouds were scooting across
the sky. night breeze carried a chimney scent of
burning wood.
This is nice,
I
thought.
Hands folded on my belly, I shut my eyes.
Though the breeze felt cool against my face,
I
was snug in jeans and my thick, soft shirt.
The tightness and pain began to drain away.
This is so nice,
I
thought. Now if I just don't get caught back
here.
My
luck, some withered old zombie'll climb out of the
pool and come slouching over to me.
What
is it
with this town? I wondered. Everywhere
I
go, creeps and weirdos.
Not everywhere,
I
told myself. Don't forget Casey. Neither a
creep nor a weirdo. And Marianne seemed
nice. Bet the tequila woman's nice, too.
How about one of
them
climbing out of the pool? Which one?
As
I
imagined the side of the pool, someone boosted herself out
of the water and climbed onto the edge. The tequila
woman, slender and beautiful in the moonlight. Her
hair wasn't wet, but her nightgown was. The
pale gown clung to her body and ended high on her
thighs. She came toward me with slow, graceful
strides. Along the way, though, she changed
into Casey.
Good,
I
thought.
I
don't even know the tequila woman really.
Casey was dressed in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt.
I
tried to imagine her in the wet, clinging
nightgown that showed everything, but couldn't make it
happen. Still, she sure looked good.
She crouched beside me and reached over and stroked my
brow.
You had yourself a nasty knock on the bean,
Chuck-were,.
Kirkus fell on me.
I'll kiss it and make it well.
Unfortunately, the bump was on the back of my
head.
I'll turn over,
I
said. But I didn't move. Though
I
definitely wanted Casey to kiss my bump,
I
felt very comfortable on my back.
I'll turn over in a little while,
I
thought.
The next time
I
thought about turning over,
I
felt calm and well rested and alert.
I
opened my eyes.
A
few pale rags of clouds were rushing across the sky.
The full moon was high and very bright. Apparently,
I'd
been asleep.
An area at the back of my scalp felt stiff and
sore, but my head felt pretty good inside. The
nap had apparently given the aspirin a chance to do
its
job.
I
raised my left arm above my face and pressed the
button to light my wristwatch.
11: 10.
Not bad!
Wary of my head,
I
sat up slowly. Then
I
got to my feet, and still felt fine.
Very good.
I
looked around.
All
the lights were out, just as they'd been before my nap.
MY lucky night,
I
thought.
Yeah, right. Lucky if I don't count Sunny
Boy or the creeps under the bridge or Kirkus
falling on me or my head getting bounced off the
street.
About,
well,
I
thought. After all that, things can only get better.
Oh, yeah?

Let's hope so. Let's at least hope I've
lost Kirkus for the night and let's hope
I
don't have any trouble finding Casey. That's all
I
really want. Simple, really. Casey and no
Kirkus.
I
went around the side of the house, let myself out through the
gate, then stopped at a corner of the
front lawn. The neighborhood didn't look
familiar. It was darker than when
I'd
arrived.
I
saw nobody wandering about. For a while, no cars went
by.
Then two came along, one after the other, and kept
on going.
Eleven-fifteen on a Friday night.
A
lot of people are already in bed. Some are on their way
home from movies or parties. Others are still out,
living it up.
And where's my good buddy Kirkus?
I
wondered. Back in his own apartment
by
now? Or did he return to mine and wake up
Eileen so she could fully appreciate my
disappearance?
If he did that
... to 
Maybe, saints preserve us, he went back to the
damn bridge and jumped off. And wouldn't
that be a pity?
I felt guilty for thinking it.
He wouldn't,
I
told myself. He never meant to jump in the first
place, just climbed up there for the drama of it. He
wouldn't have done it at all if
I
hadn't been there.
Did it to get my attention. Well, he got it,
all right.
I suddenly remembered the feel of his open mouth, the
feel of his hand. It made me a little sick, the way
you might feel if you accidentally stepped on a dead
baby bird.
I
wiped my lips on my sleeve, then started
walking. At the sidewalk,
I
turned to the left and headed for the end of the block. You
try to be friends with a guy,
I
thought, and he does that to
you.
"What do you expect
?"
I
muttered.
When
I
reached the corner, I looked up at the street
signs. Olive and Conway? I'd never heard of
either of them.
Where the hell
am I?
After running away from Kirk-us,
I'd
concentrated (to the extent that
I'd
been able to think at all) on making turns and losing
him. I hadn't paid much attention at all to my
actual location. Nor had
I
kept track of my route after running away from
Sunny Boy's house.
Doesn't matter,
I
told myself. I'm not actually lost, just
temporarily
vague about my position. No cause for
alarm.
I
was obviously somewhere north of the Fairmont Street
bridge. That was my impression, anyway. After
ditching Kirkus, I'd headed generally to the north and
east.
I
think.
I
knew where
I
wanted
to be
...
at the tequila woman's house on Franklin
Street to begin my watch for Casey.
So which way is that?
Farther north?, probably.
But which way is north?
Standing on the corner,
I
turned around in a
full circle.
I
looked up and down the roads. Saw
headlights, parked cars, trees and houses.
Nothing, however, stood out as a landmark.
Terrific. it's all right,
I
told myself I've got plenty of time.
Pick a direction, any direction. Doesn't
matter. whichever way
I
go,
I'll
soon run into a street
I
recognize. Then
I'll
be set.
I turned to the right and walked quickly. The faster I
walked, the sooner I would find a street I
recognized and the sooner
I
could calm down.
It didn't feel good, not knowing where
I
was. It gave me an uneasy feeling as if
I'd wandered into the Twilight Zone.
I
half expected Rod Serling to step out from behind a
tree.
Offered for your consideration
...
one Edward Logan
...
He went out on a fine October night in search of
his true love but found, instead, that streets don't
always lead where
you
expect and that love may not always find a way,"
especially in that region of uncertain boundaries we
call
...
The sound of an engine broke into my thoughts.
I
looked over my shoulder. Headlights. Coming on
fast.
Ride or Hide? Too late to hide.
So
I stood motionless on the sidewalk and watched the
headlights grow larger, brighter.
A
pickup truck.
It raced
by.
As it passed me, I saw that it was a compact
pickup truck, pale in color.
I
couldn't see the driver, but
I
saw the passenger for a couple of seconds.
Her head was drooping as if she'd fallen asleep.
It wobbled with the motions of the truck. So did her
shoulders. She probably Would've fallen over if
not for her seatbelt.
The way her head hung down, most of her face was
shrouded
by
her hair.
She seemed to be wearing a dark, skimpy garment with a
plunging neckline. It was open very wide, showing an
expanse of dusky skin and much of her left breast.
Eileen?
In Randy's pickup truck?
The truck must've been
fifty
feet away
by
the time I got over my shock enough to give
chase.
I
gained on it for a few seconds while it waited at
a stop sign at the end of the block.
Then it took off and left me behind.
Though
I
kept after the pickup truck, it was soon a block
ahead of me. Then two blocks. Then it turned
left.
By
the time
I
reached the corner where it had turned, it was nowhere to be
seen.
Exhausted, head pounding again,
I
quit running.
I
leaned back against a tree and tried to catch my
breath. And tried to talk myself out of what
I'd
seen.
Maybe it
wasn't
Eileen.
I
hadn't gotten a very good look at the passenger's
face
-
only glimpsed it, and the light had been bad, and her
hair had been in the way. She might've been a
stranger who bore a certain resemblance
to Eileen.
And wore Eileen's dress?
It wasn't necessarily Eileen's dress,
I
told myself. Obviously, its top had a similar
(identical, who am I trying to kid?)
design to Eileen's dress. But who knows what it
might've looked Re from the chest down? And was it
even green?
The pickup truck wasn't necessarily
Randy's, either. It had looked similar, but there must
be a lot of light-colored compact pickup
trucks around town. And I hadn't even gotten a
glimpse of the driver.
What
I'd
seen might easily have been a local
couple, strangers to me, a guy and his girlfriend on
their way home from some sort of formal occasion: a
dance, a dinner party, maybe even a wedding.
Sure thing.
It was Eileen, all right. Asleep or
unconscious (dead?) in the Passenger seat of
Randy's pickup truck. Somehow, he had found her
and grabbed her and now he was taking her someplace.
I had special plans for her,
he'd said at the donut shop.
You want to go out with her?
I
want to go in her.
He's taking her someplace to do that,
I
realized. Someplace Private where he can go in
her. Where he can
give her the works.
Or maybe she's still back at my apartment,
asleep in my bed. Fat chance.
She might be,
I
told myself. Maybe it really and truly wasn't
Eileen in the pickup.
It was.
But
I
had to know for certain.
I
Call. Find a phone and call. If she answers
... ...
she won't
...
everything's fine.
There might be a pay phone over near Dandi
Donuts. Though
I
couldn't specifically recall seeing one in the
vicinity, it seemed like a good place to try.
If I
can find my way there.
I
had stopped at a corner with a signpost, but hadn't
checked it yet.
Let's hope.
I
looked up at the signs: Olive and Franklin.
Franklin!
Somehow, in my confusion, I must've crossed
Division without even knowing it.
I
looked up and down Franklin Street. The houses
seemed vaguely familiar. More than likely,
I
was still south of the tequila woman's house.
North should be to the left
...
the same direction Randy had gone.
He's taking Eileen someplace north of here.
As
I
started hiking up Franklin Street,
I
realized that Randy's destination might be nearby.
Maybe he'd kept driving or turned onto a
different road, but maybe he'd stopped at a
curb along Franklin
...
or pulled into a driveway. So
I
slowed down and kept watch for his pickup.
I also kept watch for the tequila woman's house.
And for Casey. Casey'll get me to a phone,
I
thought. She'll probably take me into the
nearest dark house
...
or maybe into the home of a 'friend" such as Marianne
or the tequila woman.
Now that
I
really
need Casey,
I
probably won't be able to find her.
I'll
just go on to Dandi Donuts.
By
the time
I
get to the tequila woman's house, it won't be
much farther to Dale. Take Dale on back
to Division, and
I'll
be at the donut shop.
What's the point?
I
wondered. Eileen
isn't
going to answer the phone.
She might.
She really might, I told myself. The mind can be a
tricky thing. It sometimes shows you what you're
expecting to see, not what is actually in front of
your eyes. Maybe the girl in the pickup truck
looked very different from Eileen. The "Plunging
neckline' of her gown could've actually been something
like a V-shaped design on a sweater.
Possible.
Stopping at a corner,
I
looked both ways. No traffic. No sign of
Randy's pickup truck parked along either side of the
street or in any nearby driveways. No sign
of any pedestrians in the distance. I hurried across.
The porch and windows of the comer house were dark.
Why
go all the way to Dandi Donuts?
I
pictured myself
sneaking into the comer house, creeping through its darkness,
finding a telephone
...
"Not a chance,"
I
muttered, and kept on walking.
But what if I can't find a pay phone?
There has to be one over
by
Dale and Division.
Doesn't
have
to be. And if there is, it might be out of order.
I'm not going to sneak into another supposedly empty
house! Not tonight, not ever!
(not
by
myself anyway.)
When
I
reached the next comer, the home of the tequila woman
came into sight.
I
forced myself to look away from it and check in both
directions for Randy's pickup truck and for
Casey. No sign of either. So
I
crossed the intersection.
Keeping Franklin Street between me and the tequila
woman's house, I continued northward.
Slowly.
For a while,
I
had a view of the kitchen window. It was dark. But the
porch lights were on. Light also showed through the
curtains of the large front window.
She
-
they
-
apparently hadn't gone to bed yet. I checked my
watch again. 11:48.
Instead of going on to Dandi Donuts, why not hide
and wait here for Casey to show up?
Might take hours.
What if she's in the house right now?
Even if she isn't, the tequila woman
probably is. Maybe she'll let me use her
phone.
I
stepped
off
the curb, made sure no traffic was coming, and
walked to the other side of Franklin Street.
MY mouth was dry.
My
heart thudded. Fresh pain began to pulse inside
my head.
I can't be doing this,
I
thought. Sure I can.
Why
not?
I climbed the porch stairs.
I've lost MY mind. The bump on the head
must've scrambled
my
brains.
stood on the welcome mat and pressed the
doorbell button.
A
I

sound of chimes came from inside the house.
I
had a strong urge to run away.
What'll I say?
I
had no idea.
On the other side of the screen door, the
main door opened a few inches, letting out a
vertical strip of light. At about my neck
level, a guard chain pulled taut. Then a face
appeared in the gap. Tequila woman's face.
It was prettier than
I
remembered it. And younger. Her large blue eyes
looked out at me.
"Yes88she asked. She sounded neither frightened nor
angry, but somewhat puzzled.
"My
name's
Ed,"
I told her. "I'm very sorry to bother you, but
there's some trouble and I'm wondering if
I
might be able to use your phone
."
Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head sideways
and seemed to be considering my request.
"I
know it's almost midnight," I said, 'b it's sort
of an emergency
."
"Your name is what?" she asked.
"Ed,"
I repeated.
"Ed
Logan?"
Stunned, all I could do was gape at her.
She shut the main door.
A
moment later, it swung wide. She reached forward,
pushed the screen door open and said, "Come on in,
Ed
."
She knows
me? It didn't seem possible.
As
I
entered her house, she backed into the foyer.
I
saw that she was barefoot, wearing tan corduroy
trousers and a long-sleeved white blouse. The
blouse was untucked. It wasn't completely
buttoned.
After shutting the door, she offered her hand. "I'm
Lois," she said.
"Hi, Lois
."
I
shook her hand. It was warm and smooth. I could
hardly believe
I
was shaking the hand of the woman
I'd
spied on. And she
knew my name!
"Are you okay
?"
she asked. "You know who
I
am
?"
"I believe we have a friend in common," she said.
"She's all right, isn't she
?"
"As far as
I
know.
I
haven't seen her tonight.
I
just came here because your lights are on and
I
really need to use a phone
."
Whether or not she believed me, she said, "it's
over here," and turned away.
I followed her into the living room. Nobody else
was there. The television was off. No music was
playing. In the silence, I could hear Our
footsteps on the carpet. The tail of Lois's
blouse draped the seat
of
her corduroys.
She walked to a lamp table at the end of the sofa,
picked up a cordless phone, turned around and handed
it to me, saying, "Here
you go.,
"Thank you
."
As
I
tapped the numbers in, Lois wandered out of the room.
Probably to give me some privacy. It seemed
very trusting of her.
A
book lay open on her lamp table, face down,
probably to keep
her Place. She must've been reading it when
I
rang the doorbell.
Light in August
by
Faulkner.
After several rings, my answering machine took the
call.
My
own voice told me, "This is
Ed.
I'm not in right now. Please leave your name and
number at the beep
."
Along came the beep.
"Eileen
?"
I
asked. "Are you there? It's me. It's
Ed. If
you're there,
I
need to talk to you
."
I
waited for a few seconds, then said, "Eileen?
Are You there? It's really important. I
have
to talk to you.
Please
pick up if you're there
."
