Come Out Tonight

by Richard Laymon

  She saw Duane’s head on the pillow.

  Staggering sideways, she reached out and flicked the light switch. The bedside lamps came on, flooding the room with brightness.

  Is it real?

  It’s real.

  And it’s Duane.

  It looked as if someone had eaten his nose and lips and part of the right side of his face. Sherry could see his teeth, all bloody, through the gap where his cheek should’ve been.

  Blood was dripping slowly from the pulpy red stump of his neck.

  “Jim!”

  She heard quick, heavy footfalls behind her. Turning sideways, she saw Jim running toward her.

  A moment after he ran past the bathroom, someone leaped out behind him.

  A naked, tubby guy with butcher knives in both hands.

  “Look out!” Sherry yelled.

  In midstride, Jim started to twist around.

  Toby—she could see his face now in the light from the bedroom—sprang at Jim and pounded the knives into his back. Jim’s mouth twisted. He grunted and fell, Toby on top of him.

  “No!” Sherry cried out, racing toward them. “Stop it!”

  Toby stabbed him again, then stopped and looked up. His face was spattered with blood. As his eyes latched on Sherry, his heavy lips curled into a smile.

  Sherry aimed a kick at them.

  With her left foot. The one with the shoe.

  Toby dodged the kick.

  Sherry’s leg flew high. Too high. Balance gone, she waved her arms and fell backward and slammed against the floor. The impact jolted her, hurt her, but she shoved at the floor and started to sit up.

  “Yeeeeee!” Toby keened. He crawled off Jim’s back and scurried toward her on his knuckles and knees, a knife in each fist, a grin on his bloody face. “Yeeeeee!”

  “No!” she cried out, shoving at the carpet with her heels and elbows, sliding on the seat of her skirt, scooting herself away from him but not fast enough.

  Not nearly fast enough.

  I’ve gotta get up!

  The back of her head bumped against Duane’s bed.

  Toby suddenly let go of the knives and lunged forward, reaching for her feet.

  He missed her left foot, but caught her right with one hand. Then he had both hands around her ankle. Thrashing, she kicked at him with her other foot. He lurched backward and stood up, lifting and pulling her leg.

  She twisted and writhed, kicking at him, trying for his naked groin though she couldn’t see it, her own high legs in the way.

  The heel of her shoe struck him. He grunted, then let go with one hand and caught her left ankle.

  He jerked both her feet wide apart.

  And stared down at her, grinning and gasping, his naked body dribbling with blood and sweat.

  She knew her blouse was wide open. He wasn’t staring at her breasts, though. His gaze was latched on her groin. With her skirt rumpled around her waist, she could see the panties herself—the black string across her pale skin, the narrow panel of transparent black fabric between her legs.

  “Toby,” she gasped.

  His eyes went to her face.

  “I’ll…make you…a deal.”

  “Huh?”

  “We’ll…go someplace. I won’t…fight you. I won’t try…to get away.”

  Shaking his head, he sank to his knees. He let go of her ankles. With both hands, he grabbed the waistband of her panties. He tugged it away from her right hip and tried to break it. The elastic stretched but didn’t pop. Gritting his teeth, he pulled harder.

  Sherry clutched his wrists.

  “Not here,” she said.

  “Wanta bet?”

  “What if the cops come?” She panted for air. “We’ve made…a lot of noise. Somebody might’ve heard us and…”

  “Phones don’t work, remember?”

  “Cell phones do.”

  “I don’t care. Let go.”

  She released his wrists.

  He jerked hard, breaking the waistband and yanking the panties halfway down her left thigh.

  “We leave now,” Sherry said. She squirmed as his fingers explored her, but she didn’t resist. And she kept on talking. “Duane’s got a cell phone in his van. We call and get ’em to send an ambulance for Jim. Maybe they can save him.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I’ll go with you. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  The hand went away. He slipped his fingers into his mouth and sucked them.

