by Joy Fielding
And then they were both on him with their knives and machete, joyously severing muscle from bone and skin from cartilage until their clothes were soaked with the sweat of their exertions and David lay beneath a blanket of blood, virtually unrecognizable. “Hope you’re enjoying your fucking honeymoon as much as we are,” she’d laughed as they’d had sex beside his torn and tattered corpse. Then, suddenly starving, they’d made themselves sandwiches, polishing off the late-night snack with another bottle of expensive Bordeaux from the Laufers’ collection, while discussing the pros and cons of younger versus older prey.
They’d agreed that both young and old presented their own series of risks and rewards. The young ones were stronger and reacted faster, making them more of a challenge. And yet, they simply weren’t as much fun or as deeply satisfying as killing old folks, she thought.
Still, what was that famous saying? Variety is the spice of life.
And death, she thought now, smiling as she remembered returning to the lodge the next morning, the place buzzing with the news of David’s disappearance. Later, after going back to the cottage, she saw that the floor had been washed down and David’s body removed, although she spotted tiny bits of his flesh still clinging to the floor, like stubborn specks of dust.
She tugged a floral-print cotton dress off one of the hangers and pulled it over her head, grabbing a big rhinestone bow off the dresser and pinning it to the ample folds between her breasts before leaving the bedroom. “Peekaboo, I see you,” she said, spying a splatter of blood on the far wall of the living room. “I’m bored,” she announced moments later, suddenly aware of the scent of stale blood emanating from the still damp and probably permanent stain on the beige rug.
The trouble with killing was that it was addictive. Like dope, she thought, searching through the cushions of the sofa for the baggie full of freshly rolled joints she’d left lying around earlier. “There you are, you little devil,” she said with a laugh, pulling the fattest one out with her teeth and walking into the kitchen to light it with one of the front burners of the stove. She inhaled deeply, swallowing most of the smoke before blowing out a succession of perfectly round circles with the little that remained. Her grandfather had taught her that trick, albeit with conventional cigarettes, around the time he stopped bouncing her on his knee and started slipping his hand down her pants.
Or maybe he hadn’t done that at all, she thought. Maybe her grandmother was right, and she was just a stupid little girl who’d made the whole thing up. “There’s something wrong with that child,” she’d overheard her grandmother whispering to her mother one night. “I think she needs professional help.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” she sang out now, smoke rings rising, like miniature halos, around her head. “Honest to God,” she yelled in the next instant, spinning around in frustrated circles, “how can people not have a TV?” They should have brought that one with them that they’d stolen from the Berkshires, instead of pawning it. Although who knew they’d pick the one cottage in the area without a television set? “Who doesn’t own a TV, for fuck’s sake?”
“We have a radio,” she remembered Stuart Laufer saying.
“Yeah, right. Hooray for that.” She puffed furiously on the joint, smoking it down halfway, then grinding the lit end into the kitchen counter, watching a small brown circle form in the laminate as a pleasant buzz settled at the base of her neck, like a warm scarf. Her mother would have a fit if she saw her now, she thought with a smile, wondering absently what her mother was doing at this precise moment, if she even knew she was gone, if the woman had any idea where she was or what she’d been up to these last weeks?
If not, she’d hear about it soon enough.
“I’m getting bored again,” she said to the walls, her voice a singsong as she debated relighting the joint, smoking it all the way down. Kenny would be angry with her for not waiting till he got back. He’d say she was selfish. But what the hell? He was selfish, too, showing up late, then going off by himself again, killing without her. Not to mention that she’d caught him ogling that waitress’s ass at the lodge the other night when he didn’t think she was looking. He’d even hinted that maybe one day they could try a three-way, she recalled, a thought she’d managed to suppress until now.
What did that mean? That he didn’t love her anymore?
Again, she felt tiny bubbles of panic spreading through her bloodstream. She had to stop thinking such thoughts. Of course Kenny loved her. It was the marijuana that was making her paranoid. And the Percodan. They were fogging her brain and filling her head with crazy ideas. She had to find something else to occupy her mind, she thought, suddenly remembering Stuart’s computer. Maybe she could find something to watch on that.
“Okay, let’s see what we have here,” she said, retrieving the laptop from the kitchen counter and carrying it over to the couch. She sat down cross-legged with it on her lap, turned it on, and waited until the machine booted up and the screen turned several pretty shades of blue. She quickly punched in the appropriate keys. “Let’s see what kind of mail you guys get,” she said, hoping she wouldn’t need a password. “Thatta girl, Ellen,” she said, as a frighteningly enthusiastic voice announced cheerfully, You’ve got mail. “No silly passwords for you. Probably wouldn’t remember it anyway.” She giggled as she noted only three messages in the inbox. “Not very popular, are you? And one of them is from Saks. They’re having a sale this weekend, which it looks like you’re going to miss. What a shame. Summer merchandise is thirty percent off on selected items and as much as fifty percent on others. That’s quite the deal. Especially since I noticed your closet is looking a little sparse.” She glanced down at the floral-print dress she was wearing. “I think you could have used a few new things.” She deleted the message and opened up the next one, feeling the buzz at the base of her neck rising to fill her head.
