Table of Contents

Praise

ATTACKERS IN THE NIGHT

Other Leisure books by Richard Laymon:

Title Page

Dedication

Copyright Page

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-one

Chapter Sixty-two

Chapter Sixty-three

Chapter Sixty-four

Chapter Sixty-five

Chapter Sixty-six

Chapter Sixty-seven

Chapter Sixty-eight

Chapter Sixty-nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-one

Chapter Seventy-two

Chapter Seventy-three

Chapter Seventy-four

RAVE REVIEWS FOR USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR RICHARD LAYMON!

“Night in the Lonesome October is scary. I haven’t been this scared while reading a piece of fiction in a long time.”

—Bentley Little, Hellnotes

“Night in the Lonesome October is at once one of the eeriest, and one of the most immediate, horror novels of recent decades.”

—Publishers Weekly (Starred Review)

“A brilliant writer.”

—Sunday Express

“Laymon doesn’t pull any punches. Everything he writes keeps you on the edge of your seat.”

—Painted Rock Reviews

“One of the best, and most reliable, writers working today.”

—Cemetery Dance

“Laymon is incapable of writing a disappointing book.”

—New York Review of Science Fiction

“Laymon always takes it to the max. No one writes like him and you’re going to have a good time with anything he writes.”

—Dean Koontz

“If you’ve missed Laymon, you’ve missed a treat.”

—Stephen King

“I’ve read every book of Laymon’s I could get my hands on. I’m absolutely a longtime fan.”

—Jack Ketchum

MORE CRITICAL ACCLAIM
FOR RICHARD LAYMON!

“Laymon rides hard and fast and deep. He gives us characters that are absolutely memorable.”

—Mehitobel Wilson, Gothic.net

“An uncanny grasp of just what makes characters work. Readers turn the pages so fast they leave bum marks on the paper.”

—Horrorstruck

“If, like me, you consider Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This
Way Comes an American classic, you are in for a real treat. The
Traveling Vampire Show will put you in the same vicarious world
that no one has entered since the master.”

—Denver Rocky Mountain News

“Laymon is an American writer of the highest caliber.”

—Time Out (U.K.)

“Laymon is unique. A phenomenon. A genius of the grisly and the grotesque.”

—Joe Citro, The Blood Review

“Laymon’s writing’s super-tight and characters well detailed and believable, which makes the savage termination of so many of them all the more shocking! The unbridled joy of a delightfully fertile and wicked imagination at work.”

—Terrorzone

“Laymon has been putting out outstanding book after book.”

—Delirium Magazine

“Richard Laymon is a legend in dark fiction circles ... a master of the macabre, a man on the cutting edge of the horror genre.”

—Scary Monsters Magazine

ATTACKERS IN THE NIGHT

Somebody slammed into me from the right. The impact twisted me and sent me stumbling sideways through the dark. I tripped over my own feet, fell as if making a dive into shallow water, and slammed against the ground so hard that I skidded.

In the distance past my feet, Eileen cried out, “Eddie! Get him off me!”

I heard a smack like a fist striking bare skin.

“Leave her alone!” I yelled.

As I struggled to get up, I realized that I’d lost my knife. I had to have it Dropping to my knees, I swept my hands over the ground.

Eileen whined ... part pain, part terror.

The hell with the knife.

I grabbed a heavy, jagged rock that was larger than my hand, scrambled to my feet and rushed toward the sounds from Eileen and what was happening to her.

The sounds sickened me. Sobs and giggles, punches and slaps, yelps of pain, gasps for air, muttered curses, wet slurps, frenzied grunts....

Other Leisure books by Richard Laymon:

ISLAND
THE MUSEUM OF HORRORS
IN THE DARK
THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW
AMONG THE MISSING
ONE RAINY NIGHT
BITE

To Jerry and Jackie Lentz, our fine friends
who always seem to know what we’re laughing about

A LEISURE BOOK®

September 2002

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
276 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10001

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Copyright C 2001 by Richard Laymon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

ISBN: 0-8439-5046-3

The name “Leisure Books” and the stylized “L” with design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Visit us on the web at www.dorchesterpub.com.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

“Casey at the Bat,” a poem by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, was first published under the pen name “Phin” in the San Francisco Examiner on June 3,1888. The classic poem contains the famous final stanza:

“Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,

But there is no joy in Mudville: Mighty Casey has struck out.”

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere—
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year ...

“Ulalume”
Edgar Allan Poe

Chapter One

I was twenty years old and heartbroken the night it started.

My name is Ed Logan.

Yes, guys can be heartbroken, too. It isn’t an affliction reserved for women only.

Except I think it feels more like an empty stomach than a broken heart. An aching hollowness that food can’t cure. You know. You’ve felt it yourself, I bet. You hurt all the time, you’re restless, you can’t think straight, you sort of wish you were dead but what you really want is for everything to be the same as it was when you were still with her ... or him.

In my case, her name was Holly Johnson.

Holly Johnson.

God. I’d better not get started on her. Suffice it to say I fell in love with Holly with all my stupid heart and soul last spring when we were both sophomores at Willmington University. And she seemed to be in love with me. But then the semester ended. I went home to Mill Valley and she went home to Seattle where she worked as a guidance counselor at some sort of fucking summer camp and got involved with some other counselor. Only I didn’t hear about that until two weeks into the fall semester. I knew she wasn’t on campus, but didn’t know why. Her sorority sisters pleaded ignorance. On the phone, her mother was evasive. ‘Holly isn’t home just now, but I’ll tell her you called.’

Then, on October first, a letter came. ‘Dear Ed, I will always cherish the times we had ...’ And so on. It might as well have been a letter bomb ... a letter carrying a voodoo bomb that first killed me, then resurrected me as a zombie.

The night after receiving the letter, I stayed in my apartment all by myself, drinking vodka (bought by a friend of legal age) and orange juice until I passed out. In the morning, I cleaned up the vomit. Then I had to live through the worst hangover of my life. Luckily, the letter had arrived on Friday. By Monday, I’d mostly recovered from my hangover. But not from my loss.

I attended my classes, going through the motions, pretending to care, trying to act like the guy people knew as Ed Logan.

That night, I studied until about eleven o’clock. Tried to study is more like it. Though my eyes traveled over the lines of my book, my thoughts dwelled on Holly. I lingered on memories of her. And ached to have her back. And agonized over vivid images of her making love with my replacement, Jay. He’s so special and sensitive, her letter had said.

How could she fall in love with a guy named Jay?

I’d known three or four Jays, and every last one of them was an asshole.

He’s so special and sensitive.

I wanted to kill him.

I wanted to kill her.

I hated her, but I wanted her back. I pictured her return, myself weeping as we hugged and kissed. She was weeping, too, and gasping, ‘I love you so much, Ed. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’ll never leave you again.’

Yeah, right.

Anyway, that’s how it was going Monday night. Around eleven, I gave up trying to study. I turned on the television, but just stared at the screen without really seeing what was there. I thought about going to bed, but knew I would end up wide awake, tormented by Holly and Jay.

At last, I decided to take a walk. Just to get out of my apartment. Just to be doing something. Just to kill time.

Thoreau wrote, ‘You can’t kill time without injuring eternity.’

Screw it, I thought. Screw Thoreau. Screw eternity. Screw everything.

I wanted to go out walking in the night and get lost in the night and never come back.

Maybe I would get hit by a car. Maybe someone would attack and murder me. Maybe I would hike on over to the train tracks and look for a train with my number on it. Or maybe I would just keep walking forever, out of town, out of the state, just out.

Out was where I wanted most to be.

Outside, the darkness smelled sweet and moist and a soft wind was blowing. The October night felt more like summer than fall. Soon, with the exertion of fast walking, I was sweating inside my chamois shirt and jeans. So I slowed down. I was in no hurry, after all.

Though I’d started out with no destination in mind, I found myself heading east.

No destination in mind?

Maybe, maybe not.

I hadn’t set off on my walk with any plan to make a pilgrimage to Holly’s sorority house, but that’s where I went. My feet seemed to take me there all on their own. Of course, that’s nonsense. I guided them there. We walked a route we had walked so many times before. Instead of hurrying eagerly to the front door, however, we crossed to the opposite side of the street. We didn’t stop, but walked very slowly.

There was the veranda where Holly and I had so often kissed goodnight - sometimes for an hour or longer.

There, one story up and three windows from the south corner, was the large picture window of Holly’s room. Her former room. The window was dark, now. Some other girl was probably asleep in the room behind it ... in the same bed where Holly used to sleep.

And where was Holly now? In her own bed in her parents’ house near Seattle? Or in Jay’s bed?

He’s probably fucking her right this second.

I could picture it. I could feel it. I could feel Holly’s soft, warm body under me, her eager mouth on my lips, her tongue in my mouth, one of her breasts in my hand, her slippery wet tightness hugging me.

Except it wasn’t me, it was Jay.

He’s so special and sensitive.

‘Ed?’

Shit!

Managing a smile, I turned my head. ‘Oh, hi, Eileen.’

Eileen Danforth, one of Holly’s sorority sisters and best friends. She held some books and binders clutched against her chest. She was probably on her way back from studying in the library or the student union. The wind was blowing her long, dark hair.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked.

I shrugged.

‘Guess you must’ve gotten Holly’s letter.’

Naturally, Eileen knew all about the letter.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘Rough.’

I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

‘Just between you and me, I think Holly blew it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Can’t imagine what got into her.’

‘I can,’ I muttered.

Eileen’s face twitched slightly as if she felt a small, sharp pain. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Me, too. I’m really sorry.’

‘Thanks.’

She sighed and shook her head. ‘It’s really a shame. Who knows, though? Maybe you’re better off.’

‘Doesn’t feel that way.’

Eileen pressed her lips together. She almost looked ready to cry. ‘I know how it feels,’ she said. ‘God, do I ever.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘So, did you just come over here to stare at the house?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m on my way to the donut shop.’

‘Dandi?’

‘Yeah.’

‘At this hour?’

‘It’s open all night.’

‘I know, but ... it’s really out there.’

‘Seven miles.’

She grimaced. ‘That’s a long way.’

‘I’ve got nothing better to do.’

She looked into my eyes for a while. Then she said, ‘Could you use some company? Just give me a couple of minutes to drop off my books, and ...’

I was shaking my head. ‘I think I’d rather be alone.’

‘You shouldn’t walk all that way by yourself.’

‘I’ll be fine.’

‘It’s the middle of the night.’

‘I know, but...’

‘Let me come with you, okay?’

I shook my head again. ‘Maybe some other night.’

‘Well, it’s up to you. I don’t want to ... you know, make a nuisance out of myself.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘I know. I understand. You just want to be alone.’

‘Yeah.’

‘But be careful, okay?’

‘I will be.’

‘And don’t do anything ... crazy.’

‘I’ll try not to.’

‘It isn’t the end of the world, you know.’

I figured my mother would say exactly the same thing if and when I phoned home and explained about Holly.

‘Just seems that way,’ Eileen added.

I don’t think Mom would’ve added that.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘But things’ll get better. They really will. You’ll meet someone else ...’

That would probably be my father’s commentary.

‘You’ll fall in love again.’

‘God, I hope not.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Do me a favor, okay? Bring me back a couple of donuts?’ This was Eileen to the hilt. I knew she wasn’t making the request simply due to a fondness for donuts - though Dandi’s were spectacular. For one thing, she had a car; she could drive out to Dandi Donuts whenever the mood struck her. For another, she was slender and very pretty and tried to stay that way by avoiding such delicacies as donuts.

Which is not to say she never ate them. She did. But rarely. And I knew that tonight her real intent was to give me a task ... to divert at least a fraction of my attention away from Holly.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘What kind do you want?’

‘Glazed old-fashioneds.’

‘The specialty of the house.’

‘Yeah.’ Eileen smiled a little sadly and licked her lips. ‘I can taste them now.’

‘Only thing is, I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.’

‘Before I have to go to my ten o’clock, I hope.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘I’ll be in the student union, drooling with anticipation.’

‘I’ll make sure you don’t go hungry.’

‘Thanks.’ Keeping the books clamped against her chest with her left arm, she reached out with her right hand and gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I expected her to say something more, but she didn’t. After squeezing my shoulder, she let go and turned away and went trotting across the street toward the front of the sorority house, her dark hair blowing behind her head, her pleated skirt dancing around her thighs.

If she’d been Holly, I would’ve been enthralled by how she looked.

But she wasn’t.

Watching Eileen, I felt nothing.

That’s not quite true. What I actually felt was a vague wish that she would somehow turn into Holly.

Not Holly the faithless slut who’d dumped me for her summer-camp flame, but the Holly I’d known last spring, the one I’d loved. That Holly.

God, how I wanted her to be with me again!

On the veranda, Eileen looked back at me and waved. Then she pulled open the door. As she entered the sorority house, I caught a glimpse of the reception area.

I used to wait in there for Holly to come down from her room. Last spring, I spent so many hours in that reception area that it seemed like a second home. There were easy chairs, a couple of sofas, several lamps and tables. There was reading material, too, to help visitors while away the time as they waited for their girlfriends ... or daughters.

Old magazines, crossword puzzle books, a few well-worn paper-backs. And an old, hardbound copy of Look Homeward, Angel. I used to pick up the Wolfe book and read it and look at the wonderful Douglas W. Gorsline illustrations while I waited for Holly. The waiting always seemed to last forever. But finally she would come walking through the entryway, smiling and so beautiful that it hurt me to look at her.

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again!

Chapter Two

Setting out from my apartment Monday night, I’d had no intention of hiking seven miles to Dandi Donuts and seven miles back. I’d just wanted out, just wanted away.

Now, thanks to Eileen, I had a reason to go there.

A purpose for my walk.

If anybody asks, I thought, I can explain I’m on my way to Dandi Donuts to pick up a couple of glazed old-fashioneds for a friend.

Better than saying, ‘Just out for a stroll.’

Not that anyone was likely to ask.

Away from the campus, few people were wandering about. Only rarely did a car pass by. Most students were in their rooms, studying or messing around on their computers or indulging in deep, philosophical bullshit sessions with friends or having sex or sleeping. Non-students were mostly in their rooms, too, I supposed. Reading, watching television, having sex, or sleeping.

As I walked along Division Street, some of the houses had one or two lighted windows. Others had no lights on, but a window glowed with the trembling light from a television. Most of the houses, however, were dark except for porch lights. Some didn’t even have porch lights on.

Sometimes, I heard voices, thuds, laughter and other quiet sounds coming from the houses I passed. Many of them, though, were silent. A few birds were awake in the trees or air. I heard them twitter and warble. Mostly, though, I heard my footsteps on the concrete of the sidewalk. Each step came regularly. They all sounded just the same except when I stood on something: a leaf, a stone, a twig.

I noticed how quickly one step followed another, so I slowed down. What was the hurry? My only destination was a donut shop that never closed.

And it was only a random destination, anyway. I had no real need to get there at all.

What about the donuts I’d promised Eileen?

Not exactly a promise.

But I’d told her I would get them and I intended to keep my word.

More than likely, I would’ve headed for Dandi Donuts even if she hadn’t entered the picture. So it was no big deal. Not really. Except that now I had an obligation to go there.

And to get back with the donuts before her ten o’clock class.

I don’t have to, I told myself. I don’t have to go back to campus at all, or back to my apartment, or anywhere. If I want, I can just keep walking.

It struck me then that I was walking north. If I kept on going north, I would eventually end up in Seattle ... the land of Holly and Jay.

Desire, rage and sorrow slammed into me.

But I kept on walking.

I’m not going to walk to Seattle, I told myself.

Actually, I’d thought seriously about flying there after I got Holly’s letter on Friday. Decided against it, though. If she wanted to dump me for some asshole she met at summer camp, far be it from me to interfere ... or to go pleading for her love like some sort of total loser. She could keep her Jay and I could keep my dignity. I got drunk.

There would be no visits to Seattle by me.

With any luck, I would never again set eyes on Holly Johnson.

I only wished I could take my mind off her. And that happened a few minutes later when a man and his dog came down the sidewalk toward me. The man, stout, swarthy and bearded, wore a dark turban. The dog on his leash looked like a Rottweiler.

A Rottweiler on one of those endless leashes that would allow him several minutes of mauling time while his owner tried to reel him in.

I almost crossed the street, but it would’ve been so obvious. The man might be offended or take me for a coward ... or even assume I’m some sort of anti-turban bigot. So I stayed on my side of the street.

As they approached, I smiled and nodded and politely stepped off the sidewalk to let them by.

The dog, well ahead of the man, came trotting over to me and began to sniff the crotch of my jeans.

One good chomp ...

The man at the other end of the leash seemed uninterested in his dog’s activities.

‘Nice doggie,’ I said in a soft voice.

Its muzzle nudged me. I took a step backward, and it growled.

The man finally came along. Keeping his head straight forward, he walked past us without even giving us a glance. After he’d gone by, his dog licked the fly of my jeans.

‘Get outa here,’ I muttered.

Though at least fifteen feet away, the man turned his head and glowered at me. ‘Speaking to my dog is not permitted.’

‘Sorry.’

He continued on his way, reeling in. The dog gave me one last prod with his muzzle, then wheeled around and went trotting after its master.

I scowled in their direction, but neither noticed.

I guess the fellow figured he owned the sidewalk and his dog owned my crotch.

‘Assholes,’ I muttered.

Neither of them noticed that, either. Which was maybe a good thing; the bastard might’ve sicced his dog on me ... or chased me with a scimitar. (If he had one on him, I couldn’t see it ... but no telling what he might’ve had hidden inside his flowing robe.)

Anyway, I resumed walking and kept a sharp eye out for dogs. Though none seemed to be coming, several times my passing triggered fits of wild barking from hounds behind fences or gates. They couldn’t get to me, but their mindless uproar announced my presence to everyone in the neighborhood. All I wanted to do was go by, silent and invisible, nobody even knowing I was there.

Soon, the barking grew less frequent. Maybe I was walking more quietly, or maybe I’d simply entered a neighborhood with fewer dogs. Whatever the reason, I began to feel more calm.

The night was very peaceful.

I saw a white cat scurry across the street and take shelter underneath a parked car. I heard a hooting owl. Sometimes, things were so quiet that I could hear the soft buzz of the streetlights.

As I stepped off a curb, a loud bring-bring-bringgg! made my throat catch. I leaped back just as a bike whished by.

I blurted, ‘Shit!’

‘Wheeee!’ squealed the bike’s rider - a skinny old woman in black spandex, wearing her ballcap backward.

A happenin’ crone.

Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled at me. I couldn’t see her face very well, but it was pale and thin and I got the impression she was missing most of her front teeth. For some reason, I got goosebumps. They stayed with me as she faced forward and pedaled off.

At the end of the block, she turned a corner. I was glad to have her out of sight, but I started to worry that she might be circling around for another pass at me.

Maybe I’d offended her. Maybe she wanted retribution. Maybe she planned to reach out on her next pass and touch me with a gnarled finger and whisper, ‘thinner,’ or ‘toad,’ or ‘rectum,’ or something.

I didn’t really think it would happen, but it sure did cross my mind.

So I did cross Division Street.

For a while, I walked slowly and kept looking back. I had a funny tickle in my chest that felt like a giggle or a scream might be crouched inside me, just waiting for the hag to come wheeling around the comer.

Finally, to play it safe and give myself a chance to calm down, I headed down a sidestreet. I walked two short blocks, then came to Franklin Street and resumed my journey northward.

She won’t find me over here, I thought.

For more than half an hour, not much happened. I just kept walking up Franklin. The houses seemed a little older here than those I’d passed on Division Street. Now and then, dogs barked. Fewer of the houses had lights on. Only one or two cars went by. I saw nobody out walking ... or riding bikes.

But then from the east a girl came walking.

She moved in from the right, some thirty feet ahead of me, following the sidewalk along the end of the block. She happened to be facing forward. I happened to be standing in the shadow of a tree.

I stopped and held my breath.

At the comer, she turned her back to me, stepped off the curb and started crossing the street.

Standing motionless, I watched her.

I didn’t begin to walk until she was about halfway up the next block. Then I moved out of the tree’s shadows, went to the corner and stepped off the curb.

Chapter Three

I wasn’t following her. I was simply continuing on my course toward Dandi Donuts.

Not following her.

If she’d gone a different way at the corner and I’d abandoned my previous route to pursue her, then I would have been following her. But that wasn’t the case. She had simply positioned herself ahead of me on the sidewalk I was already using.

She had every right to do so, and I had every right to proceed without changing my route.

That’s what I told myself when I started to follow her.

I walked at my normal pace for a while, closing the gap that separated us. Then I slowed down. I didn’t want to overtake her.

Overtaking a woman on a sidewalk, especially at night and when no one else is nearby, always makes me uncomfortable. As I come up behind one, she obviously worries she’s about to be robbed, raped or killed. Such women almost always cast a nervous glance back at me while I’m closing in. And then they stiffen as I hurry past them.

It’s not that I’m a monster, either. I look pleasant, cheerful and harmless. But I’m a guy. That’s apparently enough to make some women fear my approach.

To avoid tormenting them, I’ve learned not to overtake them on sidewalks. I cross the street or turn a corner to get off their tails, or I drastically slow my pace.

What usually happens, I cut my speed to a dawdle and sometimes stop entirely for short periods of time, hoping the woman will turn a comer, reach her destination, or otherwise get out of my way. When it becomes obvious that she’ll be continuing in front of me, I resign myself to passing her or I change my own course.

Being in no hurry to reach Dandi Donuts ... or anywhere else ... I saw no reason to cross the street or turn a comer.

Just don’t spook her, I told myself. Keep a nice, slow pace and a good distance between us.

She’ll never even know I’m here.

So far, the young woman in front of me seemed completely unaware of my presence. She just kept walking along with a bouncy, carefree stride, swinging her arms, turning her head to look this way and that (but never behind her). Her pale hair was in a ponytail that bobbed and swayed as she walked. She wore a dark sweatshirt, dark trousers and sneakers. She carried nothing at all, not even a purse. I thought this strange. Women almost never go anywhere without a purse.

Where is this one going? I wondered.

Maybe to Dandi Donuts?

That was too much to hope for. More than likely, she was on her way home from somewhere. I wondered if her parents knew she was out on the streets at such an hour.

Who says she lives with her parents?

For all I knew, she might’ve been in her mid-twenties, living on her own, even married.

But I doubted it.

Though I’d only seen her at a distance and never in very good light, I’d formed an impression that she was somewhat younger than me - perhaps sixteen to eighteen years old. If that was the case, she most likely lived at home with her parents.

I’d also formed an impression that she was extremely attractive.

In the glow of the streetlights, her face had looked as if it might be beautiful. Distance and poor lights can be misleading, though. Seen clearly, she might have flaws. Or she might be twice the age I suspected.

There was, however, more than enough light to reveal the fine shape of her body underneath her sweatshirt and trousers.

Not that I felt any desire for her. Thanks to Holly, women had lost their appeal for me.

I did, however, feel a certain connection to her. We were two strangers sharing the same route. We had that in common. She was walking past the same parked cars, same trees, same lawns, same houses as me ... seconds sooner, that’s all. She and I were seeing similar sights, hearing very much the same sounds, smelling and breathing nearly the same air, feeling the same concrete under our shoes. In all eternity and infinity, we were existing together in the same time and place ... almost.

I couldn’t help feeling connected to her.

Connected and protective.

She seemed much too young to be roaming the streets alone at such an hour of the night, so I intended to make sure she got home safely.

I now had two missions: pick up donuts for Eileen and guard my new companion.

I was her companion, though she didn’t know it.

I won’t let anything happen to you, I told her in my mind.

Suddenly, she stopped walking. As I halted, her head began turning to the left.

She’s going to look back!

Though standing in the brightness of a streetlight, I made no attempt to find cover; movement might catch her eye. Total stillness was my best defense.

Watching her, I didn’t dare breathe.

After a few moments, I realized her eyes were on a lean white cat sauntering in her direction from the other side of Franklin Street.

She turned toward the cat and I saw her in profile for the second time that night. Her outline ... her high ponytail, the tilt of her head, the shape of her face, her slender neck, her high breasts in front and her rear end pushing out at the seat of her trousers ... I don’t want to say she looked athletic because that suggests power. That would give the wrong impression. More than anything else, she seemed confident, springy and pert.

She squatted down. With her rear end a few inches above the sidewalk, she lowered her head and spoke to the cat. ‘Come here, kitty,’ I heard. A hand reached out past her right knee and beckoned to it.

The cat opened its mouth wide and let out a loud ‘Reeoww’ as if to say, ‘I see you. Hold your horses. I’m on my way.’ Full of disdain and coyness until it finally got to her hands.

Moments later, it seemed to slump and melt with pleasure. She spoke softly as she caressed it, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. She must’ve spent three or four minutes petting it. When she stood up to leave, the cat rubbed itself against her shins and calves, slithered between her legs, acted as if it wanted to wrap itself around her and stop her from going away.

Almost tripping on it, she let out a quiet laugh and leaped clear. The moment she began walking away, I ducked behind a nearby tree. I peered around its trunk and saw the cat prancing after her, tail high.

‘Rowww!’

She looked back at it and said, ‘Okay, but just for a minute.’

Then she turned all the way around, facing the cat and me.

I pulled back my head. Staring at the bark of the tree an inch in front of my nose, I waited.

‘Yes,’ I heard her say. ‘You’re a needy little fellow, aren’t you? Yes, you are.’

I couldn’t look at her. I could only listen. She had a wonderful, strange voice. There was nothing girlish about it. I would almost say it sounded masculine, but it was too smooth and lilting for that. It even had a hint of a purr in it as she talked to the cat.

‘Oh, yes, you like that, don’t you? Mmm, yes. That feels real good.’

When I risked a peek around the trunk, I found that she was squatting over the cat, reaching down between her spread knees to caress it with both hands. The cat was stretched out on its side.

‘Think you’ve had enough?’ she asked it. ‘No such thing as enough, is there?’ After giving it a final pat, she started to rise so I had to quit watching.

A few seconds passed. Then the girl said, ‘Bye-bye, kitty,’ in that rich, low voice of hers.

I stayed hidden, listening. No more sounds came from the direction of the girl or the cat. Finally, I dared to take another peek. The cat was still sprawled on the sidewalk, apparently too languid to move on. The girl had already crossed the next street.

She wasn’t looking back.

I left the shelter of my tree and hurried up the sidewalk. As I stepped over the cat, I heard the rumble of its purr. It raised its head and squawked at me as if annoyed by the intrusion.

I kept on walking.

When I glanced back, the cat was still there, stretched out long and slim on the pale concrete ... luxuriating in memories of the girl’s hands, more than likely, and hoping for her return.

By the time I reached the other side of the street, she was halfway up the next block. I quickened my pace, hoping to close the distance between us.

I felt as if my eyes were locked on her back.

But I must’ve glanced away for an instant. I’m not sure what distracted me.

When I looked forward again, the sidewalk ahead of me was empty.

My heart sickened.

Where’d she go?

My first thought was that she had been snatched away by an assailant. Just where I’d last seen her, the yard to the right was partly enclosed by thick hedges. He might’ve dragged her out of sight ... I started to run.

But what if she’d wandered into the yard for a reason of her own ... maybe to visit a stray dog or another cat?

I quit running.

Still moving too fast, I told myself, Slow down. I’m just a guy walking by.

Though I tried to walk slowly, my heart raced.

What if she’s down? What if some bastard’s raping her?

She’d be yelling, I thought.

Not if he knocked her out. Or killed her.

Aching to run, but holding back, I walked past the row of hedges. The house was dark, its front lawn shrouded by shadows. I kept walking, but slowly. Very slowly. Watching and listening.

Nobody seemed to be down on the ground.

I heard no sounds of struggle.

Did he take her behind the house?

On the dark porch, something moved.

Chapter Four

Looking straight forward, I walked on. I even took a few additional steps after passing the hedge at the border of the lawn. Then, crouching low, I crept back to the bushes. I peered around them and squinted toward the porch.

Several steps above the walkway leading to it, the porch was enclosed by a low wooden railing. Its roof sheltered it from most of the night’s vague light. Staring into that darkness, I wondered how I’d managed to notice any movement at all. Perhaps I’d only imagined it.

Then a thin, horizontal strip of grayness six or seven feet high appeared in the blackness of the porch. I didn’t know what it was. As it slowly thickened, however, I realized the gray strip was made of vague light from inside the house ... growing wider because the front door was being opened.

But opened with such slowness, such stealth, that it seemed to be some sort of forbidden act.

Chills tingled their way up my spine.

What’s going on?

When the area of grayness was wide enough, a black shape slipped through it. The shape seemed to have a ponytail.

A moment later, the grayness began to narrow. Then it was gone.

Suddenly, I smiled.

Of course!

The girl had been away from the house without her parents’ knowledge. She’d probably crept out after their bedtime, maybe for a tryst with a boyfriend, and I had just witnessed her return.

The little sneak!

I almost laughed. Not only was I giddy with relief, but impressed by her daring.

From my place beside the bush, I continued to watch her house. All the windows remained dark. This made sense. After sneaking in so smoothly, she would hardly start running around flicking on lights. No, she would make her way through the darkness.

She had probably taken off her shoes in the foyer. Carrying them in one hand, gliding her other hand along the banister, she’d silently climbed the stairs.

I knew the routine; I’d done it myself a few times during my teenaged years. I knew how she must be moving very slowly, fearful that a board might squeak underfoot. And I knew the excitement that she probably felt.

I also knew she might eventually turn on a light.

Upstairs, if she played it smart, she would sneak into her bedroom and take off her clothes in the darkness. Once you’ve made an undiscovered entry, your clothes are the only giveaway. Get them off, put on your pajamas or nightgown or whatever you wear at bedtime, and you’ve made it home free. You can turn on your bedroom light if you wish, go to the bathroom and turn on its light ... Even if you’re seen, nobody will know you’d been outside.

Waiting for a light to come on, I found myself staring at the third upstairs window from the comer.

Stupid.

This wasn’t Holly’s sorority house, it was the home of a stranger. Any of the windows might belong to the girl’s bedroom. Or none of them; her windows might face the rear of the house. Her room might even be downstairs, though that didn’t seem likely; in old, two-story houses, the bedrooms were nearly always upstairs.

Though several minutes went by, no light appeared in any of the windows.

She’d had plenty of time to reach her bedroom. She was probably in her room now, undressing in the dark. In my mind, it wasn’t complete darkness. A dim glow of moonlight entered through the window, illuminating her as she pulled off her dark sweatshirt.

But in which room? I wondered. Behind which window?

I suddenly realized that her bedroom was most likely one with windows directly over the porch. Three windows overlooked its roof. A simple matter to climb out any of them, walk to the edge of the porch roof, then slip down a support post to the railing and hop to the ground.

Was that how the girl had escaped from her house earlier that night?

I gazed at the windows above the porch. A couple of them - maybe all three - were likely to be the windows of her bedroom. She was probably standing just beyond one of them ... near enough to take advantage of the faint light coming in.

But I couldn’t see her.

Each window looked like a mirror reflecting black night and moonlight. Only a person standing on the porch roof, face pressed to the glass, would be able to see in.

I pictured myself up there.

It excited and appalled me.

You’ve gotta be kidding.

Then I suddenly realized I’d been squatting by the hedge, gazing at the house for a long time ... five minutes? Ten? What if someone had noticed me lurking there and called the cops?

I want to report a prowler.

A Peeping Tom.

Scared, I scooted around to the other side of the bushes, got to my feet and walked away. I walked fast. At any moment, a neighbor might shout at me or confront me with a weapon. Or a squad car might swing around one of the comers and roar down the street to hunt me down.

I ached to break into a run and put some real distance between me and the girl’s house.

If I’d been dressed like a fellow out for a jog, I might’ve tried running. But I was in my chamois shirt and jeans. Such clothes would draw suspicion from anyone seeing me race through the night. So I held back. I even slowed the pace of my walking and tried very hard to look carefree.

I actually pursed my lips and prepared to whistle a tune, but good sense put a stop to that.

I walked in silence, my heart hammering, my mouth parched, my body spilling sweat from every pore.

Nobody shouted. Nobody chased me. No cars came toward me from either direction.

At last, I reached the end of the block. I crossed to the other side of Franklin and continued westward on the sidestreet until I found my way back to Division. Vastly relieved by my escape, I walked two or three blocks north on Division before I even remembered about the bike hag.

A chill scampered up my hot, sweaty back and raised goosebumps on the nape of my neck.

I whirled around and looked behind me.

No sign of her. Of course not.

Continuing on my way, I felt a little silly for letting her scare me at all.

But I was glad she had scared me. I’d detoured over to Franklin Street for no other reason than to get away from her. If I hadn’t done that, the girl and I would have passed each other in the night, two blocks apart, never converging.

For a while, I toyed with the idea that I’d been meant to flee from the bike hag and find the girl. (I often think strange thoughts in the dead of night.) Forces of good or evil had perhaps given the hag a mission: scare the hell out of Ed Logan so he’ll run over to Franklin Street ...

Not likely.

But I’d been afraid she might reach out as she pedaled by, touch me with a crooked finger and mark me with a curse. So I’d fled. And maybe in fleeing from a harmless, somewhat daffy old crone, I’d run into the sort of curse I’d never expected.

Curse or blessing.

As I walked up Division Street on my way to Dandi Donuts, I felt cursed and blessed ... and bewitched. Not by the bike hag, but by a certain mysterious girl who’d shared the sidewalk and some of her secret life with me, watching unseen in the night.

Chapter Five

Still more than a block away from Dandi Donuts, I could see the hazy glow from its picture windows hovering over the sidewalk.

The houses had already been left behind. Businesses lined both sides of the street: a deli, a barber shop, a gas station, an Italian restaurant called Louie’s, a flower shop, a thrift shop. All were shut for the night. Most were dark inside, but some were dimly lighted.

The display window of the thrift shop, for instance. There, gloomy lights illuminated a pair of sorry mannequins with fading, chipped paint on their faces. They stood frozen in odd stances, looking cheerful for no good reason.

A slender, debonair man in a dusty top hat and tails wanted to look like Clark Gable but one side of his mustache was gone. His lady friend, her red wig slightly askew, wore a red-sequined dress like a ‘flapper’ from the Roaring Twenties. The original owner of the gown was probably as gone as the missing half of Clark’s mustache.

A fairly regular patron of Dandi Donuts, I’d noticed the thrift-shop window early during my first year at the university. In the beginning, I’d been amused by the battered mannequins and their outdated costumes. I’d also enjoyed looking at other items displayed in the window: old tableware, vases, phonograph records, and even a few framed paintings. But then, on my way to Dandi Donuts alone one night, I’d paused at the window longer than usual. That’s when I realized that the mannequins, clothes, and just about everything else displayed behind the window were relics of the dead.

They made me uneasy and depressed.

The next time I went to Dandi Donuts, I walked on the other side of the street and didn’t look at the thrift-shop window as I passed by. But I still knew it was there.

After that, I stayed away from the donut shop. I pretty much intended to avoid it forever, but on a warm night in the late spring of last year, Holly and I were out walking. I knew that we’d walked a very long distance, but I’d been paying attention to Holly, not to our location. We were holding hands. Suddenly, she stopped. I stopped, too. In front of the thrift shop’s window.

‘Oh, wow,’ she’d said. ‘Look at this stuff.’

I looked. Having Holly at my side, however, I felt untouched by the gloom. ‘Clark Gable,’ I said.

‘Looks like half his mustache is gone with the wind!’

I laughed.

‘Is this supposed to be Scarlet?’ she asked.

‘More likely Zelda, I think.’

‘But she’s got to be Scarlet. The red hair.’

‘Well, maybe.’

‘If you want her to be Zelda...’

‘No, that’s all right.’

‘He put her in his books, didn’t he?’

‘I guess so. I guess she’s in Tender is the Night. But he didn’t call her Zelda.’

Holly turned to me and put her arms around me the way she often did, not hugging me exactly but holding herself just slightly against me so I could feel her breasts as she tilted back her head and stared up into my eyes. ‘Will you put me in a book someday?’ she asked.

‘Sure I will.’ It always embarrassed and thrilled me when she spoke of my being a writer - as if she actually believed it could happen.

‘But use my real name, okay? Holly would be a good name for my character, don’t you think?’

I nodded. I couldn’t actually imagine her with any name other than Holly.

‘When you’re big and famous,’ she said, ‘I’ll show the book to my kids and tell them how I knew you back in the early days.’

‘You mean our kids?’ I knew she hadn’t meant our kids, but I’d felt compelled to ask, anyway.

Soft eyes looking up at me, her face solemn, she said, ‘You deserve someone better than me.’

‘What?’ I’d heard her just fine.

‘You’ll find someone else, someone prettier than I am, and smarter ...’

‘I don’t want anyone else.’

‘You only think you don’t.’

‘I love you, Holly.’

‘You love your idea of me.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Maybe I’m not who you think I am.’

‘Then who are you?’

Smiling gently, she rubbed herself against me and said, “‘I’m nobody, who are you?”’ Throwing Emily Dickinson at me.

‘You’re not nobody. You’re Holly Johnson and I love everything about you.’

‘Just remember my name, darling, when it comes time to put me in that book.’

I had a tightness in my throat, but I managed to say, ‘I’ll never forget your name. But if you go away and leave me, how will I know where to send a copy?’

‘I won’t leave you. You’ll leave me. But don’t worry about sending me a copy. I’ll read all your books. I’ll be your biggest fan.’

Then we’d kissed, standing in front of the thrift-shop window with Rhett and Scarlet (or Zelda) staring out at us. I’d felt broken inside. But afterwards we’d gone on into the donut shop and Holly acted as if nothing horrible had happened. After the donuts, we went to a large wooded park and made love under the trees and everything seemed sweeter, more urgent and intense than ever before.

I remembered all that as I stood in front of the window, staring in at the dummies for the first time after being dumped by Holly.

I’ll never leave you, she’d said. You’ll leave me.

Yeah, right.

Bitch, I thought

And then I thought worse.

The tattered mannequins smiled out at me through the glass. They looked exactly the same as they’d looked the night I stood out here with Holly. For them, nothing had changed. Lucky them.

I never should’ve come out here, I thought. North had been a big mistake.

But then, any direction would’ve been a mistake of nearly the same magnitude. There was almost no place to go where I hadn’t been with Holly when we were in love. One place, I supposed, was just as bad as any other.

And north, at least, had the advantage of donuts.

As I walked through the hazy glow of light from Dandi Donuts, I glanced inside. Someone at the counter was making a purchase. The display racks had a meager selection, but I spotted several old-fashioneds. Some were chocolate covered. As for the others, I couldn’t be sure whether they were plain or glazed. I pushed open the door and stepped into the warm, sweet aromas I knew so well.

The clerk - someone new since last year - was busy giving change to a customer.

I walked up to the counter and bent over.

Three of the old-fashioneds were glazed. They looked crusty and mouthwatering. I decided to buy all three, save two for Eileen and eat one here myself while I enjoyed a hot cup of coffee.

A long walk like this, I deserved two donuts.

What should the second one be? A chocolate-covered old-fashioned? Maybe a maple bar? Or one of those fat, sugar-sprinkled donuts that was loaded with jelly?

So many possibilities.

Most of them looked luscious.

From behind me came a familiar voice. ‘Hey, Eddie. Fancy meeting you here.’

Chapter Six

I straightened up, turned around, and spotted Eileen waving at me from a comer table. She was alone. In front of her was a white Styrofoam coffee cup and a napkin with about half a donut sitting on it.

She’d come!

Smiling and shaking my head, I walked toward her.

‘Go ahead and get something,’ she said. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘I was supposed to bring you some donuts,’ I said.

‘I decided to bring myself to them.’

‘So ... you want to cancel your order?’

‘Guess so. I’ve already got one and a half inside me.’

‘Can I get you anything?’

She shook her head. ‘Just go ahead and buy what you want for yourself.’

So I returned to the counter. I bought a coffee and two glazed old-fashioneds, paid for them, and carried them toward Eileen’s table.

She looked very fresh and pretty sitting there and watching me. Her dark-brown hair flowed down and draped the tops of her shoulders. Since I’d last seen her, she had changed out of her sweater and pleated skirt. She now wore blue jeans and a bright plaid chamois shirt. Below her throat was a wedge of bare skin. Her shirt wasn’t buttoned until almost halfway down. Slightly crooked, it was open wide enough to show an edge of her black bra.

As I sat down across from her, she said, ‘I changed my mind about being a nuisance.’

‘You’re not a nuisance.’

‘You wanted to be alone.’

‘That’s all right. I’m glad you’re here.’ It wasn’t quite a lie.

She beamed. ‘Really?’

‘Sure.’

‘I just ... it’s an awfully long hike out here, you know? So I figured, well, I’d give you a good headstart then drive on out and at least offer you a ride home. I mean, in case seven miles was enough for one night.’

‘How long did you wait?’ I asked.

‘Before leaving the house?’ She shrugged. ‘About an hour and a half. I set the alarm and took a little nap. Thought maybe I’d pass you along the way. Then I didn’t, so I figured you must’ve gotten here ahead of me. Only that sure didn’t happen. Not that it matters. I didn’t mind waiting.’

‘I took sort of an indirect route.’

‘So I gathered.’

She didn’t look as if she minded. She just seemed glad that I was with her now.

‘You sure went to a lot of trouble,’ I said.

‘Nah. It was nothing.’

‘It was a lot.’

‘Well ... That’s okay. I’ll be fine for my ten o’clock. What about you?’

‘Nothing till one.’

‘Oh, aren’t you the lucky one?’

I smiled at that and tried one of the donuts. My teeth crunched through its crust and sank into soft, moist cake inside. The sweetness seemed to flood my mouth.

‘What do you have at one?’ Eileen asked.

I swallowed some donut. ‘Shakespeare seminar.’

‘Ah. With Horrible Hillary Hatchens.’

I laughed. ‘Oh, yeah.’

‘I had her last year. Yug.’

Eileen, by the way, was a year older than me. A year older than Holly, too. She’d been Holly’s roommate at the sorority house last year. Now she was a senior and, like me, an English major.

Holly had been a psych major. That should come as no surprise. As everybody knows, the field of pyschology mostly attracts people who are fucked up.

‘In case you haven’t noticed,’ Eileen said, ‘Hatchens hates guys.’

‘I’ve noticed, all right.’

‘Must’ve gotten dumped bigtime somewhere along the line.’

‘I can’t imagine anyone not dumping her,’ I said.

‘She’s pretty cute, though, don’t you think?’

‘I guess so. Cute but scary.’

Nodding and grinning, Eileen said, ‘It’s hard to imagine any guy having the nerve to ask her out in the first place. She likes me and I’m scared of her.’

I sipped coffee, ate some more donut and nodded now and then as Eileen continued.

‘Anyway, I took pretty good notes last year. I also have copies of all her exams. You’re welcome to borrow them. I’d let you use my term paper, too, but she’d probably catch on. She’s a bitch, but she’s not stupid.’ Grinning, Eileen added, ‘Though I’m sure she’s not as smart as she thinks she is. I mean, how could she be? Nobody’s that smart.’

With that, she had me laughing. It felt good.

But even as I laughed at her attack on Dr Hatchens, I wondered what was going on with Eileen. Had she come all the way out here in the middle of the night simply to cheer me up? Or was she trying to start something?

Last year, she’d seemed like an older sister to Holly. (Indeed, she was Holly’s sorority sister.) She’d always treated me very well, but only because she considered me to be a good boyfriend/lover for Holly.

That’s what I’d thought, anyway.

Maybe I’d had it wrong.

Or maybe that’s how it had been last year. Now, however, Holly was out of the picture. Maybe Eileen had hopes of stepping in to take her place.

Hard to imagine why she would want to. I wasn’t exactly a prize. She was much too pretty to be interested in a guy like me.

After giving me a little while to work on my coffee and donuts, Eileen said, ‘So how did your walk go?’

‘Not bad. It was nice to get out of my apartment. And I think it helped take my mind off ...’ I couldn’t force myself to speak the name.

‘La belle dame sans merci?’ Eileen suggested.

‘I guess you could call her that. I’d probably call her something else. Short with four letters.’

Eileen laughed a bit sadly.

‘Sod her,’ I said.

‘Keeping it literary.’

‘Right. Sod her and the steed she rode in on.’

Eileen laughed a bit more, then shook her head. ‘It’s so awful. I’m so sorry.’

‘That’s the way it goes.’

‘Don’t I know it.’

I nodded. I knew that she knew it. My freshman year at Willmington, I’d seen Eileen around campus quite a lot. I’d known who she was, that she was an English major a year ahead of me, and that she was supposedly engaged to her high-school sweetheart. Her fiancé wasn’t on campus, though. He was attending the University of California at Berkeley ... about a two-day drive from Willmington. At some point before Holly and I started going together last spring, the guy dumped Eileen. After that, she went around with a lot of guys, but none for very long.

‘Maybe we’re both better off,’ she said.

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s just too bad these things always have to end so badly.’

‘I’m not sure anything doesn’t,’ I said.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ A smile drifted across her face. ‘I was always very glad to see the end of the Shakespeare seminar. I mean, I love Shakespeare, but Horrible Hillary Hatchens ...’

‘That’s a little different.’

‘I know. You meant good things. Relationships and stuff.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve heard of people staying friends afterwards.’

‘I think that’s a crock,’ I said. ‘How can they stay friends? If they love each other and one of them stabs the other in the back ... I don’t think so. The stabber might want to stay friends, but not the stabbee.’

Eileen laughed softly. ‘Being a stabbee myself, I guess I’d have to agree with you. I pretty much just hate Warren. But I don’t like feeling that way. I wish it were different. And I hate to think that you might end up hating Holly.’

‘Yeah, well.’

I went ahead and ate my last donut. I didn’t enjoy it much, though.

Just like I didn’t much enjoy talking about Holly and busted relationships.

As I polished off my coffee, Eileen said, ‘So, what’s the verdict? Do you want to ride back with me? Or would you rather hike those seven long, lonely miles back to your apartment?’

The question didn’t exactly take me by surprise.

Until encountering Eileen in Dandi Donuts, I’d expected to walk back ... with a detour over to Franklin Street for another look at the house of the mystery girl.

I’d wanted very much to take another look at her house. With the possibility, I guess, of seeing her again.

I wanted badly to see her again.

But I couldn’t refuse Eileen. Her offer to drive me home was an unwanted gift, but I didn’t have the heart to turn it down.

‘I’d rather ride back with you,’ I said.

The look on her face made me glad I’d accepted.

We got up to leave. ‘Want any donuts for the road?’ I asked.

‘No no no. I’ll turn into a tub.’

Outside, we walked around the comer. Nobody else was around. The air had the strange damp smell that it only seemed to get in the hours after midnight. I heard a shopping cart, but it sounded far away.

Eileen’s car was parked off Division Street. That’s why I hadn’t seen it during my approach to the donut shop.

She’d left it unlocked.

We put on our seatbelts and she started the car. As she pulled away from the curb, I said, ‘This sure beats walking.’

‘Glad to be of service, sir.’

It’s for the best, I told myself. Going back for another look at the girl’s house would’ve been a very bad idea.

Do yourself a favor and forget about her.

Eileen drove around the block, returned to Division, and turned left.

‘Is this the way you came?’ she asked.

‘I went on over to Franklin. Too many people walking dogs and stuff along here.’

‘Maybe that’s why it took you so long.’

‘Oh, I took a lot of detours.’

‘See any interesting sights?’

‘Not really. Just a lot of dark houses.’

‘It’s strange to be out this time of night,’ Eileen said. ‘Everything’s so quiet and still. It’s almost as if we’re the only people on the face of the earth.’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

And then I saw someone striding along the sidewalk on the right side of the street. A girl in a dark sweatshirt and trousers. She moved with a brisk and bouncy stride, arms swinging, ponytail bobbing and swaying behind her head.

My mystery girl.

She’s out?

She was out, all right.

As we drove by her, I turned my head to see her from the front.

‘What is it?’ Eileen asked.

I faced forward nonchalantly and said, ‘Just someone walking by.’

‘Maybe another donut hound,’ Eileen said.

‘Maybe so.’

Chapter Seven

‘You’re still in the place on Church Steet?’ she asked.

‘Yep.’

Last year, Eileen had been there fairly often for one reason or another ... always involving Holly. She often dropped Holly off or picked her up at my place. Sometimes, she came over for small get-togethers of one sort or another.

Eileen and I had even been alone with each other in my apartment now and then. It might be just the three of us, for instance, and Holly would disappear into the bathroom or run off on an errand. Nothing had ever happened while Holly was gone. If Eileen felt any attraction for me, she’d kept it to herself.

And though she was very beautiful and I liked her as a person, I’d never felt any desire for her. My primary desire in regard to Eileen had been for her to leave so Holly and I could start fooling around.

‘Are you in the same rooms and everything?’ Eileen asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Doesn’t it bother you?

‘Doesn’t what?’

‘There must be a lot of memories.’

‘I guess.’

Guess? The final weeks of school last year, Holly had almost lived there. Now, every corner of every room, every piece of furniture, gave me sweet, sad memories of her. Though alive somewhere else (in Jay’s bed?), she haunted my apartment.

‘She was planning to move in this semester,’ I said.

‘I know. Have you thought about finding yourself a different place?’

‘It’d be a lot of trouble. Anyway, it’s no big deal.’

‘All those reminders ...’

‘Yeah, well. Life goes on.’

I can be full of clichés when I’ve got nothing to say.

That pretty much killed the conversation until we reached Church Street. The road had several churches on it. One of them was next door to the old, two-story brick apartment house where I lived.

‘That’d be enough to make me move out,’ Eileen said.

‘It doesn’t bother me much.’

‘I know. But it creeps me out.’

‘Maybe because you’re a heathen.’

She laughed. ‘Maybe because I’m not.’ She stopped at the curb in front of my building. Hand on the ignition key, she asked, ‘Mind if I come up for a minute?’

‘I... uh...’ Before I could decide where to go from there, Eileen spoke again.

‘I really need to use your bathroom. I’m sorry. I should’ve gone at the donut shop, I guess, but...’

‘No, that’s all right. Come on up.’

‘Thanks.’ She killed the headlights, shut off the engine and plucked out her ignition key. ‘I’ll make it quick,’ she said. ‘I promise.’

‘No problem,’ I said.

We hurried to the front door of the apartment building. I unlocked it and let us in. Then I eased the door shut. The interior was silent and smelled of stale cigarette smoke.

We stepped through the vestibule, turned to the right and walked softly, speaking not a word as we approached the landlords’ door.

Usually, it stood open.

The landlords, Mr and Mrs Fisher, would be inside with their television on. But they only pretended to be watching it. They were actually watching the corridor outside their door, which led to the only stairway. They seemed to have an abiding curiosity about the comings and goings of their tenants. I knew they would love to catch me going by with Eileen at this hour.

But this hour was apparently too late for them. Their door was shut. As we crept past it, I couldn’t even hear their television.

I half expected their door to fly open as we started to climb the stairs, but it didn’t. Finally, we reached the landing, made the turn and resumed climbing.

‘Safe,’ I whispered.

Eileen grinned.

Even though we didn’t have much to fear from the Fishers anymore, the late hour and the silence of the building made me reluctant to speak. Quietly, we reached the top of the stairs and followed the hallway to the door of my rooms. As I eased my key into the lock, I felt Eileen standing close behind me, not quite touching me.

She followed me in.

A couple of lamps were on. I’d left them that way before embarking on my walk.

I shut the door. Eileen put a hand on my shoulder and whispered, ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

‘You don’t need to whisper anymore.’

‘Okay,’ she said, a trifle more loudly.

Then she took her hand off my shoulder and hurried away. The bathroom was located off a narrow hall on the way to my bedroom. She vanished into the hall. A couple of seconds later, the door bumped shut.

While I waited for her, I took a quick look around. I hadn’t expected company. The living room was cluttered with books and magazines, notebooks and pens and so on. It wasn’t filthy, though. I’ve got no problem with clutter, but I like to keep things reasonably clean. For the quarters of a lone male student who’d spent the past weekend wallowing in despair, things didn’t look too bad.

I could hear Eileen peeing.

She hadn’t lied about needing to go.

I went over to the coffee table, found the remote, and turned my TV on.

A condom commercial. ‘... puts the pleasure back into safety.’

I changed channels. An ancient black-and-white movie showed Lon Chaney Jr running through a forest. Prom his scared and guilty look, I figured this must be The Wolfman.

The toilet flushed.

I put down the remote and stared at poor, doomed Lawrence Talbot.

‘Anything good on?’ Eileen asked as she came into the living room.

‘All the good stuff’s on now - in the dead waste and middle of the night ...’

‘When churchyards yawn,’ she added. Then she yawned, herself.

I yawned, too.

They’re contagious.

‘Well,’ she said. ‘I’d better get going. Thanks for the use of your facilities.’

‘Thanks for the ride.’

‘My pleasure.’ She reached the door ahead of me. Instead of opening it, however, she leaned her back against it, put out one of her hands and caressed my face. ‘Are you going to be all right?’

‘Sure.’

‘Are you sure?’

I shrugged.

‘I’m not so sure,’ she said. She took her hand away from my face, but kept on gazing into my eyes. She looked very intense and solemn. ‘That’s why I drove out there. You seemed so ... I don’t know, lost.’

‘Good word for it.’

‘I want you to be all right, Ed.’

I muttered, ‘Thanks.’

“Cause I know what it’s like.’

‘Yeah.’

‘To lose someone you love.’

I nodded.

‘It’s hard. It feels like the end of the world.’

‘Sort of.’

‘But it isn’t. It isn’t the end of the world. You go on. Even though you hurt, you go on. And good stuff does happen to you again. You still have the hurt, but there’s also the good stuff. And sometimes you even forget about the hurt.’

‘If you say so,’ I said.

‘I do. And I mean it.’

And then she glided forward away from the door and put her arms around me and kissed me. Her mouth tasted of lipstick and coffee and donuts. Her hands moved up and down my back. I felt her breasts pushing against me through our clothes. Then her hands went under the back of my shirt, so I put my hands under the back of her shirt. Her skin was warm and smooth all the way up from her waist to her shoulders.

What happened to her bra?

She must’ve taken it off in the bathroom.

She plotted this!

I wondered vaguely how much she’d plotted and how much had been spontaneous. I vaguely resented being tricked and manipulated. I vaguely knew I should stop this nonsense and politely ask her to leave.

But the smooth soft bareness of her back indicated a bare front.

She wouldn’t have taken off her bra unless she wanted me to go there. So I did. Soon, my hands were savoring the heft and smoothness of her breasts. She had bigger ones than Holly. When I fingered their nipples, she moaned into my mouth and writhed.

Then she unbuckled my belt. She unbuttoned my jeans and lowered my zipper and slipped her hand inside my underwear. Her fingers wrapped around me, smooth and cool.

Following her lead, I opened her jeans.

She had no underwear on.

I must’ve hesitated too long.

‘Touch me,’ she whispered.

So I put my hand inside the front of her jeans. The denim was damp against the backs of my fingers.

‘In,’ she whispered.

I did. She was all wet and slippery around my fingers.

Next thing you know, I was on my back on the living room carpet. We were both naked and Eileen was hunched over me, knees on the floor by my hips, hands clutching my shoulders, breasts swinging, head thrown back as she slid herself up and down on me, up and down.

We were still on the floor. Eileen was lying on top of me. We were sweaty and out of breath. I gently caressed her back.

She raised her head and looked me in the eyes. ‘Told you there’d be good things.’

‘Guess you were right.’

‘Not the end of the world?’ she asked.

‘Nope.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

Then she got off me, picked up her clothes and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. When she returned a few minutes later, she was dressed. She had brushed her hair. Her face was still flushed and she had a sort of happy, dazed look in her eyes.

I’d gotten up and put my jeans on.

We met at the door.

‘I’m gonna be a wreck tomorrow,’ she said.

‘You and me both.’

She put her arms around me and gave me a quick kiss. ‘Gotta go.’

I nodded. ‘See ya.’

‘Tomorrow, okay?’

‘Sure.’

I opened the door for her and watched her walk light-footed and bouncy through the dim, silent hallway. She swung her arms. Her hair danced and swayed. Her jauntiness reminded me of the mystery girl. At the top of the stairs, she turned and waved.

I waved back. Then I listened for a while to make sure nobody intercepted her.

When I heard the front door of the building latch shut, I realized that I should’ve walked her down and out to her car.

She’ll be all right, I thought.

Worried, though, I hurried through my apartment to a window in my kitchen that had a view of the street. From there, I watched Eileen climb into her car and drive away.

I just stood there staring down at the empty street for a long time after she was gone.

Trying to make sense out of what had happened.

But mostly feeling empty and pleased with myself and astonished by Eileen, and more than a little bit worried about where it would lead.

Chapter Eight

I woke up in bed with my room full of daylight. The other half of my bed was empty where Holly should’ve been. I pictured her lying there asleep, curled on her side, loops of russet hair dangling across her face. On mornings before she woke up, her face always seemed soft and very young so that she looked like a sleeping child.

A feeling of sadness and longing came over me.

I wondered if there might be a way to get Holly back.

It didn’t seem likely. But even if she gave up her Jay and returned to me, it wouldn’t be the same. She was different, now. Or maybe she was the same as she had always been, but now she had shown her true self.

Her true, horrid self.

The only good way to have Holly in my life from now on would be to remember how it had been before the summer came. When she was asleep in the bed beside me, for instance.

The telephone rang.

With a groan, I turned over. The alarm clock on my nightstand showed 11:48.

It was set to go off at noon.

As the phone kept ringing, I climbed out of bed and hurried into the living room. I was naked. But the sunlit rooms were warm, the curtains were shut and nobody was here to be shocked so I didn’t bother to put anything on.

On my way to the phone, I stepped where I’d been down on the carpet last night with Eileen on top of me. I suddenly had a pretty good idea who was calling.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Eddie.’ I wasn’t wrong. ‘Are you up and at ’em yet?’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘I didn’t want you to oversleep and miss your one o’clock. Horrible Hatchens would be devastated.’

I almost smiled. ‘Oh, yeah, she’d miss me.’

‘It’s almost noon.’

‘Getting there. I’d better put it in gear.’

Silence.

Here it comes.

‘So,’ she finally said. ‘How are you this morning?’

‘Not too bad, I guess. How about you?’

She hesitated, then said, ‘Pretty good.’

Another silence.

After a while, Eileen said, ‘So ... do you want to get together later on?’

I tried to put some enthusiasm in my voice. ‘Sure. That’s a good idea.’

‘Maybe we could go somewhere and get a burger or something.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘Why don’t we meet at your place? I think it might look a little funny if you came over to the sorority ... like I’m trying to take Holly’s place, or something.’

And of course you’re not.

‘I mean, everyone knows everything about you two over here.’

‘Ah. Yeah.’

‘So it might be better if you and I keep things to ourselves for a little while. Don’t you think?’

‘Good idea,’ I said.

‘So why don’t I come by your place at around five or six? Maybe we can drive somewhere far enough away so everyone won’t know our business.’

Somewhere far away ...

Suddenly, I was interested.

‘There’s an Italian place over by Dandi Donuts,’ I said. ‘How about there?’

‘Great. So I’ll pick you up around five and we’ll drive out.’

‘Sure.’

‘Okay, great. I’ll see you then.’

‘Great.’

‘Now don’t be late for class.’

‘Thanks for the wake-up call.’

‘Bye-bye, Eddie.’

‘So long.’

I hung up and headed for the bathroom. I used the toilet, then took a shower. In the shower, I tried to figure things out.

Mainly, what’ll I do about Eileen?

I liked her and I really liked what we’d done in my living room last night. In fact, I started to get hard just thinking about it.

But I didn’t love her. I didn’t want her moving in with me. I didn’t want to marry her. I didn’t want her to bear my children ...

What if she’s already pregnant?

Nah, I thought. We only did it once.

Once can be enough.

I hadn’t used a condom. Had she used anything?

Sweet, sensitive Holly’s idea of birth control had consisted of good timing, pulling out, and luck ... apparently she didn’t want to dignify her lust by admitting it to a doctor or pharmacist. She wouldn’t let me use condoms, either. According to Holly, she wanted to feel me inside her. That suited me fine, since I hated condoms, too. As a result, though, we’d had a couple of good scares when her period didn’t show up on time.

Sharing such scares with Holly had brought us closer ... or so I’d felt.

But I didn’t want that sort of closeness with Eileen.

I’ve gotta get out of this, I thought.

Sure, but how?

I gave it all sorts of thought as I finished my shower, dried off, had myself a cup of instant coffee and a chocolate pop tart, then brushed my teeth, got dressed, gathered my books and headed for campus.

Some stuff just isn’t simple.

Maybe she isn’t after any sort of commitment, I kept telling myself. She knows how much I loved Holly. She must know I don’t love her. Maybe she only did that last night to cheer me up.

Yeah, right.

I should be so lucky.

I never am.

By the time I entered Dexter Hall, generally called the English Building, I’d decided that honesty is always the best policy. I would simply have to confront Eileen and tell her my true feelings.

‘I’m afraid I don’t love you, Eileen. I wish that I could, but ... I don’t think I’m capable of love anymore ... not after Holly.’

The words felt true to me.

But they sounded in my head like a crock of shit

There’s no good way out of this, buddy.

Entering the seminar room, I smiled at Dr Hatchens. She smiled back at me. It was one of those snide smiles. ‘I’m glad you were finally able to join us, Mr Logan.’

I was two minutes late.

‘I’m sorry, Dr Hatchens.’

‘And so are we all,’ she said.

And I thought, Things could always be worse. At least I didn’t get maneuvered last night into fucking Horrible Hillary Hatchens.

I had a hard time paying attention. Focusing on Othello isn’t so easy when you’ve got wench troubles of your own.

Dr Hatchens knew I was in trouble, too.

‘Would you like to contribute an opinion, Mr Logan?’

‘He loved not wisely but too well.’

I managed a feeble smile. Some of the other English majors laughed, but Dr Hatchens wasn’t amused. ‘It might behoove you to pay attention in the future.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘We know.’

Shit.

Chapter Nine

While I waited for five o’clock, my stomach hurt. Not from hunger, though. From nerves.

I’d decided to break it off.

Not even go to the restaurant with Eileen. Just tell her quickly, as gently as possible, and get it over with.

I’d been ready for her ever since about four. From then on, I couldn’t study, couldn’t focus on anything except our approaching confrontation.

I practiced speeches in my head.

They all seemed amazingly lame.

Just tell her the truth, I thought. She’ll understand.

She’ll understand, all right.

In my mind, I could see the pain in her eyes. The tears. She said, ‘But Eddie, I love you. I thought you loved me, too.’

Or, ‘Isn’t it a little late to be telling me this?’

Or, ‘Fuck me and dump me, is that it?’

Or, ‘Go to hell. You’re a lousy lay, anyhow.’

I imagined her saying plenty of other things, too ... none of them pleasant.

Sometimes, I imagined trying to comfort her. Other times, I lost my temper. ‘You seduced me last night. You plotted the whole thing. Now that Holly’s out of the way, you made the big play to get me for yourself. I lost my head and gave in. Which is what you counted on. But it isn’t going any further. It’s over. It’s finished. I don’t WANT you.’

Thinking that sort of thing, I cringed.

Five o’clock came and went.

I continued to stew.

Terrific. Now she’s late. She doesn’t even think enough of me to show up on time. This’ll make it a lot easier.

At ten after, the buzzer rang and my stomach jumped. Heart hammering, I walked to the intercom. My legs felt weak. I seemed to be trembling all over. I pushed the button and said into the speaker, ‘Yes?’

‘It’s me.’

‘Okay, I’ll buzz you in.’ I pushed the button to unlock the building’s front door. Then I opened the door of my apartment and waited for Eileen.

I heard a quiet ‘Hi’ from her, probably addressed to the Fishers as she walked past their open door. Then her footsteps were hurrying up the stairway. She appeared at the top of the stairs, gave me a smile and came striding toward me.

She wore a white blouse with the sleeves rolled up her forearms, a short tartan kilt that swished around her thighs, green knee socks and loafers.

‘Missed you,’ she said and stepped into my arms. She hugged me very hard at first, squeezing me against herself. Then she relaxed her hold and kissed me gently on the mouth.

‘I’m really sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t get my car started.’

‘That’s all right.’

‘I guess we’ll have to change our dinner plans. Unless you want to walk out to the restaurant.’

‘How did you get here?’

‘Walked. That’s why I’m a little late.’

‘Oh.’

‘I got an early start or I would’ve been really late.’

‘What’s the matter with your car?’

‘Dead battery, I guess.’ She gave me a grimace that was so exaggerated that I had to smile. ‘I left my headlights on overnight.’

‘How’d you manage that?’

‘I had a lot on my mind.’ She laughed softly and kissed me again. ‘Anyway, we can walk out to that restaurant if you want to. Might be fun.’

‘Seven miles,’ I reminded her.

‘Mmm. Maybe not so fun. A total of fourteen, right?’

‘We could go someplace closer,’ I said.

‘What if we call out for pizza?’

Memories came pounding in. Many times, I’d phoned for a pizza delivery for Holly and me so we wouldn’t need to go anywhere, just stay together, all by ourselves in my apartment.

We’d done it sometimes when Eileen was here, too.

‘I guess we could do that,’ I told her.

We decided on a large pepperoni pizza, and I made the call. ‘It’ll be half an hour,’ I told her.

‘I’ve got an idea. You wait here. I’ll run out and pick up a bottle of wine. We’ll make a party of it.’

‘I’m under age.’

‘Oh, I know. You poor, dear thing.’ Smiling, she patted my cheek. ‘That’s what I’m for. I’ll be back in a jiff.’

So off she went.

I found my wallet and took out enough money for the pizza and a tip. Then I sank onto the sofa and stared into space.

I can’t just dump her, I thought. The least I can do is wait till after we’ve eaten. No point in ruining that. We’ll have the pizza and drink some wine. It’ll be easier afterward.

Soon, Eileen arrived with a bottle of Merlot and the pizza. ‘We both got here at the same time,’ she explained.

I tried to give her the money. She shook her head. ‘It’s on me.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Hey, this was all my idea. It’s my treat.’

‘No, come on. Take it.’

‘You can pay next time.’

As if there would be a next time.

‘Well,’ I muttered. ‘Okay.’

I opened the bottle. Not having any wineglasses, I took out a couple of tumblers and half filled them.

‘Where do you want to eat?’ Eileen asked.

Holly and I always used to eat our pizza in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Eileen knew that.

‘We can eat at the table if you want,’ she said.

‘The floor’ll be all right.’

She frowned slightly. ‘Are you sure?’

‘If you’d rather sit at the table...’

‘I always liked the floor.’ She let out a quiet laugh. ‘For eating pizza. That’s what I meant.’

‘Sure.’

She laughed again. ‘The floor it is,’ she said.

So we took everything out to the living room. Eileen placed the pizza box on the floor. She sat on one side of it and I sat across from her.

Glass in hand, she reached forward and toasted, ‘To the good times that aren’t all gone.’

‘Okay,’ I said.

We clicked our glasses together, then drank. Then Eileen opened the pizza box. As steam drifted up, we reached in and pulled out slices of pie that were dripping with strings of melted cheese.

The pizza was delicious. The wine was cool and slightly tart. While I ate and drank, I had a difficult time not staring at Eileen’s legs. They were sheathed in the green socks nearly to her knees, then bare most of the way up from there.

‘So how did Shakespeare go?’ she asked.

‘I was a couple of minutes late.’

‘Uh-oh.’

‘And then I couldn’t think straight. My mind kept wandering.’

‘Guess you didn’t get enough sleep last night.’

‘How about you?’ I asked.

