She gasped and jerked her head in that direction.
And saw the pale yellow curtains rising, full of wind, away from the open window.
Wind.
A gust, not a maniac, had been toying with the door.
To make sure, she half-shut the door. Feeling the warm breeze against her back, she stepped aside. A moment later, the door swung slowly until it bumped against its jamb.
The joke’s on me.
She felt too shaken to laugh.
Talk about paranoia, she thought. Any other time, I would’ve figured it out right away.
She had taken a shower that evening after they’d returned from the Pizza Barn. The shower had steamed up the bathroom. As usual, she had opened the window to let in some fresh air.
And open it had remained.
Just to play things safe, she stepped over to the window and checked its screen. The screen was hooked in place, as it should be.
One big, fat false alarm.
She thumbed her pistol’s safety switch upward to cover the red dot.
Then she approached the sink.
The girl in the mirror above it looked sweaty and haggard and a little wild. Her short hair was a tangled mess, wet loops glued to her forehead and temples. Her eyes seemed partly frantic, partly amused. Beneath them were half-moons of glistening speckles. A mustache of wet dots gleamed above her lips. The wide neck of her nightshirt drooped off her right shoulder.
Should’ve gotten a smaller size, she thought.
She’d bought it at a store in Indio while Dad was helping to pick out some new clothes for Andy. Nothing special about it. It had no cartoon characters or slogans. She’d bought it because she hadn’t wanted to send Dad outside Saturday night to take her Pooh nightshirt off the clothesline, and she’d packed an old white nightshirt to take on the trip. But the white one had turned out to be embarrassing: too tight, too short and too thin. This one hung loose almost down to her knees. And it was pink, so you couldn’t see through it.
The only problem’s the neck, she thought. Way too big.
She looked at her bare shoulder.
Bet Rob wouldn’t mind seeing me in something like this.
She rolled her shoulder. The neck of her nightshirt slipped farther down her arm, and now she could see the top of her right breast.
He’d go crazy.
Who knows? she thought. Maybe someday ... or some year.
I’ll call him tomorrow. Ask him if he wants to help me wash the car. And I’ll be out there in my bikini ...
Oh, yeah, right. No doubt, the sight of all my bruises and scabs would be a real turn on for him.
I’ll call him, anyway. Maybe we can get together and do something. My face is okay. I’ll just have to keep my shirt on for a while.
She gave herself a haggard smile.
God, it’s been so long. He must wonder where I’ve been. Hope he’s missed me as much as I’ve ...
She suddenly realized that she hadn’t actually missed Rob very much.
I missed him, she told herself. I thought about him a lot. So what if I didn’t long for him and pine away. I did have a few other things on my mind.
Including Andy.
The little pain in the butt.
Jody switched the pistol to her left hand, turned on the cold water, and bent down over the sink. With her right hand, she scooped water to her mouth.
As she drank, she thought about Andy.
He was bound to wake up and get cute with her.
No matter what, I’m gonna sleep in that trundle bed. Even if it means I’ve gotta tie the little squirt up, or ... Real nice. Tie him up. His whole family’s dead, and he’s got nobody except me. But he’s gonna try something. He’ll want me to hold him, or something.
It won’t kill me to hold him.
Just so long as he doesn’t try to get grabby.
She remembered yesterday morning in the motel, holding him while he’d cried.
That had felt sort of good, really. Comforting him, knowing how much he needs you, even knowing that you were getting him a little turned on.
Not that I was trying to turn him on. It was just the circumstances, being on the bed, him with nothing on except his sheet and me in only my nightshirt, and the way he felt.
It might be that same way tonight, except that we’d be in a dark room with nobody likely to walk in on us.
Oh, man.
She turned off the faucet. The way she was bent over the faucet, the mirror gave her a view straight down the hanging front of her nightshirt.
If I bend down to pull out the trundle bed, and Andy’s watching from the front ... I can pretend I don’t know where he’s looking.