After waiting a while longer, I returned
Lois's phone to its cradle.
This is bad, I thought. This is really really bad.
It wasn't someone else in the pickup, it was
Eileen.
Of
course. It was
always
Eileen.
But if she'd answered the phone
.
There was never much chance of that.
Lois came back into the room. "Is everything
okay
?"
"Not really. But thanks for letting me use your
phone
."
"Is there anything
I
can do
?"
I
sighed.
"I
don't know
."
It was hard to concentrate.
"You look beat.
Why
don't you sit down and relax? Would you like some
coffee?
A
drink
?"
"I
don't think I want anything
."
I
sank onto the sofa and leaned back. It felt good.
Lois sat down beside me. Turning toward me, she
tucked one leg under the other and rested an arm across the
back of the sofa. The way she sat, her
blouse was drawn up against the underside of her left
breast. The same breast
I'd
seen naked on Tuesday night.
I was blushing, and knew it. "You seem very
upset," Lois said.
Not knowing what to say,
I
just nodded.
"I'll
help you if
I
can," she said.
"My
friend thinks the world
of you
."
The words warmed and flu-Wed me. "She does? We
only met last night
."
"She couldn't wait to come here and tell me all about
it
."
"When was she here
?"
"This morning. Early this morning. She was very
excited. She couldn't stop talking about you
."
"That's
...
great
."
"You must be a pretty special guy
."
"Not really
."
"She thinks you are. That's enough for me
."
"Well. Thanks
."
"I'll
help you if
I
can
."
"Thanks
."
"What can
I
do for you
?"
"I'm not sure
."
"Do you want to tell me about the problem
?"
I
said,
"Uh,"
and thought, Do I?
"Does it have to do with the man who's been after you? What
was his name, Ralph
?"
"Randy.
She told you about him, too
?"
,she tells me pretty much everything
."
"Do you know about Eileen
?"
"Your girlfriend
?"
"Yeah. Eileen.
I
don't know if she's exactly my girlfriend
anymore
...
but
I
think
I
saw her tonight. Just like ten minutes ago. This pickup
truck went
by.
It looked like Randy's, and this
girl
in the passenger seat looked like Eileen. And she
didn't seem to be conscious. Maybe she was just
sleeping,
I
don't know. Maybe she wasn't even Eileen.
It might not've been Randy's pickup, either. But
what I'm afraid of is that he got his hands on
Eileen and he's taking her somewhere
."
"You think he kidnapped her
?"
Nodding,
I
said, "But maybe it wasn't really Eileen. That's
why
I
wanted to call, to see if she was still at home.
I
got the answering machine, but she didn't pick up.
So it probably
was
her in the pickup. Unless maybe she slept through the
phone call
...
the ringing and everything. Or maybe she was in the
bathroom.
I
just don't know. What I think, though, is that Randy
has her
."
"Did you leave my number on the message
machine88Lois asked.
"No
."
"Why don't you call again? Maybe she
is
there, but just couldn't reach the phone in time
."
"Okay. Good idea
."
Though
I
didn't hold much hope,
I
reached over to the lamp table and picked up the phone.
I
punched the redial button. After a quick, musical
series of beeps, my home phone rang. Just like
last time, my machine picked up and delivered my
message. Then came the beep. "Eileen,"
I
said. "It's
Ed.
Are you there? This is Pretty urgent, so please
pick up if you're there
."
Lois patted my thigh. "Leave my number,"
she whispered.
"Are You there
?"
I
asked again. Then
I
said, "Okay. Anyway. You can call me back
at
. .
."
I
found Lois's number above the keypad, and read it
off. Then I repeated it more slowly. "Get back
to me as soon as you can,"
I
said, and hung up.
Lois gave
my
leg another pat. "If she calls while we're
gone, my machine'll take it.,
"While we're gone
?"
"Let's drive over to Eileen's place and see
if she's there
."
"I don't have a car
."
"I
do. Let's go: She sprang up from the sofa. As
I
followed her across the living room, she said, "Wait
by
the door.
I'll
be right back.,

While I stood in the foyer, she hurried toward the
rear of the house.
A
couple of minutes later, she returned with white
sneakers on her feet and a purse hanging from her
shoulder. She walked so fast her hair shook. So
did her breasts, but
I
tried not to watch them.
"All
set
."
she said, and swung open the door.
I
stepped outside. She came after me, shut the main
door, and hurried down the porch stairs.
I
rushed after her, letting the screen door bang shut.
Her car was in the driveway.
We both climbed in. As she keyed the ignition,
she said, "Toward campus?"
"Yeah. At Fairmont and Church
."
"Got it
."
Watching over her shoulder, she backed down her
driveway. Then she shifted and started driving south
on Franklin.
"I
really appreciate this,"
I
said.
"No problem.
I
just hope it turns out to be a false alarm
."
"Me, too. But
I'd
be surprised
."
"If she isn't there, we'll take the next step
."
"What'll that be?"
I
asked.
"Let's worry about that if we come to it
."
"Okay
."
Lois looked toward me for a moment. "How do you
think you'll handle your situation?"
"What do you mean?"
"You seem to be involved with two women
simultaneously
."
"Yeah.
I
guess
I
am
."
"That sort of thing always ends badly for someone
."
When she said that,
I
remembered my own feelings when
I'd
read the letter from Holly: my disbelief, my ache of
loss, the pain of imagining her with Jay.
I'd
felt as if my heart had been torn apart.
I'd
thought my happiness was gone forever.
I can't put anyone through that.
But the letter had come only last Friday, one week
ago. The real devastation had only lasted a few
days.
I'd
started getting better on Monday night
-
the night Eileen met me at Dandi Donuts and
drove me back to my apartment and we made love
on the living-room floor
-
also the night
I
first saw the mystery girl and followed her, wondering
about her and longing to meet her.
One of them had given the world back to me. One, or
both.
"Someone's bound to get hurt," Lois said.
"Someone
always gets
hurt in deals like that
."
"I
know
."
"What're you going to do?"
"I'm not sure yet
."
"You don't want to hurt Casey
."
"I don't want to hurt anyone
."
Then
I
realized she'd called the girl as Casey. "So that
is
her name? Casey? She was kidding around about making up
a name for me to call her, but I
thought
it was really Casey
."
"It is
."
"Casey whaff "Just Casey
."
"You don't want to tell me her last name?
Lois glanced at me again. "I'd be glad to tell
you, Eddie, but
I
don't know it myself'
"What
do
you know about her?"
I
asked,
"I
know what
I
need to know
."
When she said that,
I
couldn't stop a single, quiet laugh from coming out.
"What88she asked.
"You must be the one who taught her how to talk in
circles
."
Lois tamed her head. We were passing a
streetlight, and
I
saw the smile on her face. "Maybe she taught
me
."
"Does she come to your house
every day?"
"I wish. Sometimes, it's every day for a while. Then
I
might not see her for a few days
...
or longer
."
She glanced at me.
"I
can't stand it when she doesn't come.
I
always think the worst. That something's happened to her. That
I'll never see her again
."
On the last word, her voice broke. She took
deep breaths. Then she asked, "How's that for
straight-forward?"
"Good
."
Holding the steering wheel with one band at a time, she
wiped her eyes.
"Doesn't Casey have a place to live
?"
I asked. "She is not without places to live
."
"What do you mean?"
"It's just a guess
-
she doesn't tell me everything
-
but
I
think she probably has houses and apartments all
over town
."
"But not a place of her own?"
Lois shook her head. "I've asked her to live
with me. She will sleep there sometimes, come
by
for meals
. . .
but she never stays for long. Sooner or later, she
always says, "Gotta go. See
you
around.""
Going, going, gone,
I
thought. "And then she's off
."
I
asked,
"Why?"
"Other places to go. Other people to see
."
Voice breaking again, she said, "I hate it. But
what're you gonna do? It's just Casey.
If
she weren't that way, she wouldn't be Casey. You know
what I mean?"
"I
guess so," I said, though I really wasn't
sure. "I'd hate for her to change
."
"Yeah,"
I
said.
Then I saw my apartment building just ahead. "That's
it next to the church,"
I
said.
Lois pulled to the curb and stopped. "Do you want
me to go in with you?"
"I
can just run up and check. Be right back
."
As I swung open the passenger door, she said,
"Good luck, Eddie
."
"Thanks
."
I
hurried around the front of her car. As
I
ran across the street,
I
noticed Eileen's Saturn parked halfway up
the block. It had the Willmington University
sticker on the rear window and the Jack in the Box
clown head atop its radio antenna.
Her car's still here. Maybe she is, too.
The front door of the apartment building was locked as
it should be.
I
let myself in. Turning the comer on my way to the
stairs,
I
saw light from the Fishers' doorway. Voices were
coming from their television.
Eyes forward,
I
walked quickly and quietly past their door.
Nobody called out. I hurried up the stairs,
reached the landing without being accosted, and climbed to the
second floor. The hallway was deserted.
I
went to the door of my apartment.
Shut. Locked.
Please let her be here!
My
hand trembled so badly that
I
had a hard time getting the key into the lock. At
last, it slipped in and
I
opened the door.
My
living room was lighted, but silent.
I
glanced around. Nobody there. The kitchen lights were
off. The hallway to my bedroom was dark.
Had
I
left the lights like this? I couldn't remember.
On my way down the hall,
I
passed the bathroom. Its door was Open, its
light off.
UP
ahead,
I
could see darkness through the doorway of my bedroom.
The sight made me sink inside.
I'd
left that door shut, the light on.
I
was certain of that.
She is gone. Randy has her.
Entering the room,
I
flicked the light switch. The bedside lamp came
on. The bed was empty, as
I'd
known it would be. The covers were a little rumpled.

remembered Eileen lying crooked, her legs
hanging off the edge, her left leg bare to her
hip. I
remembered my urge to go over to her and put MY
hand inside the slit of her dress.
I
should've done it. Should've stayed. She'd still be here.
"Eileen
?"
I
called out. Loud enough to be heard throughout the rooms of
my apartment, but probably not loud enough to disturb other
tenants on the floor.
I
didn't want to alarm my neighbors. Besides, what
was the point in calling at all?
I
called her name once more, anyway. Again, she
didn't answer.
What'd you expect? She's miles away.
Feeling horrible, I hurried to the bathroom and
took two Excedrins. Then
I
used the toilet, flushed, gave my hands a quick
wash, and hurried to the kitchen.
My
note to Eileen was flat on the kitchen table.
I
turned it over. She'd written a message on the
back.
A
very simple message scratched with black ink in
large, sprawling letters.
I'm outa here
That was it. Nothing more. I groaned.
"Nice
job,
Logan,"
I
muttered. "Real nice
job.
Fuck
."
I stumbled around the apartment for a couple of minutes.
Eileen's purse and bright yellow windbreaker were
gone.
The girl in the pickup hadn't been wearing a
windbreaker. Maybe she
wasn't
Eileen.
She was Eileen, all right. Randy probably tore
the windbreaker off her so he could enjoy the view
while he drove. Probably put his hand inside
her dress
...
He's got her completely naked
by
now.
Feeling bludgeoned, I left my apartment and
hurried downstairs. The Fishers" door was still
wide open. Voices still came from their television.
This time,
I
looked in as
I
walked
by.
Mr Fisher, in his chair, raised a hand and said,
"Hold on there, young fella
."
I waited while he pushed himself out of his chair and
came to the door. He wore an old blue
bathrobe and slippers. The robe wasn't closed
very well. "Case you're wondering," he said, 'your
gal took off on you
."
"When was that?"
I
asked.
"Oh, say
. .
."
He narrowed his eyes, nodded. "Yep,
Nash was
just about over with
."
"Nash?"
"Nash Bridges.
You know. Has that Sonny Crockett in it, and that
Cheech fella. Well, it gets over at eleven,
and
I
had to miss me the end of the show 'cause of Holly
coming
by
."
Holly? She'd been here?
My
heart thudded.
I
shriveled inside.
Not quite 'over" Holly, after all?
"Reckon they likely caught the bad guys.
Always do, you know. Show has that Baywatch gal in
it. Now
that's
a hot tomato
."
Did she break
up
with Jay?
"Holly?"
I
asked.
"Nah, the name's Yazzmeeeeen, something along those
lines
."
"You said Holly came
by
."
Does she want me back?
"Oh,
her.
Sure did. Your gal, Holly. Came
by
here all dressed up to beat the band
- .
."
"Wearing what?"
I
asked, already suspecting the truth. He'd
seen Eileen, not Holly.
I
felt a strange mixture of relief and
disappointment.
"Well," he said, 't spiffy green dress. You
know the one
."
He touched his bare belly. "Open down to here.
I
tell you, that's a dress. She wasn't too keen
on me getting a good look at it, though
...
put on her jacket pretty quick when she saw me
."
"Was anybody with her88I asked. "Nary a
soul.,
"Are you sure?"
"I
stood right here talking to her
."
He stomped a slippered foot on the floor.
"She stood right where you are. Reckon I'd of known
if she'd had someone with her. She didn't
."
"How was she?"
"Mighty upset. She'd had herself a cry. You could
tell 'cause of how her eyes was red. I says
to her, "What's the matter, Holly88And she
says, "Eddie up and left me all
by
myself.""
I
doubted that was what she'd said, exactly.
"SO
She gets her jacket zipped up good and high and
then she asks if
I
know when you took off on her. Well, I must've
missed YOU going
by,
and told her so. Then I says
I'll
keep an eye out for You when you come back, and does
she want me to give you a message
?"
"What'd she say?"
Nothing right off the bat. She stands there and sorta
thinks it over for a spell. Then she up and says,
"No thanks, Walter"
. . .
11s1ng my name like that. "No thanks,
Walterea8she says,
"I
reckon
I
know where to find him.8Then she tells me
"Goodnightea8and goes on her way.,
"She was
going to look for me?"
Walter nodded.
"I'd
say so
."
."
"Give you a piece of advice, there, Eddie. That
Holly, she's a humdinger. Know what I mean
?"
"Yeah
."
"Gals like that, they don't come around every day
."
"I know
."
"Gotta treat "em right
."
"I try
."
"Fucked up pretty good tonight, though, didn't you
?"
"Sure did
."
Smiling at me like I was an old buddy, Mr
Fisher gave me a none-too-gentle punch on the
upper arm and said, "Go on out and find her, boy
."
I climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.
"She's gone," I said. "Her car's still here, but
she isn't. I saw the landlord and he says she
left the building a little before eleven. That's about
twenty minutes before 1 saw her in Randy's
pickup
."
Lois pulled away from the curb. "Do you know
Randy's last name
?"
"No. I don't even know if his name's really
Randy
."
"What about his truck
?"
"A light-colored Toyota pickup. White,
I think
."
"License plate number
?"
"Never got a look at it
."
"Do you know where he lives
?"
"Where he
lives?"
"Yeah
."
"How would I know that? I don't
know
the guy. I've certainly never been to his house
-- if he even has one. I saw him for about ten
minutes Tuesday night. That's all. He forced
me into his pickup and wanted me to take him
to Eileen, but I got away from him. He chased me
and I lost him and I haven't seen him since . .