Hi, Ellen, she read, the words floating across the screen on a wave of Percodan. Just wanted to let you know that Wayne and I got back from Paris yesterday—you can check out our photos at franandwaynemcquaker.com—and it was wonderful, as always. It really is the most beautiful city in the world. Of course Wayne’s back was giving him trouble and I had a terrible cold for the first part of the trip. And we had such awful turbulence on the plane ride home that my ears got completely plugged. Frankly, it still feels as if someone is standing behind me with their fingers in my ears. Most irritating. Anyway, I’ll tell you all about everything this weekend. Wayne and I are so looking forward to our visit. It’s been way too long. Love, Fran.
“Franandwaynemcquaker.com,” the girl said, feeling their surname sticking to her tongue. “McQuaker … McQuaker,” she spit out, as if trying to dislodge it. She sank back against the pillows, her mind trying to focus through the haze that was rapidly enveloping her. What did good old Fran McQuaker mean, I’ll tell you all about everything this weekend? “Wayne and I are so looking forward to our visit,” she repeated aloud, the words not quite registering, their meaning elusive.
She noted that the message was dated this afternoon. “Looks like we might be having company,” she said as her eyes closed. She’d have to tell Kenny some potential victims were on their way. Although he wasn’t calling himself Kenny anymore, she reminded herself, trying—and failing—to remember the new name he’d come up with.
Probably should have gone easier on the weed, she thought, laughing as she opened the third and final e-mail. Not to mention the Percodan. “Might as well have a look at what’s behind door number three.”
Hello, Mother, the message began.
The girl edged forward in her seat, the previous e-mail already forgotten. Now this could be interesting, she thought.
Katarina just told me she thought you might have phoned the other day. It was a bad connection and she was in the middle of doing something and couldn’t talk. She sends her apologies. So how’s everything up there in Shadow Creek? (The name still gives me the shivers, by the way.) Everything is good h
ere in sunny, unshadowy California. Willow and Mason are enjoying camp and Katarina has started taking acting lessons, hoping to land an agent. My law practice is doing well and my golf game’s even better. Shot a 78 the other day. Handicap getting closer to single digits. (That’s a good thing.) I’m afraid it doesn’t look good for coming out east in the fall. September is such a busy time, what with my practice—we’re contemplating merging with another firm—and the kids going back to school, and casting season in full swing. Why’d you have to get married in September anyway? Maybe you could think about coming out here for a few days next spring. There’s a great new restaurant just down the way from us and we could celebrate your fiftieth there. Make that fiftieth and a half. Pretty impressive. Anyway, think about it. Say hi to Dad for me. Bye for now, Ben.
“Well, now, aren’t you the loving son?” she thought, feeling strangely angry on Ellen’s behalf. “Can’t make it home for your parents’ anniversary, but hey, you shot a seventy-eight. Good to know somebody has his priorities straight.” She yawned, stretching her arms high above her head. “How to respond, how to respond. Let’s see,” she said, hunching forward over the computer. “Dear Ben. Dear, dear Ben. My darling son. Ben, you sack of shit …” She grinned, the grin stretching across the entire lower half of her face. “No, I think I can do better than that.”
Dear Ben, she typed slowly with her thumbs. Don’t worry about not being able to come to our fiftieth anniversary party this fall. Your father and I have decided to get a divorce. Love, Mother.
She pressed Send, then collapsed in a fresh fit of giggles.
That was when she heard the noise outside. She jumped to her feet, letting the computer slide off her lap and fall to the floor. “Hello?” She edged cautiously toward the front door. “Is somebody there?”
Her question was answered by a loud knocking.
She ran into the kitchen, grabbing a large knife from the counter, her head suddenly very clear. “Who is it?” she asked, her ear to the door.
“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Laufer,” came the immediate reply. “It’s Henry Voight. I’m with the park rangers.”
The girl hid the knife behind her back as she opened the door to the handsome young man in uniform. “My grandmother’s asleep,” she began.
“I’m really sorry to be bothering you so late,” he began. “I didn’t realize the Laufers had visitors. I’ve been patrolling the area and I saw your lights were on or I never would have knocked. I just wanted to make sure everything is okay.”
“That’s so sweet,” she told him. “You must be freezing. Why don’t you come in? I’ll make you some lovely peach and cranberry tea.” She was smiling as she ushered him inside, closing the door after him.
NINETEEN
AT PRECISELY TWO O’CLOCK in the morning Val awoke from an unpleasant dream, the details of which were already evaporating by the time her eyes were fully open. Something to do with being chased by a hooded giant with a hook where his hand should have been. Great, she thought, as a familiar tug on her bladder pushed the last fragments of the dream from her mind.
She sat up, realizing she had to pee and wondering if she could hold out until it got light out. Another twinge told her there was no way she’d be able to make it through the night and she might as well make the trip now rather than lie here uncomfortably for hours, only to have to succumb to nature’s call eventually anyway. If she got up now, at least she had a chance of falling back to sleep. “Melissa,” she whispered, wriggling free of her sleeping bag and hoping her friend was awake enough to accompany her. “Melissa, are you up?” But Melissa was sleeping soundly and even a rough push on her shoulder failed to rouse her. “I have to pee,” she told her anyway.