  “Please,” Sherry said. “I don’t want Jim to die. I’ll go with you. But we’ve gotta go now and…”

  Throwing himself forward, Toby grabbed her shoulders and dropped onto her. He grunted and rammed, shoving at her but not into her, missing her center, sliding against the crease of her groin and suddenly throbbing, spurting out warm fluid. Making little whimpery sounds, he kept shoving, prodding her, rubbing her through the slippery gush as he pulsed out more and more.

  Done, he sagged on top of her.

  Sherry put her arms around him and held him gently.

  He panted for breath.

  “I…didn’t make it in,” he gasped.

  “That’s okay,” she said. She felt as if he’d poured glue onto her. It was rolling down her groin and into the crevice between her buttocks. “Next time, I’ll help you. But not here. Right now, we’ve gotta get going before the cops show up.”

  “Cops?” He raised his head and blinked down at her. He had a dull look in his eyes.

  “Do you want the cops to get you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then we’ve gotta leave as fast as we can. Okay? We’ll go somewhere else. But I’ll stay with you. I won’t try to get away anymore.”

  He pushed himself off Sherry and stood up. Then he stared at her.

  Her blouse was wide open, her skirt rumpled up around her waist, her panties hanging around her left knee. Squirming inside, she resisted an urge to cover herself.

  “You need a shower,” Toby said.

  She looked up at his sweaty, blood-smeared body. “We both do,” she said.

  He turned away from her, crouched and picked up the knives. Facing her again, he said, “Get up and come here.”

  She stood, but remained where she was.

  “Come here,” he said again.

  “What’re we gonna do?”

  “Anything I say.”

  She had a sudden urge to look over her shoulder and see if Duane’s head was really there on the pillow. And was it really eaten?

  I don’t wanta see that!

  She kept her head straight forward, but looked past Toby at Jim’s sprawled body.

  Is he still alive?

  She pulled her blouse shut, took a deep breath and said, “I’ll do anything you want, but not till an ambulance is on the way for Jim. Come on. Please. He doesn’t deserve this. He was just helping me.”

  Toby stepped around to the side of Jim’s body and stomped on his back.

  Jim let out a low groan.

  “I guess he’s alive.” Toby grinned at Sherry. Then he crouched over Jim and raised one of the knives.

  Sherry shrieked.

  It hurt her ears, but it stopped Toby. His mouth dropping open, he gaped at her and yelled, “Shut up!”

  Shoving her hands against her ears, she shrieked again.

  Toby leaped up and rushed at her.

  Knives in both hands.

  She whirled around and ran from him. In front of her was the bed. When she leaped onto its mattress, Duane’s head tumbled off the pillow and rolled toward her.

  She swung around in time to see Toby dive toward her legs.

  She kicked him in the face.

  The blow knocked his head sideways. It didn’t stop him, though. The momentum of the dive kept him flying toward her. Sherry tried to jump out of the way, but he crashed through her legs. She fell across his back, tumbled down his buttocks and legs and rolled onto the floor behind his feet.

  Sprawled on her back and gasping for breath,
she heard quick, hard pounding sounds.

  They came from somewhere outside the bedroom.

  Somewhere down the passageway.

  Somewhere, maybe, out near the living room.

  Duane’s front door!

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sherry flipped over, scrambled to her feet and ran from the room.

  Glancing back, she saw Toby shove himself off the bed.

  Ahead of her, knuckles pounded furiously on the door.

  She dodged Jim’s body on the floor, raced past the bathroom and poured on the speed.

  Behind her back, the thuds of Toby’s bare feet pounded after her.

  In front of her, a fist knocked on the door again and again.

  She dashed into the living room, ran toward the door.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  It was the urgent voice of a woman.

  Skidding to a halt, Sherry grabbed the doorknob. She twisted it and jerked the door open. On the other side stood a woman no older than herself, slim and dressed in a pink bathrobe and frowning first with annoyance but then with concern.

  Sherry crashed the door shut in the woman’s face.

  “Get help!” she shouted. “There’s a mad—!”