. not till tonight when he drove by with her
."
Listening to myself, I thought, It's all real. He
really does have her.
I muttered, "God
."
"What does Randy look like
?"
"I don't know, like he could be a male model or
something. Like on the cover of a romance novel
."
"Don't read the stuff, myself
."
"It ain't
Faulkner
," I said.
She turned her head and smiled. "Nope, it
ain't. But I know the look you mean. Bronze
skin. Granite features. Muscles. Flowing
mane of hair
."
"That's about it
."
"What's his hair color
?"
"Blond
."
"Ash blond . . .
?"
"Golden
."
"How old is he
?"
"I don't know, thirty
?"
"Size
?"
"Bigger than me. Maybe six-two. And heavier,
stronger
."
Nodding, Lois flicked on her turn signal.
"He doesn't sound like anyone I know
."
"You wouldn't
want
to know him
."
"No, but I'd sure like to know who he is ... where
to find him
."
She slowed down and made a right turn. "Any
thoughts as to where he might take Eileen
?"
"Not really. Last I saw, they were just south
of your house, heading north on Franklin. If he
has a place in town, I guess it's probably
on the north side. The night he spotted me with
Eileen, we were at Dandi Donuts. Maybe he
lives near there. Or maybe he lives out of town
and just drives in sometimes. Even if he does live
in town, he might not take Eileen to his house.
I mean, I wouldn't
."
"Where would you take her
?"
Lois asked.
"If I wanted to do really bad stuff to her
?"
"Is that what you think Randy has it mind
?"
Feeling grim, I said, "I'm pretty sure it
is
."
"So where would you take her
?"
"Maybe into the woods. That way, I wouldn't have
to worry about neighbors hearing or seeing anything.
I wouldn't have to move her body after I'm done with
it. And I wouldn't end up with traces of
evidence in my house for the police to find
."
Lois turned her head toward me. "You're not a
killer yourself, are you
?"
"Nah. But I'm trying to be a writer.
Apparently, I lean toward the morbid and
grotesque. I suppose I think about murders and
things like that more than most people
."
"Well, if he took her into the woods, we'll
never find them
."
"It's just what I might do. Maybe Randy
doesn't like the woods. Or maybe he has good
reasons to take her to his house or to some other
building . . . anyplace that's closed at night.
They'd at least be
warmer
than the woods. Not that it's very cold tonight, but you
might
want
to be in a nice, warm place if you're going to
... you know, mess around with someone
."
Nodding, Lois turned a corner. Now we were
northbound on Franklin Street. "We'll stop
at my house for a minute," she said. "Pick up
a few things. Then we'll drive around, see if
we can spot Randy's truck
."
"What about calling the police
?"
I asked.
Lois was silent for a few seconds. Then she said,
"Not me
."
I remembered Eileen's nine-one-one call on
Wednesday night. . . and the strange lack of
results.
"They
might
be able to help," I said.
"I have some things in my past
."
"Oh
."
"They don't like me much
."
Smiling, I asked,
"You're
not a killer, are you
?"
"Yes
."
She seemed serious. Still, I said, "You're kidding
."
"No
."
"You
killed
someone
?"
"My husband
."
"My God
."
"He was also the brother of a local cop
."
"Oh, my God
."
But wait, I thought. She's not in prison. She's
sitting right next to me. "You weren't convicted
?"
I asked.
"The charges were dropped. It was self-defense. But
a lot of people think I should've gotten nailed for it.
Particularly Joe's family and his brother's cop
friends. So they haven't got much use for me. If
you
want to call the cops, I can drop you off at a
pay phone. Just please don't bring me into it. Or
Casey
."
"Casey
?"
"They'd
love
to get their hands on her
."
"What do you mean
?"
Lois swung to the curb in front of her house and
stopped the car. She kept it running, though. "What
do
you
think
?"
she asked. "You think girls her age are
allowed
to do what she does
?"
"Not really, but . .
."
"At the very least, they'll put her in a foster
home. At worst, she might be sent to a juvenile
detention center. I
hope
that's the worst. She doesn't tell me everything.
For all I know, she could end up in prison
."
"I sure don't want anything like that to happen
."
"So if you bring the police into this situation, be very
careful what you tell them. Leave me and Casey out
of it
."
I nodded.
"Should I take you to a phone
?"
"I'm not sure
."
"I know you want to help Eileen
."
"I've got to. I've got to save
her. If I can
."
"What I've seen of the cops in this town," Lois
said, "they're not so great. It's like we've got the
bottom of the barrel. We
used
to have some good ones, but they
left because it's such a shit
department
."
"You think I shouldn't call
?"
"If you do, you might end up waiting on a corner
all night. Or they might show up in an hour and not
take you seriously, might figure you're trying
to make trouble for Eileen because maybe she went out with
another guy. Or they might think
you
did something to her. That's the way this bunch operates
."
"From what I've seen," I said, "they aren't very
good
."
"They're fuck-ups. And even if a miracle
happens and one of these guys believes your
story, you've got nothing much for him to go on. You've
got a description of the suspect, but no name, no
address, no license plate number. The cops
might
be able to help somehow, but it's not likely. The main
thing is, Eileen has to be found fast. Here's what
I'd
do. You and me, we go looking for the pickup truck.
Maybe we'll be lucky. If not, I'll drop
you off at a phone and you can go ahead and call the
cops. How does that sound
?"
"Okay, I guess
."
"You don't sound very sure
."
"I'm not
."
It seemed wrong not to bring in the police right away.
They were professionals. They had the manpower
to conduct a thorough search. Hell, one of them might
know
Randy, know exactly where to find him.
On the other hand, according to Lois, they're fuck-ups.
I tended to believe her; apparently, they
hadn't responded at all to Eileen's call on
Wednesday night. A call reporting a
murder.
If I get the cops involved, I'll have to do it
without Lois. I'll be on my own. And they'll
force me out. As soon as they get my statement,
they'll be done with me.
We'll take it from here, Mr Logan. You can go
on home, now.
"Let's do it," I said.
"Wait here," Lois said. "It'll be faster.
I'll be in and out
."
"Sure
."
She climbed out of her car and ran to her house. She
took the porch stairs two at a time.
Seeing a strip of light appear and widen when she
opened the front door, it struck me that this was the
same house Casey had entered the first night I
followed her. Hidden in the darkness of the porch, she'd
opened the door with great stealth as if breaking in ...
or sneaking back into her parents" house after a
late-night rendezvous.
Why had she been so furtive about it? Who
had she been trying to hide from? Certainly not from
Lois.
Maybe Lois doesn't live alone.
She
seemed
to live alone.
Maybe Casey sneaked in to surprise her.
On the other hand, perhaps her secretive behavior
h
ad nothing to do with who was in
side the house, but rather with who might be
outside.
Outside watching her.
Me?
Maybe not me in particular, but anyone who might be
looking out a window or driving by or roaming the
streets. She wanted nobody to know about her
visits to Lois. Or about
any
of her activities, more than likely.
Where is she now? I wondered.
Doesn't matter. What matters is saving
Eileen. Take care of this, and there'll be plenty of
other nights to be with Casey.
I missed her, though. I'd wanted so
badly to see her tonight.
Too
badly. That's why this happened. I should've stayed with
Eileen.
She wasn't supposed to wake up!
And if she did, she wasn't supposed to leave.
I'm outa here.
Real nice.
Out of my apartment and into Randy's pickup. He
must've spotted her immediately after she came out of the
building, before she could get to her car.
Did he just happen to be driving by?
Maybe he'd seen her earlier and followed her.
Or seen me, for that matter. Found out where I
lived. Staked the place out and bided his time, waiting
for just the right moment.
However he did it, he did it. He got her. And
now he's going to give her the works.
He's probably already doing it, I thought.
I looked at my wristwatch. 11:58.
What time had I seen them go by? Somewhere around
11:15 or
11:20. They were still on the road at that point. So
if he took her someplace in town, they probably
would've arrived there no later than
11:30.
So maybe he'd been at her for half an hour, so
far.
Less time, if he took her farther away.
They might
still
be on the road, on their way to a secluded place
in the woods or maybe a farmhouse outside of
town or ...
If they are, I thought, she might be all right so far
but we'll never find them in time.
I heard the thud of Lois's house door bumping
shut. Then she bounded down the stairs. She hadn't
changed her clothes. Instead of her purse, however,
she now carried an overnight bag. She hurried
around to the driver's side of her car, opened the door
and swung her bag in. Its buckles jangled.
I smelled leather. "Wanta put this on the floor
?"
I took it from her. It was heavy. Leaning forward,
I set it on the floor near my feet.
Lois climbed into the car, shut her door and started
the engine. "I was hoping Casey might be there. She
knows this town inside and out. Not to mention, she can get
through doors like they aren't even there
."
"Any ideas where she might be
?"
I asked.
"Sure. In somebody's house. Unless she's
roaming the streets or fooling around in a park or
... she might be almost anywhere. Most likely in a
house, though
."
"Like whose
?"
I asked.
Shaking her head, Lois pulled away from the curb.
"No sense in sitting still while we talk. Keep
your eyes open for the pickup. I'll check the parked
cars on both sides of the street. You check the
driveways the best you can. It was heading north on
Franklin when you saw it, right
?"
"Right
."
I started watching the driveways.
"So we'll try going north till we hit the city
limits, I guess, then maybe work out some sort
of east-west pattern on the way back,
try to hit every street. Of course, if he put his
truck in a garage or something, we're screwed
."
"Or if he took her out of town
."
"Well, this is what we can do. Like I said, maybe
we'll be lucky. If we strike out, I'll
drop you off at a pay phone and you can call the
cops if that's what you want to do
."
"Sounds good," I said. "But what about Casey?
Do you have any idea which houses she goes to
?"
"She's told me about some of them. She has
regulars. Certain houses -- certain people -- she
visits from time to time. But I think a lot of it's
random. I can't imagine she has any sort of
fixed schedule. She's what you might call a
"free spirit.""
"I noticed
."
"Maybe a little nuts
."
I smiled. "Think so
?"
"Who knows
?"
"Do you know why she does it
?"
"Why she goes into the houses
?"
"Yeah
."
"I know it started one night when she was out roaming and
someone went after her. She ran into a house to hide.
Thought nobody was home, but she was wrong. They were
home, all right, but asleep in the bedrooms. So
she started to explore the house. God only knows
what sort of buttons
that
pushed. Here's a girl with -- far as I know -- no
family at all, no home, and she's in someone
else's home in the middle of the night. Almost like part
of the family, but
not
part of the family. They're asleep and she's not.
She's sneaking around, looking at them, at what
they've got in their closets and drawers and medicine
cabinet and kitchen, looking at their books, their
mail. . . secretly participating in their
lives
."
Lois shook her head. "I don't know exactly
how one thing led to another, but I know she got
hooked. Pretty soon, it became her way of
life
."
"She's actually friends with some of the people," I said.
"Yeah. Every so often, somebody wakes up. Or
comes home and catches her. She's made a lot of
friends. Me, for instance. I was having a pretty rough
time a while back . . .
I'm still
having a rough time, but it's not so bad anymore.
Mostly thanks to Casey. Have you ever had one of those
dreams where you wake up crying
?"
"I don't think so
."
"I did. I used to have them a lot, especially right
after what happened with Joe. Anyway, I woke
up sobbing one night and someone was standing over me,
stroking my face, saying, "It's
all right. Everything's fine.8I guess I should've
been terrified, waking up with a stranger in
my room. But I didn't feel that way at all.
I felt . . . peaceful and safe. That was the first
time I ever saw Casey
."
"Must've been nice," I said.
"It was wonderful. She's wonderful. But she's also
... in such danger. Always in such danger. Things
happen to her. They're bound to, the way she wanders
around all night and sneaks through houses. She's had
some terrible beatings. She's been . . . it's not for
me to tell you these things. She might not want you
to know. But awful things have happened to her. You can
imagine. And she's had so many narrow escapes. I
worry so much about her. But she is who she is. I
wouldn't want to change her
."
"It would sure be nice," I said, 'if we could
find her tonight
."
"She'll probably turn up at my house
sooner or later, but I don't know when. For now,
we'd better keep looking for Eileen
."
"Yeah," I said.
Just about then, we drove past a house with a
pale pickup truck parked in its driveway.
Before I could speak up about it, Lois hit the
brakes.
"Think that might be it
?"
she asked.
"I'll take a look
."
I threw open the passenger door, leaped out, and
ran toward the pickup.
A Nissan, not a Toyota.
I hurried back to Lois's car and we resumed
our search.
"This is probably far enough," Lois said.
We'd left the town behind
- along with all the streetlights and most of the
houses. Even the paved sidestreets had
disappeared. Woods were on both sides of us. Every so
often, a dirt road led into the darkness.
"He probably didn't go this far," I agreed.
And hoped.
No other headlights were in sight, so Lois slowed
almost to a stop and made a U-turn. We were just
into the city limits again when we came to a
cross-street. Lois turned right on it.
"Not many houses," she said. "But maybe we'd
better go for a while just in case
."
"Good idea
."
She drove fast. We kept our eyes open for
pickups that might be Randy's. After heading west for
about a mile, she made a left turn, then another
left and we headed east again, back toward
Franklin.
A couple of blocks after Franklin, Lois
made a right turn, then another right and we went west
for a mile or so before cutting over to the next street
and heading east.
Always watching.
Every so often, we came upon light-colored pickup
trucks. Most of them were parked alongside the
street or in the driveways of houses. Sometimes,
I could tell from a distance that a certain pickup
wasn't Randy's. Other times, I had to climb out
of the car for a closer look. None was his. They were
always the wrong make, or an older model, or had
some sort of peculiarity: a bumper sticker or
windshield decoration -- dice or a troll or a
graduation tassel hanging from the rearview
mirror -- that Randy's pickup didn't have.
A couple of times, we encountered light-colored
pickup trucks in motion. One came toward us.
Just as it went by, we could see that its driver was a
husky man with a beard. Approaching another pale
pickup from the rear, we saw that it had a built-in
toolbox behind the cab.
Lois kept driving. We both kept looking. I
watched for Casey as much as for Randy's truck.
Then a pickup crossed an intersection a block
in front of us.
"Did you see that
?"
I asked.
"I saw it
."
Lois stepped on the gas. "Didn't get a good
look, did you
?"
"Huh-uh
."
"Anything off about it
?"
"Not that I could see. It
might
be his
."
"I couldn't tell about the size, could you
?"
I shook my head.
"Looked white, though
."
"If it's Randy, why's he still driving around town?
I mean, he's got her
."
"Maybe he's looking for you," Lois said and
took the corner fast. The tires sighed. Almost
tipping over, I grabbed the seatbelt strap up
near my shoulder and held on tight.
When we came out of the turn, I could see red
taillights far ahead of us, but not the vehicle itself.
"Hope that's it," I said.
"Let's find out
."
Lois sped up. At the next corner, we had no
stop sign so we raced through the intersection. No
traffic in either direction. Lois accelerated even
more. We were gaining on the taillights.