She shook her head. ‘It was all I could do to stay awake during my ten o’clock. I tried to take a nap this afternoon, but couldn’t pull it off. Too keyed up, I guess.’

‘Keyed up? About what?’

‘What do you think?’

I just looked at her.

Suddenly blushing, she said, ‘I never meant for things to go that way last night. I keep thinking... it must’ve looked so calculated. But it wasn’t. If you think I planned to ...’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t. I just wanted to be your friend, try to help you. You were obviously so miserable about Holly ... That’s why I drove out to the donut shop. And then I really did need to use your john. It must’ve looked like an excuse to get inside your apartment, but it wasn’t. I really had to go. But then ... I don’t know.’ She took another drink of her wine, then shrugged. ‘I just suddenly ... I wanted to make things better. For both of us. I just suddenly wanted you. So I... you know, took off my stuff in the bathroom.’

‘Well, it sure made my night.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ A sheepish look on her face, she said, ‘Anyway, I just wanted you to know. In case you were wondering. You weren’t the victim of a wily, plotting female. Not really.’ Then she took another drink of wine.

‘I never thought I was. Not really.’

Her smile lasted only a moment. Then she said, ‘I also want you to know ... I don’t expect anything from you. I didn’t do that last night to trap you. It just happened, you know? It doesn’t mean we have to start going together, anything like that. I have no intention of forcing myself on you.’ Her smile flickered. ‘Not again, anyway.’

‘It wasn’t so bad.’

‘Glad to hear it. But anyway, I know you’re not in love with me. Okay? I don’t expect you to love me. I can’t take Holly’s place. Not in your heart. I know that. It’s not what I’m after.’

‘What are you after.’

‘I just ...’ Her eyes went shiny. ‘I just don’t want you to be miserable, okay?’ With the back of a hand, she wiped her eyes. ‘It hurts me ... what she did to you. And to see you so ... lonely and desolate. It just hurts. I want you to be happy, not ...’ She really started crying. ‘Shit,’ she gasped. Shaking her head fiercely, she set down her wineglass and got to her feet.

I stood up as she went to the door. ‘Eileen ...’

‘I’ve ... gotta go. I’m sorry.’ She opened the door.

I hurried toward her, but she raised a hand.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t.’

I stopped.

She stood in the doorway, her back to the hall, crying and shaking her head. ‘I didn’t come here to... Never mind. I feel like ... such an idiot. I’m sorry. I don’t know ... what I was thinking.’

‘Who does?’ I said. ‘Why don’t you come back in? We’ll have some more pizza and finish the wine...’

‘No.’ She raised her head, sniffed, and wiped her eyes. ‘God. I’m sorry. I’ve gotta go.’ She suddenly looked around. Then, raising her hand again like a cop halting traffic, she came forward and sidestepped over to where she’d left her purse. She picked it up. On her way back to the door, she said, ‘See you sometime. I guess. If you want.’

‘If you really have to go,’ I said, ‘let me at least walk you back.’

She shook her head. ‘That’s okay. No thanks. I wanta be ... I never meant to ... to inflict myself on you.’

‘You haven’t.’

‘Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.’ Backing through the doorway, sniffing, she gave me a little wave with one hand. Then she turned and hurried down the hall.

I just stood there, gazing at the empty doorway.

I wasn’t sure what had just happened. Eileen had certainly gone haywire. I’d never seen her that way before, and it left me feeling shocked and confused. And guilty.

Obviously, I should have stopped her from leaving.

She’d probably hoped I would stop her, but I hadn’t.

I can still run after her.

But she’d told me not to.

Wants me to, anyway. She’s probably expecting it.

‘Not tonight,’ I muttered, and shut my door.

Chapter Ten

I ate more pizza and drank more wine, wondering if Eileen would come back. She might walk a couple of blocks, change her mind and turn around. Who knows?

At any moment, the buzzer might ring.

If it did, Eileen would come up and apologize for her strange behavior and we would probably end up in bed. Imagining that, I thought about the look and feel of her last night and I hoped she would come back.

If I hadn’t let her go, or if I’d run after her, we could’ve both been naked by now ...

But then I’d be stuck with her.

At least for tonight.

If she rings the buzzer, I thought, there go my plans.

That might not be such a bad thing, either, because my plans frightened me.

There was still some wine left, so I knocked the cork back into the neck of the bottle. I put the bottle and the remaining pizza into my refrigerator. By then, Eileen had been gone for about twenty minutes.

I sat down and tried to read Coleridge for a while, but I felt groggy and my mind kept wandering. I was wasting my time, so I put the book away and went into my bedroom. The clock on my nightstand showed 7:10. I set the alarm for 11:00 p.m., then took off my clothes, shut off the light and climbed into bed.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

I found myself in darkness.

My first thought was that someone was buzzing me to be let in. Holly? Is Holly here? Hope leaped up inside me, then fell. It can’t be Holly, I realized. She’s gone. It’s Eileen. Eileen came back, after all.

I’ll let her in and we’ll make love.

Just about then, I realized nobody was buzzing to be let in. The sound came from my alarm clock.

Time to get up and start my adventure.

I reached out and killed the noise. Then I climbed out of bed. I shivered as I hurried across my room and turned on a light. The air felt cool on my bare skin, but the shivers probably had little to do with temperature, more to do with tension and excitement.

I dressed myself in undershorts, blue jeans, a dark-blue sweatshirt, socks and my brown leather high-top hiking boots.

As I sat on an edge of the bed to tie my boots, I changed my mind about them. They were excellent for long walks, but what if I needed to be swift?

So I took them off and put on a pair of Reebok running shoes instead.

I started to take my wallet, then changed my mind. It was loaded with identification: my driver’s license, student ID, credit cards, and so on.

What about money?

Nothing’ll be open, anyway.

Dandi Donuts?

I took a ten out of my wallet, folded it and stuffed it into a front pocket of my jeans.

What else?

Nothing else from my wallet. But I pocketed my Swiss Army knife and my five-inch Maglite before leaving the bedroom. They both went into front pockets of my jeans. In the living room, I grabbed my keys.

Anything else?

A pen and paper in case I needed to take notes.

I pulled a full sheet of lined paper out of my notebook, folded it like a hanky and slipped it into a seat pocket of my jeans. Then I slid a couple of ballpoints into a front pocket.

What else?

A mask?

Why on earth would I need a mask?

Shaking my head, I left.

Downstairs, the Fishers’ door stood open. I planned to ignore the old couple, but realized at the last moment that it might seem rude. So I turned my head as I walked by, nodded and smiled in.

No sign of Mrs Fisher, but ‘the mister’ looked up from his easy chair - positioned for a view of the hallway - and called, ‘Hey there, Eddie.’

I had to stop. ‘Hi, Mr Fisher.’

‘How’s things?’

‘Not bad. How’re things with you and Mrs Fisher?’

‘Oh, can’t complain. Saw your friend Eileen earlier. Had yourselves a nice pizza, did you?’

‘It was pretty good. Well, I’ve got to get going. See you later, Mr Fisher.’

‘Have yourself a good time, son.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, and took off.

It felt very good to be outside in the fresh October night. The breeze was slightly chilly. It carried a scent of chimney smoke and sent leaves drifting down sideways when they fell out of the trees along the road.

I made mental notes of my observations ... partly because I fancied myself a writer and partly to keep my mind off my real reason for being out in the night.

When you’re up to something iffy, it’s better not to think about it or you might chicken out.

There’s nothing iffy about this, I told myself. I’m taking a walk, that’s all.

Over to Franklin Street.

It’s a free country, I thought. The sidewalks are public property. I have every right to go over to Franklin Street. Nothing at all wrong with doing that.

I’m just a university student taking a late-night walk, minding my own business, maybe on my way to Dandi Donuts.

I’m not breaking any laws.

Nobody (except Eileen) knows I’m heartbroken. And nobody in the whole world (except me), knows how I hope in the chambers of my ruined heart to find a certain girl.

Last night, she’d simply come walking along. Her route had converged with mine as if by some miracle of timing and placement.

I was pretty sure it wouldn’t happen again.

But I intended to be waiting, tonight, at the same time and place.

As I walked along, I kept a sharp lookout for trouble. In particular, I didn’t want to be surprised by dogs or by the bike-riding hag.

She’s probably a harmless old lady, I told myself. Maybe even nice if you get to know her.

Yeah, right.

She could be Mother Theresa, for all I cared: I didn’t want her to see me, much less come wheeling up silently from the rear, startle the crap out of me with her ringer and speed by ... close enough to touch me.

What if she does touch me?

It gave me the creeps just thinking about her and keeping watch for her.

As Falstaff says, ‘The better part of valour is discretion; in the which the better part I have saved my life.’ Avoiding the bike hag wasn’t likely to save my life, but it would do wonders for my peace of mind. Therefore, several blocks before the area where she’d put in her appearance last night, I cut over to Franklin Street.

I liked it much better there. Not only had I bailed out of the hag’s territory, but I’d entered the mystery girl’s.

Though I still kept a sharp watch, it was no longer just for signs of trouble; my watch now included the possibility of spying the girl.

I walked slowly, turning my head, often looking over my shoulder.

At length, I came to the sidestreet where I’d first seen her. I stopped at the corner and looked.

She wasn’t coming.

No one was coming, either afoot or by car ... or by bicycle.

From where I stood, I seemed to be the only person out and about.

Though the hour was late, I was early. I hadn’t kept careful track of time last night, but the girl had probably come walking toward this corner between about 12:15 and 12:30 a.m. My educated guess.

My wristwatch now showed 12:05.

At the earliest, she might not show up for another ten minutes.

Ten minutes. To most of us, ten minutes seems like a very brief period of time. Not long enough to do much of anything. However, ten minutes is ample time for a shower. A steak can usually be barbecued in ten minutes or less. And a healthy person can easily walk more than half a mile in ten minutes. At freeway speeds, ten minutes can take you more than ten miles.

But try waiting alone on a street corner in the middle of the night, and you’ll discover that ten minues can seem like a long, long time.

I only lasted five. During that period, six cars went by. A hairy man in shorts and running shoes, but no shirt, jogged up the middle of Franklin Street but paid no attention to me. I heard telephones in nearby houses ring on two separate occasions. I heard a woman shout, ‘Don’t you dare!’ Doors slammed shut three or four times. Two cats ran across the road. So did one opossum.

Then a gal came striding up the sidewalk, heading my way with two German shepherds trotting semi-loose around her. I couldn’t tell for sure whether they were wearing leashes, but I didn’t want to find out the hard way.

Abandoning my post, I turned right at the comer and headed eastward on the sidestreet.

It was Maple Avenue.

Last night, the mystery girl had come from this direction. With any luck, I might not only avoid the hounds but encounter her.

I followed Maple Avenue for about ten minutes. Though I saw no sign of the girl, the road led me into a shabbier section of town. Single-story houses with shingled sides, chain-link fences around their yards, barking dogs often in their yards along with collections of debris. People in this section of town didn’t seem to throw anything away. Instead, when it ceased to be useful, they displayed it in their yards. Most of the yards were littered with such items as old chairs, old sofa cushions, old television sets, toilets, tires, and often entire automobiles.

God only knew what sort of person I might encounter in such a neighborhood.

Fortunately, none seemed to be outdoors at the moment.

At the railroad tracks, Maple Avenue descended into a dark underpass so I turned around and headed back toward Franklin Street, walking more quickly than before.

It was 12:40 by the time I reached the intersection of Franklin and Maple.

Had I missed her?

Maybe she’s just a little late, I thought.

Or maybe last night was a fluke; the one and only time she had ever, or would ever, walk that particular route at that time of night.

Then again, maybe she does it regularly, but only once a week.

I looked one way. I looked the other. I looked all around.

Where are you? Where are you?

You’re somewhere, I told myself. And I’ll find you.

If Ahab could find the White Whale, whose far-flung boundaries were those of the seven seas, I certainly should be able to locate one girl in the small town of Willmington.

Chapter Eleven

I approached her house from the opposite side of the street and looked at it casually as I strolled by.

The front porch and all the windows were dark, the same as last night.

Was the girl still on her way home?

Had she already returned from tonight’s journey?

Maybe she’d stayed in and had gone to bed early.

Was she there in a dark upstairs room, fast asleep in her bed?

Not daring to stop and keep a vigil on the house, I continued to the comer. I crossed to her side of the street, went to the next comer, made a right and hiked southward along the back side of the block. At the comer, I made another right and returned to Franklin Street. This time, I walked up Franklin on her side.

As I neared her house, a light came on toward the rear of its ground floor.

My heart lurched. Then it pounded fast and sickeningly hard as I walked up the driveway of the house next door, glanced around to see if I were being observed, and slipped through a space in the bushes.

The glow from the window pulled me like a promise of treasure.

Never in my life had I crept up to a window in an attempt to spy on anyone. This is not to say I’d never been tempted to give it a try. In the past, however, I’d always fought off the temptation; my urge to sneak a peek was feeble compared to my terror of being caught at it.

Tonight was different. Not only had my world been blasted apart by the loss of Holly, but I was so vastly intrigued by the mystery girl that I had to look into the window.

As I neared it, I felt weak with fear. I trembled all over. Underneath my sweatshirt, perspiration poured down my torso. My underwear stuck to my sweaty rear end. My genitals felt as if they were trying to shrivel up and vanish.

Fear of being caught was certainly part of it. But so was fear of myself, that I should be doing this. And mixed with the fear was a horrible, nerve-wracking anticipation of what I might see when I looked through the window.

Someone had turned on the light, and it was still on.

Someone was in the room.

The girl?

Breathless and trembling, I looked around to make sure nobody was watching me. Then I moved closer to the window. Because the house had a crawl-space, the windowsill was slightly higher than my eye level.

Standing close to its left-hand corner, I hooked my fingertips over the sill and raised myself on tiptoes.

What if she’s looking straight at me?

She wasn’t.

Peering through the glass at the bottom comer of the window, I saw a woman standing in the lighted kitchen, leaning back against a counter. In her left hand was a bottle of tequila. She held the bottle by its neck, took a sip, lowered it by her side, and just stared forward.

Not looking anywhere close to my window.

She didn’t appear to be upset or nervous or troubled. Not like she’d come into the kitchen to sneak a few sips. More as if she’d simply found herself in the mood for a taste of tequila and wandered in. She seemed tranquil, almost languid.

Could this be the girl’s mother?

Not likely. My mystery girl was probably at least eighteen years old, and this woman looked no older than thirty.

Her sister?

Whatever her relation to my girl, she was certainly pretty. Even with mussed hair and no makeup on, she looked a lot more attractive than most women. Also, she had a good figure and her white nightgown didn’t hide much of it.

The nightie was very short, reaching only about halfway down her thighs. Its top was cut so low that I could see quite a lot of bare skin between her breasts, down to a couple of inches below her sternum.

Also, the gown was diaphanous ... made of such fine, delicate material that I could see through it. Her nipples were large and dark and erect. She seemed to have a ladybug tattoo on her left hip. And to paraphrase Mickey Spillane, I saw that she was a natural blonde.

My genitals started to unshrivel. Rapidly.

She raised the tequila bottle and took another sip. When she lowered it, the strap of her nightgown fell off her left shoulder and down her upper arm. Without the strap for support, the gown slipped off her left breast.

I thought, Holy shit!

She didn’t seem bothered at all that one of her breasts was naked. And why should she be? She was alone in her kitchen in the middle of the night and had no idea anyone might be watching her through a window.

No idea I was there, spying on her, getting harder by the moment.

As she raised the bottle to her mouth for another drink, her arm lifted the thin strap of her nightgown only slightly. While she held the bottle up, her arm obstructed my view of her breast. Then I could see it again.

I knew I should look away. Look away? I should run away.

I was violating this woman’s privacy, ogling her body, and breaking the law.

I must’ve been nuts to come to her window at all!

But I’d done it in search of my girl, not to leer at this sultry stranger.

I’ve gotta get out of here!

My eyes stayed locked on her.

I can’t leave, I realized. Not as long as she keeps standing there, looking the way she does.

Then her head began to turn in my direction.

I sank out of sight and took my fingers off the sill.

What if she saw me?

I’d ducked pretty fast. Also, it’s hard to see out of windows at night, especially if you’re in a bright room and there isn’t much light outside. Mostly, you only see your own reflection backed by darkness.

My face had been right up at her window, though, and probably illuminated by the light from the kitchen.

She might’ve seen me.

Staying low, I crept alongside the wall toward the front of the house. A safe distance from the kitchen window, I slipped into a gap in the bushes. Crouching there, I took a quick look around. I saw nobody, so I stepped out onto the neighbor’s driveway.

At the foot of the driveway, I turned to the right... toward the house. It seemed like a wild, risky move. A person in my position should’ve gone the other way. I was feeling reckless, though. And lucky. And curious. So I stepped past the row of bushes.

Toward the rear of the house, light still glowed from the kitchen window.

Otherwise, the house remained dark.

Had she seen me?

I suddenly doubted it.

For a moment, I considered sneaking back to the window for another look.

Don’t press your luck.

Already, I’d left the house behind.

As I neared the corner, a car turned onto Franklin a couple of blocks to the north.

A cop car?

My stomach went squirmy.

She might’ve called the cops. Or maybe one of the neighbors did.

No time to think.

I dodged up the nearest driveway, ran to the front of the car parked there, sank to my knees and hunkered down. Soon, the grumble of an engine intruded on the night’s other sounds. It came from the north, growing louder, louder.

Though I cowered in hiding, excitement was mixed with my fear. I had an urge to scream, but also a strange inclination to giggle.

The car now seemed to be passing directly in front of the driveway. I heard not only its engine, but the hiss of its tires and a quiet song from inside, Garth Brooks singing “The Dance.’

I took a peek.

The car was a large convertible with a guy behind the wheel.

False alarm.

Which didn’t mean someone hadn’t called the police. A squad car might be on its way this very moment. If I left my hiding place now, I might be caught out in the open.

I decided to stay put for ten minutes. If no cops came along by then, I could be fairly sure nobody had reported me.

My wristwatch showed 1:10 a.m.

The concrete was tough on my knees, so I turned my back to the car and sat down. And waited.

Ten minutes. Again.

I sat there with my legs crossed and thought about how strange it was that I should be hiding in front of a car in a stranger’s driveway at such an hour. What would Holly think?

I’m here because of you, you filthy bitch. If I get caught by the cops... or killed or something... it’ll be thanks to you.

I hoped she would cringe with guilt for many years.

Fat chance. She doesn’t give a shit what happens to me. Probably never did.

That’s not true, I thought. Be fair to her. She cared.

Only not very much. And not at all once she ran into Jay-Jay the Prick.

May she rot in Hell.

You don’t mean that, I told myself.

Sure I don’t.

Look on the bright side, I thought. If she hadn’t dumped me, I never would’ve gone out wandering last night, never would’ve seen the girl.

I wouldn’t have seen the woman tonight, either.

The bitch did me a favor. I should thank her.

Even while I sat there thinking such things, part of me was appraising Ed Logan... finding him to be melodramatic and bitter and childish ... and half mad.

Had I lost my mind?

Only a crazy person would set his alarm clock, get up in the middle of the night and go searching through town for a complete stranger he’d spent a while stalking the night before. And in the process, sneaking up to a window and spying on a half-naked woman.

All of a sudden, I’d turned into a Peeping Tom.

What next?

What had better be next, I thought, is home. Call the whole thing off. Go back to my apartment and go to bed. Get up in the morning and go to class. Get studious. Get serious with Eileen. Face it, she’s probably better in every way than Holly ever was.

Images filled my mind of Eileen last night. The surprise of finding that she’d taken off her bra in secret. The delight of putting my hand down the front of her jeans, slipping my fingers into her juicy heat. And then how she’d felt gliding down, wet and snug, slowly impaling herself on me.

How can stalking an unknown girl compare to that?

How can peering through a window at a woman in a nightgown, even if one breast is showing, be more tempting than what I’d already seen and done with Eileen?

It’s madness, I thought.

And this is the end of it.

I looked at my wristwatch. Twenty minutes had gone by, so I abandoned my hiding place. At the first comer, I turned right. At the next comer, I turned right again and walked to Franklin Street.

A turn to the left would take me back toward home.

A turn to the right would take me toward her house again.

Naturally, I turned right.

My heart beat faster as I neared the house.

If the light’s still on, I told myself, I won’t go over and look in. I’ll just keep on walking. I won’t look.

The kitchen light was off.

Relieved but disappointed, I walked on.

Chapter Twelve

Is that where she lives? I wondered as I continued northward on Franklin Street. It was almost certainly the house I’d watched her enter last night.

Later, though, I’d seen her several blocks away while Eileen was driving us back from Dandi Donuts. What was the girl doing out on the streets again no more than an hour after sneaking into her house?

Maybe it isn’t her house.

Last night, I’d suspected she might be returning home from a rendezvous with her lover. But what if I had it the wrong way around? Maybe I hadn’t seen her returning home, but sneaking into the house of her lover?

Certainly possible.

If so, who was her lover? The husband of the woman I’d observed in the kitchen? That could explain the drinking.

What if they’re lovers?

My God.

There is no husband? The woman lives alone in the house, and the girl comes to her late at night. That might even explain why the woman had gone into her kitchen at such an hour; to have a few sips while she waited for the girl to show up. Or maybe the girl was late and the woman was worried.

Is she there now?

When I’d passed the house just a few minutes ago, the kitchen light had been off. Maybe the woman had simply decided to quit drinking and go to bed. Or maybe the girl had finally arrived.

I imagined them together in the kitchen. The girl perhaps taking a sip of the tequila. Then kissing the woman on the mouth. Then putting a hand on her bare breast.

It got me pretty excited, thinking about that.

Should I go back to the house?

Are you out of your mind?

Forget about it, I told myself. Especially forget about it if they’re a couple of lesbians; I wouldn’t stand a chance with either one of them.

It’s just as well, I thought. Quit all this nonsense before I end up in trouble.

Go home.

Why not go to Dandi Donuts first?

And eat a couple of those sweet, greasy donuts two nights in a row? Bad idea.

But the place seemed like a safe, peaceful refuge. I didn’t have to eat donuts. Just sit there in the light and have a cup of coffee, rest for the hike back.

What if Eileen’s there?

She won’t be, I told myself.

She might be. It’s a place she might go if she wants to find me.

I almost gave up on going to the donut shop. But I didn’t. For one thing, Eileen wasn’t very likely to be there.

I’ll check before I go in.

But it might not be so bad if Eileen is there. She cares about me. She’ll drive me home. We’ll go up to my rooms and so what if she isn’t Holly ... so what if I’m not in love with her?

To avoid walking by the thrift shop’s window, I stayed on Franklin and didn’t cut over until I was past Dandi. I walked west on Dale, the sidestreet on which Eileen had parked her car last night.

Tonight, her car wasn’t there.

I looked in Dandi’s windows, anyway. Two customers were there, sitting far apart. Both were men. So I entered. As I walked toward the counter, my eyes slid over to the display case. Half a dozen glazed old-fashioneds were there, crusty and golden and glistening.

They looked luscious.

No way, I thought. I’ll turn into a fat slob.

The clerk came up to the counter.

‘What can I get you?’

‘A medium coffee and two glazed old-fashioneds.’

So what if I turn into a fat slob?

Holly gonna stop loving me?

‘For here or to go?’ the clerk asked.

‘For here.’

I wondered if he remembered me from last night. And if he did, was he curious about Eileen and why I’d come here without her tonight?

He must get all kinds, I thought.

I paid him, then turned around with my coffee and donuts. And wondered where to sit. I wanted to stay away from the two strangers. Neither of them, however, was sitting near the table I’d shared with Eileen last night.

Nor near the table where Holly and I had sat together the night we’d come here last spring.

I’ll never leave you. You’ll leave me.

The table would be haunted by her. The ghost of my lost love who wasn’t dead but gone just the same.

Fuck up my appetite.

I went to a table at the opposite end of the room from where I’d sat with Holly ... one table away from last night’s table, which was straight in front of me. That was okay, though. The memories of last night didn’t hurt.

In fact, they were pretty good.

I lifted my styrofoam cup of coffee, gently blew the steam away, and raised it to my mouth. My nose and eyes felt the heat. When I took a sip, the coffee was too hot on my lips and tongue. I set it down.

Somebody stepped past me.

I looked up. The man stopped, turned around and smiled down at me. He wasn’t one of the customers I’d already seen. Must’ve come in after I did.

‘I could use a cup of coffee,’ he said. ‘Can you spare a buck?’

Clean and well groomed, he didn’t look like a bum. Women would probably consider him handsome. With his golden hair and chiseled features, he might’ve stepped off the cover of a romance novel. He wore a blue chambray shirt that was partly unbuttoned, tucked into a pair of tight blue jeans.

Nothing at all threatening about him ... except his request.

And maybe his eyes and smile. His eyes seemed too intense and his smile was too big, a little lopsided and twitchy. He had clean, straight teeth, but I felt as if I could see too many of them.

I suddenly wanted to get the hell away. But what about my coffee and donuts?

And what if this guy follows me outside?

‘Sure,’ I answered. Though he’d only asked for one dollar, I took a five out of my wallet. ‘Have some donuts, too.’ My hand trembled as I reached out and handed the money to him.

‘Thanks, pal.’

He went over to the counter.

It’s only five bucks, I thought. I can afford it.

In fact, my parents were fairly well off. Money had never been a concern of mine, but I didn’t like being asked for it. People had no right to ask strangers for money. It was almost like a hold-up ... using an implied threat instead of a gun or knife.

The man came back and sat across the table from me.

Shit!

With my money, he’d bought a cup of coffee, a jelly donut and a maple bar.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Ed.’

‘Thanks for the loan, Ed.’

Loan, my ass.

‘You’re welcome.’

Though his purchases hadn’t cost more than two or three dollars, he didn’t return my change. And I didn’t dare ask him for it.

He raised his cup of coffee, squinting slightly as the steam got in his eyes. Then he took a few sips and set the cup down. ‘You mind me sitting here?’ he asked.

‘No,’ I lied.

‘Glad to hear it. I like you, Ed.’

‘Thanks.’

‘My kind of guy.’

‘Ah.’

Oh, shit. He’s gay. He’s putting moves on me.

There was nothing effeminate about him. If anything, he seemed perhaps too masculine.

Some of them are like that, I thought.

He was certainly fit. Not bulked up, but trim. A lot of them are like that, too.

‘I’m Randy,’ he said.

‘Hi, Randy.’

He reached across the table to shake hands. I didn’t want to offend him by refusing, so I shook his hand. It was bigger than mine. He squeezed hard. Hard enough to hurt.

Real nice, I thought.

After letting go, he asked, ‘You live around here?’

He wants to go home with me?

‘Not really.’

‘Aren’t you going to eat?’

Nodding, I took a bite of donut. The outside crunched. The donut probably tasted spectacular if I could taste it.

He took a bite of his jelly donut.

I drank some coffee.

‘Thought maybe you lived around here someplace,’ Randy said.

‘Oh?’

‘I’ve seen you the past couple of nights.’

‘Really?’

What had he seen?

‘It’s the donuts,’ I said, and took another bite. ‘I’ve been coming out here for donuts the past couple of nights.’

‘If you say so,’ Randy said.

Oh, God! Why is he saying this stuff? What does he know? Has he been following me?

‘Is there a problem?’ I asked.

I don’t like Peeping Toms, I expected him to say.

‘No problem. I just want to talk.’

‘Okay.’

‘About that gal,’ he said.

Oh, my God.

‘What about her?’

‘She your girlfriend?’

Is who my girlfriend? What gal? Is he trying to find out if I’m straight?

‘Maybe,’ I said.

‘She’s a real fox.’

I nodded slightly. Maybe Randy wasn’t gay after all.

‘She’s got a real nice rack on her.’

Was he talking about Eileen? Sounded that way.

Leaning toward me, he stared into my eyes. His pale-blue eyes looked eager. ‘Does she put out for you?’ he asked.

Maybe they look that way, I thought, because of some medical condition.

Yeah. Lunacy.

I was not about to tell a stranger that Eileen had ‘put out’ for me. On the other hand, I didn’t have the guts to tell him to mind his own business.

‘No,’ I said.

‘You’ve got one of those platonic relationships?’

‘Guess so.’

‘Don’t you want her?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘A great-looking gal. And those tits. Terrific tits.’

‘You don’t have to talk about her that way. She’s a nice person.’

‘If she’s so nice, how come you’re not putting it to her? Bet she’s really hot. Hot and juicy.’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

I’d hardly touched my coffee and donuts, but I would’ve gladly abandoned them to get away from this man. I didn’t move, though. Par better to deal with him in Dandi Donuts than out on the empty streets.

‘What’s her name?’ he asked.

‘Sarah.’

‘Sarah? Nice name. Suits her. What’s her last name?’

‘Lee’ almost popped out of my mouth. I got as far as the L, so I finished up with, ‘LaFarge.’

‘Sarah LaFarge?’

I nodded.

‘A very euphonious name.’

‘Guess so,’ I said. For some reason, this guy using the word euphonious bothered me.

‘Why isn’t Sarah LaFarge with you tonight?’ he asked.

‘She had other things to do. We’re just friends. We don’t ... go together or anything like that.’

‘Not your girlfriend, and yet she spent almost an hour in here last night waiting for you. Sitting over there all alone.’

‘I didn’t know it was that long,’ I said.

He nodded. ‘Then you had to show up and ruin my plans.’

Another sick feeling rushed through me. ‘Plans?’

‘You know.’

I shook my head.

‘My plans for her. For Sarah.’

‘Ah.’

‘I had special plans for her. You ruined them last night, but now you’re back. And so are my plans.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you?’

‘You want to ... go out with her?’

‘Wanta go in her, Ed.’

‘Hey, look...’

His smile spread, showing me his rows of straight white teeth. ‘She’ll love it. They all do. So where does she live?’

No harm in giving him a wrong address. So I said, ‘I guess I can write it down for you.’

‘I have a better idea. Why don’t you take me there?’

Chapter Thirteen

‘I don’t have a car.’

‘I do,’ Randy said.

Apparently, he could afford a car but not coffee and donuts.

‘Even if I took you there ... she lives in a secure building. You wouldn’t be able to just go in and get her.’

‘She’ll come out for you, won’t she?’

‘It’s ...’ I looked at my watch. ‘Two-fifteen.’

‘She’ll come out for you.’

Nodding, I said, ‘Maybe.’

‘Let’s finish up our coffee and donuts.’

I resumed eating. So did Randy. He kept smiling at me as he chewed.

As I chewed, I tried to think. Mostly, I couldn’t believe this was happening to me. Or to Eileen, for that matter.

I can’t let this guy get her.

I took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to go over there, Randy.’

‘Sounds like a good idea to me.’

‘Not at this hour. Maybe you should give me your phone number. I can pass it on to her tomorrow, and ...’

‘I don’t have a phone, Ed.’

‘Well, maybe we can arrange for her to meet you someplace.’

‘Do you think she’d do that?’

‘Sure. I mean, probably. Maybe the three of us could get together for a lunch.’

He narrowed his eyes and nodded. ‘Maybe, maybe. But I don’t think so. What I really think, Eddie, is that you want to keep her for yourself. There won’t be any lunch. You don’t want me laying a finger on her. Isn’t that right?’

‘No. If she wants to have lunch with you, it’s fine with me. She’s not my girlfriend.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Let’s go to her place.’

I looked at him.

‘Right now.’

‘But I told you—’

‘I know what you told me. Let’s go.’

I looked around the donut shop. Aside from me and Randy, only one customer remained. He had his back to us. The clerk wasn’t behind the counter, either, he must’ve gone into the back room.

‘Come on,’ Randy said quietly.

I nodded. ‘Okay. But I need to use the bathroom first.’

‘Fine. I’ll go in with you. We can compare sizes.’

I got to my feet. ‘Let’s just leave,’ I said. ‘I’ll try to hold it.’

‘Fine.’

He gestured for me to lead the way. I walked toward the door. The clerk was still in back. The customer didn’t look around. I opened the door and walked out into the night.

Randy came out and grabbed my arm. Hard.

‘I don’t think we should be doing this,’ I said as he pulled me along the sidewalk. Rhett and Zelda gazed out the thrift-shop window at us. ‘I wasn’t kidding about her being in a secure building. We won’t be able to get in. I think you should let go of me and...’

‘Think again.’

A Toyota pickup truck was parked at the curb. Randy towed me into the street, pulled open the driver’s door and said, ‘Get in and move over.’

He kept the tight grip on my upper left arm while I climbed into the pickup. Then he followed me in. When he was behind the wheel, he shut his door. Then he jerked my arm, pulling me toward him, and stuck his face up to mine. ‘You gonna give me any trouble?’

‘No.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Good boy,’ he said and suddenly kissed me with his mouth open.

It’s me he wants? The Eileen stuff was a lie?

He shoved his tongue into my mouth.

Groaning, I twisted my head away. His lips and tongue slid across my cheek. He laughed as I wiped his spit off.

‘How’d you like it?’ he asked. He still had that grip on my arm.

‘Not much.’ My voice sounded almost like a whimper.

‘You’ll get it again if you don’t procure Sarah for me. Fact is, I’ll give you the works. It’s you or her, Eddie. Who will it be?’

‘Her,’ I said.

Randy let go of my arm, reached into a pocket of his jeans and pulled out his keys. The keys jingled a little while he searched for the one he wanted. Then he reached forward and slid a key into the ignition.

As he turned the key, I twisted sideways in my seat and pounded a ballpoint pen into him. It popped through his jeans and into the top of his right thigh.

He yelled, ‘Yahh!’

I flung open the passenger door and leaped out and ran. Not toward Dandi Donuts; I could too easily see Randy chasing me inside and dragging me out, nobody trying to help me. Instead, I ran past the rear of his pickup and poured on the speed. That’s what they tell you to do so the driver can’t chase you without going in reverse.

I glanced over my shoulder to see what was happening.

The back-up lights came on.

Eyes forward, I didn’t watch the pickup speed toward me but I sure heard it.

To my right was Division Street, to my left a row of store fronts. Nothing was open. I ran past recessed entryways and display windows. If I could get across the next sidestreet, I would be on a residential block where I could cut across lawns ... but the street was too far away. And if I did try to cross it, Randy might hit me with his truck.

His truck appeared beside me, moving backward, keeping pace with me. Its passenger door was still open. If he got any closer to the curb, it would hit a parking meter or light post.

I thought he might shout threats at me, but he didn’t.

Didn’t make a sound, just stayed even with me.

What if he’s got a gun?

I did a fast stop and reversed my direction. He kept going backward.

Just as his brakes squealed, I turned my head toward the store fronts and saw a dark space between two of the buildings - a space too narrow for Randy’s truck. I must’ve been looking the other way when I ran past it the first time.

I rushed in.

Behind me, brakes squealed again. Tires skidded. The engine shut off.

He’s coming after me on foot?

A door slammed.

He is!

I picked up speed. The space between the buildings was only three or four feet wide and paved like a walkway. It had a pale area at the very end, probably where the buildings stopped. Down in front of my feet, however, was blackness. No telling what might be there. Invisible debris crackled and crunched under my shoes. Sometimes, my feet landed on small, hard objects. I kicked a can and sent it skittering away. I crunched broken glass.

At any moment, something might snag my feet and send me flying headlong ...

I wanted to slow down, but didn’t dare.

Randy was coming, all right. I heard the quick pounding of his boots on the pavement behind me. They had an uneven rhythm. Because of his wound?

The way I’d stabbed his leg, it was a wonder he could run at all.

I wished I’d gotten him with my Swiss Army knife. But the knife was in the left front pocket of my jeans. Randy would’ve seen me go for it. If he missed that, he definitely would’ve noticed me struggling to pry out one of its folding blades.

So I’d used a ballpoint, instead.

Should’ve stuck it in his fucking throat!

At least he wasn’t gaining on me. He didn’t seem to be, anyway.

I’ll be okay if he doesn’t have a gun.

He must not have one, I thought, or he would’ve used it by now. Unless he’s afraid of the noise.

I suddenly smashed full-speed into something. I didn’t know what it was, at first. As I plowed it down and tumbled over it, though, the feel and sounds and aromas told me it was probably a shopping cart... a cart parked sideways in the narrow space and loaded past the brim with the treasures of its homeless proprietor.

I landed on him. He was cadaverous and stank of garbage and cigarette smoke and excrement and he screamed in my face. I tried to shove myself off him. His coat felt like sticky, moist tweed.

He clutched my shirt.

‘Gotcha!’ he gasped.

‘Let go!’

He didn’t. I slugged him in the face and he let go and I scurried off him and ran for the grayness at the end of the buildings.

Just as I got there, somebody either fell over the shopping cart or kicked it.

I broke into a lighted alley, cut to the right and ran hard for the cross-street at the south end of the block. Along the way, I glanced over my shoulder again and again.

No sign of Randy.

At the mouth of the alley, I dodged to the left and ran across the street.

No traffic anywhere in sight.

No people, either.

I ran farther to the left, rounded the comer of the block and raced past the first two houses. They had porch lights on, but the third house didn’t. That porch wasn’t screened in. It had no door, either, but was roofed and surrounded by a wooden railing about three feet high. The railing had a row of thick bushes in front of it.

I ran up to the porch, silently climbed its stairs and dropped to the floor behind the railing, totally hidden from anyone going by.

Chapter Fourteen

Every so often, a car passed. Or a truck. I didn’t dare take a peek. I figured it might be Randy in his pickup truck, searching for me.

But I’d been on the porch about half an hour, and he hadn’t found me yet. He probably wouldn’t find me, either - at least so long as I stayed put.

I’ll wait another hour just to make sure.

Ten minutes times six.

The hour would pass very quickly if I fell asleep. I was wide awake, though, sitting with my legs crossed, my back toward the front railing. From the half hour I’d already waited, my butt ached and my back felt a little sore.

Off to my right, maybe eight feet away, the porch had an old-fashioned swing that hung by chains from a ceiling beam.

I could stretch out on that, I thought.

But it would probably make all sorts of noise if I put my weight on it. It was noisy enough without me.

The swing liked to move all by itself. With the help of a breeze, I supposed.

After long silences, it would stir, taking me by surprise with groans and creaking sounds.

But that wasn’t my biggest problem with the swing.

About fifteen minutes into my first half hour, I’d noticed something unsettling about it.

Though some areas and shapes on the porch looked black, there were also gray places. I couldn’t always quite be sure what I was really seeing. Sometimes, when I looked at the swing, I thought someone was sitting on it. Just sitting there, not moving at all - and staring at me.

I knew nobody was on the swing, but it gave me the heebiejeebies just the same.

I tried to stop looking at it, but it kept pulling my eyes back ... almost as if part of me enjoyed the torment.

If I’m staying any longer, I thought, I’d better get it settled - crawl over, reach out and touch the swing to prove nobody’s there.

But what if I reach out and my fingers meet someone’s knee? Or what if a hand suddenly clutches my wrist?

Ridiculous. These were fears for a five year old, and I was twenty.

Amazing, though, how being alone in a strange place at three o’clock in the morning shaves the years off. I felt like a kid again. A kid in bed late at night, wide awake, gazing at the partly open door of his closet, waiting for a horror to spring out and come for him.

Forget Randy... who’s that on the swing?

Nobody, I told myself. Nobody’s there at all. It’s just shadows.

Then ‘nobody’ struck a match.

In its flare, I glimpsed a leering, ancient face. An instant later, the match flew at me, followed by a quiet cackle.

Chapter Fifteen

As the match scratched a bright curve through the night and bounced off the sleeve of my sweatshirt, the sound I made was a quick, high-pitched, ‘Eeeeeee!’

Then I was scurrying up, twisting around and leaping from the top of the porch stairs. I hit the ground running. Without a glance back, I cut diagonally across the front yard. The sidewalk felt like a racetrack. I sprinted, arms pumping, legs flying, clothes flapping, sneakers smacking the concrete.

At the comer, I sprang off the curb and dashed across the next street. Partway down the block after that, I slowed to a walk and looked back.

Nobody behind me.

I’d been chased this far only by my goosebumps. Though breathless and sweaty, I still felt their chill. I was crawly almost everywhere: thighs, balls, spine, arms, nipples, nape of neck, scalp and forehead.

God Almighty, I thought. I must’ve been on that porch for thirty-five or forty minutes ... with him! Why’d he just sit there?

What was he doing there?

Probably just likes to sit out on his porch at night and watch the world go by.

At three o’clock in the morning?

Hell yes, I thought. That’s when all the good stuff happens.

I chuckled nervously.

Continuing to walk, I turned halfway around to make sure nobody was coming toward me from the rear.

The coast looked clear.

For no good reason, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps the old man was stranded on the swing. Maybe he was paralyzed from a stroke or something, and his family had put him outside after supper so he could enjoy the autumn evening. Then they’d forgotten he was out there and gone to bed.

He hadn’t moved or spoken to me because he couldn’t. He only had use of his hands. The match had been his version of an emergency flare.

But why the cackle?

Because he’s a lunatic, that’s why. This damn town is FULL of lunatics!

It isn’t the town, I told myself. It’s the hour. At this hour, probably everyplace is full of crazy people. All the sane citizens are either at night jobs or asleep in their beds. The loonies rule the town.

But what if the old guy is paralyzed? I wondered. Maybe he tried to ask me for help but the cackle was the best he could do.

Should I go back and check on him?

‘Shit,’ I muttered.

I sure didn’t want to do that. But I felt that maybe I ought to.

No!

If he was capable of striking a match and throwing it at me, he could’ve let me know he was there when I first showed up. He wasn’t stranded on the porch; he was just a nutty old shit with a mean streak.

I didn’t go back.

Near the end of the next block, I heard the sound of an engine. I looked back. Headlights pushed their brightness into the intersection behind me. Not waiting to find out if they belonged to Randy’s pickup ... or whether it would turn in my direction ... I ducked and plunged into a row of bushes.

On the other side, I found myself at the edge of a lawn. In front of me was a two-story house, all its windows dark.

Crouched and motionless, I listened.

The engine sound was gone. If not gone, it had faded with distance until it blended in with the rest of the night’s quiet hum and buzz.

Unless perhaps the driver had stopped and shut his engine off.

Maybe nearby.

Maybe because he’d spotted me.

Staying low, I crept away from the bushes and hurried to the rear corner of the house. The back yard appeared to have a picnic table, lawn chairs and a barbecue. I didn’t see any people, so I hurried across the grass ... keeping my eyes on the chairs.

Nobody seemed to be in any of them. Looking at them gave me the creeps, anyway.

When I came to the cinder-block wall at the other side of the yard, I looked back.

I saw no one.

With nobody chasing me, climbing the six-foot wall held no appeal. So I walked alongside it, making my way slowly through the shadows between the wall and the house. Ahead of me, beyond the front yard of the house, was a sidewalk and a street.

What street? I wondered.

I had no idea.

I’m lost?

The notion gave me an uneasy flutter that was different from my fears of bodily harm by Randy, different from the eerie fright the old man had given me. This fear felt like a slip toward unreality.

What if I’m really lost and can’t find my way home?

‘Ain’t gonna happen,’ I whispered, trying to calm myself with the sound of my own voice.

Soon as I get to a corner and see the street signs ...

On the sidewalk directly in front of me, maybe thirty feet away, the mystery girl sauntered by. Face forward, one hand stuffed into a seat pocket of her jeans, one hand swinging by her side, hips swaying, ponytail flipping behind her head.

She looked as if she owned the night.

I didn’t move, just stood there astonished and watched her.

When she was out of sight, I began to doubt my senses. Certainly, someone had just walked by. But her? It seemed too strange and wonderful.

I hurried to the sidewalk and looked to the right.

There she was! Almost to the next comer.

When she started across the street, I followed her.

All thoughts of going home were lost. I’d found her! She was in sight! If I ran, I could catch up to her in a matter of seconds, see her close up, talk to her ...

Scare the hell out of her.

I didn’t want to scare her, though. I didn’t even feel up to meeting her. For now, all I wanted was to follow her and watch her. My mystery girl.

While earlier I’d felt the terror of a child waiting in bed for the closet monster to come for him, now I felt like the same child on a wonderful Christmas morning at first glimpse of the tree’s bright colored lights and the treasures brought by Santa.

Awestruck, shivery with an almost painful sense of pleasure, I followed her down the next block.

So far, she hadn’t looked back.

I picked up my pace. The gap began to close. She grew larger, more distinct. The nearer I came to her, the nearer I yearned to be.

Careful! Slow down! Can’t let her know I’m here!

We must’ve both heard the engine sound at the same moment.

Randy?

I froze.

The girl didn’t freeze, didn’t flinch, simply glided off to the side and vanished among the shadows of a lawn.

I rushed over to a tree in the grassy strip between the sidewalk and the curb. It had a trunk as wide as my body. I hid behind it, standing and ready to run.

Peeking around the side of the trunk, I saw a car cruise through the intersection. A car, not a pickup truck. But it had a rack of lights on its roof.

Cops!

The police car seemed to be in no hurry. It rolled through the intersection, crackles and beeps and senseless jabber coming from its radio, and kept on going.

Its sounds faded.

I watched the lawn where the girl had vanished.

And watched it.

Minutes went by, but she didn’t reappear.

What’s she waiting for?

While I waited, my mind replayed her vanishing act: the grace and speed with which she’d whirled and leaped and plunged into darkness. Like a ballerina. Like a sprite. Like a ninja.

Maybe she turned herself into a shadow.

Sure thing, I thought, scoffing at the notion even though it almost seemed possible given the strangeness of the night and the way I felt about the girl.

I continued to wait.

She didn’t come out.

What if she knew I was back here and now she’s staying hidden, waiting to see what I do?

Suppose I just resume walking and pretend I don’t even know she exists?

Heart thudding, I stepped out from behind my tree. On the sidewalk, I looked all around as if afraid someone might be spying on me (in case she was watching). Then I followed the sidewalk toward the comer.

She’s probably watching me right now!

My throat tightened. My mouth went dry. My heart beat even faster and harder.

Watching me, appraising me. Have I been stalking her? Am I a threat?

Soon, I was striding casually past the place where she’d vanished.

I kept my face turned away.

See? I’m not interested. I don’t even know you’re there. Besides, I’m harmless. You’ve got no reason to be afraid of me. Why don’t you come out?

She didn’t.

I reached the comer, stepped off the curb and walked across the street. I continued past the corner house, then doubled back in its yard and crouched in a dark place behind some bushes and waited for the girl to show herself.

I waited and waited.

And began to suspect that she wasn’t even there anymore. Instead of hunkering down and hiding, maybe she had slipped off into the darkness and hurried to someplace far away.

I wanted to return and search the lawn for her.

But she might still be there, patiently waiting. My return would confirm she had a stalker.

It wasn’t worth the risk.

At last, I gave up and headed for home.

Chapter Sixteen

I was lost for a while, and had to check the signs at three different intersections before I found a street name I recognized. That street would lead me back to Division, so I followed it. Not all the way, though. Often, I took detours in case someone might be tailing me. A few times, I ducked out of sight behind trees, bushes or fences.

The sky was gray with the approach of dawn by the time I entered my apartment building. The Fishers’ door was shut. I made my way silently upstairs. The long, dim hallway was empty. I went to my door, tried to make no noise as I unlocked it, and stepped into my room.

I shut the door, locked it.

Safe!

It took me about five minutes to wash, brush my teeth, use the toilet, take off my clothes and climb into bed. Rolling onto my side, I reached out and picked up the alarm clock. And groaned.

If I set it for 7:00 a.m., that would give me almost two hours of sleep and leave enough time to work in a quick shower before heading off for my eight o’clock Romantic Literature class.

Oh, well. That’s why I’d taken the nap last night.

I set the alarm, turned off the lamp, rolled over and shut my eyes.

Far as I know, I fell asleep right away.

And dreamed horrible dreams. Several times, I flinched awake with a frightened gasp, breathless, my body bathed in sweat, only to look at my clock and discover it was too early to get up. So I closed my eyes and tried again and fell into another nightmare.

I only remember the last of them.

I was lost among the dark streets of town, hurrying from block to block. Every time I found street signs, they bore strange names. I’ll never get back in time for class! As I hurried along, I saw a girl at the next comer. She wore a loose, white gown that drifted behind her as she walked. Maybe she knows where I am! I hurried after her.

Is it the girl? I wondered. I couldn’t tell.

But she was walking away, so I broke into a run. I quickly gained on her. As 1 closed in, I realized she might be frightened by my quick approach. So I called out, ‘Excuse me, miss. I think I’m lost. Could you help me ... ?’

She turned around.

She was an old, old man... the man from the porch. Cackling, he raised his arms and trotted toward me. I whirled around and ran.

He’s an old bastard, I thought. He’ll never catch me.

When I looked back, however, he was riding a bicycle and gaining on me fast.

I turned to face him. I wanted my knife, but when I tried to take it from the pocket of my jeans, I realized I was naked.

Where did I leave my clothes?

I couldn’t even remember taking them off.

But there was no time to worry about them now, because the old man in the gown was speeding closer on his bike. He was hunched over the handlebars, grinning, a pencil clamped between his teeth.

Oh God, he’s gonna get me with the pencil! I’ll die of lead poisoning!

It isn’t lead, I thought. It’s graphite. I felt some slight relief at the realization.

‘Gonna shove it up your ass, honey!’ he yelled. ‘Gonna give you the works!’

If only I had my knife! I looked down again to make sure I didn’t. I was still naked.

Damn! This is what I get for taking off my clothes! It’s all Holly’s fault!

I seemed to recall we’d been making love in a park somewhere, and that’s why I was naked.

Where is she? I wondered. Maybe she can get this guy off me.

Did he get her first?

‘Got her right here!’ the old man answered from behind me as if he’d heard my thoughts.

How can he talk with a pencil in his mouth?

I looked back.

The pencil was no longer clamped between his teeth. It was in his hand, upright, poked into Holly’s neck stump ... He held her severed head high in his right hand like a big, all-day sucker on a stick. Her eyes were open, her hair flowing in the breeze. ‘Hi, honey!’ she called to me. ‘Stop running away.’

I felt glad to see her, but also horrified.

‘What do you want?’ I asked.

‘The works,’ answered Holly’s severed head. ‘The whole works!’

My alarm went off.

Thank God.

I shut it off, then flopped onto my back feeling nervous and exhausted and slightly nauseous.

How about cutting the eight o’clock?

And do what? Go back to sleep and have another nightmare or two? No thanks.

Besides, my teacher for Romantic Literature was Dr Trueman, a truly sweet and daffy old scholar who would take my absence as a personal affront. I had to go.

So I hauled myself out of bed, groaning, and stumbled into the kitchen. There, I peeled the plastic lid off the coffee can, held the can under my nose and inhaled deeply. The warm, calming aroma of French roast filled my head. My eyes drifted shut. I sighed.

I’ll sleep all afternoon, I told myself. Just have to make it through my one o’clock, then I’ll come back here and hit the sack till dinner time.

I spent a couple of minutes making the coffee. When it started dripping into the pot, I headed off to the bathroom to take my shower.

As the hot spray splashed against me, I tried to think about what had happened last night. Not the dreams, the real stuff. But the real stuff almost felt unreal and dreamlike. Almost. I knew what was real and what wasn’t.

After pondering it all, I concluded that I’d been lucky. I’d accomplished part of my mission: got to see and follow the mystery girl again, even though she managed to disappear. I’d been treated to a good, long look at the woman in the kitchen and didn’t get caught at it. The geezer on the porch had freaked me out but done no real harm.

Most important of all, I’d escaped from Randy.

He kissed me!

It disgusted me to remember it ... and scared me to think about what he might’ve done if I hadn’t gotten away.

I felt proud, though, of how I’d taken care of him. I’d been in minor scuffles from time to time, but I’d never really defended myself before ... or needed to. I’d certainly never stabbed anyone until last night.

In my mind, I heard the pop! of the ballpoint punching through his jeans. I felt it go into him and the way the sides of the hole in his thigh held the pen upright and made it twitch in my hand.

I really nailed the bastard.

The pen is mightier than the sword, I thought, and smiled.

If only I’d had a sword!

But the pen had done just fine, and it seemed particularly appropriate since I considered myself a writer.

I’ll have to write about all this someday, I thought as I climbed out of the shower. Maybe write a story about the woman in the kitchen. What was she really doing in there sipping tequila by herself at that hour of the night?

Was she waiting for the mystery girl?

Or maybe do a story about the old man on the porch. What was he doing there?

Call it ‘The Old Man on the Swing.’ I smiled at the thought and pulled my towel off its bar and began to dry myself. ‘He was an old man who sat alone on a swing on his front porch and he had gone eighty-four days now without scaring the shit out of anyone.’

Or I could write about Randy and how he sat down across from me at Dandi Donuts... and how he’d kissed me and pushed his tongue into my mouth.

I won’t write about that, I decided. I might write about everything else that happened last night, but not about that.

Maybe a story about the homeless guy sleeping in the space between the two buildings ... ?

No. I won’t write about him, either.

What about the mystery girl?

Oh, yes.

Someday.

Maybe.

Done drying, I headed for the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and wondered if I would ever see her again.

Not unless she just pops up, I thought. I’m not gonna go out like last night again. No way. Never again. I must’ve been out of my mind. Lucky I survived.

Walking from my apartment house to the campus a few blocks away, I kept an eye out for Randy and for his Toyota pickup truck.

Would he look for me in daylight?

He might.

Might look for Eileen, too.

He’d only seen us far to the north, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out we might be university students.

I’ll have to warn Eileen.

Chapter Seventeen

My classes kept me on campus until three o’clock. Between them, I wandered around outside, sat on benches, had a burger and Pepsi in the student union, and spent a while reading in the library. I kept my eyes open for Eileen, but didn’t see her anywhere.

After my last class of the day, I considered heading over to her sorority house. But it was out of the way and she might not even be there. Besides, I hadn’t been able to figure out what to tell Eileen and I felt too tired to think straight.

So I walked back to my own place and went to bed.

When I woke up, my room was dark. I didn’t know what was going on. My clock showed 8:15. That helped me figure things out, since the sun would’ve been up by that hour of the morning. Pretty soon, I remembered that I’d climbed into bed for the nap. Then I remembered the rest.

Something had to be done about Eileen.

After getting dressed, I went into the kitchen and microwaved the leftover pizza from last night.

While it was heating up, I checked my answering machine. No new messages. It hardly suprised me. Eileen didn’t want me to think she was forcing herself on me, so she probably intended to leave the next move to me.

While I ate my pizza, I read some of Wordsworth’s The Prelude, but couldn’t concentrate very well. Maybe I would’ve done better with The Prelude if it had been a real barn-burner, but it wasn’t. At best, it was quiet and lovely and nostalgic. At worst, boring.

My mind was mostly elsewhere while my eyes moved over the words. Just as I was about to give up, however, a passage caught my attention:

‘Sometimes it befell
In these night wanderings, that a strong desire
O’erpowered my better reason, and the bird
Which was the captive of another’s toil
Became my prey; and when the deed was done
I heard among the solitary hills
Low breathings coming after me, and sounds
of undistinguishable motion, steps
Almost as silent as the turf they trod.’

A couple of days ago, I wouldn’t have given the lines a second thought; now, it was as if they’d been written about me - a night-wanderer whose desire overpowered his better reason. ‘The bird’ might be the mystery girl. And the final four lines hinted of danger from someone ‘coming after me.’ Someone like Randy, perhaps.

I read the passage again and again, feeling its deep mystery and magic, struck by the strange union of circumstances that had compelled me to discover it on this night of all nights.

After marking the passage with a yellow Hi-liter, I kept on reading. Wordsworth had my full attention for about ten more seconds. That’s when he started rhapsodizing about bird eggs and I began wondering how to get in touch with Eileen.

Call her on the phone? More than likely, she wasn’t in her room; she usually did most of her studying in the student union or the library. Even if I could reach her on the phone, I probably shouldn’t; it might look as if I were trying to avoid her. Better to go out and find her in person.

I put Wordsworth and Fitzgerald (The Great Gatsby for my Twentieth Century American Literature class) into my book bag, slung the strap over one shoulder and left my rooms.

Downstairs, the Fishers’ door stood open. They had their television on. Keeping my head straight forward, I walked as if I were in a big hurry and got past their door without being beckoned.

But the Fishers were a minor nuisance. Randy was a real threat, and he might be anywhere outside.

Cruising the streets, searching for me or Eileen.

Or parked and watching.

Or walking.

I looked for him constantly on my way toward campus.

Though I carried my Swiss Army knife in a pocket of my jeans, it didn’t give me much comfort. Neither did my ballpoint pens. My assault on Randy last night had only succeeded because I’d taken him by surprise. Next time, he wouldn’t let me get away with it.

There’d better not be a next time.

He might not even try to find us, I told myself.

The hell he won’t.

But maybe he won’t hunt for us this far south. Maybe he stays in his own area, and we’ll be safe as long as we don’t go there.

Maybe. But I doubted it.

Every so often, a pickup truck went by, putting fear into me. Each time, I got ready to run but the pickup kept on moving. Now and then, men who matched Randy’s physical shape came walking toward me. One even had a limp. None, however, was him.

What if it goes like this from now on? I wondered. Watching for Randy all the time, everywhere I go, never knowing when he’ll pop up and grab me ... give me the works.

Or maybe he’ll grab Eileen, instead. Drag her into his car and take her someplace desolate.

Where no birds sing.

What if he already has her?

My stomach cringed.

I should’ve warned her! What was I thinking? Why didn’t I phone her room the instant I got back to my apartment this morning?

It hadn’t even occurred to me.

She’s probably fine, I told myself.

If she isn’t, it’s all my fault.

By the time I reached campus, I was frantic.

First stop, the student union. Otherwise known as the Tigers’ Den. Willmington University’s teams (and students in general) used to be known as the Braves. Then came the era of political correctness. ‘Braves’ was deemed to be a slur against Native Americans, so a new name had to be found. We chose to be Tigers. Our student union, the Braves’ Cave, became known as the Tigers’ Den.

It was crowded. Students sat at almost every table: some by themselves but most of them with friends. They were talking, laughing, eating snacks, drinking coffee or soft drinks, some even trying to study - books spread out on their tables. The food line was closed for the night, so several students were busy trying to buy refreshments from vending machines.

I knew many of the people I saw, and smiled and nodded at those who noticed me, even exchanged a few words with some of them.

‘Hey, Ed, what’s up?’

‘Not much. How about you?’

‘Hangin’ in. Come on over ’n sit with us.’

‘Can’t. Thanks, though. I’ve gotta run.’

That sort of thing.

Several of Eileen’s sorority sisters were in the Den. Among them, someone probably knew where to find her. I stayed away from them, though. For one thing, Holly would’ve come up. For another, they didn’t need to know I had any interest whatsoever in Eileen.

I left the snack area of the Tigers’ Den and wandered across the room to the lounge section. There, students sat in armchairs and on sofas. Many were by themselves, reading. Several couples occupied the sofas, talking quietly, some holding hands.

Holly and I had sat together on these sofas so many times last year ... trying to study but never for long, soon holding hands and talking, staring into each other’s eyes, often laughing at little things, giving each other a pat on the thigh or back. We’d probably been on every one of the sofas at one time or another.

We drank our coffee black. We often ate red vines. They were usually stale. Holly taught me how to make them soft and mushy by dunking them in coffee. Sometimes, we took turns eating the same vine and it excited me to know that my end of the candy had just been in Holly’s mouth.

The memories made me feel hollow and hungry and sick.

The memories and the loss.

Lovers were here, but Eileen wasn’t. I hurried away and was glad to get outside.

I headed for the library. Holly and I hadn’t really spent any time there together, so it felt like safe ground. As I walked from the student union toward the libary, the intensity of my loss slowly faded ... to be replaced by worries about Eileen.

The worries felt better. But they grew stronger while I searched the libary.

What if she’s not here?

Then I’ll see if she’s in her room at the sorority house.

What if she’s not there?

That’s when to really start worrying, I told myself.

But even if she isn’t in the library or her room, it won’t mean that Randy got her. There are a lot of other places she might be.

Like where?

I found her on the second floor of the stacks in a far comer of the room at a study carrel reading Crime and Punishment.

Thank God, I thought.

It felt great to find her safe.

And I was struck by how wonderful she looked, sitting there in the light of a reading lamp. Her thick hair, which usually looked brown, shimmered with secret threads of gold and russet. Her face looked warm and smooth. She frowned as if concentrating deeply on her book. She wore the bright plaid chamois shirt that she’d had on the night we made love.

‘Hi,’ I said very quietly.

She raised her head, saw me, and smiled.

‘Hi, yourself,’ she said.

So that I wouldn’t loom over her, I crouched. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ I said.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Would you like to go somewhere?’

‘Sure. But can it wait a while? I really need to get some reading done.’

‘Same here.’

‘How about an hour?’

‘Fine. There’re some empty carrels.’

‘Okay. See you in an hour.’

I found a study carrel only a few away from Eileen’s and along the same wall. With everything that had been going on the past few days, I hadn’t actually started Gatsby yet. So I pulled it out of my book bag and started reading.

I got through about half the first page.

What sort of shit is this?

I knew it was supposed to be a great book. It’ll probably get better, I told himself. And I tried to read more, but just couldn’t.

Some other time.

For certain books, your mind has to be in just the right mood.

I put Gatsby back into my book bag and pulled out my volume of Wordsworth. I felt totally incapable of reading that, too.

‘Screw it,’ I muttered.

Then I reached into my bag again and pulled out a rather battered old paperback. The Temple of Gold by William Goldman. I always kept it in my book bag, just in case. It was like an old friend I could trust.

So I opened The Temple of Gold to the bookmark for my current reading of it, and jumped in.

A hand gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I looked. It was a girl’s hand. Turning my head further, I found Eileen standing over me. Her left hand was still on my shoulder. Her right arm was busy holding her books and binders against her chest.

‘Finish early?’ I asked.

‘It’s been an hour and fifteen minutes.’

‘Huh?’

‘What’re you reading?’

I held it up so she could see the cover.

She nodded and smiled. ‘What class is that for?’

‘None. I just like it.’

‘All caught up with your assigned stuff?’

‘You’ve gotta be kidding.’

‘Anyway, if you can tear yourself away from it, I’m ready to go.’

‘Let’s go.’

I put the book away, got up and hung a strap of the bag over one shoulder. I walked ahead of Eileen down the narrow aisle toward the staircase, then opened the door for her.

Stepping past me, she patted me on the rear end and whispered, ‘So what’s the handle, Zock?’

‘You’ve read it!’

‘Hasn’t everyone?’

‘It isn’t even in print.’

‘I know. They’ve got nothing in print but The Princess Bride.’

I followed Eileen down the stairs, watching her long hair bounce and sway, thinking that Holly had never read The Temple of Gold and wondering what was wrong with me that I wasn’t in love with Eileen.

Chapter Eighteen

As we walked down the outside steps of the library, she said, ‘So, did you come by for your nightly dose of Eileen’s insanity?’

‘Can’t live without it.’

She smiled at me. At the bottom of the stairs, we just kept walking, no discussion of where we were headed.

‘My pleasure,’ she said. ‘Anything I can do to take your mind off you-know-who.’

‘I’ve got other things on my mind.’

Though we were walking side by side, Eileen seemed to be leading the way. We went in the general direction of her sorority house. Was I simply walking her home?

Many other things were in the same direction.

It doesn’t matter where we’re going, I thought.

After a while, Eileen said, ‘What sort of things are on your mind?’

‘You.’

‘Me?’

‘I wanted to make sure you’re all right.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You didn’t seem so fine last night. When you left.’

‘Ah, well, that was simply a matter of self-preservation. Preserving my self-esteem. Getting out before I made an even bigger idiot of myself.’

Eileen was on my left and my left arm was free. Her arms were full of books and binders, so I put my hand on her back. She looked at me.

‘You weren’t making even a small idiot of yourself,’ I told her.

‘Yeah, I was. That’s all I can ever do when I’m around you anymore ... go off the deep end.’

‘Nah.’

‘Yeah.’

I caressed her side, feeling her smoothness through the chamois shirt.

Looking straight ahead, Eileen said, ‘I should’ve just stayed away from you. The last thing you need is me messing up your life.’

‘Funny you should mention it,’ I said, my heart suddenly beating hard. ‘Messing up people’s lives. Because you’ve got it turned around. I’m the one messing up your life.’

‘Well, you haven’t made it any easier, but it’s not your fault ...’

‘There’s somebody after you because of me.’

Eileen stopped walking and we faced each other. ‘What’re you talking about?’

‘There’s this guy,’ I said. ‘He saw you in the donut shop when you went out to meet me. I guess he was about to make a move on you, but he backed off because 1 showed up. The thing is, he wants to meet you. He tried to get your name from me.’

‘Did you tell him?’

‘I gave him some fake name. Then he wanted to know where you live. I wouldn’t tell him that, either.’

For a long time, Eileen just stood there looking into my eyes. Then she said, ‘I don’t get it. When did this happen?’

‘Well, Monday night’s when he saw you.’

‘I got that part.’

‘Well, I went back to Dandi last night. That’s the first time I ever saw the guy. He sat down at my table.’

‘You went there last night, too?’

I nodded. ‘After you left, I started to feel pretty lousy. I needed to take a walk.’

‘I wish you’d told me. I was feeling pretty lousy myself. I would’ve gone with you.’

‘Thank God you didn’t.’

‘What possessed you to go out there again?’

‘It was just a place to go. Someplace that’s open.’

‘But it’s so far away. What time did you go?’

‘I don’t know.’ Figuring the truth would make things worse, I said, ‘I studied for a while after you left. So it was maybe around nine-thirty or ten.’

She shook her head. ‘And you went by yourself, I take it.’

I nodded, shrugged.

‘That’s so dangerous, Eddie. Even a nice little town like this ... it’s probably not so nice in the middle of the night. Probably no place is. No place that has people, anyway.’

And places that don’t have people, I thought, probably have other dangerous things roaming the night.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I don’t plan to go out there anymore. But I’m afraid the damage is already done. This Randy guy ...

‘Is that his name? Randy?’

‘Yeah.’

She cracked a smile.

‘What?’

‘A guy named Randy with the hots for me.’

‘He’s not very amusing,’ I told her.

‘Is he handsome?’

‘I guess so. In a Ted Bundy sort of way.’

‘This guy sure rubbed you the wrong way.’

‘Yeah, he sure did. You know what he said? I asked him, “You want to go out with her?” Meaning you. And he answered, “No, I wanta go in her.”’

Her smile went away. ‘Oh. swell,’ she muttered.

‘He’s not a nice guy.’

‘Not if he’ll say a thing like that.’

‘It gets worse.’

‘What?’

‘He made me get into his pickup truck. He wanted me to show him where you live.’

‘He what?’

‘He wanted to get his hands on you last night. And he tried to force me to help him.’

She grimaced. ‘You’re kidding me.’

‘I was supposed to bring you out for him.’

‘My God.’

‘I wouldn’t have done it.’

‘I know.’ Gazing into my eyes, she said, ‘You didn’t do it.’

‘I got away from him. He chased me, but I lost him. The thing is, he’s still...’

‘The thing is,’ she interrupted me, ‘thanks.’

We were standing on a lighted section of walkway just north of the quad. Trees were all around us, their branches casting shadows on the pavement and grass. To my right was Donner Hall, one of the freshman dormitories. Just ahead was Division Street. To the left, out of sight below a steep embankment, was the Old Mill Stream.

‘Come with me,’ Eileen said.

I followed her to the left. We walked into the darkness of the trees. A couple of park benches were at the edge of the embankment above the stream, but nobody was using them. Eileen set her books and binders and purse on one of them. I put my book bag down beside her purse.