  Coming up behind her, Toby clenched her hair, jerked her away from the door, swung her sideways and let go. She shuffled over the carpet, trying to stay on her feet. A lamp table got in the way. Her thigh rammed the table against the side of the couch. Her shoulder hit the lamp. As the lamp flew, she tumbled across the top of the table and fell over the padded arm of the couch. She felt a cushion underneath her body, but only for a moment. The lamp crashed and the room went half-dark as Sherry fell off the couch. Her weight shoved the coffee table away and she landed on the floor.

  Through the melancholy strains of the Titanic soundtrack, she heard thudding sounds. A woman yelled, “Help!”

  Sherry sat up.

  “Someone! Please!”

  The door was wide open.

  Shoving at the couch and coffee table, Sherry got to her feet. On wobbly legs, she stumbled over to the door and staggered out.

  Halfway down the hallway, Toby had caught the woman.

  His back to Sherry, he was sitting on the woman’s rump and pounding his knives into her back. Right, left, right, left, right. Her legs were twitching, her feet thumping against the floor.

  Except for Toby and the woman, Sherry saw nobody in the corridor.

  She saw no open doors, either.

  Where is everyone? Don’t they hear anything? Are they hiding in their rooms?

  Toby kept driving his knives into the woman’s back.

  The woman didn’t stand a chance. Toby must’ve already stabbed her a dozen times or more.

  He’ll be done any second…

  What’ll I do?

  Shut the door. That’s for sure. Shut it and it’ll lock and he hasn’t got a key on him. He’ll be locked out. At least for a while.

  But what about me?

  I shut the door, but where am I?

  Inside or out?

  The frenzy of stabbing came to an end. Toby jerked the knives out of the woman’s back and started to climb off her.

  Don’t just stand here!

  He stood up and turned around. The front of his naked body was crimson. Grinning, he raised both arms high like a knife-crazed Rocky Balboa and did a little victory dance.

  Midway down the stretch of hall between Sherry and Toby, a door eased open a few inches.

  Then it bumped shut.

  Grin slipping away, Toby lowered his right arm and pointed the dripping blade of his knife at Sherry’s face. “Stay,” he said.

  She lurched sideways and slammed the door.

  Toby’s eyes widened. “You fucking nuts?” he blurted.

  She tested the knob.

  Locked.

  “No!”

  She whirled away from the door—away from Toby as he broke into a run—and raced for the stairway.

  She had a good head start.

  But she heard Toby chasing her and she suddenly felt that she’d made the wrong choice. She should’ve locked herself in the room, not tried to flee.

  But she’d had no time to think!

  Maybe this is better, she told herself. At least I’m not trapped. All I’ve gotta do is outrun him.

  If I can get outside, I’ll be all right.

  Nearing the stairs, she skidded and grabbed the banister. She looked back. Toby hadn’t gained on her, but he was still coming, arms pumping, knives in both hands, heavy legs chugging out. His mouth drooped. His chest heaved. His fat jiggled. His half-stiff, bouncing penis pointed at her.

  He’s about had it, Sherry thought.

  She bounded down the stairs.

  He’s screwed, she thought.

  No clothes, no keys, no nothing.

  But my God, he killed that woman. And he killed Duane and…

  I’ve gotta do something about Jim!

  Three stairs from the bottom, she leaped. Her blouse lifted behind her like a cape. Her skirt billowed up. The way the air felt underneath her, she remembered her panties were gone. She felt the wetness from Toby, too.

  But you didn’t make it in, you bastard!

  Her bare foot slapped the tile floor of the lobby while her shod foot landed with a soft bounce. Lurching forward, she threw out her arms and rushed at the glass door straight ahead of her.

  What’ll I do about Jim?

  She rammed the door open. It let in the noises of the windy night: hisses and roars, bams, rumbles, car alarms and distant sirens.

  Twirling around, she glanced up the stairs.

  No sign of Toby yet.

  Instead of running outside, she scurried back toward the stairs.