I began to see the general shape of the vehicle.
"It's a pickup, all right
."
"Thought so
."
"What if it's him
?"
"I've got a couple of guns in my bag
."
The leather satchel was on the floor between my feet.
I remembered its weight.
"The first thing we need to do," Lois said, "is
see if it's really him. Then we'll-"
Out from between two parked cars just ahead of us came a
bicycle.
Lois shouted, "Sstw'first"
Bright in our headlights, the old woman turned her
head and grinned at us.
The bike hag!
Lois swerved.
But not in time. Not possibly in time. The bike hag
was a dead woman. I imagined her coming at me over
the hood, diving headfirst with her backward ballcap
tight on her skull, her leering, whiskered face
smashing through the windshield . . .
Suddenly, she was no longer in front of us.
A van was. A parked van.
We crashed into its side with a roaring chaos of
noise. I felt myself starting to fly forward, but was
suddenly slammed back, bludgeoned across the chest.
Through the ringing in my ears, a voice. Lois, sounding
like someone who'd just been beaten to the ground and kicked a
few times. "Least I missed her
."
I grunted.
"You okay
?"
she asked.
I was still strapped in the passenger seat. Just in
front of me, a limp cushion was sagging out of the
dashboard. An air bag? Was that what had pounded
me?
The windshield was still intact, somehow, but the front of
Lois's car was smashed and crumpled against the
caved-in side of the van. Steam or smoke was
rising from the engine area. I heard hisses, pings and
clanks.
I looked at Lois. "Guess I'm okay.
How about you
?"
"Just shaken up, I think. You gotta get outa here
."
"Huh
?"
"G. Take the bag
."
"The bag
?"
Did she mean the air bag?
"The
bag.
On the floor
."
Uh
."
"Hurry," she said.
I unlatched my seatbelt. Hunkering down, I
found the leather bag near my feet. As I picked
it up and set it on my lap, Lois opened her
door.
"Get going," she said, and climbed out. "Quick.
Run
."
I opened my door. "What about you
?"
She bent over and leaned in. "I can't leave the
scene. But you get outa here. G. There'll
be cops. I don't want 'em seeing what's in the
bag
."
I suddenly, finally, understood. So I climbed out
with the bag, swung the door shut and turned around.
Lois was staggering toward the rear of her car. "Sure
you're okay
?"
I asked.
She said, "Come here. Help me
."
I hurried around the rear of her car. She hobbled
toward me as if hardly able to stay on her feet.
Though her hair was mussed, I saw no sign of
blood or any other injury. Her blouse dropped
off one shoulder.
"Help me over to the curb," she said.
I put an arm around her. Supporting much of her
weight, I walked her away from the wreckage.
All around us, people from nearby houses were rushing down
their porch stairs, running across their lawns. Many of
them wore robes. Some of the women had curlers in
their hair. I spotted three people with
cell phones

In a quiet voice, Lois said, "You came by after
the crash. You're just a good Samaritan. Blend
in, then disappear before the cops show up
."
"Okay
."
"Anybody still in the car
?"
a man called out from somewhere behind me.
"It was just me," Lois told him.
A woman with a
cell phone
yelled from her front lawn, "Police and
ambulance're on the way!"
"Anybody hurt
?"
asked a husky man running toward us from the other
side of the street.
"The woman might be hurt," I answered.
"I'm okay," she protested. "J. . . shaken
up
."
"What about the van
?"
an elderly woman asked. "Anyone in it
?"
"Somebody better check
."
"It's mine," a man said. "Nobody
better
be in it. How the hell'd
this
happen
?"
"Herman, it doesn't matter
."
"Gonna matter to my insurance company. Anyone
see how this happened
?"
He was answered by a chorus of "No," and
"Didn't see a thing," and, "Heard this awful
crash
."
"Let me help," a man said, hurrying over
to us.
"Here," said someone else. "Here
."
I relinquished my hold on Lois and two men
hustled her over to the curb and eased her down on the
grass.
Someone far away yelled, "Has anyone called
nine-one-one
?"
Different people shouted, "Yes!" and, "Taken care
of," and "Already done
."
"Nobody saw how it happened
?"
The man sounded peeved.
"Oh, hush up, Herman
."
The woman had to be his wife.
On the strip of grass between the curb and the
sidewalk, a small crowd was gathered around
Lois.
"Where do you hurt
?"
someone asked.
"An ambulance is on the way," said someone
else.
"You'll be fine
."
"Don't try to get up
."
"Just lie still, dear
."
"Any broken bones
?"
"Would you like me to call anyone for you
?"
"I'm sure the ambulance'll be here any minute
."
"I'll go get her a blanket
."
That last voice was mine. Nobody looked at me,
but I heard a couple of people say, "Good idea
."
Then the voices faded as I hurried across the
street with the leather satchel swinging by my side.
By the time I heard any sirens, I was more than a
block from the scene of the accident.
Safely away, I had no idea what to do next.
My head was aching again, my chest hurt from being struck
by the air bag and my legs were shaky. I felt weak
and trembly all over.
I was on my own. No companion. No car. Little
or no hope of rescuing Eileen.
Thanks to the bike hag.
Miserable bitch!
Almost as if she'd pedaled in front of us
on purpose to make us crash.
Nobody's that nuts. It's a miracle she
wasn't killed.
Good thing she wasn't, though. Lois would've
really
been in trouble if she'd struck and killed an old
woman on a bike. Hitting the parked van
wasn't nearly so serious. She might get cited
for speeding. Her insurance rates might go up. No
big deal.
Hope she's all right.
She probably is, I told myself.
But what am I going to do?
Hurting and depressed, I longed to return to my
apartment and go to bed.
Can't give up.
Besides, even if I
had
to go home, I didn't know where to find it.
Let's figure out where I am.
I walked to the next corner and looked up at the
street sign.
Beaumont and Pittman.
"Huh
?"
I didn't know
either
street.
"Shit
."
Standing at the corner, I looked in all four
directions. The streets were bordered by lampposts and
large trees. A wind was blowing the trees. The
pavement was alive with waving shadows. I saw no
approaching vehicles, no people. The houses looked
pretty much like hundreds of others I'd seen while
roaming the town. Old, middle-class homes, a
mixture of one and two stories. Most had lights
on, if only at their porches, but several were dark.
Where the hell am I?
I'm not lost, I told myself. This just happens to be
the intersection
of a couple of streets I've never heard of.
Pick a direction, any direction, walk another
block or two, and I'll find myself back in
familiar territory.
What if I don't?
Left seemed like a good way to go, so I crossed
Pittman Street and began walking up
Beaumont. Or down Beaumont, perhaps,
since I didn't know whether 1 was going north or
south.
Maybe I can figure it out.
Yeah, sure. The way my head hurt, the way I
ached and trembled all over, I hardly felt
capable of thinking at all.
But I tried.
Before our brief pursuit of the pickup truck,
we'd been cruising the east-west streets, making
our way gradually southward. After
Lois
took off chasing the pickup, she'd made a right
turn. But which way had we been going just before that?
East? Seemed like east, but I wasn't sure.
If it
had
been east, a right turn would've taken us southward.
But if we'd been heading west, the turn would've
taken us to the north.
So which way?
Doesn't matter. Even if I could figure out
where we'd been at the time of the crash, I'd fled from
the scene in a daze, focused only on getting
away, paying no attention to my route.
Don't worry about it, I told myself.
I won't be lost for long.
Not far ahead was another intersection.
I came to it and stopped. Still no traffic, no people.
Only the shadows moved. And the limbs of the trees.
And the leaves in the trees. And the leaves that had
fallen off and were blowing through the night, some flying by as
if on missions, some skidding and tumbling along the
pavement.
I stepped closer to the signpost, shifted Lois's
heavy leather bag to my other hand, and tilted back
my head.
Beaumont and Johnson.
Johnson?
I'd never heard of that street, either.
Moaning, I stepped off the curb. Might as well
continue in the same direction.
This can't go on much longer, I thought. It's not a
huge town and I've explored most of it. I'm
bound to reach a familiar area pretty soon.
Familiar? It's
all
familiar. Just not familiar enough.
I'd probably been on Beaumont Street before,
but hadn't paid attention to its name.
stHis
recognize the next one for sure.
I
got there. To the left, a truck was parked at the
curb. Not a pickup, but a large, boxy Ryder
truck that blocked much of my view in that direction.
To the right, the street had shadows and blowing leaves and
parked cars and houses and nothing that gave away my
location. So I lifted my gaze to the street
signs.
Beaumont and Hamner.
Impossible.
Another
street I'd never heard of?
Where am I? What if I'm not in Willmington
anymore?
Don't be ridiculous, I told myself. But
chills crawled through me and my skin stiffened with
goosebumps.
Take it easy, I thought. I'm still in
Willmington. Nothing weird is happening. I
temporarily don't know where I am, that's all.
It won't last much longer.
I stepped off the curb and began to walk across
Hamner Street.
Bring-bring-bringgg!
I jerked my head to the left, toward the sound of the
bicycle bell. Saw the Ryder truck. Took
a step backward as the bike came out from beside it,
speeding toward me, the grinning old crone hunched
over the handlebars, her bony knees pumping up and
down as she cranked the pedals.
Bring-bring7f
She'd come out of nowhere, this hag, this witch in her
spandex and ballcap, and now she was suddenly bearing
down on me like a nightmare phantom, awful as
what lurks under the beds of terrified children, freezing
my blood, bringing a scream up my throat.
The scream was nearly out when her hand came off the
handlebars and flapped, waving me back. "Outa my
way!" she squawked.
Outa my way?
Outa my WAY???
Not a nightmare phantom, a pushy old bitch!
She zipped past me, missing me by inches, leaving in
her wake a cloying scent of rose perfume.
"Look out where you're going!" I shouted.
She raised her right arm, middle finger extended
toward the sky.
That did it.
I shouted,
"All right!"
She glanced back just in time to see me sling the long
strap of the bag over my shoulder and break into a run.
"Yeeeee!"
she squealed. Facing forward, she raised her skinny
butt off the seat and pumped faster.
I dashed after her, the heavy leather bag swinging beside
me,
bouncing against my flank. At first, I gained on
her. Then she was picking up speed, pulling away from
me.
That's it, I thought. She's gonna get away. I
must've been nuts to think I could outrun someone on
a bike . . . especially hauling luggage.
Whatever
Lois
had in her bag -- guns, flashlights, ammo?
- must've weighed a good fifteen pounds.
Nuts, all right. I'm chasing an
old
woman! What if I
do
catch her? Do I beat her up? Turn her in to the
police for causing Lois's crash?
Moot point, I thought. I don't stand a
chance . . .
The distance between us seemed to be shrinking.
She's slowing down?
Of course, I thought. She's an old woman.
She's wearing out. Down on her seat again, too
tired to keep standing on her pedals.
I was still probably fifty feet back when she
turned a corner. With a detour across the corner of a
lawn, I cut her lead in half. I ran harder.
Closed in. Harder. I was fifteen feet behind
her. Ten. I poured it on, got closer to her and
closer, my feet flying out, almost touching the rear
tire of her bike.
I'll give it a kick, I thought. A good, hard
kick on the side of the tire and down she'll go.
Don't do it! She's an old woman!
She made us crash! Made it so we can't save
Eileen! It's all her fault and it was all on
purpose!
Just as I kicked out at her rear tire, she sped
up. My kick missed. My foot went out too
far and came down crooked and somehow I tripped
all over myself and went down.
The worst part wasn't my fall. The worst part
wasn't the jarring pain of my body striking
the pavement or the burning in my hands and elbows and
knees as I skidded. Nor was the worst part my
blazing, thudding headache.
The worst part was after I'd pushed myself up to my hands
and knees, when I raised my head and saw the old
woman turn her bike around in a small, wobbly
circle and start pedaling toward me.
Out of breath, I couldn't curse or yell. I
did, however, hear myself make a panicky,
whimpery sound.
She pedaled harder, picked up speed, squealed,
"Wheeeee!"
as she raced toward me.
I grabbed the leather handles of the bag and scrambled
to my feet.
Guns in the bag, according to Lois. But it was shut with
half a dozen zippers. No way to pull out a
weapon in time.
Wouldn't shoot the old bitch if I could.
Probably.
Hunkered over her handlebars, grinning like a
lunatic, she looked as if she had every intention of
running me down with her bike.
Bring-bringgg! Bring-bring-bringgggg!
As she bore down on me, I readied
myself to make a last-instant dodge to one side or
the other.
She "II have a fifty-fifty chance . . .
I launched the bag straight at her face and leaped
to the right. The bike would've mowed me down, anyway,
but it swerved aside at the very last moment as the old
woman caught the heavy leather bag -- not in her
face, but in her two hands.
I stumbled, steadied myself against a parked car, and
turned around.
Sitting up straight in her seat, the bike hag
coasted away down the middle of the street not touching the
handlebars at all -- holding Lois's bag high
above her head like a trophy.
I had enough breath to cry out,
"NO!"
The hag answered with a distant,
"Hee-heeeee.r
and lowered the bag in front of her.
I was in no shape to chase her. My fall to the
street had damaged me more than the car crash. The
knees of my jeans were torn. So
were the elbows of my shirt sleeves. My knees,
elbows and palms felt as if they'd been smacked
with bats and scraped raw. They burned.
My head pounded and blazed. But I
had
to go after the old woman. I couldn't let her get
away with Lois's bag -- and guns.
About fifty yards ahead of me, she began to pedal.
Though I ran as fast as I could, it wasn't fast
enough. I could feel blood trickling down my
shins.
The gap between us grew and grew.
Off in the distance, she glided around a corner without
even touching her handlebars, the bag clutched to her
chest.
By the time I turned the corner, she was gone. I
stumbled along for about half a block anyway, then
slowed to a walk.
I'd lost her.
Lost Lois's bag and guns.
Now the hag is armed.
I groaned.
I'd thought the heavy satchel would smash her in the
face and knock her off the bike for sure.
Didn't
think, just reacted.
At the end of the block, the intersection grew brighter.
Headlights.
Not waiting for the vehicle to appear, I rushed over
to the curb. I was on the sidewalk by the time the
lights swung toward me. A tree hid me from
them. After the lights swept by me, I peered around the
side of the trunk.
A black van.
It looked exactly like the van from last night, the
one that had stopped for me near the Fairmont
Street bridge, the one with the woman behind the wheel
and the men in back.
The van moved slowly along the street in my
direction.
It's probably not the same one, I thought.
Then I thought, what if the driver spotted me and
she stops and the whole gang leaps out and comes after me?
Wouldn't that be sweet?
Though the van moved slowly, it drove past my
tree and continued along the street.
I stared at its rear, expecting the brake lights
to come on.
Please please please.
They came on, glaring bright red, and my heart almost
stopped. The van slowed down. Then turned right.
Yes!
But what if it's a trick? Maybe I
should stay with my tree for a while in case they
circle back.
Good idea, I thought.
Rest.
