Authors: Richard Laymon
Midnight's Lair (29 page)
Paula moaned.
Any second, the accusations would start.
'God,' she mumbled. 'My head.'
A hollow, distant voice said, 'Hello the cavern.'
'What's that?'
'I don't know.'
'See what's…' She let go of his hand, and moaned as she sat up.
Kyle stayed with her, holding her arm in the darkness. They stood up and turned to the sounds of the voices. As they listened, he touched his penis. It was still big, sticking straight forward, but not as rigid as before so he was able to tuck it back inside his jeans. He left the zipper open. In spite of the voices from the elevator area, Paula might hear if he pulled the zipper up.
Kyle heard Tom call out something about flashlights. Other people spoke, but their words were too faint to understand.
He and Paula stood silently. The voice of Chief Richmond didn't come again.
'So I guess they're getting us out,' Kyle finally whispered.
'Do you think we should go back now?'
'I bet it'll still be an hour or so before they start taking people out.'
'Yeah?'
'I think we should just wait here.' Kyle told her.
'If we go back now, maybe we can sneak in and nobody'll find out we were gone.'
'Who cares if they find out?' Kyle said.
'Well, yeah. They don't know me.'
'Besides, we haven't done anything wrong.'
Sounding a little bit amused, Paula said, 'They'll probably think we were over here screwing around.'
Man, she doesn't have a hint.
'Well,' he whispered. 'If they're going to accuse us of it, maybe…'
'Ho ho ho. Right. Want me to barf in your face?'
'Just kidding.'
'God, I never should've drunk all that.'
'Maybe we'd better have some more. They say it's supposed to help.'
'Thanks but no thanks. Maybe someone over there has some aspirin I can borrow.'
Kyle stepped behind Paula and began to rub her neck and shoulders. 'Mom used to do this for me when I had a headache,' he said. Gently, he pulled the sweater down her back. Then he resumed the massage.
She sighed.
'Feel good?'
'Mmmm.'
He kneaded the sides of her neck, moved his hands over her collar and squeezed her shoulders. Her skin felt smooth and warm through her blouse. He wished there was nothing between his hands and her skin.
Just wait,
he told himself.
Pretty soon.
She began to sway back and forth. As if she were half asleep, or maybe mesmerized.
Kyle continued to hear voices from those near the elevators. He didn't even try to understand what was being said. He didn't care. And Paula seemed oblivious to everything except the rhythmic rub and squeeze of his hands on her neck and shoulders.
He half expected her to slump into his arms.
Leaning forward, he lifted her hair out of the way and kissed the side of her neck. She moaned. She didn't tell him to stop.
Kyle slid a hand over the top of her shoulder and opened the top button of her blouse.
She said nothing.
He unfastened the next button down, feeling her breast under his wrist.
'Hey,' she murmured.
'It'll be better this way,' he said and slipped the blouse clear of her shoulders and went on with the massage. She seemed a little rigid at first, but soon she was limp and swaying again.
Kyle slipped the bra straps out of his way.
Now her shoulders were sleek, warm skin and he knew that the hanging straps left her bra loose and if he wanted he could slide his hands right down into the cups.
His mouth was dry, his heart racing. He lowered a hand, plucked the front of his jeans to free his straining penis, and went back to rubbing her.
He eased forward. The soft wool of her kilt brushed the underside of his shaft.
He slid both hands over the shoulders and down her chest.
Paula flinched and grabbed his wrists, stopping him before he reached her breasts. 'Hey, come on,' she whispered.
'What'll it hurt?'
'Kyle, no. Besides, I'm getting cold.'
'Please?'
'I think it's time we'd better go…'
'YEEEEAH!'
It didn't come from Paula. It came from the darkness ahead.
'What the hell…?'
'LET GO OF ME!' the woman cried out. 'WHAT DO YOU WANT?'
'What the fuck's going on?'
'Oh sweet Jesus he's dead! Somebody…'
'HELP! HELP!'
Kyle trembled with terror and joy.
Paula stood rigid, squeezing his wrists. 'God,' she whispered. 'What's happening?'
'Don't know.'
Kyle knew. He knew, all right.
The crazies had arrived.
Those he'd heard mumbling and tittering when he went out in the night with his father to give Amy Lawson a ride down the chute - the wild, demented progeny of Elizabeth Mordock.
They'd poured through the hole in Ely's Wall, just as he'd feared when the earlier scream came floating up the cavern.
They'd probably slaughtered Darcy's group.
Now they were falling upon the others.
He heard shouts of confusion and alarm, shrieks, laughter.
He pressed himself against Paula's back. Her body was stiff and trembling. Her hands, still clutching his wrists, shook as if she were seized by a spastic frenzy.
This is it,
he thought.
They're here.
The arrival of the crazies meant there was no longer a need to be sneaky, no longer a need to waste time in futile efforts to seduce Paula.
She's mine.
Whatever I want.
Same as if we were in 115.
Do her any way I please.
They'll blame it on the crazies.
'It's all right,' he whispered. 'We're safe over here. We've just got to be quiet till it's over.'
Paula kept on shaking.
'If you make any noise,' he said in her ear, 'they'll come for us.'
She moaned.
'They'll kill us if you make a sound.'
'I…'
He wrenched a hand from Paula's grip and pounded it into her belly. Her breath blasted out. She folded. A soft thud. Her head hitting the stalagmite? She stayed bent and didn't fall. Maybe holding onto the rock.
Kyle clawed the blouse down her back. Feeling through the darkness, his left hand found the nape of her neck. He squeezed it, holding her down, and ran his right hand down her back to the bra strap. A quick tug popped the clasps.
