Out Are the Lights (2 page)

    A man leaped out, black cape billowing, fangs bared.

    

    

    '
Heads, You Lose
. It's playing at the Haunted Palace, over near Lincoln. You know, the theater that was closed for so long. It used to be the Elsinore.'

    Connie nodded. She remembered the Elsinore. She'd gone there many times, before it closed. It was an old place, built in the days long before they made theaters like lecture halls-long and low and sterile, three or six to a building. This one's interior had ivy covered walls like a castle, battlements and turrets, and a high blue ceiling speckled with stars. It had been well named. The Elsinore. Hamlet's castle.

    'Can I go with you?' Connie asked.

    'If you want,' Dal said. 'It's not the kind of movie you like, though. I've heard it's awfully gory.'

    'Well…'
He wants to go alone,
she thought. She forced herself to smile. 'You're probably right. You go on ahead.'

    'You sure?' he asked.

    
He wants it definite. His conscience must be bothering him, though not enough to make a difference.

    'Yeah,' she said. 'I'm sure. I wanted to wash my hair tonight, anyway.'

    'Well, okay,' he said, sounding reluctant.

    'What time's it over?'

    'I ought to be home by midnight. It's a double feature.' He kissed her quickly, and she smelled the scent of the cologne she'd given him for his birthday.

    'You'll be the best-smelling guy at the movies,' she told him.

    For an instant, he looked flustered. 'Oh yeah, that.'

    'Bring me some candy?'

    'Sure.'

    'Good 'n Plenty.'

    'Okay, if they have it. See you later.'

    'Have fun. And don't get too scared.'

    'Me?' He winked, and left.

    

    

    Connie stood by the door, disappointed and wondering what to do with herself. It seemed strange, having to face a night alone. Strange and sad, almost like the times before Dal.

    Which hadn't been so long ago, really. They'd met only six months before, and he'd moved in two months after that. They'd been together almost every night since then.

    Well, he deserved a night on his own. She shouldn't mind. It's healthy to be alone sometimes.

    He's with people all day long, at work. Forced to be polite to everyone, including the creeps who come into the store from time to time-creeps he told her about through taut lips, his eyes narrow with anger.

    Connie had none of that. Alone in her apartment all day with her typewriter, she met only creeps of her own devising. She dealt with them ruthlessly, and enjoyed it. By three o'clock, though, she was used up. The next three hours, she spent in solitary waiting.

    Waiting to see the face of another human being, the only face that mattered much in her life anymore.

    She crossed the apartment to her bedroom, and began to undress for a bath.

    
I spend my days in solitary,
she mused,
while Dal's among the madding crowd. At night, we each need a different cure.

    
I shouldn't hold it against him if he wants time by himself. I shouldn't feel rejected.

    
But I do.

    Her satin robe felt soft on her bare skin. She tied its belt, and went into the bathroom. As the tub filled, she let the robe fall away. She stepped into the water. It wrapped around her ankles, almost too hot. It stung, at first, when she sat down.

    The tub filled. She turned off the faucets. With a sigh, she eased herself backwards. The water rose over her, hot and soothing, until only her face and upthrust knees remained above the surface.

    
This is not so bad,
she thought.

    She shut her eyes.

    Better than sitting in a cramped, stuffy movie theater. A lot better than that.

    

    

    Dal drove past the Haunted Palace, and kept on driving. The steering wheel was slick in his sweaty hands. The armpits of his shirt were soaked.

    Well damn, she was worth sweating over! He'd never seen a woman he wanted so much.

    

    

    When she strolled into Lane Brothers that afternoon, Dal couldn't take his eyes off her. She walked toward him, a creamy, pleated skirt caressing her legs, her breasts obviously bare under a loose, velour top that trembled, just slightly, as she moved. Lush, brown hair swung at her shoulders. It brushed the sides of a face so striking that Dal ached.

    She stopped in front of him. He stared into her green, clear eyes.

    'May I help you?' he asked.

    'Yes,' she said, and paused as if to let him savour the liquid whisper of her voice. 'I want a man's cologne.'

    'Anything in particular?' he asked.

    'I want it masculine, but subtle.'

    He nodded. 'Would you like to step over this way?'

    Moving sideways towards the counter, he let his eyes drop to the woman's hands. She wore no wedding ring.

    'We have a new fragrance called Ram. It's quite popular.'

    'I like what you're wearing.'

    He smiled and blood rushed to his face. 'My cologne?'

    'Yes.'

    'It's…' He cleared his throat, 'it's called Rawhide. It's new from-'

    'Let me,' she said. Fingertips lightly touching his chest, she leaned toward him. Her face moved close to his neck. He felt her breath. 'Yes,' she said. 'This is just what I want.'

    He licked his dry lips. 'Will there be anything else?' he asked.

    'Yes.' Her lips brushed his neck, and she whispered, 'You.'

    

    

    Thinking back as he drove toward her house, Dal could hardly believe it had happened. It was almost like a dream.

    
Damn lucky I didn't faint,
he thought. He laughed nervously.

    All day long, he'd relived those moments with her, analyzed them, wondered at times if it was only a hideous, cruel joke. But who would pull a stunt like that?

    No, it couldn't be a joke. It had to be real.

    Had to be!

    
Please God, let it be real.

    Waiting at a stop light, he took out his wallet and found the slip of paper with her name and address:
Elizabeth Lassin, 522 Altina
. He put it back.

    Altina Road was halfway up a wooded hillside of the Highland Estates, a plush area north of town, an area way out of his financial range.

    Not necessarily out of Connie's, though. She could easily afford one now. If her next steamy historical romance ('rape epics', she called them) sold like the others, she'd start looking in this vicinity.

    Dal had planned to stick with her-marry her, if necessary.

    Until today.

    Until Elizabeth.