I turned around and leaned my back against the tree and
shut my eyes.
Just give it a minute or two, I told myself.
Can't go on like this, anyway. Besides, what's the
point? I don't know where I am. I don't know
where Randy took Eileen. The hag rode off with the
guns and I don't know where
she
is. I don't know where
anyone
is. Everything's all fucked up.
And where, oh where, is Casey? If only Casey
were here.
She's not.
Oh, there is no joy in Mudville.
At least I can rest.
Lying down would be better. Lying on the nice soft
grass. But I couldn't do that without moving and I
didn't want to move. Being slumped against the tree
was fine.
"I think that I shall never see A bed as
comfy as a tree . .
."
I've got to get going.
Gotta find Eileen.
But how? No idea.
Better find a phone and call the cops. Maybe
they can find her. If only I can find a phone.
Why not do it Casey's way -- sneak into the nearest
house? No no no no no no no. Remember
what happened last time.
Probably a pay phone over by Dandi Donuts.
But where is Dandi Donuts?
"Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns
measureless to man Down to the sunless sea
."
No sacred rivers around here. Just the Old Mill
Stream, and it's miles and miles from Dandi
Donuts.
And I have miles to go before I. . .
Don't fall asleep! I won't. Just resting.
Stop resting and go find Eileen.
Randy's
got her.

I
I know I know I know. What I don't know is
what I can do about it!
Get moving, for starters.
I can't.
Yes I can. Just push away from the tree and start
walking.
In a second. Just give me a second.
Okay, maybe not right now. But pretty soon.
Soon.
Then I felt hands on my shoulders. Moments
later, warm, moist lips kissed me on the mouth.
This is nice, I thought.
It got nicer.
Breasts pushed softly at my chest. Her flat
belly met mine. She was pressed to my groin.
Her legs were warm against my inner thighs. She
seemed to be standing between my legs, leaning forward against
me.
I moaned with pleasure.
I grew hard.
Her tongue slid along my lips, pushed into my
mouth.
Who could this be? I wondered.
It's no one. I'm dreaming.
Am I? It didn't quite seem like a
dream. The lips and tongue felt so real and wet and
pliant. The breasts felt so springy, the belly so
warm.
If it is a dream, I thought, it's a very good one.
Don't wake up and ruin it. Whatever you do,
don't wake up. If you wake up, she'll
vanish.
Who'll vanish?
The bike hag!

I
Erupting with a squeal of horror, I shoved her
away and opened my eyes and saw not the bike hag
stumbling backward across the sidewalk, but Casey.
She sat down hard on the grass of someone's
front lawn.
I gawked at her.
"Ow," she said. The word didn't come out like a gasp
of pain, but like a comment.
"Oh, my God! I never ... I had no idea
it was you
."
She smiled up at me. "Good thing. Otherwise,
I'd be offended as
well
as having a sore butt
."
I pushed away from the tree. Before I could reach her,
she was already on her feet and rubbing the seat of her
corduroys.
"My God, I'm glad to see you
."
I pulled her gently against me. Her arms wrapped
around me. I caressed her back through the softness of
her chamois shirt.
As we held each other close, she asked,
"What's happened to you, Eddie
?"
"Rough night
."
"I hardly recognized you
."
"You go around kissing strangers
?"
"Oh, sometimes. I saw you from pretty far off ...
this guy drooping against a tree. A wreck. I
came over for a closer look. Couldn't believe it
was you. What's going on
?"
While I tried to figure out where to start,
Casey eased away from me. Hands warm against my
flanks, she stared into my eyes. She had no
smile now. She looked serious, concerned.
"A lot's happened," I said. "I'll tell you
everything, but... the thing is, you know that guy Randy I
was telling you about
?"
"How could I forget
him?"
"He took Eileen. I saw his pickup go by and
Eileen was in the passenger seat
."
Casey winced. "Are you sure
?"
"I'm not completely sure of anything. But it
looked like his truck and I'm almost positive it was
Eileen. She wore the same dress . . . She
was sort of slumped in the seat like she was
unconscious
."
"When was this
?"
"I don't know . . . maybe an hour ago.
Maybe longer
."
I took my
hands away from Casey and tried to check my
wristwatch. When I pressed the button to light
its face, nothing happened. I moved the watch around
until it caught the glow from a streetlight. The
digital numbers were gone, the face blank. "Out
of commission," I said.
"But about an hour ago
?"
"Something like that
."
"Which way was the truck heading
?"
"North," I said. "On Franklin Street.
I ran after it for a while. Then
Lois
and I drove around looking for it in her car
."
"Lois
?"
"Your friend Lois
."
"My
Lois? You know her? How on earth . . . his Never
mind. It'll keep. So you and Lois
drove around
?"
"She was helping me try to find Randy and Eileen,
but then we crashed
."
"Oh, no
."
"She's okay. Neither of us really got hurt, but
she had to stay at the scene of the accident. She sent
me off ... didn't want to get caught with guns
in her car
."
"Guns
?"
"The plan was to rescue Eileen if we could find
her. So I took off and then I had a run-in with the
bike hag and
she
ended up with the guns
."
"Bike hag
?"
"This loony old woman . .
."
"Oh. Old Missy
."
"You know her
?"
"We've had encounters. I don't know her name.
She always calls me "Missy.8As in, "Move
it or lose it, Missyea8when she suddenly shows up
out of nowhere. So that's what I call her, Old
Missy
."
"She's the one who made Lois crash. Then later
I chased her and tripped. That's mostly how I
got so messed up
."
"She didn't run you down with her bike
?"
"She tried
."
"She's hit me a couple of times," Casey
said. "On purpose. Sweet thing
."
"When she tried to run me down, I threw
Lois's bag at her. But she
caught
it. So now I've lost Lois's guns unless we
can find her again -- Old Missy
."
"Don't worry about it. I can always get the guns
back. Maybe not tonight, but. .
."
"We planned to use them for the rescue
."
"There won't be any rescue. Not unless you know where
Randy
"We were driving around looking for his pickup. But I
guess that's the end of that. Do you have any ideas? With
all your night
roaming . .
."
She shook her head. "From what you told me, he
doesn't sound like anyone I know . . . Maybe
some guys I've seen around, but nobody in any of
my houses. And pickups like his, there're lots of
those around
."
"We noticed that
."
"You and Lois
?"
I nodded.
"She's a pretty cool gal, isn't
she
?"
"Sure is," I said.
"Any ideas about what to do next
?"
"I was thinking about calling the police. They might not
know how to find Eileen, either, but at least
"You don't want to call the police
."
"That's what Lois said
."
"Let's go over to Dandi Donuts
."
"Glad to. Do you know where it is
?"
"Don't you
?"
she asked.
"I'm all turned around. I don't know
where
I am
."
"Come on. It's not very far
."
She took my hand and led me along the
sidewalk. "That's where Randy saw you with Eileen,
right
?"
"Yeah. Monday night
."
"And that's where you had the run-in with him the next
night, isn't it
?"
I nodded.
"So that's two nights he was at the donut shop.
Maybe the counter guy knows who he is. Maybe
he even lives somewhere near there
."
"He was driving in that general direction when he went
by with Eileen
."
"So we'll check it out
."
"Worth a try," I said.
As we walked along, Casey moved closer to me
and put her arm across my low back. She rested her
hand on my hip. I put my hand on her back and
she smiled at me. "I've been missing youea8she
said.
"I've been missing you, too. A lot.
That's why I came out tonight in the first place --
to find you. I just wanted to be with you. I never thought
all this other stuff would happen
."
"When you go out at night in
this
town, stuff always happens
."
"It wasn't like this last year. Last Spring. We
hardly ever ran into trouble
."
"Well, it does get worse in October.
Seems to. October's always the creepiest month
."
"April is the crudest month; October's the
creepiest? Maybe it's because of Halloween
."
"The whole month's weird
."
Casey smiled up at me. "Course, I sort
of like it that way
."
"I'm sure
."
"Keeps life interesting. So who were you
roaming around with last spring
?"
"This girl, Holly
."
I felt no ache of loss or longing when I said
her name. Maybe because I was saying it to Casey.
"We were out pretty late sometimes
."
"Holly last year, Eileen this year. You're a
busy fellow
."
"She was the first girl I ever . . . really cared about
."
"You loved her
."
She didn't ask, but stated it like a fact.
"What makes you think so
?"
"I can just tell. The way your voice got funny
when you started talking about her
."
"Anyway, she dumped me
."
We walked in silence for a while. Then Casey
said, "That wasn't very nice of her
."
"Well. .
."
She looked at me. "I'll help you get her
back
."
"What
?"
"I'll help you get her back. Holly. I'm
good at that sort of thing
."
She cast a wry smile at me. "It's what I
do
."
"What's what you do
?"
"It's one of my specialties. Fixing things up
for people. Making things better. Maybe I can get you
and Holly back together again
."
"She's in Washington
."
"That might complicate things
."
"Besides, I don't
want
her back. I want
Eileen
back. Not that I'm in love with Eileen
."
"You're not
."
"I just don't want her to get hurt
."
As we approached the next corner, I looked up
at the street sign. The intersection was Beaumont
and Division.
Division!
A block to the right on Division, headlights were coming
our way.
"Ride or hide
?"
asked Casey.
It might've surprised me that someone would think of
playing a game while Eileen urgently needed
to be rescued -- but this was Casey.
Hiding would delay our journey to Dandi Donuts.
"Ride," I said.
Casey and I stood side by side on the corner,
holding hands as the headlights approached.
Soon, I could make out the shape of the vehicle.
Not a pickup, not a van. Just an ordinary
midsize automobile. As it came nearer) to us,
however, it began to slow down.
The corner had no stop sign.
Slowing because of us.
"Now what
?"
I muttered.
Casey gave my hand a squeeze. "All part of the
fun," she said.
"Oh. yeah
."
She chuckled.
The car abruptly veered in our direction, crossed
the center line and entered the lane beside us -- meant for
oncoming traffic.
"Do you know who it is
?"
I asked.
"I don't recognize the car
."
"Wonderful
."
The windshield must've been tinted. I could
see nothing through it except the dim, vague shape
of the driver.
"Be ready to run," Casey said. "Just in case
."
The car stopped by the curb. The driver's window,
tinted like the windshield, showed little more than a
reflection. But it slowly glided downward.
A familiar voice called out, "I say, old
bean, you do look a trifle the worse for wear.
May I offer you a lift
?"
"Kirkus
?"
His face appeared in the open window. "At your
service, Eduardo. And
yours,
fair maiden. Rudolph Kirkus, here. My
mates generally call me Kirkus. Or Captain
Kirkus, if they're feeling droll
."
"I'm Casey," she said.
"Casey, Casey. You must be the beckoning fair
one who has stolen Eduardo's heart! And lovely
you are. "Tis no wonder he's mad for you
."
"What are you doing here
?"
I asked.
"Matters this night are passing strange
."
"I've noticed
."
"How's the old noggin
?"
"Not great
."
"My vast apologies
."
"What do you want, Rudy
?"
"Come with me
."
"We're in a hurry," I said. "We don't have
time for any games
."
"I don't know what's going on," he said, his
phony voice gone so he sounded like an ordinary
guy. "But I need to show you something. Come on. Get
in. Both of you. I'll take you there
."
I looked at Casey.
She nodded.
I hurried to the car's back door, pulled it open
and climbed in. Casey came in after me and shut the
door. Kirkus glanced over his shoulder at us, then
faced forward again and started driving.
"I felt miserable after our . . . our little tiff
earlier tonight. I'm so ashamed of myself
."
"No problem," I said.
"Oh, it is a problem
."
He seemed to be gradually regaining his usual
Kirkus persona. "I know it is. I was simply
devastated after you left . . . after you
escaped
from my clutches, if you will. So I hurried on
home to lick my wounds and ... to make a long
story short, I found myself possessed by an urge
to apologize, to put matters right between us, if
possible . . . and as soon as possible. You'd
mentioned Dandi Donuts as your destination. Hoping
to intercept you among the crullers, I borrowed a
friend's car and drove to the donut shop. You weren't
there, of course
."
"We were on our way just now
."
"Well, I arrived at the shop some time ago.
Expecting you to appear at any moment, I sat
myself down with a cup of tea and a croissant and
waited. And I waited and I waited and I waited
and still no Eduardo
."
"I had delays," I said.
"So it would seem. Well, I could only wait there
so long. People were giving me odd looks. Bizarre
individuals were coming and going. It's really quite a
dreadful place, you know
."
Looking out of the window, 1 saw that we were only about
a block away from the donut shop. "Is that where
you're taking us
?"
I asked.
"More or less," Kirkus said. "You see, I
finally quit my vigil. As I was walking back
to my car, however, I came upon a most peculiar
sight
."
"What was it
?"
"See for yourself
."
Slowing, he swung toward the curb. He drove
close to it, moving past a lamppost and parking
meters and the
narrow dark gap into which I'd run to escape from Randy
on) Tuesday night.
Nearing the rear of a parked car, he stopped.
"Out," he said. His door flew open and he leaped
into the street]
I swung open the curbside door, stepped onto
the sidewalk, then] held the door while Casey
emerged.
"Hurry, old man
."
When Casey was out, I shut the door. Then I
took her by the arm and we turned toward Kirkus.
He stood facing the thrift shop's display window.
Gazing in.
Staring in at the old mannequins that had disturbed me
so much in the past. Rhett and Scarlet, frozen in
time. Always the same, almost, while always gradually
deteriorating. Rhett with half his
moustache gone. Scarlet standing beside him in her gawdy
red dress looking less like Scarlet O8Hara
than a flapper from the Roaring Twenties . . . more
Zelda than Scarlet.
But tonight she didn't wear the fringed and glittery red
dress.
She wore a clingy gown of emerald green. Its
neckline plunged" almost to her waist, revealing a
long V of bare skin that narrowed on its way down.
Her left leg showed through a slit up the skirt. ,
"That's not her normal dress," Casey said.
"It's the same as Eileen's," I muttered.
"It
is
Eileen's," said Kirkus. "It's identical
."
"There might be others . .
."
"Oh, puh-leease. This is not an identical
dress; it's the very same gown that she was wearing at
dinner tonight. And now it's adorning a store-window
dummy. What, as they say, gives
?"
I shook my head. I kept staring through the window,
hardly able to believe what my eyes were
showing me -- and not
wanting
to believe what it seemed to mean.
"Ed
?"
Kirkus asked. "Do you know something about this
?"
Feeling dazed, I answered, "I saw her. An
hour . . . more than an hour ago. She had the
dress on. Went by in a guy's pickup truck
."
"She got snatched," Casey explained. And
went around me and Kirkus and stepped into the entryway
of the shop. A CLOSED sign was hanging inside the
glass door.
Except for the lights of the display window, the shop was
dark.
"What're you doing
?"
I asked.
She tried the door. "Isn't locked," she said.
"It's
always
locked
His
at night
."
Kirkus glanced at me.
"She knows these things," I explained.
Casey opened the door.
"What're you doing
?"
I asked.
"Going in
."
