by Joy Fielding
But what fun would there be in that?
He slipped his right hand inside the pocket of his jeans, felt the hardness of the knife’s handle against his fingers. For now the blade was tucked safely inside its wood casing. He’d release it when the time was right. But first, there was much to do. Might as well get this show on the road, he decided, lowering himself gingerly to the bed, his hip grazing hers as the mattress slumped to accommodate him. Instinctively, her body rotated slightly to the left, her head lolling toward him. “Hey, Gracie,” he cooed, his voice as soft as fur. “Time to wake up, Gracie-girl.”
A low groan escaped her throat, but she didn’t move.
“Gracie,” he said again, louder this time.
“Mmn,” she mumbled, her eyes remaining stubbornly closed.
She knows I’m here, he thought. She’s just playing with me. “Gracie,” he barked.
Her eyes shot open.
And then everything seemed to happen at once. She was awake and screaming as she struggled to sit up, the horrible catlike wail assaulting his ears, then racing wildly around the room. Instinctively, his hand reached out to silence her, his fingers wrapping tightly around her neck, her screams turning to whimpers beneath the growing pressure on her larynx. She gasped for air as he lifted her effortlessly with one arm and pinned her to the wall behind the bed.
“Shut up,” he ordered as her toes struggled to maintain contact with the bed, her hands scratching at his gloves in a fruitless effort to free herself from his stubborn grasp. “Are you going to shut up?”
Her eyes widened.
“What was that?”
He felt her trying to croak out a response, but all she could manage was a ruptured cry.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, slowly releasing his grip, and watching her slide down the wall and back onto her pillow. He chuckled as she collapsed in a crumpled heap, struggling to gulp air back into her lungs. The top of her pajamas had ridden halfway up her back, and he could make out the individual vertebrae of her spine. It would be so easy to just snap that spine in two, he thought, savoring the image as he reached over to grab a handful of her hair, then yanking her head around so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Hello, Gracie,” he said, watching for the disdainful twitch of her nose. “What’s the matter? Did I wake you in the middle of a good dream?”
She said nothing, simply stared at him through eyes clouded with fear and disbelief.
“Surprised to see me, are you?”
Her eyes darted toward the bedroom door.
“I think I’d get that thought right out of my head,” he said calmly. “Unless, of course, you want to make me really angry.” He paused. “You remember what I’m like when I’m really angry. Don’t you, Gracie?”
She lowered her eyes.
“Look at me.” Again he tugged at her hair, so that her head was stretched back against the top of her spine and her Adam’s apple pushed against her throat like a fist.
“What do you want?” Her voice emerged as a hoarse whisper.
His response was to pull even harder on her hair. “Did I say you could speak? Did I?”
She tried shaking her head, but his grip on her hair was too tight.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He let go of her hair and her head fell to her chest, as if she’d been guillotined. She was crying now, which surprised him. He hadn’t expected tears. At least not yet. “So, how’s everything been?” he asked, as if this was the most normal of questions. “You can answer,” he said when she failed to respond.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said after a long pause.
“I asked you how everything’s been,” he repeated. “You gotta know the answer to that one.”
“Everything’s been fine.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Please. I can’t.…”
“Sure you can. It’s called conversation, Gracie. It goes something like this: I say something and then you say something. If I ask you a question, you answer it. If you don’t answer it to my satisfaction, well, then, I’m going to have to hurt you.”
An involuntary cry escaped her throat.
“So, my first question to you was ‘How’s everything been?’ and I believe your answer was a rather unimaginative ‘Fine,’ and then I said, ‘How so?’ And now, it’s your turn.” He lowered himself to the bed, leaned in toward her. “Dazzle me.” She was staring at him, as if he’d taken complete leave of his senses. He’d seen that look many times before. It never failed to make him angry.
“I don’t know what to say.”
He detected a hint of defiance creeping into the corners of her voice but decided to ignore it for the time being. “Well, okay. Let’s start with work. How’s that going?”
“It’s okay.”
“Just okay? I thought you loved teaching.”
“I’m on a sabbatical this year.”
“A sabbatical? No kidding. Bet you think I don’t know what that means.”
“I never thought you were stupid, Ralph.”
“No? Could have fooled me.”
“What are you doing here?”
He smiled, then slapped her with such force she fell back against her pillow. “Did I say it was your turn to ask questions? No, I don’t believe I did. Sit up,” he shouted as she buried her face in her hands. “Did you hear me? Don’t make me tell you again, Gracie.”
She pushed herself back into a sitting position, her fingers trembling in front of her now red cheek, any trace of her earlier defiance erased by the palm of his hand.
“Oh, and don’t call me Ralph. Never did like that name. I changed it as soon as I got out of prison.”
“They let you out?” she muttered, then winced and pulled back, as if trying to shield herself from further blows.
