Child's Play

by Jones, Merry;

  I took a breath. My wrists burned, but I told myself not to show pain or fear. “Jerry, let go of me. Now.”

  “Why are you so difficult, Elle?” His voice became less loud, almost a whine. “I’ve been devoted to you. I’ve spent extra time on your house—even though, by the way, your place won’t bring me anywhere near as high a commission as the other properties I represent. I’ve got a dozen multimillion-dollar houses listed out on the Main Line. I’m so busy I don’t have time to take a piss. But never mind, I took time out for you and your piddling little property. I treated you like a queen. I offered to take you for drinks. Out to dinner. Do you know how much I’m worth, Elle? Do you have any idea how much I made last year alone? Believe me, most women would jump at the chance—”

  “Oh shut up, Jerry. Just shut up and take your hands off me,” I hissed.

  He stopped rambling and glared at me. “First, drop that knife.”

  I considered it for a moment. I didn’t want to drop it but saw the futility of continuing the impasse. So I let it go, heard it land on the porch. Planned to duck down and scoop up the knife the second I was free.

  But after I’d released the knife, Jerry didn’t let me go.

  “Inside.” He pushed me through the doorway, into the house.

  I stumbled backwards, resisting. Reliving the shadow in the night, wet breath on my neck.

  “No!” I kicked him, lost my balance, fell back and dangled by my arms in his grasp, kicking at him as hard as I could. “Let go!”

  “Stop the game playing, Elle.” He backed me through the foyer, dragged me into the living room. I recognized his smell, his breath. “We’re way past that.”

  “Get away from me.” Was he planning to rape me again? While I was awake? This time I’d claw his face off, poke his eyes out.

  He pinned me on the living room floor. Again, I saw the dark shadow—Jerry’s shadow—lowering itself over me. Adrenalin pumped through my veins.

  “Let go, Jerry,” I growled. “I swear. If you don’t take your hands off me—”

  “What? What will you do, Elle?” Jerry smiled. His teeth were wet, his lips fat, his breath thick. He held me down, pulled my arms up over my head, and grasped both wrists with one hand. “Come on. Why are you being so belligerent?”

  “You think I don’t know what you did? You drugged me, Jerry. You put something in that wine.”

  “Really?” He leaned onto me, slid his hand under my shirt, inside my bra. “How could I have drugged that wine?” His whisper was low and obscene. “The bottle was sealed. What do you think I did, inject drugs through the cork?”

  I was gasping, twisting. Trying to pry my arms free.

  “That’s absurd. Where would I even get a needle? Well, unless I happened to take one from a doctor’s office. By the way, did you know I was the realtor for that new walk-in clinic on Belmont Avenue?” He laughed, pleased with himself. “My only worry was that you’d notice the damage to the cork. Tell me, did you? Was there anything suspicious about it?”

  I wrested a leg out from under him. He rolled onto me and my body recognized his crushing suffocating overpowering weight. I squirmed, tried to turn. Couldn’t.

  “Stop fighting.” He squeezed my breast hard, held on. Watched my face. I tried not to show pain.

  “Get off me, Jerry,” I snarled. “You disgust me.”

  He nuzzled my neck. “You weren’t disgusted last weekend. In fact, you couldn’t get enough. It’s better when you let go, Elle.”

  “Fuck you,” I grunted.

  “Dear sweet Elle. I was betting that you couldn’t wait to open a good bottle of Syrah.”

  His hands were all over me, creeping like rabid snakes.

  “Oh, by the way. It was silly to change the locks. A smart realtor always has an alternate way into a property in case something goes wrong with the lock box. If you hadn’t opened the door, I’d have come in anyway, through your basement window.”

  The basement window? Had he broken it? Unlocked it? Damn. I shut my mouth and turned my head to avoid his tongue. His saliva slimed my cheek.

  “Stop pretending you don’t enjoy this. You know you want it.”

  Oh God. What I wanted was to crawl out of my skin. I yanked my arms, wiggled, and twisted. Couldn’t get free. Physically, he outweighed and outmuscled me. I’d need to use my brain. Make him want to leave. But how?

  His fingers were on my waistband, digging inside my pants.