  I’ve lost my mind, she thought.

  She ducked into the space behind the staircase. Squatting in the shadows, she tried to stop panting for air.

  He’ll hear me!

  She heard him thumping down the steps, heard him huffing for breath. And heard the glass door finally bump shut, muffling the outside noises.

  Will he think I ran out?

  Not a chance.

  But he might, she told herself. He’ll know it’s an old trick, but he’ll also know I’d have to be nuts not to run away.

  I should’ve. I’d be safe now.

  She heard Toby’s bare feet slap against the lobby floor as he trotted to the doors.

  Glass doors, she reminded herself. He’s now standing stark-naked and bloody behind glass doors in a lighted foyer. With butcher knives in his hands.

  How about a cop car driving by?

  How about anybody driving by?

  Isn’t anybody out there jogging? Walking a dog?

  Come on, somebody! Open your eyes and get on your cell phone!

  She heard a quiet, metallic sound.

  Toby pushing against a door’s crossbar.

  He’s going out?

  The door squeaked. The noises of the rushing, howling wind rushed in.

  Is he leaving?

  He doesn’t dare, Sherry thought. The door’ll lock behind him and he won’t be able to get back in. He needs to get back to his clothes. And his keys.

  Come on, you bastard, do it! Go out!

  Sherry suddenly imagined herself sneaking out from under the staircase, rushing Toby from behind, ramming him in the back with both hands and shoving him out the door. He’d go diving headlong down all those concrete stairs.

  Major injuries.

  Maybe he’ll land on his knives.

  Even if he doesn’t get demolished in the fall, I can make sure he’s locked out.

  Squatting under the staircase, sore all over, sweat pouring down her body, Sherry knew that a shove might put an end to her ordeal.

  If I’ve got the guts…

  But the shove was movie-heroine stuff, and she knew it. A tough little starlet would pull it off without a hitch.

  But if she tried it…

  In real life, T
oby would hear—or sense—her approach. Before she could get close enough to shove him out the door, he would turn around. And then he would kill her.

  She’d seen him pound those knives into Jim and watched him drive them in a wild frenzy again and again and again into the back of the woman.

  She could almost feel them ripping their way deep into her own body.

  And she knew that she would feel them—no doubt about it—if she tried to creep up on him.

  The door shut.

  Its lock tongue snapped into place.

  Did he go out, or…?

  She heard his quick, ragged breathing, but no footsteps.

  What’s he doing?

  Listening?

  She held her breath.

  She didn’t move, except to blink her eyes. When she blinked, her lids made quiet, wet clicking sounds. Certainly Toby couldn’t hear that.

  But what about the soft plips of sweat drops hitting the floor underneath her?

  What about the wild pounding of her heart?

  He can’t hear any of that, she told herself. Not the way he’s huffing and puffing. And not with all the noises from outside.

  Why doesn’t he go away?

  Maybe he knows I’m here.

  Her chest ached from holding her breath.

  From times she’d spent swimming underwater, she knew she could go without air for much longer than this. Maybe for another minute or so.

  But what if I hold it and hold it till I can’t stand it any more, and he’s still here?

  The first breath would be a loud one.

  Afraid to risk it, she parted her lips and slowly exhaled. Then she slowly inhaled.

  Not bad, she thought. Almost silent. This’ll work fine.

  Why doesn’t he go away!

  How can he go away? He’s naked. His clothes and car keys are locked in Duane’s apartment.

  Probably his wallet, too.

  I shafted you, you dumb prick.

  She almost wanted to smirk. But the amusement she felt over putting Toby in such a predicament was smothered beneath heavy layers of fear and horror and sadness and discomfort.

  Toby’s bare feet patted the tiles.

  Here he comes!

  Gritting her teeth, Sherry turned her head to watch him crouch and look in at her. He would probably smile. Maybe he would make a crack—“Lose a contact lens?”

  She wondered whether he would try to drag her out…or just waddle in and start slashing.