An eerie stillness had settled over the campground, like a thick fog. Except for the myriad of insects wildly circling the lights that shone from the high posts at strategic intervals throughout the camp, nothing moved. Rain was definitely in the air. Whatever possessed me to make this trip? she wondered for the hundredth time, the unanswered question pursuing her to the area where two dozen porta-potties stood like sentries, surrounded on three sides by tall pines and spruce trees. As soon as it gets light, she decided, I’m getting the hell out. I never should have come. What in God’s name was I thinking?
She picked the closest portable and opened its door, her eyes automatically scanning the dark interior for unwanted spiders or snakes. “And wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake,” she said, quickly lowering her jeans and hovering above the plastic seat.
Which was when she heard something moving around outside.
Damn it, she thought, holding her breath and waiting.
For a few seconds, there was nothing. Val was beginning to think it had been her imagination, along with her bladder, working overtime. Which was when she heard the noise again. The telltale crackling of branches, the muffled shuffling of feet drawing nearer. An animal? she wondered as the door handle began to jiggle, causing the entire structure to shake.
Someone—or some thing—was trying to open the door.
The Hook Man, she thought, and might have laughed had she not screamed instead.
“Sorry,” a familiar voice said immediately. “I didn’t realize anyone was in there.”
“Jennifer?”
“Valerie?”
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“Well, at least you’re in the right place.”
Seconds later, Val emerged from the john, still shaking, although this time more in anger than fear. “Was that supposed to be funny?”
“Sorry,” Jennifer apologized again, barely managing to suppress a grin. “Did you think you were going to find a bloody hook hanging from the door handle?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Val said testily. Damn that James and his stupid story anyway.
“Sorry,” Jennifer said a third time, sidestepping Val and disappearing into the next portable.
How is it possible that anyone can look so damn good in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere? Val found herself wondering. The young woman was wearing no makeup, but even under the harsh overhead lights her complexion was still flawless, her hair artfully tousled. Even when she was all dressed up for a night on the town, Val had never looked that effortlessly put together. She always looked as if she just needed another ten minutes.
Which was what Evan had always claimed to love about her: that careless confidence, as he’d once called it. Well, she was still acting as carelessly as ever, but what the hell had happened to her confidence?
You were fearless, Gary had said earlier. But maybe reckless was the better word. Proceeding with a potentially dangerous course of action without thought to its consequences. She’d certainly been guilty of that lately. How else to explain what she was doing here?
The door to Jennifer’s portable opened and Jennifer emerged, luminous blue eyes widening at the sight of Valerie still standing there. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said, appearing genuinely touched. “That was very sweet of you.”
Val was about to contradict her, tell her the truth, that she hadn’t been consciously waiting for her at all, that she’d simply been lost in thought, then decided against it. Hell, if Jennifer wanted to think she was sweet, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, she was too exhausted to argue. “Not a big deal,” she said instead, starting back toward their tents.
“I owe you another apology.” Jennifer hurried to catch up to her. “For the mean things I said earlier.”
Val continued walking.
“I was tired and cranky and upset.”
Val offered no response.
“I was feeling very sorry for myself.”
Val stopped, swiveling on her heels toward the other woman. “There’s no need to keep apologizing.”
“No. I owe you that much, at least.”
Yes, it’s definitely the least you owe me, Val thought. What she said was “It’s okay. I understand.”
Jenn
ifer’s blue eyes opened even wider than before. “You do?”
“Believe it or not, yes, I do,” Val surprised herself by saying, even more startled to realize she was telling the truth. “You’d been looking forward to the weekend. You thought you were going to be spending three days with the man you love and his daughter in a luxurious spa hotel, not camping out in the woods with his disgruntled ex-wife and her two somewhat less than conventional friends. I get it. I really do. Enough said.”
Jennifer’s lips trembled, as if she might burst into tears. “Thank you.”
Val brushed the other woman’s gratitude aside with a tired wave of her hand. Forgiveness was more exhausting than she’d imagined. “And you don’t have to worry. I’ll be out of your perfect hair in the morning.” She resumed walking.
Jennifer was immediately back at Val’s side. “I’m sorry about what happened before with Brianne.”
“Enough with the apologies.”
“I should have told you about Tyler.”
“You didn’t want to betray her confidence. I get it.”
“I just really wanted her to like me.”
Val sighed, once more stopping in her tracks. “She does.”
“Thank you,” Jennifer said again. “I know this must be very hard for you.”
“I don’t need your sympathy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please. I think you’ve apologized more than enough for one night. Let’s give it a rest.”
They returned to the center of the camp, Val debating whether or not to continue on to Gary’s tent as soon as Jennifer went inside hers, but Jennifer sank to the ground in front of her tent instead, hugging her knees to her chest.
“You’re not going inside?”
Jennifer shook her head. “I don’t like it in there.”
Val glanced toward the voluminous dark clouds that were gathering around the moon like a hostile gang of delinquents, preventing its light from escaping. “Looks like it’s going to rain. You’ll get drenched.”