"No, wait
."
She waited, holding the door open, while I
hurried over to her.
"You're
not
going inside," Kirkus said.
Casey gripped my forearm. Speaking in a hushed
voice, she said, "This might be where he's got her.
There's an apartment upstairs
."
"Do you know who lives in it
?"
She shook her head. "I haven't been up there in
a long time. It's been a year, maybe
longer. Nobody was living in it then. Looked like it
was being used for storage. A lot of junk all over
the place. But I don't know . . . people might've
moved in since then
."
"Maybe Randy," I said.
"Could be
."
"We're right next door to the donut shop
."
Casey nodded. "Whether he moved in or not, he
might have Eileen up there. It's just the sort of
place you'd want to take someone if... you know . .
. you wanted to mess around with her. We'd better go
in and see
."
"Wait wait wait," Kirkus said, coming closer
to us. "You can't simply sneak into a store in the
middle of the night. It's a criminal offense
."
"Not if we're invited," Casey told him.
Speaking as if he considered her mentally challenged,
he said, "If this chap
has
absconded with Eileen, he isn't
likely to invite you inside
."
"Already has," said Casey.
"An unlocked door hardly suffices as . .
."
"It isn't just the unlocked door. Why do you
suppose he put Eileen's dress on the dummy
?"
"Why, indeed
?"
"That's
the invitation. Addressed to us. To Ed, in particular
."
"Oh God," I muttered. "You're right
."
Casey gave a brisk nod. "He wants us to go
in and look for her
."
"All the more reason not to do it," Kirkus said.
I scowled at him. "What am I supposed to do?
Just let him keep her and do whatever he wants with
her
?"
"Call the police
."
"No," I said.
Kirkus bent close to me. Speaking quietly and
fast, he said, "It's
what's
done
in such circumstances. One does not simply charge
willy-nilly to the rescue. Not in real life,
Eduardo. You're not Joe Hardy. You're hardly
John Wayne. You'll be breaking the law if you go
in there,
and
you might very well get yourself killed.
Especially
considering that Nancy Drew here is so certain the
dress was put in the window to lure you in
."
"You don't have to come with us," I said.
"That's not the point, dear fellow. The point is,
you
shouldn't go in.
Nobody
should go in. Let's find a telephone, instead, and
ring up the authorities
."
"I'm going in," Casey said. "You
coming, Ed
?"
"Yeah
."
I followed her inside. Before shutting the door, I
said to Kirkus, "Coming
?"
"I should say not
."
"The game's afoot, Watson
."
"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Sherlock
."
Almost smiling, I said, "Well, you might want
to ring up the authorities if we're not out in
fifteen minutes
."
"And have them arrest you for breaking in
?"
"Whatever
."
"Ed, don't be an imbecile
."
"Later," I said.
Leaving him outside, I pulled the door
shut.
We walked deeper into the thrift shop, leaving behind the
glow of light from the display window. In the darkness in
front of me, Casey halted and turned around.
She put a hand on my arm and whispered, "Shoes
."
We both removed our shoes. Then she put her
hands on my shoulders and leaned close to me. "You
wait here," she whispered. "I'll go upstairs and
. .
."
"Not without me
."
She squeezed my shoulders. "I do this sort of thing
all the time
."
"But if Randy's waiting for us . .
."
"He'll never know I'm there
."
Her statement seemed more like pride -- or wishful
thinking than fact. "I should go up with you," I said.
"Better if you stay down here. I'll just go up and
scout around, find out what's going on. Then I'll
come back and we'll figure out what to do
."
"God, I wish I hadn't lost those guns
."
"I don't need a gun. I'll be fine. But you
wait here. Promise
?"
I hesitated.
"Promise," she said.
"Okay. I promise
."
Leaning forward, she kissed me gently on the mouth.
Then she whispered, "See ya," and slipped away
from me. Standing motionless, I watched her glide
away like a black shadow. She made no sound at
all. In moments, she disappeared entirely.
Feeling sick inside, I turned around. Lights
from the display window cast a yellow glow over the
clutter of furniture and clothes racks between me
and the front of the shop. I saw rocking chairs,
piles of books and magazines on shelves and
tables, dolls, old-fashioned kerosene lamps,
statues, vases and all sorts of nicknacks.
Hanging on the wall behind the cashier's counter were
velvet paintings of Jesus and John F.
Kennedy and Jerry Garcia, along with a
stuffed "jackalope," the head of a deer, and a barn
owl with a snake clutched in its beak. A variety of
swords and spears were also mounted on the wall.
While making my way toward the counter, I looked
out the
display window. The mannequins and some other items
blocked only a small part of my view.
Kirkus seemed to be gone, but his car was still parked
at the curb. Maybe he'd decided to wait for us
in the donut shop.
Or had he gone off to phone the police?
No, I thought. Whatever else is going on with
Kirkus, he won't do anything that might get me
arrested.
I stepped quietly around one end of the counter, reached
high up the wall with both hands and lifted a katana
off its hooks. Silently, I drew the
Samurai sword out of its sheath. I set the sheath
on the counter, then carried my new weapon toward the
rear of the store.
Halting in the darkness, I listened for Casey.
What's taking her so long?
I stood motionless and barely breathed.
Sounds seemed to be coming from all around me. Quiet
sounds. The ticking of clocks. The soft
hums, perhaps, of various electrical appliances.
Along with barely perceptible sounds I couldn't
recognize -- perhaps old things slowly drying up,
coming apart a little bit at a time: threads of old
coats popping, book paste cracking, maybe the
stuffed head of the deer decomposing ever so slightly,
the shop itself creaking as its boards aged and loosened.
For the first time, I noticed the aroma of the place. It
smelled of old clothes and older books. And stale
cigarette smoke. And pine
scented floor wax and dust. I caught whiffs of
cloying sweetness, too. Underlying all the other
odors seemed to be a sour fragrance be of sweat and
urine.
I should sneak upstairs and find Casey, I thought.
No. I can't go back on my word.
What if Randy got her?
I could at least look for the stairway. That wouldn't be
breaking my promise, would it?
Holding the katana with both hands and upright in front
of my shoulder -- rather like a batter with my
Louisville Slugger, relaxing a bit before the
next pitch -- I walked slowly toward the back
of the shop.
I was making my way through almost total
darkness when someone touched my chest. It surprised
me, but didn't frighten me. I knew who it had
to be. "Eddie," she whispered.
His
"Yeah
."
backslash
"I found her. She's upstairs
."
"Is she okay
?"
"You'd better come up and see
."
"She isn't dead, is she
?"
"No
."
"What about Randy
?"
"I looked around the best I could without showing myself.
If he's up there, I didn't see him. Maybe
he's gone. I don't know
."
She patted my chest. "Come on, and bring the sword
."
"You can see it
?"
"You're backlit
."
"Oh
."
"Can you hold it with one hand
?"
"Sure
."
"Then give me your other
."
I gripped the sword with my right hand and reached out
into the darkness with my left. Casey took hold of
it. She gave it a squeeze. "Ready
?"
"Yeah
."
She led me forward. We walked slowly through the
darkness, taking a route with so many turns I quickly
lost track of our direction.
It's like a maze in here, I thought,
No wonder Casey had been gone so long.
Though I held her hand in mine, I couldn't see
her in front of me.
Why aren't we crashing into things?
She must have spectacular night vision, I thought.
Probably comes from spending her nights sneaking around
in people's dark houses.
Every so often, a floorboard creaked. Otherwise,
we moved in complete silence.
"Stairs," she whispered.
We began to climb a steep, narrow stairway. It
had a banister on the right side. I couldn't hold
on to the banister, but my hip kept bumping against it.
Sometimes, my left shoulder nudged the other side
of the staircase. We were surrounded by utter silence,
utter darkness. The air itself seemed heavy and hot and
black.
At a landing, we turned a corner and light
appeared above us. A murky, shimmering, ruddy glow
in the shape of a rectangle -- a doorway?
Casey blocked much of the glow as she climbed toward
it. Near the top, she released my hand. Crouching
lower and lower, she climbed the final stairs. Then
she crept through the doorway, crawled to the left and
stopped when only her bare feet were still in sight.
I moved up silently. Squatting, I looked
through the doorway.
The staircase apparently opened into the
corner nook of a room. I could see little more than
three poorly lit walls and Casey, on her
hands and knees, peering around the corner.
I set the sword down silently on the floor between
us, then crawled forward, staying so close to Casey
that I brushed against her side.
Just when I realized her head might be in the way of
my view, she eased herself down flat against the
floor.
I peered around the corner.
The only light seemed to come from burning candles. I
could see plenty of them, but had no doubt there must be
others out of sight. They filled the room with a
golden, trembling glow, shadows that shifted and
writhed, and scattered swaths of darkness.
Even in good light, I probably couldn't have seen
much of the room; the clutter got in the way. It was like
looking into a dense forest of statues, chairs, coat
racks, tables, mirrors, figurines, lamps,
chests of drawers, storage cartons, vases,
mannequins and a thousand other things.
Someone, however, had cleared a wide pathway through the
junk.
The pathway led straight to Eileen.
She stood near the middle of the room, about
twenty feet in front of us, facing our way,
naked, surrounded by a couple of dozen burning
candles. Her arms were stretched out to either side,
elevated slightly higher than her shoulders and
secured by handcuffs to a couple of thick upright posts
that were just beyond her reach. She was neither blindfolded nor
gagged. Her feet weren't tied at all. She
stood on them. Though her head was drooping so she
couldn't see us for the moment, she seemed to be
conscious, standing upright" rather than hanging by her
wrists.
Her wet skin gleamed in the candlelight. Most of
her scrapes and scratches and bruises looked like
those she'd sustained Wednesday night when we were
attacked under the bridge. I saw no fresh
blood, but she had ruddy areas on her breasts and
belly and thighs that looked recent.
"Eileen
?"
I called.
As Eileen raised her head, Casey squirmed
backward to get out of sight.
"It's me," I said.
Eileen started to weep.
"Are you okay
?"
I asked. Dumb question.
"Not really
."
"Where is he
?"
"I... I don't know
."
"Is he up here somewhere
?"
"I think so. I'm not sure. I think he's . .
. hiding someplace
."
"You bet I am, pal
."
Randy's voice came from somewhere deep in the room,
somewhere in the region near Eileen.

I
"I'm glad you found us," he said. "I was hoping
you would. It took you a while, though. I'm afraid
we had to go ahead and start without you
."
"What do you want
?"
I asked.
"I've already got
half of
what I want. The other half's you
."
"Okay, I'm here
."
"Did you come alone
?"
"Yeah
."
I glimpsed a flick of movement. Crying out,
Eileen flinched and twisted and jerked her knee up,
losing her balance. She would've fallen if not for the
handcuffs securing her to the posts. As she stood there
on one foot, I saw she had a dart in her leg.
A small, feathered dart -- the sort they use in
pubs -- was sticking out from the side of her left
thigh.
"Hey!" I yelled.
"You told me a fib. You're quite the liar, Ed. I
learned, among other things, that your lady friend's name
is not Sarah LaFarge. Is it, dear
?"
"No," Eileen said, her voice high and
trembly. A thin line of blood was now dribbling
down her leg from the dart wound.
"And she does indeed put out for you. She puts out for
me, too. Don't you, Eileen
?"
"Yes
."
"And now, Ed, you're telling me that you came here
alone when I happen to know otherwise. Tell me
about your friends
."
Friends. Plural. It wasn't simply that he'd
spotted Casey when she came up to scout around.
He must've seen us arrive in the car.
"Casey and Kirkus," I said.
"Which one's the fag
?"
"Kirkus
."
"That would make the other one Casey. Looked like a
real honey, what I saw of her
."
Casey, still by my side but farther back than before,
pushed herself silently to her hands and knees.
"I'd like to see the rest of her. I wanta
see the fag, too. Fact is, how about all three
of you stepping out where I can get a good look at you
?"

f
."
Another dart flew out of the shadows and hit Eileen.
This one stuck in her ribcage just below her left
breast. She flinched and squealed and went up on her
tiptoes, twisting, jerking at the cuffs.
"Stop that!" I yelled.
"You lied
."
"I did not! Kirkus ... he didn't come hi with
us. He was scared. I don't know where he went, but
he stayed outside
."
"And what about Casey
?"
"She's downstairs. She never came up. She's
my lookout. She's supposed to warn me if
anyone shows up. Cops or something
."
No more darts flew out at Eileen. Not for the moment,
anyway.
"You'd better be telling the truth," Randy said.
From the direction of his voice and the darts, he was
apparently somewhere to Eileen's left and slightly in
front of her. So much junk stood between us, however,
that I couldn't see him. Nor did I stand any
chance of reaching him quickly.
"I'm telling the truth," I said.
"You'd better be
."
"I am
."
"If there are any untoward developments ... the
unexpected arrival of your fairy friend, for instance
... or the cops . . . Eileen's situation will
deteriorate rapidly. Do you see how I have her
cuffed
?"
Two sets of handcuffs. One bracelet of each
encircled each of Eileen's wrists. At the end of
their short chains, the other two bracelets were
fastened to thick steel rings that seemed to be bolted
into the posts on each side of Eileen, slightly
higher than her head.
"Setting her free won't be fast and easy, will it
?"
He was right about that. I answered, "No
."
"And do you see the candles surrounding her
?"
The candles that I could see formed a rough circle
around her feet. They were close enough that she could kick
them over if she tried ... or by accident. Each
slender candle, standing by itself in a small holder, was
eight to ten inches tall.
"I see them," I said.
"Easily tipped over, don't you think
?"
"Yeah
."
"Now note what I've put under them
."
Spread out beneath the candle holders -- and Eileen's
feet -- was what looked like an old-fashioned
patchwork quilt.
"A quiltea8I said.
"Yes it is, Ed. And I took the trouble of dousing
the quilt with lamp oil
."
"Lamp oil
?"
"An odorless petroleum product. We sell
it in the shop to go with various kerosene lamps. It's
highly flammable. If just one candle should happen
to fall over . . .
whoof!
Poor Eileen
."
"You're up here, tooea8I said. "I'm between you and the
stairs
."
"I have other ways out, stupid. Eileen, however .
. . she'll have only
one
way out if a fire starts . . .
up in smoke backslash
As if surprised by his own wit, he laughed.
Then he muttered, "Good one
."
In my mind, I saw flames erupting around
Eileen. I saw a sudden look of horror in her
eyes. I watched her writhe in agony and struggle
against the handcuffs. I heard her screams. I saw
her hair catch fire. I watched her skin blister
and crack, heard it sizzle.
"Just tell me what you want," I said.
"Okay? Just tell me, and I'll do it
."
"First, no surprises. Complete cooperation from you
and your friends
."
"I don't know where Kirkus is
."
"Just so he doesn't interfere
."
"If he tries to interfere," I said. "I'll
take care of him. Just don't go starting any
fires, okay
?"
"We'll see. Now, you told me that the girl is
keeping lookout downstairs. Casey
?"
"Yeah
."
"Go down and get her. Bring her up here
."
