Endless Night

by Richard Laymon

  Before she could figure out anything at all, Andy’s lips stopped pressing against hers. She watched his face glide away. As it moved, so did the drips. They pattered lower on her chest, down between her breasts.

  And then she saw the hands against the sides of Andy’s head, the raw and stringy stump of his neck.

  Gimme a break, she thought.

  Can’t be.

  But it is, oh yes. It sure is.

  Then she heard herself start to scream.

  She thrashed and squirmed. Someone was sitting across her hips. And someone had tied her down. Her arms and legs were spread wide, stretched out toward the four comers of her father’s bed, bound at the wrists and ankles.

  When she ran out of breath, she screamed again.

  Andy’s head moved aside and Simon grinned down at her.

  Andy’s bullet hadn’t missed him. It had cut a bloody furrow straight back from the comer of Simon’s right eye and across his temple, then knocked a hole through his ear. A fraction of an inch more to the right, and it would’ve missed him completely. A fraction more to the left would’ve put the bullet into his eye and killed him.

  Even as Jody kept on screaming, a part of her mind remained rational enough to consider what a close shot it had been.

  If Andy’s aim had been just slightly better ...

  If he’d fired a few more rounds yesterday ...

  “Hey!” Simon yelled. “Quiet! What do you wanta do, wake the dead?”

  When she didn’t stop screaming, he shoved Andy’s neck down against her mouth. It was wet and spongy except for the bone of the spinal column that scraped against the edge of her lower teeth. The neck muffled her scream. And then the draining fluids choked her.

  Simon lifted the head and smiled as she coughed.

  “He was so hot for you,” Simon said. “Missed his chance, though. I was gonna let him all over you. He would’ve had the time of his life, the stupid fuck.” Simon turned the head around and brought it close to his face. “You stupid little fuck! You blew it! You were too fuckin’ dumb to live!” Then he twisted sideways and hurled Andy’s head. It crashed against the bedroom wall, bounced off, and thudded against the carpeted floor. It left a bright red smudge on the wallpaper.

  Simon held his open hands toward Jody’s face.

  They were gloved with blood.

  “You ever seen so much blood? Whose do you figure it is? Your dad’s? Andy’s? Mine? Yours? Like a multiple choice test, huh? Answer’s gotta be E, all of the above.” He turned his hands over. “A little blood from everyone, don’t you think? Sort of a party mix.” A grin spreading his mouth, he lowered his hands to Jody’s breasts.

  From the feel, he might’ve been rubbing lotion on her. His hands were slidy and sticky. They circled, caressed, patted, squeezed and tugged.

  They made wet snicking sounds.

  He was watching his hands at work. As he watched, he writhed against Jody where he sat on her.

  And he moaned.

  She raised her head off the mattress. Glimpsed his hands plying her breasts, painting them scarlet. Stared between them at his stout penis pointing toward her face. The way it jutted out from down where their bodies met, it almost looked as if it had sprouted from her own groin. But it moved slightly from side to side, even though she was lying still, and she could feel the furry sack of Simon’s scrotum rubbing her.

  She saw the knife sheathed by his right hip.

  No way for her to reach it, though. Not as long as she was tied this way.

  Just let it stay where it is.

  Just let him leave it there, and not use it on me.

  Are You up there, God? Listening? Fat damn chance of that, after what happened to Dad and Andy. But if You ...

  Never mind.

  Screw it.

  Everybody’s dead but me, anyhow ...

  Simon let go of her breasts. Hands on the mattress by her sides, he eased himself down and swirled his tongue around her right nipple. He licked it clean. Then he went at the rest of her breast, his tongue thrusting and sliding, taking the blood off her like a dog lapping up honey. He did it feverishly, gasping and groaning, slobbering. Soon, all the blood was gone from that breast, leaving it shiny with his spit.

  He raised his head and grinned at her.

  He had a ring of red around his lips.

  Then he spread his mouth wide open—wider than seemed possible—and lowered it back down onto the breast. He sucked hard. His mouth felt like a horrible, toothed vacuum cleaner. She could feel her breast stretching, going in deeper and deeper.

  And she felt the head of his penis shove against the lips of her vagina.

  He’s gonna bite!

  He’s gonna wait till he’s got that horrible thing of his in me, and then he’s gonna bite off my boob and ...

  —SNICK-CLACK—

  A familiar sound. A great sound.