“Had to. Can’t begin to tell you how many of my rights it turns out had been violated.” He smiled, remembering. “My lawyer called what happened to me a real travesty of justice, and those judges he appealed to, well, they had no choice but to agree with him. Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. Your sabbatical. That’s pretty boring. I guess I don’t need to hear any more about that. What about your love life?”
She shook her head.
“What does that mean? You don’t have a love life, or you don’t want to tell me about it?”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“You’re not seeing anyone?”
“No.”
“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”
She said nothing, glanced toward the window.
“Storm’s coming,” he said. “Nobody else is though.” He smiled the boyish grin he used to practice for hours in front of the mirror, the one that had always been guaranteed to get him into the pants of any girl he wanted. No matter how much they protested, they just couldn’t resist that smile for very long. Of course Gracie had always been impervious to his charms. He’d smile at her, and she’d just stare right through him, as if he didn’t even exist. “When was the last time you got laid, Gracie-girl?”
Immediately, her body tensed, recoiled.
“I mean, you’re a reasonably attractive woman. And you’re young. Although you’re not getting any younger, are you? How old are you anyway, Gracie-girl?”
“Thirty-three.”
“Is that right? You’re older than me? I never knew that.” He shook his head in mock wonderment. “Bet there’s lots about you I don’t know.” He reached over, unbuttoned the top button of her pajamas.
“Don’t,” she said without moving.
He opened the second button. “Don’t what?” Not even a please, he thought. Typical.
“You don’t want to do this.”
“What’s the matter, Gracie? Don’t think I’m good enough for you?” He ripped off the remaining buttons with an almost effortless tug, then pulled her toward him by both halves of her collar. “You know what I think, Gracie? I think you don’t think any man is good enough for you. I think I need to
show you the error of your ways.”
“No, look, this is crazy. You’ll go back to jail. You don’t want that. You’ve been given a second chance. You’re a free man. Why would you want to jeopardize that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you look so darn cute in those little dyke pajamas.”
“Please. It’s not too late. You can still walk out of here.…”
“Or maybe because if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have spent the last twelve months of my life in jail.”
“You can’t blame me for what happened.…”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because I had nothing to do with it.”
“Really? You didn’t poison anyone’s mind against me?”
“I didn’t have to.”
“No, you didn’t have to. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? And look what happened. I lost everything. My job. My family. My freedom.”
“And you had nothing to do with any of that,” she stated bitterly, that pesky note of defiance once again creeping into her voice.
“Oh, I’m not saying I’m altogether blameless. I have a temper. I’ll admit that. Sometimes it can get a little out of hand.”
“You beat her, Ralph. Day in, day out. Every time I saw her, she was covered in fresh bruises.”
“She was clumsy. I can’t help that she was always walking into things.”
Gracie shook her head.
“Where is she?”
“What?”
“As soon as I got out, I headed straight for home. And what do I find? A couple of queers have set up housekeeping in my apartment. That’s what I find. And when I ask them what happened to the former tenant, they blink their mascara-covered eyes and tell me they have absolutely no idea. Absolutely no idea,” he repeated, his voice lifting a full octave on the word. “That’s how this skinny faggot says it, like he’s the queen of fucking England. I almost popped him one right then and there.” He tightened his grip on her collar with one hand, retrieved the knife from his pocket with the other, used his thumb to snap the switchblade into view. “Tell me where she is, Gracie.”
She was struggling now, frantically kicking her legs, flailing at him with her arms. “I don’t know where she is.”
Once again his fingers dug into the flesh of her throat. “Tell me where she is or I swear I’ll break your fucking neck.”
“She left Miami right after you went to jail.”
“Where’d she go?”
“I don’t know. She left without telling anyone.”
With that he knocked her on her back and straddled her, using the switchblade to cut the drawstring of her pajama bottoms even as his hand tightened its death grip on her neck. “You have to the count of three to tell me where she is. One … two …”
“Please. Don’t do this.”
“Three.” He pressed the knife against her throat while tugging her pajama bottoms down over her hips.
“No. Please. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you.”
He smiled, loosened his grip just enough for her to catch her breath, raised the switchblade level with her eyes. “Where is she?”
“She went to California.”
“California?”
“To be near her mother.”
“No. She wouldn’t do that. She knows it’d be the first place I’d think of.”
“She moved there three months ago. She thought it was safe after all this time, and she wanted to get as far away from Florida as possible.”
“I’m sure that’s true.” His hand moved to the zipper of his jeans. “Just like I’m sure you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Sure you are. And you’re lousy at it.” He lowered the knife to her cheek, drew a line in her flesh starting just beneath her eye, then dragged it toward her chin.
“No!” She was screaming now, thrashing from side to side, the blood flowing from the cut on her face onto the white of her pillowcase as he positioned himself between her legs. “I’ll tell you the truth. I swear, I’ll tell you the truth.”
“Why would I believe anything you tell me now?”
“Because I can prove it to you.”
“Yeah? How?”
“Because I have it written down.”
“Where?”
“In my address book.”
