For a split second she thought of not opening the trunk for her books, but she told herself that this guy wasn’t dangerous. He was just an eccentric artist. There was nothing to fear. He was probably just eager for her to see his work.
She went to the trunk and slid the key into the lock. With a twist, the latch popped. The hinge groaned as Ronnie lifted the trunk. Lance stood there on the sidewalk, seen only from the corner of her eye, staring at her.
“You really ought to see it,” Lance said.
Ronnie grabbed her books and closed her eyes as if willing the artist away. Why do some guys have to be such—?
The thrust caught her in mid-thought. Her yelp was cut off when her head hit the trunk. Lance put his hand over her mouth and though she screamed, he was quick and no one was near enough to hear her frenzied, muffled pleas. She kicked and flailed her arms as much as possible, but the element of surprise was working to his advantage. He deflected her blows and even landed a few of his own, on her legs and arms, some so brutal that she eventually deflated. He took that opportunity to shove her into the trunk and, just before closing the lid, grabbed the keys from her balled fist. She tried to prevent him from prying open her fingers to extract the keys, but he was stronger and started digging his nails into her skin, which proved too painful for her to continue the struggle.
Lance slammed the trunk, extinguishing whatever possibility she had at gaining the attention of one of her neighbors. A great cheer erupted from the yard where the mariachi music emanated. Lance slipped into Ronnie’s car, put the key in the ignition, and drove away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Calvin tensed at the knock on the door, but Hazel seemed to expect it.
“We’ve got a visitor,” she said.
She stood up, flung her head back and took deep pull from the hefty wine jug before passing it back to Calvin. He took it and grimaced in preparation for the fermented grape flavor he’d never been accustomed to.
Hazel said, “This should be fun,” and then she turned and fled through the next room to the front door.
When she opened the door Calvin half expected to hear the serious, gravel-edged voice of the law, but instead he heard the unmistakable drawl of your average San Diego twenty-something, all full of “dude” and “like”.
The door closed. The man’s voice was young and energetic, but soon dropped in tone. “What the fuck is this?” he asked.
“Oh, you don’t like?” said Hazel.
“Dude, there’s fuckin’ pictures of dead people all over the place.” His voice took on a twinge of fear. “What kind of place did you bring me to?” Dropped a few octaves too.
“I didn’t bring you anywhere,” she said. “You came here of your own volition. Besides,” her voice dropped to a cutesy pout, “I thought you wanted to fuck me. You didn’t say as much, but I could see it in your eyes. Don’t you wanna fuck me?”
Calvin couldn’t help but smile. That minx. How could this guy resist? Even Calvin himself, wallowing in a twisted pit of remorse and confusion, felt a stirring in his groin from the seductive tone in her voice. His mind flashed back to the coffin and he wished they could lie down together in a bed next time.
“You into this kind of shit?” the guy asked.
“Me?” said Hazel with exaggerated innocence. “No, not me. I just found this place abandoned. What, would you rather do it in an alley or something?”
“Well, no, it’s just—”
“Come here,” she said.
Hazel walked through the door and Calvin knew it was show time. Whatever the fuck she had planned was about to go off and there wasn’t a goddamned thing he could do about it. He stiffened and felt acute intensity like some internal electrical spark that thrummed adrenaline through his body.
The man walked through the door like a terrified kid in one of those downtown haunted houses on Halloween. He was in his twenties, dressed like he was ready to hit the clubs. His hair was perfect. He stopped and whatever dopey expression he had on his face dropped. Calvin could see in his eyes that the man knew he had been duped. His fear was palpable, radiating from his hollow stare.
“Wh-what’s going on here?” said the man.
“Pick up the camera, Cal,” said Hazel. “Take a picture of me and my new friend.”
The man turned and looked at Hazel as if searching for some kind of explanation without outwardly asking for it. He was shocked and clearly he didn’t know what to do. Calvin saw him glance through the entryway toward the front door.
He’s planning his escape.
Calvin grabbed the Polaroid camera.
He can’t get away. He’s seen too much. He might even recognize me.
Hazel smiled and said, “Cheese!”
The man’s head pivoted toward Calvin. The slack-jawed look of awe turned into horror.
He can’t leave here.
Camera to his eye, looking at Hazel and their sacrificial lamb through the lens, Calvin pressed the button. The flash took the man by surprise. He winced, reached his arm up to cover his eyes as if the flash would continue to blind him.
Calvin had no idea where she came up with the wire, but as soon as the man pulled his hands away from his eyes, Hazel whipped it over his head and pulled it tight across his neck like an assassin using a garrote. The man’s hands clutched at the wire, but she had it pulled tight. Her face contorted into something primal, all teeth and eyes and a double dose of madness.
Kicking and swinging his body, the man almost brought Hazel down with him, but Calvin came up and launched a punch right in the guy’s gut. The guy bent forward in natural reflex to the blow, which tightened the wire around his throat. He screamed and swung his head left and then right, which caused the wire to saw into the soft flesh of his neck. He howled and then the wire sank through his larynx. Blood spilled from the wound like juice from a ruptured pomegranate, bubbling through his throat and out of his mouth in pink foam.
Calvin stood back and watched. The man continued to struggle, but he was weaker by the second. What was happening filled Calvin with revulsion and shock and excitement and awe. His heart pounded and he couldn’t reject the reality that this very act was giving him a hard-on and somehow reminding him of what he and Hazel had done in the coffin only a few hours ago. He couldn’t believe it and didn’t want to even admit it, but death was turning him on.
The man died, his weakened screams replaced with hazel’s uneven laughter. She breathed hard and chuckled like someone who had a future on the straitjacket end of the psych ward. His body went limp. Hazel let go of the wire. Mr. Player slipped to the bloodied floor and flopped forward into an awkward pile.
Hazel pulled the wire from the man’s body and ran the length of it through her fingertips, blood gathering and dripping on the floor. She circled her thumb over her fingers as if testing the viscosity of the man’s life force. She had a thousand yard stare, but Calvin understood that more than ever before, and he accepted it.
He took her in his arms and they embraced. Her warmth was so inviting, so alive. She dipped her fingers in the still-warm blood and rubbed it over his mouth. She then kissed him and he accepted her tongue and the copper saltiness.
He wasn’t afraid.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“I’d say I’m sorry it had to come to this, but then I’d be lying,” said Lance. “No need to lie—not anymore.”
Ronnie said nothing. She’d already pleaded with him, just like she’d seen women do in so many movies, and like those movies her pleas did nothing to stop the psychopath from harming her. When she told him that she was pregnant he just laughed, which caused Ronnie’s body to tighten. A man with no regard for children was someone to be feared.