Real nice, Jody. Why play games? Just shuck it off and the hell with it.
Grimacing at her reflection, Jody straightened up.
She took a deep breath. She was trembling. She shook her head.
How can I even think about messing around with Andy?
He’s not your brother, you know.
Yeah, I know that. But aside from being a twelve-year-old kid, he’s also annoying as hell. I can hardly stand him half the time, so why would I want to fool around with him?
Maybe because you love him.
I don’t. Not that, way, anyhow.
Jody told herself that. She wasn’t certain that she believed it.
But she was suddenly certain of one thing: she wouldn’t be returning to the guest room tonight.
I have to, she realized. My pillow and sheet are in there.
Okay. That’s okay. I’ll just go in and grab them. Maybe Andy won’t even wake up. I’ll just sneak out again, and find somewhere else to sleep. Maybe on my bedroom floor. I can get my sleeping bag out of the closet ...
Oh, yeah? You took it to sleep over at Evelyn’s house, remember? It’s all burned up.
She wished she hadn’t thought about that.
I’ll just sleep on my floor without it, she decided.
She opened the bathroom door.
The man in the hallway grinned at her.
She didn’t have time to move.
She didn’t have time to thumb off her safety, much less bring up the pistol and fire it.
She didn’t have time to cry out.
Chapter Forty-three
Jody had time only to see him.
A man about her own size, the top of his head bristly with short whiskers, his eyes atwinkle with glee in a face that looked feminine and might have been very pretty except that one side of it was so wrecked with bruises and runny wounds. She got the impression that he was naked.
Even as she caught her first glimpse of him, she wanted to call out for help and she wanted to shoot him.
Before she had time to do either, he slammed a fist into her belly.
Jody folded at the waist.
As she sank to her knees, she saw that he wore a mini-skirt. It was nearly the same color as his skin. A hunting knife was sheathed at his hip. On his feet were white socks and blue sneakers.
He stepped on her left hand, pinning the pistol down and mashing her fingers. The pain wrenched her mouth open. She had no breath to cry out.
Crouching in front of her, he grabbed her hair and jerked her head up. “Hello, Jody,” he whispered. “I’m Simon. Remember me?”
She didn’t try to answer. All she could do was fight to suck air into her lungs.
But she remembered him, all right.
“We’re gonna have some great fun,” he whispered.
He took his foot off Jody’s hand and pulled the pistol out from under her throbbing fingers. Then he stood up, lifting her by the hair.
Pivoting, he swung her across the hall and pushed her backward into her father’s bedroom.
She choked out, “Dad!”
The overhead lights came on. Simon’s right arm was out, the barrel of the gun at the switch.
Now the barrel was swinging toward Jody.
He shoved her.
Stumbling away, falling,
she watched him aim at a point above her head.
Bam Bam Bam Bam! Bam Bam!
In the midst of the gunshots, she heard her father cry out.
Then she struck the floor—rump, then back, then head.
Simon, beyond her feet, had stopped firing. White smoke curled up out of the muzzle. The pistol’s slide was back.
It’s out?
There could’ve been two more rounds. Andy had been last to load the magazine. He must’ve quit at six.
He shot Dad six times, oh my God, oh my Jesus, no!
Simon dropped the pistol. He pulled the knife from its sheath. “One down, one to go.”
One to go?
Does he mean me or Andy?
Maybe he doesn’t know about Andy.
Simon shook the blade at her. “Stand up.”
As she got to her feet, she turned around to see her father. She glimpsed him sprawled on the mattress, motionless, his pajama shirt open, blood everywhere.
“No!”
She spun and threw herself at Simon.
His knife was out, waiting for her.
She didn’t care.
She expected it to push way deep into her belly, and she wondered how it would feel.
At the last moment, she hunched down slightly and rammed him with her shoulder. Simon grunted. He fell backward through the doorway and crashed to the hall floor, Jody on top of him. The impact jolted her. But she didn’t feel any horrible sickening pain, didn’t feel a blade buried in her anywhere.