In front of the bench, we turned toward each other. She reached out, took the front of my shirt in both her hands and pulled me against her. She kissed me with her open mouth. As she rubbed herself against me, she let go of my shirt and wrapped her arms around my back.

Why here? I wondered. Did she have to lead me here of all places?

Last spring, more than once, I’d stood in this very place with Holly. Embracing her, kissing her, exploring her body.

I shut my eyes.

She is Holly, I told myself. Holly’s right here with me now in my arms ...

Yeah, sure.

I couldn’t kid myself. The feel was all different, and so was the smell. Eileen was nearly my own size. I kissed her without bending over. Her breasts pushed against my chest, not my stomach, and they were larger than Holly’s. She wasn’t pudgy like Holly, either. She felt firm in places where Holly was soft. And she didn’t use whatever perfume Holly had always worn. Instead of Holly’s sweet, heartbreaking aroma, Eileen simply smelled fresh and clean as if she’d just stepped out of a shower.

Why would I want to pretend she’s Holly? I wondered.

The hell with Holly.

We kept on holding each other, kept on kissing. The feel and smell of her soon pushed all thoughts of Holly out of my mind and there was only Eileen, here and now, and fresh memories of her as she’d been on Monday night when we made love.

Tonight, she wore a bra. I unhooked its back. Then I moved my hands to her front, slipped them beneath the loose cups of her bra and filled them with the warm softness of her breasts.

Her mouth was slippery against mine.

Breathing hard, she used both hands to unfasten my jeans. When they were open, one hand pulled the elastic waistband of my shorts toward her and the other hand went down the front. Her fingers curled around my penis.

I pressed my hand against the crotch of her jeans. The denim felt warm and moist. She squirmed, rubbing herself against my fingers, and started to make quiet whimpery sounds.

Then she gasped, ‘Wait.’

‘What?’

‘Wait. Not here.’ She slid her hand off me, took my wrist and eased my hand away from her jeans. I still had one hand on her breast. ‘We’d better not do it here,’ she whispered.

‘But...’

‘Someone might see us.’

‘Okay.’ I fastened the waist button of my jeans, but didn’t bother to pull up my zipper or buckle my belt.

Eileen didn’t fix her bra, either.

‘We’ll go down there,’ she said, and nodded toward the stream.

We hid our books underneath the bench, but Eileen said, ‘I’d better take this along,’ and hung the strap of her purse over one shoulder. Taking my hand, she led me to the edge of the embankment.

‘Let’s try under the bridge,’ she said. ‘Nobody’ll see us there.’

‘What about the trolls?’ I asked.

‘Trolls my ass.’

I laughed. ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’

Chapter Nineteen

The slope was steep and slippery. On the way down, Eileen let go of my hand and put her arms out for balance. I thought about how her breasts were loose underneath her shirt. Not that I could see much; the heavy trees looming over us blocked out so much light that Eileen was nothing but a vague shape with the purse swinging by her side.

At the bottom of the slope, we walked carefully alongside the stream. Though we remained in darkness, pale light from the streetlamps above the bridge glowed ahead of us. A couple of times, I heard cars go by. I couldn’t see them or even the bridge.

Soon, the bridge came into view through the branches ... the Division Street bridge with its low stone parapet where Holly and I used to linger, staring down at the creek.

Don’t start thinking about Holly, I told myself.

The hell with her.

At least we’d never gone under the bridge together. I’d wanted to. One night, walking Holly back to her sorority, we’d stopped along the bridge the way we nearly always did and I asked, ‘Have you ever been under there?’

‘No. Have you?’

‘Just once.’

‘How was it?’

‘Nice and private.’

She’d given me a look. ‘Oh, really?’

‘Want to go down and take a look?’

‘Now?’

‘No time like the present.’

‘It’s almost midnight.’

‘No time like almost midnight.’

‘I’m not going down there.’ Smiling, she’d said, ‘Trolls live under bridges.’

‘Not this bridge. This one’s troll-free.’

‘So say you.’

‘I could go down first and take a look around.’

‘Oh, no you don’t. What if they get you? And then I’m left up here all by myself while the trolls have you for a midnight snack. Thanks, but no thanks.’

‘Then come down with me.’

‘No no no no no.’

‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’

‘It doesn’t extend to sneaking under bridges at midnight. I mean, seriously. No telling who might be under there.’

‘Well, okay.’

I’d been disappointed that night, but now I was glad Holly and I hadn’t ventured under the bridge. It was one of the few places where I hadn’t been with her.

But as Eileen and I walked closer to the bridge, I saw the darkness of the area down there.

‘I’m having second thoughts about this,’ I said. ‘It might not be so safe.’

Eileen stopped, half turned, looked back at me and reached out her hand. I took it in mine. She didn’t say anything, just gave my hand a squeeze and kept hold of it as she started walking again.

A car went over on the bridge, tires hissing on the pavement, engine grumbling, radio heavy on the bass and giving out low thump-thump-thumps that I could feel in my chest. I looked up but couldn’t see the car. Its sounds faded.

‘Have you been down here before?’ I asked.

‘Never at night.’

‘Me neither.’

‘Good,’ she said. ‘This’ll be a first for both of us.’

We were about to enter a clear area when Eileen suddenly stopped. Her back stiffened. With her right hand, she pointed up at the bridge.

A girl about halfway across stopped walking and leaned over the parapet. A moment later, a guy showed up beside her. He leaned over the low wall, too. They both gazed down toward the stream... and toward us.

I was fairly sure they couldn’t see us. Not if we stayed put. But they probably would see us if we continued forward.

The girl turned her head toward the boy. He turned his head toward her and put an arm around her. Then they kissed. They kissed for a long time as if nothing else mattered in the world. I knew exactly how it was. It made me sad. Not just for myself, but for them, too.

Eileen and I stood motionless in the dark below them, watching.

A car went by, but it didn’t disturb the two lovers.

Finally, they stopped leaning over the parapet. Standing up straight, they wrapped their arms around each other and resumed kissing.

‘Okay,’ Eileen whispered.

We hurried on.

The stream was about ten feet wide as it flowed toward the darkness under the bridge. On both sides of it were broad areas of dry, rocky ground littered with fallen branches and various items that had probably been thrown off the bridge: beer cans, a hubcap, an old bicycle wheel, a grimy white sneaker, a broken pair of sunglasses.

Eileen looked back at me. ‘This place could use a clean-up,’ she whispered.

‘Yeah.’

‘You okay with this?’ she asked.

‘Fine.’

She squeezed my hand, then faced forward. A few more steps, and we would be under the bridge.

I looked up, but couldn’t see the lovers or anyone else.

‘I’d better go first,’ I said.

‘Be my guest.’

Though she moved aside, she continued to hold my hand as I stepped past her. ‘Maybe you’d better let go,’ I whispered.

She released my hand, then took hold of the back of my shirt and walked behind me into the darkness.

Almost utter darkness.

To our left and right, I could see only black. Straight ahead of us was more black - about thirty feet of it - then a dim gray smudge where the underpass ended and the stream continued on toward the Old Mill a couple of blocks away.

‘Who turned out the lights?’ Eileen whispered.

‘The trolls.’

‘Very funny.’

I walked deeper into the darkness, moving slowly, Eileen still holding onto my shirt.

‘Be careful,’ she said.

Under here, the air seemed to have a moist chill and it smelled of old, wet things.

Rocks tipped and rolled under my shoes, scaping together, softly bumping. But I also stepped on soft objects that made squishy sounds. My shoe hit a can and sent it clattering. A couple of times, I crunched broken glass.

This reminded me of running through the narrow, dark space between the buildings last night, Randy chasing me.

The place where I’d fallen over a shopping cart, tumbled onto a bum.

Eileen tugged my shirt. ‘This is good,’ she whispered.

I started to turn. If I’d turned all the way around, Eileen would’ve had at least a hint of light behind her. But I only turned part of the way before her hands met my chest. I was facing the stream ... and blackness.

‘I didn’t know it’d be so dark in here,’ Eileen whispered.

Though I felt her breath on my lips, I couldn’t see her at all. ‘Do you want to leave?’ I asked.

‘Huh-uh.’

She touched her moist, warm lips against mine and began to unfasten the buttons of my shirt. While she worked on my shirt, I worked on hers. When both were open, we eased our bodies together. I felt the cloth of her rumpled bra up near my collar bones. Below that, her breasts were warm and soft against me, her nipples stiff. Lower, she was warm smooth skin all the way down to the waist of her jeans.

We kissed with open mouths.

Her purse still hung from her right shoulder. I felt its straps when I reached around her. They didn’t get in the way, though.

I ran my hands up and down her back, savoring her silken curves. She shivered and hugged me more tightly.

‘Too cold?’ I whispered.

‘A little. And a little scared.’

‘Wanta go to my place?’

‘No. This is good.’ Her arms loosened their hold on me. Then they went away. I felt her breath on my face and the warm pressure of her breasts against my chest and small pulling sensations at my waist as she unfastened my jeans. Reaching into my shorts, she caressed me. Then her breasts eased away from me. I felt her mouth kiss my chin, the side of my neck, my chest and my belly as she crouched, pulling down my shorts and jeans.

Then no part of Eileen seemed to be touching me.

I stood there alone, shivering.

What’s going on?

I looked down, but couldn’t see her ... couldn’t see anything in the darkness, not even my own bare legs.

‘Eileen?’ I whispered.

No answer came.

‘What’re you doing?’

A warm, wet something flicked against the front of my penis, then slid under it.

Felt like a tongue.

As it drew back, I was encircled by a moist, pliant ring. It slipped down me, taking me in.

Lips ?

‘I sure hope that’s you,’ I whispered.

In response, the mouth tightened its hold and sucked. Warm hands slid up the backs of my legs and cupped my buttocks. The mouth took me in deeper as the hands squeezed and pulled.

Then the mouth slid off me.

‘It’s only me,’ Eileen whispered.

She slowly stood up, keeping her body close to mine so that her breasts rubbed me and my penis rubbed her.

When she was upright in front of me, I unfastened her jeans. I slipped a hand down inside the front of her panties. She was wet and slippery and hot. My fingers made her writhe and flinch. Whimpering, she took care of shoving down her jeans and panties. Her thighs parted.

I took my hand away. She guided my penis between her legs.

Between them, but barely into her.

We tried for a while. Then I whispered, ‘This isn’t working too well.’

‘I should’ve worn a skirt. Damn. I’ve gotta get these jeans off. Hold onto me, okay?’

‘Where?’

‘My shoulders, I guess. Just don’t let me fall. Gotta get my shoes off first.’

While I held her shoulders, she bent down in front of me. I felt her hair against my belly and penis. She twisted and swayed, rocked from side to side, and gasped a couple of times when she lost her balance. I held her steady, though, and kept her from falling. Finally, she whispered, ‘There.’

She stood up and eased in against me. She was bare and warm and smooth. She’d removed her jeans and panties. Even her purse and bra were gone, though I didn’t think she could’ve taken them off while I’d been holding her steady. All she still wore was her chamois shirt, which was wide open.

I was stiff against her belly. As we kissed, she rubbed against me, her hands roaming over my back and rump.

Then, almost as if we knew what we were doing, she parted her legs and I bent my knees. I felt the wet curls of her pubic hair along the underside of my penis, then only cool air when I was crouched enough to be under her.

Her fingertips found me, guided me. She eased downward and I felt her slick flesh open around me. I straightened my knees.

Eileen dug her fingers into my back and moaned as I slid up high and deep.

She raised one of her legs and hooked it behind me and I went in deeper yet I wanted the feel of both her legs up around me so I pulled at the back of her other thigh. She brought it up and I was in all the way.

Both feet off the ground, Eileen clung to me as if she were climbing a tree trunk while I clutched her buttocks. She grunted as I thrust. I could feel her breasts going up and down while I bounced her. They slapped the fronts of my shoulders. Whimpering, she clutched my head.

And suddenly she was twitching and grunting. I’d been trying to keep control of myself, but her frenzy pushed me over the edge. I started to jerk and throb inside her. As my semen spurted, she squeezed my head between her breasts.

And something went wrong.

She let out a frightened squeal as her weight shifted backward.

Gripping her buttocks, I pranced forward through the blackness in hopes of getting our balance back. But my feet tangled in something - her jeans? - and down I went, Eileen clinging to me, me clinging to her, me buried deep inside her.

I thought we would probably fall into the stream.

We didn’t, though.

When her body struck the ground, she let out a hurt grunt Her arms fell away from around my head. Under my face, her chest was heaving, her heart thudding.

As I started to push myself up, she clutched my shoulder. In a voice that was high and shaky and quiet, she said, ‘Someone else is here.’

Chapter Twenty

I didn’t want to believe her, but I did

‘Are you sure?’ I whispered.

‘Yessss. Oh, God.’

‘It’ll be all right.’

‘He pulled my hair ... made us fall.’

Someone in the dark with us, standing so near to us that he could reach up and pull Eileen’s hair ... someone so stealthy, so silent, that we’d been utterly unaware of his presence.

The fear made my skin crawl like last night when the old man on the porch struck his match. I wanted to leap up and run like hell.

I couldn’t do it, though. My pants were down around my ankles. Eileen, under me, was naked.

And hurt? She’d taken a hard fall, gotten herself pounded against the ground with all my weight on top of her and God-knew-what underneath her.

‘Are you hurt?’ I whispered.

‘Not that bad.’

‘Bleeding?’

‘Yeah. A little, anyway.’

‘We’ve gotta get out of here.’

From somewhere off to my left came sniffy sounds like someone laughing softly through his nostrils.

Eileen’s arms clamped around me and her thighs squeezed against my hips. Her body was trembling under me.

‘It’ll be all right,’ I whispered, my lips against the side of her neck.

‘I’m so scared.’ She started to cry. Small spasms shook her body. Her hitching sobs sounded awfully loud in the dark.

I went, ‘Shhhh.’

So did the person who had hissed his laughs.

So did someone else, over to the right.

Eileen gasped and went rigid.

In a secret comer of my mind, I’d suspected that the stranger in the dark might be Randy, that he’d somehow followed us down here. It had been my fear but also, in some way, my hope. Randy was horrible, but at least he was known to me. He had a name, a face ... and I’d already hurt him once.

When I heard the second ‘Shhhh,’ I decided Randy had nothing to do with this. Also, I suddenly remembered the Swiss Army knife in the pocket of my jeans.

Jeans that were wrapped around my ankles.

‘Let go,’ I whispered against Eileen’s neck.

She kept on holding me tight.

‘Let go of me,’ I whispered again.

Though I spoke softly, the strangers in the dark could probably hear every word. I didn’t want to mention the knife.

‘Please.’ I said.

‘You’ll run away.’

‘No, I won’t. Just let go.’

‘Promise?’

‘I promise.’

She loosened her hold on me. With my hands on the ground on both sides of her, I pushed myself up. Then, holding onto my jeans and underwear, I rose to my feet.

‘Eddie?’ Eileen asked.

‘I’m right here.’ As I fastened my jeans, my belt buckle clinked.

‘Get my clothes for me,’ she whispered.

‘I will.’ But first I reached into the front pocket of my jeans and pulled out my knife. I shifted it to my left hand, felt the blunt edges of the closed blades and tools, and tried to catch the slotted side of a blade with my thumb nail.

‘Eddie?’ It was almost a squeal.

‘Huh?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Right here.’

‘He’s touching me!’

Somebody slammed into me from the right. The impact twisted me and sent me stumbling sideways through the dark. I tripped over my own feet, fell as if making a dive into shallow water, and slammed against the ground so hard that I skidded.

In the distance past my feet, Eileen cried out, ‘Eddie! Get him off me!’

I heard a smack like a fist striking bare skin.

‘Leave her alone!’ I yelled.

As I struggled to get up, I realized that I’d lost my knife. I had to have it. Dropping to my knees, I swept my hands over the ground.

Eileen whined ... part pain, part terror.

The hell with the knife.

I grabbed a heavy, jagged rock that was larger than my hand, scrambled to my feet and rushed toward the sounds from Eileen and what was happening to her.

The sounds sickened me. Sobs and giggles, punches and slaps, yelps of pain, gasps for air, muttered curses, wet slurps, frenzied grunts.

I expected to be taken down, myself, at any moment.

But then I came to where the sounds were.

I was glad I couldn’t see what was being done to Eileen or who was doing it.

I piled on.

It was a pile on: me on top, the attackers underneath me, Eileen almost certainly on the bottom.

Heads, arms, asses everywhere.

More than two attackers. Three? Four? I couldn’t tell.

I laid into them with my rock.

Their turn to cry out.

I couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see me. I think they hurt each other as much as I hurt them. During the minute or two it lasted, I got elbowed, punched, scratched and bit.

Then nobody was between Eileen and me. I lay gasping for breath on top of her sprawled, twitching body, the rock still clenched in my hand. Where my bare skin was against her, she felt wet and sticky.

‘Are you okay?’ I whispered.

Crying, she shook her head. I felt it against my cheek.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said.

‘Where ... are they?’

‘Gone. I don’t know. I think they ran off.’

‘Let’s hurry,’ she said.

I pushed myself up. When I was on my knees, I reached down and took hold of her wrists. ‘Can you sit up?’ I asked.

She started to rise, so I pulled her arms. She winced and whimpered.

Soon, we were both on our feet. She felt wobbly, though. I had to hold her up. ‘I’ll carry you,’ I said.

‘My clothes.’

‘Let’s get out of here before we get jumped again.’

Before she could argue, I dropped the rock and swept her up in my arms. She was too exhausted or hurt to fight me. I carried her, cradled against my chest, toward the gray blur at the mouth of the underpass.

With every step, I thought we might get attacked again.

Finally, I carried her out of the darkness. We were in the open for a few seconds, in plain sight of anyone who might be looking down toward the stream. I didn’t look back, but nobody called out.

I hurried with Eileen into the shadows of the trees along the shore. There, I lowered her gently onto the grass. Then I glanced around.

‘Looks like we’re safe,’ I whispered.

She squeezed my hand.

We were shrouded in darkness, but not total darkness. For the first time since venturing under the bridge, I could see Eileen. I thought she would at least still have her chamois shirt, but it was gone like the rest of her clothes. She seemed to be bloody in places.

‘Can you tell if you’re bleeding badly anywhere?’ I asked. ‘Like if an artery got hit, or something?’

‘Nothing like that.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m just ... leaking a little here and there.’

‘Okay. Good. Now, I guess we’d better get you up top and somewhere safe, and I’ll go find a phone and ...’

‘We left my purse!’ she blurted as if suddenly remembering..

‘Oh shit,’ I said.

‘All my stuff’s in it.’

Nodding, I took off my shirt. ‘Put this on.’ I gave it to her. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘No. You’d better not.’

‘We can’t leave your purse.’

‘I can cancel the credit cards and—’

‘They’ll know who you are ... where you live.’

In a very small voice, she said, ‘But I don’t want ’em to get you.’

‘I’ll be fast,’ I said. ‘If anyone comes after you, yell, okay? Yell or scream, and I’ll come running.’

‘Maybe we’d better get help.’

All I did was shake my head. There was not a moment to lose - not even in explanations - if we hoped to get her purse back.

I whirled around and raced toward the bridge.

Nobody was up top.

When the blackness swallowed me, I stopped running. I put myself backward in time and tried to retrace the route I’d taken with Eileen.

I heard nobody.

They probably ran off, I told myself. For all they know, the cops are on the way.

Crouching, I reached down and patted the ground. I felt moist earth, rocks and twigs.

Who says I’m even close?

I got down on my hands and knees and crawled. I wished I had gloves on. Not because of the cold, but because of the things I found myself touching in the darkness. Some were sharp, some mushy, some hard, some slimy.

At last, I found a shoe. It felt and smelled like a fairly new athletic shoe.

After wiping my hands on my jeans, I continued searching in the same area and found the rest: Eileen’s other shoe, her jeans, her bra and her purse. Her panties and chamois shirt didn’t seem to be there.

Better get out of here while I still can.

But I liked Eileen’s chamois shirt. I didn’t want her to lose it and I sure didn’t want someone else ending up with her panties.

On the chance that Eileen might have a flashlight, I put a hand into her purse and felt around. I touched her billfold, various cylinders and small cases, a hair brush, a pocket-sized spiral notebook, and several unidentified items wrapped in plastic and paper. No flashlight, though.

Digging deeper, I found a treasure trove of loose objects near the bottom of her purse: sticks of gum, coins, half-used rolls of something shaped like Lifesavers, a couple of condoms in plastic wrappers, an array of pens and pencils and markers, a couple of cigarettes and a book of matches.

Yes!

I pulled out the matchbook, flipped open the cardboard cover, tore out a match and struck it. The head flared, hurting my eyes. I was blinded for a second or two.

When I could see again, I yelped.

In the murky glow of the matchlight, I saw a bare foot on the ground just out of my reach.

Chapter Twenty-one

No one was standing on the foot.

It was toes up. The ankle and shin looked hairy. Just above the knee, the leg vanished into darkness.

Looking around quickly, I saw nobody else within the aura of light cast by my match.

The match was starting to bum me. I shook it out, struck another, then hurried over to the man. He was naked. He lay motionless on his back. He had long, wild, filthy hair. His eyebrows, mustache and beard were so thick that he hardly seemed to have any face at all. After a moment, however, I located his small, sooty nose. Then I found his deep-set eyes with their closed lids.

The hair on the right side of his head was matted flat, shiny red with blood.

Had I done that to him with my rock?

It seemed likely, but not certain. The melee had been chaos. No telling who had done what to anyone.

The man looked dead.

Serves him right, I thought. He attacked us. Probably tried to rape Eileen.

With that.

It was upright, big and glistening.

Did he rape her?

The match started to burn me, so I shook it out. I struck another.

The guy was still motionless on his back.

I went looking for my Swiss Army knife. It almost certainly carried my fingerprints, so I couldn’t leave it down here with a dead man.

Finding it wasn’t easy.

Two matches later, however, I spotted its bright red handle on the ground near a smashed Budweiser can. I hurried over to it and picked it up.

I shook out my match. Standing in total darkness, I pried open one of the blades. Then I held knife in my left hand with the matchbook. With my right hand, I struck a fresh match.

I was too far away to see the body.

What if he’s gone?

What if he’s coming at me?

I walked in his direction. A few seconds later, the murky light from my match found him. He was still sprawled on his back.

I stepped up to him. His eyes were still shut. I stared at his filthy, hairy chest. It didn’t seem to be moving.

He’s probably dead, I thought.

But he’s got a hard-on. Can a dead guy have a hard-on?

I had no idea. Seemed possible, but not likely.

It suddenly occurred to me that it looked bigger than before.

It’s growing?

I muttered, ‘Oh shit.’

What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil ...

Don’t freak out, I told myself. He’s probably not dead.

If he isn’t, I’d better help him. Check his wounds. Call an ambulance.

Then I thought about what he’d done to us.

‘Fuck it,’ I muttered.

I lit a new match, then did a quick search for Eileen’s chamois shirt and panties. Other clothes were scattered around: coats, shirts, trousers, shoes. Even a couple of hats. All of them looked filthy. Eileen’s shirt and panties, however, didn’t seem to be among them.

Fast as I could, I gathered up her purse, shoes, jeans and bra and hurried out from under the bridge.

No sooner did I escape from the darkness than I began to fear the worst for Eileen.

I shouldn’t have left her alone.

The others probably got her ...

I came to the place where I’d left her in the shadows, and she wasn’t there. I crumbled inside.

They did get her.

‘Eddie?’

Her voice came from the wrong direction. I jerked my head sideways and looked toward the stream. Still, I couldn’t see her.

‘Where are you?’

Several yards upstream, a pale arm lifted into the air. Below it, a face was a pale smudge against the black of the water.

I set down her things and walked toward her along the bank. ‘You okay?’ I asked.

‘Not bad. How’d it go?’

‘I got your purse and most of your clothes. Couldn’t find your shirt.’

‘Any trouble?’

I crouched down on the grass a few feet away from her. She was submerged to her neck in the stream. ‘The creeps must’ve all run away,’ I said. ‘Probably figured the first thing we’d do is call the cops.’

‘Why don’t you come in and wash up,’ Eileen asked. ‘We can figure out what to do.’

Shaking my head, I said, ‘I think we should get out of here. Get you to the student health center.’

‘Not the health center.’

‘The ER?’

She stood up, her body rising out of the black water pale and gleaming in the moonlight. ‘How about your place?’ she asked. Her torso ended at the water’s surface. ‘I don’t much want to be alone right now ... tonight. If it’s all right with you ...’

‘You should probably see a doctor.’

‘I’ll see one if I need one. I can look myself over when we get to your place. Unless you don’t want me to come over.’

‘I want you to come over.’

‘Thanks, Eddie.’ She waded toward me, silvery where the moon lit her wet skin. I watched how her breasts moved. Their tips looked like large black coins. Her navel was a small black dot. With each step she took, the level of the water lowered.

Seeing the dark patch of her pubic hair, I thought about the guy under the bridge.

She’ll tell me what she wants me to know.

When the water level was down around her knees, she shuddered and wrapped her arms around her chest. ‘Do I still get to wear your shirt?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’

It was on the grass near my feet. I picked it up and handed it out to her. She put it on. ‘Ah, that’s better.’ She fastened a button down near her waist, then climbed out of the stream.

I led the way back along the shore to the place where I’d left her purse and clothes.

‘This is fantastic,’ she said. She picked up her purse and took out her billfold.

‘A reward won’t be necessary,’ I said.

‘You’ll get a reward, all right. I can’t believe you actually went back under there.’

‘I can’t either,’ I said.

‘I was so scared. I was afraid they’d get you.’

‘Still might,’ I said. ‘We really shouldn’t hang around here any longer than necessary.’ I looked toward the bridge. It was out of sight, hidden by the thick tangles of tree branches looming over the embankment.

‘I think we’re all right here, don’t you?’ Eileen asked.

‘Never know.’

She looked inside her billfold.

‘I didn’t take anything.’

‘I know you didn’t.’

‘I’m sure they didn’t, either. If they’d seen your purse at all, they would’ve taken it.’

‘That’s probably true.’ She put the billfold back into her purse.

‘I did steal a matchbook,’ I confessed.

She looked up at me. ‘Went through my purse, huh?’

‘For a good cause. I needed some light.’ I took the matchbook out of a pocket of my jeans and dropped it into her purse. ‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘Any time.’

She crouched and set her purse on the ground, then searched through her clothes. Soon, she looked up at me. ‘You didn’t happen to find a pair of panties?’

‘They seem to be among the missing.’

‘Oh, swell.’

‘Sorry. ’

‘So one of those ... trolls ... took them?’

‘Not necessarily. I might’ve just missed them.’

‘Hope so,’ she said. ‘I hate to think that ...’ Shaking her head, she stood up and stepped into her jeans. ‘We must’ve been nuts,’ she muttered as she fastened the waist button.

‘Yeah.’

She pulled up her zipper and smiled at me. ‘It was sure something, though. Huh? I mean, before ... ? ?’

‘It was something, all right.’

‘I’ve never ...’ She shook her head again. ‘It was really something.’

‘I’ll say.’

She bent down and picked up her bra. ‘Want to wear this?’ she asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Nor do I.’ She stuffed the bra into her purse, then sat on the ground and started to put on her shoes.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

‘Pretty okay, all things considered. We’re alive, right? And not too badly hurt. Could’ve been a lot worse.’

That’s for sure.’

‘What I really want to do is go to your place and take a nice hot shower and then get somewhat smashed.’

‘I’ve only got about half a bottle of wine.’

‘We can pick up something on the way over.’ Shoes on, she stood up. ‘You must be freezing,’ she said.

‘Just a little.’

‘My poor sweetheart.’ She opened the shirt wide and stepped against me and put her arms around me. The heat of her body seeped into my chilled skin. ‘How’s this?’ she asked.

‘Not bad.’

Chapter Twenty-two

At the top of the embankment, we retrieved our belongings from under the park bench. I wore my book bag like a small knapsack and carried Eileen’s books and binders against my chest. That way, I didn’t feel quite so cold or bare.

But shirtless I was. Scratched and bloody, too, as I found out when we entered the glow of a streetlight.

Because of her soak in the stream, Eileen wasn’t bloody. Her face, however, looked somewhat battered. Also, her hair was wet and stringy.

To avoid being seen by campus security or by anyone we knew, we walked around the university campus instead of through it.

That’s how we ran into Rudy Kirkus.

I’d known Kirkus since my freshman year. We were both English majors, so we’d spent quite a lot of time in the same classes. Also, we were both on the staff of the university’s literary magazine, The Roar. A smug know-it-all, he seemed to consider himself God’s gift to literature and good taste.

He was an easy guy to recognize at a distance. Well over six feet tall and skinny, he walked like a drum major at the head of his own parade. His uniform was a corduroy jacket with patches on its elbows, a blue chambray shirt, blue jeans, loafers and an ascot. He always wore a silk ascot around his neck.

If I’d seen Kirkus approaching us, I would’ve dragged Eileen in a different direction. Fast. But he came at us from around the corner of the bank at Ivy Street, a block south of campus.

‘I say!’ he said. He clapped me on the shoulder. ‘Eduardo, old man. And Eileen! What ho?’

Kirkus was a native of San Francisco, but he affected a British accent and mannerisms. He’d probably picked up most of his act by watching those old Sherlock Holmes movies with Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce.

‘How’s it going, Kirkus?’ I asked.

‘It goes, it goes.’ Nodding, he put his hands behind his back and began his usual routine of going up and down, up and down on the balls of his feet. Head cocked to one side, he eyed my chest. ‘I say, old chap, a bit nippy to be roaming about the streets sans shirt.’

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,’ I told him.

He cocked his head toward Eileen and eyed her chest. If another guy had stared that blatantly, I might’ve been miffed. But this was Kirkus. Her breasts, obviously braless under the shirt, would be of no interest to him ... except perhaps as objects of disdain.

‘Hello!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re wearing his shirt. The plot does thicken, hey what?’ He bobbed, grinning.

‘I’m afraid I left home without mine,’ Eileen told him. ‘This chap was nice enough to lend me the use of his.’

Kirkus continued to bob, but his grin vanished while he hoisted an eyebrow. ‘You’re having me on.’

‘Not at all,’ Eileen said, appearing perfectly serious.

‘And why are you wet?’ he asked.

‘A touch of rain, old bean.’

He still bobbed, but both his eyebrows lowered and crept toward the bridge of his nose. ‘And your injuries?’ he asked. He glanced from Eileen to me, bobbing and frowning, not so much a drum major, now, as a stem headmaster determined to get to the bottom of the mischief. ‘Have ourselves a bit of a row, did we?’

Eileen looked to me for this one.

‘A spot of trouble with a canine, I’m afraid. Out on the moor. A huge brute with glowing eyes.’

‘I see.’ He took a deep breath, began to sag, then straightened up again and threw back his head. ‘Well, have your sport with me.’

I suddenly felt bad. Kirkus was a pretentious and arrogant boob, but that was no excuse for mocking him. ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Me, too,’ Eileen told him. ‘We’ve had a tough night.’

‘Ah.’ He seemed pleased by our contrition. ‘Quite all right.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ I told him, ‘we got jumped by a gang of teenagers a few minutes ago. They beat us up pretty good and tore off Eileen’s shirt.’

‘Rum go,’ said Kirkus.

Shrugging, Eileen said, ‘Well, we got away from them. You’d better watch out for them, though.’

‘I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself,’ he said.

‘Just be careful,’ Eileen said. ‘They’re nasty bastards. They pissed in my hair.’

Kirkus eyed her hair, sniffed the air a couple of times, and took a step backward.

‘We don’t want everybody knowing about this,’ I explained. ‘In fact, we don’t want anybody else knowing about it.’

‘It’s terribly humiliating,’ Eileen added. ‘And disgusting.’

‘We’ve taken you into our confidence,’ I said.

‘We’d like you to respect it,’ said Eileen.

‘Righto.’ Kirkus gave a stiff nod, bounced, and said, ‘Mum’s the word.’

‘Thank you,’ Eileen told him.

‘Thanks, Rudy,’ I said.

‘And thank you for the warning. If the young hooligans have a go at me, they’ll rue the day.’

I reached out and patted his arm. ‘Knock ’em dead.’

‘Where were they?’ he asked.

Eileen turned sideways and pointed behind us. ‘A couple of blocks back.’

The boarding house where Kirkus lived was in that direction. Scowling, he asked, ‘How many ruffians did you encounter?’ ‘Six or seven,’ I said.

He nodded briskly.

‘I guess you’ll have to go past them to get home,’ I added.

‘Quite.’

‘They might be gone by now,’ Eileen pointed out.

Kirkus straightened up and tossed back his head. “‘Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than she.”’

‘You say so,’ I told him.

‘Ta,’ he said, and stepped past us.

‘Good luck,’ I told him.

‘Give ’em hell,’ Eileen said.

As Kirkus strode bravely down the sidewalk, we crossed the street. Halfway up the next block, we both glanced back. Kirkus was nowhere to be seen.

‘Hope he doesn’t hurt them,’ Eileen said.

I chuckled and felt a little mean.

‘Poor sod,’ Eileen said.

We both laughed.

‘You know,’ I said, ‘he might not be such a bad guy if he didn’t go around acting like such a fucking know-it-all snob.’

‘A bloody know-it-all snob.’

We laughed some more.

On the next block, we came to the Grand Market.

‘You might want to wait out here,’ Eileen suggested. ‘I’ll go in and get the stuff.’

I nodded.

‘Don’t go away.’

She went inside. I stepped around the side, away from the main street, and stood close to the wall. Though a few people went by, nobody paid attention to me.

Eileen was gone for a long time. That’s how it seemed, anyway.

At last, she stepped around the comer with a brown-paper grocery sack in her arms. ‘Ah, there you are,’ she said. ‘Look what I got for you.’

She set down the bag at her feet, reached in and pulled out something that appeared to be a black cloth. Grinning, she held it high and spread it open.

‘A Dracula cape,’ she explained.

‘So I see.’

‘A nice one, too. Put it on.’

‘Now?’

‘Come on. I know you’re freezing.’ She brought it toward me. ‘It was the best I could do. They didn’t seem to have any clothes in there. Lucky for you, they’ve got a great bunch of Halloween costumes.’

‘I’m supposed to wear this?’

‘You can throw it on over your book bag. Wrap it around yourself like a blanket.’

‘Well ...’

‘Better than freezing.’

‘I suppose.’

I set my armload of books and binders down on the sidewalk, then took the cape from Eileen. I swung it around behind me. It draped my book bag and shoulders. I wrapped it around my front. It felt smooth and warm. ‘Pretty good,’ I said.

‘You look smashing, as Kirkus might say.’ With that, Eileen stepped closer. She found a couple of dangling cords and made a bow of them at my throat. Then she slipped her hands inside the cape and caressed my chest. ‘I should’ve bought you some vampire teeth.’

I bared my own teeth at her.

She laughed softly and kissed me.

When we resumed our journey, Eileen carried her own books and binders and purse. I carried the grocery bag close to my chest with one hand while I held the cape shut with the other.

In the bag were two cans of squirt cheese (sharp cheddar and sharp cheddar with bacon), a box of Ritz crackers and a liter bottle of dark rum.

Though most of the businesses along the street were shut for the night, people walked past us now and again. Some of them noticed what I was wearing, and smiled.

With a university in the middle of town, they were used to all sorts of antics. A guy in a vampire cape three weeks before Halloween was no big deal.

After we left the business district behind, the sidewalks seemed to be empty. Every so often, a car went by.

We were about two blocks from my apartment house when Eileen glanced over her shoulder. Facing forward again, she muttered, ‘Somebody’s back there.’

Chapter Twenty-three

I looked, but saw only the empty sidewalk stretched out behind us. I checked the street, then the sidewalk on the other side of the street. ‘I don’t see anyone.’

Eileen looked again. ‘That’s funny.’

‘Maybe he went in a house,’ I suggested.

‘Or ducked out of sight.’

We kept on walking.

‘What did he look like?’ I asked.

‘Just a guy. I think it was a guy. He was pretty far back and I only caught a glimpse of him.’

‘Wasn’t Kirkus, was it?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Old guy, young guy?’

She shook her head. ‘I have no idea. But whoever he is, let’s not lead him to your apartment.’

I’d already thought of that. I nodded. At the next comer, instead of going straight on to Church Street, we turned to the left.

‘What was he wearing?’ I asked.

Eileen shook her head again. ‘Something dark. A long coat, maybe.’

‘Like a trenchcoat?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘This really sucks,’ I muttered.

‘Think it’s someone from under the bridge?’

‘God, I hope not. But I guess it might be. Or that Randy guy I was telling you about. Or maybe it’s just somebody who happened to be walking behind us.’

‘Let’s find out,’ Eileen said.

We both glanced back. Nobody was behind us. Not yet, anyway.

‘Come on,’ I said.

Side by side, we ran up the sidewalk. The first driveway had a car parked in it. The house’s porch light was on, but all the windows looked dark.

Our pursuer - if we had one - still hadn’t rounded the comer. We rushed up the driveway and crouched in front of the car.

I’d been spending a lot of time, lately, hiding in front of parked cars.

But always alone.

This time, Eileen was hunkered down beside me, her upper arm lightly touching mine. I could feel its heat through my cape. She turned her face toward me. ‘This is kind of exciting,’ she said.

‘If you say so.’

I felt mostly anxiety ... bordering on dread. And I felt weary. Too much had already happened tonight. I wanted to be safe in my apartment with the lights on and the door locked. Underneath all that, however, I did feel a certain thrill at being crouched down and hiding with Eileen.

After a while, she said, ‘What’s taking him so long?’

‘How far back was he?’

She shrugged, and I felt her arm move against mine. ‘Just a block.’ She straightened up slightly and peered over the hood. ‘I don’t see anyone.’

‘We’ll hear him when he goes by.’

She stayed up, half crouched, her books and binders clutched to her chest.

‘We don’t want him to see you,’ I whispered.

She sank down beside me, and I felt the rub of her arm. ‘I don’t think he’s coming,’ she said.

‘Let’s wait a while longer. Maybe he’s being careful.’

‘We might’ve lost him.’

I nodded.

We crouched together in silence, waiting. Out on the street, a car went by. Its sounds slowly faded away. I listened for footsteps, but heard none.

Eileen turned her face toward mine. ‘He probably wasn’t following us in the first place.’

‘Maybe not,’ I said.

‘Maybe he just happened to be going in the same direction as us.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Happens all the time.’

‘Sometimes,’ I said, ‘they are following you.’

‘Not this time, I guess.’

‘Let’s make sure,’ I said. ‘He might just be waiting for us to come out of hiding.’

‘Guess you’re more deeply paranoid than me.’

‘More than likely,’ I said.

‘I don’t like being on someone else’s property.’

‘We’re not hurting anything.’

‘They might not see it that way.’ She twisted partway around and looked toward the house.

I looked, too. From where we were crouched, we couldn’t see any of the windows.

‘Guess they can’t see us,’ Eileen whispered.

I looked toward the house next door. ‘Neither can they,’ I said.

Eileen faced me. ‘We’re pretty well hidden, aren’t we?’

‘Pretty well.’

‘Not as well as under the bridge, though.’

I wished she hadn’t mentioned the bridge. ‘This is sure better lit,’ I whispered.

‘I was so scared.’

‘Me, too.’

She set her books and binders down on the concrete. ‘Hold me,’ she whispered.

I put down the grocery sack.

On our knees in front of the car, we turned toward each other. Eileen spread my cape open and eased in against me. She put her hands on my back below the bottom of my book bag. I hugged her gently. She was trembling, but felt warm against my body.

‘That was so terrible,’ she whispered close to my ear.

‘A lot worse for you.’

‘They were all over me.’

And in you? I wondered. But I couldn’t ask.

‘You know what bothers me the most?’ she asked.

‘Huh-uh.’

Here it comes.

‘They could see us.’

‘I guess so.’

‘They must’ve been able to see us,’ she said. “They knew right where we were ... and where to grab and ... or they couldn’t have done all that. But it was pitch-black in there.’

‘Not completely,’ I said.

‘We sure couldn’t see them. Or even each other.’

‘They’d probably been under there long enough for their eyes to adjust.’

‘But it was so dark. God, it was dark.’ She pressed herself more tightly against me. The concrete was hurting my knees. ‘You can’t see in that kind of darkness no matter how long you’ve been in it.’

‘They must’ve.’

‘I know. I know. They were probably there the whole time. Just standing there silent. You’d think we would’ve at least heard them breathing.’

Or undressing, I thought.

Unless they stripped before we got there.

Maybe they’d been skinny-dipping in the stream.

Didn’t seem likely. Not on a chilly night like this.

‘Or smelled them,’ Eileen said. ‘Did you smell them? They stank when they were on me, but I never smelled them till then.’

‘I didn’t, either.’

‘I thought we were alone.’

‘Same here.’

‘I mean, we should’ve been able to hear them or something. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Huh-uh.’

‘And to think they were right there while we ... did all that.’ She shivered in my arms. ‘And we didn’t even know it.’

‘Ninja bums,’ I whispered.

She laughed softly, quietly, her breath blowing hot against the side of my neck, her body shaking. ‘Very funny,’ she whispered.

For a while after that, we didn’t say anything. Just held each other. She stopped trembling. I could feel the slow, easy rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

‘We’ve probably been here long enough,’ I said.

‘My knees are killing me,’ she said.

‘Me, too.’

‘My knees aren’t even touching you.’

We both laughed a little at that.

‘You’re pretty funny for a scholar,’ I told her.

‘I’m no scholar. Kirkus is the scholar.’

‘He just thinks he is.’

‘Hope he got home all right.’

‘Think he believed us?’ I asked.

‘The teenage gang attack? Yeah. He believed that, all right.’

‘Nice touch, the pee in the hair.’

She laughed. ‘Did you catch him sniffing? The look on his face, you’d think he smelled it.’

I put my face against her hair. It seemed damp and heavy against the side of her head.

‘How does it smell?’

‘Fine.’

‘I hope nothing awful was in that stream.’

‘You can take a nice bath when we get to my place.’

‘Can’t wait,’ she said.

‘Ready to go?’

‘Hope I can still stand up.’

I knew just what she meant; my knees felt ruined, too.

We eased away from each other. Eileen picked up her stack of books and binders and clutched them to her chest. I grabbed the top of the grocery sack with one hand and held the front of my cape shut with the other.

My knees made crackling sounds when I stood up.

Eileen groaned. ‘Next time we do this,’ she said, ‘we should bring kneeling pads.’

‘That’s a very good ...’

Bring-bring-bringgg.

It was too late to duck.

She came coasting down the sidewalk from the left, a skinny old hag in black spandex, her ballcap turned backward, her bike tires humming softly, almost silent.

As she glided toward the driveway, her head turned toward us. Her face was dark with shadows.

She sees us, I thought, though I couldn’t see her eyes.

As her bike sailed across the end of the driveway, she turned her head even more so she wouldn’t lose sight of us. She kept watching us until she passed the neighbor’s hedge.

Eileen and I stood side by side, motionless and silent.

From the right came the bring-bring-bringgg of the bicycle bell.

Eileen looked at me. ‘What the hell was that?’ she whispered.

‘The bike hag,’ I said.

‘You know her?’

‘Not really.’

Bring-bringgg.

It came from farther away.

‘I wanta get outa here,’ Eileen said.

‘Let’s go.’

Chapter Twenty-four

‘Oh God, the church,’ Eileen said as we crossed the final street on our way to my apartment building. ‘Nothing more fun than an old church late at night. I wonder who’s waiting there to scare the crap out of us.’

‘No one, I’m sure.’

‘I’m not sure of anything,’ she said.

‘You want something good to worry about, how about Mr and Mrs Fisher?’

‘Oh, they’re harmless.’

‘If they see us like this ...’ I shook my head.

‘We’ll tell them we were set upon by a gang of teenaged ne’er-do-wells.’

‘Sure.’

‘Worked on Kirkus,’ she pointed out.

‘Kirkus is an idiot.’

I stepped ahead of Eileen, unlocked the door and let us in. I shut the door silently. Leading the way, I crept though the foyer.

The Fishers’ door was open, light spilling out into the gloom of the hallway. From where I stood, I could hear their television. The music sounded like Halloween.

‘Great,’ I muttered.

‘It’s okay,’ Eileen whispered.

‘I’m wearing a vampire cape.’

‘They’ll just think you’re zany. Come on.’ Eileen left me standing there. As she walked past the Fishers’ open door, she kept her face forward and didn’t look in.

I hurried after her.

On my way past the door, however, I had to look.

Mrs Fisher stood just inside the doorway, leaning forward on her cane. She stared at me through her thick glasses. Her eyes looked as big as eggs. I jumped and said, ‘Oh, hi.’

‘Hi back,’ she said, grinning.

I had to stop.

‘What’s that outfit ya got on there, Eddie?’

‘A vampire cape. It’s for Halloween.’

‘What’s Holly got on?’ she asked.

Holly?

I backed away as Mrs Fisher hobbled into the hallway. Eileen had stopped at the foot of the stairs.

‘Hi, Mrs Fisher,’ she said.

‘Come on back and let me take a look at ya, Holly.’

Eileen smiled and approached.

‘What sorta get-up’s that?’ Mrs Fisher asked her.

‘Just my usual clothes.’

‘If you say so.’

Mrs Fisher, herself, was wearing a huge gray sweatshirt with the old Willmington University logo on the front. Around the logo, purple letters read, HOME OF THE BRAVES. She had a white bath towel wrapped around her waist. It reached down almost to her knees like a skirt. From the towel down, her heavy legs were bare. She wore blue tennis shoes that didn’t have any laces.

‘Thought ya had on yer Halloween get-up,’ she said.

‘Not tonight,’ Eileen said.

‘Eddie, he’s already got his.’ Turning her giant eyes on me, she said, ‘Come on in and show Walter.’

‘We really have to get going.’

‘It won’t take but a second. Give him a laugh.’ She reached out for me, but I sidestepped toward the stairway and she missed. ‘Now don’t be so shy, Eddie.’

‘It’s awfully late,’ I said. ‘I’ll show Walter some other time, okay?’

‘Well...’

‘We’ll see you later, Mrs Fisher,’ Eileen said.

‘Well, awe right. You two go ’n’ run on along. Good seein’ ya again, Holly.’

‘Thanks,’ Eileen said. ‘Same here.’

‘My, but you’ve grown.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Still just as nice as pie.’

‘You, too. See you later.’

At the foot of the stairway, we looked back at her. She waved goodbye with her cane.

‘Night,’ I said.

‘Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’

We hurried upstairs. I felt squirmy from the encounter, but Eileen was smiling.

The second floor hallway was murky with dim, yellowish light. All the doors were shut.

‘She’s not so bad,’ Eileen whispered.

‘At least she didn’t make any trouble about you coming up here.’

‘Maybe because she thinks I’m Holly.’

‘She liked Holly a lot.’ Unlocking my door, I added, ‘Everyone did. Guess everyone still does. Except me.’

We entered my rooms and I shut the door.

‘I’m not such a big fan anymore, myself,’ Eileen said.

While she set her books and binders down on the coffee table in front of the sofa, I carried the grocery sack into the kitchen and put it on the counter. I reached under my cape and removed my book bag. As I swung it onto the table, Eileen came in.

‘Okay if I take a shower?’ she asked.

‘Sure. I’ll get you a clean washcloth and towel.’

She followed me to the bathroom. I flicked on the light, then went to the nearby linen closet. The washcloth and towel I took down were pink and soft. I’d bought them last year for Holly to use when she spent nights with me.

I carried them into the bathroom for Eileen.

‘I might need some bandages when I’m done,’ she said.

I opened the medicine cabinet and showed her where they were.

‘I’ll try to be fast,’ she said.

‘Take your time. No hurry.’

‘Go ahead and help yourself to the rum. You don’t have to wait for me.’

‘Okay. See you later.’ Leaving her in the bathroom, I shut the door.

But I didn’t help myself to the rum. Instead, I went into my bedroom. With the light on, I turned to the mirror. My hair was mussed, my face dirty and scratched. Spreading the cape open, I bared my teeth and snarled at the mirror.

Big, bad vampire.

Sure.

I did look scruffy and a little scary, though.

Should’ve tried this with Kirkus.

Or the bike hag.

I almost smiled, but my mind suddenly hit me with a picture of the bum I’d found underneath the bridge. Feeling hot and sick, I turned away from the mirror and removed the cape. Then I took off the rest of my clothes, put on my robe and flopped down on my bed to wait for Eileen to finish her shower.

The guy’s probably okay, I told myself.

He had that erection.

I should’ve checked his pulse.

If I’d tried that, he might’ve grabbed me.

Suppose he is dead?

He’s not, I told myself. But if he is, they won’t know we had anything to do with it.

We’ll have to keep our mouths shut about what happened under there.

What about Kirkus? He knows we were in a fight. He might tell on us.

So who cares? It was self-defense anyway. It’s not like I murdered the guy.

But I felt hot and sick from thinking such thoughts.

So stop it, I told myself. Think about something pleasant. Think about Eileen.

As I gazed at the ceiling and listened to the hiss of the shower, I pictured her standing under its spray. Steam swirled around her like hot fog. Water splashed her face, ran down her body. She was ruddy and gleaming ...

Just like Holly.

I shut my eyes.

Holly and I had taken showers together sometimes. Stood facing each other beneath the hot spray, me sliding soapy hands over her breasts, Holly lathering my penis, her slippery hand gliding up and down.

Should I go to her?

It’s Eileen, not Holly.

Holly wouldn’t want me, anyway. The slut has her Jay.

It’s Eileen in the shower now.

Maybe she wants me to be with her. Maybe she’s hoping I’ll come in, and she’ll be disappointed if I don’t.

No no no, I thought. She doesn’t want me now, not after what they did to her. She wants her privacy while she cleans up and tends to her wounds.

In my mind, however, I go to her. I sweep aside the shower curtain and there she stands under the spray, looking at me and weeping and holding out her hands for help. She is scratched and scraped and gashed and chewed, blood spilling from a dozen wounds. Blood squirts from her nipples. It gushes from her vagina as hard as water from a garden hose, pounding the bottom of the tub and splashing against her ankles and shins.

Help me, she says.

I climb into the tub.

I’m bleeding to death!

And I say, Maybe it’s your period

No! They did it to me. Help! Please!

With my fingertips, I pinch her nipples to shut off the squirting blood.

Yes! But the other! The other! Plug it up!

With what?

I already know what. It’s hard and ready. Keeping her nipples pinched, I position myself under the hot gusher and push up into her, stopping the rush of blood.

‘Eddie!’

Did it!

‘Can you come here!’

Where’s she calling from?

Doesn’t matter, I think. I can’t go anywhere. If I pull out, she’ll bleed to death. This was a really bad idea. Should’ve taken her to the emergency room. Never should’ve tried to plug her like this.

But it feels so good.

Too good. When I come, I’ll get soft and she’ll bleed out and ...

‘Eddie? Can you come in here?’

I woke up. I was lying on the end of my bed, my legs hanging off below the knees, my feet on the floor. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I saw that my robe hung open. I was stiff and hard, but not in Eileen.

Nobody in the room but me.

‘Eddie?’

She IS calling!

I lurched up, ran to the bathroom and knocked on the door. ‘Eileen?’

‘You okay?’ she called over the hissing, splashing sounds of the shower.

‘Yeah. Fine.’

‘I kept calling and you didn’t answer.’

‘I guess I drifted off.’

And dreamed a little dream of you.

‘I thought something had happened.’

‘No. Everything’s fine.’

‘Can you come in?’ she asked.

I opened the door and entered.

The bathroom was hot and steamy. Eileen’s clothes, including my shirt, were piled on the floor. I stepped over them and walked toward the bath tub. Through the frosted white plastic curtain, I could see the vague contours and color of her body.

I saw no red.

‘Can you come here?’ she asked. ‘

‘Sure.’

I stopped on the bath mat.

‘You probably need a shower, too,’ she said.

‘Probably.’

‘Want to come in now?’

I opened my robe and looked down. Still partly aroused from the dream, I was sticking out straight.

Embarrassing. But a little exciting, too.

Maybe it’ll go down if I wait a while.

‘Eddie?’

‘Huh?’

‘Coming in?’

‘Just a minute.’

She was facing me through the curtain. One of her breasts seemed to be touching the frosted plastic.

I gave up any hope of shrinking.

So I took off my robe and tossed it out of the way. Eileen, obviously watching me, pulled the curtain aside. I climbed into the tub.

It wasn’t much like the dream. Though her wet skin gleamed, no blood squirted or gushed out of her body. The injuries that I could see were contusions and scratches. She also looked as if she’d been bitten in several places. The teeth hadn’t broken her skin, but they’d left marks.

‘You don’t look too bad,’ I said.

‘Neither do you.’

I had worse abrasions than Eileen. More scratches and bite marks, too.

She began to slide a bar of soap over my body. ‘I’ll get you all nice and squeaky clean,’ she said.

She already looked squeaky clean, herself.

Her sliding hands made me soapy all over. Then she wrapped her arms around me, pressed her body gently against mine and kissed me with her mouth open. She moaned and squirmed. I was upright and thick against her belly. She felt slippery and soft all the way down to her knees.

A few times, she flinched when I touched bad places on her back and buttocks.

Soon, I was down on the bottom of the tub with Eileen straddling me, clutching my shoulders, her breasts wobbling and lurching as I drove up into her. Sometimes, the hot spray of the shower was blocked by her body. Other times, it got me full in the face.

Chapter Twenty-five

Standing outside the tub while I gently dried Eileen, I found that she did have a few cuts on her back and buttocks. They looked red and raw, but were no longer bleeding.

I put antiseptic and bandages on them.

Then she asked if I had a hair drier.

‘Afraid not.’

‘That’s all right.’ She held out her hands for the towel.

I gave it to her, then watched while she rubbed her hair vigorously with it, her arms high, her breasts shaking. Her breasts had marks on them. Not from me, but from what the others had done to her under the bridge.

What had they done to her?

‘I’ll be a few more minutes in here,’ Eileen said. ‘You want to run ahead and make the drinks?’

‘Sure.’

‘How about rum and Coke for me?’

‘Coming right up.’ I put on my robe and headed for the door.

‘On the rocks,’ she added.

I glanced over my shoulder at her. She looked wonderful standing there with her arms up, smiling at me from under the bunched towel.

‘You can leave the door open,’ she said. ‘Let the steam clear out.’

Nodding, I turned away and went into the kitchen. I made the drinks. Then I carried them into the living room and returned to the kitchen for the Ritz crackers and squirt cheese.

When I came out, Eileen was standing in the living room. Her hair, still moist but neatly brushed, hung down to her bare shoulders. The pink towel was wrapped around her waist, one end tucked in at her hip.

‘Wow,’ I said.

‘But a little nippy,’ she said. ‘Got anything for me to wear?’

‘Oh. Sure. I’m sony.’

‘No problem.’

I hurried past her and she followed me down the hall to my bedroom. I took a cotton nightshirt out of a dresser drawer. Holding it up for her to see, I asked, ‘How’s this?’

It was red and had Goofy on it.

Eileen frowned slightly. ‘Was this Holly’s?’

‘It’s mine.’

‘I bet she wore it, though.’

‘Yeah.’

Holly had worn it a lot. The nightshirt had looked great on her, short and clingy.

‘I can get you something else,’ I said.

Shaking her head, she stepped forward and took it from me. ‘No, this is fine.’ She plucked the towel away from her body, tossed it onto my bed, then put the nightshirt on over her head. The thin cotton drifted down her body. It was shorter on her than on Holly.

She raised her arms to sweep her hair out from under the nightshirt’s neck, and the hem lifted higher than her groin. When she lowered her arms, it descended.

Smiling, she asked. ‘Do I look okay?’

‘Great.’

‘It’s a little short.’

‘I don’t mind if you don’t.’

She grinned. ‘I’m ready for a drink. How about you?’

‘Sure am.’

This time, she led the way. I walked to the living room behind her, my eyes on the smooth curves of her buttocks as they flexed under the clinging nightshirt.

We sat down beside each other on the sofa.

I picked up both drinks and handed one to her. She raised her glass toward me. ‘To being safe and clean and together,’ she said.

‘I’ll drink to that.’

We drank.

‘Mmmm, good,’ Eileen said. ‘You make a mean rum and Coke.’

I laughed. ‘It’s not totally disgusting.’

After a few more sips, Eileen set down her glass and picked up the Ritz crackers. ‘Let’s dig in.’

While she opened the box of crackers, I peeled the seal off a canister of squirt cheese.

‘Can’t believe how hungry I am,’ she said.

‘We had an active night.’

‘I’ll say. My God. Here, give me.’

I popped the lid off and passed the canister to her. Upending it, she squirted a small pile of orange cheese onto a cracker in her hand.

‘Open wide,’ she said. I opened my mouth and she stuffed the cracker in. I chewed. The cracker crunched. The cheddar was creamy and tangy and I could taste the bacon flavor.

Eileen prepared a cracker for herself. She ate it while I drank more of my rum and Coke. As she chewed, she closed her eyes. She looked as if she were relishing a rare delight. After swallowing, she sighed. ‘Fantastic.’

‘Pretty darn good.’

Squirting cheese onto another cracker, she said, ‘I can’t believe how hungry I am.’

‘You go ahead and eat that one.’

‘No, you.’ She pushed it into my mouth, then took another drink and started preparing another cracker. ‘It might have something to do with all that sex,’ she said.

I nodded and chewed.

‘But I bet it makes people hungry when they have close calls. All that adrenalin. Do you know any physiology?’

‘Not much.’

‘Me neither. But I’ve been in some earthquakes and I always feel hungry afterward.’ A smile spread across her face. ‘Horny, too.’ She popped a cheese-loaded cracker into her mouth.

‘You think we’re so hungry because we got attacked?’

Chewing with her mouth shut, she nodded.

Though I felt the heat of a blush spread over my skin, I asked, ‘And horny?’

She nodded some more.

‘Those bums piling on you made you horny?’

Frowning slightly, she shook her head. She swallowed and took a long drink. ‘Not that. Surviving. Escaping. Getting away in one piece. That’s what does it.’

‘I thought you meant getting attacked.’

‘God, no. You must be kidding.’ She suddenly went silent and stared at me, looking appalled. ‘You think I liked having those guys on me?’

‘Not really, but...’

‘They were vile. They stank. They were all over me, slobbering on me, groping me, hurting me. They were naked. I could feel their cocks. They were trying to rape me. And you think I liked it?’

Now or never.

‘They didn’t rape you, did they?’ I asked.

She looked as if I’d slapped her. She gaped at me, her mouth drooping.

‘I mean, if they did, you might need ...’

‘They didn’t.’ Her voice was low and steady, her eyes locked on mine.

‘Are you sure?’

‘I think I would know.’

‘Okay.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

I didn’t want to tell her about the bum I’d found when I went back for her purse and clothes.

‘I believe you,’ I said, trying to sound convincing. ‘It’s just that ... they were on you for a couple of minutes ...’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘I got to you as fast as I could, but they might’ve had time ... maybe one or two of them ...’

‘Well, they didn’t.’

‘Okay.’

She looked shocked and sad. ‘I can’t believe you even felt it necessary to ask.’

‘But if they did—’

‘If they did, do you think for one second I would’ve invited you into the bathroom to fuck me? Do you think I would endanger your life that way?’

‘No.’ I sounded like a guilty kid on the verge of tears.

‘You’re damn right I wouldn’t!’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Not half as sorry as I am. I can’t believe you, Eddie. My God!’

‘I’m sorry.’

I reached out for her.

‘Don’t!’ she blurted and scooted away from me, her glass and the squirt cheese in her hands, the box of Ritz crackers resting on her lap. The Ritz box tumbled off. Crackers spilled out on the cushion between us.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘But you did. You did.’ Leaning forward, she slammed her glass and the squirt cheese onto the table. Then she got to her feet. ‘I’ll be going now.’

‘No, wait You can’t...’

‘Just watch.’

She hurried around the end of the coffee table, but I leaped to my feet and intercepted her. 1 grabbed her by both upper arms.

Instead of struggling to free herself, she stood motionless and stared me in the eyes. In a steady voice, she said, ‘Let go.’

‘I only asked because I care about you.’

‘You think I’d keep something like that from you? You think I’d let you touch me if any of those filthy pigs had ...’

‘No. No, I don’t.’

‘The hell you don’t. You must think I’m a real prize. Just ’cause I put out for you a couple of times, you’ve got me mistaken for some sorta hot-to-trot piece of ass like Holly who’d rather have a hot cock in her pussy than ...’

She cut off her words and stared at me. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes glimmered with tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.

Though stunned, I shook my head as if what she’d said about Holly didn’t matter.

And it didn’t matter nearly as much as what I needed to tell her. ‘When I went back under the bridge to get your stuff, I found a body. One of the guys who attacked you.’

She gaped at me.

‘What do you mean, “a body”? Like a dead body?’

‘Or unconscious. I don’t know. But he ... he looked as if he’d ... you know, been in someone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It was wet.’

‘Didn’t get that way from me.’

‘Or from me,’ I said.

She gave me a sad little smirk. Then she stepped against me. It was a good, familiar feel. Arms around me, she lowered her face into the curve on the side of my neck. I could feel the wetness of her tears.

Softly, she said, ‘So you thought this guy had nailed me, but you went ahead and put yours in me anyway?’

‘Well...’

‘What kind of idiot are you?’

‘An optimistic idiot?’

She laughed, her body shaking against me. Then she settled down. We held each other for a long time in silence.

Later, Eileen rubbed her face dry on the shoulder of my robe. She sniffed and looked at me. ‘This guy under the bridge?’ she said. ‘Are you the one who put him out of commission?’

‘Probably. When they were on top of you like that, I went sort of nuts with my rock. If he’s dead, I’m probably the one who killed him.’

‘Oh, boy,’ she said. ‘What’ll we do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Just pretend it didn’t happen?’

I shook my head. ‘We don’t have to pretend anything. We just accept that somebody got hurt when we defended ourselves.’

‘Got what he deserved,’ Eileen said.

‘Yeah.’

‘But what about the police?’

‘Want to report it?’ I asked.

‘No!’

‘Didn’t think so.’

‘But we don’t want them coming after us, either. What if we left something behind?’

Her shirt and panties.

‘I don’t think we did,’ I said. ‘I searched around pretty good when I went back.’

‘I’m still missing a couple of things.’

‘I know. But they weren’t there.’

She stared me in the eyes and said, ‘I think we’d better go back.’

That was not what I wanted to hear.

‘It was pitch-black under there,’ she said.

‘I used your matches.’

‘We’ve got to go back with a good flashlight.’

‘Now?’

The sooner the better. Before someone reports the body. In fact, what we really should do is get rid of it. Make it go away.’

‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘If nothing else,’ she said, ‘we both bled down there. If the cops do any kind of real homicide investigation, they’ll pick up samples of our blood. And your semen.’

I was feeling worse by the word.

‘We probably left footprints, too,’ she said. ‘God knows what else. Like maybe your fingerprints on the murder weapon.’

‘It was a rock.’

‘Any smooth surfaces?’

‘I don’t think so. Anyway, maybe the guy isn’t even dead.’

‘But if he is, he’s down there in a crime scene jammed with evidence against us.’

Chapter Twenty-six

For the next hour or so, we talked about what to do. We ate more cheese and crackers and drank more rum and Coke. Though I made the drinks light, I felt a little high by the time we were done talking.

In my bedroom, we got dressed. I had enough clean clothes for both of us. Eileen wore her own shoes, but brown corduroy trousers that belonged to me, and the same dark blue sweatshirt that I’d worn during my adventures the night before. I dressed myself in a chamois shirt, jeans and the Reeboks.

I decided to leave my wallet behind, but I pocketed my Swiss Army knife. As I took my five-inch Maglite off the night stand, Eileen said, ‘Too bad you didn’t have that with you.’

‘Didn’t know we’d be going under a bridge.’

‘Is this the best flashlight you’ve got?’

‘The only one I’ve got. It’s pretty good, though.’

I found a dark blue knit cap for Eileen, a Yankee ballcap for myself.

‘What about gloves?’ Eileen asked.

‘Ball mitts?’ Like I said, I’d had a few.

‘Like rubber gloves or something. Dishwashing gloves?’

I shook my head.

‘Glove gloves?’ she asked.

I shrugged.

‘What do you do in winter?’

‘Put my hands in my pockets.’

‘Ah. Then that’s it, I guess.’ With that, she pulled her hat on.

We went to the door. Before opening it, I turned to her. ‘We sure we wanta do this?’

‘I think we have to.’ She looked very cute in the stocking cap, her hair stuffed inside it so that she looked boyish. She had a pale crumb of Ritz cracker at the left comer of her mouth, adhering to the down above her lip. With a fingertip, I brushed it away.

She leaned forward and gave me a kiss that was brief but soft and warm.

‘Let’s get it over with,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be late for my ten o’clock.’

‘I hope that’s a joke.’

‘No joke.’

‘Whatever we’re gonna do,’ I said, ‘we’d better have it done before sunrise.’

‘Oh, I know that.’ She opened the door.

We had the hallway to ourselves. On the way downstairs, I worried about encountering the Fishers. We found their door shut, however, and hurried past it and got out of the building without being seen.

We had already decided on a route ... one that would keep us at least a block from campus until the very end.

We walked quickly.

A cool breeze was blowing. It had the strange, moist smell that only comes ‘in the dead waste and middle of the night.’

I’d been out on the streets last night at this hour, and later. In trouble even then, but in more trouble now.

What the hell’s happened to my life? I wondered.

The answer was easy.

Holly.

Holly had broken my heart. She was why I’d started my night wandering. She was why Eileen had come into my life, and Eileen had drawn in Randy and led me down into the darkness under the bridge where the trolls got us ... and I got one of them.

Thanks a lot, Holly.

But maybe it’s more Eileen’s fault than Holly’s.

Eileen’s only in this because Holly dumped me.

Maybe I ought to be thanking Holly for bringing Eileen into my life.

Maybe not.

One thing’s for sure, I thought; Holly deserves credit for the mystery girl. I never would’ve seen her if Holly hadn’t smashed my world.

I wonder where she is?

Probably a few miles to the north.

Strolling down a sidewalk? Sneaking into a house? Maybe keeping her rendezvous with the tequila drinking woman I’d watched in the kitchen?

What if Randy gets his hands on her?

It’s Eileen he wants.

Too bad, asshole, the trolls beat you to the punch.

No, they only tried.

Where’s Randy now? I wondered.

Right behind us.

Wouldn’t that be terrific?

I had an urge to look over my shoulder, but fought it off. For one thing, Eileen would question me about it. For another, what if he’s actually back there?

As I walked along beside Eileen, I felt more and more certain that someone was following us.

I dared not look back.

Words from a poem crept into my mind:

‘Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.’

How apt! I thought.

Wordsworth? No, I’d never read much Wordsworth till this semester. Poe? I didn’t think so. I’d memorized several of Poe’s poems, but this didn’t seem to be from any of them.

Coleridge!

Almost for sure. It felt like Coleridge. I knew only three Coleridge poems by heart, ‘Christabel,’ ‘Kubla Khan,’ and ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.’ This definitely wasn’t ‘Kubla Khan.’

I gave Eileen’s hand a squeeze. She looked at me, and I recited the verse.

‘Thanks for creeping me out,’ she said, smiling.

‘It just popped into my head.’

‘Can’t imagine why.’

‘Does it ring a bell?’

‘“It is an ancient Mariner, and he stoppeth one of three.”’

‘Ah! Okay. Thanks. I thought it might be “Christabel.” ’

‘“Mariner.”’

‘I should’ve known.’

‘“Instead of the cross, the Albatross about my neck was hung.” ’

‘Nice poem for a night I killed someone.’

