Scissors.
After bandaging her back that morning, Jack had put them in a drawer of the nightstand. She’d used them, herself, just before supper.
Now, where’d I put them?
On the dresser.
But the dresser stood beside the open closet.
I’ll never make it. He’ll jump me before…
Nobody’s in the closet!
Willy is.
Marty inched her leg toward the side of the mattress. After a long time, her right heel dropped over the edge. She kept moving her leg sideways, slowly, slowly, until it was off the mattress all the way to her rump. Her foot on the floor, she started sliding her left leg over.
Eyes on the dark, open closet.
He’s watching. If he starts coming, run for it.
At last, both her feet were on the floor.
She raised her back so gradually that the bedsprings hardly made a sound. They were nearly silent, too, when she leaned forward and eased her weight off the bed. She stood up straight, staring at the black closet.
Nothing seemed to move in there.
With six slow, careful steps, she reached the dresser. Her hand patted the top of it.
And found the scissors.
Picked them up. Clenched them tight.
With the tightness of a scream growing in her chest, she sidestepped to the closet. Raising the scissors high, she lurched into the darkness. She drove them down, hard and silent.
Pain seared her thigh.
She tried to stifle her yelp of hurt surprise.
Waving her other hand in the air, she caught the dangling string and pulled. The closet light came on.
Nobody there.
Nobody except Marty.
Marty, naked and sweaty and shaking. Marty, scissors in her hand. Marty with a ragged red gash ripped across the inner side of her right thigh.
She had a sudden urge to sit down on the closet floor and cry. Sit there and cry till dawn.
Instead, she bandaged her leg.
Then she got dressed, putting on the stiff, filthy shorts and jersey that Willy had stolen from the girl by the lake.
Then she took the shotgun out of the closet.
Sneaking through the dark house, she found Jack asleep on the living room sofa. She set down the shotgun. She found his trousers draped over a nearby chair.
His keys were in the right front pocket. His wallet was in the left rear pocket.
She took out a five-dollar bill and slipped the wallet back into his pocket. She kept the keys.
She was tempted to kiss him before leaving.
But she didn’t dare.
He might wake up and not let her go.
40
Thrusting and shuddering, Willy erupted inside Tina. Then he relaxed on top of her.
Somewhere along the line, she had fainted.
Just as well. Willy hadn’t liked the way she’d just taken it, never saying a word even when the pain made her twitch and weep.
He pulled out and sat back.
A breeze was blowing through the open door and window, giving him goosebumps. He got up and shut them both. The handcuffs lay open on the table. He picked them up. Then he turned off the lantern and made his way through the darkness. He found the mattress, got to his knees, reached out and touched Tina. Her skin was hot. From its sticky ridges, he knew he was touching her back. He slid his hand down her rump and down the back of her leg to her ankle.
He cuffed her left ankle. After sitting beside her, he attached the other cuff to his own left ankle. The bracelet was almost too small, but he managed to get it on.
Then he unfolded a blanket and lay back, covering himself. He stared at the dark ceiling.
It had been a great day.
Even if the girl wasn’t Marty.
At least Marty got what was coming to her.
He’d scared the shit out of her with the noose.
He’d killed her boyfriend. Twice. He grinned. Not every prick gets to die twice.
He’d fucked her. Got her in the mouth, too - almost.
And he’d shot her dead.
That old hollow-point sure made a mess of her back.
He grinned, remembering how she’d been sprawled out in the moonlight, the blood all over her back.
Too bad he’d had to kill her, though.
He’d wanted Marty here, not Tina.
Not that there’s anything wrong with Tina.
Except she ain’t Marty.
He sighed. Oh, the stuff I would’ve done to her…
41
The attendant at the all-night gas station raised his red, chubby face out of a comic book when Marty stepped up to the window. She smiled at him and slipped a five-dollar bill into the trough under the glass.
‘Pump number two,’ she said.
He took the bill and nodded.
‘Could I ask you something?’ she said.
He shrugged.
Before she could start to ask for directions, he frowned and said, ‘What happened to your face?’
She shrugged. ‘A guy hit me.’
‘Slugged you?’
‘Yeah. A few times.’
‘Sheesh. He really creamed you.’
‘I noticed. I felt it.’
‘What’d he wanta do that for?’
‘He’s just a jerk who likes to hurt people.’
‘Does it hurt a whole lot? Your face?’
‘Some.’
‘Guy must be a real creep.’
‘He is.’
‘Somebody oughta fix his wagon for him.’
‘Somebody plans to. Do you know where Cricket Lake is?’
‘Sure. You going there?’
‘Not exactly. I’m looking for a place close to Cricket, though. It’s a small lake. I don’t know its name, if it even has one.’
‘We got lakes like that all over the place.’
‘This one’s just west of Cricket.’
‘West?’
‘Yeah. It has a dirt road leading to it, and one cabin.’
‘Oh, I bet you mean the Dewey place.’
‘Maybe.’
‘The place that Jason Dewey hid out. A little shack by this lake. Jason Dewey, he hid out there… guess it must’ve been three summers back.’
Marty shrugged her shoulders.
‘You know about Jason Dewey?’
‘No, but..
‘He’s the guy that chopped up that family down Hingston way. You must’ve heard about it. Made all the news. He hacked up the mother and father and all the kids, two or three kids - and the family parrot.’
‘A parrot?’
‘Yeah.’ He grinned. ‘He ate the parrot. Wild, huh? A real nutcase.’
‘He had a hideout somewhere near Cricket Lake?’
‘Sure did.’
‘How do I find it?’
He gave her directions, but explained that she should wait for morning. ‘You ain’t gonna find the turn-off in the dark. But if you wanta wait till morning, I’ll take you out there myself.’