  It came from very close by.

  Just to her left.

  Jody jerked her head to the left as Dad’s face rose up beside the bed. Bloody. All bloody except for the whites of his eyes and the teeth exposed by his snarling lips.

  His face rose up past the edge of the mattress. His shoulders followed. And his shoulders were followed by the short black savior of his pistol-grip Mossberg shotgun. The muzzle glided forward over Jody’s left breast and stopped an inch from Simon’s gouged, raw temple.

  As Jody saw this, she felt Simon’s mouth loosen its sucking hold on her breast.

  His penis quit trying to prod its way in.

  A low, whispery voice said, “Turn your face away, honey.”

  She followed orders.

  The mouth very quickly released her breast. “Hey, man, don’t shoot. I ...”

  KRA-BOOOOM!!!

  Along with the enormous punishing wonderful noise came a hot blast, a gust that flung Jody’s hair and blew like a quick, mean sandstorm against her chest and neck and upturned cheek.

  With her head turned away, she couldn’t avoid seeing the shower of mess from Simon’s head. A red spray. Chunks of bone. Gooey lumps. Most of it hit the wall more than five feet past the side of the bed.

  Simon’s gore completely covered the smudge he’d put on the wall by throwing Andy’s head.

  Jody watched it drip.

  Better to watch it drip than to catch a glimpse of Simon. The blast had knocked him tumbling. He was about to flop off the edge of the bed. Jody could see enough, even with her eyes on the dripping wall, to know that he was face up and that his face was some sort of monstrous ruin.

  She would rather not add that to the long list of things she had seen tonight and would never forget.

  So she fixed her gaze on the splattered wall for another moment, until he’d dropped out of sight.

  Even before he struck the floor, she turned her head to the left.

  To see her father.

  But he was gone.

  Chapter Forty-five

  “Dad?” Silence. “Dad?”

  “Honey?” His voice was no more than a whisper. “You okay?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I got him, didn’t I?”

  “You sure did.”

  “Thought so. The recoil ... knocked me back down.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “You and me both, hon. Till you screamed. Sounded like a ... damn banshee.”

  “Are you okay?” In the midst of asking that, her voice broke upward. Tears flooded her eyes and she began to blubber. Her body shuddered as she cried.

  She struggled to stop. Her father on the floor beside the bed might be dying. If she cried through his final seconds of life ...

  “I love you,” she sobbed. “Dad?”

  “Quit it, would you? You’re gonna get me bawlin’, and I ... that’s gonna hurt.”

  “Okay.” She sniffed. It sounded loud and wet and slurpy.

  “Christ, hon. Blow your nose.”

  “Ha ha.” She didn’t care that she couldn’t blow her nose, but the t
ears made her eyes and cheeks itchy. She tried turning her head, hoping to rub the side of her face against her shoulder. The way her arms were stretched out, though, her shoulder was beyond reach. She turned her head the other way. Couldn’t get to that shoulder, either. “He’s got me tied down so I can’t move.”

  “Yeah. Saw. The bastard. Was it him? Simon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Supposed to be dead.”

  “The body wasn’t him. It was the kid he killed in Indio.”

  “Huh? How ... ?”

  “He faked us out. Some of the stuff on the tapes were lies. Andy got him to explain most of it before ...”

  “Andy? Oh, my God. Forgot about ... Where is he?”

  Here and there, Jody thought. And was shocked that her mind could tease her with a sick word game.

  Might’ve made Andy laugh, though. Here and there.

  “Simon killed him, Dad. He’s dead.”

  Dad was quiet for a few moments. Then he muttered, “My God. I’m sorry, hon. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah. Well ... He ... he had chances.”

  “Huh?”

  “All kinds of chances,” Jody said. “Chances to get away. Chances to kill Simon. All kinds of chances. He ... sort of screwed up all of them. One way or the other. It ... didn’t have to ... turn out this way. And I guess I blew it, too. If only ...”

  “Don’t,” Dad said. “No point. What’s done is done. The thing is ... are you all right?”

  She snuffled. “Probably a lot better than you.”

  “Hope so. God, honey.”

  “I’m okay. Really. He stuck me with a knife a few times and they hurt like hell, but I think he just did it to hurt me, not ... I don’t think any of them are very deep.”

  “Where’d he get you?”