Underneath her, Simon chuckled.
“Knew you’d be like this,” he said. “Feisty. A real scrapper. Love it.”
She tried to push herself up, but he clamped an arm across her back and held her tight against him. When she tried to kick, she found her legs trapped between his legs.
She felt a tug down by the side of her left thigh. Then came a ripping sound.
So that’s where the knife is.
Where’s Andy?
Go on ahead and cut the thing to ribbons, you bastard.
“ANDY! ANDY! RUN FOR IT!”
“Shut up!”
“GET OUT OF THE HOUSE! HE’S HERE! HE’S HERE! YEOW!”
“Shut up, or I’ll stab you again.” Simon rolled and hurled her aside. He scrambled to his feet and raced up the hallway toward the guest room.
How does he know ... ?
“HE’S AFTER YOU!” Jody shouted. “GET OUT THE WINDOW! HURRY!”
Simon snarled over his shoulder at her.
She propped herself up with an elbow and looked down to check the damage.
There was plenty of light from the open doors on both sides of the hallway.
Her nightshirt had been slit up the side almost to her armpit. Simon had stabbed her just below the hip. The half-inch wound sent blood trickling both ways, down to her groin and down the slope of her buttock.
She struggled to get up, and was on her knees by the time Simon slammed open the guest room door.
A moment later, light spilled into that end of the hallway.
“You little shit!” she heard Simon yell.
Eyes on the guest room’s doorway, Jody got to her feet.
I could get away!
Instead, she dashed for the guest room. She was surprised that she could run so well. Her left leg looked strangely healthy, striding out bare and sleek, but pain from the stab wound radiated down to her toes and all the way up the back of her neck.
How bad’ll it hurt if he really stabs me?
If?
When’s more like it.
So what!
She was almost to the guest room door when Simon lurched out in front of her.
He was not splattered with blood.
He clutched the front of Jody’s nightshirt, swung her, and slammed her hard against the wall.
“Neat play,” he muttered through his clenched teeth. “But it isn’t gonna help you.”
“He got away?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got you. You’re mine.” He jerked her away from the wall. Using the clump of nightshirt like a handle, he rushed her down the hall. She stumbled sideways. Though Simon was no larger than Jody, he seemed far stronger. He didn’t even seem to be bothered by her struggles.
In her father’s bedroom, he threw her to the floor.
He went to the bed, grabbed Dad by one arm and dragged him sideways.
On hands and knees, Jody cried out, “Leave him alone!”
Dad tumbled off the edge of the mattress and struck the floor.
“You dirty fucking bastard!”
Simon came at her, grinning. “That’s what I like. Spirit. Give me hell, honey.”
Jody started crawling backward.
She saw that Simon had an erection. It stuck straight out, propping up the front of his mini-skirt, terribly big and stout, the slot at its tip glistening.
He’s gonna stick it in me.
That big, awful thing.
“Cops,” she gasped. “They’ll be here in a minute.”
“Oh, I doubt it. Bet I’ve got at least ten. And that’s after Andy calls. First he’s gotta get to a phone that works—find a neighbor to let him in? We’ll have plenty of time.”
He clamped the knife between his teeth to free his hands, rushed Jody, grabbed hold of her upper arms and hoisted her up. He swung around. He drove her backward. He hurled her down on the bed.
She bounced on the mattress and slid on the warm goo of her father’s blood.
Taking the knife from his teeth, Simon knelt on the end of the bed. He leaned forward and grabbed her ankles. As he pulled her toward him, he spread her feet apart. Kneeling between them, he tugged at a Velcro fastener at the side of his skirt. He tossed his skirt to the floor. He still wore a leather belt and knife sheath.
He crawled between Jody’s knees. He flapped the loose front of her nightshirt out of the way, bent over and resumed cutting it.
Jody listened for sirens.
She didn’t hear any.