Eileen squeezed my hand. ‘If he’s dead, we’ll deal with it.’

‘If you say so.’

‘One way or another.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘Well, we’ll have to see what’s feasible. Maybe we can take him for a drive, dump him somewhere outside of town. Maybe in Gunther Woods.’

‘Is your car working?’

‘Got a new battery. It’s fine now. I’ve been thinking maybe we bring him up closer to the road, then go get my car and put him in the trunk.’

I imagined us trying to carry the dead, naked bum up to the road.

Without gloves.

‘I don’t know,’ I muttered.

‘We’ll see,’ said Eileen.

After taking a very circuitous route, we came upon the Old Mill Stream a block east of the Division Street bridge. As we decended its embankment, I realized I’d forgotten for quite a while to worry about anyone following us.

Nobody was following us, I thought.

Oh, yeah?

Now I was worried again.

When we reached the shore of the stream, I whispered, ‘Let’s wait here a minute and make sure nobody’s coming.’

‘Was someone behind us?’

‘Not that I know of. Just wanta be careful.’

Nodding slightly, Eileen whispered, ‘Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of paranoia when returning to a crime scene.’

We crouched among some bushes. Eileen put an arm across my back, and I could feel her breast against the side of my arm.

Breath tickling my ear, she whispered, ‘If somebody’s following us, I hope it ain’t one a them frightful fiends.’

‘You and me both.’

For a while after that, we were silent and listening. I heard the breeze in the leaves around us. I heard a car, but it sounded far away. Now and then, a bird twittered. An owl hooted. Something small scurried over the ground somewhere up the embankment from us.

I was aware, every moment, of Eileen’s breast touching my arm. I could feel its warmth through the layers of my shirt and her sweatshirt. I felt its slight movement each time she breathed in or out.

Is she doing this on purpose to get me excited? I wondered.

At least it’s taking my mind off our troubles.

‘I don’t think anyone’s coming,’ she whispered.

‘Ready to go?’

‘Might as well get it over with.’

When we stood up, the side of my arm lost her warmth and felt chilly.

I took the lead. We walked along a path by the shore of the stream. Though I held my flashlight ready, I kept it off.

We walked in silence.

Soon, the Division Street bridge came into sight. The area underneath it looked black.

We can’t go under there, I thought. The others might’ve come back by now.

At least I’ve got a flashlight this time.

Not very far from the bridge at all, I stopped and studied the area. Because we were approaching from the opposite side, everything looked much the same, but reversed, as if I were observing my memories of earlier that night in a mirror.

It was different in other ways, too. No lovers were lingering by the parapet. No cars were going by. And the approach to the blackness below the bridge was more cluttered with foliage than it had been on the opposite side.

To enter, we would need to force our way through tangles of bushes. Or wade in the stream.

Either way, I thought, they’ll probably hear us coming.

I turned to Eileen and whispered. ‘How about calling it quits?’

‘How about going to jail?’

‘I just think we might be pressing our luck.’

‘Just think how great we’ll feel after it’s taken care of.’

‘I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this.’

‘It’ll be fine. We’ve got the flashlight.’

‘Yeah.’

‘If anyone’s in there ... anyone alive ... we’ll take off like bats outa hell.’

‘I suppose.’

‘It’ll be all right.’

‘I sure hope so.’

‘Why don’t you give me the flashlight and I’ll go first?’

‘Nah, that’s all right.’ Not waiting for any more suggestions, I turned away and headed for the dark passageway under the bridge.

I felt tight and heavy inside. My heart hammered. My penis retreated and my scrotum shriveled. My bowels squirmed.

This is not a good idea, I thought.

But I kept moving, anyway.

Being a guy isn’t always a picnic. To keep women from thinking we’re jerks or cowards - and consequently scorning or dumping us - we do what they want us to do. Even when we don’t want to do it. Even when we know better.

I knew this was a bad idea.

But I’d already voiced my objections and Eileen still thought we should go through with it.

Okay. Let’s just see.

I started trudging through a waist-high thicket. It snagged my jeans, rustled and crackled. Dry leaves crunched under my shoes. Twigs snapped.

They’ll hear us coming a mile away.

I halted. Eileen put a hand on my back and stopped behind me. I turned the flashlight on.

Its beam drove a narrow, widening tube of brightness into the black, lighting air and ground, the stream, rags and an old mattress and mashed cans and broken bottles.

But no naked man sprawled on the ground.

No people at all.

Until I swept the beam a small distance to the left. Near the far end of its reach, it dimly illuminated a low, squatting circle of men. Hairy, filthy, bloody.

All of them looking at us.

Chewing.

Blood spilling from their mouths.

Behind my back, Eileen grunted with shock and despair and horror as if she’d just watched a panda get beheaded.

I shut off the flashlight fast.

Eileen whispered, ‘Fucking shit.’

Whirling around, I gasped, ‘Let’s go!’

Chapter Twenty-seven

They didn’t get us. I don’t really think they tried very hard. We heard them scurrying and grunting behind us for probably less than a minute. When we climbed the embankment, they apparently quit ... not willing to risk being seen by whomever else might be up and about at such an hour.

Eileen and I kept running. We ran for blocks and blocks, gasping for breath, often glancing back, our shoes slapping the pavement of sidewalks and streets. A few times, we ducked out of sight to hide from approaching cars.

Mostly, though, we just kept running. I hardly paid attention to where we were ... just so we were running away from the bridge. Then Eileen hit my arm and pointed across an empty parking lot toward a Speed-D-Mart and laundromat, both open 24 hours a day.

‘Come on,’ she gasped.

As we ran through the parking lot, I thought she wanted us to go inside one place or the other ... to get off the streets and hide? Then I spotted our destination; a pair of pay phones between the. entrances.

The narrow walkway in front of them was empty.

Unusual, I thought.

Though I’d been disoriented for a while, I now knew where we were. I’d used this Speed-D-Mart myself many times. And there were usually panhandlers loitering nearby, shuffling along with hands out, murmuring requests for money.

Not tonight, though.

Bet I know where they are, I thought. Having a little midnight snack.

It’s way past midnight.

Instead of snatching up one of the phones, Eileen turned around and slumped against the wall. She panted for breath. She wiped her face with a sleeve.

‘You okay?’ I whispered.

‘You kidding? Jeezus! You see what they were doing?’

‘I think so.’

‘Jeezus!’

‘Well, we left’em in the dust.’

‘They were eating him.’

‘Looked that way.’

‘Yaaah!’

‘It’s all right. We got away.’

‘We’ve gotta call the cops,’ she gasped. ‘Maybe they can get ’em.’

‘I hope so.’

‘It’s okay with you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I don’t think we ... need to worry about ... getting blamed.’

I nodded. Any evidence of me or Eileen at the crime scene would be insignificant, if not obliterated entirely by the gang of trolls.

‘I’ll do it,’ Eileen said. She pushed herself off the wall and lurched over to one of the phones.

‘I don’t think we have any change,’ I said.

‘Doesn’t matter. You can ... don’t need it to call the cops.’

‘Oh.’ I hadn’t known that.

She picked up a handset and tapped nine-one-one on the keypad. ‘Anonymous?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘Is this a bad idea?’

‘I think we have to.’

‘Yes,’ she said into the mouthpiece. ‘Somebody’s getting murdered down by the Mill Stream under the Division Street bridge.’ She hung up. ‘There.’ She picked up the handset again. Holding it in the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she quickly rubbed its surfaces. Then she hung up again. With a sleeve, she wiped the keypad. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

We ran around the nearest comer and down the block. After turning the next corner, we slowed to a walk. We were both huffing for air. Eileen took hold of my hand. We walked quickly, not talking, keeping watch on the area around us.

Once, we hid when a car approached. We didn’t hide again, however, until we were just around the corner from my apartment. Beside us was the churchyard’s wrought-iron fence. ‘Let’s go in here,’ I whispered.

Eileen looked behind us.

‘Come on.’ I pulled her hand.

‘What?’

‘Just wanta make sure.’

I thought she might resist, but she stayed with me as I led her through the gateway of the old cemetery. The church in front of us looked dark at every window. The graveyard was illuminated only by the dim glow from nearby streetlights. Through the bars of the fence, I could see the sidewalk where we’d just been.

‘What’re we doing?’ Eileen whispered as we hurried among the tombstones.

Most of them weren’t large enough for us to hide behind.

‘Here.’ Near the fence was a vault the size of a small shed. We crouched down behind it.

‘What’re we doing here?’ Eileen asked again.

‘Just want to make sure nobody’s following us.’

‘Did you see anyone?’

‘No.’

‘Thank God for that, anyway.’

In silence, she looked around the graveyard. We had our backs to the vault, but both of us were squatting like catchers behind home plate, not leaning against it.

Though I didn’t watch the sidewallc, we were near enough to hear anyone walking by.

Or pedaling by?

It isn’t the bike hag I’m worried about, I thought. It’s the trolls from under the bridge. Or Randy.

‘We could’ve picked a different place,’ Eileen whispered.

‘Sorry.’

‘Bone orchards aren’t my idea of a good time.’

‘Lots of good hiding places, though.’

‘Yeah. No telling who else might be hiding here.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ I told her.

We went silent. She put a hand on my back. It felt warm through my shirt. After a while, she said, ‘I wonder what’s happening under the bridge right now.’

‘Cops must be there.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Hope they went in force.’

‘The trolls are probably long gone.’

I nodded, certain Eileen was right.

‘Think they were really eating him?’ she asked.

‘Looked that way.’

‘How could they?’

‘It happens.’

‘Right under the bridge? That’s on campus, for godsake.’

‘It probably doesn’t happen every night.’

‘Nobody’s missing,’ she said. ‘Not that I know of. We’d hear about it if anyone disappeared.’

‘Maybe they only eat their own.’

‘Ooof.’

‘Anyway, maybe that’s not what we saw. We only got a glimpse.’

‘I guess it’ll be on the radio first,’ she said. ‘The radio gets everything first.’

‘Can’t wait.’

‘Whatever happens,’ she said, ‘we play ignorant.’

‘Right.’

‘The cops have no reason to suspect us of anything.’

‘We’re a little beat up,’ I reminded her.

‘If they question us, we’ll give them the story we gave Kirkus. But they won’t. Nobody’ll even notice we’re banged up except a few students and maybe some faculty, and we can tell them anything we want.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘But we’d better work on the story we told Kirkus. Come up with details so we’ll be able to get our stories straight.’

‘Where’d we say it happened?’ I asked.

‘Let’s wait till we get inside.’

‘Sure.’

‘Can we go inside now?’

‘Maybe give it a few more minutes.’

‘I have to pee really badly, Ed. And I’m wearing your pants.’

‘Ah. Okay. I guess we can go in.’

We stood up and looked around. Then, holding hands, we walked through the graveyard to the place where we’d entered. I leaned out the gateway.

Nobody was in sight.

So we left and went around the comer and past the front of the church and up the walkway to the front door of my apartment building. I unlocked the door. We went inside.

The Fishers’ door was shut.

The upstairs hallway was dim and deserted. I unlocked my door and we entered my room. When the door was shut, Eileen wrapped her arms around me and whispered, ‘Safe.’

Chapter Twenty-eight

When I woke up Thursday morning, I raised my head off the pillow and looked at the clock on the nightstand.

10:32

I rolled the other way. Eileen’s side of the bed was empty.

Considering what we’d been through last night, I’d thought she might cut her ten o’clock class. She must’ve gotten up and gone to it, though.

I imagined her sitting at a desk in the English building. I wasn’t sure which class she had, so I didn’t imagine a teacher. Just Eileen sitting there, her face bruised and scratched. I pictured her rubbing her eyes. Yawning. How much sleep did she get, maybe three hours?

I wondered what she was wearing. Had she gone back to the sorority house for clean clothes of her own? Or did she go to class in my corduroy trousers and sweatshirt from last night? With no bra on?

Imagining her breasts loose under the sweatshirt, I started getting hard.

No panties, either?

A troll got her panties.

Trolls suddenly swarmed through my mind, sickening me, scaring me, shrinking me. Knowing the torment would continue so long as I remained in bed, I threw the sheet aside and climbed out.

As I put my robe on, the comfortable aroma of coffee reached me. Eileen must’ve brewed a pot before leaving.

I went into the bathroom, used the toilet, then hurried to the kitchen. On the table, a sheet of lined notebook paper was standing up like a pup tent. The side facing me had handwriting on it.

I picked up the paper and read it:

Dear Eddie,

As you may have realized by now, I decided not to miss my ten o’clock class. We must keep up appearances so as to avoid arousing suspicion.

We ought to go about our respective lives as if nothing has happened. (In other words, you should attend your regular classes, too.)

For the sake of not drawing any undue attention to ourselves, I think it would be best if we stay apart for a period of time. Let’s give our faces an opportunity to heal before we allow ourselves to be seen again side by side.

This won’t be easy, but I think it might be the smart thing to do, as we do NOT want anyone to suspect we were involved in any way with what happened last night.

I will miss you so much, Eddie. Please do not mistake this note for any sort of ‘brush-off.’ In no way am I trying to dump you. I feel so very good when we’re together.

Hope you sleep late and wake up missing me. Talk to you later.

All my love,
Me
PS Burn after reading.

I smiled when I read the PS. Then I filled a mug with coffee, sat at the table and read her note again. It made a lot of sense to go about our lives as if nothing were wrong. It also made sense to stay away from each other until our faces looked better.

But her denial that this was a ‘brush-off’ made me worry that it might be exactly that, or a preliminary move in that direction.

Why did she even bring it up?

Just to reassure me, probably. Just to remind me that she’s not Holly.

Several times, I reread the line, ‘I feel so very good when we’re together.’

She’d closed the letter, ‘All my love.’

It’s pretty obvious how she feels, I thought. She loves me. She doesn’t want to stay away from me, just thinks it’s necessary to avoid arousing suspicion.

Unless she’s lying.

She’s not lying, I told myself. She’s not Holly. If I start thinking they’re all like Holly, I’m screwed.

Eileen means what she says.

Probably.

I hid her note, then came back into the kitchen, turned on the radio and poured myself another mug of coffee. Rush Limbaugh was on, talking about Bill and Hillary and obstruction of justice.

We’d done a little obstructing of our own, I thought ... at least to the extent that we didn’t report everything we knew. We’d conspired to do more, but the trolls had saved us from that.

Oughta send them a thank you.

Dear Friends,

Just a quick note to express my gratitude for the way you all pitched in and cleaned up our mess last night. Next time, I’ll provide the wine. Perhaps a nice Merlot.

Bon appétit!
Eddie

I smiled, but felt raunchy about it.

Next time?

There won’t be a next time, fellows. You’re probably all in jail by now.

Rush’s program broke for news, weather, and a load of commercials. I sat at the table and stared at the radio, listening, hardly daring to breathe.

The news at the top of the hour regulary covered major late-breaking stories on the international, national, state and local levels.

For a local story, half a dozen homeless guys cannibalizing one of their pals under a campus bridge ought to qualify.

There was no mention of it.

At six minutes after eleven, the break ended and Rush came back.

I gaped at the radio.

How could they not cover a story like that?

All sorts of possibilities swirled through my mind: the cops had kept quiet about it (possibly to avoid feaking out the good citizens of Willmington); nobody had been sent to the scene in response to Eileen’s call; she hadn’t actually talked to a 911 operator; the cops had gone to the wrong bridge; or they’d gone to the correct bridge, but found no mutilated body, no evidence of murder.

Another possibility: a couple of cops might’ve gone to the correct bridge and gotten ambushed by the trolls. I strongly doubted that one, though. The dispatcher would’ve known where they went. If they failed to report in, all sorts of back-up would’ve poured into the area.

The news story then would’ve been enormous.

So what is going on? I wondered.

I had a couple of hours before my Shakespeare seminar, so I decided to head for campus early and do some looking around.

It was a wonderful October day, chilly and fresh, sunny, the air carrying a scent of woodsmoke. I wore jeans and a chamois shirt, my Yankees cap and sunglasses. The cap and sunglasses made me feel like a clicbé. They did, however, conceal some of my injuries.

Most of the people I passed on my way to campus and then through the quad paid no attention to me: they were hurrying toward urgent destinations, or ambling along and chit-chatting with friends, or dwelling deep in their own thoughts of glory, disgrace, nooky, or what have you. A few of them noticed me and nodded. I nodded and smiled in return.

Walking through the campus, I looked for signs that an alarming story was on the loose. I saw only the usual. Some students and faculty bopped along eagerly. Others seemed blasé. This one looked frantic, that one smug, this one blissful, that one petulant, this one cheerfully confident.

Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be going on.

Then Stanley Jones came striding my way. He was a fellow English major, so we’d been in several classes together. I’d even visited his apartment a few times last year when we were collaborating on a project about Edgar Allan Poe. He lived on the same block as Kirkus. Therefore, he couldn’t reach campus without crossing Division Street.

As he approached, I said, ‘Hey there, Stanley.’

Though he’d been looking glum, he raised his head and smiled when he heard my voice. ‘Hey, Ed.’

‘How goes it?’

‘SOS.’ (Translation: ‘Same old shit.’) Then his eyebrows flew up. ‘What happened to you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You get stomped or something?’

‘“My head is bloody, but unbowed.”’

‘Shit, man.’

‘Actually, I crashed and burned playing Frisbee yesterday. Ran into a tree.’

‘It messed you up, man.’

‘You should’ve seen the tree.’

Stanley laughed and shook his head. Then he frowned. ‘Hey, tough about Holly.’

I hadn’t expected that. It felt like a heat bomb exploding in my chest. ‘Thanks,’ I muttered.

‘Really sucks.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah.’

Grimacing, he said, ‘But you know what they say: can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em.’

I’d heard it before, but I laughed a little anyway. Then I asked, ‘Who says so?’

Which got a pretty good laugh from Stanley.

‘Right on,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I gotta haul ass over to the library. See you later, huh?’

‘Right.’

‘Watch out for low-flying aspens.’

‘Good one, Stan.’

He continued on his way.

Tough about Holly.

Thanks for the reminder, pal.

He was just trying to be nice, I told myself. But I felt the loss of her all over again for a while. It might’ve lasted a lot longer, but the bench came into sight.

The bench, nearly hidden among the trees, was where Eileen and I had left our books last night before descending the embankment and going under the bridge.

Give it a quick look, make sure we didn’t forget anything.

I started toward it, then changed my mind.

I’ve gotta act like everyone else. The worst thing I can do is draw attention to myself.

I stayed on the walkway and continued striding along as if I had someplace to go. Someplace east of campus. Someplace on the other side of Division Street.

I looked straight ahead. I looked to my right. I looked up and down. But I didn’t look to the left.

Not until I stood at the curb of Division Street.

Before crossing, a person is supposed to look both ways.

I did so. And when I finally turned my head to the left, I saw not a single police car.

No cars or vans or trucks or vehicles of any kind at all were stopped on the bridge or anywhere near it.

Chapter Twenty-nine

I saw Eileen once that afternoon. I was on my way to Shakespeare, climbing the stairs toward the second floor of the English building when she came trotting down the stairs, her books and binders hugged to her chest.

She was indeed wearing my university sweatshirt and corduroy trousers. No hat, no sunglasses. She’d made no attempt at all to hide her injuries.

She had one black eye. She wore a small bandage above her left eyebrow, another on her right cheekbone, another on her jaw. She had a swollen, split lip, a bruise on her chin and a bruise on her left cheekbone.

When we converged on the stairway, others were above and below us. She met my eyes, flashed me a quick smile and trotted on down. I felt a soft puff of breeze as she passed me.

I wanted to turn around and watch her a while longer, but resisted the urge.

The afternoon edition of the local newspaper mentioned nothing about a murder under the Division Street bridge or anywhere else in town.

The five o’clock news said nothing about any killing whatsoever in the peaceful community of Willmington.

What gives? I wondered. It did happen, didn’t it?

At about seven o‘clock that evening, I was studying at my kitchen table when the telephone rang. I jumped. My heart lurched. Frightened, I hurried to the phone and picked it up. ‘Hello?’

‘Hi, honey.’ Eileen’s voice.

Honey. ‘Hi. How’s it going?’

‘I don’t know. Not bad, considering. Strange, though. I’m glad I at least got to see you today.’

‘Same here. You had my clothes on.’

‘Hope you don’t mind.’

‘I like it.’

‘They’re nice and comfy. My own things are all messed up ... what’s left of them. I threw them in your hamper, by the way.’

‘Fine. Maybe I’ll do a wash tonight.’

‘Do you know how to get bloodstains out?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Maybe I’d better take care of it.’

‘Coming over?’ I asked.

‘Not tonight. Did you read my note?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I think the less we’re seen together, the better. I mean, we’re both pretty messed up. Our faces.’

‘What’ve you been telling people?’

‘My boyfriend beat me up.’

‘Huh?’

She laughed. It sounded good. ‘What about you?’ she asked.

‘I’ve been saying Kirkus tried to bugger me.’

She laughed even harder. ‘Oh, that’s awful, Eddie. You should be ashamed of yourself.’

‘Oh. I am, I am. What I actually said is that I ran into a tree chasing a Frisbee.’

‘That’s pretty good. In my story, I fell out of a tree.’

‘What were you doing in a tree?’

‘A kid’s kite got stuck in it. Over at the park? So I climbed up to set it free for him.’

‘That was very heroic of you.’

‘I know. I’m a wonderful person.’

‘We both have a tree motif,’ I pointed out.

‘Great minds,’ she said.

There was a pause.

‘So,’ she said, ‘do you suppose anyone’s listening in?’

‘Not likely.’

‘Not that it matters. I mean, we didn’t really do anything wrong. Right?’

‘Right,’ I said.

If you don’t count me probably killing a guy. Plus a small conspiracy to destory the evidence.

‘Have you noticed,’ she asked, ‘that nobody seems to know anything about it?’

‘I noticed, all right.’

“‘Tis passing strange.” ’

‘More than “passing.”’

‘Maybe the cops thought my call was a prank.’

‘Maybe that’s it.’

‘I mean, I’ve thought about this a lot,’ she said, ‘and nothing makes sense. I think they either didn’t send any cops to the bridge or the cops showed up but couldn’t find anything wrong.’

‘A good chance it’s one or the other,’ I said.

‘You know ... ? Shit! This isn’t good. I wanted those guys in jail, you know?’

‘Me, too.’

‘That bridge ... I go across it every day ... two, four, six times a day. And at night. Are they under there every night?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I took the long way around to get home this afternoon. I mean, I don’t want to walk across that bridge anymore. But they might be under any bridge, you know? And where are they during the day?’

‘Wandering around begging for money, I suppose.’

Eileen was silent for a few seconds. Then she said, ‘What’re we going to do?’

‘Well, they don’t seem to be grabbing people off the streets. We would’ve heard about it.’

‘We haven’t heard about this,’ she said.

‘I know, but the guy last night was one of their own. If a student got snatched, we’d never hear the end of it.’

‘That’s true, I guess.’

‘So I don’t think we need to worry too much. As far as we know, the only reason they ... bothered that guy was because he was already dead.’

‘If he was dead.’

‘Yeah.’ It was nice to think that maybe I hadn’t killed him.

I’ll never know for sure.

‘So what should we do about them?’ Eileen asked.

‘Stay out from under bridges.’

‘That’s a given. But do you think we should try calling the police again?’

‘If you want to. I don’t see much point in it, though. We called last night when it mattered. If they didn’t take care of it then ... maybe we oughta just figure they missed their chance. At this point, we’re probably better off if they never find out about last night.’

‘You think we should just stay out of it?’

‘Pretty much. It was one thing, you know, when they had a chance of catching the trolls red-handed. That won’t happen now. Too much time’s gone by.’

‘They probably scattered right after we got away,’ Eileen said.

‘Right. And by now, there’s been time for them to go back and clean the place up.’

What if they left the remains of the body, cleaned up after themselves but left Eileen’s shirt and panties there for the cops to find?

Would they be sneaky enough to do a thing like that?

‘I just hate to leave it this way,’ Eileen said. ‘What if somebody else goes under the bridge like we did, and they end up getting ... you know, attacked by those people?’

Something suddenly occurred to me. ‘You know what? “Those people” will probably stay away from there for months. They know they were seen.’

‘That’s true,’ Eileen said. ‘I bet you’re right.’

‘Wanta go under and look around?’

‘Oh, sure, the very moment hell freezes over.’

I wondered if I should go under just to see what they’d left behind. The idea of it terrified me.

Not a chance, I thought.

But I should.

I won’t.

‘Not to change the subject,’ I said, ‘but how long do you want to stay away from me?’

‘I don’t want to stay away from you at all. I just think it’ll be the wise thing to do. Don’t you?’

‘I guess so.’

In a voice lower than before, she said, ‘I already miss you.’

‘I miss you, too.’

‘We’ll have to just be phone friends for a while.’

‘It’s not the same,’ I said.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Not your fault.’

‘In a way, it is. It was my big idea to go under the bridge last night. If we hadn’t done that, none of this would be happening.’

‘It was worth it.’

She made a quiet laugh. ‘Think so?’

‘Sure.’

‘You’re so ...’ The way her voice went, I knew she was starting to cry.

‘It’s all right,’ I told her. ‘Everything’s fine. We’ll just stay apart for a few days ... till our faces heal up, right?’

‘Right,’ she said.

‘Then we’ll be back together and everything will be fine and we’ll stay out from under bridges forever.’

‘Uh-uh.’

‘In the meantime,’ I said, ‘this’ll give us a chance to catch up on our studies.’

She sniffed. ‘And our sleep.’

‘Exactly.’

By the time we hung up, we were both still in agreement on the two major issues: we wouldn’t give the police another call and we would stay away from each other for the next several days.

I stared at the phone and sighed.

I missed Eileen badly. I missed the sound of her voice and the look of her and the feel of her. I wanted her here in my apartment. Sitting on the sofa with me. Sipping wine. Wearing maybe my robe and nothing at all underneath it.

But since that was not to be ...

My heart racing with excitement, I went into my bedroom and set my alarm clock for 11:00 p.m. Then I shut off the light, took off my clothes and climbed into bed. The sheets were cold at first, then warm.

For a while, I felt too agitated to sleep. Too many thoughts, some exciting, some unpleasant, were swirling through my mind.

Calm down, I told myself. Just settle down and fall asleep and eleven’ll be here before you know it.

Chapter Thirty

I slept hard. When the alarm blared at eleven o’clock, I shut it off and considered getting out of bed.

Forget it, I thought. I need a full night of sleep. I need several full nights of sleep.

Anyway, it’s too dangerous out there.

‘And every fiend, as in a dream,
Doth stalk the lonesome night.’

I didn’t know where the lines came from, but they sounded like Coleridge.

Eileen might be able to identify them.

She’s not here.

That’s the point, I realized. That’s why I set the alarm, to wake me up to go wandering, to go looking for the mystery girl.

Do I really want to do that? It’s bad out there.

Too damn many fiends. I just need to go back to sleep.

Go out tomorrow night. Better yet, don’t. Who needs it?

If I keep going out, they’ll get me.

But if I don’t go out, I’ll never see her again.

I didn’t see her last night. I won’t see her tonight, either, if I stay in where it’s nice and safe.

Suddenly, sleepy no more, excited and frightened instead, I climbed out of bed. My room was chilly. I shivered as I hurried into my clothes.

Downstairs, the Fishers’ door stood open.

Oh, great.

What am I, their entertainment?

I ought to move out, I thought. Find myself a place where I can come and go without a couple of spies keeping track of my every movement.

Face forward, I raised my hand in greeting and walked quickly past their doorway. On my way by, I heard Andy Kaufman doing his Latka voice. A Taxi rerun.

When their doorway was behind me, I picked up my pace. I didn’t look back. As I turned the corner to the foyer, however, my peripheral vision picked up someone back near their room. A Fisher - I couldn’t tell which - was watching me from the doorway. He or she didn’t speak.

Take a picture, I thought. It lasts longer.

I hurried through the foyer, worried that the Fisher might ask me to come back.

No call to go rushing off. Come on back and chat a spell.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I got outside. Even as I put space between myself and the building, I imagined being called back to their door.

Say, what’re you up to, going out at this hour? Say, what happened to your face there?

‘None of your business, folks,’ I muttered.

You shouldn’t oughta go off roaming by yourself this time of night, I imagined the old man warning me. Ain’t safe. That’s when all the fiends come out, you know, and they’re lookin’ to give you the works.

Thanks for the warning, I thought. You’re telling me nothing I don’t already know.

In truth, I’d already taken certain fiends into consideration, choosing a route that would keep me west of Division Street until I was well north of the bridge.

I would not only stay away from Division until I was past the bridge, but also past the sorority house. I didn’t need memories of Holly inflicting themselves on me. Nor did I need Eileen to look out a window and see me walking by.

The road I followed northward was Fairmont Street. Like Division, it passed over the Old Mill Stream. Its bridge looked almost the same as the other, but older and shabbier. Four light posts were built into the parapets, two on each side of the street. They had old-fashioned white globes over their bulbs. All the globes were intact, but three were dark.

No cars were coming. No people were anywhere in sight.

They’re all under the bridge, I thought.

The Division Street bridge might’ve been better than this.

I considered turning back, trying another route.

Don’t be a wuss.

Approaching the bridge, I quickened my pace.

They probably are under this one, I thought. Or maybe hunkered down, clinging to the other side of the parapet, waiting to leap over and grab me when I go by.

Why don’t I just run across it?

Not unless something happens.

As I started across the bridge, I stepped off the curb and took a diagonal route to the middle of the street. Then I walked the center line to keep a lane of pavement and a sidewalk between me and either side of the bridge. Space to see them coming.

Of course, I might get hit by a car.

Nothing was coming, but that could change in a matter of seconds.

I’ll have plenty of time to get out of the way.

I hurried over the bridge with long, quick strides, swinging my arms high, watching both sides and straight ahead, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds to make sure I was safe from behind.

So far, so good.

I was halfway across when, a couple of blocks up the street, headlights brightened an intersection. My stomach tightened.

The unseen car was on a sidestreet. It might continue straight ahead, turn left or turn right. Only a left hand turn would bring it in my direction.

The car stopped at the comer. I could see its front bumper, but no more. Too many trees and bushes stood in the way.

Couldn’t tell if it was a police car.

Couldn’t tell if it was a pickup truck.

If it was either, I didn’t want to be seen walking down the middle of the street. I hurried to the left.

The vehicle moved forward and its headlights swept an arch of brightness through the intersection as it turned left.

Not a patrol car or pickup truck, thank God.

Some sort of dark, medium-sized van.

Hugely relieved, I hopped the curb and strode along the sidewalk, too close to the parapet for comfort.

Almost across.

The van was rumbling closer.

I glanced over my shoulder. Nobody was sneaking up behind me.

The parapet ended. I’d reached the other side of the bridge slightly nervous but safe and sound.

The van, slowing down, eased toward the curb in front of me and stopped. In the glow from a nearby streetlight, I could see that it was black. Its front passenger window glided down.

Oh, God, what now?

I stopped, remaining on the sidewalk.

The passenger seat appeared to be empty. The driver leaned toward it, looked out at me and spoke. Because of the engine noise, I couldn’t make out her words. I shook my head.

‘... over here,’ she called.

Shaking my head some more, I took a couple of steps closer to the van.

‘... find ... street ... know ... it is?’

Asking directions? It might be a trick.

The whole town isn’t crazy, I told myself. Maybe this person is really lost.

I stepped to the curb and leaned forward. The woman behind the wheel had a thin, pale face. Hair as dark and sleek as oil hung to her shoulders. She seemed to be wearing a shiny black blouse.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t hear you too well. Where are you trying to go?’

‘Why don’t you climb in?’

Confounded, I didn’t know whether to be ftattered or frightened... or neither.

‘I thought you needed directions,’ I said.

‘Just climb in. I want to ask you something.’

‘I can hear you from here.’

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter with you? I just want to talk to you.’

‘About what?’

She unfastened the top button of her blouse. ‘Get in, then I’ll tell you.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Please?’ She unfastened another button. Then another. ‘Scared?’

‘No.’

Then another. ‘I bet you’re lonely, aren’t you?’

‘No.’

‘Walking out here all by yourself at this hour.’

‘I’ve got to get going.’

‘Why don’t you just climb in here with me?’ She slid the blouse aside.

Everybody’s nuts!

I stared at her pale breast and its dark nipple.

‘Now will you climb in, honey?’

‘Uh, no thanks.’

Through the quiet rumble of the engine noise, I heard soft laughter. It didn’t come from the woman, though. It came from somewhere behind her in the van and it sounded like men.

I think I squealed.

I know I ran like hell.

Chapter Thirty-one

I expected the van to speed after me in reverse, just as Randy had done a couple of nights earlier. Then the gal would hit the brakes and the side door would fly open and her hidden men would leap out and chase me down.

Nothing like that happened.

As I dashed for the nearest comer, I glanced back and saw the van take off ... driving forward, its doors still shut.

Just some sort of prank? I wondered. Give the kid a scare?

Sure.

Afraid the van might return, I ran across the street and around the comer and hid behind the trunk of a tree. Several minutes went by.

Maybe I should head for home as soon as it’s safe, I thought. One close call is enough for one night.

And miss the girl?

I might not be able to find her, anyway. Besides, it’s not worth the risk.

What if I’d gotten into the van?

Don’t even think about it, I told myself. I didn’t get in; that’s what matters.

On the other side of the street, a man walked by with a Great Dane on a leash.

That’s what I need, I thought. An enormous, dangerous dog. Keep the fiends at bay.

The man and his dog vanished around a comer, but I remained in hiding. The van didn’t return. No other vehicles went by, either. I finally stepped away from the tree and began to walk in the direction from which I’d come.

Discretion being the better part of valour ...

What is wrong with this town, anyway?

Maybe there’s a lunatic asylum nearby and they open its doors at night, let all the inmates run loose in the streets. Have a good time, darlings. Raise some hell. But you must be back before sunrise.

Nice.

Might make for an interesting story, I thought. Sort of far-fetched, but a situation like that would explain what’s wrong. Something has to be wrong with this place. Every town isn’t like this at night.

Or maybe they are.

Soon, I found myself approaching the Fairmont Street bridge. It stood between me and home. I looked at its empty, shadowed street, its low stone parapets, and the darkness on both sides.

I would have to cross it sooner or later. This bridge or another, and God only knew what might be lurking under any of them.

Nothing will happen, I told myself.

I’d walked across such bridges hundreds of times in the past couple of years - often late at night - without any trouble.

That was before I knew.

We used to joke about trolls lurking under the bridges, but we never knew.

Well short of the bridge, I halted, suddenly reluctant to cross it again.

Aside from whatever fears I had in regard to the bridge, I hated the idea of being a quitter. I’d set out to search for the girl. Was I really going to call it quits because some creeps in a van scared the hell out of me?

If I quit tonight, I may never see her again.

I have to see her, I thought. And talk to her. And find out her name and why she roams the streets at night and whether she’s lonely and what it’s like to be with her.

Shaking my head, I turned my back to the bridge and left it behind.

I kept a sharp watch. Every so often, the approach of a person or vehicle forced me to duck out of sight. As time went on without any more troubling incidents, however, my courage seemed to grow. I spent less time hiding, more time hurrying from block to block.

After making my way northward on Fairmont for nearly an hour, I turned right on a sidestreet. I followed it to the east and came upon Division Street, then continued eastward until I arrived at Franklin.

As I found myself nearing region of the mystery girl, my fears seemed to fade beneath the excitement of possibly encountering her. Instead of watching all around me for dangers, I watched for her.

She’s somewhere, I told myself. If not on this sidewalk, on another. Or she might be in one of these houses. Or even crouching behind bushes somewhere, hiding from a suspected threat.

She might even be hiding from me.

Perhaps I had already walked past her and she’d watched me from the shadows.

Please don’t hide from me. I told her in my mind. I’m nobody to fear. I would never hurt you.

At length, I came upon the house that she’d entered on Monday night ... the house where, on Tuesday night, I’d watched the tequila woman. I looked toward the kitchen window, but it was dark.

From what I could see as I walked by, the entire house was dark.

At the end of the block, I crossed Franklin. I came back on the other side of the street and hid among bushes in a front lawn directly across from the house.

My wristwatch showed 12:40.

Everyone’s probably asleep in there, I thought.

But who?

The tequila woman almost certainly lived in the house.

What about the mystery girl? I’d seen her go in, but she’d shown up later the same night over on Division Street. Had she only come here to visit the tequila woman or some other member of the household?

Perhaps, I thought. Or perhaps this is her house. Monday night, she might’ve returned home for something that she needed, sneaked in and grabbed it, then headed off for her main destination.

I could see a problem with that theory, though. After watching her go in, I’d hung around for a while, then walked to Dandi Donuts and spent time there with Eileen ...

Where Randy watched us.

Don’t start thinking about him. Get back to the problem.

Where was I? The girl. The time lapse.

Between the time she entered the house and when I later saw her on Division Street, more than an hour had gone by.

Her two locations were only about a five-minute walk from each other.

An hour, maybe longer, was unaccounted for.

If she’d spent it inside the house, she hadn’t just rushed in to grab something ... or change shoes or go to the bathroom or take care of some other simple matter. She’d been inside too long for anything of that sort.

Why would someone return home in the middle of the night, stay an hour, then leave? What did she do in there? Take a nap? Take a shower? Bake a cake?

Make love?

Making love in her own house, then leaving within the hour, didn’t make sense to me.

I couldn’t think of any good reason for her to sneak into her own house at that time of night, stay an hour, then leave.

It’s not her house?

But that doesn’t mean she isn’t in it. She might be inside right now. Or she might be on her way over.

I made up my mind to stay put. There was a good chance she would either show up or leave before too long. All I needed to do was wait.

I waited. And waited.

Of course, she might be fast asleep in her own house on some other block. Or she might be having a maple bar at Dandi Donuts or roaming along a sidewalk miles away. She might be almost anywhere.

What if Randy snatched her, gave her the works?

She’s fine, I told myself.

Or she’s dead under a bridge ... ?

She’s fine.

Or captured by the van people ... ?

No. She’s fine. But she isn’t likely to stay fine if ...

I heard a distant engine. It slowly grew louder. From the rough grumbly noise, it sounded powerful. It might belong to a truck. Or a pickup truck.

Randy on the prowl?

Maybe it’s the van.

Though I was well hidden among the bushes, my heart pounded hard as I watched the street in front of me.

Headlights brightened the pavement.

A police car passed by, moving slowly.

Keep going! I told it. Keep going! Keep going!

It did.

When it was gone, I crouched there trembling and sweaty and breathless.

Oughta be glad it was cops, I thought. They might be the ones to save my ass if things go really wrong.

A lot of good they did last night.

What did they do last night? Did they even look under the bridge?

Maybe they’re in cahoots with the trolls.

That seemed awfully far-fetched, but sometimes far-fetched stuff is true.

When they pick up suspects at night, maybe they take them underneath one of the bridges and turn them over to the trolls.

Ridiculous. But it might make for a story.

Why would the cops do something like that? For a bottle of wine? For a piece of the action? A piece of the person pie?

Got it! The cops kill two birds with one stone: they eliminate suspects permanently, plus they keep the trolls from going after decent folk for fresh meat.

But what do they get?

The satisfaction of a job well done.

I chuckled softly.

That makes two story ideas. Not bad for one night.

Even if I don’t fmd the girl, this has been a pretty worthwhile ...

Across the street, a dark shape drifted down the porch stairs and cut across the lawn toward the sidewalk. Out of the shadows, the shape had a light, springy stride. Behind it, a ponytail bounced and swung.

Chapter Thirty-two

I gaped at her, astonished. Though I’d hoped very much to find her, I hadn’t really expected to have an easy time of it. The search might have taken three or four nights, or even a week or two. It might’ve taken a month. There had also been a real possibility that I would never see her again at all.

And here she was, coming out of the very house I’d seen her enter on Monday night.

At the sidewalk, she turned to her right and headed north on Franklin Street. When she reached the end of the block, I scurried out of my hiding place.

What if tequila woman’s watching?

Nobody seemed to be on the porch. The front door appeared to be shut. All the downstairs and upstairs windows that I could see were dark, and nobody was visible at any of them, looking out.

If she saw me, it’s too late to do anything about it.

Staying on my side of Franklin, I walked toward the end of the block.

Tomorrow night, she’ll tell the girl.

If not sooner. Maybe she’ll tell her on the phone tomorrow. Or in class. Or at work. Honey, when you left the house last night I observed a stranger creep out of the bushes across the street and commence to follow you. In my mind, she spoke with a mellow drawl like a Tennessee Williams character. You’d best take care. Perhaps you should stay away from here until the matter has been resolved.

Then again, there was no good reason to assume she’d seen me. When the time came for the girl to leave, she might’ve remained in bed. Or perhaps she had gone to the kitchen for a nightcap.

In fact, she might’ve slept through everything. For all I really knew, someone other than tequila woman was the object of the girl’s visits to the house.

What if that person looked out and saw me?

Nobody saw me!

Probably not, I told myself. But if someone did, the girl will probably find out about it tomorrow. Tonight might be my only chance.

I crossed the street, and we were both on the same sidewalk.

Though we walked nearly a block apart, the narrow, straight strip of concrete joined us.

Her pace was more gradual than mine. She strolled along as if out for no other purpose than to savor the night. For a while, I allowed myself to close the gap. Then I slowed down.

As on the night of our first encounter, I felt the strange awareness that in all the vast reaches of time and space, she and I were now occupying the same moment and place.

In so many different ways, we might’ve missed this rendezvous.

And yet, here it was.

The forces of chance or nature or God had drawn us together on this night of all nights of the year. With a little help from my own determination to find her.

Now what? I wondered.

I wanted to know her, not just follow her.

I’ve gotta get closer.

How? So far, she seemed unaware of my presence. That wouldn’t last for long, however, if I tried to catch up.

She sees me coming, she’ll take off.

Not for the first time in my life, I wished I were invisible. I would hurry up the sidewalk, stay only a stride or two behind her for a while to watch the way she moved, then rush ahead and walk backward to study the front of her. Unseen, I would be free to stare at her for as long as I wished. I wouldn’t have to go away, not even when she reached her home. I could simply go inside and stay with her. Perhaps she would take a bath before going to bed.

I imagined standing nearby in her bedroom while she pulled her sweatshirt off.

Yeah, right, I thought. In my dreams.

On the off-chance I can’t turn invisible, I thought, what should I do?

Instead of closing in from behind, how about making my approach from the front? That would be less likely to spook her. Run around the block and get ahead of her. Maybe even start walking away so she’s behind me. Then I slow my pace. I slow it way down and she closes in. Maybe.

Great plan, I thought. Better, anyway, than trying to turn myself invisible.

Moving in the right direction.

Only one little problem. In putting my plan into effect, I would make the detour and return to Franklin Street and the girl would be gone. That’s how things work in real life.

Looked good on paper ...

In fact, she might not be gone. There was a good chance she would continue to walk north on Franklin for a while.

Not if I try to circle around. I’ll lose her for sure.

Better just to hold back and follow her at a safe distance. See what happens. With any luck, maybe she’ll lead me to her home.

A few minutes later, she crossed Franklin Street.

Good thing I’d decided not to circle around. She would’ve been gone, just as I’d suspected.

Leaving Franklin behind, she headed westward on the sidestreet. After she walked out of sight, I ran across Franklin. I slowed to a casual stroll as I approached the corner. When I came to the end of the block, I casually turned my head to the right, then to the left.

The sidewalk was clear.

I lost her?

Before I had time for dismay, a stir of motion drew my eyes to her. She was crossing the street, almost to the other side. Fearing she might glance back, I looked for cover. The streetlamp posts were too narrow. So was the trunk of the nearest tree. But a car was parked at the curb, so I rushed over and crouched beside it.

A lousy place to hide. It offered me concealment from the girl, but from not much else.

Peering over its hood, I saw her walk across the front lawn of an old, two-story house by the alley. No lights shone in any of the windows. The porch, too, was dark.

In the glow of the streetlights, she climbed the porch stairs. Then the shadows consumed her. I watched for the front door of the house to open. Perhaps a strip of gray would appear and widen, such as I’d observed on Monday night.

Perhaps not.

I detected no sign of the door being opened or shut.

There would be nothing to see, I told myself, if the house is as dark inside as the porch.

Maybe, however, she didn’t open the door at all.

What if she’s still on the porch?

Maybe this isn’t where she lives, and she’s hiding on the porch because she fears she’s being followed.

‘Because she knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind her tread.’

Caught a glimpse of me following her, maybe, and thinks I’m a fiend.

It made me feel ashamed.

I’m not a fiend, I told her in my mind. I would never do anything to hurt you. There’s no reason in the world for you to be afraid of me.

Sure, I thought. Right. No reason? How about I’m stalking her? Why shouldn’t she be afraid of me? For all she knows, I might be hoping to abduct her ... take her into the woods somewhere (or under a bridge), and rip off her clothes and do things to make her scream.

I imagined her in a dark place, hanging by her wrists, naked and writhing.

I would never do that, I told her in my mind.

But she had no way of knowing. She couldn’t be blamed for fearing me.

Is she watching from the porch?

I felt terribly vulnerable, crouched beside the car. Somebody might come along. Even now, someone in a nearby house might be watching me. Maybe the cops had already been called.

If they don’t come out for bloody murder under a bridge, I thought, they won’t come looking for me.

Think not?

I needed to find a better place to hide. But if the girl was watching from the porch, she would see me abandon my place by the car and her worst fears would seem justified. I would lose any chance of befriending her.

She’s probably in the house, I told myself. I missed her opening the door, that’s all.

But if she’s on the porch...

I heard a car coming. It sounded far away. I couldn’t figure out which direction it was coming from.

Just what I need!

Anyone driving by on Franklin to my right or on the north-south street to my left (its name escaped me) would have a chance to see me hiding behind the parked car.

But if I run off, she might see me.

What’ll I do?

The sound of the engine grew louder.

Shit oh shit!

The parked car giving me such limited shelter was low and close to the curb. I couldn’t possibly crawl under it, not from this side.

As headlights brightened the intersection of Franklin Street, I lay down flat on the grass by the car and lowered my face against my crossed arms.

Along with the engine sounds and the hiss of the tires on the pavement, I heard familiar music. Warren Zevon. ‘Excitable Boy.’ The sounds grew louder as the car moved through the intersection.

I raised my head.

A small, pale pickup truck just like Randy’s.

Chapter Thirty-three

I dropped my head and shut my eyes. The pickup continued through the intersection, heading south on Franklin.

It might not be Randy’s, I told myself. I hadn’t seen the driver, and he probably hadn’t seen me. There must be lots of compact, light-colored pickup trucks in a town the size of Willmington.

It was Randy, all right. He’s cruising the streets, looking for me. Looking for Eileen.

How about the mystery girl? I wondered. Would she do?

It sickened me to think of what Randy might do to the girl if he ever got the chance.

Does she know about him? Does she watch out for him? She probably watches out for everybody ... including me.

Suddenly realizing that Randy (if that was him) might circle the block and come for me, I shoved myself up and ran. I ran across the street and across the lawn and up the porch stairs. Breathless, heart thudding, I halted in the darkness of the porch.

The girl didn’t seem to be there. Remembering the old man who’d frightened me so badly, however, I tiptoed around and checked the porch swing and in all the patches of blackness where a person might be hiding. Nobody was on the porch except me.

Afraid that Randy might drive by at any moment, I sank down in a dark comer with my back to the railings.

He’ll never see me here.

Listening for the approach of his pickup, I heard only a faint shhhh that might’ve been the noise of distant engines. The sounds were so indistinct that some might not be coming from cars or trucks or vans. Perhaps an airplane was going by, high and far away. Perhaps some of the sound was the hiss of breezes passing through treetops all over town.

Randy’s pickup was certainly nowhere nearby.

Unless he’d killed the engine.

Maybe he did see me and he’s coming back on foot.

I wished I hadn’t thought of that.

I sat motionless and frightened for a while, hardly daring to breathe. After maybe ten minutes, however, it began to seem that Randy wouldn’t show up.

He probably hadn’t seen me, after all. Maybe the pickup truck wasn’t even his.

As my fears of Randy faded, I turned my mind to thoughts of the girl. She had gone into this very house. She was somewhere inside it at this very moment.

If the walls and floors were invisible, she would be in plain sight. Upstairs, probably. Maybe in the bathroom, or maybe in her bed.

Had she gone to bed without washing her face? Or brushing her teeth? Or going to the toilet?

From my comer of the porch, I should have been able to hear water running through the pipes. I’d heard nothing of the sort.

Maybe she finished in the bathroom before I came over. I’d watched the porch from across the street for at least five minutes, maybe even ten. Plenty of time to scrub the face, brush the teeth and use the toilet. She could’ve done all that before I arrived.

While I’d been searching the porch and sitting in a comer and worring about Randy, she might’ve gone into her dark bedroom, taken off her clothes, put on whatever she liked to sleep in, and climbed into her bed.

She’s probably in bed right now, I thought. Curled on her side, covered to the shoulders by a sheet and blanket. Wearing what? She didn’t seem like the sort to go for a frilly nightgown or teddy. More likely, she wore pajamas or a simple cotton nightshirt.

How about nothing at all?

A little chilly for that.

And so I imagined her under the covers in a white nightshirt. I could see her under there. The way she was curled on her side, half her face was buried in her pillow and her rear end showed below the nightshirt’s hem.

If I were invisible, I would sneak into the house and find her bedroom. I would stand by her bed and watch her sleep and listen to her breathing. I might even draw the blanket and sheet carefully down her body, let them drift to the floor at the foot of the bed in order to see her uncovered.

Her white nightshirt almost glows in the darkness. Her skin looks dusky. I can see the curves of her bare buttocks, the shadowy cleft between them.

Maybe she doesn’t sleep in a nightshirt, after all. Maybe she sleeps in the nude.

Much better.

Moaning in her sleep, she rolls onto her back.

As if stumbling out of my fantasy, I suddenly wondered if the front door was locked.

The girl might’ve forgotten to lock it after sneaking in. Also, from what I’d heard and read, a fairly large percentage of people rarely lock the doors of their cars or homes at night. Especially in small towns.

What if this door isn’t locked?

I could open it and sneak in. In the darkness of the house, I would be almost invisible. I could go to the girl’s bedroom and stand by her bed and ...

Not a chance. Not me.

But I could.

I could do plenty, I thought. But I’m not going to. I must be losing my mind to even think about it. For one thing, I might get caught. For another, I wouldn’t do it even if there were no chance whatsoever of being caught.

Is that so? I thought. Then why the fantasies about being invisible? The only reason to be invisible is to do whatever you want without getting caught.

Well, I’m not invisible. If I go sneaking into the house, somebody might catch me in the act. Clobber me. Shoot me. Hold me for the police. And what’ll the girl think? She’ll figure I’m a criminal or a pervert. She’ll never have anything to do with me after that.

But if everyone is sleeping and I’m very quiet ...

Again, I imagined myself standing over the girl’s bed, staring down at her.

I’m not going in, I told myself. Besides, the door’s probably locked.

If it’s locked, that settles it.

That would settle it, all right. Opening someone’s unlocked door was one thing - and maybe within the realm of possibility - but breaking in was totally out of the question.

Just see.

My fear and excitement began to grow.

No big deal, I thought. Just get up and go to the door and see if it’s locked. Why not? What’s the worst that can happen? If I get caught at it, I can play drunk or confused and pretend I’m at the wrong house. Anyway, it’s probably not a crime to try a door.

No crime, but wrong. I knew it was wrong, knew it was a bad idea (like going under the bridge last night), but got to my feet anyway. Standing motionless in my comer of the porch, I looked around the neighborhood. Here and there, the streets were well lighted. Trees, however, cast shadows on the pavement and lawns. In every direction, the lighted places were surrounded by motes of darkness.

Anyone might be lurking in those dark places, watching. Or watching from behind a parked car. Or from behind bushes. Or from inside a house across the street.

I was in darkness myself, however, and probably almost unseeable.

So I made my way toward the front door, walking slowly, putting my feet down gently. A couple of times, floorboards creaked under my weight. The sounds made me cringe, though they were so quiet that nobody else could’ve heard them.

I’m not really doing this, I thought.

And yet, I was.

My journey to the door seemed to take ages. I couldn’t even see it, though I had a general idea of where it ought to be ... a straight shot from the top of the porch stairs.

Reaching through the darkness with one hand, I touched a stiff. tight screen.

Two doors, not just one. Doubles my chance of being locked out.

Feeling my way downward and sideways, I found the handle of the screen door.

Don’t do it.

I pulled gently and the screen door swung toward me. Its hinges, apparently well lubricated, made almost no sound at all.

One down, one to go.

What am I doing?

Propping the screen door open with my shoulder, I touched the inner door. Smooth wood, slick with layers of varnish. Its handle felt like thick, cool brass. With my thumb, I pressed down slowly on the lock release. It sank down and down and I heard the bolt slide back.

I pushed forward slightly. The door eased away an inch or two.

Holy shit, it opens!

Now shut it and get the hell out of here!

I pushed the door open a few more inches. Though I knew it was open, I couldn’t see the jamb, the door, or the gap between them.

Dark as hell in there.

I really would be invisible.

Don’t even think about it.

I had never in my life entered anyone’s place without being invited. I had never cheated, never shoplifted, never driven a car through a stoplight (on purpose), never told a major lie, never bullied anyone, never started a fight, never in fact done anything particularly immoral, unethical or illegal ...

Oh, yeah, killed that guy last night.

If I did kill him, it was self-defense. Stabbing Randy in the leg had been self-defense, too.

Oh, yeah, and I spied on the tequila woman. That was pretty bad. Not nearly as bad, however, as sneaking into a stranger’s house in the middle of the night.

Do this, I thought, and I’m really crossing a line. And where will it end? Maybe it won’t stop with watching the girl sleep. Maybe I’ll feel compelled to remove her covers, and after that I’ll ...

No! All I’ll do is look.

Don’t even do that! Shut the door right now and get the hell out of here!

Before I could pull it shut - or open it wide - the handle was jerked from my grip.

Chapter Thirty-four

I gasped with suprise. So did someone inside the house and close in front of me.

The girl?

A low, husky voice murmured, ‘House inspector.’

‘Huh?’ I asked.

A hand pressed against my chest. ‘No need to be alarmed,’ the girl said, pushing me aside. As she stepped by me, she added, ‘You passed with flying colors.’ Then she lurched forward, raced across the porch and leaped from the top of the stairs. Silhouetted by the streetlights, she seemed to hang in midair for a moment, arms spread out wide, her right leg thrown forward, her ponytail high behind her head. As she dropped, her sweatshirt lifted, baring her midriff.

The screen door banged shut.

Her sneakers clapped against the walkway and she took off running for the street.

I didn’t leap from the porch, but descended the stairs in a couple of quick bounds and sprinted after her - chasing her, but also fleeing from the house because someone must’ve heard the door slam.

The girl was fast. Not as fast as me, though.

I narrowed the gap between us, but didn’t try to stop her. We were still too close to the house.

We raced across a street, dashed around a comer, ran down a sidewalk, cut across another street in the middle of a block, then ran down another stretch of sidewalk.

I remained four or five strides behind her, listening as she panted for breath, hearing the smack of her sneakers, watching her ponytail leap and swing, her bulky sweatshirt flop, her arms pump, her legs fly out one after the other.

It was wonderful to be chasing her. But awful, too. She must’ve been terrified.

‘Hey,’ I said.

‘I didn’t steal anything.’

‘I’m not chasing you,’ I blurted. ‘We’re just ... fleeing in the ... same direction.’

‘I didn’t hurt ... anyone.’

‘I just ... want to talk.’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘Stop running. Please.’

‘Get outa here.’

I stayed a few strides behind her until she ran into the next street. Then I picked up speed, caught up to her and ran alongside her. She turned her head and scowled at me.

Even in the poor glow of the streetlights, I could see that she looked younger than me. Maybe eighteen, maybe as young as fifteen or sixteen. And far more beautiful than I’d imagined.

‘Can’t we ... just talk?’ I asked.

Matching strides, we leaped over the next curb. The narrow sidewalk forced me closer to her.

‘Stop, okay?’ I asked. ‘You can’t ... outrun me. Why not just—?’

She rammed me with her shoulder. As the impact knocked me to the right, I reached out and grabbed a handful of her sweatshirt. I kept hold of it as I raced off the edge of the sidewalk. My feet hit the lawn. My legs crossed. Then came a wild, twisting dive.

My side slammed the damp grass. I slid, tumbling, holding on tight to the girl’s sweatshirt, bringing her down with me. She landed on me, squirmed and rolled off. I scrambled onto her, sat on her and pinned her arms to the ground. She grunted and writhed. I held on.

‘Not... gonna hurt you,’ I said.

‘Get off.’

‘Calm down. Please. Just... lie still.’

She thrashed and bucked, but couldn’t throw me. Finally, she stopped. She lay beneath me, chest rising and falling as she fiercely panted for air.

‘Just... take it easy,’ I said. ‘Okay? Not gonna hurt you.’

Gradually, she regained control of her breathing.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

‘Let me up.’ ‘You’ll make me chase you again.’

‘I’ve had enough running.’

‘So you won’t try to run away?’ I asked.

‘You’re too fast for me, anyhow.’

I was too fast for her, but she would probably try to run again, anyway, if I let her up. We were in the front yard of a house, however, quite close to the sidewalk and street. We weren’t in shadows, either.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘we can’t stay here. Somebody’ll see us.’

‘So let me up.’

‘I don’t want you to run away.’

‘I won’t. Okay? Let me up.’

I wanted a friend, not a captive. So I climbed off her and stepped back. She said, ‘Thanks.’ Her sweatshirt was twisted and rumpled, her belly bare. She sat up, straightened her sweatshirt, then got to her feet. Reaching back with both hands, she brushed off the seat of her jeans.

‘I’m sorry you fell,’ I said.

‘I didn’t exactly fall, now, did I?’

‘Well, I helped.’

‘You grabbed hold and took me with you.’

Reminding her that she was the one who had shoved me off the sidewalk didn’t seem like a great idea, so I answered, ‘I was afraid you’d get away.’

‘You claimed you weren’t chasing me. We were “fleeing in the same direction”?’ A comer of her mouth curled up.

‘Sorry.’

‘You didn’t want me to get away, but you weren’t chasing me. How does that work?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Why don’t you just let me go, okay? I didn’t steal anything. I didn’t hurt anyone. Your family’s fine.’

Not wanting to lie, I avoided the word my when I said, ‘And the house passed inspection with flying colors?’

A slight smile drifted across her face. ‘It’s splendid. Come on, let me go. Please? I can tell you’re a nice guy. You don’t want to get me in trouble, do you?’

I can tell you’re a nice guy.

Maybe she’d only said it to soften me up, but it gave me a pleasant, warm feeling.

‘I don’t want to get you in trouble,’ I said, following her to the sidewalk. ‘I’d like to help you, if ...’

‘Then just let me go.’

‘Tell me one thing and I will,’ I said. ‘What were you doing in the house?’

‘Okay. But let’s get away from here first.’

We walked side by side to the end of the block and around the comer. Then she stopped, turned to me and said, ‘It’s sort of embarrassing. I needed a bathroom. Very badly. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get to my own house in time. There aren’t any public facilities for miles, and I didn’t want to do it outside. That’d be too gross. So I decided to try a house. I went to three or four ... they had locked doors. But yours didn’t, so I let myself in.’

‘You could’ve rung the doorbell and asked permission.’

She grimaced. ‘I know. But it’s ... what, about one-thirty? Nobody wants someone ringing the doorbell at this hour. Besides, it was so embarrassing. Can you imagine going to the door of a stranger’s house and asking to use their bathroom?’

I was embarrassed to be hearing about it. Even though I knew she was lying, my mind gave me images of her entering a bathroom and pulling down her jeans. Then I remembered that Eileen had gotten herself invited into my apartment Monday night by claiming a need to use the toilet.

What is it, some sort of standard ploy?

Maybe it’s chapter twelve in The Girl’s Guide to Male Manipulation . (‘As the male animal is naturally both embarrassed and aroused - and embarrassed by his arousal - when confronted with the elimination processes of the female, the “bathroom” gambit is a surefire winner ...’)

‘Can you?’ she repeated.

‘Can I?’

‘Imagine the embarrassment?’

‘Oh. Sure. It’d be terrible.’

Nodding, she said, ‘So I just snuck in and took care of it. All I did was use the toilet. I didn’t bother anyone. I didn’t take anything. Do you want to check my pockets?’ She pulled her sweatshirt up a few inches higher than the waistband of her jeans.

I saw the skin of her belly. ‘I don’t have to check,’ I told her. ‘You believe me?’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Thanks.’ She lowered the sweatshirt. ‘Can I go now?’

‘If you want. I won’t chase you.’

‘Will you flee in the same direction?’

‘I was,’ I said. ‘The slamming door probably woke up everyone in the house.’

She looked perplexed.

‘I don’t live there.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not my house.’

‘Not your house. Then what were you doing there?’

‘Hiding,’ I said, and began to walk again. She stayed with me, walking slowly by my side.

Chapter Thirty-five

‘Hiding from what?’ she asked as we strolled together down the sidewalk.

‘A guy in a pickup truck. He’s after me.’

‘Why’s he after you?’

‘I’m not sure, but ... He saw me at Dandi Donuts a few nights ago. I was there with my girlfriend.’

‘You have a girlfriend.’

Eileen was part of the story and had to be mentioned, but I could’ve referred to her as a ‘friend’ or a ‘former girlfriend.’ Calling her anything other than a girlfriend or lover, however, would’ve been like a lie. I didn’t want to betray Eileen that way. Nor did I wish to lie to this girl.

Plus, the mention of a girlfriend was sure to make me seem less threatening.

Maybe it’s Chapter Twelve in The Guy’s Guide to Female Manipulation. (‘As the female animal naturally suspects that all males are predators, many of their basic fears are allayed by the belief that the man in their presence has his eyes and penis set upon different prey.’)

‘Her name’s Eileen,’ I said. ‘We’re students at the university.’

‘Willies,’ she said.

I nodded, smiling. I’d heard the term before: it was what townies often liked to call us.

‘Wet Willies,’ the girl added.

‘That’s us.’

‘So the two of you were at Dandi ...’

‘Yeah. And this guy saw us together. Apparently, he liked the looks of Eileen.’

‘Is she pretty?’

Not as pretty as you, I thought. Would’ve been dumb to say it, though. Better if she thinks I’m totally devoted to Eileen. ‘Very pretty,’ I said.

‘So what did he do? This guy?’

‘Nothing at the time. That was Monday. We didn’t even know he’d seen us. But I went back to the donut shop on Tuesday night and he was there. He wanted me to take him to Eileen.’

‘She wasn’t with you?’

‘Not on Tuesday.’

‘Why not?’

I left her behind so I could spend the night hunting for you.

That would go over big.

With a shrug, I said, ‘She wasn’t feeling very well.’ A lie? Not necessarily. Not exactly the truth, either. ‘So she stayed behind.’

‘Where?’

‘In her sorority house.’

‘Which one?’

‘Alpha Phi.’

The girl nodded.

‘You know where that is?’ I asked.

‘I know where everything is. Everything in this town, anyway. So you were at Dandi Donuts without Eileen, and this guy ...’

‘He made me go outside with him and get into his pickup truck. He planned to drive me over to the sorority house, and I was supposed to bring Eileen out so he could take her off in his truck. He said he wanted to “give her the works.”’

The girl wrinkled her nose.

‘But I got away from him. That was Tuesday night, and I guess he’s still after me. I saw his pickup go by tonight, so I ran over to that house and hid on its porch. That’s why I was there when you came out.’

‘You were about to go in.’

Taken by surprise, feeling caught, I felt myself blush. Luckily, we were walking through a patch of shadows just then. Even though the girl was looking at my face, she probably couldn’t see that it was red.

‘I wanted to find out if the door was locked,’ I explained.

‘So you could hide from him in the house?’

Trying not to lie, I said, ‘Any port in a storm.’ Before she could hit me with another question, I said, ‘The guy’s name is Randy, by the way. He drives a light-colored Toyota pickup truck. You should watch out for him when you’re out at night. He might try to get you.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

‘My name’s Ed, by the way. Ed Logan.’

‘Okay.’

‘It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me your name.’

She just looked at me.

‘I guess there’s no point in knowing your name, anyway, if you’re leaving.’

‘I can stay a while,’ she said.

‘Really?’ I almost blurted, Great! Not wanting to seem too excited, though, I simply smiled and said, ‘Good.’

‘But I’m not going to tell you my name.’

‘No problem.’

‘You can call me whatever you want.’

‘Okay. How about ...’ The name ‘Holly’ almost leaped out.

Are you nuts? Don’t call her that!

‘How about what?’ she asked.

‘Bertha.’

She laughed. ‘Thanks anyway.’

‘Esmeralda?’

‘Give me a break.’ ‘Rumplestiltskin?’

‘Oh, sure.’

‘I’m doing the best I can.’

‘You get one more chance.’

‘How about Chris?’ I suggested.

‘With a C-H or a K?’

‘C-H.’

‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘But how about Casey instead?’

‘The initials or the word?’

‘C-A-S-E-Y.’

“‘Oh, there is no joy in Mudville,”’ I said.

She smiled. ‘This Casey doesn’t strike out.’

I laughed. ‘Glad to hear it. And I’m glad you know the poem.’ ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

‘Probably not.’ She would be a lot more likely to know it, however, if Casey was her actual name. ‘It’s pretty popular, though,’ I admitted.

Up the street several blocks ahead of us, headlights appeared.

‘Uh-oh,’ I said.

Smiling. Casey gave me a Clint Eastwood squint and asked, ‘Feeling lucky, punk?’

‘Huh?’

‘Want to ride it out?’

‘Huh?’

As the vehicle kept coming toward us, its headlights seemed to grow larger and farther apart.

‘Ride or hide? Do we stand our ground and hope for the best, or duck out of sight?’

Was she serious?

‘Might be cops,’ she said. ‘Might be that fellow Randy. Might be worse. No telling what we might get. That’s part of the fun.’

‘You do this a lot?’

‘All the time. Only at night, though. You’d have to be nuts to play it in daylight.’

I laughed.

Though the vehicle was a lot closer now, I still couldn’t make out its shape. The engine sounded grumbly and low.

If we wait much longer ...

‘What’s it gonna be?’ Casey asked.

I was pretty sure what she wanted. ‘Ride it out,’ I said.

‘Good man.’ Grinning, she patted me on the back like a pal.

So we went on walking side by side. I felt very brave and daring and eager to run like hell.

Casey smiled at me. ‘Fun, huh?’

‘Oh, yeah.’

At the end of the block ahead of us, the vehicle came through the intersection. I could see it well in the glow of the streetlights. It was a Jeep ... or one of those imitation Jeeps ... with an open top and roll bar.

‘Ah,’ said Casey. ‘It’s the Wigginses.’

We couldn’t see the occupants yet, so she must’ve recognized their Jeep.

As it neared us, the Wigginses came into view. The driver had blonde or gray hair in a flat-top crew cut. She wore shorts and a sleeveless tan shirt as if she were driving through a desert at high noon. Her arms and legs looked powerful. She seemed to have a tattoo on her thick upper arm, but I couldn’t make out its details.

The passenger looked like a slender replica of the driver. She had a matching crew cut. Her outfit was the same except for its smaller size and the fact that her shirt had short sleeves rather than no sleeves at all.

Going past us, the driver glanced our way. I expected Casey to wave, but she didn’t. Nor did the driver wave at us. She simply gave us a glance, then returned her gaze to the road ahead. The passenger never seemed to notice us at all.