  “I talked to the police.”

  His hand paused. He lifted his head to look at me. Shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”

  “I reported you to Detective Stiles. I told him you raped me.”

  Jerry’s hand retreated. “You what? Why would you say that? I’ve never raped anyone—I can get any woman I want. Women are all over me.”

  Really? I twisted my wrists to get free.

  “Come on, Elle. You’re joking with me, right?”

  I squinted at him. “You thought I was too drugged to remember what you did. You were wrong. And you better not have given me an STD—”

  “No way. I always wear protection. If you really remembered, you’d know that.”

  So he admitted having sex with me. “You make me sick.”

  His face changed. Jerry looked wounded. His hand came off my body, moved to his head. Scratched. “I don’t get you, Elle. You’ve led me on for months. You’ve given me signals. You’ve teased and flirted, but then, whenever I got close, you’d back up and play hard-to-get. Now I make a move and you go to the police about me? Are you kidding?”

  “They’re testing that wine bottle, Jerry.” I made that up. The bottle was long gone, picked up by the recycling truck.

  “Fucking hell, Elle. It wasn’t like that. I went to a lot of trouble. I did all that just so you’d finally relax and let yourself go—it was for your own good.”

  So he was outright admitting it? He’d drugged and raped me. Spit flew from my mouth, hit him on the chin. He didn’t wipe it off, but his eyes bulged and he pulled me to my feet, yanked me around so I’d face him, put his nose right against mine.

  “You know what you are, Elle? A fucking tease. An ungrateful fucking bitch. Forget it. You’ve finally pushed me to the limit. I’m done.” He tossed my wrists at the air and began to turn away but did a double take. His eyes widened.

  At least I think they did. And I think I saw a jolt of blazing white light.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on the foyer floor. My whole face ached.

  And a man was sitting beside me, staring. Holding my hand.

  I pulled my hand away. “No—don’t touch me!” I leaned on my elbows, skittered backwards. Bumped into the table in my foyer, the one I dump my mail onto.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. H.”

  “No. Just go away.”

  His brows furrowed. “It’s okay. It’s just me, Ty.”

  Ty? I blinked, registered the pain under my left eye. We were in my foyer. On the floor. Nothing made sense.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” I scanned the area. My phone lay at the bottom of the stairs. How did it get there?

  “Your door was wide open.” Ty spoke urgently. “I was passing by and saw it, so I came to see if you were all right.”

  My door was open? Why? I closed my eyes, saw Jerry. Jerry had been there. He’d grabbed my arms, held me down. He’d been vile, unapologetic about drugging and raping me. What had he said? I was a flirt and a tease? As if his attack were my own fault.

  I had to get my phone, call Stiles. I sat up, but my head reeled and, dizzy, I flopped backward. Ty caught my head before it slammed against the floor.

  “Honest, Mrs. H. What with everything that’s, you know, been happening, I got worried when your door was open. I looked in to make sure you were all right and there you were, lying so still I thought you were dead.”

  I closed my eyes, held my face. “Did you call anyone?”

  “Call? You mean like the cops?” He paused. I
heard him take a breath. “No.”

  Of course Ty wouldn’t call the police. He’d be afraid they’d arrest him. And they probably would have.

  “I mean I would have if you didn’t wake up. I was about to, I swear. Besides, I’ve only been here like a minute.”

  “I was alone?” I pictured Jerry, driving off all smug and cocky. “Nobody else was here?”

  “You mean like the person who knocked you out?”

  Yes, exactly like that person. Like Jerry. The son of a bitch had coldcocked me.

  “No, Mrs. H. I didn’t see anybody.”

  It didn’t matter. I knew exactly who’d punched me. I would call Stiles and tell him to arrest Jerry for assault and rape. I opened my eyes. Focused.

  Ty was watching the door. Blinking rapidly. I was grateful that he’d found me. Needed to thank him. Except, no. Something was wrong about him finding me. I tried to figure out what it was. Of course. The problem that, in order to find me, he had to be at my house.

  “What are you doing here, Ty?”

  “I already told you, Mrs. H.” He spoke slowly and clearly, as if he thought I had a brain injury.