“Which is where exactly?”
“In my purse.”
“I’m starting to lose patience here, Gracie.”
“My purse is in the closet. If you let me up, I can get it for you.”
“What do you say we get it together?” He pushed himself off her, zipping up his pants as he dragged her off the bed toward the closet. She clutched at the bottoms of her pajamas, trying to hold them up as he pulled open the closet door and quickly scanned its contents. A couple of colorful print blouses, half a dozen pairs of pants, a few expensive-looking jackets, at least ten pairs of shoes, several leather handbags. “Which one?” Already his hand was reaching toward the top shelf.
“The orange one.”
With one swipe, he knocked the orange bag to the floor. “Open it.” He pushed her to her knees on the white shag rug. Several drops of blood fell from her cheek, staining the orange leather of the purse as she struggled with the clasp. Another drop buried itself into the carpet’s soft white pile. “Now hand me the goddamn address book.”
Whimpering, Gracie did as she was told.
He opened the book, flipped through the pages until he found the name he was looking for. “So she didn’t go to California after all,” he said with a smile.
“Please,” she cried softly. “You have what you came for.”
“What kind of name is that for a street? Mad River Road,” he pronounced with an exaggerated flourish.
“Please,” she said again. “Just go.”
“You want me to go? Is that what you said?”
She nodded.
“You want me to go so you can call your girlfriend as soon as I leave and warn her?”
Now she was shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Just like you wouldn’t call the police either, would you?”
“I won’t call anyone. I swear.”
“Really? Why is it I find that so hard to believe?”
“Please …”
“I don’t think I have any choice here, Gracie. I mean, aside from the fact that I’ve been looking forward to killing you almost as much as I’m looking forward to killing her, I just don’t see where I have any choice. Do you?” He smiled, pulled her roughly to her feet, brought the knife to her throat. “Say good night, Gracie.”
“No!” she screamed, flailing at him with all her strength, her elbow catching him in the ribs and knocking the air from his lungs as she squirmed out of his grasp and raced for the hall. She was almost at the front door when the toe of her right foot caught on the bottom of her pajamas and sent her sprawling along the wood floor. Still she didn’t stop. She scampered toward the door, screaming at the top of her lungs for someone to hear her and come to her rescue.
He watched in amusement as she reached for the doorknob, knowing he had plenty of time before she’d be able to pull herself to her feet. She certainly was tenacious, he thought, not without admiration. And pretty strong for such a skinny girl. Not to mention a loyal friend. Although when push came to shove, she’d given up her friend rather than submit to his admittedly less-than-romantic overtures. So maybe not such a good friend after all. No, she deserved her fate. She’d asked for it.
Although he had no intention of slitting her throat, he decided, returning the knife to his pocket and reaching for her just as her hand made contact with the brass knob of the front door. No, that would be way too messy, not to mention unnecessarily risky. There’d be blood everywhere, and then everyone would know immediately there’d been foul play. It wouldn’t take too long before he was a suspect, especially once they realized he was out of jail, and put two and two together.
She was kicking and scratching at him now, her green eyes begging him to stop, as once again his fingers tightened around her throat. She was screaming too, although he barely heard her, so caught up was he in the moment. He’d always loved using his hands. It was so personal, so concrete. There was something so satisfying about actually feeling the life slowly drain from someone’s body.
He’d drawn a bit of a break with her being on a year’s sabbatical. It might be days, even weeks, before anyone reported her missing. Although he knew he couldn’t count on that. Gracie had lots of friends, and maybe she was supposed to be having lunch with one of them tomorrow. So he shouldn’t get too cocky. The sooner he paid a visit to Mad River Road, the better.
“I thought we’d take a little drive up the coast,” he told Gracie as her eyes grew so large they threatened to burst from her head. “I’ll just drop you in some swamp along the way, let the alligators have their way with you.”
Even after her arms went limp at her sides, even when he knew for certain she was dead, he held on to her neck for another full minute, silently counting off the seconds before opening his fingers one at a time, then smiling with satisfaction as her body collapsed at his feet. He walked into the bedroom and removed the bloody case from its pillow before remaking the bed, careful to leave the room as he had found it. He retrieved her purse from the floor where he had dropped it, pocketed a fistful of cash along with her credit card, and hunted around for her keys. “You don’t mind if we use your car, do you?” he asked as he returned to the front door and lifted Gracie’s still warm body into his arms. She looked up at him with cold, dead eyes. He smiled. “I’ll take that as a no,” he said.
ONE
Jamie Kellogg had a plan. The plan was relatively simple. It was to find the nearest respectable-looking bar, find a nice dark corner, where no one could see she’d been crying, and drown her sorrows in a couple of white wine spritzers. Not enough to make her drunk, of course, or even tipsy. She still had the long drive back to Stuart after all. She needed to have her wits about her. Nor could she risk being hungover in the morning. Not with Mrs. Starkey draped around her neck like an albatross.