After they went by, Casey smiled at me. ‘That’s how we play Ride or Hide.’

‘Ah.’

‘It’s always more exciting when you ride it out.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Admit it, you liked it.’

‘I’m just glad it was only the Wigginses.’

‘Could’ve been worse,’ Casey admitted.

‘They didn’t seem very friendly.’

‘We’re not precisely on speaking terms.’

‘Or waving terms,’ I added.

‘Waving is against the rules.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course.’

‘So who are they? The Wigginses.’

‘Sisters. Walinda’s the big one. Linda’s her kid sister.’

‘Linda and Walinda Wiggins?’

‘That’s them. Ever hear of them? They used to be pro wrestlers.’

‘You’re kidding.’

She shook her head. ‘They were in the ring for about five years. Even won some championships. They’ve got the trophies to prove it.’

‘They don’t wrestle anymore?’

‘They gave it up after Linda lost her arm.’

‘Lost her arm?’ I realized I’d only seen her right arm.

‘Not in the ring. Here in town a couple of years ago. Nobody knows how it happened. Walinda drove her to the emergency room at about two in the morning. Her left arm was gone at the shoulder.’

‘Nobody knows how she lost it?’

‘Well, I guess Linda and Walinda know, but they wouldn’t say.’

‘Weird,’ I muttered.

‘Lotta weird stuff goes on around here,’ Casey told me.

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘Wanta know what’s really weird?’

‘What?’ I asked.

“They’ve got the arm. It’s in their house. They keep it in like a fish tank - an aquarium - only the tank doesn’t have any fish in it. Just Linda’s arm. In some sort of preservative. Formaldehyde or something like that.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’

‘Holy ... cow.’

‘It’s exceedingly gross,’ Casey said.

‘I can imagine. Are Linda and Walinda nuts or something?’

‘Either nuts or zany. Sometimes, it’s hard to know the difference.’

Chapter Thirty-six

I could hardly believe the mystery girl and I were walking along together, talking and laughing and she actually seemed to like me. It may seem strange, but even though I wanted to leap for joy, I somehow also felt a little like crying. I struggled, however, to keep it all to myself.

I needed to be very careful about everything I said and did, or risk scaring her off.

As we continued our way up the sidewalk, Casey said, ‘Maybe you can teach Eileen how to play Ride or Hide.’

‘She’s not much of a night owl.’

‘You have to get her out really late, after midnight at the very least, or Ride or Hide isn’t worth playing.’

‘And why is that?’ I asked.

‘You know why.’

‘Because that’s when everyone who comes along is either crazy or zany?’

‘Yep, you got it. Not everyone, though.’

‘Not you and me.’

She laughed. ‘Speak for yourself, Chucky.’

‘It’s Ed.’

‘I know. Anyway, I think maybe half the people out at an hour like this are normal. You’ve got some people, it’s their job to be out. Like cops, for instance. And truckers. A lot of stuff gets delivered at night. And a lot of cleaning up gets done. And fixing up. You’ve got maintenance crews on the streets sometimes, repairing sewer lines or traffic lights, stuff like that. Then there’re also some people whose lives are reversed because they’ve got a late shift or early shift where they work. You see some of them out at night. It’s sort of like daytime for them. Plus, there are a few who just go out wandering because they love what it’s like at night.’

‘Like you?’ I asked.

She tossed me a quick smile. ‘Maybe. Anyhow, that pretty much accounts for the half that aren’t crazy. Just about everyone else is, which is why you only play Ride or Hide at night. Somebody comes toward you, you’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of running into trouble.’

‘You’ve given it a lot of thought,’ I said.

‘I pay attention, that’s all.’

‘Do you come out every night?’ The question was asked before I realized it might be a mistake.

She answered, though. ‘Pretty much. How about you?’

‘Off and on,’ I said. ‘Not very often, really, until this week. This makes four nights in a row.’

‘You’re getting hooked.’

‘Looks that way.’

‘What does Eileen think about it?’

‘She doesn’t always know. She doesn’t know I’m out tonight, for instance.’

‘Will you tell her about it?’

‘I don’t know. Probably not. She wouldn’t be thrilled that I went off in the middle of the night without her. She might feel left out. Plus, she knows it’s dangerous. And if I told her about you ...’ I shook my head. ‘She probably wouldn’t take it very well.’

‘Think she’d be jealous?’

‘More than likely.’

‘Even though we aren’t doing anything?’

‘Well, we’re spending some time together and she’s not here.’

‘I’d better leave,’ Casey said. She hurried ahead of me, turned around and walked backward. ‘Nice to meet you, though. Maybe we’ll run into each other ...’

‘No, don’t go. Please. Not yet.’

‘I’d better. It’s been fun, though.’

‘How about one more round of Ride or Hide?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know, Chucky. It might be a long wait.’

‘Might be a short one,’ I said.

A comer of her mouth tilted up. She kept walking backward. ‘I don’t want to get you in trouble with Eileen.’

Maybe telling her about Eileen hadn’t been such a hot idea, after all.

‘There won’t be any trouble,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t have to know about any of this. So how about it? One more round?’

She seemed to think about it for a few seconds. Then she said, ‘Okay. Sure. As long as we don’t have to wait too long.’

‘Great.’

She stopped and waited for me. When I caught up to her, she turned around and walked beside me. ‘I suppose we can give it fifteen or twenty minutes,’ she said.

‘Do you need to be home by a certain time?’

She looked at me and chuckled. ‘What do you think?’

‘Well...you’re obviously not out here at this hour with anyone’s permission. You look pretty young to have a place of your own, so you probably live at home with your parents. Or parent. My guess is, you sneaked out of the house after they went to sleep. How am I doing?’

‘Very logical,’ she said.

‘Accurate?’

‘Maybe.’

‘If I’m right, then you probably need to get home before your parents get up in the morning.’

‘Very good. I can see you’re a brain.’

Laughing, I said, ‘Thanks. So. Is dawn your deadline?’

‘Maybe.’

‘What about school?’ I asked.

‘What about it?’

She seemed cheerful, not at all reluctant to discuss the situation, so I pressed on. ‘Are you still in school?’

‘Do I look like I’m in school?’

‘Not at this exact moment...’

‘You are sharp, Ed.’

‘Have you got classes in the morning?’

‘Maybe. Do you?’

‘An eight o’clock.’

‘Are you sure you have time for another round of Ride or Hide?’

‘I don’t mind missing a little sleep.’

‘Neither do I,’ said Casey. We walked along in silence for a short time. Then she smiled at me and asked, ‘Do you want to guess my grade?’

‘A-plus.’

She shook her head. ‘Something needs to be done about your sense of humor.’

‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’

She laughed. ‘Sure. If you prefer to think so.’

‘You wanted me to guess your grade level? Like freshman, sophomore ... ?’

‘There you go.’

‘Well, I’d have to say you must be a senior.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Your obvious maturity, intelligence and wit.’

She bounced her knuckles off my upper arm.

‘Your physical strength,’ I added.

She laughed.

‘So, am I right? Are you a senior?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe? You aren’t going to tell?’

‘You’re assuming I even go to school.’

‘You said you do.’

‘Did I? Really?’

‘I thought so.’

‘Think again, Chucky.’

‘Are you saying you don’t go to school?’

‘Not admitting to anything.’

‘How about your age?’

‘How old do you think I am?’

Grinning, I shook my head. ‘Lotta good it’ll do. Even if I guess right, you won’t admit it.’

‘Are you sure?’

I laughed. ‘No, I’m not sure.’

‘Can’t hurt to give it a try.’

‘Okay. I’ll say eighteen.’

‘Wishful thinking.’

I blushed, taking her remark as a reference to the state’s legal age of sexual consent.

‘Try again,’ she said.

‘Younger?’

‘I’m not giving clues.’

‘Okay.’

‘Put your powers of reason to work.’

‘Unless you’re extremely mature for your age, you’re probably no younger than fifteen. You have awfully well developed verbal skills for any sort of teenager at all.’

‘Why, I’m flattered, sir.’

‘From your physical appearance, I’d say you’re definitely under twenty-one. I’d probably rule out twenty, too.’

‘If I’m under twenty-one, I’m obviously not twenty-two.’ She grimaced. ‘Cripes, your humor is rubbing off on me.’

‘It’s an improvement.’

She blurted out a laugh, then glanced around as if afraid she might’ve given away our presence. I looked around, too. I had no idea where we were. The houses on both sides of the street were looking shabbier and farther apart than those that had surrounded us earlier. The street seemed darker. But I saw nobody watching us, no traffic coming.

‘So how about my age?’ Casey asked in a hushed voice.

‘Okay. Probably somewhere between fifteen and nineteen. Am I close?’

‘Maybe.’

I growled. She laughed. Then she said, ‘Look. You’re such a brain.’

‘Not really.’

‘Sure you are. So try this out. Take your own age, double it, divide by two, then subtract the number of your feet.’

‘My shoe size?’

‘How many feet do you have at the end of your legs?’

‘Okay.’ I gave it some thought, then gave her my answer. ‘Eighteen.’

‘Ah!’

‘You’re eighteen?’

‘Don’t you remember, I told you there wouldn’t be any clues?’

‘But the formula!’

‘That was for me to find out your age. Which is twenty. Am I right?’

Chapter Thirty-seven

‘Right.’

Casey laughed. She looked wonderful laughing. Though I ached to put my arms around her and hold her close to me, I only smiled and shook my head.

‘Anything else you’d like to know?’ she asked.

‘As if you would tell me.’

‘Give it a try.’

‘I don’t have a clue in the world as to where we are.’

She looked around. ‘No problem. I know precisely where we are.’

‘If you’re going to take off pretty soon, how would you like to lead me somewhere familiar?’

‘Where is familiar?’

‘Well, I know Division and Franklin fairly well.’

‘Let’s head back,’ she said. ‘But we’ll use a different route. It’s always more interesting that way.’

‘Good idea.’

We continued walking in the same direction. At the end of the block, however, we turned right at the corner. We made another right at the next comer, too, and headed back in the direction from which we’d come, but one street over.

‘Just so you’ll know,’ Casey said, ‘Franklin and Division are straight ahead.’

‘Thanks.’

‘In case we get separated.’

‘I hope that doesn’t happen.’

‘One never knows. If we have to hide, we might lose each other.’

‘How’ll I find you again?’ I asked.

She turned her head and stared at me. ‘Maybe you won’t.’

‘If you don’t want me to ...’

‘We’ll see.’

Don’t push it, I told myself.

‘Want to check out the park?’ she asked.

‘Sure.’

‘This way.’ We cut across the street. At the comer, we went to the left. We followed the sidewalk to the end of the block.

There, cater-corner from us, was what appeared to be a public park.

We trotted through the empty intersection.

Just on the other side was a baseball field. Nothing fancy, just a backstop behind home plate, one small set of bleachers along the first-base line and another set along the third-base line. The field was equipped with banks of lights for night games, but the lights were dark.

‘I don’t see anybody,’ Casey said. ‘Do you?’

‘Looks deserted.’

‘Keep your eyes open.’

We stepped around one end of the backstop.

‘There’s a playground over that way,’ Casey said. She pointed toward the far end of the park. I could make out the vague shapes of monkey bars, swing sets, slides and other equipment. ‘Want to go over and look?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ I said.

Side by side, we walked up the middle of the baseball diamond, over the pitcher’s mound and on past second base. The base bag was missing. So were all the others. ‘I wonder where the bases go at night,’ I said.

‘Home,’ Casey said.

I laughed, but not loudly. It felt strange to be walking across a baseball field at such an hour.

Leaving the diamond behind, we headed out through center field. The grass whispered under our shoes. Though there seemed to be no light except for the glow of the moon, we both cast shadows ahead of us.

There were no trees nearby.

I looked over my shoulder just to make sure nobody was watching us.

Casey looked, too.

‘So far, so good,’ I said.

‘Hardly anyone’s ever around here after dark. Not unless there’s a night game. It’s too exposed.’

‘I’ve noticed that.’

‘The night loonies get nervous when they’re out in the open.’

‘Night loonies?’

‘You know.’

‘I guess so,’ I said. ‘The town’s full of ’em.’

‘Half full,’ she corrected me.

‘Aren’t you afraid of them?’ I asked.

‘They don’t hurt anyone,’ she said.

I couldn’t believe my ears.

‘They don’t?’

She gave me a one-sided smile. ‘They don’t hurt anyone they can’t catch. If they catch you, though, forget it.’

‘What do they do?’ I asked.

‘They get you. And that’s all she wrote. You’re gone. Unless you manage to escape. They almost got me once. It was pretty soon after I started coming out at night. I didn’t know any better and tried to help this guy. Must’ve been three o’clock in the morning. He looked like your typical homeless guy, going down the middle of the street with all his stuff in a shopping cart. I was on a sidewalk and we went past each other heading in opposite directions. I was all set to run, but he kept going. You know how noisy those shopping carts are?’

‘Oh. yeah.’

‘All of a sudden, his wasn’t. I turned around to see what was going on, and the guy was down, just lying there on the street, not moving. So I went running over to see if I could help.’ She shook her head. ‘Stupid move.’

By this time, we’d left the outfield behind and were approaching the children’s playground area. Studying the shadowed darkness, I saw nobody wandering about, no strange shapes on the park benches, nobody on the swings or monkey bars or slides or teeter-totter or carousel, nobody anywhere else in the area.

‘When I bent down to help the guy,’ Casey said, ‘he bashed me on the head with a bottle. Anyway, I think that’s what he did. The seizure ... whatever ... it’d been a fake-out to lure me over and get me. He knocked me out. When I woke up, I was in his shopping cart. It had been piled up to the top, so he must’ve gotten rid of most of the stuff to make room for me. Guess he figured I was a better class of junk.’

We walked over to a swing set. Casey sat on one of the swings. I stood in front of her, but off to one side.

‘He hadn’t taken out all his crap,’ she explained. ‘I could feel some of it under my back.’

‘How did you fit in?’

‘It was a pretty big cart,’ she said. Smiling, she pushed her feet at the ground and moved herself back and forth a little. ‘I only fit in from my head to my butt. My legs were sticking up over the top of the basket and my feet dangled in front. Anyway, I was pretty shocked to find myself in a predicament like that ...’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘When you’re stuck in a grocery cart, there’s no easy way to escape. I couldn’t just leap out and run away, so I played possum.’

‘You must’ve been scared to death.’

‘I sort of was and sort of wasn’t. I’d been in some bad situations before and I’d gotten out of them in one piece ... more or less. So I figured I’d get out of this one, too.’

‘I guess you did,’ I said.

‘Guess so.’ She smiled up at me. ‘I’m here.’

‘How did you get away?’

‘Well, I kept hoping someone would see us and stop him. Like a cop, for instance? I mean, nobody could exactly look at us without seeing me in the shopping cart. He didn’t even bother to cover me. I was right there in plain sight.’

‘At three o’clock in the morning,’ I added.

‘Right. But it’s not as if nobody’s out at that hour. You know that.’

‘I know, all right.’

‘I heard a jogger once. And I thought I heard a bike go by. Even a few cars, too. I think the jogger and bike went right past us on the same street. None of the cars did, but I heard them go through intersections pretty close to us. Nobody said anything or did anything. They just kept going.’

‘Maybe they didn’t see you.’

‘Half of them were probably weirdos, themselves.’

I smiled. ‘Yeah.’

‘Anyway, the guy finally got where he was taking me. He turned the cart over and dumped me out, but he must’ve already figured out I was playing possum. When I tried to get up and run, he grabbed me and pounded me half senseless. Then he swung me over his shoulder and carried me down a slope. I had a pretty good idea where we were, and figured he was taking me down by the stream where we’d be good and hidden. I figured he planned to molest me, you know? For starters.’

I nodded. My mouth was dry, my heart pounding hard.

‘When we got down to where the stream was, I thought he would throw me down and do it. I wanted him to try. That’s when they’re easiest, when they’re all hot and ready to stick it in. Only thing is, he didn’t stop and put me down. Instead, he turned and carried me along the shore. He was gonna take me under the bridge.’ Casey frowned up at me. ‘One thing about bridges, Ed. You don’t want to go under them at night.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ I muttered.

‘I figured I’d better do something real fast and get away. Before I had a chance, though, he calls out, “Come ’n get it!” And he gets answers from under the bridge. Like a bunch of guys are already there waiting for him. Maybe a couple of gals, too’.Shaking her head, Casey muttered, ‘Damn. That scared me. I thought my skin was going to crawl off my bones. It scares me just remembering.’

‘It scares me just listening,’ I said.

‘Well, I wasn’t about to let him take me under there. The way he had me, I was sort of drooped over his back with my legs down his front, and he had just one arm across my legs to hold me steady. His other hand ... well, it was feeling up my rear end. I hadn’t fought him, so far, just stayed limp and kept my mouth shut, so he wasn’t expecting anything.

‘All of a sudden, I grabbed hold of his trousers with both hands and kicked my legs up for all I was worth ... like unbending myself. He couldn’t hold on. For a second, I was straight up, teetering on the back of his shoulder. Then I flipped the rest of the way over and dropped to the ground behind him. I landed on my feet, but just barely. I was so off balance I fell back against him ... which steadied me but knocked him flying. I think he actually bumped into some of the others. Sounded like one or two of them went down. And maybe they blocked the shore for a few seconds so none of the others could get by very fast. I don’t know what really happened, just that I ran like my ass was on fire and nobody ever caught me.’

‘Thank God for that,’ I muttered.

‘I don’t like to think about it much ... what they might’ve done to me. I sure didn’t like the way he called, “Come and get it.” That’s what my mom used to say when it was time for supper.’

‘What do you think he meant?’ I asked.

Swaying back and forth, Casey looked up at me and sounded almost amused as she said, ‘He took me most of the way there in a grocery cart. I guess that’s a clue.’

Chapter Thirty-eight

‘Where’d this happen?’ I asked. ‘What bridge?’

‘I’m not sure. It was before I knew the town very well. I do know it was one of the bridges that crosses over the Old Mill Stream.’

‘On Division?’

She shook her head. ‘No. That’s right by the campus. This was a pretty good distance to the west. Maybe over near Fairmont or ...’

She mentioned a couple of other street names, but I only heard Fairmont; the street I’d taken north earlier that night to avoid Division.

‘I live near there,’ I said. ‘Near Fairmont.’

‘Well, don’t go under the bridge. I’m not sure that’s where the guy tried to take me, but it doesn’t matter much. You never know which bridge they’ll be under.’

‘You’ve studied them?’ I asked.

‘I sees what I sees.’

‘You think they ... eat people?’

She shrugged. ‘Whatever they can get into a shopping cart.’

I nodded.

‘At this point,’ Casey said, ‘you’re supposed to tell me I’m nuts. People don’t eat people.’

‘People eating people,’ I said, ‘isn’t as unusual as most people would like to believe.’

‘Well, they seem to do it around here. The night loonies, anyway. How about giving me a push?’

‘Sure.’

I stepped behind Casey’s swing. Bending over slightly, I put my hands behind her shoulders and gently pushed. She glided forward, the chains creaking.

‘Harder,’ she said.

When she came back at me, I thrust harder and she went higher. I took a couple of steps away so she wouldn’t collide with me on her return. Her back pressed against my hands and I shoved again.

‘Harder,’ she said.

Next time, I shoved harder. My hands were lower on her back. There seemed to be nothing between the sweatshirt and her skin. I felt the curves of her ribcage.

‘You’re doing good,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’

Soon, I had her flying. On her upward course, she leaned far back, pulling at the chains, her legs out straight, her ponytail hanging toward the ground. On the way down, she sat up and bent her knees, bringing her feet up close to the bottom of the swing, and her ponytail went in against the back of her neck.

I had to keep moving farther away to avoid being stuck. As she went higher, my contact with her back traveled lower and lower. My open hands pushed at her flanks, then her hips, then the sides of her jean-clad buttocks, and then the edge of the swing seat.

Finally, she went so high that slack came into the chains. She and the swing fell for a moment. Then the chains went taut, the swing lurching and jerking and going crooked. Casey laughed. She swept downward, twisting.

‘Want me to ... ?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

I moved out of the way. Casey began to pump, and soon she had the swing gliding along on a steady course.

‘Nicely done,’ I said.

‘Thanks.’

‘You didn’t really need a pusher.’

‘No, but I liked it. Why don’t you grab a swing?’

I’d rather watch you, I thought. But I didn’t say it. Instead, I sat on the swing next to hers. The wooden seat and cool chains felt good and familiar.

Too familiar to be memories from childhood.

I suddenly remembered that I’d been at a playground last spring with Holly. On a warm, scented night near the end of the semester, we’d sat side by side on swings very much like these. Neither of us had done any real swinging; we’d just sat and talked softly for a very long time.

I could picture Holly sitting there in the darkness, her head turned toward me, her hands on the chains, her bare feet in the sand under the swing. She’d been wearing white shorts. Her skin had seemed much darker than the shorts.

Was this the playground where we’d been? I couldn’t be sure.

I realized that I didn’t much care.

Nor did I feel the sadness and longing and bitterness that usually came with memories of Holly.

‘Gerrr-onimo!’ Casey called, but not very loudly.

Her voice pulled me into the present and I raised my eyes in time to see her leave the swing at the height of its arc. She seemed to let go of its chains and remain high in the air as the seat fell away from under her, twisting and flopping. After a moment poised in midair, she dropped as if she’d stepped off a high dive.

Legs straight, arms spread out, she plunged toward the ground. The image reminded me of her earlier jump from the porch. This, however, was a straight decent and a much greater fall. Her ponytail flipped up higher than the top of her head. Her sweatshirt flew up to her armpits. I saw her bare back. I glimpsed the side of her left breast.

The ponytail and sweatshirt leaped down. Her knees bent. As if shoved from behind by an invisible bully, she stumbled forward very fast for a few paces then fell to her hands and knees.

I jumped off my swing. Hurrying toward her, I asked, ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m splendid.’ She tumbled over and rolled onto her back. Smiling up at me, she put her folded hands underneath her head and raised her knees. ‘It’s like flying,’ she said.

‘And crashing.’

She laughed softly. ‘It didn’t hurt much.’

‘You like pain?’

‘I’m not a big fan, but I’m not scared of a little. It was worth some pain to fly like that.’

Smiling down at her, I shook my head.

‘You think I’m nuts.’

‘A trifle peculiar, perhaps.’

She chuckled. Then, in a low and raspy voice as if imitating an old geezer - probably one of her relatives - she said, ‘That’s a peculiar one, that Casey. Been a touch daffy ever since she fell on her head.’

‘You fell on your head?’ I asked.

‘Oh, sure,’ she replied in her usual voice. ‘A few times. And I’ve gotten clobbered on the noggin plenty of times, too. Good thing it’s so hard.’ She took a hand out from under her head and knuckled her brow as if rapping on a door. Then she frowned.

‘What?’

‘Nobody home.’

I grinned.

Casey sat up. She reached out a hand the way people do when they want a pull to their feet. I took hold of it. As I tugged her up, glad for the feel of her hand in mine, I watched her face. She seemed to be looking into my eyes.

When she was standing, I tried to let go of her hand. She kept hold of mine. Neither of us moved. We stood there, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. My heart pounded harder and I felt a tightness in my throat.

She squeezed my hand.

I started to pull her toward me, but she shook her head and put her other hand against my chest. ‘Just friends,’ she said. ‘Okay?’

Though I sank inside, I also felt a certain joy that she had accepted me as a friend.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Friends.’

Still holding hands, we shook on it as if making a deal. ‘Don’t look so glum,’ she said.

‘I’m not glum.’

‘We hardly even know each other. Besides, you’ve already got Eileen.’

Was Eileen the real reason Casey intended to be ‘just friends’ with me?

I almost told her that Eileen and I had broken up. It wouldn’t exactly be a lie; we had agreed to stop seeing each other - at least for a few days, to avoid arousing suspicion about our injuries. But it would be a betrayal of Eileen. A lie to Casey, too, whether or not I preferred to call it that.

Besides, maybe Casey only considered me ‘safe’ because of my relationship to Eileen.

‘I’m happy just to be your friend,’ I said.

‘Good.’ She shook my hand again. ‘I’m glad that’s settled. Now we can just have a good time and stop thinking about that other stuff.’

Had she been thinking about that other stuff?

Obviously! I suddenly felt almost gleeful.

Just as suddenly, fear swept through me.

‘What?’ Casey asked.

I let go of her hand and pointed. She turned around.

‘Where?’ she asked.

‘On the backstop.’

When she saw him, she didn’t make a sound, but her head moved slightly up and down.

Past the playground, beyond center field and second base and the pitcher’s mound and home plate, perhaps three feet off the ground, someone was clinging like a monkey to the chain-link backstop.

He seemed to be on the other side of it, facing our way.

My skin crawled.

‘Anyone you know?’ Casey asked. She sounded calm.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Isn’t Eileen, is it?’

‘I think it’s a guy.’

She turned her head and smiled at me. ‘I think so, too.’

‘A big guy,’ I pointed out.

‘Isn’t Randy, is it?’

‘Looks too big to be Randy.’

Her smile grew bigger. ‘Wanta go find out?’

‘Not especially. Aren’t you scared?’

‘He’s pretty far away. And he seems to be happy just watching.’

As if the man had heard Casey and wished to prove her wrong, he scurried down the backstop.

My stomach seemed to flip.

He dropped to the ground.

‘Shit,’ I muttered.

He trotted around one end of the backstop then turned our way and broke into a run.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Casey. Then she faced me, smiling, and asked, ‘Ride or hide?’

Chapter Thirty-nine

‘Run,’ I suggested.

‘Good thought,’ Casey said. ‘Let’s go.’ She whirled around and took off across the playground. I ran close to her side, but slower, letting her stay in the lead. She knew the area better than I did. Also, I wanted to stay slightly back to guard her rear.

When I looked over my shoulder, the man was still chasing us. He seemed to be dressed in black, floppy clothes. He chugged along with his head down, his heavy legs moving fairly well for such a big guy, his hands punching at the night. There was something off-kilter about the way he ran. That Hemingway character from ‘The Battler’ came into my mind. Not Nick Adams, but the crazy boxer, Ad Francis. Paul Newman played him in the movie, but this guy was a lot bigger than Paul Newman and I had a feeling he was no Ad Francis. I wished he were Ad Francis.

At the other side of the playground, I looked back again. He was still pounding after us.

Not gaining on us, though.

We leaped off the curb and took a diagonal course toward the other side of the street. No cars were coming. None was even in sight except for those parked along the street and in driveways.

We ran up a driveway to the sidewalk and swung to the right. The sidewalk was narrow, so I dropped back. Running directly behind Casey, I matched her stride for stride and watched her ponytail prance.

As we neared the end of the block, I looked over my shoulder. I couldn’t see our pursuer at first. Then I spotted him way back, pounding his way past a teeter-totter.

‘We’re leaving him in the dust,’ I gasped.

‘The game’s not ... Ride or Run,’ Casey said. ‘It’s Ride or Hide.’

‘Yeah, but ...’

‘Like this.’ She suddenly veered to the left. I followed her off the sidewalk, onto the grass of a lawn, and up half a dozen wooden stairs to the front porch of a house.

The porch was dark. It had a swing and I hoped an old man wasn’t sitting there, watching us in silence.

We’re nowhere near that house, I thought. But I wasn’t sure. I had only vague notions about our location.

‘Be very quiet,’ Casey whispered. Then she opened the screen door of the house.

‘What’re we—?’

‘Shhhh.’ She opened the main door.

I followed her in. Standing on the other side of the threshold, I eased the screen door shut. Then I stepped out of the way and Casey closed the solid wooden door very quietly.

She took hold of my arm. I looked at her, but could hardly see her at all.

Off to one side, a dim gray luminescence seemed to be entering the living room through a large window. I could make out the vague shapes of furniture over there, but the foyer where we stood was almost black.

Though Casey’s hand remained in the same position on my arm, I could tell that she was moving. She pulled slightly. I leaned toward her and she whispered, ‘We’ll stay here till he’s gone.’ Her breath was soft and warm against the side of my neck.

‘Whose house is this?’ I whispered.

‘Ours.’

The news came as a vast relief, and also brought a sense of joy that she trusted me enough to bring me to her home.

If she was telling the truth.

It seemed like quite a coincidence, Casey’s own home just happening to be across the street from the playground and such a handy place to hide when we suddenly found ourselves being chased.

Or maybe not such a coincidence. After all, ever since I’d joined Casey, she had been leading the way. She’d brought me into this area of town, taken me to the playground, led me to this house.

Maybe the man chasing us was incidental and Casey had meant to bring me here all along.

‘We’d better take off our shoes,’ she whispered, her breath stroking my neck.

She let go of my arm.

Balancing on one foot, then the other, I removed my shoes.

‘Give them to me,’ Casey whispered. ‘I’ll put ’em with mine.’

I reached out with a shoe in each hand. She touched my hands, found my shoes and took them away. Stepping by, she brushed against me.

Moments later, she took hold of my arm again. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she whispered.

Upstairs. To her bedroom?

What had happened to just being friends?

I felt stunned, thrilled and scared.

Calm down, I told myself. Just because we’re going upstairs doesn’t mean we’ll make love.

‘We’ve gotta be very quiet,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t wanta wake anyone.’

‘Who else is here?’

‘Let’s take a look.’

‘Don’t you know?’

‘Shhhh.’

Casey in the lead, we sneaked through the foyer and climbed a stairway. The darkness was so deep that having my eyes open or shut made no difference. I kept them open anyway. Casey kept hold of my right arm. I slid my left hand up the banister. We moved very slowly, very quietly. Every so often, a stair creaked or groaned.

My God, I thought. I’m sneaking upstairs with Casey, the mystery girl.

My excitement was nearly unbearable. So was my fear.

What if her parents catch us?

What if they don’t, and she takes me into her bedroom and we make love?

What if our pursuer saw which house we ran to, and comes in to get us?

I was pretty sure Casey hadn’t locked the front door.

I imagined the big man lumbering up the stairs, pulling out a knife as he reached the second floor.

Fee, fi, fo, fum ...

Shit.

At the top of the stairs, Casey guided me to the left. We moved along silently on the carpet. Ahead of us, a window seemed almost bright with the gray of the night outside. The gray seeped in, filling that end of the hallway but dimming away as it neared us, leaving most of the corridor black.

A growly sound sent shivers up my spine.

Casey halted.

She’d stopped us in front of a doorway. The growly sounds came from that direction, and I realized they were snores from someone sleeping. No, from two people sleeping. To our left was a doorway. The room beyond it was slightly less dark than where we stood.

Casey pulled gently on my arm and I followed her into the room. It had a very large bed between two windows. The window curtains were shut, but light from outside came through them and from spaces at their edges.

There seemed to be two people asleep on the bed. Their heads were on pillows. One person was covered to the shoulders with blankets, while the other, curled on her side, had no sheet or blanket on her at all. She seemed to be wearing dark pajamas, but her feet were bare. The room was chilly. I thought her feet must be cold.

I supposed these two people must be Casey’s mother and father.

Strange that she would bring me into their bedroom while they slept.

She must have her reasons, I thought.

Though I wanted to get out of the room, Casey still held my arm. She led me past the right side of the bed, all the way to the window. There, she let go of my arm. With both hands, she parted the curtains. Light from outside poured in. At first, it seemed so bright that I feared it might disturb the sleepers. But they continued to snore and I realized that the light from outside was not very bright, after all.

As Casey spread the curtains all the way open, quiet, skidding sounds came from the top.

The sleepers went on snoring.

Casey moved sideways to make room for me at the window. I eased over until my arm touched hers. Looking down through the glass, we had a fine view of the area in front of the house.

That’s why she’d brought us into this room.

Except for shadowed places, the lawn and sidewalk and road were well lighted by streetlamps. We could even see portions of the neighbors’ property to both sides of Casey’s house and across the road.

Nobody was in sight.

Where is he?

Maybe, having no idea where we’d gone, the chaser had run on by to search for us on different streets, different blocks. Maybe he’d quit and wandered off.

Or maybe he knew exactly where we’d gone. He might be hiding down there, waiting for us to come out. Maybe in those bushes across the street. Or behind one of the parked cars. Or behind the trunk of the tree in Casey’s front yard. Or on the porch of this very house, or already inside.

If only we could see him!

Suddenly, I wondered if he could see us. Standing this close to the glass, we might be visible to someone looking up at the window.

As if Casey shared the thought, she bumped gently against my side. I moved out of the way. She reached high with both hands and slid the curtains shut.

Taking me by the arm, she led me toward the bedroom door. About halfway there, however, she stopped. She gave my arm a squeeze, then let go. I slowly turned and watched her drift through the darkness to the side of the bed where the uncovered woman was sleeping.

She draped a blanket over the woman’s bare feet.

The woman kept on snoring.

Casey came back to me. Her hand found my forearm and she led me out of the room.

Chapter Forty

She guided me down the hallway and into another bedroom. I hoped it might be hers, but the curtains were open. In the glow from outside, I saw the shape of someone on a single bed beneath one of the windows. A head lay on the pillow. The rest of the body was hidden under a blanket.

For a moment, I thought this might be a fake person - a dummy put there by Casey before she crept out of the house. But sounds of slow, steady breathing came from that direction. Unless Casey’s ruse was sophisticated enough to include sound effects, the shape on the bed was a real person.

Beneath the other window was a second bed. Empty.

Was this Casey’s bed? Did she share the room with a sister?

Its blankets looked smooth and straight. If Casey had gone to bed earlier in the night, she’d apparently made the bed before departing for her adventures.

Breath soft against my ear, Casey whispered, ‘We’ll wait here for a while.’ Then she stepped away from me and silently shut the bedroom door.

After that, she led me by the hand to the empty bed. ‘Lie down,’ she whispered.

Heart thudding wildly, I sank onto the bed. It made some quiet creaking sounds. I scooted over to the far edge to make room for Casey. On my back, I watched her sit on the edge of the mattress, swing her legs up, and lie flat. She turned her face toward me. ‘You can take a nap if you want,’ she whispered.

I found her hand and held it. She gave my hand a squeeze.

‘I don’t think I can sleep,’ I said, hoping my quiet voice wouldn’t disturb the other girl.

‘Why not?’

‘I’m a little nervous.’

‘About what?’

‘Everything.’

She turned onto her side, facing me. I turned onto my side, too. The mattress shook slightly as she scooted closer to me. She put an arm behind my back. I felt her breath on my lips, her breasts touching me through soft fabrics, the warmth of her thighs touching mine. I reached over her side and laid my hand on her back.

‘You don’t have to be nervous,’ she whispered. ‘We’re safe here.’

I almost mentioned that she hadn’t locked the front door. If I’d said it, though, she might’ve gone downstairs to correct the situation. I wanted her to stay just where she was.

‘Try to sleep,’ she whispered.

‘That’d be a good trick.’

‘All you’ve got to do is relax. Think nice thoughts.’

I closed my eyes. My thoughts were nice, all right. All about Casey on the bed with me.

From the feel of her breath, her lips were only an inch or two away from mine. I longed to kiss her, to scoot closer and hold her body tightly against mine, to slip a hand up the back of her sweatshirt.

Is that what she’s hoping for? I wondered.

Back in the playground, she’d stopped me when I made a move to kiss her. Just friends, she’d said. And, We hardly even know each other. And, You’ve already got Eileen.

Had she changed her mind?

Not likely.

Then what’re we doing in her bed?

It’s just a place to stay while we wait for things to get safe outside.

Really? The living room would’ve been fine for that. But we’re not in the living room, we’re in her bedroom.

Suppose she does want me to make a move? If I don’t do it, she’ll think I’m either a chicken or I’m not interested in her.

But she’s already told me not to. If I go ahead and try it anyway, she’ll think I’m a jerk. I imagined her saying, What part of the word ‘no’ don’t you understand?

Casey would never say such a thing. No halfway considerate person would ever say such a crappy thing to someone. She might like me less, though.

‘Maybe I’ll try counting sheep,’ I whispered.

She didn’t answer.

My comment, pretty inane if I do say so myself, hadn’t required an answer. Still, her silence seemed a little odd.

‘Casey?’ I whispered.

Her warm breath blew against my lips and chin. The breeze went away as she slowly filled her lungs. Then the air returned to my face.

She’s asleep!

She breathed with an easy, peaceful rhythm that sounded much the same as the breathing that came from the other bed.

How could she let herself fall asleep? She and I were supposed to be in this together.

I felt abandoned and disappointed.

And worried.

After all, I was a stranger in this house. Casey was my host, my guide, my protector. So long as she remained asleep, however, I was on my own.

I can wake her up.

The way she’d dropped off so fast, it was obvious that she needed sleep. I probably needed it, myself, but I was too keyed up.

I’d better not fall asleep, I thought.

I pictured myself waking up in daylight with Casey in my arms, her parents and sister standing over the bed, glaring down at me.

Wouldn’t that be lovely?

It won’t happen, I told myself. The moment I start to get drowsy, I’ll wake Casey up and tell her I have to leave. She can either see me to the door or stay here. In the meantime, I’ll just let her sleep.

But what if I drift off?

That sort of thing can sneak up on you. I might just close my eyes thinking I’ll rest them for a few moments ... and not wake up till six or seven.

I thought about setting my wristwatch alarm. Unfortunately, the watch was on my left wrist, and my left arm was trapped underneath me. Just as well, probably. Though the alarm’s noise was a quiet beep, it might be loud enough to wake up the girl in the other bed.

Casey squirmed in her sleep. Her back slid under my hand and she made a soft ‘Mmm’ sound as if she liked how my hand felt. When she quit squirming, I went on rubbing her back. I caressed her in slow, gentle circles, making the sweatshirt move over her smooth skin.

I didn’t intentionally work the sweatshirt upward. After a while, however, it got rumpled. Feeling my way downward, I discovered that the sweatshirt no longer overlapped the top of her jeans. A distance of two or three inches separated them. In the space between them was Casey’s bare skin.

I put my hand there. She continued to sleep. Her skin felt smooth and slightly cool.

At the very back, the waistband of her jeans was pursed out slightly. Probably something to do with the way she was curled on her side.

I turned my hand and eased my fingers in. An inch or so down, I felt the thin elastic band of her panties. Keeping my fingers outside the panties, I stroked the top of her buttocks through the slick fabric.

Her breathing stayed the same, so I knew she still slept.

I thought how easy it would be to slip my fingers under the elastic.

Just a little bit.

I knew I shouldn’t do it.

What’ll it hurt? She’s asleep. She’ll never even know I did it.

It’s wrong.

But I was already pretty excited by that point. Unwilling to stop myself, I went ahead and snuck my hand down under the back of her panties. I slid my fingers slowly across her buttocks and stroked the smooth, warm valley between them.

Casey still slept.

Fearful of disturbing her if I explored too deeply, I kept my hand fairly high on her rump.

When she moaned, I moved my hand higher - and out from inside her panties.

Moments later, her breathing returned to the slow in and out of her sleep rhythm.

‘Casey?’ I whispered.

She didn’t respond, so I slipped my hand beneath the bottom of her sweatshirt. She felt good and warm under there. My hand glided slowly, savoring her smoothness and curves. I caressed her from side to side, slowly making my way upward all the way to the backs of her shoulders.

And now the front?

I wanted badly to do it. I was hard and aching.

My hand continued to caress her back. The way she was curled on her side, her left breast still pushed against me.

It’s already touching my chest, I told myself. What’s the difference if it’s touching my hand?

Plenty.

Underneath her sweatshirt, my hand moved slowly downward until it almost came out. Then I eased it up her side, feeling the curves of her ribcage. Her arm, draped over my side, wasn’t in the way. I stopped my hand on the warm skin just below her armpit.

She still breathed slowly, deeply.

The ball of my thumb rested against a rising smoothness that was probably the side of her breast.

Now all I needed to do was bring my hand toward me.

Are you out of your mind? What if she wakes up?

I’ll tell her I thought she was awake the whole time.

You wanta blow everything just to cop a feel? Are you nuts? Go find Eileen, you can mess with her tits to your heart’s content.

I didn’t care about Eileen’s.

I ached to touch Casey’s. Especially the one I could feel against my chest and against the side of my hand.

If she catches me, she’ll hate me.

If she doesn’t catch me, I thought, I’ll hate myself. I saw nothing particularly wrong with caressing her back while she slept - or even her low back - but to feel up her breasts was crossing the line.

If I don’t draw the line at that, what next? Unfasten her jeans and put my hand down the front of her panties? Slip a few fingers into her?

I imagined myself doing just that.

Aching with lust, I gritted my teeth and slid my hand downward, out from under her sweatshirt.

I placed my hand safely in the middle of her back and sighed.

Casey went on sleeping.

I don’t know how much time went by - perhaps five minutes, maybe ten - before I realized that sounds of slow, steady breathing no longer came from the direction of the other bed.

Casey’s head blocked my view. I raised my head enough to see over her with one eye.

While I watched, the girl in the other bed turned onto her side and pushed herself up on one elbow.

Chapter Forty-one

‘Hey,’ the girl said, her voice a fairly loud whisper.

Going squirmy inside, I didn’t say a thing. I didn’t move.

‘Is that you?’ she asked.

Time to call in the troops. I grabbed Casey’s arm and shook it. ‘Mmm?’

Lowering my head, I whispered, ‘She’s awake.’

‘Mmm?’

‘Who is that?’ the girl asked. She sounded somewhat concerned, but not alarmed.

Casey made another quiet, ‘Mmm.’ sound. Then her lips pushed softly against mine. They were open and warm and moist and too quickly gone.

Moaning again, Casey rolled onto her back and turned her head toward the girl. ‘Hi, Marianne,’ she whispered.

‘Is someone with you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘A boy?’

‘Yeah. His name’s Ed. He’s my new friend.’

‘Hi, Marianne,’ I whispered.

‘Hi, Ed.’

Casey sat up and swung her feet to the floor. ‘Ed’s a student at the university.’

‘Cool,’ said Marianne.

‘Marianne’s in the eighth grade,’ Casey explained.

‘Cool,’ I said.

Marianne laughed softly.

‘Ed’s real nice,’ Casey explained to her, ‘but he already has a girlfriend so I guess I’m out of luck.’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ I whispered.

She looked around at me, then stood up and moved silently across the floor to Marianne’s bed. There, she said, ‘How’re you doing, honey?’

‘Oh, not so bad.’

Casey bent low over the bed. She put her arms around the girl, who then reached up and embraced her. They clung to each other and didn’t let go. After a while, someone began very quietly to sob.

‘It’s all right,’ Casey whispered.

‘No it’s not.’

‘Sure.’

‘I thought ... you weren’t coming back.’

‘I’m here.’

‘Thought you ... didn’t care about me ... anymore.’

‘I’ll always care about you.’

‘But you ... didn’t come.’

‘It hasn’t been that long, has it?’

‘Yes it has.’

‘A week?’

‘Longer,’ Marianne said, and sniffed. ‘Almost two. Twelve nights.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’ve missed you so bad.’

‘I’ve missed you, too.’

‘Then why didn’t you come?’

‘I have lots to do.’

‘Was it ’cause of him.’

‘No, no. I only met Ed tonight. But I have lots of places I need to go. I come here as often as I can.’

‘I wish you’d come more.’

‘I know. So do I. But I’m here now.’

‘Yeah.’

They released each other. Marianne scooted over. Casey lifted the covers and crawled into the bed.

After a few minutes, she eased herself out of Marianne’s bed and came toward me. By the sounds of the breathing I heard, Marianne must’ve fallen asleep.

Bending over me, Casey whispered, ‘We can go now.’

I made my way slowly across the mattress. Then Casey took my hand and pulled. I stood up. Keeping hold of my hand, she led me out of the room and down the dark hallway to the top of the stairs, then down the stairway.

At the bottom, we put on our shoes. Though I expected Casey to lead me straight to the front door, we turned away from it. In a corridor that was nearly pitch black, she whispered, ‘Do you want to use the bathroom?’

‘Here in the house?’

‘Yeah.’

I had to go fairly badly, but I said, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Okay. I’ll be right out.’ She let go of my hand. I heard a few soft footfalls. Then, just to my right, a door bumped quietly shut.

A moment later, a strip of yellow light appeared across the bottom of the door.

Maybe this is her house, I thought.

From the sound of her urine drilling the water, she must’ve had to go very badly. It went on for a long time. After it stopped, I heard a faucet come on. She was washing her hands, but she hadn’t flushed yet.

Under the circumstances, maybe you don’t flush.

She opened the door a crack. The bathroom light was still on. Her face close to the crack, she whispered, ‘You sure you don’t want to go?’

‘I’m sure.’

She nodded, then stepped away from the door. After the toilet flushed, she came back and turned off the light. I heard the door open. She found my arm, then my hand. Her hand felt cold from the faucet.

Instead of turning us around and heading for the front door, she led us toward the back of the house. The carpet ended. In the vague light from the windows, I saw cupboards, counters, a stove and a refrigerator.

‘Thirsty?’ Casey asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Hungry?’

‘Shouldn’t we get out of here?’

‘Why?’

“This isn’t really your house, is it?’

While she continued to hold my hand, her free hand patted me on the chest. ‘So that’s the problem.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘It isn’t your house, is it?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘I didn’t think so.’

‘But we’ve got permission.’

‘Whose?’

‘Marianne’s. We’re like her guests.’

‘What about her parents?’

‘They’re asleep.’

‘God, I hope so.’

She laughed softly.

‘Do they know you sneak into their house in the middle of the night?’ I asked.

‘God, I hope not.’ She patted my chest again, then released my hand and walked over to the refrigerator. She opened it. Light flooded out. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, ‘What’ll you have?’

‘Nothing.’

‘A Coke? A beer?’

‘No! Are you nuts? We’ve gotta get out of here.’

‘How about a maraschino cherry?’

‘No!’

She removed a jar of the bright red cherries from a shelf in the refrigerator door, unscrewed the lid and held out the jar toward me. ‘Come on, help yourself.’

‘It’s stealing.’

‘Nah.’

I shook my head and refused to take a cherry, so she turned away and set the lid down on a shelf inside the refrigerator. Going into the jar with her thumb and forefinger, she pinched a long stem and lifted a cherry out of its clear red juice. She let a few drips fall into the jar, then tilted back her head, opened her mouth and lowered in the cherry. She brought her teeth closer together. A small tug jerked the cherry up against them and the stem came off. She chewed and I heard the wet squishy sounds and could almost taste the cherry’s sweetness.

I liked maraschino cherries very much, but not enough to take one that didn’t belong to me.

‘I know you want one,’ Casey whispered.

‘No thanks.’

‘Come on.’ She inserted her thumb and forefinger again and fished for a stem. ‘It’s okay with Marianne. She says I should make myself at home.’

‘But her parents.’

‘The hell with them. They’re creeps. They’re horrible to her.’ She caught a stem and lifted out a cherry. Holding it above the jar, she whispered, ‘Open up.’

I opened up and tilted back my head. Casey raised the cherry above my mouth. Then she teased me with it, bumping it against my lips a few times before lowering it into my mouth. I brought my teeth closer together and she plucked the stem off. The loose cherry rolled around inside my mouth. I got it between my molars and squeezed it a little. It felt springy. Juice seeped out of it. Then I chomped and the cherry exploded, flooding my mouth with sweet juices.

‘You’ve eaten of the forbidden fruit,’ Casey whispered. ‘Now your ass is doomed.’

I almost burst out laughing. I fought it back, though. ‘Thanks a lot,’ I said.

Laughing softly, Casey screwed on the lid and returned the jar to its place on the shelf of the refrigerator door.

‘Now can we go?’ I asked.

‘Whenever you’re ready, Eddie.’ She shut the door, and darkness clutched the kitchen.

Chapter Forty-two

The kitchen had a door to the back yard, so we used it. After the darkness inside the house, the night seemed very bright. We stood on the elevated deck just outside the door and looked all around.

No sign of the man who had chased us.

No sign of anyone else, either.

We descended a few stairs to the yard, then went around the side of the house. At the front comer, we stopped in the shadows and stood motionless for a long time.

Nobody was in sight.

‘I guess the coast is clear,’ I said.

‘Looks that way.’

Still keeping careful watch, we made our way to the sidewalk. ‘I’ll stick with you for a while,’ Casey said. ‘Then maybe we’d better call it a night.’

‘You have lots of other places to go?’

She took hold of my hand. We started walking toward the end of the block. ‘I have certain things to do,’ she said. ‘Places I go.’

‘Like Marianne’s house?’

She shrugged. ‘Marianne’s my friend. I visit her when I can.’

‘Not often enough.’

‘Her house came in handy, didn’t it?’

Nodding, I asked, ‘Does she leave the front door unlocked for you?’

‘Doesn’t have to. Her parents never lock it.’

‘They have no idea you sneak in?’

‘Haven’t got a clue. If they ever found out, they would start locking the door. Not that it’d keep me out.’

‘You also go through locked doors?’

She beamed a smile. ‘They’re my specialty.’

‘You’re a very bad girl.’

Her smile went slightly crooked. ‘Think so?’

‘Not really.’

‘Good. I don’t think so, either.’

‘How come locked doors are your “specialty”?’

‘I’m good at opening them.’

‘And going into places where you don’t belong?’

‘People don’t necessarily lock their doors to keep me out. They’re more worried about burglars and killers and other assorted denizens of evil.’

‘Or maybe to keep out everyone who isn’t invited inside.’

She smiled at me. ‘They might invite me in if they knew me.’

‘I’m sure they would.’

‘Marianne would.’

‘Not her parents, though.’

‘Not hardly. But you can’t please everyone, and I don’t even try. That’s a nice thing about night roaming; you’re mostly on your own md don’t have to deal with people. You can watch them. You can nide from them. You can even get to know them pretty well if you want, but they never have to know you.’

‘Like going around invisible.’

‘Precisely.’

‘And being invisible, you make a habit of sneaking into people’s houses?’

Her smile broke out again. ‘It’s been known to happen.’

‘Why do you do it?’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s against the law. It’s dangerous.’

‘It’s exciting.’

‘Is that why you do it?’ I asked.

‘I just do it. I like to do it and I do it. You did it tonight. What’d you think?’

‘I thought you lived there. In fact, you said it was your house.’

She gave my hand a squeeze. ‘I was speaking figuratively, college boy.’

‘How is someone else’s house yours figuratively?’

Not even pausing to consider her answer, she said, ‘It’s like mine while I’m in it.’

Laughing, I said, ‘That’s a stretch.’

‘Perchance.’

Suddenly, a thought struck me with concern and sorrow. ‘Do you have a home?’

‘What makes you ask?’

‘You’re roaming around all night, obviously going into other people’s homes.’

‘Does that mean I don’t have one of my own?’

‘It might.’

‘But not necessarily.’

‘Where do you live?’

Her smile died. ‘Wherever I want.’

‘You don’t have a place?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘I mean a place of your own. Not somebody else’s house. Your own house or apartment or something.’

‘Maybe I do and maybe I don’t.’

‘You don’t,’ I said.

‘Think not?’

‘Where are your parents?’ I asked.

‘Who says I have any?’

‘Are you an orphan?’

‘That’d make them dead.’

‘So you do have parents.’

‘Somewhere.’

‘But not here?’

‘Let me ask you something,’ she said.

‘Okay.’

‘Do you want to see me tomorrow night?’

‘Sure.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Because ...’ Be careful, I warned myself. ‘I like being with you.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Because you’re interesting. And funny.’

‘Isn’t Eileen interesting and funny?’

‘Sort of. Not like you, though.’

‘But she’s your girlfriend. You said so yourself. Don’t you want to be with her tomorrow night?’

‘Which night is that? This is already Friday morning ...’

‘To me, it’s still Thursday night.’

‘When does it become Friday?’

‘Sunrise.’

‘So “tomorrow night” is Friday night?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I’m free,’ I said.

‘What about Eileen? Friday night, shouldn’t you be seeing your girlfriend?’

Oh, boy.

‘We agreed to stay away from each other for a few days.’

‘How come?’

I wanted to tell Casey the truth. Easy enough to explain about getting attacked and probably killing a guy and the rest that happened Wednesday night; my real problem would be admitting that I’d gone under the bridge to have sex with Eileen.

‘I think I mentioned she hasn’t been feeling very well?’

Casey nodded.

‘It’s probably nothing serious, but she doesn’t want me to catch it. So we definitely won’t be getting together tomorrow night.’

‘Are you sure you didn’t have a fight with her?’

I frowned and said nothing.

‘You look like you were in a fight with somebody.’

I almost cringed. I’d forgotten about the bruises and scratches on my face. ‘Oh, that,’ I said.

‘You didn’t beat her up, did you?’

‘No!’

‘What happened to you?’

Stalling, I shrugged. Then I thought of something. ‘There’s this guy I know, Kirkus. He’s a real jerk.’ So far, I wasn’t lying. ‘We’re both on the staff of the university’s literary magazine. We get together a couple of times a month to read the stories and poems that people submit. Anyway, Kirkus read this story of mine ...’

‘You wrote it?’

‘Yeah. Anyway, Kirkus read it and said it was lousy. “Pedestrian and sophomoric, full of gratuitous violence and sex,” he said. So I called him a tight-ass, illiterate old prig and one thing sorta led to another.’ Still the truth. ‘Next thing you know, I said something he really didn’t like and he punched me in the face. So I punched him.’ I smiled and shook my head. ‘It was all pretty dumb. We threw a lot of punches and both of us got bruised up a little. It was no big deal.’

All the truth.

But it had happened the previous May.

‘So you and Eileen didn’t have a fight?’

What if Casey sees her?

We didn’t fight.

‘No,’ I said. ‘We’ve never had an actual fight.’

‘Do you ever hit girls?’

‘Not if you don’t count Kirkus.’

‘I thought he was a guy.’

‘Nobody’s absolutely sure. Anyway, I think Eileen’s just down with a bug. Like maybe the flu or something.’

‘What happens when she gets well?’

I took a few moments, trying to think of a good answer. Then I said, ‘She’s never up past eleven or twelve, anyway. And she lives over at the sorority house, not with me. So I can come out whenever I want to.’

‘On the sly?’

‘She doesn’t have to know everything I do. We’re not ... engaged or anything. We haven’t even been going together all that long.’

‘How long?’

Since Monday night. And this was Thursday night, by Casey’s calculations.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘we got to know each other last spring, but we didn’t really start going together until this semester.’

‘So that makes it okay to see someone else behind her back?’

‘I’m not exactly seeing you. We only met ... what, a couple of hours ago?’

‘But we’re getting together tomorrow night, aren’t we?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Will you tell Eileen about it?’

‘Probably not.’

‘So you will be seeing me behind her back.’

‘Yeah, but we’re not doing anything.’

‘We’re doing something.’

‘Well, yeah, but not—’

Casey stepped up against me, wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the mouth. As the kiss went on, I put my arms around her. We were pressed tightly together. I could feel her breasts and ribcage against my chest, her belly against mine, the curve of her mons pushing against my crotch.

Her mouth eased away. ‘Are we doing anything yet?’

‘Sure are.’

‘Just so you know,’ she said. Then, ‘See you tomorrow night.’

‘You’re leaving?’

She walked backward, smiling. ‘Going, goinggg ...’ She whirled around. As she ran down the sidewalk, she called over her shoulder, ‘Gone!’

‘But where’ll ...’

... she dodged out of sight behind a hedge ...

‘... we meet?’

She didn’t answer.

I ran past the hedge, but she wasn’t there. I couldn’t see her anywhere.

‘Casey?’ I called.

She didn’t answer.

I wandered around looking for her, thinking that perhaps she was playing a small prank and might turn up again. Finally, I realized she was gone for the night.

Giving up, I took a few moments to figure out which way to go for Division Street, and commenced my journey home.

A few times, I had occasion to play Ride or Hide. Each time, I hid.

I watched from my hiding places.

A police car cruised by. So did a moving van. And Linda and Walinda Wiggins in their Jeep. (Why were they still out?) But I didn’t see Randy’s pickup truck or the van I’d encountered at the Fairmont Street bridge.

A guy in a sweatsuit ran down the middle of the street alongside his Doberman, which may or may not have been on a leash. I heard the tinny rattle and clank of a shopping cart somewhere nearby, but saw neither the cart nor the person pushing it.

I didn’t see any trolls at all ... ‘night loonies,’ as Casey called them.

I didn’t see the bike hag, either.

Most of all, I didn’t see Casey.

When I came to the Franklin Street bridge over the Old Mill stream, I ran across it.

Soon after that, I was safe inside my apartment.

Chapter Forty-three

After a couple of hours of sleep, a shower and a cup of coffee, I left the building to head for my eight o’clock Romantic Literature class and found Eileen coming up the sidewalk toward me.

I felt a moment of alarm. But she looked cheerful. Seeing me, she smiled and waved and quickened her pace.

It was a windy autumn morning. Her thick hair blew, some of it flying across her face. She wore a green sweater, a plaid skirt and green knee socks. Her breasts went up and down inside the sweater with the motions of her walking. The wind flung her skirt against her legs.

She looked wonderful.

Except for her face. Even her face, however, looked better than when I’d seen her yesterday morning. She still had bandages above her left eyebrow, on her right cheekbone and on her jaw, but her eye and lip were less puffy. Nor did her bruises show. I guess she’d covered them with makeup.

‘Good morning,’ she said.

‘Hi.’

‘Surprised to see me?’

‘Yeah.’ Surprised and disoriented. Though I’d only been with Casey for a couple of hours last night, Eileen now seemed a little foreign to me: bigger, heavier, older, more steady and mature, more stable, less dangerous and less exciting.

All she carried was the purse hanging from her shoulder. When she opened her arms, I swung my book bag down to the sidewalk. We embraced. She squeezed herself against me and I felt the soft push of her breasts. Her cheek was cool against my face.

‘I’ve missed you so much,’ she whispered.

‘Me, too.’ Then I added, ‘Missed you.’

Then she eased her hold, moved her face back and kissed me on the mouth ... a gentle touch to avoid hurting her split lip. Stepping away, she said, ‘I just thought I’d come by and see you safely to your eight o’clock.’

‘Good deal.’ I shouldered my book bag and we started walking. ‘Anything going on?’ I asked.

‘Not a thing. It’s like nothing ever happened Wednesday night.’

‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’

‘I’m halfway thinking nothing did happen. Except I can feel the aftereffects. And see ’em when I look in a mirror.’

‘You’re looking a lot better.’

‘You, too. But I still feel like a disaster.’

‘You got it a lot worse than me,’ I said, and wondered again if her injuries included rape.

‘The worst part was staying away from you yesterday. I hated that.’

‘Me, too.’

‘And I got to thinking it was really sort of pointless. I mean, what’ve we got to hide?’

‘Murder.’

‘You didn’t murder anyone. Even if you did kill that guy, it was self-defense. But there doesn’t seem to be any sort of investigation going on. I don’t think they’ve even found his body. As far as the cops go, nothing happened. So I don’t know if we really need to stay away from each other any more.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘People see us side by side, they’ve gotta figure we got hurt together.’

‘We have our tree stories,’ she said. Though she smiled, she looked troubled. Apparently, she had expected me to go along with her new idea.

It took me a few moments to remember the tree stories. ‘I ran into one chasing a Frisbee, and you fell out of a tree rescuing a kitten?’

‘A kite.’

‘Yeah. In my professional opinion as an amateur writer, the two stories are somewhat lame and marginally believable, taken separately. Put them together, though, and nobody’ll believe them.’

‘Do you really think it matters?’

‘It might matter if the body turns up.’

‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But Kirkus saw us together right after it happened, anyway. He knows we got beaten up.’

‘He won’t tell.’

‘He won’t?’

‘Nah. If he thought I killed someone, the last thing he would do is turn me in. He might threaten to, but he wouldn’t actually do it. He’d keep what he knows a secret and try to control me with it.’

She smiled. ‘You really think so?’

‘Pretty sure.’

‘Why on earth would he do that?’

‘He’s got the hots for me.’

‘Wooo!’ she blurted, and laughed. Then she said, ‘You’re awful.’

‘I might be awful, but I think I’m right. He’s careful not to let it show too much ...’

‘Disguises it with overt hostility?’ Eileen suggested, smiling and nodding.

‘Exactly.’

‘I’d never thought of it that way. I’ve always just seen him as a self-important pain in the ass, but you might be right.’

‘If I am, we probably don’t need to worry about Kirkus tipping off the cops.’

‘He might do it in a fit of jealous rage.’

‘Nah.’

‘Or good citizenship might overcome his lust for you.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Anyway,’ said Eileen, ‘it’s a moot point since there’s no body and no investigation.’

‘Yet,’ I added.

‘I don’t think there will be. Those awful creeps under the bridge must’ve done something ... hidden the body somewhere ... maybe buried it.

‘Or devoured it completely,’ I threw in.

‘All but the bones.’

‘Even the bones, maybe. Dogs eat bones down to nothing.’

‘Ug.’

Closer to campus, the streets and sidewalks were busy with students and faculty members. I recognized most of them. So far, however, nobody seemed to be paying attention to Eileen or me.

‘Maybe we’d better split up,’ I said.

‘Do we have to?’

‘If we don’t, we’ll have to start fielding questions about our faces. And it’s the sort of thing people will probably talk about and remember.’

‘I don’t think it’ll matter.’

‘I’m the one who killed the guy.’

‘You don’t know that for sure.’

‘Let’s just play it safe. Okay? Just for today, let’s keep our distance. It’s Friday, so we’ll have the whole weekend to heal up some more before everyone starts seeing us together.’

We both stopped at the corner.

Eileen’s smile was gone. ‘You think we should stay away from each other till Monday?’

‘It might be a good idea. Just to play it safe.’

Frowning, she asked, ‘Is something going on?’

‘It was your idea in the first place, you know. Staying away from each other till our faces heal. Remember your note?’

She nodded, but she didn’t look happy.

‘And we discussed it last night.’

‘I know,’ she said.

‘I thought we’d agreed that we shouldn’t be seen together for... I don’t know, several days.’

‘I guess we did,’ she admitted.

‘So if we just wait till Monday ...’

‘Being seen together isn’t the same as being together. We can still be together if nobody’s around to see us, can’t we? What would that hurt?’

My chances of being with Casey tonight.

Realizing I was in hazardous territory, I said, ‘You’re right,’ and tried to look pleased. ‘The thing is not to be seen together. So how about coming over to my place later on?’

‘You don’t sound very sure.’

‘No, I’m sure. Yeah! It’ll be great. We’ll need to stay in, but ...’

‘No problem.’ She seemed happier. ‘I tell you what; I’ll bring everything over. Drinks, food. You won’t have to do anything but be there.’

‘Great!’ I said.

‘What time should I come by?’

The earlier, the better.

‘How about five?’

‘You got it. See you then.’ Smiling, she whirled around and went striding off down the sidewalk, hair and skirt blowing in the wind.

I muttered, ‘Just great.’

Chapter Forty-four

Kirkus intercepted me as I walked past the student union. Raising a hand, he called out, ‘What ho, Eduardo!’

Speaking of the devil, I thought.

I wasn’t surprised to see him, though; like me, he was in Dr Trueman’s eight o’clock Romantic Lit class. More often than not, he met me along the way to it, suddenly popping out of a door or out from behind a nearby tree as if he’d been waiting in ambuscade.

‘Hey there, Rudy,’ I called to him.

He came striding toward me, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Around his neck was a tangerine-colored ascot. He wore his usual corduroy jacket, blue chambray shirt and blue jeans. Though just about everyone else on campus lugged book bags on their shoulders, jaunty Kirkus carried a large leather briefcase.

I hadn’t seen him since Wednesday night, but I’d spoken badly about him much more recently ... to both Casey and Eileen. He had no way of knowing about any of that. I felt a little guilty, anyway.

‘How you doing?’ I asked as he caught up with me.

‘Tip top, old bean.’

‘Glad to hear it. No trouble with the ruffians Wednesday night?’

For a moment, he seemed at a loss. Could he possibly have forgotten the incident? Before I had a chance to kick myself for mentioning it, he tipped back his head and said, ‘Ah! None at all. No, indeed, I glimpsed neither hide nor hair of the hooligans. I’d rather hoped to retrieve Eileen’s blouse, but they must’ve gone off with their prize.’ He looked pleased, no doubt with his choice of gone off. ‘And how fares the fair Eileen?’ he asked.

‘Fairly well.’

He rolled his eyes upward to disparage my word play.

‘She’s improving,’ I added.

‘Looked as if she’d had a bit of a rough go.’

‘She’s pretty embarrassed about the whole thing.’

‘Eileen embarrassed? I say, you were the chap without the shirt.’

‘Right. By the time you saw us.’

‘Ah, yes. You’d lent your garment to the damsel. Quite the chivalrous gesture, what?’

‘I couldn’t let her walk around half naked,’ I said. Discussing the matter with Kirkus made me feel squirmy, but I had a plan growing in my mind. ‘After those creeps tore off her blouse, she was ... she had nothing on up there.’

‘Braless in Gaza, was she?’

Nodding, I said, ‘Must’ve been six or seven guys got to see her ... you know.’

‘Her precious boobies.’

‘I shouldn’t be telling you this.’

‘Oh, please do.’

‘They touched her, too. Some of them ... you know ... felt her up.’

‘Oh, dear. Before or after they whizzed on her hair?’

I’d forgotten that part of Eileen’s story. ‘Before,’ I said. Shaking my head, I went on. ‘She’s really embarrassed by the whole episode. She doesn’t want anyone to know about it. If people hear about that sort of thing, they picture it in their minds. And they talk. Pretty soon, everybody’s thinking about Eileen without a top on and guys groping her and pissing on her and all that.’

‘Quite so.’ He smiled. ‘I’m thinking about it even as we speak.’ Maybe he’s not so gay, after all.

I said, ‘Eileen sure doesn’t want everyone on campus picturing her like that.’

‘Certainly not.’

‘So maybe you could just forget you saw us.’

‘Hardly possible, dear fellow, to forget such a rare and wondrous sight.’

Wondrous sight? I was the shirtless one.

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘you don’t have to forget it. How about just keeping it to yourself? Eileen and I would both be very grateful.’

The corners of Kirkus’s mouth turned upward and his eyes sparkled. ‘Mum’s the word, old sport.’ With that, he pressed his lips together and locked them with an invisible key. He tossed the key over his shoulder and brushed off his hands.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘You’re quite welcome, really.’

‘And don’t let Eileen know we had this talk, okay? She’d be really upset if she found out I’d blabbed to you.’

‘Righto.’ He clapped me on the back.

Side by side, we climbed the concrete stairs toward the side entrance of the English building. Suddenly I noticed, a few steps above us, the backside of Horrible Hillary Hatchens. Her head with its pixie haircut looked very small up there. She wore a white pullover sweater, a tight gray skirt, and cowgirl boots. For a woman with such a slight build, she had a remarkably broad rear end.

Luckily, I wouldn’t be sitting in her class again until the following Tuesday, which seemed like years away.

As Hatchens entered the door at the top of the stairs, Kirkus asked, ‘When shall I join you for dinner?’

‘Dinner?’

‘How about tonight?’

‘I’m seeing Eileen tonight.’

‘Splendid! We’ll make it a threesome!’

The top stair had a dip worn into its concrete by the tread of countless feet. It was generally considered special. I considered it mostly a safety hazard, and carefully stepped around it.

Inside, the building smelled like floor wax and old wood. It was also quite dark. Daylight had a way of refusing to enter the old windows.

I spotted Hatchens strutting down the first-floor hallway. She seemed to be predominantly butt.

Kirkus and I started climbing the stairs toward the second floor. The stairwell above us appeared to be deserted. The way sounds traveled and reverberated, however, voices and tromping feet and the creaking sounds of stairs and banisters seemed to be coming from all around us. Kirkus’s voice joined them. ‘Dinner?’ he asked.