  “In the armpit. The hip. And the back of my leg. You know, right behind the knee. In the crease there. That one really hurts.”

  “Bet it does.”

  “Yeah. And, oh yeah, he bit me on the ass. Where’d he get you?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Did he ... did he rape you?”

  Jody felt herself blush.

  Blushing seemed very strange at a time like this, but there was definitely a feeling of embarrassment, plus a sensation of heat rushing to her skin. Weird. Almost funny, considering.

  “Jeez, Dad,” she muttered.

  “I’m sorry. But ... did he?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t know?”

  She focused down there. She forced some muscles to flex. “Doesn’t feel like it,” she said. “I mean, I’m not sure what it’s supposed to feel like after something like that, but ... I’m pretty sure he didn’t.”

  “Thank God,” Dad murmured.

  “What about you?” Jody asked.

  “I’m pretty sure he didn’t rape me, either.”

  “You don’t know?”

  She heard him laugh once, then groan. “Jesus, honey.”

  “It only hurts when you laugh?” she asked.

  “Hell, it hurts no matter what.”

  “Are you bad?”

  “I’ve always been bad.”

  “Now who’s making the cracks?”

  “Okay. I’ll stop. Where ... were we?”

  “Where did he hit you?”

  “Easier if I tell you where he didn’t.”

  “Dad.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It must be pretty bad, or you wouldn’t be down there on the floor.”

  “Good point. On the other hand ... how bad can it be ... if I’m conscious ... and chatting with you?”

  “You weren’t conscious, though.”

  “Nope. Out like a light. One of ’em caught me in the noggin.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “It’s not so bad. Went through my hand first. By the time it hit my head ... My hand isn’t in such great shape, but ... Two wounds for the price of one, huh?”

  “What about the others?” Jody asked. “He shot you six times.”

  “That many? Damn.”

  He went silent.

  “Dad?”

  “Doing an inventory.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t know, honey. Only got five holes here. And the one ... got me twice. Guess he missed a couple of times.”

  “How could he miss at that range?”

  “Trying for head shots? That’d figure. Bastard thought he was hot... stuff.”

  “He did awful good.”

  “Till he ran up against me.”

  “Guess he didn’t shoot you in the ego.”

  “The one place he missed.”

  “You aren’t gonna die, are you?”

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sure hope Sharon comes ... straight over after work.”

  “She will.”

  “She better.”

  “She’s in love.”

  “Think so? With me?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And you know it.”

  “She’s some gal, huh?”

  “A phenomenon.”

  “Yep. Exactly.”

  “You’re pretty good, too.”

  “Yep.”

  “A phenomenon.”

  “I sure pulled your butt out of the fire.”

  “Just barely,” Jody said.

  “Barely’s just fine. I’ll ... settle for it.” Suddenly, he gasped as if surprised by a new stab of pain.

  “Dad?”

  “Oooo.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Not very.”

  “Oh, God. Can you last till Sharon gets here?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Dad? Dad!”

  “Do you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “I think I hear a siren.”

  Jody strained her ears.

  And she heard a siren.

  And the distant, faint cry of it was growing louder.

  “Maybe somebody heard the shots,” she whispered.

  They both went silent.

  After a few seconds, Dad whispered, “Is it coming here?”

  “Sure sounds like it.”

  Not far away—near enough to be on the street in front of their home—brakes shrieked and the siren died.

  Jody heard two doors thud shut.

  “Let’s have a great big cheer for the good guys,” she said.

  “Hope they’ve got strong stomachs,” Dad said.

  “Yeah. What if Sharon’s first through the door?”

  She expected Dad to make a crack. She’ll have to clean it up. Or, Hope she doesn’t get any on us.

  Instead, he said, “That’d be great.”

  “Yeah,” Jody said. “Guess it would be.”

  RICHARD LAYMON

  Richard Laymon is the author of over 30 novels and 65 short stories. Though a native of Illinois and a long-time Californian, his name is more familiar to readers in Great Britain, Australia and New Zealand, as well as much of the rest of the world, where he is published in fifteen foreign languages. He has written such acclaimed novels as To wake the Dead, No Sanctuary. Island, Among the Missing, One Rainy Night, In the Dark, and Bite. 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 a short story collection (A Good, Secret Place) previously had been nominated for Bram Stoker Awards as well.

  Check out the Richard Laymon Kills! website at www.rlk.cib.net.

 

 

 
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