"What for
?"
Another dart hit Eileen. The point of this one
sank into the side of her left breast. She cried
out,
"Ah!"
and thrashed with the sudden pain, her breasts swinging and
leaping. The rough motion only went on for a few
seconds. When she settled down, the dart was still in
her breast but it dangled as if almost ready to let go.
Sounding patient and slightly amused, Randy said,
"Go downstairs and get Casey. Bring her up
here. We'll be waiting. Won't we, Eileen
?"
Sobbing, Eileen blurted out, "Yes
."
"Okay," I said. "I'll do it. Might take
a few minutes
."
"Remember, no surprises
."
"I know
."
I crawled backward.
Casey, already on her feet, pulled my arm and
helped me stand up. As I turned toward her, she
touched a finger to her lips. Then she moved ahead of
me through the doorway. I followed her.
Making no sound that I could hear, she vanished down
the dark stairs. I went down after her, one
hand on the railing.
At the bottom, I felt a tug on the front of
my shirt. Casey pulled me along behind her on a
twisting route toward the front of the store. When we
reached the glow from the display-window lights, she
stopped and faced me.
"What was he doing to her
?"
she asked.
Staying out of sight, Casey hadn't been able
to watch.
"He threw darts at her. He got her three
times
."
"Oooo
."
"Maybe you'd better get out of here," I said.
She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me
tightly. I stroked her hair. It was damp, and so
was the nape of her neck. "I don't think so,"
she whispered.
"I can't have you getting hurt
."
"Eileen's up there because of us," she whispered.
"It's not your fault," I said.
"Sure it is. You weren't with her tonight because of me.
Anyway, it doesn't matter whose fault anything
is. What matters is, we have to save her
."
"I don't know how
."
"A good fire extinguisher might help. There
must
be one. They're required, a place like this
."
"Are you sure
?"
"I'm the house inspector, remember
?"
"Oh, yeah
."
"Store inspector, too. You can't have a store
without a fire extinguisher
."
"I don't know how we'd find it in time," 1
said. "And there might not be one, anyway. Even if
this place
had
one, I don't think Randy did all this on the
spur of the moment tonight
after
he grabbed Eileen. He probably got most of
it ready in advance. And I bet he didn't leave
any fire extinguishers lying around
."
"Maybe he took one up with him," Casey said,
"just in case
."
"Maybe
."
She let go of me and stepped away. "We'd
better get back up there
."
"Not you."
"Yes, me
."
"Casey
"Don't worry
."
"Don't worry
?"
"I can take care of myself
."
."
"Been doing it for eighteen years and I'm
still here. Still hail and hearty -- mostly
."
"Jesus, Casey
."
"Let's go
."
I reached out to grab her, but my hand found empty
darkness. I tried to go after her, but bumped into something
that fell with a clatter. When that happened, I
remembered the flashlight in my pocket. I
pulled it out, twisted its front, and a narrow beam of
brightness reached out.
I couldn't find Casey with it, though.
With the flashlight to show me the way, I hurried through
the labyrinth of the thrift shop, found my way to the
rear, discovered the staircase and started to climb.
At the landing, I saw Casey in the shimmery glow
of the upstairs doorway. She stood there,
apparently looking down at me. I pocketed my
flashlight and climbed toward her, but she backed
away.
"Wait," I whispered.
Before I could reach the top, she turned her back
to me and stepped around the corner. "Here I am,"
she said, her words loud and meant for Randy.
The katana was still on the floor where I'd left it.
I walked past it, went to Casey and stopped by her
side.
Straight ahead of us was Eileen. While we'd
been downstairs, the dart in her breast must've
fallen out. It lay on the quilt by her left
foot. The other two darts were still embedded in her.
She looked much the same as before. A little bloodier,
though. And she had probably been crying the entire
time we were gone. Her eyes were red, her face shiny
with tears, her nose running. She sniffed and blinked
as she stared at us. Then she shook her head
slightly, but I'm not sure what she meant by it.
"How are you doing
?"
I asked.
A corner of her mouth twitched as if she were trying
to smile. "Been better," she said. Her tongue
came out and licked at the mucous dribbling toward her
upper lip.
"I'm sorry about all this," I told her.
"Thanks for ... trying to help
."
She looked at Casey. "You, too. Thanks
."
"We'll get you out of here," Casey said.
"Bravado from the curie!" Randy's cheerful
voice came from somewhere beyond Eileen's right side.
While we'd been downstairs, he had moved. "And
what a cutie you
are]
No wonder Ed dumped Eileen for you
."
"Nobody dumped anyone," I said.
"Casey, let's see what
you
look like without your clothes on
."
The request didn't surprise me much. Something like
this was to be expected, considering Randy's treatment of
Eileen. But it made me go cold inside.
Casey, staring in the direction of the voice, was
frowning slightly and breathing hard.
"You don't have to," I whispered. "Just go.
Run. Get outa here
."
In a loud voice, she said, "No problem
."
Then she started to unbutton her shirt.
"I'm all eyes," said Randy. "Are
you
all eyes, Ed
?"
"Go to hell," I said.
My words bought Eileen a dart. It stuck in her
right side, just below the armpit. She yelped and jerked.
I shouted, "No!"
She shouted,
"Fuck!"
"I'm sorry!" I blurted at her.
She cried out, "Don't piss him
off backslash
Then she broke down sobbing.
"Okay," Casey called out, and dropped her
shirt to the floor. She didn't have a bra on.
Making no attempt to cover herself, she stood there with
her arms down. Beside and slightly behind her, I
couldn't see her front. But Randy probably could.
"Very
nice," he said.
The tops of her shoulders were golden in the
candlelight. Her bare back was in shadow. She
didn't have a belt on. Her tan corduroy
trousers were low around her hips.
"Now let's see you feel yourself," Randy
said. "We'll pretend your hands are mine. Do
something nice with them
."
She nodded slightly. I saw her right arm bend at
the elbow. From elbow to hand, it disappeared in front of
her. Disappeared from my view, though certainly not from
Randy's.
Her upper arm and shoulders moved. Though I couldn't
see for myself, I knew she must be using both hands
to fondle her breasts. She was squirming slightly,
almost as if she enjoyed it. i
"You don't wanta be missing this, Ed. Get around
in front of her and watch
."
I didn't want to. I knew it would be wrong
to observe Casey as she debased herself for Randy's
enjoyment. Besides, if I moved to the front of
Casey, she would be able to see that I was erect.
But if I don't do it, I thought, he'll get
Eileen with another dart.
Before I could move, Casey turned around and faced
me. She met my eyes. Then her tongue slid
across her lips and I looked down at her hands.
They were cupping the undersides of her breasts, her
thumbs rubbing her nipples.
"You've got yourself a hot one, Ed
."
Casey slid her right hand down her belly, pushed
it under the
waistband of her corduroys and it went lower until
her hand was gone to the wrist. It moved around down there,
disturbing the front of her pants with fingers and
knuckles. Her other hand pulled at the nipple of
her left breast. She stared at me, her eyes
half shut, and slowly squirmed.
"Girl," called Randy, 'take those pants off
."
She pulled her hand out. With shiny wet fingers, she
unfastened the button at her waist. Then she drew
the zipper down. Bending at the waist, she lowered the
corduroys to her ankles.
She remained bent over.
"Casey
?"
Randy asked.
She straightened up and looked in the direction of his
voice. Her corduroys were piled around her feet.
She still wore a pair of powder-blue panties.
Down low at the crotch, they were soaked and clinging
to her.
"Very good," Randy said. "This is going just fine.
You're really a great looking kid, Casey
."
"Thanks
."
"Don't you think so, Ed
?"
My throat was tight and dry, but I said, "Yeah
."
"Now it's your turn
."
"Me
?"
"Off with the clothes, pal
."
"What . . .
?"
"For godsake do it!"
Eileen snapped.
Casey nodded at me and said softly, "Go ahead
."
"Then we'll
all
be naked and happy," Randy called out in a cheery
sing-song.
Casey turned her head. "Should I help him,
Randy? It'll speed things up
."
"Sure. Why not. No tricks, though. We
wouldn't want anything to get in the way of our
wonderful time and turn it ugly, would we
?"
"No, we wouldn't," said Casey.
She stepped up to me, actually smiled, then sank
to her knees. Facing the bulge in my pants, she
said. "You get your shirt off, I'll take care
of the rest
."
While I worked at the buttons of my shirt,
Casey unbuckled my belt, opened the waist of
my jeans and slid the zipper down.
It seemed impossible that such things could be happening.
Such wonderful things, such awful things. I felt as
if I were caught between the horrors of a nightmare and the
astounding lust of a wet dream.
As Eileen watched, I took my shirt off.
Casey slid my jeans and underwear down my legs.
Unconfined, I relished the feel of air against my
rigid tightness. And felt a mixture of shame and
delight at having Casey's face inches
away.
"Wow," she said.
"Wow what
?"
Randy asked.
"It's a beauty
."
"Oh
?"
"You wouldn't believe the size of this thing
."
"You sound as if you've never seen it before
."
"I haven't
."
Tilting back her head, Casey smiled up at
me. She slid a finger up the underside of my
penis, and I shuddered.
"Don't tell me he's never fucked you
."
"Never," Casey said. "Not yet
."
Leaning forward, she opened her mouth. I felt her
moist lips.
Eileen stared at us, blinking rapidly.
Even though Casey's head was in the way, she
must've had a pretty good idea what was going on.
We're doing it to save you,
I told her in my mind.
It doesn't have to mean anything.
But it does, I thought. Oh, it does.
Casey's lips glided, slippery, down my
flesh as she sucked me deep into her mouth.
"What's going on there
?"
Randy asked. He sounded a little worried.
"She's, uh . . . she's . .
."
7's
that little scamp giving you head
?"
"Uh
."
I was about to explode into her mouth, but suddenly it
slid away with a quiet slurpy sound. She again
smiled up at me for a moment before dropping
gracefully backward and catching herself with stiff
arms.
Only her hands and feet touching the floor, her
knees wide apart, she scuttled away from
me, silently moving head first toward Eileen.
What's she . . . his
I suddenly understood.
When Casey had bent over to pull down her
corduroys, Randy had called out her name -- because
he'd no longer been able to see her.
After she'd stood up again, Randy hadn't ordered her
to remove her panties. He'd assumed she was
naked.
He hadn't been able to see my erection, or even
Casey's head as she sucked me.
He can't see that low!
Based on that conclusion, Casey was now off to the
rescue.
And it was my job to play along.
I watched how her breasts jiggled and wobbled. I
watched the shiny dark crotch of her panties.
Moaning, I writhed and reached down as if stroking
her head, as if she were still kneeling in front of me,
sucking.
Eileen watched both of us, a strange look on
her face.
I gasped,
"Uh! Uh! Yes!"
Randy called out,
"Whooeee, go for it!"
I
grunted and squirmed.
"Suck him, honey! Suck him good 'n" get
ready for me!"
Though half dazed with lust and hope, I suddenly
realized that Randy's voice had come from a different
location.
Somewhere nearer than before.
I continued my mime, acting as if Casey were still
on her knees in front of me even as I watched
her scurrying closer and closer to Eileen.
At the edge of the quilt, she stopped the strange
crab-walk, lowered herself to the floor and rolled
over. She squirmed onto the quilt on her
belly like a soldier going under barbed wire.
Braced up on her left elbow, she reached forward
with her right arm and pinched the wick of the nearest candle.
The flame died between her thumb and forefinger.
"Oh, cute
."
Randy's voice. Behind me. I whirled around. The
aisle of cleared floor between me and the corner was
empty at first. Then Randy leaped out from the side.
He slid on his bare feet, stopped himself
and turned toward me. He wore a bandage on his
right thigh where I'd stabbed him with the pen on Tuesday
night. Otherwise, he wore nothing.
Naked and happy.
He was aroused, smiling and holding a pistol in his right
hand.
Eileen shouted,
"Watch out!"
He raised the pistol. It looked like a small
semi-automatic. "Outa the way," he told
me. "Move!"
Straightening up, I glanced over my shoulder.
Casey was still on her belly, busy snuffing
candles. Many were already out, but others still burned. Down
like that, she would be a hard target. But Eileen would be
easy, upright and shackled between the two posts.
I faced Randy and spread my arms like a
basketball player trying to block a shot.
Still smiling, he said, "Dumb fuck," and shot
me.
The noise was a quick, flat bang. A .22? The
pain was a sting on the right side of my ribcage.
I ran at him.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard him say,
"All right
."
He aimed at my face as I rushed him, then
smirked and lowered the pistol and shot me in the thigh.
My leg went out from under me. I slammed against the
floor in front of him. Then he fired twice more,
but nothing else hit me.
Somewhere behind me, a girl cried out in pain.
Randy laughed. "There," he said.
Eileen cried out,
"You fucking bastard!"
"You should thank me," he said. "She was your
competition, stupid
."
I lurched forward and tried to grab Randy's feet,
but he easily stepped out of the way. "You want me,
Ed
?"
he asked. "The feeling's mutual
."
Suddenly, he leaped past me. Crouching over me,
he pulled at my arms, turned me, rolled me
onto my back. He no longer held the pistol.
I wondered where it was.
Then he was kneeling above me, stretching my arms out,
pinning me to the floor. "Gonna give you
the works, Eddie boy. Just like I promised
."
He lowered himself on to me. I felt his erection
against my belly, his mouth on my mouth, his tongue
pushing in.
Suddenly, he pushed himself up. Braced above me
on his hands and knees, he said, "We'll have us a
real good time. But first things first. Gotta get me a
taste of the honey while she's still fresh
."
Casey.
"No," I said.
"Don't worry, I'll be back
."
Then he stuck his forefinger into the hole in my thigh.
Pain blasted through me. I must've blacked out, but not
for long.
I returned to consciousness with Eileen's voice
ripping through my head.
"Let go of her you fucking bastard! Leave her
alone! Don't! Stop that!"
I sat up and saw Randy staggering backward,
dragging Casey by her ankles. Apparently, he
wanted her clear of the fuel-soaked quilt before
having his fun with her.
She'd done a good job, but several candles still
burned.
Eileen, sobbing and grunting, thrashed between the posts like
some sort of female Samson trying to stop the
horror by bringing down the building. But the posts
held firm. So did the handcuffs.
Though pain soared through my body, I struggled to my
knees. I tried to stand up, but my leg wouldn't
let me. So I crawled.
I crawled toward them as Randy, with his back to me,
dropped to his knees between Casey's legs and
tore off her panties. Crawled toward them as
Eileen bucked and thrashed between the posts, specks of
sweat flying off her hair and off her gleaming skin,
three darts still protruding from her body.
"I'll
kill you, Randy!"
she cried out.
"Leave her alone or I'll kill you!"
He didn't leave her alone.
I crawled as fast as I could. I tried to stand up,
but I fell. Disturbed by the sound, Randy looked
over his shoulder. Seeing me down,
he laughed. "Gee, guy, I don't think you're
gonna save the day after all
."
Then he turned his head away and sank down on
top of Casey.