‘What about it?’

‘You, me and Eileen. Tonight.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know if she’ll like that idea.’

‘Oy, vaht’s not to like?’ he asked, switching from his phony British voice to his phony Jewish-mother voice. Kirkus was a man of numerous, if feeble, talents. ‘A nosh, a nosh, my kingdom for a nosh!’

‘Jeez.’

‘Your shiksa, she von’t even know I’m there.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘So, vee haff a date?’

‘Now you’re starting to sound like a Nazi.’

‘Yah? Vee haff vays to make you talk, yankee dog!’

At the top of the stairs, we turned to the right and headed down a wide hallway toward our classroom. The hall was nearly deserted. I glanced at my wristwatch. Five till eight. Though class rarely began on time, most of the other students were probably already seated and ready.

‘Zo,’ said Kirkus. ‘Dinner tonight?’

‘I guess so, but only if you swear you’ll never tell anyone about Eileen...’

‘Unt her vunderbar boobies unt zee pee in her hair.’

‘Right.’

Smiling, Kirkus patted me on the back. ‘I’m quite looking forward to our engagement, Eduardo.’

‘My place at five.’

‘And your place is where?’

I told him the address. ‘Do you know where that is?’

‘I’ll find it.’

‘I’m sure you will.’

I hardly dared hope otherwise.

Stepping aside, I let Kirkus enter the classroom first. I followed him through the doorway. Just as I’d thought, nearly everyone had already arrived. There must’ve been fifteen of them. They were gathered rather loosely at the seminar table, some talking to friends, a few using the time to catch up on Wordsworth, some drooping in their seats as if barely conscious.

‘What ho!’ Kirkus greeted the whole gang.

He was ignored by many, groaned at by several. A few other students rolled their eyes upward in despair.

‘“Awake!”’ Kirkus proclaimed. “‘Arise! Or be forever fallen!”’

‘You and the horse you rode in on,’ muttered Connor Blayton, a gruff and whiskered aspiring playwright.

I went to my usual place on the left side of the table. My chair was between Stanley Jones and Marcia Palmer. Stanley smiled at me as I pulled my chair away from the table. ‘How goes it, man?’ I asked.

‘SOS.’

‘You said it.’ I sat down. ‘Good morning, Marcia.’

Not looking away from her open book, Marcia nodded.

‘Is that the one where he wanders lonely as a cloud?’ I asked.

‘Grow up,’ Marcia said. She wasn’t among my fans.

‘I’m working on it,’ I said.

‘Work harder.’

‘Pithy.’

She turned her head and scowled at me. She was a senior, probably the smartest of all the current English majors, beautiful and blonde and a grade-A bitch. At the moment, she looked ready to seethe. ‘What did you say?’ she asked.

‘Pithy.’

‘That’d better be what you said.’

‘It thertainly ith what I thaid.’

‘Know what?’

‘What?’

‘Get fucked.’

I gave her my warmest smile.

‘Cretin,’ she muttered, and turned away.

‘That hurt,’ I said.

She ignored me.

Into the room bounded Dr Trueman, silver-haired, ruddy of cheek, dressed in a trim tweed suit and red bowtie. He carried a weathered brown briefcase with wide leather straps and large buckles. Stopping at the head of the table, he regarded us with his sparkling eyes. ‘Fresh faces, newly scrubbed! Youth! Passion ! Love!’ He fixed his merry eyes on me. ‘King Edward of Wiilmington!’

‘Sir?’

‘For godsake, what befell your face?’

‘Mayhem, sir.’

‘I hope you saw to it that your enemy paid dearly for his insolence.’

‘I destroyed him entirely, sir.’

‘Bravo!’ Dr Trueman plonked his briefcase on the table and applauded me. So did about half the students in the room, while others shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Marcia hung her head and shook it slowly. Kirkus was among those who joined the applause.

Only I knew I’d told the honest truth.

Chapter Forty-five

About halfway through Dr Trueman’s class, I realized that I’d invited Kirkus over to my apartment for a supper that was being provided by Eileen.

I’ll bring everything over, she’d said. Drinks, food

She would bring them for two, not three. And she wasn’t likely to be delighted by the presence of Kirkus.

She needed to be told of the additional guest.

Warned.

Around noon, I saw her at a distance. I didn’t call out or go after her, though. For this sort of news, I preferred the telephone.

Back in my apartment shortly after three o’clock that afternoon, I made a call to Eileen’s room. I hoped to get her answering machine, but she picked up the phone herself.

‘It’s me,’ I said.

‘Hi, me.’

‘About dinner tonight...’

‘Uh-oh.’

‘I’m afraid Kirkus has invited himself over.’

‘Kirkus? Are you kidding?’

‘It’s sort of an extortion thing. I had a little talk with him about Wednesday night and he agreed to keep his mouth shut. Thing is, dinner seems to be part of the deal.’

‘Wow. Maybe he does have the hots for you.’

‘Maybe he just wants a free dinner.’

‘Well, you caught me just in time. I was about to head for the store. I’ll pick up a little more of a few things.’

‘I’m really sorry about this.’

‘Oh, don’t be. It’s not your fault he finds you irresistible.’

‘Very funny.’

‘I guess he and I will be vying for your attention.’

‘Won’t be any contest,’ I said.

‘Just the same, I’ll dress for the occasion.’

The words sank in. My imagination took over and my body reacted.

‘What do you have in mind?’ I asked.

‘You’ll just have to wait and see. I’d better get going. See you around five.’

‘See you.’

Suddenly, Kirkus or no Kirkus, I was eager for five o’clock to arrive.

By about four, I’d finished showering and dressing. I sat at the kitchen table to study Chaucer, and had just about worked my way to the end of ‘The Prologe of the Wyves Tale of Bathe’ when my buzzer went off.

I marked my place and glanced at my wristwatch. Four-thirty.

At the speaker, I said, ‘Who’s there?’

‘Your intellectual and moral superior.’

‘Impossible,’ I said.

‘Open up, old boy.’

Leave it to Kirkus to arrive half an hour early.

I buzzed him in. Then I just stood there, annoyed. I soon heard footfalls coming up the hallway, but waited for his knock before I opened the door.

He’d changed clothes for the occasion. His blue jeans looked brand new. He also wore a white shirt instead of the usual blue chambray. Instead of his corduroy jacket, he wore a jacket of light brown suede. He now sported a royal blue ascot, not the tangerine one he’d worn to Romantic Lit.

Head tilted back, he smiled in at me and bobbed up and down on the balls of his feet. ‘I’m early,’ he announced.

‘No problem.’

‘And I come bearing gifts.’ He held out a bottle of white wine.

‘Thanks.’ I accepted it, stepped out of the way and said, ‘Come on in and take a load off.’

He entered my apartment and looked around. ‘The beckoning fair one isn’t here yet?’

‘Not yet. Would you like some of this wine?’

‘We might prefer to save it for dinner.’

‘Eileen’s bringing something to drink. I could open this now if you want.’

‘If you like.’ He went to a window and looked out. ‘How inspiring to dwell in such proximity to a church.’

‘It has a nice little graveyard,’ I said, taking the bottle into the kitchen. ‘You can’t see it from here.’ I almost told him that my bedroom had a view of the graveyard, but the less said to Kirkus about my bedroom, the better.

While he continued to stare out the window, I opened the bottle. I located a couple of water glasses. As I poured wine into them, I asked, ‘So how’d you lay your mits on the wine? Not twenty-one yet, are you?’

‘Certainly not. Are you?’

‘Not till next year.’

‘Then why would I be twenty-one while you’re not? We’re both juniors.’

‘Maybe you had to repeat the fourth grade.’ I suggested, carrying the glasses into the living room.

He turned away from the window and faced me. ‘In fact, I skipped a grade.’

‘Wow! Really? So you’re only nineteen?’

‘A mature nineteen.’

‘If you say so.’

He smirked at me. ‘Considerably more mature than you, I dare say.’

‘Well, shit yeah. I don’t even own an ascot.’ I put a glass into his hand, then said, ‘Thanks for bringing the wine,’ and took a drink from my glass. It didn’t taste bad.

‘No toast?’ he asked.

‘No toast, no bacon, no eggs.’

‘And little or no wit,’ he added.

I almost laughed, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

‘Good wine,’ I told him.

‘Thank you.’

‘Who picked it out for you?’

‘Ah, Logan.’

‘Ah, Kirkus. Why don’t you have a seat?’

‘Merci,’ he said, and wandered over to the armchair. Stopping in front of it, he turned around and faced me. He took a sip of wine. Then he said, ‘I’m really quite overwhelmed by your generosity in inviting me to dinner.’

‘I’m pretty sure you invited yourself.’

‘Did I?’ Smiling, he sat down.

‘That’s how I recall it,’ I said, and sat on the sofa a safe distance from him.

‘As I recall, you requested a service from me and kindly invited me over to show your gratitude.’

‘Something like that.’

‘You are grateful for my pledge of silence, I take it?’

‘The pledge doesn’t interest me much, but the silence does.’

Smiling unpleasantly, he took a sip of wine. ‘If you hope for my cooperation, it might behoove you to treat me with a certain amount of consideration.’

‘Behoove?’

‘There you go again.’

‘A thousand pardons.’

Raising both eyebrows, he asked, ‘Would you prefer that I leave? I could, you know. I could quite easily remove myself from the premises ...’

‘“And take thy beak from out my heart...”’

He stood up.

Staying seated, I patted the air and said, ‘Down, boy. Down. Just kidding. Stay. I promised you dinner. Eileen’s expecting you. She’s even picking up extra groceries. We’d both be très disappointed if you force us to eat without the glory of your presence.’

Kirkus sat. He smiled. He said, ‘You are such a wad.’

‘Want to call a truce?’ I asked.

‘Calling a truce would presume we’re at war. Are we at war, Eduardo?’

I shrugged. ‘Not really. A war of wits, maybe.’

‘For which you are sadly lacking in weaponry.’

I tried to think of a comeback, but nothing worthwhile popped into my mind - tending perhaps to prove his point.

He sipped his wine and looked smug.

I said, ‘Actually, I used to be marvelously intelligent, witty and urbane - but then they stole my ascot.’

‘Oh, how droll.’

‘Noël Coward and Somerset Maugham chased me three blocks for it.’

Looking singularly unamused, Kirkus set his glass on the lamp table, reached to his neck with both hands, untied his ascot and held it out to me. ‘Perhaps you would like to borrow mine,’ he said.

Three big, blue letters were tattooed across his throat.

FAG

Chapter Forty-six

‘Is it real?’ I asked. ‘A real tattoo?’

‘Of course it’s real.’

Maybe real, but amateurish. The sort of tattoo that a person might do to himself with a sharp instrument and ink, shaky hands and no artistic talent at all. ‘Oh, man,’ I said. ‘What were you thinking?’

‘I hardly did this to myself, dear fellow.’

‘Somebody else did it to you?’

‘Oh, yes.’

I must’ve been gaping at Kirkus like a stunned fish.

‘Perhaps you would enjoy hearing about it,’ he said. ‘You seem to have a special fondness for the morbid and outré. Perhaps you’ll enjoy putting me in one of your stories.’

I shook my head. ‘No. that’s all right. Really. Why don’t you go ahead and put your ascot back on?’

‘Let it replace the one stolen by Coward and Maugham,’ he said, and tossed it to me. Halfway between us, the silken cloth fluttered open and drifted to the floor.

I went over to it, crouched and picked it up. Taking it to Kirkus, I said, ‘I had no idea you’ve been wearing these things to hide your tattoo.’

‘Is that why?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘For that and for the style.’

Laughing softly, I reached out with it. He plucked it from my fingers.

On my way back to the sofa, he said, ‘I won’t tell you the whole sad tale; I’ll make it brief.’

‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ I said, and sat down.

‘Oh. but you’ll find it “right up your alley,” so to speak. Lurid, brutal, sordid and trite.’

‘Oh. thanks. In that case, I’ve got to hear it.’

‘I know.’

‘If it’s such a good story, maybe you should save it until Eileen gets here.’

‘That would hardly be appropriate.’ He wrapped the ascot around his neck and began to tie it. ‘This is for your ears only.’

‘Are you sure you want to tell me?’

‘We’ll both have secrets to keep.’

‘You said I could write about it.’

‘Someday.’

I looked at my wristwatch. A quarter till five. ‘Maybe you oughta just skip it.’

‘Oh, no. I insist.’ He took a drink of wine, then commenced. ‘I’m sure the basics are all quite familiar to you: the overly sensitive, fatherless boy with the relentless and irrepressible mother; the boy being picked on by Neanderthals at school; taking refuge in the safety of books. All terribly trite and predictable ...’

I took a drink of wine and wished I were elsewhere.

With any luck, Eileen would show up immediately.

‘The other kids used to laugh and call me names.’

Like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I thought, and felt a strange urge to laugh. Then I realized his name was Rudy, short for Rudolph. His name seemed like a bizarre and not-so-funny joke.

‘I could never walk down a hallway at school,’ he explained, ‘without someone tripping me or bumping into me or knocking the books out of my hands. During recess and lunch, a great sport was to grab me and stuff me into a trashcan. Sometimes, a group of jocks would jump me and run off with my pants. And of course I was regularly beaten up. In short, I grew up friendless, trusting no one, fearing and despising my tormenters. Not unlike the childhood of countless other chaps.’

‘I knew a few,’ I told him. During my schooldays, I’d only been a level or two higher on the social scale, myself, and I’d befriended guys who were worse off than me. I couldn’t tell Kirkus that, however. You can’t say ‘one of my best friends was a geek ... or gay ... or black ... or Jewish ...’ It might be true, but you can’t say it. There’s a lot you can’t say.

So I kept my mouth shut about the cool band of social rejects with whom I used to hang out.

After a deep sigh, Kirkus resumed. ‘Ironically, they were calling me a queer, a homo and a fag long before I’d ever engaged in any sexual activity with anyone: boy, girl or aardvark. Apparently, my appearance and manner were the only oddities they required.’

‘It’s pretty rotten,’ I said.

‘You may not believe this, Ed, but I was a nice young lad. I’d yet to develop my aloof and cynical demeanor, nor the smug pomposity that you seem to find so irritating.’

‘Hard to imagine you without ’em.’

‘Oh, I was a dear.’

I laughed softly.

‘However, they hated me anyway. My chief oppressor was a chap named Dennis Grant, a rather typical high school bully: strong, fat, ugly and stupid. He tormented me constantly - usually in front of his friends, of course, in order to show off his toughness. Then one afternoon I stayed at school late to help one of the teachers. By the time I’d finished, the hallway was deserted. Except for Dennis. He was waiting for me with his knife. He pulled me into one of the bathrooms and made me get down on my knees. Then he opened his fly and hauled out “George.” Why he called it George, I have no idea.’

Kirkus tried to smile, but couldn’t manage it. His eyes were suddenly shiny.

‘I said to Dennis, “What am I supposed to do with that?” He said, “You know what to do with it, you fuckin’ fag.” I said, “Look who’s calling who a fag.” That, as it turned out, was a vast error.’ A couple of tears leaked out of his eyes. He rubbed them away with the back of a hand. ‘At any rate, after pounding me to a sticky pulp, Dennis gave me my first taste of George there on the filthy bathroom floor. And thus was I introduced into the joys of the gay lifestyle.’

All I could say was, ‘Jeez.’

‘It lacked a bit in the way of romance and comfort.’ He pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, then sighed and put his hanky away. ‘We did, however, have a smoke afterward.’

‘Did he do the tattoo?’

Kirkus shrugged. ‘I’ve never learned whether the artistry was performed by Dennis or by his buddy, Brad.’

‘This Brad was there, too?’

‘Oh, no. Not at all. Dennis and I were quite alone that day in the school bathroom ... and quite alone on every occasion afterward. Or so we thought.’

‘It happened more than once?’

‘Oh, my dear Eduardo, Dennis got together with me almost daily after that.’

‘You couldn’t stop him?’

‘I saw no point in trying. He’d done what he’d done. I’d done what I’d done. It did seem horrid at first. Before long, however, I found myself looking forward to our sessions. Dennis was rather magnificent, really.’

I tried not to look aghast.

‘Unfortunately, his friend Brad caught us in the act one fine evening in Dennis’s garage. In a valiant attempt to maintain his dignity, Dennis pretended to be the victim of an unwarranted assault by yours truly and they both beat me senseless.’ Lightly stroking the front of his ascot, Kirkus said, ‘I returned to consciousness the next morning naked in a dumpster behind a 7-Eleven store ... tattooed with perhaps the only three-letter word Dennis and Brad were capable of spelling correctly.’

‘My God,’ I muttered.

‘And that’s my tale. Lurid enough for your taste?’

‘It’s awful, Rudy. Jeez.’

‘It isn’t the worst thing that has ever happened to me, but it is the tale of my tattoo.’

‘What happened to Dennis and Brad?’

‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Kirkus. ‘I left all that behind when I came to Willmington. I brought nothing of it with me except the memories, the scars and the tattoo.’

‘You could probably get the tattoo removed.’

‘Oh, certainly.’ Again, he stroked his ascot. ‘Unfortunately. I’m rather fond of it.’

‘If you’re fond of it, why do you hide it?’

‘It’s private. I share it only with certain special friends. Friends like you.’

‘Ahh.’

‘You are my friend, aren’t you?’

‘I guess so,’ I said, feeling slightly sick. ‘In a way. I mean. you’re okay except when you’re being a pompous, smug asshole.’

‘You’re such a dear,’ he said.

‘I can do without you calling me that. And I don’t want you trying any funny stuff with me, either.’

‘Have you ever given it a try?’

‘No, and I don’t aim to, either.’

‘As the sage says, “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”’

‘Sometimes, the sage is full of shit.’

‘Ah, Logan! You never cease to astonish me. Is anyone more plebian than you?’ Chuckling, he picked up his glass. He drank it empty, then held it out in my direction. ‘More. please?’

Chapter Forty-seven

A few minutes later, Eileen arrived. I buzzed her in, then opened the door and stood at the threshold to watch for her. She soon appeared at the top of the stairs, a grocery bag hugged to her chest. She wore a yellow windbreaker, but it reached down only to her waist. It seemed to be covering the top of a forest-green evening gown. The gown’s skirt was clingy, reached down to her ankles, and had a slit up the left side.

‘Back in a minute,’ I said over my shoulder.

Kirkus answered, ‘No rush, old man.’

I hurried down the hall. As Eileen walked toward me, her left leg came out of the slit, went back in, came out again. She obviously had no stocking on. Her leg looked very bare.

When I took the bag from her, she put a hand behind my head and I leaned toward her. The bag was between us. Our bodies crunched its paper, squeezed whatever was inside it and made a couple of bottles clink softly. We kissed. Her face felt cool from the weather outside. I took it easy on her lips, but then she slipped her tongue into my mouth and we really went at it for a while, Eileen moaning and me growing stiff.

Too soon, she eased away from me. She was wet around the mouth. She smiled. ‘I’ve been wanting to do that.’

‘Me, too.’

‘Guess we’d better not keep Kirkus waiting.’ she said. ‘What did he do, get here early?’

‘Half an hour early.’

‘Was it edifying?’

‘Oh, yeah.’

I carried the groceries. As we walked side by side, she said, ‘It’s a little warm in here for this,’ and took off her windbreaker. Her gown had a plunging neckline; it plunged nearly to her waist, her long V of bare skin gradually narrowing on its way down.

‘Wow,’ I said.

She smiled. ‘Like it?’

‘You look fantastic.’

Putting a hand on my shoulder, she leaned toward me. Breath tickling my ear, she whispered. ‘If Kirkus has on the same outfit, I’ll just die.’

‘Oh, you bitch.’

We both laughed, but it tapered off before we reached the doorway of my apartment.

As we entered, Kirkus stood up.

‘Hi, Rudy,’ Eileen said.

‘Eileen. Aren’t we looking splendid tonight!’ He bobbed on the balls of his feet, tilted his head to one side and said, ‘On our way to the prom, are we?’

‘Just an old frock,’ Eileen said. ‘Glad you could join us tonight.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘Do you like Mexican?’

‘Mexican of what variety?’

‘Of the food and drink variety,’ Eileen said. ‘Such as beef fajitas and my infamous Hoocha de los Muertos.’

‘What’s that?’ I asked, grinning.

‘Let’s go in the kitchen and I’ll show you.’

I followed Eileen into the kitchen, Kirkus tagging along behind us. I set the grocery bag onto the counter. Eileen peered inside, then reached in and took out a quart bottle of Cuervo Gold tequila. Next, out came a somewhat smaller bottle of Triple Sec.

Holding a bottle in each hand, she turned around and assumed a serious demeanor. ‘This.’ she said, ‘and this. A glass, some ice, and a lot of this.’ She gave the tequila bottle a shake. Then a wee tad of this.’ She shook the Triple Sec. ‘Stir briskly with a coffin nail.’

‘A cigarette?’ I asked.

‘Don’t be absurd. The nail from a coffin.’

‘Ah. Well, I don’t think I have one of those.’

‘In that case, a finger will have to do. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. Ed, why don’t you get down the glasses?’

I removed three glasses from the cupboard. Eileen instructed me to add ice cubes. Then she instructed Kirkus and I to wait in the living room. ‘Too many people in the kitchen! I’ll be out in a minute with the drinks.’

‘Which you fully intend to stir with your finger?’ asked Kirkus.

Smiling, she twirled her forefinger in the air.

‘How sanitary,’ he said.

‘The alcohol kills the germs,’ she explained. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

Laughing, I left the kitchen.

Soon, we were all in the living room, sitting around the coffee table, sipping our Hoocha de los Muertos and munching on tortilla chips dipped in salsa. Eileen was beside me on the sofa. Each time she leaned toward the table, slack came into the top of her gown, letting me see most of her right breast ... including a bruise near the front that couldn’t be seen when she was sitting up straight.

The smooth, pale breast, smudged by the bruise, excited me and reminded me of what we’d gone through together and made me feel closer to her. It also made me feel like a louse. Eileen was too beautiful, too smart and funny and good, to deserve having me slip away at night to seek out Casey.

Luckily, with the drinking and talking, I didn’t have a whole lot of time to dwell on how I was betraying her.

When our glasses were empty, Eileen took them into the kitchen. She came out with two fresh drinks. I vowed to take things more slowly with my second Hoocha. They were nothing but booze —margaritas minus the citrus additives - and my head already felt light.

Her back to Kirkus, Eileen bent over at the waist and set both the glasses on the table. The front of her gown loosened and drooped. I could see her entire left breast. It was swaying slightly. Its nipple was erect. From her smile, she knew exactly what I could see. Remaining bowed, she asked, ‘Should I bring you in some more chips?’

‘I can come out and get them.’

‘No, no, stay right where you are. I’ll bring them in.’ She straightened up and turned toward Kirkus. ‘How you doing, Rudy?’

He grinned. ‘Tip-top.’

‘Hand me my glass?’ she asked me.

Hers wasn’t quite empty. I picked it up and gave it to her.

‘Gracias,’ she said.

‘Da nada,’ said I, and immediately wondered whether I’d responded in Spanish or French. It shouldn’t have been a problem; I’d had only one drink so far.

As Eileen went into the kitchen, I tried to think of ‘you’re welcome’ in French. Da Nada? Or was that Spanish, as I’d intended? Then I thought of Hemingway. ‘Our nada who art in nada.’ So it is Spanish. But no, maybe not. He’d spent all that time in Paris.

‘Something amiss, old boy?’ asked Kirkus.

He was about the last person to whom I would confess such befuddlement. ‘Eileen is a miss,’ I said, making an effort to speak clearly.

‘I heard that,’ she said, coming out of the kitchen with the bag of tortilla chips. ‘Hell, I was hoping to be a hit, not a miss.’

‘Miss as opposed to Mrs,’ I explained.

‘So you say,’ she said, and bent over the table just as she’d done before and shook more chips into the bowl. Just as before, I gazed at her breast. ‘Can I get you anything else?’ she asked, remaining bowed. I met her eyes. She looked vastly pleased with herself.

‘You’re driving the poor lad to madness,’ said Kirkus. Though he couldn’t see what I could, he obviously realized what was going on.

Eileen’s smile widened. ‘Am I?’ she asked me.

‘I’m fine,’ I said.

‘Good.’ She straightened up. ‘Now you two boys will just have to get along without me for a while. My fajitas are beckoning. Just give a shout if you need anything.’ She turned toward the kitchen.

I didn’t want her to go. ‘Could you use a hand?’

‘Nope, thanks anyway. You stay out here and entertain our guest.’

‘You might not be able to find everything.’

‘If I get stuck, I’ll give you a shout.’ She went on into the kitchen. A few moments later, the sounds of her activities were joined by Willie Nelson and Ray Charles singing ‘Seven Spanish Angels.’

I took a drink and smiled at Kirkus. ‘Great music,’ I said.

‘Once again confirming your pedestrian taste, good fellow.’

‘Up yours.’

‘Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.’

I laughed and shook my head. ‘That’ll be the day.’

‘“The lady doth protest too much. methinks.”’

‘I ain’t no lady.’

‘Ah, and vive la différence.’

Though I understood the French (or was it Spanish? - damn the Hoocha de los Muertos!) I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that. I scowled at him.

‘Oh, don’t pretend to take offense. You’re flattered and you know it.’

‘Huh? Flattered?’

Leaning forward, speaking quietly, Kirkus said, ‘And well you should be, here in your apartment with two beautiful people, both of whom would simply love to eat you alive.’

For an awful moment, it ran through my mind that perhaps Eileen and Kirkus had set a trap for me, that they intended to have me for dinner. After what I’d seen under the bridge Wednesday night - and what I’d heard from Casey - it didn’t seem terribly far-fetched.

Yeah, right.

Of course, I knew full well what Kirkus had really meant.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ I told him.

‘I can hardly resist thinking about it, dear boy. You’re so luscious.’

‘You wanta knock it off?’

‘Oh, lighten up. I’m not about to pounce on you. I am a gentleman, after all. I’ve never forced myself on anyone.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

‘If you want me, though, just whistle. You know how to whistle, don’t you? Put your lips together ...’

‘Give me a fuckin’ break.’

Eileen came out of the kitchen. She was wearing my one and only apron - which I had never worn, myself. ‘Eddie, you want to come in here and clear off the table?’

‘Saved by the belle,’ I said.

Kirkus smirked. ‘You’re excused.’

Chapter Forty-eight

After removing my computer and books and papers from the kitchen table, I put out the place mats, napkins and silverware.

‘Won’t be long, now,’ I said to Kirkus.

At his seat facing the coffee table, he raised his drink toward me, winked, and took a sip.

I went over to Eileen. She was standing in front of the stove, an area of the kitchen that couldn’t be seen from the living room. She held a spatula in one hand and her drink in the other. I stepped behind her, slipped my hands underneath her apron, wrapped my arms around her waist, and looked down over her shoulder. On the burner was a skillet full of sizzling strips of marinated steak.

‘Smells great,’ I said.

She finished her drink, then set down her glass. ‘How goes it with Kirkus?’

‘He wants me.’

‘Don’t we all.’

‘But he promises to leave me unmolested unless I whistle.’

The way Eileen’s cheek pressed against my face, I figured she must be smiling. ‘Do you know how to whistle?’ she asked.

‘You were eavesdropping?’

Her head shook. ‘Saw the movie.’

‘That wasn’t in the book, you know. To Have and Have Not. The whistling business.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Now you do.’

‘It feels wonderful to be well informed,’ she said, and pushed her rump against me and moved it from side to side, rubbing my groin.

I whistled softly, close to her ear.

She asked, ‘Was that for me or for Kirkus?’

I tried to put a hand inside the front of her gown, but she clutched my wrist through the apron. ‘Not now, honey. You better go on back and keep our friend company.’

‘I can help you.’

‘I’ll take care of everything. It’ll just be a couple more minutes. Go on, okay? It’s not polite to leave him alone.’

‘All right.’ I gave the side of her neck a kiss, then returned to the living room. ‘What’s up, Rudolph?’

‘Oh. please.’

I went to the sofa, sat and picked up my drink. My glass was still half-full of my second Hoocha de los Muertos, but the ice had melted. I took a sip. It was still fairly cold.

On the radio, Randy Travis was singing ‘Heroes and Friends.’

‘It’s almost ready,’ I said.

‘I’m in no hurry,’ Kirkus said.

‘Are you having a lovely time?’

‘Quite.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ I dipped a chip into the salsa, then maneuvered it into my mouth without dripping.

As I crunched the chip, Kirkus said, ‘We should do this more often. Next time, I’ll host the affair at my place.’

I almost said, ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ but I was feeling too good to be mean ... even to Kirkus. The aroma of the fajitas was wonderful, Eileen was wearing the wonderful dress, I’d had fine views of her wonderful breasts, I planned to go out later and have a wonderful time with Casey, and I was wonderfully, mildly high from the hoocha. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘just let us know when you want us.’

He raised both eyebrows. ‘Will you really come?’ For a moment, I glimpsed hope and sadness in his eyes. They were quickly hidden. however, behind his usual haughty demeanor.

‘Maybe.’ I said. ‘I guess it’ll depend.’

‘On what, dare I ask?’

‘Let’s just see how things go tonight.’

‘I shall be on my best behavior.’

From out in the kitchen came the beep of the microwave.

‘I’ll prepare my specialty,’ Kirkus said.

‘What’s that?’ I asked him.

‘Pork roast.’

‘Not long pork, I hope.’

He frowned. ‘Long pork?’

Eileen appeared in the kitchen entryway. She had taken off the apron and she was smiling. ‘Come and get it, guys.’

Kirkus and I went to the table and sat down. Eileen took our glasses. ‘Go ahead and get started,’ she said. ‘I’ll make refills.’

‘What should we do?’ I asked.

‘Grab a tortilla, spread it with sour cream or avacado or whatever, throw on some meat and cheese and lettuce, whatever, roll it up and chow down.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ I said.

Soon, she came over with all three glasses full of her special concoction. Then she sat down. She raised her glass and said, ‘Good for what ails ya.’

Kirkus and I picked up our glasses. We all leaned forward and bumped each other’s glasses.

Kirkus sipped his drink. ‘Grande,’ he said. ‘Mucho grande. ’

I sipped mine. ‘Rio Grande.’

Eileen sipped hers and said, ‘Mississippi.’

I hoisted my glass. ‘To Mark Twain.’

‘Oi,’ said Kirkus.

‘You got a problem with Mark Twain?’

‘He’s so plebian. No wonder you adore him. Eduardo.’

‘Huck Finn’s the greatest novel ever written.’ I felt a moment of guilt over betraying William Goldman. But if I’d tried to claim The Temple of Gold or Boys and Girls Together as the greatest novel ...

‘Oh, please,’ Kirkus said.

‘It is.’

‘American,’ Eileen said. ‘Greatest American novel, maybe. Gotta leave out the British and the Irish and the Russians and the French...’

‘What’d the French ever write?’ I asked.

‘Dumas?’ Eileen said. ‘Hello? The Three Musketeers. And De Maupassant.’

‘Let’s not forget Sartre and Camus and the great Simone,’ Kirkus said.

‘I like Simone,’ I proclaimed. ‘He’s good.’

‘She,’ said Kirkus.

‘I like that detective of his, Maigret.’

‘That’s Simenon,’ Eileen corrected me. ‘Georges Simenon.’

‘I was speaking, old boy, of Simone de Beauvoir.’

‘Oh. Of course you were. She sucks.’

Eileen laughed.

‘You must simply adore playing the fool,’ Kirkus told me.

‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘if we can get back to Huckleberry Finn, the greatest American novel ...’

‘Highly overrated,’ said Kirkus.

‘Hemingway says it’s the best.’

‘Proving my point,’ said Kirkus.

‘I’d have to go with Atlas Shrugged,’ Eileen said. That’s the best book I’ve ever read, and they don’t even teach it in school.’

‘They don’t?’ I said.

‘No school I’ve ever heard of. That’s ’cause all the teachers hate her. They lie about her. They won’t teach her books.’Scowling, Eileen spread some sour cream on a steaming, flour tortilla. ‘They’re afraid of every damn thing she ever wrote. Most teachers are commies, in case you haven’t noticed.’

This was a side of Eileen I’d never seen before - the intoxicated side, I suppose.’

‘Commies?’ said Kirkus. ‘Dear me.’

Narrowing one eye at him, Eileen said, ‘My dad fought the goddamn commies in Vietnam. You think there’s something funny about that?’

‘I apologize if I’ve tread on your toes, my dear ... or the toes of your father’s combat boots. But really, communism? You must admit the subject is a trifle passé these days. Which also makes Ayn Rand’s books passé.’

‘Ever read one?’ she asked.

‘I wouldn’t waste my time,’ Kirkus said.

She pointed her fork at me. ‘How about you, Eddie?’

‘I’m afraid not. I’d like to, though.’

She turned her fork to the steak platter and placed a few strips of meat on her tortilla. ‘Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead, We the Living. We’re forced to read every goddamn book that ever came down the pike by the chosen few. The Great Gatsby, for godsake. The Pearl, for godsake.’

‘The Scarlet Letter,’ I joined in.

‘Not to mention Madame Ovary,’ she said. ‘What the fuck is that about.’

Kirkus shook his head and looked very disappointed in us.

‘Hundreds of books,’ Eileen continued. ‘Books by every Tom, Dick and Charlie that ever put pen to paper, but Ayn Rand? Huh-uh. Not Rand. She’s better than most of them, nobody’s better, but they try to keep her away from us ’cause they hate her message.’

‘Her message is selfishness, my dear,’ said Kirkus.

Eileen sprinkled grated cheese on top of her beef, then began to roll her tortilla. ‘That’s what they want you to believe, ’cause they don’t want you reading her. Know what her real message is?’

‘I fear you’re about to tell us.’

‘Nobody has a single goddamn right,’ she said, ‘to take what doesn’t belong to them. Like a government, for instance. The government’s got no right to make us do anything ... not even for what they call “the common good.” We’re nobody’s slaves. We have an absolute right to the fruits of our own labor and we don’t owe jack-shit to society. You ever hear of John Galt?’

‘Of course,’ said Kirkus, and sighed. ‘Who is John Galt?’

‘Who is John Galt?’ Eileen asked him.

‘He’s obviously a creation of your literary goddess.’

‘He turned off the lights of the world.’ As she spoke the words, her voice went husky and tears glimmered in her eyes.

‘And that means?’ asked Kirkus.

‘That’s what they don’t want you to find out,’ said Eileen. She wiped her eyes, then took a drink, then said, ‘Read the book’ and picked up her rolled tortilla.

‘Atlas Shrugged?’ I asked.

She nodded and sniffed.

‘Perhaps I’ll give it a try,’ Kirkus said. ‘A novel capable of reducing the stout Eileen Danforth to tears ...’

‘Watch that “stout” business,’ Eileen said.

‘It was a reference to your character, not your physique.’

‘Something wrong with my physique?’

‘Not at all, deary. From the standpoint of this observer, it’s really quite spectacular.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Is it not truly spectacular, Eduardo?’ he asked me.

‘I’d say so,’ I said. A little worried about his negative, I added, ‘It is.’

‘Of course, he has to say so, being your boyfriend cum loverboy - pun intended, of course - whereas I am truly disinterested and speak the truth without fear of reprisal. From a perspective of complete objectivity, I can say that your physique is truly extraordinary. At least what I’ve seen of it. I’m sure Edward has the advantage over me in that regard.’

I muttered, ‘Jeesh.’

He eyed me. ‘You do have a flair for words, old boy.’ To Eileen, he said, ‘Speaking of which, I understand that the entire gang of ruffians Wednesday night had the pleasure of feasting their eyes on your undraped titties. Seems that everyone has seen them but me.’

Staring at him, she tilted her head sideways. ‘Where did you pick up that bit of news?’

Kirkus looked at me and smiled. ‘Was I not supposed to tell?’

‘What ever happened to “mum’s the word”?’ I asked.

‘I wasn’t aware you meant it to apply to the fair Eileen.’

I groaned.

‘No problem,’ Eileen said. Then she shoved some of her tortilla between her teeth and tore off a mouthful. As she chewed, her eyes again became shiny. She swallowed and wiped her mouth with a napkin. Then she said, ‘Excuse me.’

She shoved back her chair, stood up, and walked out of the kitchen.

From where I sat, I watched her stride across the living room and enter the hall. Moments later, a door shut. She had apparently gone into the bathroom.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Kirkus, and smiled. ‘Do you suppose it was something she ate?’

Chapter Forty-nine

‘Probably something you said,’ I told him.

Looking delighted, he said, ‘Woe is me.’

‘Asshole.’

‘Don’t be too quick to blame me, old boy. She might simply be hurling. Those are powerful drinks. I’m more than a trifle smashed myself.’

‘I’d better go check on her.’

‘Oh, don’t be too hasty. Give her some time. Whatever her problem may be, she would probably rather not have an audience quite yet. Why don’t we both stay here and enjoy the repast before it gets cold? Give Eileen an opportunity to recover in private.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ I said.

‘I most frequently am.’

‘When she does come out, keep your mouth shut about Wednesday night, okay? The last thing she needs is to have you rubbing it all in. We’re trying to put it behind us.’

‘Quite so,’ said Kirkus. ‘My mistake.’

We both commenced to eat our fajitas. By the time we were done, perhaps ten minutes later, Eileen still had not returned to the table.

‘I’m going to check on her,’ I said, scooting back my chair.

‘Give her my regards,’ said Kirkus.

As I’d suspected, the bathroom door was shut. I knocked gently.

‘What?’

‘Eileen? It’s me.’

‘Leave me alone.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Just go away.’

‘Is it what Kirkus said?’

The door suddenly opened. Eileen grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me in and shut the door. Her eyes were red and wet, her face streaked with tears.

Still clutching my shirt, she said, ‘What did you tell him? Did you tell him everything?’

‘No.’

‘It was suppose to be our secret. How could you blab to him?’

‘I didn’t tell him anything. Not about what really happened. Nothing about under the bridge. All I told him was the stuff we made up about the gang of teenagers jumping us. The same thing we told him Wednesday night.’

‘Oh really? Know what? I don’t recall telling him they ripped off my shirt and feasted their eyes on my undraped titties.’

‘That’s just Kirkus. The undraped stuff.’

‘What else did you tell him?’

‘I think ... well, you told him they pissed in your hair, remember ?’

‘Of course I remember.’

‘I reminded him of that. And I told him that you felt really humiliated by the whole thing and that’s why you didn’t want anyone to know about it.’

‘What else?’

‘That’s about it.’

‘About it?’

My face heated up.

If she didn’t hear it from me, she might hear it from Kirkus. ‘I think I mentioned something about them touching you.’

‘Touching me?’

‘Fondling you.’

‘Where?’

‘I guess your breasts.’

‘You told Kirkus they fondled my breasts?’

‘I think I mentioned something along those lines.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘He’s gay.’

‘That makes it all right?’

‘It was just so he’d understand why he has to keep his mouth shut.’

‘Well, thanks a lot.’

‘I’m sorry. If I’d known it would upset you like this, I never would’ve told him anything.’

‘What else did you tell him?’

‘Nothing. That’s it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Pretty sure.’

‘You didn’t figure it would make a better story if they fucked me?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I appreciate your restraint.’

‘Come on, Eileen, don’t be this way.’

‘And what way am I being?’

‘You’re blowing it all out of proportion. I mean, the whole idea was to make him realize how humiliated you’d feel if he told anyone...’

‘Really should’ve had me gangbanged.’

‘Cut it out.’

‘What’d you tell him about you? You’ve got a bunch of creeps ripping off my clothes and feasting their eyes on my undraped tittles and groping me, what’d they do to you? Seems sorta one-sided if you ask me. You’re making stuff up, why not have them tear off your clothes and grope you. Hell, that would’ve made a better story, don’t you think? Considering Kirkus.’

‘Maybe.’

‘I mean, you’re the one he’s got the hots for.’

‘You were the one wearing my shirt when we ran into him Wednesday night.’

Her eyes widened slightly. Her mouth opened as if she were about to say something. She blinked a few times. Then she said, ‘Oh.’ Then she said, ‘That’s a point.’ Then she said, ‘Even still.’

I put my arms around her. ‘I’m sorry I told him all that stuff.’

‘It’s just... if it just wasn’t Kirkus. He’s such a shit. I don’t like him knowing stuff like that. Or thinking stuff about me. Thinking about me naked.’

‘He’s gay,’ I said again.

‘Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t.’

‘I’m pretty sure he is.’

‘Even still.’ She pushed her face against the side of my neck. It felt warm and wet. She sniffed. ‘And I’ve gotta be wearing this stupid dress.’

‘It’s a wonderful dress.’

‘In front of him.’

‘He doesn’t care.’

‘Oh, I bet.’

‘Shall we go out and ask him?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’

‘You shouldn’t be.’

‘And I drank too much.’

‘We all did.’

‘But I’m the one who fell apart right in front of God and everyone.’

‘I’m sure God forgives you. I know I do, and who cares if Kirkus does?’

She stroked the back of my head. ‘I love you so much, Eddie.’

‘Now I know you’re drunk.’

‘I do. I’ve loved you from the very start, even when you were going with Holly. Did you know that?’

‘Not really.’ The sound of Holly’s name gave my stomach a twist.

‘You never even suspected, did you?’

‘No.’

‘I know. I never let anyone know how I felt. It was just for me to know. But I ached inside. I ached for you. It hurt so much to see her with you that way. I wanted so much for it to be me.’

‘And now it is,’ I said. The words made me feel like a louse.

Eileen hugged me hard and kissed the side of my neck. ‘I’m so glad,’ she said. ‘I’m so glad.’

‘We should probably get back to the kitchen,’ I said. ‘You’ll feel better after you’ve had some more to eat.’

She nodded. Then she took a deep breath and sighed. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But I ... I need to change first.’

‘Change how?’

She laughed and sniffed. ‘My clothes. I don’t want Kirkus seeing me in this again. Even if he is gay.’

‘He is.’

‘Can I wear something of yours?’

‘Whatever you want.’

We let go of each other. I opened the bathroom door and Eileen followed me into the hallway.

‘I’ll just be a minute,’ she said, and headed for my bedroom.

‘See you later,’ I said.

I found Kirkus on the living room sofa, the remains of a drink in one hand, his legs crossed. At the sight of me, he said, ‘I was beginning to feel abandoned.’

‘Eileen’ll be along in a minute.’

‘How is she?’

‘Pretty upset.’

‘Not with me, I hope.’

‘With both of us. She didn’t like me telling you that stuff. She thought it was too personal.’

‘We embarrassed her?’

I nodded.

‘How peculiar.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you by any remote chance happen to notice what she’s wearing? And she’s thrown into a tizzy by a few words regarding the very assets she is so brazenly displaying for all the world to see?’

‘It’s two different things,’ I said.

‘A left and a right?’

‘Knock it off.’ I sat in the armchair. ‘She’ll be out in a minute. She’s changing clothes.’

‘Oh, pity.’

‘When she does come out, how about ... ?’

‘I’ll be an angel,’ he said. ‘For you.’

‘Thanks.’ I would believe it when I saw it.

We sat there for a few minutes and didn’t talk much. Every so often, I glanced toward the hallway.

‘She doesn’t appear to be appearing,’ Kirkus said.

‘I’d better see what’s going on.’

Chapter Fifty

I went down the hallway to my bedroom. The door was shut. I knocked softly, but Eileen didn’t respond so I eased it open. The light was on.

Eileen, still in her gown, was lying on my bed, snoring. Her arms were limp by her sides, her legs hanging off the edge of the mattress, her feet not quite touching the floor. Her left leg, free of the slit in her skirt, was bare all the way up to her hip.

I took a step toward her, then changed my mind. Leaving the lamp on, I stepped into the hallway and silently shut the door.

When I entered the living room, Kirkus raised his eyebrows.

‘She’s out,’ I said

‘Out?’

‘Asleep.’

‘Passed out, you mean.’

‘I don’t know. Anyway, I decided not to wake her up.’

‘Good idea.’

Shrugging, I said, ‘So I guess that’s about it. Thanks for coming over, Rudy. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.’

‘But the night is young.’

‘Well, I’m a little tired myself. I’ll probably take a nap, then try to hit the books for a while.’

Instead of getting up, Kirkus smiled and spread out his arms along the back of the sofa. ‘I really shouldn’t leave without properly thanking the hostess.’

‘You can thank her tomorrow.’

‘Oh, that would never do. I’ll stay. She’s bound to wake up sooner or later.’

‘Kirkus.’

‘Be nice, Eddie. I am, after all, your guest.’

‘The party’s over, okay? Time to go.’

‘Now, now. You don’t want to ruin a beautiful evening by turning surly at the end, do you? Why don’t you offer me another drink? Those Hooches are certainly tasty. We’ll both partake of another while we have ourselves a nice chat, and then I’ll be on my way.’

I was about to protest.

‘Pleeeease,’ he said, and batted his eyelids.

‘Don’t do that.’

‘One more itsy-bitsy drink. For the road.’

‘Then you’ll go?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’ With an outstretched forefinger, he grandly crossed his heart.

‘All right.’ I started toward the kitchen. ‘We’ll have one more drink, then you’ll leave. No ifs, ands or buts.’

‘I shall hightail my tail out the door.’

‘Okay.’

In the kitchen, I took our glasses off the table and put ice into them. I didn’t want another drink, myself. I’d had more than enough already, and was afraid that one more might knock me off my feet

I had plans for those feet.

But I couldn’t figure an easy way to fake the look of a Hoocha, so I went ahead and made two real ones. I carried them into the living room.

Kirkus patted the sofa beside him. ‘Sit here.’

‘Thanks anyway,’ I said.

‘I’m not a leper, old boy.’

‘I know.’

Keeping the coffee table between us, I set down his glass.

‘Please.’ Again, he patted the cushion by his hip. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t molest you.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ I took my own drink back to the armchair and sat down.

He smirked slightly. ‘You’re afraid of me.’

‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘Then sit with me.’

‘I’m fine here.’ I took a small sip of my drink, then put it down on the lamp table.

‘Actually,’ Kirkus said, ‘though I’ve often assailed you for various aspects of your rather unfortunate personality, I never dreamed you were a homophobe.’

‘A homophobe? Is that something like a xylophone?’

‘I’m not amused.’

‘Neither am I, as a matter of fact. All of a sudden, you’re calling me names.’

‘If the shoe fits ...’

‘I would really expect a more original figure of speech, Kirkus, from someone of your erudition.’

He chuckled softly, shook his head, and took a drink. ‘Sit where you like,’ he said.

‘Thanks for the permission.’

Slumped on the sofa, he took another drink. Then he stared at me. Then he sighed. ‘Eduardo, Eduardo.’

‘Rudolph, Rudolph.’

‘What must you think of me?’

‘Right now, I just wish you’d leave so I can take a nap.’

‘I’m rather sleepy, myself.’ He yawned elaborately and patted his mouth. ‘And I’ve such a long walk home. Perhaps I should take a brief nap here before I leave.’

‘Yeah. sure.’

‘We’ll both nap.’

‘Right.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘My God, man, what are you afraid of?’

There was no answer that wouldn’t either offend Kirkus or cause him to mock me, so I simply shrugged.

‘You’re afraid I’ll molest you while you snooze,’ he said.

Bingo.

‘I didn’t say that,’ I said.

‘I would never do such a thing.’

‘If you say so.’

His eyes suddenly twinkled. ‘Shall we give it a try?’

‘No.’

He laughed. ‘Coward.’

‘Gimme a break.’

‘No,’ he said, frowning. ‘You give me a break. Don’t automatically think the worst of me. What have I ever done to make you suspect I would molest you in your sleep?’

‘Nothing I can think of at the moment,’ I admitted.

‘And I would never do it.’ Breaking into a smile, he said, ‘Tempted though I might be.’

‘Well, I aim to save you from the temptation. Drink up, okay?’

‘You’re a hard man, Eduardo.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Of course, I adore hard men.’ With that, he raised his glass as if toasting me, then drank the rest of his Hoocha de Los Muertos.

I stood up and went to the door and opened it.

‘So it’s the bum’s rush, is it?’

‘I wouldn’t put it that way. Party’s over, that’s all. Time to fold your tent like the Arab and silently steal away.’

‘How poetic,’ he muttered.

‘Knew you’d like it.’

He struggled off the sofa, stretched and yawned, then came to the door and stopped in front of me. He bobbed up and down a couple of times on the balls of his feet. Then he said, ‘Well, old man, it’s been a slice.’

‘Yep.’

‘Please inform Sleeping Beauty that I adored the repast and her cocktails were marvelous.’

‘I’ll tell her.’

He stuck out his hand. I shook it. When I tried to let go, he held on.

‘Until next time at my place,’ he said.

‘We’ll see.’

He released my hand. Backing into the hallway, he said, ‘Still mates?’

‘Mates?’

‘Friends, laddie.’

‘I guess so.’

‘Jolly!’ He twirled away and strolled down the hallway.

I shut my door.

‘All right!’ I whispered.

Though glad to be rid of him, I also felt slightly ashamed of myself. I’d treated him badly. He’d brought it on himself, but that didn’t make me feel any better about it.

I carried our glasses out to the kitchen. His was empty, but mine was nearly full. I poured the remains of my drink into the sink. Then I cleared off the table and started to do the dishes.

For a long time, I couldn’t take my mind off Kirkus. In some ways, I felt sorry for him. He’d had some tough times in his life. There was no excuse for the way kids had abused him in school ... and the tattoo! The last thing he needed was me adding to his grief.

I should really be nicer to him, I thought. I ought to be his friend.

Then I thought, How can I be his friend when he acts like a total asshole half the time?

For a while, I wondered why he was such an asshole.

He really isn’t one, I thought. It’s an act. A very obvious act.

Which made it even more strange. Why would he or anyone else put on an elaborate performance designed to annoy people? Did he want everyone to despise him?

Apparently.

Some sort of self-destructive thing?

Maybe it’s to keep people at a distance so he doesn’t get attached to them. Get attached, and they can hurt you.

Dump you.

Like my good old friend, Holly, hurt me.

As I scrubbed the skillet in which Eileen had prepared the fajitas, I wondered what Holly was doing at the moment. I glanced at my wristwatch. A quarter till eight. Maybe on her way to the movies with Jay-Jay the Wonder Boy.

Or are they in bed?

I pictured Holly on her back, a handsome strange boy on top of her, plunging into her ... and I felt no jealousy, no bittersweet longing for Holly, no pain, no anger, not much of anything at all.

I didn’t really care what Holly was doing. Didn’t care at all.

As I dried the skillet with a dish towel, I wondered what Casey might be doing at the moment. Not even eight o’clock yet. Was she in a house somewhere? Her own, or someone else’s? Or was she outside, roaming the dark streets?

If I went out now, would I have any luck finding her?

I can’t go out now, I reminded myself; Eileen’s here.

She’s asleep.

Is she?

I finished the dishes, then went down the hall to my bedroom. Gently pushing open the door, I saw that the lamp was still on. I opened the door wider and saw Eileen. She was still crooked on my bed, her legs hanging off. She didn’t look as if she’d moved at all since the last time I’d seen her.

Dead to the world, but snoring up a storm.

She’s so out of it, I thought, she probably won’t wake up for hours. If left alone, she might sleep through the entire night and halfway through tomorrow morning.

She’ll never know I’m gone.

I can’t just go off and leave her, I told myself. It wouldn’t be fair. She came over to be with me. She made those great drinks and the dinner. She loves me. I can’t just abandon her.

She’s asleep.

But what if she wakes up later? She might. And then she’ll know I went away.

Leave her a note.

Chapter Fifty-one

Sneaking around the bedroom, I gathered my blue jeans, chamois shirt, sneakers, knife and flashlight while Eileen continued to snore.

I carried them into the hall and set them down. Standing in the doorway, I watched Eileen for a while. Especially the skin revealed by the plunging top of her gown. And her left leg outside the slit.

Exposed to the hip, and no sign of panties.

Isn’t she wearing any?

I could find out ... simply sneak over to the bed and ease my hand through the slit.

She isn’t.

But if she does have panties on, I thought, she would be glad to have me take them off.

Except she’s asleep.

Asleep.

Staring at Eileen, I remembered being in the bed with Casey last night. The feel of her warm breath on my face as she slept. The feel of her breast. And how I had furtively explored her ...

I suddenly ached to be with Casey.

No matter that Eileen loved me, that Eileen was sprawled on my bed, that Eileen’s body was almost within sight and touch beneath her gown. No matter that she was beautiful and passionate and smart and wonderful. No matter any of it; I needed to be with Casey.

I was tempted to turn off the bedroom light. In the dark, Eileen would probably sleep longer. Again, however, I feared that a sudden absence of light might wake her. So I left it on and silently shut the door.

In the living room, I changed into my dark clothes and slipped the knife and flashlight into my pockets. Then I went into the kitchen to write my note.

It wasn’t easy. The first version had so many words and entire sentences scratched out that I finally threw it in the wastebasket and started over again.

Come on! I thought. She’ll wake up and I’ll never get out of here.

Finally, it was done.

Dear Eileen,

Your dinner was great! Kirkus loved it, too, and he thanks you profusely. (I finally got him to leave.)

Hope you had a good sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I left you as-is.

I’m feeling a little restless, myself, and am going for a walk. The walk is why I’m not here, in case you’re wondering.

Please don’t leave. You’re welcome to stay all night. I’m counting on finding you here when I return. Tomorrow’s Saturday. No classes. We can sleep in. Maybe I’ll bring us back some donuts for breakfast.

Done except for the closing.

It required, ‘Love, Ed,’ but I was reluctant.

Go ahead, I told myself.

I could just sign it, ‘Me.’

She’ll hate it if she doesn’t find ‘love’ at the bottom of the note.

But what if I don’t love her? Should I write it anyway?

Not writing it would be like a blatant denial that I love her. I don’t want that.

Why not?

Maybe I do love her.

Then why am I sneaking out to find Casey?

Muttering, ‘Screw it,’ I signed, ‘Love, Ed.’

I gave the note a final, quick proof-reading, then folded it in half and stood it up like a tent in the middle of the kitchen table. On my way to the door, I was tempted to look in on Eileen again to make sure she was still asleep.

If she’s awake, I’ll call it off. I’ll stay. We’ll make love and ...

Forget it, I thought. If she is awake, I don’t want to know it.

I stepped out into the hall, eased my door shut, made sure it was locked, then headed for the stairway. My heart was beating fast. My legs felt shaky.

How can I do this to her?

Easy, I told myself.

But it wasn’t easy, not really. I knew it was wrong to sneak out, leaving Eileen on her own. Especially wrong because I was abandoning her to go on a quest for Casey.

I’m stabbing her in the back

No, I’m not, I thought. More than likely, she’ll be asleep the whole time I’m gone.

Is she less stabbed in the back, I wondered, if she doesn’t know about it?

Probably not. I’ve done the deed whether Eileen’s aware of it or not. I’m just as much of a bastard either way.

No better than Holly.

So don’t go, I told myself.

I started making my way slowly, quietly down the stairs.

Go on back, I told myself. Destroy the note ...

I can’t.

I can’t give up Casey. Maybe it won’t work out, anyway, but I have to see it through and find out. Can’t just quit on her when we’ve only just gotten started. Not out of some stupid loyalty to Eileen.

What did I really owe to Eileen, anyway? I’d no sooner been dumped by Holly than Eileen had jumped all over me.

I’m not her lover, I’m her prey.

With those thoughts racing through my mind, I felt justified and liberated and rotten as I hurried down the final stairs and heard voices from the Fishers’ room.

One voice belonged to Mrs Fisher.

The other came from Kirkus.

Yellow light was spilling onto the carpet runner in front of the Fishers’ doorway.

I stopped.

My chances of sneaking past the door without being seen were pretty much zip.

Just great, I thought.

Maybe it’s a sign; I’m not meant to leave the building. I’m not meant to go out and see Casey tonight. I’m meant, instead, to return to my apartment and be with Eileen.

‘Fuck what’s meant,’ I muttered.

I strode forward. My heart pounded faster. The voices from inside the room grew louder, more distinct.

‘... sure it will be splendid,’ Kirkus said.

‘Well, come on by tomorrow and I’ll ...’

I walked past the doorway. In my perpheral vision, I glimpsed the back of Kirkus. He seemed to be well inside the room.

‘There goes young Logan, now,’ said Mrs Fisher.

Shit.

‘Where’s he off to?’ inquired Kirkus.

I kept moving, faster than before.

I rounded the comer, then rushed across the foyer to the building’s front door. As I pulled it open, Kirkus called out, ‘Eduardo!’

Caught!

Briefly, I considered bolting.

Play it cool!

Holding the door wide open, I looked around and smiled at Kirkus. ‘I’m just on my way out,’ I said. ‘You coming?’

He nodded and hurried toward me. I held the door for him, then followed him outside.

‘Waylaid by the landlady?’ I asked.

‘Not at all,’ said Kirkus. ‘Agnes is a dear. We’ve been having a marvelous time, and it appears that I’ll shortly be your neighbor.’

‘What?’

‘They have a vacancy upstairs, a mere two doors away from you.’

‘And you’re thinking about moving in?’

‘It’s very nearly a done deal, old boy.’ He slapped me on the back. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’

‘Wonderful.’ I tried not to sound aghast.

‘I’m so thrilled.’

At the sidewalk in front of the building, I stopped and faced him. ‘We can talk about it tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I have to get going.’

‘Decided against the nap, did we?’

‘I felt like getting some fresh air.’

‘Well, allow me to accompany you. Together, we’ll drink deep of the brisk October night.’

‘I was hoping for some peace and quiet.’

‘I’m fine with that,’ said Kirkus. ‘Mum’s the word.’

I turned to the right and started walking. Kirkus stayed by my side.

After a couple of minutes, he said, ‘Does the fair Eileen realize you’ve deserted her?’

‘She’s asleep.’

‘And so you availed yourself of the opportunity to sneak away.’

‘Give it a rest, huh?’

‘Did you sneak out in hopes of finding me?’

‘In your dreams, Kirkus.’

He laughed softly. ‘One can hope.’

‘Don’t you need to be getting home?’

‘Not at all.’

What does it take to get rid of him!

‘Nothing would tickle me more,’ he said, ‘than to while away the night with you, Eduardo.’

‘I’d really prefer to be alone.’

‘You’re just saying that. Nobody likes to be alone.’

‘Speak for yourself.’

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘I’m going this way,’ I told him.

‘I’m going this way, too.’

So far, we were both walking northward along Fairmont Street Even though I’d come out much earlier than usual, it made sense to start heading in the right direction.

‘Such a splendid night,’ Kirkus soon said. ‘The chill October breeze, the blowing leaves, the dancing shadows. I feel as if I’m in the midst of a Ray Bradbury story.’

‘I feel like I’m in a Gore Vidal.’

Kirkus let out a whoop of laughter and patted me on the butt. ‘Naughty boy!’

Chapter Fifty-two

When the Fairmont Street bridge came into sight, Kirkus asked, ‘Where are we going, old boy?’

‘Onward,’ I said.

‘Beyond the bridge?’

‘Far beyond the bridge.’

‘You must have a destination in mind.’

‘Dandi Donuts.’

‘You jest.’

‘Nope.’ If he stays with me, I thought, that’s exactly where I’ll go. Maybe have a couple of donuts and a cup of coffee, pass some time with Kirkus, then lose him and go looking for Casey.

‘That’s miles away.’

‘“I have miles to go before I sleep.”’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘You can come along if you want, but it’s up to you. With or without you, I’m going to Dandi Donuts.’

‘You must be mad.’

“‘TRUE! - nervous - very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad?”’

‘Delightful! A quote for every occasion.’

‘Just trying to impress you, old bean.’

‘If you hope to impress me, quote Camus.’

‘In that case, you’ll have to remain unimpressed.’

We began to make our way over the bridge. Of the four old-fashioned lamps by its sides, three of the globes were dark and one glowed with murky light. The same as last night.

We were about halfway across when Kirkus said, ‘Don’t you just adore the Old Mill Stream?’

‘It’s pretty nice.’

Saying, ‘So picturesque and romantic,’ he turned aside and stepped over to the parapet.

Though I halted, I didn’t join him.

He glanced back at me. ‘Are you in such great haste for donuts that you have no time to linger and enjoy the beauties of the night?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘I should think a setting such as this would have a special appeal for you. It’s so ... Poe-ish.’

‘The stream?’

‘The old, gloomy bridge. Don’t you think so?’

‘I suppose.’

He beckoned to me. ‘Please.’

I just stood there and looked at him.

He shook his head. ‘I promise not to molest you.’

‘Comforting. Are you coming?’

‘You come here.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘My God, man. All I want to do is linger here for a few brief minutes and enjoy the view.’

‘I’m not stopping you.’ I started walking away. Glancing back, I said, ‘See you later.’

‘I wouldn’t go off and leave you, old man.’ Though he sounded nearly as smug as usual, I heard a note of pain in his voice.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

‘Thank you.’ He turned away. Bending over, he put his elbows on the parapet. His head moved slightly from side to side, up and down. Then he looked back at me. ‘It’s a splendid view,’ he said.

‘I’ve seen it.’

‘Come here and see it with me.’

‘Thanks anyway.’

He muttered, ‘It’s thrilling to be loathed,’ and turned away.

Oh, great.

His back to me, his elbows on the parapet, he lowered his head. I watched him for a while. Then I asked, ‘You okay?’

He neither answered nor moved.

‘Rudy?’

Still no response, so I went over to him. Close by his side, I bent over and put my elbows on the parapet. The area below us was so dark that I could hardly see the stream. ‘Nice view,’ I said. ‘I can’t see a thing.’

He didn’t look at me, just leaned there with his head drooping and stared down.

‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Cheer up, okay?’

He kept staring down for a while. Then he said, ‘Perhaps I should jump.’

‘Up and down for joy?’

‘You’re so amusing.’

‘You mean “jump” as in off the bridge here?’

‘It seems like a fine idea.’

‘A smashing idea,’ I said.

‘Asshole,’ said Kirkus.

‘I wouldn’t do it if I were you.’

‘If you were me, you might.’

‘Well, shit yes. Put it that way.’

He laughed, but it sounded dreary. ‘Edward, Edward.’

‘Is there something going on that I don’t know about?’

‘I don’t believe so.’

‘No hideous, fatal disease?’

‘My health is splendid.’

‘Won’t be if you jump off this bridge.’

‘Ever the wiseass.’

‘I’m not kidding, man. It might look like a long way down, but it isn’t. You might break a couple of bones, but it isn’t likely to kill you.’

‘Perhaps we should find out.’ With that, he flung a leg up and over the parapet.

Instead of trying to grab him, I said, ‘I wouldn’t.’

He swung his other leg up and over, then sat there, his feet hanging toward the stream, his hands flat against the concrete on both sides of his rear end.

‘If you fall,’ I said, ‘it’s gonna really fuck you up.’

‘I’m already rucked up.’

‘Be that as it may ...’

‘Besides, I have no intention of falling.’

‘Best laid plans ...’

‘The plan is to jump, not to fall.’

‘You don’t want to do that.’

‘We shall see.’ With more agility than I expected from Kirkus, he rose from his sitting position and stood up. The top of the parapet was plenty wide enough to stand on, but I wouldn’t have wanted to do it myself. It made my stomach feel funny to see Kirkus up there. He stood fairly straight, but with his knees bent slightly and his arms out for balance.

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Great. Now come on down.’

‘You don’t believe I’ll jump?’

‘I believe it. Come on down, okay?’

‘Why?’

‘You’re scaring me.’

‘You care if I jump?’

‘Of course I care. Come on, Rudy. I don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘You do nothing but hurt me.’

‘It isn’t ... I don’t mean to. It’s just... you can be real annoying sometimes and it’s fun to give you a hard time. It’s nothing to jump off a bridge about. Especially a low bridge.’

‘You bastard.’

‘I’m sorry. Okay? Just come on down. I tell you, you don’t want to jump. I don’t want you to jump. We’re friends, aren’t we?’

‘Would that we were.’

From somewhere beyond Kirkus - and below him - came a couple of fast claps. A husky voice called, ‘Come on ’n’ jump, Tinkerbell. We gotcha.’ Another two claps.

Kirkus looked down and squealed, ‘Oh, dear God!’ and lost his balance. He swung his arms, trying to steady himself.

The audience below him - five or six spectators, by the sounds of them - whistled, cheered and clapped.

I grabbed Kirkus around both thighs and jerked hard. With another squeal, he fell.

Chapter Fifty-three

Onto me.

His weight rushed me backward until I fell off the curb and into the street and he smashed down on top of me. My back slammed the pavement. Then my head hit. Clonk! The impact seemed to shake my brain. I saw a brief, dazzling display of fireworks.

Kirkus rolled off. On hands and knees, he looked down at my face and gasped, ‘Are you okay?’

I groaned.

‘Oh, dear God.’

‘I’ll live,’ I mumbled.

‘What’ve I done to you?’

‘Never mind. Just ... help me up.’

‘No, no, you shouldn’t move. I’ll go call an ambulance.’

‘Don’t. I’m okay.’

‘You might have a concussion or ...’

I reached up and grabbed his arm. Hard. ‘Just help me up. I’ll be okay. I’m sure as hell not gonna ... wait here while you ... run off to call an ambulance. Not gonna let them get me.’

‘They did seem rather ... unsavory.’

‘We’ve gotta get outa here.’

He raised his head and looked around. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

Letting go of his arm, I shoved at the pavement and braced myself up on my elbows. Though my head ached and felt too heavy for my neck, it didn’t seem to be bleeding. Nothing, at any rate, was running down my scalp or the back of my neck.

I turned my head slowly. A car was coming, but it seemed to be a couple of blocks away. No sign of the group from under the bridge.

Kirkus crouched behind me, grabbed my sides just below my armpits, and helped me sit up. Then he held on while I struggled the rest of the way to my feet.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

He still held on.

‘You can let go.’

‘You won’t fall?’

‘We need to get out of the street.’

He moved to my side and clutched my upper left arm. I staggered to the curb and stepped onto the sidewalk. With my free hand, I reached up and fingered the back of my head. I had a big lump there. Touching it, I winced.

The car was almost to the bridge.

I muttered, ‘Ride or Hide?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing.’ Immediately, I wished I hadn’t mentioned the game. It was Casey’s and mine, and I felt cheap for speaking of it in front of Kirkus.

The car came closer. Its headlights made me squint. I looked away. Soon, the car passed us. It kept on going.

Still clinging to my arm, Kirkus turned me southward and guided me along. We’d taken several steps before I realized what was going on. ‘Hey,’ I said. ‘Whoa.’

He didn’t stop, kept pulling me.

‘Wrong way,’ I said.

‘I’m taking you home.’

‘No. Huh-uh. I’m not going back.’

‘I’m afraid you are, old boy. You’re in no condition to be hiking anywhere, much less to some donut shop on the outer edges of nowhere.’

I jerked my arm from his grip.

‘Edward!’

I dodged around him and headed north. Of course, he hurried after me. Not looking back, I raised my hands and said, ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Please. This is no time to be foolish.’

He reached for my arm, but I knocked his hand away. ‘Don’t mess with me!’ I walked as fast as I could, though every stride pounded jolts of pain up my neck and into my head.

Kirkus kept after me, staying a couple of paces back. We left the bridge behind, but I didn’t slow my pace. ‘This is madness,’ he said. ‘You can’t simply continue on your merry way; you’re injured.’

‘Thanks to you,’ I reminded him.

‘It was your own fault. You should’ve let me jump.’

‘You weren’t jumping, you were falling. And those guys down there would’ve had a field day with you.’