    Lovely Elizabeth. For her, he would gladly give up Connie. God, what wouldn't he give up, for her?

    For even one night with her.

    For even one hour!

    He found the address, and swung into a long, circular driveway. As he drove toward the lighted veranda, he gazed at the house. It looked like a southern plantation house-scaled down a bit, but nonetheless elegant. A fitting home for a woman like Elizabeth.

    He parked. He climbed from his car. He walked toward the door. He reached toward the lighted doorbell button.

    And stopped.

    
Bet she doesn't live here,
he thought.
Gave me the address as a joke. Get the guy worked up, toy with him, lots of laughs.

    
Damn her! If she did a shitty thing like that…!

    He jabbed the doorbell.

    It rang.

    
God, this probably is her house!

    He rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants legs.

    
She'll probably laugh at me.

    
Christ, why didn't I bring her something? Flowers, wine…

    
'Cause I'm a klutz.

    
Oh shit, why didn't I…?

    The door opened and she stood in the dimly lighted foyer, her bare feet on the marble floor, her body draped in a white chiffon dress that hung on her like a wispy veil, the mild breezes shifting it against her skin. Her lips were moist and slightly open, her eyes intense, almost fierce.

    'Kiss me,' she said.

    
I'm dreaming,
Dal thought, and stepped across the threshold.

    

    

    The line in front of the Haunted Palace moved swiftly once the box office opened. Pete Harvey shuffled forward. Brit stuck close, a hand inside the back pocket of his jeans, a breast pushing softly against his arm.

    She was a bit clingy for Pete's taste, but he let her. If a gal clings, she has a reason. She's just more afraid, than some, of getting left behind.

    At the ticket window, he bought two tickets from a teenaged girl with straight black hair and white make-up. Supposed to look like a vampire, he supposed. She wore a black T-shirt with the logo, BEWARE OF SCHRECK.

    'Your hairdresser?' Pete asked.

    The girl laughed. 'It's a wig, and itchy as hell.'

    Pete moved along. He gave the tickets to a fat man in red-stained pants and undershirt, a nylon stocking over his head. His face, pale and weirdly mashed, looked grotesque enough to make Pete uneasy.

    'Isn't he a charmer?' Brit whispered, 'I think he's overdoing it.' She hugged Pete's arm. 'Scared you, didn't he?'

    'He looks like someone I used to know.'

    'Oh?'

    Pete nodded, and wished he hadn't brought it up. 'How about some popcorn, or Bon Bons, or something?'

    'Do you think I dare?'

    'You're skin and bones.'

    She leaned against him, nudging him again with that breast. 'Do you prefer your women plump?'

    'Plump and juicy. I'm having popcorn and a Pepsi, how about you?'

    'I'll have a hot dog.'

    Pete laughed. 'Are you serious?'

    'A plump, juicy hot dog.' She licked her lips. 'I can almost taste it now.'

    He bought the snacks from another pale girl in a
Schreck
T-shirt.

    

    

    The auditorium was dimly lit.

    'Hey, it looks like a castle,' Brit said.

    'The Haunted Palace.'

    'Pretty neat.'

    'Where do you want to sit?' Pete asked.

    'A little closer, I think.'

    'An aisle seat all right? I like to stretch out my legs.' He switched to his W. C. Fields voice. 'Trip the little bastards as they toddle by.'

    'Oh, you're terrible!'

    'It's better than my Bogart.'

    'That's not…' Laughing, she shook him by the arm.

    'Don't rip it off.'

    'Come on.' She pulled him toward a seat.

    He went along with her, amused but irritated. If he saw more of her, after tonight, he would have to straighten her out on a few items. For now, though, he wouldn't try to criticize her unless she got unbearable. Dragging him like a leashed dog nearly qualified, but he held off.

    'Are these all right?' she asked, once they were seated.

    'Fine.'

    She unwrapped her hot dog. 'Now, tell me. Who did the fat man remind you of?'

    'He reminded me of the bird. The black bird, and a beautiful dame, and-'

    'Right, your Bogart stinks.'

    The lights dimmed, saving Pete from a reply.

    On the screen, he saw a fog-shrouded forest. A terrible scream brought silence to the theater. Something moved among the trees. Slowly, the dim figure of a man appeared. He limped forward through the fog.

    The fat man who'd taken the tickets.

    He wore the same tan slacks, the same sleeveless T-shirt. They streamed with blood. In his right hand, he held a hatchet dripping gore. A nylon stocking distorted his face.

    'Good evening,' he said. 'Welcome to the Haunted Palace.'

    'Freaky,' Brit whispered.

    'I am your host, Bruno Blood.'

    Laughter in the audience.

    'Each night, I shall bring you a feast of hideous delights, tales of horror to make you cringe and scream. You'll see all the best in grisly entertainment. Not only the latest gems of satanic morbidity, but also the great classics of the past. In weeks to come, I shall bring you such fare as
Halloween
,
Freaks
,
The Hills Have Eyes
,
Rabid
,
The Texas Chain Saw Massacre
, and
The Night of the Living Dead
.'

    Whistles and applause greeted his announcement. He held up his bloody hatchet for silence, as if he foresaw the audience reaction.

    'Plus!' he bellowed. In a soft and menacing voice, he continued. 'Plus a special treat available only at the Haunted Palace. Each night, in addition to the regular features, you'll witness the evil, delicious exploits of Otto Schreck, the madman-a new depravity each and every week.'

    The audience roared with yells, whistles, and applause.
A lot of regulars,
Pete figured.

    'Schreck must be quite a guy,' Brit whispered in his ear.

    Pete shrugged.

    'And now,' Bruno said, 'prepare yourself for tonight's show. Sit back, take hold of a friendly hand, and…' He grinned. 'Don't look to see who is sitting behind you.'