Still clamping her neck, he tugged the waistband of her kilt. Something snapped. The kilt loosened. He jerked it down her rump, let go and slid his hand over the slick fabric of her panties. He snatched the panties down. Her buttocks were firm and smooth. He stroked down the centre.
Was blocked by her legs, squeezed tightly shut.
He dug his fingers into the crease between them and brought his knee up against the backs of her thighs to force them apart.
As he pushed and felt them open, his hand at the hack of Paula's neck was grabbed, yanked sideways. Taken by surprise, he lost his grip. The clutching hand pulled him forward. He fell against her. She twisted sideways. He slid off her back, onto the blunt top of the rock that scraped his ribcage and rammed his left armpit.
Something pounded the other side of his chest. Though the blow didn't hurt much, it jolted him, started rolling away from Paula. He raked his right hand through the black, hoping to snag her hair or flesh or lollies, but found only empty air. Then his back hit the side of the stalagmite. He skidded down. At the bottom, he flipped himself over and lurched to his feet.
He heard Paula.
In spite of the bedlam from across the stream, he heard her.
Her quick, shaky gasps. Her sobs.
Nearby.
Moving.
He moved toward her, felt the soft mat of the sleeping bag under his feet and knew where he was.
Paula was off to his left.
Heading for the stream?
Is she nuts? Doesn't she know what's going on over there?
Just doesn't care. Just wants to get away from me.
Kyle hurried after her, feeling his way through the dark, guided by the sounds of her terror. He waved his arms in front of him. Tripped, stumbled, but stayed up. Heard Paula splashing in the water not far ahead of him.
He rushed down the embankment. Kicked a rock and yelped with pain and flew headlong through the darkness. He landed flat in the stream. The cold water exploded under him. Though his foot burned with pain, he scurried up and heard Paula gasping and whimpering nearby. He lunged toward the sounds, reaching out for her.
And caught a handful of fabric.
Her blouse?
It tugged at his arm. He lost his balance and fell forward, but kept his hold on the blouse, hoping to pull her down on top of him.
As he dropped, the weight of her pulling body went away. He hit the water. He pushed himself to his hands and knees. All he had was her empty blouse.
He got up and staggered after her.
Tossed the blouse away, dug a hand into the tight wet pocket of his jeans and brought out his knife.
Pried the blade open.
They'll blame it on the crazies.
Paula wasn't splashing anymore. From the sounds of her ragged breathing and sobs, Kyle realized she had reached the other side and was scurrying up the embankment.
Gotta nail her quick.
Before she gets to the railing.
Or we'll be running straight into them.
A part of Kyle's mind warned him to forget Paula.
Not worth it. Christ, no. Go back and hide before they get you!
But he wanted her. Wanted to tear her down and rip her and chew her tits and fuck her.
He scrambled up the slope.
Heard a soft ringing sound.
Paula was at the railing!
Moments later, Kyle's wavering left hand struck the railing. He grabbed the cold metal, ducked beneath it, and rushed on through the utter darkness.
If I nail her right now!
He grabbed a fistful of hair and jerked it. The body came against him. He drove his knife into her back, pulled it out, struck again.
And again.
She flinched and shuddered each time he rammed the knife into her back.
He felt hot blood pouring over his hand.
She slumped against him, twitching.
He found her throat and slashed it open.
***
Chris gently tucked the baby's face against the crook of her neck when they found the body.
Hank set the pickaxe aside. He wouldn't be needing it; someone had already knocked a hole through Ely's Wall.
He crouched over the body. It lay sprawled on its back off to the side of the opening, away from the strip of water that slid through the narrow gap below the remaining portion of the stone wall.
It was a man. His hair was neatly trimmed. He was clean-shaven. He wore nothing except pale blue boxer shorts and shoes. His gaping mouth was full to the lips with blood. His cheeks and chin and neck were painted with it. Hank pressed his hand to the man's neck. The blood felt tacky and the skin beneath it still retained some heat.
'He hasn't been dead very long,' Hank said. 'Probably less than an hour.'
'I know him,' Chris muttered.
'What?'
'I mean, I don't know him. I saw him this morning. He was waiting for Darcy's tour to start.'
'God almighty.' He looked up at Chris. Her face was contorted, nose wrinkled, lips peeled back, eyebrows pinched together. Her eyes looked feverish, a little wild.
'What's…?' She shook her head.
'I don't know. Somebody killed this guy. If he was on the tour… and he's on this side of the wall…'
'Did they try to get out this way?' Chris asked.
'And maybe turned back when this one was killed. Or maybe he was alone,' Hank said.
'Who killed him?'
'The girl, maybe.'
'Or… or maybe there are others. Others like her.'
And if so,
Hank thought,
where are they?
Where's Paula? What if she was with this guy and… She's all right. God, please. She's all right.
He felt as if icy hands were squeezing his heart.
'We've gotta hurry,' he said.
Turning away from the body, Hank braced a hand on the sill of the wall and leaned through the hole. He held the lantern out in front of him.
He expected to find the narrow, shallow stream on the other side. Instead, there was a lake, its still surface for yards around him shiny in the lantern light.
He saw two bodies floating face-down, their heads and legs below the water.
One wore a white sweater (Paula had put on her white sweater, telling him that the guide book warned of the cavern's chilly temperature) and Hank felt a twist of panic before he realized the body wore some kind of black pants, not a kilt.
The other body was dressed in a plaid shirt and blue jeans.
Though the heads of both bodies were submerged, he could see their floating hair through the clear water.
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