She heard only her own rough heartbeat and breathing, and the whispery sound of Simon’s knife slicing the fabric beneath her arm. Then came a quiet giggle and a blast of pain that made Jody buck and whimper.
He’d stabbed her armpit.
“Was it good for you?” he whispered.
“Fuck you,” she gasped.
“Oh, no. Fuck you.” Instead of continuing to cut her nightshirt, he put the knife between his teeth and grabbed the neck of the garment with both hands. He jerked. As the fabric split in front, he tugged it off her shoulders and down to her knees. There, he was in the way. He crawled backward until he was past her feet.
Where he had to be kneeling at the very end of the mattress.
Jody raised her head. She saw him pull the bunched rag of nightshirt off her feet and toss it aside.
She spread her legs. She raised her knees. She pushed at the mattress with her heels and slid herself a few inches toward the head of the bed.
She was careful not to move far.
Simon grinned. He took the knife out of his mouth. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, and began to crawl toward her.
“Leave me alone,” she gasped.
“You’re so beautiful. This is gonna be so great.”
She drew her knees up and farther apart.
Simon’s gaze latched on where she knew it would. He moaned. He licked his lips. He leaned toward her. “Oh, this is even better than ...”
Jody shot her legs forward. Her feet clapped against his shoulders. With a yelp, he tumbled backward and vanished off the end of the bed. He thudded to the floor and grunted.
Jody rolled fast to her right, to the side of the bed that didn’t have her father on the floor. Even in her rush to save herself, she didn’t want to step on him. She didn’t want to see him, not all bloody and dead.
Her feet hit the floor. As she stood up, she saw Simon on his back past the end of the bed. He was propped up on his elbows, gaping at her. He had the knife in his right
hand. He shook its blade at her. “Which do you want first, babe? This—or this?” He thrust up his hips.
I’ll never get past him!
Then she seemed to hear her father’s voice. Never say never, kid. Go for it. Go for broke.
She went for it. Hurling herself forward. Dashing alongside the bed, teeth gritted against the pain of her old and new wounds. Pouring on the speed. Seeing the surprise on Simon’s face.
Surprise and joy.
He rolled to intercept her.
She leaped high.
The knife got her in the back of the leg, in the crease behind her knee.
She cried out. When she came down from her leap, her left leg folded. She slammed the floor. The rug scorched her as she slid.
Gotta have the knife!
Squirming, she reached back to pull it from her leg. Her fingertips found only the raw gash.
She twisted around and saw Simon crawling toward her. The knife was still in his hand.
“FREEZE! DON’T MOVE A MUSCLE OR YOU’RE DEAD MEAT!”
Andy!
Jody looked up and saw him standing in the doorway only a few feet in front of her. He wore the pale blue pajamas that Dad had bought for him in Indio. He held Jody’s .22, its muzzle aimed beyond her.
He hadn’t escaped out the guest room window, after all.
Must’ve hidden somewhere.
Couldn’t run away and leave me to this bastard.
Came to save me.
To save me with an empty gun.
The Smith & Wesson in Andy’s hand was the same pistol that Simon had used on Dad.
Simon had dropped it—almost in the same place where Andy now stood—after running out of ammo.
But its slide was forward as if it were loaded and cocked.
Andy’s arm stiffened, “I said FREEZE! I mean it! I’ll shoot!”
“Not with that, you won’t.”
“You wanta bet?”
“Fire away.”
Andy shook his head. “You just want me to waste my ammo.
“You don’t have any ammo,” Simon said. “Have you ever seen Jody naked before? Look at her. Look at her lovely legs.” Hands clutched her ankles. “Wouldn’t you like to do this to her?”
Andy watched, his eyes very wide, his mouth open.
Jody twisted her head around and saw Simon, on his knees, sink down and kiss the calf of her left leg. He kissed it only once, then began to lick up her blood. He worked his way higher, his tongue darting out and stroking her. It felt slimy. She supposed a snail would feel like this. Or a slug. A leech, a blood sucker.
Endless Night Page 38