Authors: Richard Laymon

Fiends SSC (13 page)

BOOK: Fiends SSC

3.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

Instead, groaning with pain, she raised her head. She saw Willy open the trunk of the car. She wanted to ask him what he was doing, but she didn’t have the strength. Then she saw him raise the revolver, cock it, and aim into the trunk.

‘NO!’ she screamed.

The gun blasted, leaping in his hand.

Marty struggled to her feet and staggered to the back of the car. Before Willy could grab her, she glimpsed Dan’s face in the darkness of the trunk.

The top of his head was partly gone.

‘NO!’

She kicked and squirmed in Willy’s arms, but couldn’t get loose until her teeth found his ear and she bit it hard. His yell of pain stunned her for a second. Then she realized that he had let go of her.

She dashed to the edge of the embankment and jumped as far as she could. She made it almost to the bottom before her heels hit the wet grass. Her legs flew forward and her rump hit the slope. She slid the rest of the way down, then scrambled to her feet and ran, splashing through the soggy grass.

‘Stop!’ Willy shouted.

Her legs chugged, carrying her up the rise on the other side of the ditch.

From behind her came the sound of a metallic
clank.

The gun hammer dropping.

But there must’ve been no live round in the chamber, because there was only the
clank
and no blast.

She reached the top of the slope.

Broke into a sprint for the woods.

A root snagged her foot.

As she lurched forward, falling headlong, a gunshot split the night.

Willy grinned when he saw the girl walking backward alongside the road ahead, her thumb out. The same girl he’d tried to stop for, back near that town.

She must’ve passed his car while he’d been out in the woods with Marty.

She’d gone a pretty good distance, too.

A mighty quick walker.

He stopped his car beside her. ‘Want a lift?’ he called out the passenger window.

‘Man, oh man,
do
I!’

The light inside the car came on when she opened the door, and Willy got a good look at her.

Nice. Real nice.

He always did like the young stuff, and the way this gal’s dress was clinging to her skin… He watched it slide up her thighs when she climbed into the car.

‘Where’re you headed?’ he asked.

‘Gribsby.’

‘I’m going as far as Marshall.’

‘Oh, that’s fine.’ Her voice seemed awfully cheerful for so late at night. ‘That’s great. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a ride from Marshall.’

‘Probably.’

She sighed loudly with relief or pleasure.

She folded her arms below her breasts, slouched down in the seat, and smiled at him. ‘This is great,’ she said. ‘It sure feels good to be heading home.’

Rolling over, Marty crossed an arm over her face to block the bright sunlight. Then she opened her eyes. When the air touched them, they felt raw and burning. She saw that she was stretched out along the edge of a forest.

For a while, she didn’t remember. Then it all came back. She moaned as it poured into her like a foul liquid, burning and nauseating.

Suddenly, she sat up. She could see the road.

The road, but no car.

Willy was gone!

The quick movement did it. She twisted sideways and threw up. When the convulsions stopped, she crawled away from the mess.

She heard a car coming. Afraid Willy might be returning, she flattened herself on the ground. After it was gone, she got slowly to her feet. She leaned against the trunk of a birch tree and felt blood begin to trickle down her back.

The forest seemed safer than the road, so she walked into it. Walking hurt badly. Her head was the worst part. It jolted with each step and throbbed madly every time she bent to pass beneath a low limb.

At last, she came to a sunny clearing. Maybe the same clearing as last night. She couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter, though. The clearing was bright and well hidden. She only cared about that.

Lying face down on the tall grass, she found it softer than she hoped. It didn’t even feel scratchy on her bare arms and legs. It simply matted down under her, soft and dry, as if it had been put there especially to serve as her bed.

She lay with her eyes shut, half awake, half dreaming, and at first she thought that the quietly approaching footsteps were part of her dream. Then she opened her eyes and saw a pair of moccasins.

Willy stretched and groaned with lazy pleasure. The sun felt so hot and good. If it weren’t for his bastard of a headache, life would be perfect.

The bitch had really given him a wallop with that gun.

He grinned. He’d really given her a wallop, too. With a different kind of gun.

He opened his eyes, lifted his head and looked down his sweaty body at it. Wouldn’t do at all if it got sunburned. Especially not now, with so much good stuff ahead.

Speaking of which…

He got off the blanket and walked to his shack. ‘Here I am, sweetums. William the Conqueror.’ He posed in the doorway flexing his muscles.

The girl in the shadows shut her eyes. She lay curled on her side on the mattress, naked, her arms handcuffed behind her back.

Reaching high, Willy plucked a key down from the top of the doorframe. ‘Have you been a good girl?’ he asked, walking toward her.

‘Yes,’ she muttered.

‘Do you want William to let you go?’

Her eyes opened and she nodded.

Willy leaned over her with the key, opened the left cuff, then the right. His fingers came away bloody. He wiped them on the white skin of the girl’s buttocks.

‘Now put on your beautiful dress,’ he told her.

She sat up and brought her arms slowly in front of her. She frowned at her raw, bloody wrists.

‘Oh, did I have the cuffs too tight?’ Willy asked.

‘Where are we going?’ the girl asked.

‘It’s a surprise.’

She tried to pick up her shining, paisley dress, but her hands wouldn’t work. The dress fell. Willy picked it up. She raised her arms, and he put it over them. It drifted down her body.

Willy helped her to stand. Then he fastened every button on the dress.

‘Let’s go outside,’ he said.

As she stepped out the doorway, she raised an arm to shade her face from the noon sun.

‘Bright, huh?’

She said nothing.

Willy picked up his handcuffs and rope, then followed her outside. ‘Go over to that dead tree,’ he told her.