I shouted,
"NO!"
Eileen cried out,
"Don't!"
Randy's white ass flexed as he thrust. Each time
he pounded into her, Casey's small, bare feet
jerked slightly.
Then I heard quick, soft thumping sounds and felt the
floor shaking under my body and wondered what was going
on. Eileen stopped moving. Randy stopped thrusting.
Pushing at the floor, he arched his back and looked
over his shoulder.
This time he didn't laugh.
Someone leaped over me.
Ran straight at Randy.
My view was partly blocked by the tall, running
man, but I saw plenty.
Saw that the running man was Kirkus. Saw Randy
try to climb off Casey. Saw Kirkus swing the
katana. Saw Randy raise an arm to block it and
saw his upraised hand leap off and fly into the
clutter, spraying blood, waving goodbye
to us all.
Kirkus, as if shocked and exhausted by what he'd
done, lowered the sword.
Eileen swayed on her feet, panting for breath.
Randy, on his knees between Casey's legs, held
up the spurting stump of his arm and cried out, 7
need help! Somebody help! Call an
ambulance!"
"Fuck you," gasped Eileen.
Groaning, I pushed myself up to my hands and knees.
And saw one of Casey's small, bare feet
lift off the floor. Her knee came up. Then
her leg swung out of sight in front of Randy.
He said, "What. . .
?"
Then he was hurtled backward. He landed back-first
on the floor not far in front of me. His head
thudded. As he lay there squirming and groaning,
Casey stood up. She was splattered with blood,
some of it probably Randy's, but it must've been
blood of her own dribbling down her inner thighs.
Head down, she hobbled over to Kirkus.
"Mind if I borrow this
?"
she asked, her voice low and husky.
He gave it to her.
Randy squealed,
"You're dead! I shot you!"
"Yeah, right," she said.
She stood over him.
"NO!"
Up on his elbows, he tried to scoot away from
her.
I planted my right foot against the top of his head,
stopping his retreat.
Somehow, even after getting his hand lopped off, he still
had an erection. At least until Casey swung
the sword.
Randy shrieked.
Then he passed out, and the silence seemed strange.
Kirkus, Eileen and I all stared at Casey as
she walked toward Eileen. Her back, dusky with
shadows, seemed free of blood or wounds of any
kind.
"I thought he shot you," I told her, my voice
shaking.
She didn't look at me, but said, "He missed
."
Then she halted in front of Eileen, reared back
with the sword and swung it with both hands. The
blade chopped through the handcuff chain and thudded into the
post. Eileen's left arm dropped to her side.
As she swayed on her feet, right arm still raised and
cuffed Kirkus went to her.
"Watch out for the candles," I warned him. "The
quilt's soaked with oil
."
All he said was, "Okay
."
Then he pulled the darts out of Eileen's body.
Each time, she flinched and winced.
After letting the darts fall to the quilt, Kirkus
wrapped his arms around her. Then Casey chopped through
the chain of the other cuffs. Eileen's right arm fell.
She sagged, but Kirkus held her up. Clinging
to each other, they staggered off the quilt. Kirkus
eased Eileen down to the floor.
Casey had already put the sword down. She was
crawling on her hands and knees, puffing out candles.
As she did so, the room slowly darkened.
Kirkus came over to me. "How's the leg
?"
he asked.
"Shot
."
"I heard the gunfire," he said.
"That why you came up
?"
"Let's say it hastened my decision
."
"Glad you came along," I told him.
"Thanks
."
"The least I could do, old chap. Looks as if I
arrived slightly later, however, than the
proverbial "nick of time.""
"You did pretty good, Rudy
."
He crouched beside me and explored my bare thigh with
both his hands. A couple of times, one of his hands
brushed against my genitals. Accidentally, I'm
sure.
"I can't seem to find an exit wound," he said.
"The bullet's probably in my bone
."
"In your bone," he said, and I half expected
a quip. He didn't come out with one, though.
Instead, he took a folded handkerchief out of his
pocket. "Don't worry, it's clean
."
He pressed it against the hole in my thigh. "Hold
it there," he said. "I'll wrap my belt-"
"Help," Randy murmured. "Help me.
Please
."
In the dimming light, I saw him raise his head.
"Not dead yet
?"
Kirkus asked. "Give it time
."
"Please," Randy murmured again.
"I'll help him," Casey offered.
She came hobbling toward us, a lighted candle in
each hand. Behind her, the room was in darkness. These were
apparently the last two burning candles.
Naked and bloody in the glow of the candles she
carried, Casey looked like a teenaged savage
girl playing her part in some sort of pagan
ritual.
She stopped beside Randy and looked down at him.
"We'd better stop the bleeding," she said, her
voice soft and husky.
"Let him die," Eileen said.
"I concur," said Kirkus.
"I have to do what I can," Casey said.
She sank to her knees, next to Randy's bleeding
wrist but not very far from me. In the fluttery light,
I saw semen trickling down through the blood on her
thighs. "These wounds need to be cauterized," she
said. "Let's see if candles will do the trick
."
A soft chuckle came from Eileen.
"I say," said Kirkus.
Then came the screams from Randy. And the stench.
Later, we lit more candles. We were careful to keep
them away from the quilt.
Kirkus used his belt to secure the handkerchief
over my wound. I didn't complain about the way he
sometimes just happened to touch me; after all, he'd
saved our bacon.
While Casey and I put on our clothes,
Kirkus ran downstairs. He returned a few
minutes later with Eileen's gown. A while after
that, the three of us were dressed and ready to go.
I put Randy's pistol in my pocket, figuring
I would probably tell the authorities
(doctors are required to report gunshot wounds)
that it was my own weapon and I'd shot myself in the leg
by accident. This might work, at least if the gouge
across my side from Randy's first bullet
went undetected -- somewhat more difficult
to explain away
two
gunshot wounds.
"I guess that's about it," I said.
"What'll we do about all this
?"
Eileen asked. "The crime scene
?"
"We simply tell the truth," Kirkus pointed
out. "Eileen was kidnapped and brutalized by this
horrid man and we came to the rescue.
Voila.
It was all quite justifiable
."
"Only one problem with that," Casey said.
"And that is
?"
"No way in hell," she said. "You try bringing the
cops into this,; I'm gone. They're not gonna find
out what happened to me tonight
."
Or what I did to
him.
Or who I am. Or
anything
."
"I'm with Casey," Eileen said. "Even if I
thought she was wrong,
were'
I'd be with her. She almost got killed for me. But
this bastard . . . the things he did to us ... I
don't want to be telling cops about it or have it show
up in the news and be all over campus
."
"I'm not exactly eager, myself," said Kirkus.
"After all, I'm the chap who lopped off his hand
."
"For which I'm forever grateful," I told him.
"Same here," said Eileen.
"You bet," said Casey.
"Thank you," Kirkus said, and I heard a choke
in his voice. "Sorry I wasn't in time to stop
him from . . . violating you
."
"You saved my life," she said. Then she handed her
candles to me and hugged Kirkus and kissed him.
When she stopped, he said, "I say. Glad I
could help
."
After that, we stood around in the candlelight, silent
for a while, looking down at Randy.
Eileen broke the silence. "We've got to do
something about him . . -- about all this. We can't just
walk away. Must be all kinds of evidence they'd
be able to use against us
."
"We might torch the place," Kirkus
suggested.
"No," Casey said. "Even if Randy
did
work here, I'm pretty sure someone else owns the
shop. Besides, a fire might spread to other stores
"Wouldn't wanta burn down Dandi Donuts,"
Eileen said. I couldn't tell whether she meant it
sarcastically.
"And somebody might get hurt if we start a
fire," Casey added. "A fireman or an
innocent bystander
."
"We have to do something," I said. "We've
all
bled up here
."
"Not me," said Kirkus.
"Your fingerprints are on the sword," I pointed
out.
"Won't be," he said, and wandered off with a candle.
"What we need to do," Casey said, 'is get
Randy out of here. Take him out to the car. Clutter this
room up so it looks pretty much like normal, then
drop Randy off somewhere
."
"Like at a hospital
?"
Eileen asked. Again, I wasn't sure whether she
was being sarcastic.
Casey said, "That's not exactly what I have in
mind."
Because of my leg wound, I missed out on the cleanup
and heavy lifting.
Kirkus helped me downstairs and out to the car. I
sat in the back seat and waited, once in a while
ducking out of sight when a car or pedestrian came
along.
After about half an hour, the shop's front door
opened and Casey came out. She looked around, then
walked over to the car and opened its trunk.
Out of the shop rushed Kirkus carrying a big,
rolled rug over his shoulder.
Nice touch, I thought.
Eileen came out after Kirkus. She had a large
coil of rope hanging from her shoulder.
When Kirkus flung the rug into the trunk, the
whole car shook.
Eileen sat up front with Kirkus. Casey
sat in back with me.
As Kirkus swung away from the curb, Casey
squeezed my hand. "How are you doing
?"
she asked.
"Not bad. How about you
?"
"I think everything'll be all right
."
I squeezed her hand and said, "Hey, Rudy, who
you got the rug
?"
"Not Cleopatra
."
"I thought not," I said.
Kirkus stopped his car halfway across the
Fairmont Street bridge the same bridge where
he had almost jumpedstfallen and I'd saved him and
smacked my head on the street.
We all climbed out, even me. With Casey and
Eileen holding me up, I made it to the parapet.
I leaned against it and they let go of me.
They all hurried over to the trunk of Kirkus's
car.
I kept watch. So far, no traffic was
approaching from either, direction. I saw no people, either,
except my friends.
The rug stayed in the trunk.
Randy didn't.
Nobody had bothered to put clothes on him. But his
thigh was still bandaged and there were white rags tied around
both his stumps like two peculiar, blood-stained
flags of surrender.
Kirkus wrapped one end of the rope around Randy's
waist and laiotted it. Then all three picked him
up.
Randy regained consciousness while they were hauling him
over to the parapet. He started whimpering and mumbling.
"What's . . . going on
?"
he asked.
Nobody answered him.
"I need help," he said.
No response.
"Where are we
?"
he asked.
They put him over the low concrete wall of the
bridge.
"No!"
he squealed.
"What're you doing
?"
My leg had been shot, but there was nothing much wrong
with my arms. I took hold of the rope, along with
Kirkus and Eileen and Casey, and helped to lower
Randy slowly toward the Old Mill Stream.
"Hey, no!"
he cried out.
"What're you doing
?"
We lowered him slowly. He squirmed and bucked
on the rope. It felt like having a very large fish
on the line.
Near the top, the structure of the bridge held him
fairly steady. Lower, clear of the bridge, he
began to spin and swing.
"What're you doing!"
he called out again.
"This seems about right," Kirkus said.
The glow of the bridge's single functioning lamp
didn't reach down far enough to light Randy. Peering
over the parapet, however, I was able to see him in the
moonlight -- hovering four or five feet above the
surface of the stream. "Looks good to me," I
said.
We tied off our end of the rope to the base of the
nearest lamppost.
Still, no traffic was in sight.
We all leaned over the parapet and looked down.
Randy was slowly swinging and twirling above the water.
"What if nobody's down there
?"
Eileen asked.
"It'll be fine," said Casey.
A couple of dim shapes waded slowly out from under the
bridge.
"See
?"
said Casey.
"Dear God," Kirkus muttered.
Randy didn't seem to be aware, yet, of the
approaching trolls.
"Let's get out of here," I said.
The girls were helping me back to Kirkus's car
when Randy's very frightened voice said, "Hey, who're
you? What're you guys-"
Then Randy let out a scream I'll never forget.
We all looked at each other. I had
goosebumps. I wouldn't surprised if they did,
too. Eileen muttered, "Holy shit
."
The next day, while I stayed in bed, Kirkus
drove over to the bridge. He came back and
reported that even the rope was gone.

It wasn't my own bed, by the way.
After disposing of Randy, we had a discussion about where
to go and Casey suggested Lois's house. "She's
probably home by now. She'll take care of us
."
By the time we reached her house, Lois had been
home for more than an hour. She seemed overjoyed
to see us ... though upset by our condition.
As it turned out, I didn't need any excuses
for my gunshot wounds. Around dawn, Casey showed
up in the bedroom with a doctor. He was one of her
special friends, one of those souls she'd drawn to her
during the night roaming. A friendly,
elderly man, he removed the bullet from my leg
and patched me up. He also bandaged Eileen's dart
wounds. He injected both of us with tetanus
boosters and gave us antibiotics.
I missed a week of classes because of my leg
wound, but Eileen and Kirkus continued on as if
nothing had happened, and kept me up to date on
various assignments.
I had lots of time for reading and writing.
"If you're writing about
us,"
the one I call Eileen said when she caught me at
it, 'make sure you change the names
."
To which I responded, "Never fear. They're changed
already
."
"What're you calling me
?"
she asked.
"Hillary
."
"You lookin" to die
?"
"Just kidding. I'm calling you Eileen
."
She frowned and nodded, thinking about it Then she said,
"Not bad. Not bad at all. What about the others?"
I told her.
She laughed about one of them.
"Think I should change it
?"
"Oh, hell no. It suits him
."
After I'd been at the house for a few days, Lois
asked me to stay on as sort of a permanent guest.
I explained that her house was too far from campus,
but she offered to let me use her new car. So I
moved
out of my apartment building (pleased to leave the
Fishers behind) and into Lois's house.
Kirkus moved into my old apartment.
It is all fairly strange, really.
I'd gone out for a walk through the streets of town on
a night in early October, the most lonesome night
of my life . . . heartbroken, bitter and
desolate. Within a week, three women had entered
my life and taken away the loneliness and I found
myself happier than I'd ever been.
I still am.
As for Lois, Eileen and Casey, we're taking
things a step at a time. Lois and I, sharing the
same house, have grown to be very close. Eileen
often comes over, and sometimes we go out together. Casey
sleeps in my bed. When I wake up late at
night and discover that she's gone, I don't mind .
. . but I worry about her.
I don't know where it all may lead, but I do
love the journey.
As for Kirkus. . .well, Kirkus is
Kirkus. He's an emotional wreck with the hots
for me. Sometimes, we get along fine. Every so often,
I have to fight him off. We really need to find him a
new boyfriend.
As for Holly, who dumped me for the summer camp
counselor fuck her.
RICHARD LAYMON
  Richard Laymon is the author of over 30
novels and 65 short stories. Though a native
of Illinois and a longtime 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 has written such
novels as
The Woods Are Dark, Out Are the Lights,
Tread Softly, Resurrection Dreams,
Midnight's Lair, The Stake, Quake,
and
Savage.
He also wrote
The Beast House Chronicles
comprised of
The Cellar, Beast House,
and
The Midnight Tour. The Traveling Vampire
Show
won a Bram Stoker Award for Novel of the Year
in
  2001. Two of his earlier novels
(flesh
and
Funland)
and his short story collection (a
Good, Secret Place)
had previously been nominated for Bram Stoker
Awards as well.
  Check out the Richard Laymon Kills!
website at:
www.rlk.cib.net.