For a while, we didn’t talk. Kirkus simply remained behind me, silent as I walked northward. A couple of blocks later, he said, ‘I suppose I ought to thank you.’

‘Don’t bother.’

Quickening his pace, he came up alongside me and put a hand on my back. ‘You saved my life, Eddie.’

‘More than likely.’

‘And now you’re hurt, and it’s my fault’

‘Looks that way.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Hey,’ I said, ‘it’s all right. Okay?’

‘I owe you my life.’

‘You don’t owe me anything.’

‘I do. I do. Not only because you saved me, but because you cared enough to save me. Cared about me. Nobody has ever cared about me before.’

‘I don’t care that much.’

Laughing softly, he patted my back. ‘Enough to reach out and drag me back from the brink of destruction.’

‘Forget about it. okay?’

‘I’ll never forget about it.’

‘Just do me one favor, then,’ I said.

‘Anything.’

‘Don’t try something like that again. Next time, I’ll let you fall.’

He patted my back some more. ‘Oh, Eduardo, you’re so tough.’

‘Hands off, okay?’

His hand stopped patting me, but remained on my back. ‘And how’s the head?’

‘Not great.’

‘Shall I kiss it and make it better?’

‘No.’

He chuckled. ‘I thought not.’

‘I really don’t need this, Kirkus.’

‘Don’t need what, old boy?’

‘I’m in no mood to be fending you off.’

‘Then don’t.’

Whirling, I knocked his hand away from my back. ‘Just stop it! Stop touching me! Stop flirting, or whatever the hell it is you’re doing. I don’t appreciate it. Just leave me the fuck alone.’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘Know what?’ I asked.

‘I sense you’re about to enlighten me.’

‘We might actually stand some chance of being friends if you’d stop acting like such a fag all the time.’

‘Oh. my. Aren’t we distraught.’

‘Just leave me alone. Go home.’ I turned and walked away from him.

He came striding after me.

Over my shoulder, I said, ‘Get outa here. I’ve had it with you. Go find someone else to bother.’

‘Very well,’ he said.

‘Good.’

He halted. ‘Perhaps I’ll wake up Eileen and bother her.’

I stopped and turned around to face him. ‘Leave Eileen out of this.’

‘You obviously hope to leave Eileen out of this ... your peculiar little adventure. Exactly why did you sneak out of your apartment tonight? Don’t tell me you’re on a quest for donuts. Even if I’m gullible enough to believe such rot, I doubt that Eileen is. She’ll more than likely suspect the worst.’

‘I should’ve let you fall.’

‘Now, don’t be surly. Eileen needn’t know anything.’ Smiling, he came up the sidewalk. He stopped in front of me and reached out and patted my shoulder. ‘Your secret is safe with me,’ he said. ‘Shall we be off?’

‘Extortion must be a way of life with you.’

‘I prefer to think of it as persuasion.’

Side by side, we resumed our northward walk.

‘Don’t you simply love autumn?’ he asked after a while. ‘The crisp, fresh wind, the blowing leaves? The tang of woodsmoke in the air?’

‘It’s adorable,’ I said.

‘Oh, dear. You’re in a snit.’

‘I just wanted to take a walk.’

‘I know, I know. And you’re having your walk.’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘It’s ever so much better,’ he said. ‘You have me along for companionship.’

‘Whether I want you or not.’

‘Of course you want me. You’re simply too plebian to admit it.’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘Deny it all you please. We both know that you find me desirable. Deep down, you want me. The thought of kissing me makes your little heart go pitty-pat.’

‘The thought of kissing you makes me want to barf.’

‘Shall we experiment?’

My heart didn’t go pitty-pat, it thudded.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ I said.

‘One little kiss. I know you want to.’

‘No.’

He forced me off the sidewalk. Grabbing both my arms, he turned me and pushed my back against a tree.

‘Don’t.’

‘You’ll like it. I know you will.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’ His face moved in closer to mine. ‘Yes.’ he said again.

I turned my face away.

Lips brushing my cheek, he said, ‘Just one kiss.’

‘No.’

‘You want me to leave, don’t you?’ he whispered. ‘I’ll leave if you kiss me. I’ll leave and I won’t go to Eileen. I’ll go back to my own apartment and you’ll be free to meet with your secret flame and nobody will ever know any of this happened.’

‘I haven’t got a secret flame.’

‘Liar, liar, pants on fire.’

‘And I’m not gonna kiss you.’

‘Afraid you’ll enjoy it?’

‘Puck you.’

‘Certainly, if you’d rather.’ One of his hands turned my face toward him and he planted his mouth on mine. I pinched my lips tight together. Moaning, he tried to push his tongue in. And then I felt his other hand against the front of my jeans, rubbing me.

My fist got him in the solar plexus. He whooshed against my mouth, folded over. Stumbling backward, he crossed the sidewalk and dropped onto his ass on someone’s front yard. He sat there, hunched over, hugging his belly and wheezing.

‘You got your kiss,’ I said. ‘Now go home.’

He didn’t even lift his head.

I wiped my lips with the back of my hand, turned away from him and broke into a run. At the end of the block, I glanced back. He was on his hands and knees on the sidewalk, looking at me.

Chapter Fifty-four

I cut across Fairmont, raced up a sidestreet and turned left at the next comer. The running made my head hurt worse, made it throb with pain. Also, I knew I looked conspicuous. When people run for excercise, they wear proper outfits: shorts or warm-up suits or sweatclothes, not jeans and a chamois shirt.

Late at night, my clothes hadn’t mattered very much; almost nobody was around to see me. But this was well before the bedtime of most adults. It was also a Friday night, so many of them had probably gone out to movies or friends’ houses. Plenty had remained at home, too. Nearly every house was well lighted. Through picture windows, I glimpsed people in their living rooms. Some were watching television or reading. Others appeared to be having parties.

Few of those inside the houses probably saw me run by. I was definitely noticed, however, by some who were outside. They seemed to be everywhere: on their way to or from cars; taking walks, alone or in couples; taking their dogs for a stroll; walking or running for exercise - in proper attire, of course; standing outside their houses while they puffed at cigarettes; driving by in cars and vans and SUVs and pickup trucks.

It crossed my mind that Randy might drive by and recognize me, but the thought didn’t bother me much. For one thing, my head pounded so badly that I couldn’t be bothered. For another, I was more worried about being spotted by Kirkus.

He was probably coming after me. Maybe I’d lost him, but I couldn’t count on it. I needed to get out of sight. Find a place to hide, to rest, to wait. Give Kirkus time to give up and go home.

I stopped running. Though I panted for air and poured sweat, my head didn’t feel quite so horrible.

If I could just lie down for a while ...

But where?

A few hours from now, most of the lights would be off. Most of the people would be in bed. I would be surrounded by good, dark places were I could hunker down and rest unseen. Now, however, the night seemed alive and terribly crowded.

I’ve got to go somewhere, I thought.

If only I knew where to find Casey. This early, she might be anywhere.

Probably in her own house, I thought. If she has one.

I had no idea where that might be, or whether it even existed.

She must live somewhere.

Doesn’t matter, I told myself. I’ll find her later. At the usual time. I hope. For now, I just need a place to hide and rest.

Marianne’s house?

The extra bed in her room would be wonderful. At this hour, however, her parents would probably still be up and around. Marianne might welcome me, but her parents certainly wouldn’t.

How about the park across the street from her house? I could go to the playground area and lie down on the grass for a while.

I remembered Casey on the grass after her jump from the swing.

Nice to be in a place where I’d been with her.

But then I remembered the man leaping down from the backstop and running toward us. The memory of him sent chills crawling up the back of my neck. My head began hurting worse.

Forget the park.

I wondered if the tequila drinking woman over on Franklin Street would let me in. I could ring her doorbell, explain that I’m Casey’s friend and need a place to rest for a while.

No way.

First, I would never have the guts. Second, she might not be the one to answer the door. Third, I had no idea what sort of relationship - if any - she had with Casey. Unlikely as it seemed, maybe she wasn’t even aware of Casey’s visits to her house.

She must be aware of them. Twice, I’d seen Casey either entering or leaving the woman’s house.

I started walking in that direction.

Not with any intention of ringing the doorbell or attempting to enter. But it was where I would probably start looking for Casey later on, so why not go there now? I was just as likely to find a hiding place near that house as anywhere else. Maybe in the backyard, or behind a neighbor’s house, or across the street.

It seemed like a fine idea.

It was a long way off, though. Could I go that far without Kirkus spotting me? And with such a stiff neck and throbbing head?

If I could just take something for the headache and lie down for a while!

No doubt Casey would be able to get me some aspirin.

Hours from now.

So many hours, I suddenly realized, that I could walk back to my apartment, take some aspirin, lie down for a while, and be back out on the streets in plenty of time to start searching for her.

Only two problems with that: Kirkus and Eileen. Kirkus might intercept me. At my apartment, Eileen might already be awake. Or she might wake up before I could leave again.

Better to live with the headache than to risk losing a night with Casey.

A couple of minutes later, grimacing and rubbing my neck and turning my head, I looked toward a house and realized it had no lights on. All the windows were dark and so was the porch.

No cars were parked in the driveway. The stretch of curb in front of the house was also empty.

By all appearances, nobody was home.

In my imagination, I saw a medicine cabinet loaded with pain relievers. I saw a bedroom with a king-sized bed.

If nobody is home ...

Don’t even think about it, I told myself.

Casey would do it.

By the time I reached the front porch, I was so frightened that my heart was thudding wildly and my head felt as if it might explode.

The area near the welcome mat was littered with fliers and brochures. They looked as if they’d been piling up for several days, maybe longer.

Nobody is home.

Just to make sure, I pressed the doorbell button. From inside the house came a faint sound of ringing.

Nothing more.

I rang again, waited a while longer, then reached forward and found the screen door’s handle. I pulled and the door swung toward me. Bracing it with my body, I reached for the handle of the main door.

What if Casey opens it from the inside? I thought. And comes out and says, House inspector.

The memory made me smile.

Of course, Casey didn’t come out of this house. Its door was locked.

Good, I thought. That’s that. I wanted aspirin and a bed so badly that I might’ve gone in, had the door been unlocked, but I certainly wouldn’t break in.

It’s not exactly breaking in if I use a key, I thought.

Not that I’ll find one.

I didn’t find the key under the doormat.

I did find it on a thin ledge above the door.

Why anyone would lock a house then leave its key near the front door is beyond me. But some people do. Maybe they have an overpowering fear of locking themselves out. Who knows? People do plenty of strange and foolish things.

Hand trembling, I pushed the key into the lock and turned it. The latch clacked back, very loud. I flinched. Then I waited, listening. No sounds came from inside the house or from anywhere nearby. I heard only my own quick breathing, my own pounding heart. So I eased open the door and looked in.

Darkness.

Nobody’s home, I told myself again. I can just walk in, find the medicine cabinet and help myself to a couple of aspirin.

It’s no big crime.

Take some aspirin. Forget about lying down, just take the aspirin and get out fast before someone comes home. In and out in two or three minutes.

But I couldn’t move. I just kept standing there, staring into the darkness.

Do it, I told myself. Don’t be such a chicken. The place is empty.

What if someone comes back?

I’ll be in and gone in two minutes.

I can’t do it. It’s wrong.

Not that wrong. If Casey were here, she would’ve gone in by now.

Whatever, I’d better stop standing here on the porch thinking about it. Someone’ll come along and see me.

The tension was making my head throb with pain.

I really need some aspirin!

I imagined Casey smiling at me, shaking her head, saying, You could’ve been in and out in the amount of time you’ve been standing here worrying about it.

Chapter Fifty-five

I entered the house, shut the door, stood motionless and listened. Silence except for some electrical hums and a quiet, clicking sound that probably came from a clock.

The air felt warmer than outside. Much warmer.

Apparently, the owners had forgotten to turn down the thermostat before going away.

Unless someone’s here.

The thought made my head hurt worse.

Nobody’s here, I told myself.

I pulled the Maglite out of my pocket, but didn’t turn it on. Even if the house were empty, someone outside might notice my light if I used it.

But I kept it in my hand, just in case, and started walking slowly through the house. Because of dim light coming in through windows, I could make out the general shapes of things well enough to avoid falling over furniture. And well enough to find doorways.

I made my way through the living room. Here and there, small dots glowed in the darkness from the television, the cable box, the VCR. Bright green numbers near the floor showed 9:20.

What if they’ve got an alarm?

Again, pain soared into my head.

Half the people in this town don’t even lock their doors. The odds of anyone having an alarm ...

Just get it done and get out!

At the rear of the living room, I hurried through the dark rectangle of an entryway. In almost total darkness, I twisted the head of my flashlight and the bright, narrow beam leaped out. I was in a hall with doorways on both sides. Framed pictures hung on the walls.

The nearest loomed near my shoulder. I glanced at it and saw a hideous face. For just an instant, I doubted it was just a painting. I gasped and leaped away. Then I found it with my flashlight.

Wild red fright-wig, enormous crimson nose, white-painted skin and a gawdy, scarlet smile. A clown face. It looked demented.

I hurried forward, glimpsed another clown painting, then swept my light through a doorway and discovered a bathroom. I ducked inside and closed the door.

And felt - stupidly - as if I’d shut it to keep the clowns out.

Trembling, I stepped away from the door, turned around and swept the bathroom with my flashlight: toilet, tub with shower doors, counters, and a mirror above the sink. The mirror reflected the flashlight beam and my haggard face. They swung away when I pulled at one side of the mirror and it opened on hinges.

Behind it was the medicine cabinet. Shelves lined with medications and ointments. Including Tylenol and Extra Strength Bufferin.

I snatched down the Bufferin, fought open its ‘child-proof’ cap and shook a couple of tablets into my trembling hand.

Holding them, I closed the plastic bottle and returned it to the shelf. I shut the medicine cabinet, then turned the cold water on.

What if somebody can hear it?

Nobody’s in the house, I told myself again. Nobody but me.

(And those damn clowns.)

I tossed the pills into my mouth. Bent over the sink. Cupped water into my mouth and swallowed them.

After they were down, I drank more water. Then I shut off the faucet. I dried my hands on my jeans. I wiped my wet mouth on my sleeve. And sighed. Still frightened, but pleased with myself.

Now get out of here fast.

Turning away from the sink, I realized I needed to urinate.

It’s not that urgent, I told myself. Just hold it and go later.

I’m in a bathroom, for Pete’s sake!

Last night, I’d been in worse shape but I’d refused to use the toilet in Marianne’s house.

That was different. That house had people in it.

I stepped over to the toilet and lifted its lid and seat. The bowl looked reasonably clean. Holding the flashlight in my teeth, I unzipped and pulled out and started to go. It sounded very loud in the silence. Like Casey last night.

Is anybody listening?

Stop it. Are you trying to scare yourself?

Done and zippered shut, I considered leaving the toilet unflushed. It was sure to make a lot of noise. But I’d already made plenty of noise, so why worry about a little more? Besides, it would be crude not to flush.

I wanted to leave the house exactly as I had found it - minus a couple of Bufferins.

So I pushed the handle down. With an explosive gush of water, the toilet flushed.

Time to get!

I took the flashlight out of my mouth. Holding it in my left hand, I opened the bathroom door with my right. I stepped out and looked both ways. To my right were the living room, the foyer and the front door. To my left, the hall continued on another twenty feet or so. More doorways in that direction. And more wooden picture frames on the walls.

Did every frame contain a painting of a clown?

Take a look and see.

Oh, sure.

I was tempted, though. And excited by the idea of not fleeing from the house.

I’m already in, I told myself. I’ve taken care of business. I can leave any time I want. So why not check the place out for a minute or two?

At least check the rest of the paintings, I thought. See if they’re all clowns. I can tell Casey about it. I can write about it.

(What sort of person collects clown paintings? A clown, himself. Or a circus fan. Or a John Wayne Gacy fan.)

Heart thudding fresh waves of pain into my head, I turned to the left and made my way silently up the hallway. Each time I approached a painting, I aimed my light at it. Every painting depicted a different clown. They all looked slightly mad.

Afraid of making noise, I didn’t try to open either of the closed doors that I came upon. Two more doors, however, stood wide open.

I stepped into the first doorway, shined my light around and felt as if I’d entered a one-room museum devoted entirely to clowns. In one comer stood a life-size mannequin in full clown makeup and costume. Along the walls were glass-fronted cases displaying clown dolls, circus posters, old newspaper articles, and items of clown gear such as wigs and rubber noses and floppy shoes and baggy trousers. I made my way quickly along the cases, shining my light through the glass, excited by this strange discovery.

Most of the newspaper clippings, brown with age, had to do with Clement O’Toole, who portrayed a clown called Sunny Boy. None of the hallway paintings had shown Sunny Boy. He was a large, fat clown. Wearing a straw hat and baggy overalls, he resembled an oversized Tom Sawyer. He had the standard enormous red nose, but his white-painted face had yellow streaks radiating away from his eyes and mouth - the rays of Sunny Boy’s sun, I suppose.

The clippings had dates from the 1950s through the 1980s. Not daring to stop and read them, I only glanced at some of the headlines and dates. Clement must’ve been a real star. But in 1988, he’d nearly died in a circus tent fire. He’d survived his burns, but was horribly disfigured and Sunny Boy never put in another appearance under the Big Top.

Clement must be at least seventy by now, I thought. If he’s still alive.

Almost ready to move on, I turned my flashlight to the mannequin in the corner of the room. It was dressed and made up to look like Clement’s Sunny Boy.

Someone had gone to a lot of trouble and expense.

Sunny Boy looked as good as what you might see in an actual wax museum, except something seemed to be wrong with its face. Some of the wax had apparently melted, bubbled, flowed into odd shapes.

Too much heat somewhere along the line, I thought. A shame. It wasn’t very noticeable from a distance, but up close ...

And up close, the dummy’s eyes looked old and bloodshot.

Goosebumps started creeping up my spine. Keeping my flashlight on the dummy, I backed toward the door. I wanted to whirl around and run, but was afraid to take my eyes off it.

Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just a dummy. A very lifelike dummy.

In the hallway, I swung my light out of the room and walked away.

Enough of this place.

I was almost to the living room when a frail, reedy voice - like the voice of an old, old man - tremored down the hallway from behind me. It quietly sang, ‘Oh, Sunny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling ... from glen to glen, and down the mountainside ...’

Chapter Fifty-six

I ran through the house, somehow managing not to crash into furniture or walls. Outside, I leaped off the porch, ran to the street and across the street, and kept on running. I raced around a comer, crossed another street, turned another comer, kept on running, and finally, in a neighborhood of expensive-looking homes, came upon a two-story house with a lighted porch but dark windows.

The area behind the house was enclosed by a fence, but the gate wasn’t locked. Quietly, I entered. Then I crept alongside the house. In back, I found a swimming pool.

The pool wasn’t lighted. Neither was the patio or any rear window of the house.

The patio had a barbecue grill, a glass-topped table surrounded by iron chairs, a couple of aluminum patio chairs, and a lounge with a small table beside it. On that table was a drinking glass. I picked it up. It was made of sturdy plastic, and had a puddle of liquid in the bottom. Probably from melted ice cubes. Someone must’ve enjoyed a cocktail out here earlier.

Had he or she also gone swimming? It had been a nice, sunny day, warm for October.

Bending over, I swept a hand over the plastic tubing of the lounge. It felt smooth and cool and dry. The tubing sank under my weight as I sat on it. I lowered the backrest and lay down.

Pale, moonlit shreds of clouds were scooting across the sky. The night breeze carried a chimney scent of burning wood.

This is nice, I thought.

Hands folded on my belly, I shut my eyes.

Though the breeze felt cool against my face, I was snug in jeans and my thick, soft shirt.

The tightness and pain began to drain away.

This is so nice, I thought. Now if I just don’t get caught back here.

My luck, some withered old zombie’ll climb out of the pool and come slouching over to me.

What is it with this town? I wondered. Everywhere I go, creeps and weirdos.

Not everywhere, I told myself. Don’t forget Casey. Neither a creep nor a weirdo. And Marianne seemed nice. Bet the tequila woman’s nice, too.

How about one of them climbing out of the pool?

Which one?

As I imagined the side of the pool, someone boosted herself out of the water and climbed onto the edge. The tequila woman, slender and beautiful in the moonlight. Her hair wasn’t wet, but her nightgown was. The pale gown clung to her body and ended high on her thighs. She came toward me with slow, graceful strides. Along the way, though, she changed into Casey.

Good, I thought. I don’t even know the tequila woman really.

Casey was dressed in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. I tried to imagine her in the wet, clinging nightgown that showed everything, but couldn’t make it happen. Still, she sure looked good.

She crouched beside me and reached over and stroked my brow. You had yourself a nasty knock on the bean, Chucky.

Kirkus fell on me.

I’ll kiss it and make it well.

Unfortunately, the bump was on the back of my head. I’ll turn over, I said. But I didn’t move. Though I definitely wanted Casey to kiss my bump, 1 felt very comfortable on my back.

I’ll turn over in a little while, I thought.

The next time I thought about turning over, I felt calm and well rested and alert. I opened my eyes. A few pale rags of clouds were rushing across the sky. The full moon was high and very bright. Apparently, I’d been asleep.

An area at the back of my scalp felt stiff and sore, but my head felt pretty good inside. The nap had apparently given the aspirin a chance to do its job.

I raised my left arm above my face and pressed the button to light my wristwatch. 11:10.

Not bad!

Wary of my head, I sat up slowly. Then I got to my feet, and still felt fine.

Very good.

I looked around. All the lights were out, just as they’d been before my nap.

My lucky night, I thought.

Yeah, right. Lucky if I don’t count Sunny Boy or the creeps under the bridge or Kirkus falling on me or my head getting bounced off the street.

Ah, well, I thought. After all that, things can only get better.

Oh, yeah?

Let’s hope so. Let’s at least hope I’ve lost Kirkus for the night and let’s hope I don’t have any trouble finding Casey. That’s all I really want. Simple, really. Casey and no Kirkus.

I went around the side of the house, let myself out through the gate, then stopped at a comer of the front lawn. The neighborhood didn’t look familiar. It was darker than when I’d arrived. I saw nobody wandering about. For a while, no cars went by. Then two came along, one after the other, and kept on going.

Eleven-fifteen on a Friday night. A lot of people are already in bed. Some are on their way home from movies or parties. Others are still out, living it up.

And where’s my good buddy Kirkus? I wondered. Back in his own apartment by now? Or did he return to mine and wake up Eileen so she could fully appreciate my disappearance?

If he did that ... !

Maybe, saints preserve us, he went back to the damn bridge and jumped off. And wouldn’t that be a pity?

I felt guilty for thinking it.

He wouldn’t, I told myself. He never meant to jump in the first place, just climbed up there for the drama of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all if I hadn’t been there.

Did it to get my attention.

Well, he got it, all right.

I suddenly remembered the feel of his open mouth, the feel of his hand. It made me a little sick, the way you might feel if you accidentally stepped on a dead baby bird.

I wiped my lips on my sleeve, then started walking. At the sidewalk, I turned to the left and headed for the end of the block.

You try to be friends with a guy, I thought, and he does that to you.

‘What do you expect?’ I muttered.

When I reached the corner, I looked up at the street signs. Olive and Conway? I’d never heard of either of them.

Where the hell am I?

After running away from Kirkus, I’d concentrated (to the extent that I’d been able to think at all) on making turns and losing him. I hadn’t paid much attention at all to my actual location. Nor had I kept track of my route after running away from Sunny Boy’s house.

Doesn’t matter, I told myself. I’m not actually lost, just temporarily vague about my position. No cause for alarm.

I was obviously somewhere north of the Fairmont Street bridge. That was my impression, anyway. After ditching Kirkus, I’d headed generally to the north and east. I think.

I knew where I wanted to be ... at the tequila woman’s house on Franklin Street to begin my watch for Casey.

So which way is that?

Farther north, probably.

But which way is north?

Standing on the comer, I turned around in a full circle. I looked up and down the roads. Saw headlights, parked cars, trees and houses. Nothing, however, stood out as a landmark.

Terrific.

It’s all right, I told myself. I’ve got plenty of time.

Pick a direction, any direction. Doesn’t matter. Whichever way I go, I’ll soon run into a street I recognize. Then I’ll be set.

I turned to the right and walked quickly. The faster I walked, the sooner I would find a street I recognized and the sooner I could calm down.

It didn’t feel good, not knowing where I was. It gave me an uneasy feeling as if I’d wandered into the Twilight Zone.

I half expected Rod Serling to step out from behind a tree.

Offered for your consideration ... one Edward Logan ... He went out on a fine October night in search of his true love but found, instead, that streets don’t always lead where you expect and that love may not always find a way,’ especially in that region of uncertain boundaries we call ...

The sound of an engine broke into my thoughts. I looked over my shoulder. Headlights. Coming on fast.

Ride or Hide?

Too late to hide.

So I stood motionless on the sidewalk and watched the headlights grow larger, brighter.

A pickup truck.

It raced by.

As it passed me, I saw that it was a compact pickup truck, pale in color. I couldn’t see the driver, but I saw the passenger for a couple of seconds.

Her head was drooping as if she’d fallen asleep. It wobbled with the motions of the truck. So did her shoulders. She probably would’ve fallen over if not for her seatbelt.

The way her head hung down, most of her face was shrouded by her hair.

She seemed to be wearing a dark, skimpy garment with a plunging neckline. It was open very wide, showing an expanse of dusky skin and much of her left breast.

Eileen ?

In Randy’s pickup truck?

The truck must’ve been fifty feet away by the time I got over my shock enough to give chase. I gained on it for a few seconds while it waited at a stop sign at the end of the block.

Then it took off and left me behind.

Chapter Fifty-seven

Though I kept after the pickup truck, it was soon a block ahead of me. Then two blocks. Then it turned left. By the time I reached the corner where it had turned, it was nowhere to be seen.

Exhausted, head pounding again, I quit running. I leaned back against a tree and tried to catch my breath. And tried to talk myself out of what I’d seen.

Maybe it wasn’t Eileen. I hadn’t gotten a very good look at the passenger’s face - only glimpsed it, and the light had been bad, and her hair had been in the way. She might’ve been a stranger who bore a certain resemblance to Eileen.

And wore Eileen’s dress?

It wasn’t necessarily Eileen’s dress, I told myself. Obviously, its top had a similar (identical, who am I trying to kid?) design to Eileen’s dress. But who knows what it might’ve looked like from the chest down? And was it even green?

The pickup truck wasn’t necessarily Randy’s, either. It had looked similar, but there must be a lot of light-colored compact pickup trucks around town. And I hadn’t even gotten a glimpse of the driver.

What I’d seen might easily have been a local couple, strangers to me, a guy and his girlfriend on their way home from some sort of formal occasion: a dance, a dinner party, maybe even a wedding.

Sure thing.

It was Eileen, all right. Asleep or unconscious (dead?) in the passenger seat of Randy’s pickup truck. Somehow, he had found her and grabbed her and now he was taking her someplace.

I had special plans for her, he’d said at the donut shop.

You want to go out with her?

I want to go in her.

He’s taking her someplace to do that, I realized. Someplace private where he can go in her. Where he can give her the works.

Or maybe she’s still back at my apartment, asleep in my bed.

Fat chance.

She might be, I told myself. Maybe it really and truly wasn’t Eileen in the pickup.

It was.

But I had to know for certain.

Call. Find a phone and call. If she answers ...

... she won’t ...

everything’s fine.

There might be a pay phone over near Dandi Donuts. Though I couldn’t specifically recall seeing one in the vicinity, it seemed like a good place to try.

If I can find my way there.

I had stopped at a comer with a signpost, but hadn’t checked it yet.

Let’s hope.

I looked up at the signs: Olive and Franklin.

Franklin!

Somehow, in my confusion, I must’ve crossed Division without even knowing it.

I looked up and down Franklin Street. The houses seemed vaguely familiar. More than likely, I was still south of the tequila woman’s house.

North should be to the left ... the same direction Randy had gone.

He’s taking Eileen someplace north of here.

As I started hiking up Franklin Street, I realized that Randy’s destination might be nearby. Maybe he’d kept driving or turned onto a different road, but maybe he’d stopped at a curb along Franklin ... or pulled into a driveway. So I slowed down and kept watch for his pickup.

I also kept watch for the tequila woman’s house. And for Casey.

Casey’ll get me to a phone, I thought. She’ll probably take me into the nearest dark house ... or maybe into the home of a ‘friend’ such as Marianne or the tequila woman.

Now that I really need Casey, I probably won’t be able to find her.

I’ll just go on to Dandi Donuts. By the time I get to the tequila woman’s house, it won’t be much farther to Dale. Take Dale on back to Division, and I’ll be at the donut shop.

What’s the point? I wondered. Eileen isn’t going to answer the phone.

She might.

She really might, I told myself. The mind can be a tricky thing. It sometimes shows you what you’re expecting to see, not what is actually in front of your eyes. Maybe the girl in the pickup truck looked very different from Eileen. The ‘plunging neckline’ of her gown could’ve actually been something like a V-shaped design on a sweater.

Possible.

Stopping at a corner, I looked both ways. No traffic. No sign of Randy’s pickup truck parked along either side of the street or in any nearby driveways. No sign of any pedestrians in the distance.

I hurried across.

The porch and windows of the comer house were dark.

Why go all the way to Dandi Donuts?

I pictured myself sneaking into the comer house, creeping through its darkness, finding a telephone ...

‘Not a chance,’ I muttered, and kept on walking.

But what if I can’t find a pay phone?

There has to be one over by Dale and Division.

Doesn’t have to be. And if there is, it might be out of order.

I’m not going to sneak into another supposedly empty house! Not tonight, not ever!

(Not by myself, anyway.)

When I reached the next corner, the home of the tequila woman came into sight. I forced myself to look away from it and check in both directions for Randy’s pickup truck and for Casey. No sign of either. So I crossed the intersection.

Keeping Franklin Street between me and the tequila woman’s house, I continued northward. Slowly.

For a while, I had a view of the kitchen window. It was dark. But the porch lights were on. Light also showed through the curtains of the large front window.

She - they - apparently hadn’t gone to bed yet.

I checked my watch again. 11:48.

Instead of going on to Dandi Donuts, why not hide and wait here for Casey to show up?

Might take hours.

What if she’s in the house right now?

Even if she isn’t, the tequila woman probably is. Maybe she’ll let me use her phone.

I stepped off the curb, made sure no traffic was coming, and walked to the other side of Franklin Street.

My mouth was dry. My heart thudded. Fresh pain began to pulse inside my head.

I can’t be doing this, I thought.

Sure I can. Why not?

I climbed the porch stairs.

I’ve lost my mind. The bump on the head must’ve scrambled my brains.

I stood on the welcome mat and pressed the doorbell button. A sound of chimes came from inside the house. I had a strong urge to run away.

What’ll I say?

I had no idea.

On the other side of the screen door, the main door opened a few inches, letting out a vertical strip of light. At about my neck level, a guard chain pulled taut. Then a face appeared in the gap.

Tequila woman’s face.

It was prettier than I remembered it. And younger.

Her large blue eyes looked out at me.

‘Yes?’ she asked. She sounded neither frightened nor angry, but somewhat puzzled.

‘My name’s Ed,’ I told her. ‘I’m very sorry to bother you, but there’s some trouble and I’m wondering if I might be able to use your phone.’

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head sideways and seemed to be considering my request.

‘I know it’s almost midnight,’ I said, ‘but it’s sort of an emergency.’

‘Your name is what?’ she asked.

‘Ed,’ I repeated.

‘Ed Logan?’

Stunned, all I could do was gape at her.

She shut the main door. A moment later, it swung wide. She reached forward, pushed the screen door open and said, ‘Come on in, Ed.’

Chapter Fifty-eight

She knows me? It didn’t seem possible.

As I entered her house, she backed into the foyer. I saw that she was barefoot, wearing tan corduroy trousers and a long-sleeved white blouse. The blouse was untucked. It wasn’t completely buttoned.

After shutting the door, she offered her hand. ‘I’m Lois,’ she said.

‘Hi, Lois.’ I shook her hand. It was warm and smooth. I could hardly believe I was shaking the hand of the woman I’d spied on. And she knew my name!

‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

‘You know who I am?’

‘I believe we have a friend in common,’ she said. ‘She’s all right, isn’t she?’

‘As far as I know. I haven’t seen her tonight. I just came here because your lights are on and I really need to use a phone.’

Whether or not she believed me, she said, ‘It’s over here,’ and turned away.

I followed her into the living room. Nobody else was there. The television was off. No music was playing. In the silence, I could hear our footsteps on the carpet. The tail of Lois’s blouse draped the seat of her corduroys.

She walked to a lamp table at the end of the sofa, picked up a cordless phone, turned around and handed it to me, saying, ‘Here you go.’

“Thank you.’

As I tapped the numbers in, Lois wandered out of the room. Probably to give me some privacy. It seemed very trusting of her.

A book lay open on her lamp table, face down, probably to keep her place. She must’ve been reading it when I rang the doorbell. Light in August by Faulkner.

After several rings, my answering machine took the call. My own voice told me, ‘This is Ed. I’m not in right now. Please leave your name and number at the beep.’ Along came the beep.

‘Eileen?’ I asked. ‘Are you there? It’s me. It’s Ed. If you’re there, I need to talk to you.’ I waited for a few seconds, then said, ‘Eileen? Are you there? It’s really important. I have to talk to you. Please pick up if you’re there.’ After waiting a while longer, I returned Lois’s phone to its cradle.

This is bad, I thought. This is really really bad. It wasn’t someone else in the pickup, it was Eileen.

Of course. It was always Eileen.

But if she’d answered the phone ...

There was never much chance of that.

Lois came back into the room. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Not really. But thanks for letting me use your phone.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

I sighed. ‘I don’t know.’ It was hard to concentrate.

‘You look beat. Why don’t you sit down and relax? Would you like some coffee? A drink?’

‘I don’t think I want anything.’ I sank onto the sofa and leaned back. It felt good.

Lois sat down beside me. Turning toward me, she tucked one leg under the other and rested an arm across the back of the sofa. The way she sat, her blouse was drawn up against the underside of her left breast. The same breast I’d seen naked on Tuesday night.

I was blushing, and knew it.

‘You seem very upset,’ Lois said.

Not knowing what to say, I just nodded.

‘I’ll help you if I can,’ she said. ‘My friend thinks the world of you.’

The words warmed and thrilled me. ‘She does? We only met last night.’

‘She couldn’t wait to come here and tell me all about it.’

‘When was she here?’

‘This morning. Early this morning. She was very excited. She couldn’t stop talking about you.’

‘That’s ... great.’

‘You must be a pretty special guy.’

‘Not really.’

‘She thinks you are. That’s enough for me.’

‘Well. Thanks.’

‘I’ll help you if I can.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Do you want to tell me about the problem?’

I said, ‘Uh,’ and thought, Do I?

‘Does it have to do with the man who’s been after you? What was his name, Ralph?’

‘Randy. She told you about him, too?’

‘She tells me pretty much everything.’

‘Do you know about Eileen?’

‘Your girlfriend?’

‘Yeah. Eileen. I don’t know if she’s exactly my girlfriend anymore ... but I think I saw her tonight. Just like ten minutes ago. This pickup truck went by. It looked like Randy’s, and this girl in the passenger seat looked like Eileen. And she didn’t seem to be conscious. Maybe she was just sleeping, I don’t know. Maybe she wasn’t even Eileen. It might not’ve been Randy’s pickup, either. But what I’m afraid of is that he got his hands on Eileen and he’s taking her somewhere.’

‘You think he kidnapped her?’

Nodding, I said, ‘But maybe it wasn’t really Eileen. That’s why I wanted to call, to see if she was still at home. I got the answering machine, but she didn’t pick up. So it probably was her in the pickup. Unless maybe she slept through the phone call ... the ringing and everything. Or maybe she was in the bathroom. I just don’t know. What I think, though, is that Randy has her.’

‘Did you leave my number on the message machine?’ Lois asked.

‘No.’

‘Why don’t you call again? Maybe she is there, but just couldn’t reach the phone in time.’

‘Okay. Good idea.’ Though I didn’t hold much hope, I reached over to the lamp table and picked up the phone. I punched the redial button. After a quick, musical series of beeps, my home phone rang. Just like last time, my machine picked up and delivered my message. Then came the beep. ‘Eileen,’ I said. ‘It’s Ed. Are you there? This is pretty urgent, so please pick up if you’re there.’

Lois patted my thigh. ‘Leave my number,’ she whispered.

‘Are you there?’ I asked again. Then I said, ‘Okay. Anyway. You can call me back at ...’ I found Lois’s number above the keypad, and read it off. Then I repeated it more slowly. ‘Get back to me as soon as you can,’ I said, and hung up.

Lois gave my leg another pat. ‘If she calls while we’re gone, my machine’ll take it.’

‘While we’re gone?’

‘Let’s drive over to Eileen’s place and see if she’s there.’

‘I don’t have a car.’

‘I do. Let’s go.’ She sprang up from the sofa. As I followed her across the living room, she said, ‘Wait by the door. I’ll be right back.’

While I stood in the foyer, she hurried toward the rear of the house. A couple of minutes later, she returned with white sneakers on her feet and a purse hanging from her shoulder. She walked so fast her hair shook. So did her breasts, but I tried not to watch them. ‘All set,’ she said, and swung open the door.

I stepped outside. She came after me, shut the main door, and hurried down the porch stairs. I rushed after her, letting the screen door bang shut. Her car was in the driveway.

We both climbed in. As she keyed the ignition, she said, ‘Toward campus?’

‘Yeah. At Fairmont and Church.’

‘Got it.’ Watching over her shoulder, she backed down her driveway. Then she shifted and started driving south on Franklin.

‘I really appreciate this,’ I said.

‘No problem. I just hope it turns out to be a false alarm.’

‘Me, too. But I’d be surprised.’

‘If she isn’t there, we’ll take the next step.’

‘What’ll that be?’ I asked.

‘Let’s worry about that if we come to it.’

‘Okay.’

Lois looked toward me for a moment. ‘How do you think you’ll handle your situation?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You seem to be involved with two women simultaneously.’

‘Yeah. I guess I am.’

‘That sort of thing always ends badly for someone.’

When she said that, I remembered my own feelings when I’d read the letter from Holly: my disbelief, my ache of loss, the pain of imagining her with Jay. I’d felt as if my heart had been torn apart. I’d thought my happiness was gone forever.

I can’t put anyone through that.

But the letter had come only last Friday, one week ago. The real devastation had only lasted a few days. I’d started getting better on Monday night - the night Eileen met me at Dandi Donuts and drove me back to my apartment and we made love on the living-room floor - also the night I first saw the mystery girl and followed her, wondering about her and longing to meet her.

One of them had given the world back to me.

One, or both.

‘Someone’s bound to get hurt,’ Lois said. ‘Someone always gets hurt in deals like that.’

‘I know.’

‘What’re you going to do?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’

‘You don’t want to hurt Casey.’

‘I don’t want to hurt anyone.’ Then I realized she’d called the girl as Casey. ‘So that is her name? Casey? She was kidding around about making up a name for me to call her, but I thought it was really Casey.’

‘It is.’

‘Casey what?’

‘Just Casey.’

‘You don’t want to tell me her last name?

Lois glanced at me again. ‘I’d be glad to tell you, Eddie, but I don’t know it myself.’

Chapter Fifty-nine

‘What do you know about her?’ I asked.

‘I know what I need to know.’

When she said that, I couldn’t stop a single, quiet laugh from coming out.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘You must be the one who taught her how to talk in circles.’

Lois turned her head. We were passing a streetlight, and I saw the smile on her face. ‘Maybe she taught me.’

‘Does she come to your house every day?’

‘I wish. Sometimes, it’s every day for a while. Then I might not see her for a few days ... or longer.’ She glanced at me. ‘I can’t stand it when she doesn’t come. I always think the worst. That something’s happened to her. That I’ll never see her again.’ On the last word, her voice broke. She took deep breaths. Then she asked, ‘How’s that for straight-forward?’

‘Good.’

Holding the steering wheel with one hand at a time, she wiped her eyes.

‘Doesn’t Casey have a place to live?’ I asked.

‘She is not without places to live.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s just a guess - she doesn’t tell me everything - but I think she probably has houses and apartments all over town.’

‘But not a place of her own?’

Lois shook her head. ‘I’ve asked her to live with me. She will sleep there sometimes, come by for meals ... but she never stays for long. Sooner or later, she always says, “Gotta go. See you around.”’

Going, going, gone, I thought.

‘And then she’s off.’

I asked, ‘Why?’

‘Other places to go. Other people to see.’ Voice breaking again, she said, ‘I hate it. But what’re you gonna do? It’s just Casey. If she weren’t that way, she wouldn’t be Casey. You know what I mean?’

‘I guess so,’ I said, though I really wasn’t sure.

‘I’d hate for her to change.’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

Then I saw my apartment building just ahead. ‘That’s it next to the church,’ I said.

Lois pulled to the curb and stopped. ‘Do you want me to go in with you?’

‘I can just run up and check. Be right back.’

As I swung open the passenger door, she said, ‘Good luck, Eddie.’

‘Thanks.’

I hurried around the front of her car. As I ran across the street, I noticed Eileen’s Saturn parked halfway up the block. It had the Willmington University sticker on the rear window and the Jack in the Box clown head atop its radio antenna.

Her car’s still here. Maybe she is, too.

The front door of the apartment building was locked as it should be. I let myself in. Turning the comer on my way to the stairs, I saw light from the Fishers’ doorway. Voices were coming from their television.

Eyes forward, I walked quickly and quietly past their door. Nobody called out. I hurried up the stairs, reached the landing without being accosted, and climbed to the second floor. The hallway was deserted. I went to the door of my apartment.

Shut. Locked.

Please let her be here!

My hand trembled so badly that I had a hard time getting the key into the lock. At last, it slipped in and I opened the door.

My living room was lighted, but silent.

I glanced around. Nobody there. The kitchen lights were off. The hallway to my bedroom was dark.

Had I left the lights like this? I couldn’t remember.

On my way down the hall, I passed the bathroom. Its door was open, its light off.

Up ahead, I could see darkness through the doorway of my bedroom. The sight made me sink inside. I’d left that door shut, the light on. I was certain of that.

She is gone. Randy has her.

Entering the room, I nicked the light switch. The bedside lamp came on. The bed was empty, as I’d known it would be. The covers were a little rumpled.

I remembered Eileen lying crooked, her legs hanging off the edge, her left leg bare to her hip. I remembered my urge to go over to her and put my hand inside the slit of her dress.

I should’ve done it. Should’ve stayed. She’d still be here.

‘Eileen?’ I called out. Loud enough to be heard throughout the rooms of my apartment, but probably not loud enough to disturb other tenants on the floor. I didn’t want to alarm my neighbors. Besides, what was the point in calling at all?

I called her name once more, anyway. Again, she didn’t answer.

What’d you expect? She’s miles away.

Feeling horrible, I hurried to the bathroom and took two Excedrins. Then I used the toilet, flushed, gave my hands a quick wash, and hurried to the kitchen.

My note to Eileen was flat on the kitchen table. I turned it over. She’d written a message on the back. A very simple message scratched with black ink in large, sprawling letters.

I’m outa here.

That was it. Nothing more.

I groaned.

‘Nice job, Logan,’ I muttered. ‘Real nice job. Fuck.’

I stumbled around the apartment for a couple of minutes. Eileen’s purse and bright yellow windbreaker were gone.

The girl in the pickup hadn’t been wearing a windbreaker.

Maybe she wasn’t Eileen.

She was Eileen, all right. Randy probably tore the windbreaker off her so he could enjoy the view while he drove. Probably put his hand inside her dress ...

He’s got her completely naked by now.

Feeling bludgeoned, I left my apartment and hurried downstairs.

The Fishers’ door was still wide open. Voices still came from their television. This time, I looked in as I walked by.

Mr Fisher, in his chair, raised a hand and said, ‘Hold on there, young fella.’ I waited while he pushed himself out of his chair and came to the door. He wore an old blue bathrobe and slippers. The robe wasn’t closed very well. ‘Case you’re wondering,’ he said, ‘your gal took off on you.’

‘When was that?’ I asked.

‘Oh, say ...’ He narrowed his eyes, nodded. ‘Yep, Nash was just about over with.’

‘Nash?’

‘Nash Bridges. You know. Has that Sonny Crockett in it, and that Cheech fella. Well, it gets over at eleven, and I had to miss me the end of the show ’cause of Holly coming by.’

Holly? She’d been here?

My heart thudded. I shriveled inside.

Not quite ‘over’ Holly, after all?

‘Reckon they likely caught the bad guys. Always do, you know. Show has that Baywatch gal in it. Now that’s a hot tomato.’

Did she break up with Jay?

‘Holly?’ I asked.

‘Nah, the name’s Yazzmeeeeen, something along those lines.’

‘You said Holly came by.’

Does she want me back?

‘Oh, her. Sure did. Your gal, Holly. Came by here all dressed up to beat the band ...’

‘Wearing what?’ I asked, already suspecting the truth. He’d seen Eileen, not Holly. I felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘that spiffy green dress. You know the one.’ He touched his bare belly. ‘Open down to here. I tell you, that’s a dress. She wasn’t too keen on me getting a good look at it, though ... put on her jacket pretty quick when she saw me.’

‘Was anybody with her?’ I asked.

‘Nary a soul.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I stood right here talking to her.’ He stomped a slippered foot on the floor. ‘She stood right where you are. Reckon I’d of known if she’d had someone with her. She didn’t.’

‘How was she?’

‘Mighty upset. She’d had herself a cry. You could tell ’cause of how her eyes was red. I says to her, “What’s the matter, Holly?” And she says, “Eddie up and left me all by myself.”’

I doubted that was what she’d said, exactly.

‘So she gets her jacket zipped up good and high and then she asks if I know when you took off on her. Well, I must’ve missed you going by, and told her so. Then I says I’ll keep an eye out for you when you come back, and does she want me to give you a message?’

‘What’d she say?’

‘Nothing right off the bat. She stands there and sorta thinks it over for a spell. Then she up and says, “No thanks, Walter” ... using my name like that. “No thanks, Walter,” she says, “I reckon I know where to find him.” Then she tells me “Goodnight,” and goes on her way.’

‘She was going to look for me?’

Walter nodded. ‘I’d say so.’

I muttered, ‘Shit.’

‘Give you a piece of advice, there, Eddie. That Holly, she’s a humdinger. Know what I mean?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Gals like that, they don’t come around every day.’

‘I know.’

‘Gotta treat ’em right.’

‘I try.’

‘Fucked up pretty good tonight, though, didn’t you?’

‘Sure did.’

Smiling at me like I was an old buddy, Mr Fisher gave me a none-too-gentle punch on the upper arm and said, ‘Go on out and find her, boy.’

Chapter Sixty

I climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door. ‘She’s gone,’ I said. ‘Her car’s still here, but she isn’t. I saw the landlord and he says she left the building a little before eleven. That’s about twenty minutes before I saw her in Randy’s pickup.’

Lois pulled away from the curb. ‘Do you know Randy’s last name?’

‘No. I don’t even know if his name’s really Randy.’

‘What about his truck?’

‘A light-colored Toyota pickup. White, I think.’

‘License plate number?’

‘Never got a look at it.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’

‘Where he lives?’

‘Yeah.’

‘How would I know that? I don’t know the guy. I’ve certainly never been to his house - if he even has one. I saw him for about ten minutes Tuesday night. That’s all. He forced me into his pickup and wanted me to take him to Eileen, but I got away from him. He chased me and I lost him and I haven’t seen him since ... not till tonight when he drove by with her.’

Listening to myself, I thought, It’s all real. He really does have her.

I muttered, ‘God.’

‘What does Randy look like?’

‘I don’t know, like he could be a male model or something. Like on the cover of a romance novel.’

‘Don’t read the stuff, myself.’

‘It ain’t Faulker,’ I said.

She turned her head and smiled. ‘Nope, it ain’t. But I know the look you mean. Bronze skin. Granite features. Muscles. Flowing mane of hair.’

‘That’s about it.’

‘What’s his hair color?’

‘Blond.’

‘Ash blond ... ?’

‘Golden.’

‘How old is he?’

‘I don’t know, thirty?’

‘Size?’

‘Bigger than me. Maybe six-two. And heavier, stronger.’

Nodding, Lois flicked on her turn signal. ‘He doesn’t sound like anyone I know.’

‘You wouldn’t want to know him.’

‘No, but I’d sure like to know who he is ... where to find him.’ She slowed down and made a right turn. ‘Any thoughts as to where he might take Eileen?’

‘Not really. Last I saw, they were just south of your house, heading north on Franklin. If he has a place in town, I guess it’s probably on the north side. The night he spotted me with Eileen, we were at Dandi Donuts. Maybe he lives near there. Or maybe he lives out of town and just drives in sometimes. Even if he does live in town, he might not take Eileen to his house. I mean, I wouldn’t.’

‘Where would you take her?’ Lois asked.

‘If I wanted to do really bad stuff to her?’

‘Is that what you think Randy has it mind?’

Feeling grim, I said, ‘I’m pretty sure it is.’

‘So where would you take her?’

‘Maybe into the woods. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about neighbors hearing or seeing anything. I wouldn’t have to move her body after I’m done with it. And I wouldn’t end up with traces of evidence in my house for the police to find.’

Lois turned her head toward me. ‘You’re not a killer yourself, are you?’

‘Nah. But I’m trying to be a writer. Apparently, I lean toward the morbid and grotesque. I suppose I think about murders and things like that more than most people.’

‘Well, if he took her into the woods, we’ll never find them.’

‘It’s just what I might do. Maybe Randy doesn’t like the woods. Or maybe he has good reasons to take her to his house or to some other building ... anyplace that’s closed at night. They’d at least be warmer than the woods. Not that it’s very cold tonight, but you might want to be in a nice, warm place if you’re going to ... you know, mess around with someone.’

Nodding, Lois turned a comer. Now we were northbound on Franklin Street. ‘We’ll stop at my house for a minute,’ she said. ‘Pick up a few things. Then we’ll drive around, see if we can spot Randy’s truck.’

‘What about calling the police?’ I asked.

Lois was silent for a few seconds. Then she said, ‘Not me.’

I remembered Eileen’s nine-one-one call on Wednesday night... and the strange lack of results.

‘They might be able to help,’ I said.

‘I have some things in my past.’

‘Oh.’

‘They don’t like me much.’

Smiling, I asked, ‘You’re not a killer, are you?’

‘Yes.’

She seemed serious. Still, I said, ‘You’re kidding.’

‘No.’

‘You killed someone?’

‘My husband.’

‘My God.’

‘He was also the brother of a local cop.’

‘Oh, my God.’

But wait, I thought. She’s not in prison. She’s sitting right next to me. ‘You weren’t convicted?’ I asked.

‘The charges were dropped. It was self-defense. But a lot of people think I should’ve gotten nailed for it. Particularly Joe’s family and his brother’s cop friends. So they haven’t got much use for me. If you want to call the cops, I can drop you off at a pay phone. Just please don’t bring me into it. Or Casey.’

‘Casey?’

‘They’d love to get their hands on her.’

‘What do you mean?’

Lois swung to the curb in front of her house and stopped the car. She kept it running, though. ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘You think girls her age are allowed to do what she does?’

‘Not really, but ...’

‘At the very least, they’ll put her in a foster home. At worst, she might be sent to a juvenile detention center. I hope that’s the worst. She doesn’t tell me everything. For all I know, she could end up in prison.’

‘I sure don’t want anything like that to happen.’

‘So if you bring the police into this situation, be very careful what you tell them. Leave me and Casey out of it.’

I nodded.

‘Should I take you to a phone?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘I know you want to help Eileen.’

‘I’ve got to. I’ve got to save her. If I can.’

‘What I’ve seen of the cops in this town,’ Lois said, ‘they’re not so great. It’s like we’ve got the bottom of the barrel. We used to have some good ones, but they left because it’s such a shitty department.’

‘You think I shouldn’t call?’

‘If you do, you might end up waiting on a comer all night. Or they might show up in an hour and not take you seriously, might figure you’re trying to make trouble for Eileen because maybe she went out with another guy. Or they might think you did something to her. That’s the way this bunch operates.’

‘From what I’ve seen,’ I said, ‘they aren’t very good.’

‘They’re fuck-ups. And even if a miracle happens and one of these guys believes your story, you’ve got nothing much for him to go on. You’ve got a description of the suspect, but no name, no address, no license plate number. The cops might be able to help somehow, but it’s not likely. The main thing is, Eileen has to be found fast. Here’s what I’d do. You and me, we go looking for the pickup truck. Maybe we’ll be lucky. If not, I’ll drop you off at a phone and you can go ahead and call the cops. How does that sound?’

‘Okay, I guess.’

‘You don’t sound very sure.’

‘I’m not.’

It seemed wrong not to bring in the police right away. They were professionals. They had the manpower to conduct a thorough search. Hell, one of them might know Randy, know exactly where to find him.

On the other hand, according to Lois, they’re fuck-ups.

I tended to believe her; apparently, they hadn’t responded at all to Eileen’s call on Wednesday night. A call reporting a murder.

If I get the cops involved, I’ll have to do it without Lois. I’ll be on my own. And they’ll force me out. As soon as they get my statement, they’ll be done with me.

We’ll take it from here, Mr Logan. You can go on home, now.

‘Let’s do it,’ I said.

Chapter Sixty-one

‘Wait here,’ Lois said. ‘It’ll be faster. I’ll be in and out.’

‘Sure.’

She climbed out of her car and ran to her house. She took the porch stairs two at a time.

Seeing a strip of light appear and widen when she opened the front door, it struck me that this was the same house Casey had entered the first night I followed her. Hidden in the darkness of the porch, she’d opened the door with great stealth as if breaking in ... or sneaking back into her parents’ house after a late-night rendezvous.

Why had she been so furtive about it? Who had she been trying to hide from? Certainly not from Lois.

Maybe Lois doesn’t live alone.

She seemed to live alone.

Maybe Casey sneaked in to surprise her.

On the other hand, perhaps her secretive behavior had nothing to do with who was inside the house, but rather with who might be outside.

Outside watching her.

Me?

Maybe not me in particular, but anyone who might be looking out a window or driving by or roaming the streets. She wanted nobody to know about her visits to Lois. Or about any of her activities, more than likely.

Where is she now? I wondered.

Doesn’t matter. What matters is saving Eileen. Take care of this, and there’ll be plenty of other nights to be with Casey.

I missed her, though. I’d wanted so badly to see her tonight.

Too badly. That’s why this happened. I should’ve stayed with Eileen.

She wasn’t supposed to wake up!

And if she did, she wasn’t supposed to leave.

I’m outa here.

Real nice.

Out of my apartment and into Randy’s pickup. He must’ve spotted her immediately after she came out of the building, before she could get to her car.

Did he just happen to be driving by?

Maybe he’d seen her earlier and followed her. Or seen me, for that matter. Found out where I lived. Staked the place out and bided his time, waiting for just the right moment.

However he did it, he did it. He got her. And now he’s going to give her the works.

He’s probably already doing it, I thought.

I looked at my wristwatch. 11:58.

What time had I seen them go by? Somewhere around 11:15 or 11:20. They were still on the road at that point. So if he took her someplace in town, they probably would’ve arrived there no later than 11:30.

So maybe he’d been at her for half an hour, so far.

Less time, if he took her farther away.

They might still be on the road, on their way to a secluded place in the woods or maybe a farmhouse outside of town or ...

If they are, I thought, she might be all right so far but we’ll never find them in time.

I heard the thud of Lois’s house door bumping shut. Then she bounded down the stairs. She hadn’t changed her clothes. Instead of her purse, however, she now carried an overnight bag. She hurried around to the driver’s side of her car, opened the door and swung her bag in. Its buckles jangled. I smelled leather. ‘Wanta put this on the floor?’

I took it from her. It was heavy. Leaning forward, I set it on the floor near my feet.

Lois climbed into the car, shut her door and started the engine. ‘I was hoping Casey might be there. She knows this town inside and out. Not to mention, she can get through doors like they aren’t even there.’

‘Any ideas where she might be?’ I asked.

‘Sure. In somebody’s house. Unless she’s roaming the streets or fooling around in a park or ... she might be almost anywhere. Most likely in a house, though.’

‘Like whose?’ I asked.

Shaking her head, Lois pulled away from the curb. ‘No sense in sitting still while we talk. Keep your eyes open for the pickup. I’ll check the parked cars on both sides of the street. You check the driveways the best you can. It was heading north on Franklin when you saw it, right?’

‘Right.’ I started watching the driveways.

‘So we’ll try going north till we hit the city limits, I guess, then maybe work out some sort of east-west pattern on the way back, try to hit every street. Of course, if he put his truck in a garage or something, we’re screwed.’

‘Or if he took her out of town.’

‘Well, this is what we can do. Like I said, maybe we’ll be lucky. If we strike out, I’ll drop you off at a pay phone and you can call the cops if that’s what you want to do.’

‘Sounds good,’ I said. ‘But what about Casey? Do you have any idea which houses she goes to?’

‘She’s told me about some of them. She has regulars. Certain houses - certain people - she visits from time to time. But I think a lot of it’s random. I can’t imagine she has any sort of fixed schedule. She’s what you might call a “free spirit.”’

‘I noticed.’

‘Maybe a little nuts.’

I smiled. ‘Think so?’

‘Who knows?’

‘Do you know why she does it?’

‘Why she goes into the houses?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I know it started one night when she was out roaming and someone went after her. She ran into a house to hide. Thought nobody was home, but she was wrong. They were home, all right, but asleep in the bedrooms. So she started to explore the house. God only knows what sort of buttons that pushed. Here’s a girl with - far as I know - no family at all, no home, and she’s in someone else’s home in the middle of the night. Almost like part of the family, but not part of the family. They’re asleep and she’s not. She’s sneaking around, looking at them, at what they’ve got in their closets and drawers and medicine cabinet and kitchen, looking at their books, their mail ... secretly participating in their lives.’ Lois shook her head. ‘I don’t know exactly how one thing led to another, but I know she got hooked. Pretty soon, it became her way of life.’

‘She’s actually friends with some of the people,’ I said.

‘Yeah. Every so often, somebody wakes up. Or comes home and catches her. She’s made a lot of friends. Me, for instance. I was having a pretty rough time a while back ... I’m still having a rough time, but it’s not so bad anymore. Mostly thanks to Casey. Have you ever had one of those dreams where you wake up crying?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I did. I used to have them a lot, especially right after what happened with Joe. Anyway, I woke up sobbing one night and someone was standing over me, stroking my face, saying, “It’s all right. Everything’s fine.” I guess I should’ve been terrified, waking up with a stranger in my room. But I didn’t feel that way at all. I felt ... peaceful and safe. That was the first time I ever saw Casey.’

‘Must’ve been nice,’ I said.

‘It was wonderful. She’s wonderful. But she’s also ... in such danger. Always in such danger. Things happen to her. They’re bound to, the way she wanders around all night and sneaks through houses. She’s had some terrible beatings. She’s been ... it’s not for me to tell you these things. She might not want you to know. But awful things have happened to her. You can imagine. And she’s had so many narrow escapes. I worry so much about her. But she is who she is. I wouldn’t want to change h:r.’

‘It would sure be nice,’ I said, ‘if we could find her tonight.’

‘She’ll probably turn up at my house sooner or later, but I don’t know when. For now, we’d better keep looking for Eileen.’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

Just about then, we drove past a house with a pale pickup truck parked in its driveway.

Before 1 could speak up about it, Lois hit the brakes.

‘Think that might be it?’ she asked.

‘I’ll take a look.’ I threw open the passenger door, leaped out, and ran toward the pickup.

A Nissan, not a Toyota.

I hurried back to Lois’s car and we resumed our search.

Chapter Sixty-two

‘This is probably far enough,’ Lois said. We’d left the town behind - along with all the streetlights and most of the houses. Even the paved sidestreets had disappeared. Woods were on both sides of us. Every so often, a dirt road led into the darkness.

‘He probably didn’t go this far,’ I agreed. And hoped.

No other headlights were in sight, so Lois slowed almost to a stop and made a U-turn. We were just into the city limits again when we came to a cross-street. Lois turned right on it. ‘Not many houses,’ she said. ‘But maybe we’d better go for a while just in case.’

‘Good idea.’

She drove fast. We kept our eyes open for pickups that might be Randy’s. After heading west for about a mile, she made a left turn, then another left and we headed east again, back toward Franklin.

A couple of blocks after Franklin, Lois made a right turn, then another right and we went west for a mile or so before cutting over to the next street and heading east.

Always watching.

Every so often, we came upon light-colored pickup trucks. Most of them were parked alongside the street or in the driveways of houses. Sometimes, I could tell from a distance that a certain pickup wasn’t Randy’s. Other times, I had to climb out of the car for a closer look. None was his. They were always the wrong make, or an older model, or had some sort of peculiarity: a bumper sticker or windshield decoration - dice or a troll or a graduation tassel hanging from the rearview mirror—that Randy’s pickup didn’t have.

A couple of times, we encountered light-colored pickup trucks in motion. One came toward us. Just as it went by, we could see that its driver was a husky man with a beard. Approaching another pale pickup from the rear, we saw that it had a built-in toolbox behind the cab.

Lois kept driving. We both kept looking. I watched for Casey as much as for Randy’s truck.

Then a pickup crossed an intersection a block in front of us.

‘Did you see that?’ I asked.

‘I saw it.’ Lois stepped on the gas. ‘Didn’t get a good look, did you?’

‘Huh-uh.’

‘Anything off about it?’

‘Not that I could see. It might be his.’

‘I couldn’t tell about the size, could you?’

I shook my head.

‘Looked white, though.’

‘If it’s Randy, why’s he still driving around town? I mean, he’s got her.’

‘Maybe he’s looking for you,’ Lois said and took the corner fast. The tires sighed. Almost tipping over, I grabbed the seatbelt strap up near my shoulder and held on tight.

When we came out of the turn, I could see red taillights far ahead of us, but not the vehicle itself. ‘Hope that’s it,’ I said.

‘Let’s find out.’ Lois sped up. At the next comer, we had no stop sign so we raced through the intersection. No traffic in either direction. Lois accelerated even more. We were gaining on the taillights.

I began to see the general shape of the vehicle. ‘It’s a pickup, all right.’

‘Thought so.’

‘What if it’s him?’

‘I’ve got a couple of guns in my bag.’

The leather satchel was on the floor between my feet. I remembered its weight.

‘The first thing we need to do,’ Lois said, ‘is see if it’s really him. Then we’ll—’

Out from between two parked cars just ahead of us came a bicycle.

Lois shouted, ‘Shit!’

Bright in our headlights, the old woman turned her head and grinned at us.

The bike hag!

Lois swerved.

But not in time. Not possibly in time. The bike hag was a dead woman. I imagined her coming at me over the hood, diving headfirst with her backward ballcap tight on her skull, her leering, whiskered face smashing through the windshield ...

Suddenly, she was no longer in front of us.

A van was. A parked van.

We crashed into its side with a roaring chaos of noise. I felt myself starting to fly forward, but was suddenly slammed back, bludgeoned across the chest.

Through the ringing in my ears, a voice. Lois, sounding like someone who’d just been beaten to the ground and kicked a few times. ‘Least I missed her.’

I grunted.

‘You okay?’ she asked.

I was still strapped in the passenger seat. Just in front of me, a limp cushion was sagging out of the dashboard. An air bag? Was that what had pounded me?

The windshield was still intact, somehow, but the front of Lois’s car was smashed and crumpled against the caved-in side of the van. Steam or smoke was rising from the engine area. I heard hisses, pings and clanks.

I looked at Lois. ‘Guess I’m okay. How about you?’

‘Just shaken up, I think. You gotta get outa here.’

‘Huh?’

‘Go. Take the bag.’

‘The bag?’ Did she mean the air bag?

‘The bag. On the floor.’

‘Uh.’

‘Hurry,’ she said.

I unlatched my seatbelt. Hunkering down, I found the leather bag near my feet. As I picked it up and set it on my lap, Lois opened her door.

‘Get going,’ she said, and climbed out. ‘Quick. Run.’

I opened my door. ‘What about you?’

She bent over and leaned in. ‘I can’t leave the scene. But you get outa here. Go. There’ll be cops. I don’t want ’em seeing what’s in the bag.’

I suddenly, finally, understood. So I climbed out with the bag, swung the door shut and turned around. Lois was staggering toward the rear of her car. ‘Sure you’re okay?’ I asked.

She said, ‘Come here. Help me.’

I hurried around the rear of her car. She hobbled toward me as if hardly able to stay on her feet. Though her hair was mussed, I saw no sign of blood or any other injury. Her blouse dropped off one shoulder.

‘Help me over to the curb,’ she said.

I put an arm around her. Supporting much of her weight, I walked her away from the wreckage.

All around us, people from nearby houses were rushing down their porch stairs, running across their lawns. Many of them wore robes. Some of the women had curlers in their hair. I spotted three people with cellphones.

In a quiet voice, Lois said, ‘You came by after the crash. You’re just a good Samaritan. Blend in, then disappear before the cops show up.’

‘Okay.’

‘Anybody still in the car?’ a man called out from somewhere behind me.

‘It was just me,’ Lois told him.

A woman with a cellphone yelled from her front lawn, ‘Police and ambulance’re on the way!’

‘Anybody hurt?’ asked a husky man running toward us from the other side of the street.

‘The woman might be hurt,’ I answered.

‘I’m okay,’ she protested. ‘Just... shaken up.’

‘What about the van?’ an elderly woman asked. ‘Anyone in it?’

‘Somebody better check.’

‘It’s mine,’ a man said. ‘Nobody better be in it. How the hell’d this happen?’

‘Herman, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Gonna matter to my insurance company. Anyone see how this happened?’

He was answered by a chorus of ‘No,’ and ‘Didn’t see a thing,’ and, ‘Heard this awful crash.’

‘Let me help,’ a man said, hurrying over to us.

‘Here,’ said someone else. ‘Here.’

I relinquished my hold on Lois and two men hustled her over to the curb and eased her down on the grass.

Someone far away yelled, ‘Has anyone called nine-one-one?’

Different people shouted, ‘Yes!’ and, ‘Taken care of,’ and ‘Already done.’

‘Nobody saw how it happened?’ The man sounded peeved.

‘Oh, hush up, Herman.’ The woman had to be his wife.

On the strip of grass between the curb and the sidewalk, a small crowd was gathered around Lois.

‘Where do you hurt?’ someone asked.

‘An ambulance is on the way,’ said someone else.

‘You’ll be fine.’

‘Don’t try to get up.’

‘Just lie still, dear.’

‘Any broken bones?’

‘Would you like me to call anyone for you?’

‘I’m sure the ambulance’ll be here any minute.’

‘I’ll go get her a blanket.’

That last voice was mine. Nobody looked at me, but I heard a couple of people say, ‘Good idea.’ Then the voices faded as I hurried across the street with the leather satchel swinging by my side.

By the time I heard any sirens, I was more than a block from the scene of the accident.

Chapter Sixty-three

Safely away, I had no idea what to do next. My head was aching again, my chest hurt from being struck by the air bag and my legs were shaky. I felt weak and trembly all over.

I was on my own. No companion. No car. Little or no hope of rescuing Eileen.

Thanks to the bike hag.

Miserable bitch!

Almost as if she’d pedaled in front of us on purpose to make us crash.

Nobody’s that nuts. It’s a miracle she wasn’t killed.

Good thing she wasn’t, though. Lois would’ve really been in trouble if she’d struck and killed an old woman on a bike. Hitting the parked van wasn’t nearly so serious. She might get cited for speeding. Her insurance rates might go up. No big deal.