  “No. You told me my door was open. Not why you’d come to here.”

  “I was just passing.”

  He was lying, wouldn’t even meet my eyes. “Bullshit.” I sat up again, slower this time. My skull and the bones in my cheek pulsed electric pain. I needed ice. “Tell me the truth. Why are you here?”

  “Honest. I was worried about you, that’s all. I came by to check on you.”

  I didn’t say anything, just looked at him.

  “You don’t believe me. Okay, what do you think I came here for?”

  “I don’t know.” I pressed my hand on the sore spot beneath my eye. Found a hot puffy bulge. “Why don’t you just tell me?”

  “You don’t trust me, do you? Even now after I found you and stayed with you. Instead of thanking me, you act like I’m a criminal. Fine, Mrs. H. I’m done. I won’t check on you ever again.” He got to his feet. “But you know what? Whatever happens to you from now on isn’t my fault. I tried to help, but all I got for it was doubt and suspicion. You’re the same as everybody else. So now, I don’t give a shit. You’re on your own.” He stomped out of the house, slamming the front door.

  I felt bad when he left, as if I’d done something wrong but couldn’t figure out what it was. Ty’s outburst seemed random, unprovoked like a toddler’s tantrum. I’d asked him why he’d come to my house, and boom, he’d exploded. And now, I was alone with a throbbing head.

  My phone was by the steps. I’d call the police. I’d call Susan. I tried to stand, but my balance was off. So I crawled. Crawling felt awkward, uncoordinated. Was it an arm and a leg together? Opposite sides or the same side? Or was it one limb at a time? I tried them all, wobbled, made little progress. Pain surged in my shoulder when I leaned on the side that had been dislocated. But I was making progress, moving across the foyer. My can of mace lay halfway down the hall on its side. It must have rolled there. But what about my knife? Where was my knife? I stopped, looked around. Didn’t see it.

  Maybe Jerry took it? Not that he needed it, having decked me. Why had he done that? Was he insane? How did he think he’d get away with it? This wasn’t like the rape. This time, I’d been awake. He must have known that I’d call the police and report him. A few yards from my phone, I had to stop to catch my breath. The bone under my eye was probably broken. That whole side of my face and head raged. My nostrils flared. Jerry was going to pay. Jerry was going to jail.

  But first, I needed to get to my phone. I continued crawling, counting seconds until I’d put my hands on it. One, two.

  Someone giggled.

  I stopped. Looked up. Listened.

  Maybe I’d imagined it? No. I’d heard it. A clear definite giggle. Coming from—the coat closet?

  I swiveled to face the closet. The door wasn’t quite closed. Had I left it that way? Was someone in there? I looked from the closet to my phone, compared the distances. If someone was in there, was he watching me, getting ready to pounce before I could make a call?

  But who could be in there? Jerry was gone. And Ty.

  Rose Evans?

  The thought of her pushed me forward, and I scooted to my phone, grabbed it, my finger poised to punch in 911. I looked at the screen, let out a wail.

  The phone had been smashed. Its face crushed. Like mine.

  Behind me, I heard a shuffle. The faintest of movements, like a pillow being fluffed.

  First a giggle, now this. Was it Jerry? Had he come back while I was unconscious, destroyed my phone so I couldn’t report him? Was he watching me?

  Or was it the killer, here to murder the next person on the list?

  My mace was far away, too far. I spun around and faced the closet door.

  “I know you’re there.” I used my schoolteacher voice. “You might as well come out.”

  I was ready to confront Jerry. Or Rose. And if Stan or Duncan Girard had come out, I wouldn’t have been surprised. But when the door swung open, I couldn’t accept what I was seeing. Katie, Maggie, and Trish tumbled out of the closet, giggling, and covered with blood.

  They pointed at me, choking with laughter.

  “Mrs. H.” Katie was breathless from laughing. “You should see yourself. Your cheek—you look so ridiculous.”

  “The look on her face when she saw her phone.” Maggie leaned back, guffawing. She had a baseball bat in her hands. So Maggie had smashed my phone? Why?

  And oh dear. Had she also batted my head?