She looked around at him. She glanced at the rope and cuffs in his hand. Then she looked toward the woods that began several yards to the left of the white, barkless poplar.

‘Don’t try to run,’ he said. ‘I’ll just chase you down, and then I’ll
really
have some fun with you.’

She walked to the dead tree.

‘That’s right. Good girl. Now put out your hands. That's a good girl.’

Her eyes stayed on his eyes, making him a little nervous as he handcuffed her wrists. He knotted the rope to the chain between the bracelets, then flung the coil over a high, thick branch of the poplar. It dropped on the other side. He took the end and began to pull, raising the girl’s arms.

‘I haven’t given you any trouble,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve done everything you asked, no matter how… no matter what it was. Why do you have to hurt me?’

"Cause I like it.’ He tied the rope to the trunk of the dead tree. ‘See how nice I am? I’m leaving you on your feet. Or would you rather sort of
dangle?’

She shook her head.

‘Now guess what I’m going to do,’ he said.

Staring into his eyes, she said, ‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on, guess.’ His hands roamed the shiny, slick cloth. It was already hot from the sun. He felt her body through it.

The girl gritted her teeth.

‘Gonna rip the dress off you,’ Willy said.

‘No, don’t. Please. It was a present. Don’t wreck it.’

He slapped her face.

Then, growling like a dog, sometimes biting the skin underneath, he slowly shredded the dress with his teeth. The girl cried as he ripped. When she finally was naked, he took her from behind with quick hard thrusts that rammed her up off her feet.

Later, he left her hanging in the sun.

He rested in a shaded place near the car and enjoyed the view.

When Marty opened her eyes, there was no longer a headache behind them. The curtains rustled with a mild breeze. Light slanted down through the window, laying a slab of gold on the floor. A clock by the bed showed 3:15.

Sitting up, she looked in front of her. A dresser, a closet. Heavy hiking boots stood on the closet floor next to a pair of sneakers. On hangers, she saw a plaid lumberjack coat among many shirts, a dark suit, a colorful sport coat and a white terry-cloth bathrobe.

She got up. The mirror above the dresser threw back her reflection, stunning her. She hardly looked like herself. Her face was swollen and discolored. Her hair was a wild tangle.

Well, her right profile didn’t look too bad. Willy had only struck the left side of her face.

Why did he leave me?

She didn’t want to think about it.

She opened the bedroom door. The living room was darker and cooler than the bedroom. ‘Jack?’ she called softly. No answer came. ‘Jack?’ Nothing. She walked across the rug, then out the front door. He wasn’t on the porch.

He was gone?

Back inside the cabin, she shut the door and locked it. Then she ran to the kitchen and locked the back door. She peaked inside a utility closet. She checked the bathroom. A closet in the living room. Behind all the furniture.

Not looking for Jack anymore.

Searching for Willy.

Shaking and chilled, she shut herself into the bedroom.

‘You’re a fine specimen,’ she told the face in the mirror.

The normal side of her face smiled nervously; the swollen side hardly moved.

Turning around, she stared over her shoulder at the mirror’s image of her back. The knit jersey was torn in a few places midway down. It was stiff and brown near the rips.

She took it off.

The large, square bandage - applied by Jack after carrying her to his cabin - was white except for a tiny dot of blood in its center. All around the bandage, her skin was stained. All the way down to her waist. The shorts had soaked up a lot of blood. She took them off.

Dropping the clothes in a heap, she stepped to the closet. She took down the robe. Its hanger fell, making a tinny
ping
when it hit the hardwood floor. She crouched to pick it up, being careful to keep her back straight so the cuts wouldn’t pull.

It was then that she saw the dark, glossy stock. She pushed some clothes aside. Propped against a back corner of the closet stood a double-barreled shotgun. Sweeping hangers away, Marty pressed between two clean shirts. They felt cool and fresh on her skin. She hoped that the blood stains on her back were dry.

Her hand closed around the wide, side-by-side barrels. She lifted. The shotgun was heavy. With her arm outstretched, she could barely raise it off the floor. So she dragged it out of the closet.

The shotgun had two triggers. It also had a hammer at the back of each barrel. There was a lever between the hammers. She pressed it sideways with her thumb.

The barrels suddenly dropped, nearly wrenching the weapon from her grip. They hung toward the floor, connected to the stock by a hinge. In each chamber was a round, brass disk with a little nub in the center.

It’s loaded.

Marty rested the barrels against the floor, then lifted the stock until the latch snapped. The shotgun was whole again. She returned it to the closet and straightened the hangers in front of it.

Then she put on the robe. It was far too big. She rolled up its sleeves and tied its cloth belt.

***

Jack was still gone when she went into the bathroom. She took a long shower. Then she dried herself carefully, surprised by the number of cuts and bruises she discovered.

She put on the robe and tied its belt snugly. There was a comb by the sink. She did the best she could with her hair, and opened the bathroom door.

Jack looked up from a magazine. ‘How you doing?’ he asked.

‘A lot better than a few hours ago.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ He unrolled a leather pouch and started loading tobacco into his pipe.

‘Sure is nice of you to help me.’ She sat on a rocker across from him. ‘Do you mind me borrowing your robe?’

‘Not at all.’

‘My things are a mess.’

‘I noticed.’ He struck a match and sucked its flame down to the surface of the tobacco. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Great.’

Jack tamped down the loose ash in his pipe and lit another match. As he drew the flame into the briar bowl, he looked at Marty and raised his eyebrows. He blew a cloud of smoke.

‘Smells like a cake baking,’ Marty said. ‘A chocolate cake.’

Jack shrugged.

‘Would it be all right if I use your telephone? I’d like to call my parents and let them know I’m okay.’

BOOK: Fiends SSC

3.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Read Book Download Book

ads