Hope she’s all right.

She probably is, I told myself.

But what am I going to do?

Hurting and depressed, I longed to return to my apartment and go to bed.

Can’t give up.

Besides, even if I had to go home, I didn’t know where to find it.

Let’s figure out where I am.

I walked to the next corner and looked up at the street sign.

Beaumont and Pittman.

‘Huh?’

I didn’t know either street.

‘Shit.’

Standing at the corner, I looked in all four directions. The streets were bordered by lampposts and large trees. A wind was blowing the trees. The pavement was alive with waving shadows. I saw no approaching vehicles, no people. The houses looked pretty much like hundreds of others I’d seen while roaming the town. Old, middle-class homes, a mixture of one and two stories. Most had lights on, if only at their porches, but several were dark.

Where the hell am I?

I’m not lost, I told myself. This just happens to be the intersection of a couple of streets I’ve never heard of. Pick a direction, any direction, walk another block or two, and I’ll find myself back in familiar territory.

What if I don’t?

Left seemed like a good way to go, so I crossed Pittman Street and began walking up Beaumont. Or down Beaumont, perhaps, since I didn’t know whether I was going north or south.

Maybe I can figure it out.

Yeah, sure. The way my head hurt, the way I ached and trembled all over, I hardly felt capable of thinking at all.

But I tried.

Before our brief pursuit of the pickup truck, we’d been cruising the east-west streets, making our way gradually southward. After Lois took off chasing the pickup, she’d made a right turn. But which way had we been going just before that? East? Seemed like east, but I wasn’t sure. If it had been east, a right turn would’ve taken us southward.

But if we’d been heading west, the turn would’ve taken us to the north.

So which way?

Doesn’t matter. Even if I could figure out where we’d been at the time of the crash, I’d fled from the scene in a daze, focused only on getting away, paying no attention to my route.

Don’t worry about it, I told myself. I won’t be lost for long.

Not far ahead was another intersection.

I came to it and stopped. Still no traffic, no people. Only the shadows moved. And the limbs of the trees. And the leaves in the trees. And the leaves that had fallen off and were blowing through the night, some flying by as if on missions, some skidding and tumbling along the pavement.

I stepped closer to the signpost, shifted Lois’s heavy leather bag to my other hand, and tilted back my head.

Beaumont and Johnson.

Johnson?

I’d never heard of that street, either.

Moaning, I stepped off the curb. Might as well continue in the same direction.

This can’t go on much longer, I thought. It’s not a huge town and I’ve explored most of it. I’m bound to reach a familiar area pretty soon.

Familiar? It’s all familiar. Just not familiar enough.

I’d probably been on Beaumont Street before, but hadn’t paid attention to its name.

I’ll recognize the next one for sure.

I got there. To the left, a truck was parked at the curb. Not a pickup, but a large, boxy Ryder truck that blocked much of my view in that direction. To the right, the street had shadows and blowing leaves and parked cars and houses and nothing that gave away my location. So I lifted my gaze to the street signs.

Beaumont and Hamner.

Impossible. Another street I’d never heard of?

Where am I? What if I’m not in Willmington anymore?

Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. But chills crawled through me and my skin stiffened with goosebumps.

Take it easy, I thought. I’m still in Willmington. Nothing weird is happening. I temporarily don’t know where I am, that’s all. It won’t last much longer.

I stepped off the curb and began to walk across Hamner Street. Bring-bring-bringgg!

I jerked my head to the left, toward the sound of the bicycle bell. Saw the Ryder truck. Took a step backward as the bike came out from beside it, speeding toward me, the grinning old crone hunched over the handlebars, her bony knees pumping up and down as she cranked the pedals.

Bring-bringgg!

She’d come out of nowhere, this hag, this witch in her spandex and ballcap, and now she was suddenly bearing down on me like a nightmare phantom, awful as what lurks under the beds of terrified children, freezing my blood, bringing a scream up my throat.

The scream was nearly out when her hand came off the handlebars and flapped, waving me back. ‘Outa my way!’ she squawked.

Outa my way?

Outa my WAY???

Not a nightmare phantom, a pushy old bitch!

She zipped past me, missing me by inches, leaving in her wake a cloying scent of rose perfume.

‘Look out where you’re going!’ I shouted.

She raised her right arm, middle finger extended toward the sky.

That did it.

I shouted, ‘All right!’

She glanced back just in time to see me sling the long strap of the bag over my shoulder and break into a run. ‘Yeeeee!’ she squealed. Facing forward, she raised her skinny butt off the seat and pumped faster.

I dashed after her, the heavy leather bag swinging beside me, bouncing against my flank. At first, I gained on her. Then she was picking up speed, pulling away from me.

That’s it, I thought. She’s gonna get away. I must’ve been nuts to think I could outrun someone on a bike ... especially hauling luggage. Whatever Lois had in her bag - guns, flashlights, ammo? - must’ve weighed a good fifteen pounds.

Nuts, all right. I’m chasing an old woman! What if I do catch her? Do I beat her up? Turn her in to the police for causing Lois’s crash?

Moot point, I thought. I don’t stand a chance ...

The distance between us seemed to be shrinking.

She’s slowing down?

Of course, I thought. She’s an old woman. She’s wearing out. Down on her seat again, too tired to keep standing on her pedals.

I was still probably fifty feet back when she turned a corner. With a detour across the corner of a lawn, I cut her lead in half. I ran harder. Closed in. Harder. I was fifteen feet behind her. Ten. I poured it on, got closer to her and closer, my feet flying out, almost touching the rear tire of her bike.

I’ll give it a kick, I thought. A good, hard kick on the side of the tire and down she’ll go.

Don’t do it! She’s an old woman!

She made us crash! Made it so we can’t save Eileen! It’s all her fault and it was all on purpose!

Just as I kicked out at her rear tire, she sped up. My kick missed. My foot went out too far and came down crooked and somehow I tripped all over myself and went down.

Chapter Sixty-four

The worst part wasn’t my fall. The worst part wasn’t the jarring pain of my body striking the pavement or the burning in my hands and elbows and knees as I skidded. Nor was the worst part my blazing, thudding headache.

The worst part was after I’d pushed myself up to my hands and knees, when I raised my head and saw the old woman turn her bike around in a small, wobbly circle and start pedaling toward me.

Out of breath, I couldn’t curse or yell. I did, however, hear myself make a panicky, whimpery sound.

She pedaled harder, picked up speed, squealed, ‘Wheeeee!’ as she raced toward me.

I grabbed the leather handles of the bag and scrambled to my feet.

Guns in the bag, according to Lois. But it was shut with half a dozen zippers. No way to pull out a weapon in time.

Wouldn’t shoot the old bitch if I could.

Probably.

Hunkered over her handlebars, grinning like a lunatic, she looked as if she had every intention of running me down with her bike.

Bring-bringgg! Bring-bring-bringgggg!

As she bore down on me, I readied myself to make a last-instant dodge to one side or the other.

She’ll have a fifty-fifty chance ...

I launched the bag straight at her face and leaped to the right. The bike would’ve mowed me down, anyway, but it swerved aside at the very last moment as the old woman caught the heavy leather bag - not in her face, but in her two hands.

I stumbled, steadied myself against a parked car, and turned around.

Sitting up straight in her seat, the bike hag coasted away down the middle of the street not touching the handlebars at all- holding Lois’s bag high above her head like a trophy.

I had enough breath to cry out, ‘NO!’

The hag answered with a distant, ‘Hee-heeeee!’ and lowered the bag in front of her.

I was in no shape to chase her. My fall to the street had damaged me more than the car crash. The knees of my jeans were torn. So were the elbows of my shirt sleeves. My knees, elbows and palms felt as if they’d been smacked with bats and scraped raw. They burned. My head pounded and blazed. But I had to go after the old woman. I couldn’t let her get away with Lois’s bag- and guns.

About fifty yards ahead of me, she began to pedal. Though I ran as fast as I could, it wasn’t fast enough. I could feel blood trickling down my shins.

The gap between us grew and grew.

Off in the distance, she glided around a comer without even touching her handlebars, the bag clutched to her chest.

By the time I turned the comer, she was gone. I stumbled along for about half a block anyway, then slowed to a walk.

I’d lost her.

Lost Lois’s bag and guns.

Now the hag is armed.

I groaned.

I’d thought the heavy satchel would smash her in the face and knock her off the bike for sure.

Didn’t think, just reacted.

At the end of the block, the intersection grew brighter.

Headlights.

Not waiting for the vehicle to appear, I rushed over to the curb. I was on the sidewalk by the time the lights swung toward me. A tree hid me from them. After the lights swept by me, I peered around the side of the trunk.

A black van.

It looked exactly like the van from last night, the one that had stopped for me near the Fairmont Street bridge, the one with the woman behind the wheel and the men in back.

The van moved slowly along the street in my direction.

It’s probably not the same one, I thought.

Then I thought, what if the driver spotted me and she stops and the whole gang leaps out and comes after me?

Wouldn’t that be sweet?

Though the van moved slowly, it drove past my tree and continued along the street.

I stared at its rear, expecting the brake lights to come on.

Please please please.

They came on, glaring bright red, and my heart almost stopped. The van slowed down. Then turned right.

Yes!

But what if it’s a trick? Maybe I should stay with my tree for a while in case they circle back.

Good idea, I thought.

Rest.

I turned around and leaned my back against the tree and shut my eyes.

Just give it a minute or two, I told myself. Can’t go on like this, anyway. Besides, what’s the point? I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where Randy took Eileen. The hag rode off with the guns and I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where anyone is. Everything’s all fucked up.

And where, oh where, is Casey? If only Casey were here. She’s not.

Oh, there is no joy in Mudville.

At least I can rest.

Lying down would be better. Lying on the nice soft grass. But I couldn’t do that without moving and I didn’t want to move. Being slumped against the tree was fine.

‘I think that I shall never see
A bed as comfy as a tree ...’

I’ve got to get going.

Gotta find Eileen.

But how?

No idea.

Better find a phone and call the cops. Maybe they can find her.

If only I can find a phone.

Why not do it Casey’s way—sneak into the nearest house?

No no no no no no no.

Remember what happened last time.

Probably a pay phone over by Dandi Donuts. But where is Dandi Donuts?

‘Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to the sunless sea.’

No sacred rivers around here. Just the Old Mill Stream, and it’s miles and miles from Dandi Donuts.

And I have miles to go before I ...

Don’t fall asleep!

I won’t. Just resting.

Stop resting and go find Eileen. Randy’s got her.

I know I know I know. What I don’t know is what I can do about it!

Get moving, for starters.

I can’t.

Yes I can. Just push away from the tree and start walking.

In a second. Just give me a second.

Okay, maybe not right now. But pretty soon.

Soon.

Then I felt hands on my shoulders. Moments later, warm, moist lips kissed me on the mouth.

This is nice, I thought.

It got nicer.

Breasts pushed softly at my chest. Her flat belly met mine. She was pressed to my groin. Her legs were warm against my inner thighs. She seemed to be standing between my legs, leaning forward against me.

I moaned with pleasure.

I grew hard.

Her tongue slid along my lips, pushed into my mouth.

Who could this be? I wondered.

It’s no one. I’m dreaming.

Am I? It didn’t quite seem like a dream. The lips and tongue felt so real and wet and pliant. The breasts felt so springy, the belly so warm.

If it is a dream, I thought, it’s a very good one. Don’t wake up and ruin it. Whatever you do, don’t wake up. If you wake up, she’ll vanish.

Who’ll vanish?

The bike hag!

Chapter Sixty-five

Erupting with a squeal of horror, I shoved her away and opened my eyes and saw not the bike hag stumbling backward across the sidewalk, but Casey. She sat down hard on the grass of someone’s front lawn.

I gawked at her.

‘Ow,’ she said. The word didn’t come out like a gasp of pain, but like a comment.

‘Oh, my God! I never ... I had no idea it was you.’

She smiled up at me. ‘Good thing. Otherwise, I’d be offended as well as having a sore butt.’

I pushed away from the tree. Before I could reach her, she was already on her feet and rubbing the seat of her corduroys.

‘My God, I’m glad to see you.’ I pulled her gently against me. Her arms wrapped around me. I caressed her back through the softness of her chamois shirt.

As we held each other close, she asked, ‘What’s happened to you, Eddie?’

‘Rough night.’

‘I hardly recognized you.’

‘You go around kissing strangers?’

‘Oh, sometimes. I saw you from pretty far off ... this guy drooping against a tree. A wreck. I came over for a closer look. Couldn’t believe it was you. What’s going on?’

While I tried to figure out where to start, Casey eased away from me. Hands warm against my flanks, she stared into my eyes. She had no smile now. She looked serious, concerned.

‘A lot’s happened,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you everything, but ... the thing is, you know that guy Randy I was telling you about?’

‘How could I forget him?’

‘He took Eileen. I saw his pickup go by and Eileen was in the passenger seat.’

Casey winced. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m not completely sure of anything. But it looked like his truck and I’m almost positive it was Eileen. She wore the same dress ... She was sort of slumped in the seat like she was unconscious.’

‘When was this?’

‘I don’t know ... maybe an hour ago. Maybe longer.’ I took my hands away from Casey and tried to check my wristwatch. When I pressed the button to light its face, nothing happened. I moved the watch around until it caught the glow from a streetlight. The digital numbers were gone, the face blank. ‘Out of commission,’ I said.

‘But about an hour ago?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Which way was the truck heading?’

‘North,’ I said. ‘On Franklin Street. I ran after it for a while. Then Lois and I drove around looking for it in her car.’

‘Lois?’

‘Your friend Lois.’

‘My Lois? You know her? How on earth ... ? Never mind. It’ll keep. So you and Lois drove around?’

‘She was helping me try to find Randy and Eileen, but then we crashed.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘She’s okay. Neither of us really got hurt, but she had to stay at the scene of the accident. She sent me off ... didn’t want to get caught with guns in her car.’

‘Guns?’

“The plan was to rescue Eileen if we could find her. So I took off and then I had a run-in with the bike hag and she ended up with the guns.’

‘Bike hag?’

‘This loony old woman ...’

‘Oh. Old Missy.’

‘You know her?’

‘We’ve had encounters. I don’t know her name. She always calls me “Missy.” As in, “Move it or lose it, Missy,” when she suddenly shows up out of nowhere. So that’s what I call her, Old Missy.’

‘She’s the one who made Lois crash. Then later I chased her and tripped. That’s mostly how I got so messed up.’

‘She didn’t run you down with her bike?’

‘She tried.’

‘She’s hit me a couple of times,’ Casey said. ‘On purpose. Sweet thing.’

‘When she tried to run me down, I threw Lois’s bag at her. But she caught it. So now I’ve lost Lois’s guns unless we can find her again - Old Missy.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I can always get the guns back. Maybe not tonight, but ...’

‘We planned to use them for the rescue.’

‘There won’t be any rescue. Not unless you know where Randy took her.’

‘We were driving around looking for his pickup. But I guess that’s the end of that. Do you have any ideas? With all your night roaming ...’

She shook her head. ‘From what you told me, he doesn’t sound like anyone I know ... Maybe some guys I’ve seen around, but nobody in any of my houses. And pickups like his, there’re lots of those around.’

‘We noticed that.’

‘You and Lois?’

I nodded.

‘She’s a pretty cool gal, isn’t she?’

‘Sure is,’ I said.

‘Any ideas about what to do next?’

‘I was thinking about calling the police. They might not know how to find Eileen, either, but at least...’

‘You don’t want to call the police.’

‘That’s what Lois said.’

‘Let’s go over to Dandi Donuts.’

‘Glad to. Do you know where it is?’

‘Don’t you?’ she asked.

‘I’m all turned around. I don’t know where I am.’

‘Come on. It’s not very far.’ She took my hand and led me along the sidewalk. ‘That’s where Randy saw you with Eileen, right?’

‘Yeah. Monday night.’

‘And that’s where you had the run-in with him the next night, isn’t it?’

I nodded.

‘So that’s two nights he was at the donut shop. Maybe the counter guy knows who he is. Maybe he even lives somewhere near there.’

‘He was driving in that general direction when he went by with Eileen.’

‘So we’ll check it out.’

‘Worth a try,’ I said.

As we walked along, Casey moved closer to me and put her arm across my low back. She rested her hand on my hip. I put my hand on her back and she smiled at me. ‘I’ve been missing you,’ she said.

‘I’ve been missing you, too. A lot. That’s why I came out tonight in the first place - to find you. I just wanted to be with you. I never thought all this other stuff would happen.’

‘When you go out at night in this town, stuff always happens.’

‘It wasn’t like this last year. Last Spring. We hardly ever ran into trouble.’

‘Well, it does get worse in October. Seems to. October’s always the creepiest month.’

‘April is the cruelest month; October’s the creepiest? Maybe it’s because of Hallowe’en.’

‘The whole month’s weird.’ Casey smiled up at me. ‘Course, I sort of like it that way.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Keeps life interesting. So who were you roaming around with last spring?’

‘This girl, Holly.’ I felt no ache of loss or longing when I said her name. Maybe because I was saying it to Casey. ‘We were out pretty late sometimes.’

‘Holly last year, Eileen this year. You’re a busy fellow.’

‘She was the first girl I ever ... really cared about.’

‘You loved her.’ She didn’t ask, but stated it like a fact.

‘What makes you think so?’

‘I can just tell. The way your voice got funny when you started talking about her.’

‘Anyway, she dumped me.’

We walked in silence for a while. Then Casey said, ‘That wasn’t very nice of her.’

‘Well...’

She looked at me. ‘I’ll help you get her back.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll help you get her back. Holly. I’m good at that sort of thing.’ She cast a wry smile at me. ‘It’s what I do.’

‘What’s what you do?’

‘It’s one of my specialties. Fixing things up for people. Making things better. Maybe I can get you and Holly back together again.’

‘She’s in Washington.’

‘That might complicate things.’

‘Besides, I don’t want her back. I want Eileen back. Not that I’m in love with Eileen.’

‘You’re not.’

‘I just don’t want her to get hurt.’

As we approached the next comer, I looked up at the street sign. The intersection was Beaumont and Division.

Division!

A block to the right on Division, headlights were coming our way.

‘Ride or hide?’ asked Casey.

It might’ve surprised me that someone would think of playing a game while Eileen urgently needed to be rescued—but this was Casey.

Hiding would delay our journey to Dandi Donuts.

‘Ride,’ I said.

Chapter Sixty-six

Casey and I stood side by side on the comer, holding hands as the headlights approached.

Soon, I could make out the shape of the vehicle. Not a pickup, not a van. Just an ordinary midsize automobile. As it came nearer to us, however, it began to slow down.

The comer had no stop sign.

Slowing because of us.

‘Now what?’ I muttered.

Casey gave my hand a squeeze. ‘All part of the fun,’ she said.

‘Oh, yeah.’

She chuckled.

The car abruptly veered in our direction, crossed the center line and entered the lane beside us - meant for oncoming traffic.

‘Do you know who it is?’ I asked.

‘I don’t recognize the car.’

‘Wonderful.’

The windshield must’ve been tinted. I could see nothing through it except the dim, vague shape of the driver.

‘Be ready to run,’ Casey said. ‘Just in case.’

The car stopped by the curb. The driver’s window, tinted like the windshield, showed little more than a reflection. But it slowly glided downward.

A familiar voice called out, ‘I say, old bean, you do look a trifle the worse for wear. May I offer you a lift?’

‘Kirkus?’

His face appeared in the open window. ‘At your service, Eduardo. And yours, fair maiden. Rudolph Kirkus, here. My mates generally call me Kirkus. Or Captain Kirkus, if they’re feeling droll.’

‘I’m Casey,’ she said.

‘Casey, Casey. You must be the beckoning fair one who has stolen Eduardo’s heart! And lovely you are. ’Tis no wonder he’s mad for you.’

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked.

‘Matters this night are passing strange.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘How’s the old noggin?’

‘Not great.’

‘My vast apologies.’

‘What do you want, Rudy?’

‘Come with me.’

‘We’re in a hurry,’ I said. ‘We don’t have time for any games.’

‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ he said, his phony voice gone so he sounded like an ordinary guy. ‘But I need to show you something. Come on. Get in. Both of you. I’ll take you there.’

I looked at Casey.

She nodded.

I hurried to the car’s back door, pulled it open and climbed in. Casey came in after me and shut the door. Kirkus glanced over his shoulder at us, then faced forward again and started driving.

‘I felt miserable after our ... our little tiff earlier tonight. I’m so ashamed of myself.’

‘No problem,’ I said.

‘Oh, it is a problem.’ He seemed to be gradually regaining his usual Kirkus persona. ‘I know it is. I was simply devastated after you left ... after you escaped from my clutches, if you will. So I hurried on home to lick my wounds and ... to make a long story short, I found myself possessed by an urge to apologize, to put matters right between us, if possible ... and as soon as possible. You’d mentioned Dandi Donuts as your destination. Hoping to intercept you among the crullers, I borrowed a friend’s car and drove to the donut shop. You weren’t there, of course.’

‘We were on our way just now.’

‘Well. I arrived at the shop some time ago. Expecting you to appear at any moment, I sat myself down with a cup of tea and a croissant and waited. And I waited and I waited and I waited and still no Eduardo.’

‘I had delays,’ I said.

‘So it would seem. Well, I could only wait there so long. People were giving me odd looks. Bizarre individuals were coming and going. It’s really quite a dreadful place, you know.’

Looking out of the window, I saw that we were only about a block away from the donut shop. ‘Is that where you’re taking us?’ I asked.

‘More or less,’ Kirkus said. ‘You see, I finally quit my vigil. As I was walking back to my car, however, I came upon a most peculiar sight.’

‘What was it?’

‘See for yourself.’ Slowing, he swung toward the curb. He drove close to it, moving past a lamppost and parking meters and the narrow dark gap into which I’d run to escape from Randy on Tuesday night.

Nearing the rear of a parked car, he stopped.

‘Out,’ he said. His door flew open and he leaped into the street.

I swung open the curbside door, stepped onto the sidewalk, then held the door while Casey emerged.

‘Hurry, old man.’

When Casey was out, I shut the door. Then I took her by the arm and we turned toward Kirkus.

He stood facing the thrift shop’s display window.

Gazing in.

Staring in at the old mannequins that had disturbed me so much in the past. Rhett and Scarlet, frozen in time. Always the same, almost, while always gradually deteriorating. Rhett with half his moustache gone. Scarlet standing beside him in her gawdy red dress looking less like Scarlet O’Hara than a flapper from the Roaring Twenties ... more Zelda than Scarlet.

But tonight she didn’t wear the fringed and glittery red dress.

She wore a clingy gown of emerald green. Its neckline plunged almost to her waist, revealing a long V of bare skin that narrowed on its way down. Her left leg showed through a slit up the skirt.

‘That’s not her normal dress,’ Casey said.

‘It’s the same as Eileen’s,’ I muttered.

‘It is Eileen’s,’ said Kirkus. ‘It’s identical.’

‘There might be others ...’

‘Oh. puh-leease. This is not an identical dress; it’s the very same gown that she was wearing at dinner tonight. And now it’s adorning a store-window dummy. What, as they say, gives?’

I shook my head. I kept staring through the window, hardly able to believe what my eyes were showing me - and not wanting to believe what it seemed to mean.

‘Ed?’ Kirkus asked. ‘Do you know something about this?’

Feeling dazed, I answered, ‘I saw her. An hour ... more than an hour ago. She had the dress on. Went by in a guy’s pickup truck.’

‘She got snatched,’ Casey explained. And went around me and Kirkus and stepped into the entryway of the shop. A CLOSED sign was hanging inside the glass door.

Except for the lights of the display window, the shop was dark.

‘What’re you doing?’ I asked.

She tried the door. ‘Isn’t locked,’ she said. ‘It’s always locked at night.’

Kirkus glanced at me.

‘She knows these things,’ I explained.

Casey opened the door.

‘What’re you doing?’ I asked.

‘Going in.’

‘No, wait’

She waited, holding the door open, while I hurried over to her.

‘You’re not going inside,’ Kirkus said.

Casey gripped my forearm. Speaking in a hushed voice, she said, ‘This might be where he’s got her. There’s an apartment upstairs.’

‘Do you know who lives in it?’

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t been up there in a long time. It’s been a year, maybe longer. Nobody was living in it then. Looked like it was being used for storage. A lot of junk all over the place. But I don’t know ... people might’ve moved in since then.’

‘Maybe Randy,’ I said.

‘Could be.’

‘We’re right next door to the donut shop.’

Casey nodded. ‘Whether he moved in or not, he might have Eileen up there. It’s just the sort of place you’d want to take someone if... you know ... you wanted to mess around with her. We’d better go in and see.’

‘Wait wait wait,’ Kirkus said, coming closer to us. ‘You can’t simply sneak into a store in the middle of the night. It’s a criminal offense.’

‘Not if we’re invited,’ Casey told him.

Speaking as if he considered her mentally challenged, he said, ‘If this chap has absconded with Eileen, he isn’t likely to invite you inside.’

‘Already has,’ said Casey.

‘An unlocked door hardly suffices as ...’

‘It isn’t just the unlocked door. Why do you suppose he put Eileen’s dress on the dummy?’

‘Why, indeed?’

‘That’s the invitation. Addressed to us. To Ed, in particular.’

‘Oh God,’ I muttered. ‘You’re right.’

Casey gave a brisk nod. ‘He wants us to go in and look for her.’

‘All the more reason not to do it,’ Kirkus said.

I scowled at him. ‘What am I supposed to do? Just let him keep her and do whatever he wants with her?’

‘Call the police.’

‘No,’ I said.

Kirkus bent close to me. Speaking quietly and fast, he said, ‘It’s what’s done in such circumstances. One does not simply charge willy-nilly to the rescue. Not in real life, Eduardo. You’re not Joe Hardy. You’re hardly John Wayne. You’ll be breaking the law if you go in there, and you might very well get yourself killed. Especially considering that Nancy Drew here is so certain the dress was put in the window to lure you in.’

‘You don’t have to come with us,’ I said.

‘That’s not the point, dear fellow. The point is, you shouldn’t go in. Nobody should go in. Let’s find a telephone, instead, and ring up the authorities.’

‘I’m going in,’ Casey said. ‘You coming, Ed?’

‘Yeah.’

I followed her inside. Before shutting the door, I said to Kirkus, ‘Coming?’

‘I should say not.’

‘The game’s afoot, Watson.’

‘Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Sherlock.’

Almost smiling, I said, ‘Well, you might want to ring up the authorities if we’re not out in fifteen minutes.’

‘And have them arrest you for breaking in?’

‘Whatever.’

‘Ed, don’t be an imbecile.’

‘Later,’ I said.

Leaving him outside, I pulled the door shut.

Chapter Sixty-seven

We walked deeper into the thrift shop, leaving behind the glow of light from the display window. In the darkness in front of me, Casey halted and turned around. She put a hand on my arm and whispered, ‘Shoes.’

We both removed our shoes. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and leaned close to me. ‘You wait here,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll go upstairs and ...’

‘Not without me.’

She squeezed my shoulders. ‘I do this sort of thing all the time.’

‘But if Randy’s waiting for us ...’

‘He’ll never know I’m there.’

Her statement seemed more like pride - or wishful thinking - than fact. ‘I should go up with you,’ I said.

‘Better if you stay down here. I’ll just go up and scout around, find out what’s going on. Then I’ll come back and we’ll figure out what to do.’

‘God, I wish I hadn’t lost those guns.’

‘I don’t need a gun. I’ll be fine. But you wait here. Promise?’

I hesitated.

‘Promise,’ she said.

‘Okay. I promise.’

Leaning forward, she kissed me gently on the mouth. Then she whispered, ‘See ya,’ and slipped away from me. Standing motionless, I watched her glide away like a black shadow. She made no sound at all. In moments, she disappeared entirely.

Feeling sick inside, I turned around. Lights from the display window cast a yellow glow over the clutter of furniture and clothes racks between me and the front of the shop. I saw rocking chairs, piles of books and magazines on shelves and tables, dolls, old-fashioned kerosene lamps, statues, vases and all sorts of nicknacks. Hanging on the wall behind the cashier’s counter were velvet paintings of Jesus and John F. Kennedy and Jerry Garcia, along with a stuffed ‘jackalope,’ the head of a deer, and a barn owl with a snake clutched in its beak. A variety of swords and spears were also mounted on the wall.

While making my way toward the counter, I looked out the display window. The mannequins and some other items blocked only a small part of my view.

Kirkus seemed to be gone, but his car was still parked at the curb. Maybe he’d decided to wait for us in the donut shop.

Or had he gone off to phone the police?

No, I thought. Whatever else is going on with Kirkus, he won’t do anything that might get me arrested.

I stepped quietly around one end of the counter, reached high up the wall with both hands and lifted a katana off its hooks. Silently, I drew the Samurai sword out of its sheath. I set the sheath on the counter, then carried my new weapon toward the rear of the store.

Halting in the darkness, I listened for Casey.

What’s taking her so long?

I stood motionless and barely breathed.

Sounds seemed to be coming from all around me. Quiet sounds. The ticking of clocks. The soft hums, perhaps, of various electrical appliances. Along with barely perceptible sounds I couldn’t recognize - perhaps old things slowly drying up, coming apart a little bit at a time: threads of old coats popping, book paste cracking, maybe the stuffed head of the deer decomposing ever so slightly, the shop itself creaking as its boards aged and loosened.

For the first time, I noticed the aroma of the place. It smelled of old clothes and older books. And stale cigarette smoke. And pine-scented floor wax and dust. I caught whiffs of cloying sweetness, too. Underlying all the other odors seemed to be a sour fragrance of sweat and urine.

I should sneak upstairs and find Casey, I thought.

No. I can’t go back on my word.

What if Randy got her?

I could at least look for the stairway. That wouldn’t be breaking my promise, would it?

Holding the katana with both hands and upright in front of my shoulder - rather like a batter with my Louisville Slugger, relaxing a bit before the next pitch - I walked slowly toward the back of the shop.

I was making my way through almost total darkness when someone touched my chest. It surprised me, but didn’t frighten me. I knew who it had to be. ‘Eddie,’ she whispered.

‘Yeah.’

‘I found her. She’s upstairs.’

‘Is she okay?’

‘You’d better come up and see.’

‘She isn’t dead, is she?’

‘No.’

‘What about Randy?’

‘I looked around the best I could without showing myself. If he’s up there, I didn’t see him. Maybe he’s gone. I don’t know.’ She patted my chest. ‘Come on, and bring the sword.’

‘You can see it?’

‘You’re backlit.’

‘Oh.’

‘Can you hold it with one hand?’

‘Sure.’

‘Then give me your other.’

I gripped the sword with my right hand and reached out into the darkness with my left. Casey took hold of it. She gave it a squeeze. ‘Ready?’

‘Yeah.’

She led me forward. We walked slowly through the darkness, taking a route with so many turns I quickly lost track of our direction.

It’s like a maze in here, I thought.

No wonder Casey had been gone so long.

Though I held her hand in mine, I couldn’t see her in front of me.

Why aren’t we crashing into things?

She must have spectacular night vision, I thought. Probably comes from spending her nights sneaking around in people’s dark houses.

Every so often, a floorboard creaked. Otherwise, we moved in complete silence.

‘Stairs,’ she whispered.

We began to climb a steep, narrow stairway. It had a banister on the right side. I couldn’t hold on to the banister, but my hip kept bumping against it Sometimes, my left shoulder nudged the other side of the staircase. We were surrounded by utter silence, utter darkness. The air itself seemed heavy and hot and black.

At a landing, we turned a corner and light appeared above us. A murky, shimmering, ruddy glow in the shape of a rectangle - a doorway?

Casey blocked much of the glow as she climbed toward it. Near the top, she released my hand Crouching lower and lower, she climbed the final stairs. Then she crept through the doorway, crawled to the left and stopped when only her bare feet were still in sight.

I moved up silently. Squatting, I looked through the doorway.

The staircase apparently opened into the comer nook of a room. I could see little more than three poorly lit walls and Casey, on her hands and knees, peering around the comer.

I set the sword down silently on the floor between us, then crawled forward, staying so close to Casey that I brushed against her side.

Just when I realized her head might be in the way of my view, she eased herself down flat against the floor.

I peered around the comer.

The only light seemed to come from burning candles. I could see plenty of them, but had no doubt there must be others out of sight. They filled the room with a golden, trembling glow, shadows that shifted and writhed, and scattered swaths of darkness.

Even in good light, I probably couldn’t have seen much of the room; the clutter got in the way. It was like looking into a dense forest of statues, chairs, coat racks, tables, mirrors, figurines, lamps, chests of drawers, storage cartons, vases, mannequins and a thousand other things.

Someone, however, had cleared a wide pathway through the junk.

The pathway led straight to Eileen.

She stood near the middle of the room, about twenty feet in front of us, facing our way, naked, surrounded by a couple of dozen burning candles. Her arms were stretched out to either side, elevated slightly higher than her shoulders and secured by handcuffs to a couple of thick upright posts that were just beyond her reach. She was neither blindfolded nor gagged. Her feet weren’t tied at all. She stood on them. Though her head was drooping so she couldn’t see us for the moment, she seemed to be conscious, standing upright rather than hanging by her wrists.

Her wet skin gleamed in the candlelight. Most of her scrapes and scratches and bruises looked like those she’d sustained Wednesday night when we were attacked under the bridge. I saw no fresh blood, but she had ruddy areas on her breasts and belly and thighs that looked recent. . ‘Eileen?’ I called.

As Eileen raised her head, Casey squirmed backward to get out of sight.

‘It’s me,’ I said.

Eileen started to weep.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked. Dumb question.

‘Not really.’

‘Where is he?’

‘I... I don’t know.’

‘Is he up here somewhere?’

‘I think so. I’m not sure. I think he’s ... hiding someplace.’

‘You bet I am, pal.’ Randy’s voice came from somewhere deep in the room, somewhere in the region near Eileen.

Chapter Sixty-eight

‘I’m glad you found us,’ he said. ‘I was hoping you would. It took you a while, though. I’m afraid we had to go ahead and start without you.’

‘What do you want?’ I asked.

‘I’ve already got half of what I want. The other half’s you.’

‘Okay, I’m here.’

‘Did you come alone?’

‘Yeah.’

I glimpsed a flick of movement. Crying out, Eileen flinched and twisted and jerked her knee up, losing her balance. She would’ve fallen if not for the handcuffs securing her to the posts. As she stood there on one foot, I saw she had a dart in her leg. A small, feathered dart - the sort they use in pubs - was sticking out from the side of her left thigh.

‘Hey!’ I yelled.

‘You told me a fib. You’re quite the liar, Ed. I learned, among other things, that your lady friend’s name is not Sarah LaFarge. Is it, dear?’

‘No,’ Eileen said, her voice high and trembly. A thin line of blood was now dribbling down her leg from the dart wound.

‘And she does indeed put out for you. She puts out for me, too. Don’t you, Eileen?’

‘Yes.’

‘And now, Ed, you’re telling me that you came here alone when I happen to know otherwise. Tell me about your friends.’

Friends. Plural. It wasn’t simply that he’d spotted Casey when she came up to scout around. He must’ve seen us arrive in the car.

‘Casey and Kirkus,’ I said.

‘Which one’s the fag?’

‘Kirkus.’

‘That would make the other one Casey. Looked like a real honey, what I saw of her.’

Casey, still by my side but farther back than before, pushed herself silently to her hands and knees.

‘I’d like to see the rest of her. I wanta see the fag, too. Fact is, how about all three of you stepping out where I can get a good look at you?’

‘They aren’t here.’

Another dart flew out of the shadows and hit Eileen. This one stuck in her ribcage just below her left breast. She flinched and squealed and went up on her tiptoes, twisting, jerking at the cuffs.

‘Stop that!’ I yelled.

‘You lied.’

‘I did not! Kirkus ... he didn’t come in with us. He was scared. I don’t know where he went, but he stayed outside.’

‘And what about Casey?’

‘She’s downstairs. She never came up. She’s my lookout. She’s supposed to warn me if anyone shows up. Cops or something.’

No more darts flew out at Eileen. Not for the moment, anyway.

‘You’d better be telling the truth,’ Randy said.

From the direction of his voice and the darts, he was apparently somewhere to Eileen’s left and slightly in front of her. So much junk stood between us, however, that I couldn’t see him. Nor did I stand any chance of reaching him quickly.

‘I’m telling the truth,’ I said.

‘You’d better be.’

‘I am.’

‘If there are any untoward developments ... the unexpected arrival of your fairy friend, for instance ... or the cops ... Eileen’s situation will deteriorate rapidly. Do you see how I have her cuffed?’

Two sets of handcuffs. One bracelet of each encircled each of Eileen’s wrists. At the end of their short chains, the other two bracelets were fastened to thick steel rings that seemed to be bolted into the posts on each side of Eileen, slightly higher than her head.

‘Setting her free won’t be fast and easy, will it?’

He was right about that. I answered, ‘No.’

‘And do you see the candles surrounding her?’

The candles that I could see formed a rough circle around her feet. They were close enough that she could kick them over if she tried ... or by accident. Each slender candle, standing by itself in a small holder, was eight to ten inches tall.

‘I see them,’ I said.

‘Easily tipped over, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Now note what I’ve put under them.’

Spread out beneath the candle holders—and Eileen’s feet—was what looked like an old-fashioned patchwork quilt.

‘A quilt,’ I said.

‘Yes it is, Ed. And I took the trouble of dousing the quilt with lamp oil.’

‘Lamp oil?’

‘An odorless petroleum product. We sell it in the shop to go with various kerosene lamps. It’s highly flammable. If just one candle should happen to fall over ... whoof! Poor Eileen.’

‘You’re up here, too,’ I said. ‘I’m between you and the stairs.’

‘I have other ways out, stupid. Eileen, however ... she’ll have only one way out if a fire starts ... up in smoke!’ As if surprised by his own wit, he laughed. Then he muttered, ‘Good one.’

In my mind, I saw flames erupting around Eileen. I saw a sudden look of horror in her eyes. I watched her writhe in agony and struggle against the handcuffs. I heard her screams. I saw her hair catch fire. I watched her skin blister and crack, heard it sizzle.

‘Just tell me what you want,’ I said. ‘Okay? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.’

‘First, no surprises. Complete cooperation from you and your friends.’

‘I don’t know where Kirkus is.’

‘Just so he doesn’t interfere.’

‘If he tries to interfere,’ I said, ‘I’ll take care of him. Just don’t go starting any fires, okay?’

‘We’ll see. Now, you told me that the girl is keeping lookout downstairs. Casey?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Go down and get her. Bring her up here.’

‘What for?’

Another dart hit Eileen. The point of this one sank into the side of her left breast. She cried out, ‘Ah!’ and thrashed with the sudden pain, her breasts swinging and leaping. The rough motion only went on for a few seconds. When she settled down, the dart was still in her breast but it dangled as if almost ready to let go.

Sounding patient and slightly amused, Randy said, ‘Go downstairs and get Casey. Bring her up here. We’ll be waiting. Won’t we, Eileen?’

Sobbing, Eileen blurted out, ‘Yes.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll do it. Might take a few minutes.’

‘Remember, no surprises.’

‘I know.’ I crawled backward.

Casey, already on her feet, pulled my arm and helped me stand up. As I turned toward her, she touched a finger to her lips. Then she moved ahead of me through the doorway. I followed her..

Making no sound that I could hear, she vanished down the dark stairs. I went down after her, one hand on the railing.

At the bottom, I felt a tug on the front of my shirt. Casey pulled me along behind her on a twisting route toward the front of the store. When we reached the glow from the display-window lights, she stopped and faced me.

‘What was he doing to her?’ she asked.

Staying out of sight, Casey hadn’t been able to watch.

‘He threw darts at her. He got her three times.’

‘Oooo.’

‘Maybe you’d better get out of here,’ I said.

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly. I stroked her hair. It was damp, and so was the nape of her neck. ‘I don’t think so,’ she whispered.

‘I can’t have you getting hurt.’

‘Eileen’s up there because of us,’ she whispered.

‘It’s not your fault,’ I said.

‘Sure it is. You weren’t with her tonight because of me. Anyway, it doesn’t matter whose fault anything is. What matters is, we have to save her.’

‘I don’t know how.’

‘A good fire extinguisher might help. There must be one. They’re required, a place like this.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m the house inspector, remember?’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘Store inspector, too. You can’t have a store without a fire extinguisher.’

‘I don’t know how we’d find it in time,’ I said. ‘And there might not be one, anyway. Even if this place had one, I don’t think Randy did all this on the spur of the moment tonight after he grabbed Eileen. He probably got most of it ready in advance. And I bet he didn’t leave any fire extinguishers lying around.’

‘Maybe he took one up with him,’ Casey said, ‘just in case.’

‘Maybe.’

She let go of me and stepped away. ‘We’d better get back up there.’

‘Not you.’

‘Yes, me.’

‘Casey...’

‘Don’t worry.’

‘Don’t worry?’

‘I can take care of myself.’

‘Famous last words.’

‘Been doing it for eighteen years and I’m still here. Still hail and hearty - mostly.’

‘Jesus, Casey.’

‘Let’s go.’

I reached out to grab her, but my hand found empty darkness. I tried to go after her, but bumped into something that fell with a clatter. When that happened, I remembered the flashlight in my pocket. I pulled it out, twisted its front, and a narrow beam of brightness reached out.

I couldn’t find Casey with it, though.

Chapter Sixty-nine

With the flashlight to show me the way, I hurried through the labyrinth of the thrift shop, found my way to the rear, discovered the staircase and started to climb. At the landing, I saw Casey in the shimmery glow of the upstairs doorway. She stood there, apparently looking down at me. I pocketed my flashlight and climbed toward her, but she backed away.

‘Wait,’ I whispered.

Before I could reach the top, she turned her back to me and stepped around the comer. ‘Here I am,’ she said, her words loud and meant for Randy.

The katana was still on the floor where I’d left it. I walked past it, went to Casey and stopped by her side.

Straight ahead of us was Eileen. While we’d been downstairs, the dart in her breast must’ve fallen out. It lay on the quilt by her left foot. The other two darts were still embedded in her. She looked much the same as before. A little bloodier, though. And she had probably been crying the entire time we were gone. Her eyes were red, her face shiny with tears, her nose running. She sniffed and blinked as she stared at us. Then she shook her head slightly, but I’m not sure what she meant by it.

‘How are you doing?’ I asked.

A comer of her mouth twitched as if she were trying to smile. ‘Been better,’ she said. Her tongue came out and licked at the mucous dribbling toward her upper lip.

‘I’m sorry about all this,’ I told her.

‘Thanks for ... trying to help.’ She looked at Casey. ‘You, too. Thanks.’

‘We’ll get you out of here,’ Casey said.

‘Bravado from the cutie!’ Randy’s cheerful voice came from somewhere beyond Eileen’s right side. While we’d been downstairs, he had moved. ‘And what a cutie you are! No wonder Ed dumped Eileen for you.’

‘Nobody dumped anyone,’ I said.

‘Casey, let’s see what you look like without your clothes on.’

The request didn’t surprise me much. Something like this was to be expected, considering Randy’s treatment of Eileen. But it made me go cold inside.

Casey, staring in the direction of the voice, was frowning slightly and breathing hard.

‘You don’t have to,’ I whispered. ‘Just go. Run. Get outa here.’

In a loud voice, she said, ‘No problem.’ Then she started to unbutton her shirt.

‘I’m all eyes,’ said Randy. ‘Are you all eyes, Ed?’

‘Go to hell,’ I said.

My words bought Eileen a dart. It stuck in her right side, just below the armpit. She yelped and jerked.

I shouted, ‘No!’

She shouted, ‘Fuck!’

‘I’m sorry!’ I blurted at her.

She cried out, ‘Don’t piss him off!’ Then she broke down sobbing.

‘Okay,’ Casey called out, and dropped her shirt to the floor. She didn’t have a bra on. Making no attempt to cover herself, she stood there with her arms down. Beside and slightly behind her, I couldn’t see her front. But Randy probably could.

‘Very nice,’ he said.

The tops of her shoulders were golden in the candlelight. Her bare back was in shadow. She didn’t have a belt on. Her tan corduroy trousers were low around her hips.

‘Now let’s see you feel yourself,’ Randy said. ‘We’ll pretend your hands are mine. Do something nice with them.’

She nodded slightly. I saw her right arm bend at the elbow. From elbow to hand, it disappeared in front of her. Disappeared from my view, though certainly not from Randy’s.

Her upper arm and shoulders moved. Though I couldn’t see for myself, I knew she must be using both hands to fondle her breasts. She was squirming slightly, almost as if she enjoyed it.

‘You don’t wanta be missing this, Ed. Get around in front of her and watch.’

I didn’t want to. I knew it would be wrong to observe Casey as she debased herself for Randy’s enjoyment. Besides, if I moved to the front of Casey, she would be able to see that I was erect.

But if I don’t do it, I thought, he’ll get Eileen with another dart.

Before I could move, Casey turned around and faced me. She met my eyes. Then her tongue slid across her lips and I looked down at her hands. They were cupping the undersides of her breasts, her thumbs rubbing her nipples.

‘You’ve got yourself a hot one, Ed.’

Casey slid her right hand down her belly, pushed it under the waistband of her corduroys and it went lower until her hand was gone to the wrist. It moved around down there, disturbing the front of her pants with fingers and knuckles. Her other hand pulled at the nipple of her left breast. She stared at me, her eyes half shut, and slowly squirmed.

‘Girl,’ called Randy, ‘take those pants off.’

She pulled her hand out. With shiny wet fingers, she unfastened the button at her waist. Then she drew the zipper down. Bending at the waist, she lowered the corduroys to her ankles.

She remained bent over.

‘Casey?’ Randy asked.

She straightened up and looked in the direction of his voice. Her corduroys were piled around her feet. She still wore a pair of powder-blue panties. Down low at the crotch, they were soaked and clinging to her.

‘Very good,’ Randy said. ‘This is going just fine. You’re really a great looking kid, Casey.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t you think so, Ed?’

My throat was tight and dry, but I said, ‘Yeah.’

‘Now it’s your turn.’

‘Me?’

‘Off with the clothes, pal.’

‘What... ?’

‘For godsake do it!’ Eileen snapped.

Casey nodded at me and said softly, ‘Go ahead.’

‘Then we’ll all be naked and happy,’ Randy called out in a cheery sing-song.

Casey turned her head. ‘Should I help him, Randy? It’ll speed things up.’

‘Sure. Why not. No tricks, though. We wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of our wonderful time and turn it ugly, would we?’

‘No, we wouldn’t,’ said Casey.

She stepped up to me, actually smiled, then sank to her knees. Facing the bulge in my pants, she said. ‘You get your shirt off, I’ll take care of the rest.’

While I worked at the buttons of my shirt, Casey unbuckled my belt, opened the waist of my jeans and slid the zipper down.

It seemed impossible that such things could be happening. Such wonderful things, such awful things. I felt as if I were caught between the horrors of a nightmare and the astounding lust of a wet dream.

As Eileen watched, I took my shirt off.

Casey slid my jeans and underwear down my legs.

Unconfined, I relished the feel of air against my rigid tightness. And felt a mixture of shame and delight at having Casey’s face inches away.

‘Wow,’ she said.

‘Wow what?’ Randy asked.

‘It’s a beauty.’

‘Oh?’

‘You wouldn’t believe the size of this thing.’

‘You sound as if you’ve never seen it before.’

‘I haven’t.’ Tilting back her head, Casey smiled up at me. She slid a finger up the underside of my penis, and I shuddered.

‘Don’t tell me he’s never fucked you.’

‘Never,’ Casey said. ‘Not yet.’ Leaning forward, she opened her mouth. I felt her moist lips.

Eileen stared at us, blinking rapidly. Even though Casey’s head was in the way, she must’ve had a pretty good idea what was going on.

We’re doing it to save you, I told her in my mind. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

But it does, I thought. Oh, it does.

Casey’s lips glided, slippery, down my flesh as she sucked me deep into her mouth.

‘What’s going on there?’ Randy asked. He sounded a little worried.

‘She’s, uh ... she’s ...’

‘Is that little scamp giving you head?’

‘Uh.’

I was about to explode into her mouth, but suddenly it slid away with a quiet slurpy sound. She again smiled up at me for a moment before dropping gracefully backward and catching herself with stiff arms.

Only her hands and feet touching the floor, her knees wide apart, she scuttled away from me, silently moving head first toward Eileen.

What’s she ... ?

I suddenly understood.

When Casey had bent over to pull down her corduroys, Randy had called out her name - because he’d no longer been able to see her.

After she’d stood up again, Randy hadn’t ordered her to remove her panties. He’d assumed she was naked.

He hadn’t been able to see my erection, or even Casey’s head as she sucked me.

He can’t see that low!

Based on that conclusion, Casey was now off to the rescue.

And it was my job to play along.

I watched how her breasts jiggled and wobbled. I watched the shiny dark crotch of her panties.

Moaning, I writhed and reached down as if stroking her head, as if she were still kneeling in front of me, sucking.

Eileen watched both of us, a strange look on her face.

I gasped, ‘Uh! Uh! Yes!’

Randy called out, ‘Whooeee, go for it!’

I grunted and squirmed.

‘Suck him honey! Suck him good ’n’ get ready for me!’

Though half dazed with lust and hope, I suddenly realized that Randy’s voice had come from a different location.

Somewhere nearer than before.

Chapter Seventy

I continued my mime, acting as if Casey were still on her knees in front of me even as I watched her scurrying closer and closer to Eileen.

At the edge of the quilt, she stopped the strange crab-walk, lowered herself to the floor and rolled over. She squirmed onto the quilt on her belly like a soldier going under barbed wire.

Braced up on her left elbow, she reached forward with her right arm and pinched the wick of the nearest candle. The flame died between her thumb and forefinger.

‘Oh, cute.’

Randy’s voice. Behind me. I whirled around. The aisle of cleared floor between me and the comer was empty at first. Then Randy leaped out from the side. He slid on his bare feet, stopped himself and turned toward me. He wore a bandage on his right thigh where I’d stabbed him with the pen on Tuesday night. Otherwise, he wore nothing.

Naked and happy.

He was aroused, smiling and holding a pistol in his right hand.

Eileen shouted, ‘Watch out!’

He raised the pistol. It looked like a small semi-automatic. ‘Outa the way,’ he told me. ‘Move!’

Straightening up, I glanced over my shoulder. Casey was still on her belly, busy snuffing candles. Many were already out, but others still burned. Down like that, she would be a hard target. But Eileen would be easy, upright and shackled between the two posts.

I faced Randy and spread my arms like a basketball player trying to block a shot.

Still smiling, he said, ‘Dumb fuck,’ and shot me.

The noise was a quick, flat bang. A .22? The pain was a sting on the right side of my ribcage.

I ran at him.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard him say, ‘All right.’ He aimed at my face as I rushed him, then smirked and lowered the pistol and shot me in the thigh. My leg went out from under me. I slammed against the floor in front of him. Then he fired twice more, but nothing else hit me.

Somewhere behind me, a girl cried out in pain.

Randy laughed. ‘There.’ he said.

Eileen cried out, ‘You fucking bastard!’

‘You should thank me,’ he said. ‘She was your competition, stupid.’

I lurched forward and tried to grab Randy’s feet, but he easily stepped out of the way. ‘You want me, Ed?’ he asked. ‘The feeling’s mutual.’ Suddenly, he leaped past me. Crouching over me, he pulled at my arms, turned me, rolled me onto my back. He no longer held the pistol. I wondered where it was.

Then he was kneeling above me, stretching my arms out, pinning me to the floor. ‘Gonna give you the works, Eddie boy. Just like I promised.’ He lowered himself on to me. I felt his erection against my belly, his mouth on my mouth, his tongue pushing in.

Suddenly, he pushed himself up. Braced above me on his hands and knees, he said, ‘We’ll have us a real good time. But first things first. Gotta get me a taste of the honey while she’s still fresh.’

Casey.

‘No,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back.’

Then he stuck his forefinger into the hole in my thigh. Pain blasted through me. I must’ve blacked out, but not for long.

I returned to consciousness with Eileen’s voice ripping through my head. ‘Let go of her you fucking bastard! Leave her alone! Don’t! Stop that!’

I sat up and saw Randy staggering backward, dragging Casey by her ankles. Apparently, he wanted her clear of the fuel-soaked quilt before having his fun with her.

She’d done a good job, but several candles still burned.

Eileen, sobbing and grunting, thrashed between the posts like some sort of female Samson trying to stop the horror by bringing down the building. But the posts held firm. So did the handcuffs.

Though pain soared through my body, I struggled to my knees. I tried to stand up, but my leg wouldn’t let me. So I crawled.

I crawled toward them as Randy, with his back to me, dropped to his knees between Casey’s legs and tore off her panties. Crawled toward them as Eileen bucked and thrashed between the posts, specks of sweat flying off her hair and off her gleaming skin, three darts still protruding from her body.

‘I’ll kill you, Randy!’ she cried out. ‘Leave her alone or I’ll kill you!’

He didn’t leave her alone.

I crawled as fast as I could. I tried to stand up, but I fell. Disturbed by the sound, Randy looked over his shoulder. Seeing me down, he laughed. ‘Gee, guy, I don’t think you’re gonna save the day after all.’

Then he turned his head away and sank down on top of Casey.

I shouted, ‘NO!’

Eileen cried out, ‘Don’t!’

Randy’s white ass flexed as he thrust Each time he pounded into her, Casey’s small, bare feet jerked slightly.

Then I heard quick, soft thumping sounds and felt the floor shaking under my body and wondered what was going on. Eileen stopped moving. Randy stopped thrusting. Pushing at the floor, he arched his back and looked over his shoulder.

This time he didn’t laugh.

Someone leaped over me.

Ran straight at Randy.

My view was partly blocked by the tall, running man, but I saw plenty.

Saw that the running man was Kirkus. Saw Randy try to climb off Casey. Saw Kirkus swing the katana. Saw Randy raise an arm to block it and saw his upraised hand leap off and fly into the clutter, spraying blood, waving goodbye to us all.

Chapter Seventy-one

Kirkus, as if shocked and exhausted by what he’d done, lowered the sword.

Eileen swayed on her feet, panting for breath.

Randy, on his knees between Casey’s legs, held up the spurting stump of his arm and cried out, ‘I need help! Somebody help! Call an ambulance!’

‘Puck you,’ gasped Eileen.

Groaning, I pushed myself up to my hands and knees.

And saw one of Casey’s small, bare feet lift off the floor. Her knee came up. Then her leg swung out of sight in front of Randy.

He said, ‘What ... ?’

Then he was hurtled backward. He landed back-first on the floor not far in front of me. His head thudded. As he lay there squirming and groaning, Casey stood up. She was splattered with blood, some of it probably Randy’s, but it must’ve been blood of her own dribbling down her inner thighs.

Head down, she hobbled over to Kirkus.

‘Mind if I borrow this?’ she asked, her voice low and husky.

He gave it to her.

Randy squealed, ‘You’re dead! I shot you!’

‘Yeah, right,’ she said.

She stood over him.

‘NO!’ Up on his elbows, he tried to scoot away from her.

I planted my right foot against the top of his head, stopping his retreat.

Somehow, even after getting his hand lopped off, he still had an erection. At least until Casey swung the sword.

Randy shrieked.

Then he passed out, and the silence seemed strange.

Kirkus, Eileen and I all stared at Casey as she walked toward Eileen. Her back, dusky with shadows, seemed free of blood or wounds of any kind.

‘I thought he shot you,’ I told her, my voice shaking.

She didn’t look at me, but said, ‘He missed.’ Then she halted in front of Eileen, reared back with the sword and swung it with both hands. The blade chopped through the handcuff chain and thudded into the post. Eileen’s left arm dropped to her side.

As she swayed on her feet, right arm still raised and cuffed, Kirkus went to her.

‘Watch out for the candles,’ I warned him. ‘The quilt’s soaked with oil.’

All he said was, ‘Okay.’ Then he pulled the darts out of Eileen’s body. Each time, she flinched and winced.

After letting the darts fall to the quilt, Kirkus wrapped his arms around her. Then Casey chopped through the chain of the other cuffs. Eileen’s right arm fell. She sagged, but Kirkus held her up. Clinging to each other, they staggered off the quilt. Kirkus eased Eileen down to the floor.

Casey had already put the sword down. She was crawling on her hands and knees, puffing out candles. As she did so, the room slowly darkened.

Kirkus came over to me. ‘How’s the leg?’ he asked.

‘Shot.’

‘I heard the gunfire,’ he said.

‘That why you came up?’

‘Let’s say it hastened my decision.’

‘Glad you came along,’ I told him. ‘Thanks.’

‘The least I could do, old chap. Looks as if I arrived slightly later, however, than the proverbial “nick of time.”’

‘You did pretty good, Rudy.’

He crouched beside me and explored my bare thigh with both his hands. A couple of times, one of his hands brushed against my genitals. Accidentally, I’m sure.

‘I can’t seem to find an exit wound,’ he said.

‘The bullet’s probably in my bone.’

‘In your bone,’ he said, and I half expected a quip. He didn’t come out with one, though. Instead, he took a folded handkerchief out of his pocket. ‘Don’t worry, it’s clean.’ He pressed it against the hole in my thigh. ‘Hold it there,’ he said. ‘I’ll wrap my belt—’

‘Help,’ Randy murmured. ‘Help me. Please.’

In the dimming light, I saw him raise his head.

‘Not dead yet?’ Kirkus asked. ‘Give it time.’

‘Please,’ Randy murmured again.

‘I’ll help him,’ Casey offered.

She came hobbling toward us, a lighted candle in each hand. Behind her, the room was in darkness. These were apparently the last two burning candles.

Naked and bloody in the glow of the candles she carried. Casey looked like a teenaged savage girl playing her part in some sort of pagan ritual.

She stopped beside Randy and looked down at him.

‘We’d better stop the bleeding,’ she said, her voice soft and husky.

‘Let him die,’ Eileen said.

‘I concur,’ said Kirkus.

‘I have to do what I can,’ Casey said. She sank to her knees, next to Randy’s bleeding wrist but not very far from me. In the fluttery light, I saw semen trickling down through the blood on her thighs. ‘These wounds need to be cauterized,’ she said. ‘Let’s see if candles will do the trick.’

A soft chuckle came from Eileen.

‘I say,’ said Kirkus.

Then came the screams from Randy. And the stench.

Chapter Seventy-two

Later, we lit more candles. We were careful to keep them away from the quilt.

Kirkus used his belt to secure the handkerchief over my wound. I didn’t complain about the way he sometimes just happened to touch me; after all, he’d saved our bacon.

While Casey and I put on our clothes, Kirkus ran downstairs. He returned a few minutes later with Eileen’s gown. A while after that, the three of us were dressed and ready to go.

I put Randy’s pistol in my pocket, figuring I would probably tell the authorities (doctors are required to report gunshot wounds) that it was my own weapon and I’d shot myself in the leg by accident. This might work, at least if the gouge across my side from Randy’s first bullet went undetected - somewhat more difficult to explain away two gunshot wounds.

‘I guess that’s about it,’ I said.

‘What’ll we do about all this?’ Eileen asked. ‘The crime scene?’

‘We simply tell the truth,’ Kirkus pointed out. ‘Eileen was kidnapped and brutalized by this horrid man and we came to the rescue. Voilà. It was all quite justifiable.’

‘Only one problem with that,’ Casey said.

‘And that is?’

‘No way in hell,’ she said. ‘You try bringing the cops into this, I’m gone. They’re not gonna find out what happened to me tonight. Or what I did to him. Or who I am. Or anything.’

‘I’m with Casey,’ Eileen said. ‘Even if I thought she was wrong, I’d be with her. She almost got killed for me. But this bastard ... the things he did to us ... I don’t want to be telling cops about it or have it show up in the news and be all over campus.’

‘I’m not exactly eager, myself,’ said Kirkus. ‘After all, I’m the chap who lopped off his hand.’

‘For which I’m forever grateful,’ I told him.

‘Same here,’ said Eileen.

‘You bet,’ said Casey.

‘Thank you,’ Kirkus said, and I heard a choke in his voice. ‘Sorry I wasn’t in time to stop him from ... violating you.’

‘You saved my life,’ she said. Then she handed her candles to me and hugged Kirkus and kissed him.

When she stopped, he said, ‘I say. Glad I could help.’

After that, we stood around in the candlelight, silent for a while, looking down at Randy.

Eileen broke the silence. ‘We’ve got to do something about him ... about all this. We can’t just walk away. Must be all kinds of evidence they’d be able to use against us.’

‘We might torch the place,’ Kirkus suggested.

‘No,’ Casey said. ‘Even if Randy did work here, I’m pretty sure someone else owns the shop. Besides, a fire might spread to other stores ...’

‘Wouldn’t wanta burn down Dandi Donuts,’ Eileen said. I couldn’t tell whether she meant it sarcastically.

‘And somebody might get hurt if we start a fire,’ Casey added. ‘A fireman or an innocent bystander.’

‘We have to do something,’ I said. ‘We’ve all bled up here.’

‘Not me,’ said Kirkus.

‘Your fingerprints are on the sword,’ I pointed out.

‘Won’t be.’ he said, and wandered off with a candle.

‘What we need to do,’ Casey said, ‘is get Randy out of here. Take him out to the car. Clutter this room up so it looks pretty much like normal, then drop Randy off somewhere.’

‘Like at a hospital?’ Eileen asked. Again, I wasn’t sure whether she was being sarcastic.

Casey said, ‘That’s not exactly what I have in mind.’

Chapter Seventy-three

Because of my leg wound, I missed out on the cleanup and heavy lifting.

Kirkus helped me downstairs and out to the car. I sat in the back seat and waited, once in a while ducking out of sight when a car or pedestrian came along.

After about half an hour, the shop’s front door opened and Casey came out. She looked around, then walked over to the car and opened its trunk.

Out of the shop rushed Kirkus carrying a big, rolled rug over his shoulder.

Nice touch, I thought.

Eileen came out after Kirkus. She had a large coil of rope hanging from her shoulder.

When Kirkus flung the rug into the trunk, the whole car shook.

Eileen sat up front with Kirkus. Casey sat in back with me.

As Kirkus swung away from the curb, Casey squeezed my hand. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked.

‘Not bad. How about you?’

‘I think everything’ll be all right.’

I squeezed her hand and said, ‘Hey, Rudy, who you got in the rug?’

‘Not Cleopatra.’

‘I thought not,’ I said.

Kirkus stopped his car halfway across the Fairmont Street bridge - the same bridge where he had almost jumped/fallen and I’d saved him and smacked my head on the street.

We all climbed out, even me. With Casey and Eileen holding me up, I made it to the parapet. I leaned against it and they let go of me.

They all hurried over to the trunk of Kirkus’s car.

I kept watch. So far, no traffic was approaching from either direction. I saw no people, either, except my friends.

The rug stayed in the trunk.

Randy didn’t.

Nobody had bothered to put clothes on him. But his thigh was still bandaged and there were white rags tied around both his stumps like two peculiar, blood-stained flags of surrender.

Kirkus wrapped one end of the rope around Randy’s waist and knotted it. Then all three picked him up.

Randy regained consciousness while they were hauling him over to the parapet. He started whimpering and mumbling.

‘What’s ... going on?’ he asked.

Nobody answered him.

‘I need help,’ he said.

No response.

‘Where are we?’ he asked.

They put him over the low concrete wall of the bridge.

‘No!’ he squealed. ‘What’re you doing?’

My leg had been shot, but there was nothing much wrong with my arms. I took hold of the rope, along with Kirkus and Eileen and Casey, and helped to lower Randy slowly toward the Old Mill Stream.

‘Hey, no!’ he cried out. ‘What’re you doing?’

We lowered him slowly. He squirmed and bucked on the rope. It felt like having a very large fish on the line.

Near the top, the structure of the bridge held him fairly steady. Lower, clear of the bridge, he began to spin and swing.

‘What’re you doing!’ he called out again.

‘This seems about right,’ Kirkus said.

The glow of the bridge’s single functioning lamp didn’t reach down far enough to light Randy. Peering over the parapet, however, I was able to see him in the moonlight - hovering four or five feet above the surface of the stream. ‘Looks good to me,’ I said.

We tied off our end of the rope to the base of the nearest lamppost.

Still, no traffic was in sight.

We all leaned over the parapet and looked down. Randy was slowly swinging and twirling above the water.

‘What if nobody’s down there?’ Eileen asked.

‘It’ll be fine,’ said Casey.

A couple of dim shapes waded slowly out from under the bridge.

‘See?’ said Casey.

‘Dear God,’ Kirkus muttered.

Randy didn’t seem to be aware, yet, of the approaching trolls.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said.

The girls were helping me back to Kirkus’s car when Randy’s very frightened voice said, ‘Hey, who’re you? What’re you guys—’

Then Randy let out a scream I’ll never forget.

We all looked at each other. I had goosebumps. I wouldn’t be surprised if they did, too.

Eileen muttered, ‘Holy shit.’

The next day, while I stayed in bed, Kirkus drove over to the bridge. He came back and reported that even the rope was gone.

Chapter Seventy-four

It wasn’t my own bed, by the way.

After disposing of Randy, we had a discussion about where to go and Casey suggested Lois’s house. ‘She’s probably home by now. She’ll take care of us.’

By the time we reached her house, Lois had been home for more than an hour. She seemed overjoyed to see us ... though upset by our condition.

As it turned out, I didn’t need any excuses for my gunshot wounds. Around dawn, Casey showed up in the bedroom with a doctor. He was one of her special friends, one of those souls she’d drawn to her during the night roaming. A friendly, elderly man, he removed the bullet from my leg and patched me up. He also bandaged Eileen’s dart wounds. He injected both of us with tetanus boosters and gave us antibiotics.

I missed a week of classes because of my leg wound, but Eileen and Kirkus continued on as if nothing had happened, and kept me up to date on various assignments.

I had lots of time for reading and writing.

‘If you’re writing about us,’ the one I call Eileen said when she caught me at it, ‘make sure you change the names.’

To which I responded, ‘Never fear. They’re changed already.’

‘What’re you calling me?’ she asked.

‘Hillary.’

‘You lookin’ to die?’

‘Just kidding. I’m calling you Eileen.’

She frowned and nodded, thinking about it Then she said, ‘Not bad. Not bad at all. What about the others?’

I told her.

She laughed about one of them.

“Think I should change it?’

‘Oh, hell no. It suits him.’

After I’d been at the house for a few days, Lois asked me to stay on as sort of a permanent guest. I explained that her house was too far from campus, but she offered to let me use her new car. So I moved out of my apartment building (pleased to leave the Fishers behind) and into Lois’s house.

Kirkus moved into my old apartment.

It is all fairly strange, really.

I’d gone out for a walk through the streets of town on a night in early October, the most lonesome night of my life ... heartbroken, bitter and desolate. Within a week, three women had entered my life and taken away the loneliness and I found myself happier than I’d ever been.

I still am.

As for Lois, Eileen and Casey, we’re taking things a step at a time. Lois and I, sharing the same house, have grown to be very close. Eileen often comes over, and sometimes we go out together. Casey sleeps in my bed. When I wake up late at night and discover that she’s gone, I don’t mind ... but I worry about her.

I don’t know where it all may lead, but I do love the journey.

As for Kirkus ... Well, Kirkus is Kirkus. He’s an emotional wreck with the hots for me. Sometimes, we get along fine. Every so often, I have to fight him off. We really need to find him a new boyfriend.

As for Holly, who dumped me for the summer camp counselor - fuck her.

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 Sanctuanary, 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 Lavmon Kills! website at www.rlk.cjb.net.