  Trish sat on her knees chortling. Clutching my knife.

  It looked bloody.

  I edged toward the door. But Trish leapt to her feet, darted around me. Stood in my way. For a moment, I felt faint, as if my heart had stopped beating. What were these girls doing in my house? Why were they laughing instead of helping me? Were they on drugs? And whose blood was on them? Mine? I glanced at my shirt, touched my face and head. No. I wasn’t bleeding. Then whose?

  “She looks so confused.” Trish pointed at me and laughed.

  “Okay, I’ll explain. Your basement window was unlocked, Mrs. H.” Katie chuckled.

  “What were you doing at my basement window?”

  “Point is, anyone could get in.”

  “You haven’t answered me, Katie. How would you know about my window? What are you doing here?” I held my head, started toward the door again. Trish still blocked my way.

  “Why shouldn’t we visit you?” Trish asked. “You seem to like it when Katie’s brother comes by.”

  “Your freakin’ brother, Katie.” Maggie shook her head. “He almost saw us.”

  “I know.” Katie’s eyes popped. “That would have been, oh my God, amazing. What would he have done?”

  “Forget him—what would we have done?”

  “We could have Tyed him up.”

  “No—we could have made Ty die.”

  Oh God. They were making puns about hurting Ty? They rocked with laughter when nothing was funny. Had to be stoned. But why was Trish holding a knife and Maggie a bat? What were they planning to do? I watched Katie, tried to make her meet my eyes and face me. Her features seemed blurred and runny. Was something wrong with my sight? Was my skull cracked, my brain bleeding? Was I dying? I wobbled, needed to call for help, get to a hospital.

  “Okay, girls.” I spoke calmly through their laughter. “Party’s over. You need to leave.” Forget getting help. I wanted to lie down. To sleep.

  “What did she say?”

  “Who?”

  “Her.” Maggie pointed at me. “She said something.”

  “I said”—I made my voice sturdier, fearless—“you all need to leave.”

  “She wants us to go.” Maggie feigned a pout. “Mrs. H doesn’t like us anymore.”

  “Okay. Let’s be fair. We’ll take a vote,” Katie said. “All in favor of us leaving?”

  Trish shook her head. Maggie was silent.

&n
bsp; “Okay. All for staying?”

  All three said, “Aye.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. H,” Katie said. “Majority rules.”

  “What do you want, girls?” I felt like I was swaying. Or the room was. I reminded myself that the girls were good kids, that I’d known them since they’d been second graders. That they would never actually hurt me or anyone else. That they were just high on something, playing a stupid game. That they would be embarrassed and apologetic as hell when they sobered up.

  Even so, Trish stood at the front door, preventing me from leaving.

  The others closed in, formed a ring around me.

  “Back away,” I scolded.

  “Uh-uh-uh, Mrs. H,” Katie said.

  “Seriously. I’m expecting company any minute.” I lied. But maybe not. Maybe Susan would call and worry when I didn’t answer. Maybe she’d come by with Becky. Or maybe she’d call Detective Stiles and he’d come check on me personally.

  The girls were whispering, laughing.

  “If that’s who she’s expecting, she’s going to be disappointed.”

  “Oh my God, remember when he saw us!” Trish’s eyes were teary with laughter. “I thought he’d piss himself.”

  Who were they talking about? Ty? No, not Ty. Jerry. Jerry might have seen them after he’d slugged me. He’d probably bumped into them as he ran out of the house. That made sense—hadn’t Ty said he’d found the door open? Jerry must have left it that way.

  Unless the girls had opened it.

  Katie chuckled. “He was definitely surprised.”

  “Well, so were we.”

  “You’re right.” Katie’s smile faded. Her brows furrowed. “Yes, we were surprised.”

  “Yeah. So? It worked out.”

  “Because we were lucky. Guys, we can’t count on luck. We have a plan and need to stick to it. No more surprises. We’ve had too many already.”

  “What are you talking about?” Trish frowned. “Oh, the thing in the kindergarten?”

  Wait, was she talking about Becky?

  “I had no choice, Katie,” Maggie said. “She’d have seen you with Seth. Besides, I only knocked her out.”