‘She isn’t home,’ he said. It wasn’t a question. ‘I know.’ His thin lips curled into a grin. ‘They shouldn’t have left you alone.’
The door crashed into her. She tumbled backward as the stranger rushed in.
Looking up from the floor, she saw the knife in his hand.
‘Stand up,’ he said, waving it.
‘What do you want?’
‘I want you to stand up.’
It was hard getting off the floor because her bones felt soft and wobbly. But she did as she was told.
‘Your bedroom’s upstairs, right?’
She nodded.
‘I know. I know all about you, Marty. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a long time. Ever since I saw you at the car wash with your old lady. You had on white shorts and a red blouse. I wanted to rip ’em off you and fuck you right there. But I’m not stupid. I waited for just the right time. And guess what. This is it. Let’s go upstairs.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Start walking.’ He waved his knife under her chin.
She began to cry.
He walked behind her, the knife point biting through her robe and pajamas, nipping her back. Up the stairway. Down the hall. Into her sun-bright bedroom.
When he began to strip her, she said, ‘Don’t. Please.’
He didn’t bother to move Jane Eyre before shoving her backward onto the bed. By the time he finished, the book’s slick dust jacket was ripped off. The covers were broken. The spine was split, and loose pages were scattered over the sheet, spoiled with blood and semen.
Lying back, Marty covered herself with a sheet, curled up on her side, and watched her forefinger draw a line along the edge of the mattress pad.
Why did he have to come back? What does he want?
Me.
He wants me.
Again.
9
The parking space in front of Willy’s motel room was empty. He pulled into it.
With a grocery bag in one arm, he opened the door of his room. Air-conditioned. Nice and cool.
He dumped the bag onto his bed. Out fell a plastic bottle of aspirin, his filthy wadded T-shirt, and a coil of clothesline.
He pulled off his boots and jeans, staggered into the bathroom.
In the mirror there, he saw what had been done to him. The crusty gash at the base of his nose. The bruises.
I’ll kill his ass, the cocksucker.
Willy took four aspirin tablets, washing them down with handfuls of water. Then he made his way back to the bed. He threw off the blankets and crawled in naked between the sheets.
And moaned.
Slowly, his pain faded.
Everything faded.
In half-sleep, he saw Marty sprawled on a bed, her arms and legs tied to the corners, the sunlight golden on her bare skin.
She looked fifteen for a while.
But then he imagined her changing, growing, getting better, until she became the Marty he’d seen last night.
Before sinking into deep sleep, he made her scream.
10
A young woman named Peggy climbed out of her car. She rubbed her damp hands on her shorts and took a deep breath. Then she walked to the screen door of Mickey’s Bait Shop, dust rising behind her white sneakers.
A bell jangled when she opened the door.
‘Be right with you,’ a voice called from a back room. It wasn’t the voice she expected.
Not Mickey’s.
But at least it belonged to a man.
She shut the door and hooked it. With a flip of her right hand, she reversed the cardboard sign so it read OPEN on the inside.
The shop was shadowy. It smelled of damp earth, fish, and something else. Machine oil? It smelled good - fresh and masculine.
Boots thumped on the hardwood floor. Cowboy boots, probably. Seemed like half the guys in Wisconsin dressed like cowboys.
‘Hi, there,’ this one said as he took his place behind the counter. A good-looking guy, couldn’t be older than twenty. His faded blue shirt was open at the throat. From the look on his face, he liked the looks of Peggy.
She took off her sunglasses.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
‘I was looking for Mickey.’
‘Dad? He was taking a group out on the Eagle Lake.' The son checked his wristwatch. ‘He should be back any time, though. You might try the motel.’
‘My name’s Peggy.’
‘Hi. I’m Brad.’
‘Nice to meet you, Brad.’
‘Is there something I can help you with?’
‘I could use some bait.’ She looked over her shoulder and spotted several tackle boxes on shelves near the door. ‘And how about one of those tackle boxes? My old one’s all rusted out. Would you show them to me?’
‘Happy to.’ Brad came around the end of the counter. He wore cowboy boots, all right. And old, faded blue jeans. When she looked at his face, she caught him checking the front of her T-shirt.
‘How’s life at Camp Wahtooki?’ he asked.
‘A little lonely.’
‘You a counselor there?’
‘Yep.’
‘Well, what sort of tackle box did you have in mind?’
‘Who says I’ve got a tackle box in mind?’
‘You?’ he asked, and grinned.
‘Me?’ Gazing into his blue eyes, she reached forward and gently squeezed his crotch.
His eyes suddenly got very wide. ‘Jeez,’ he said.
‘Let’s go behind the counter.’
Brad glanced at the screen door.
‘That’s taken care of,’ Peggy said.
She led him around the counter, knelt in the narrow space behind it, and pulled off her Camp Wahtooki T-shirt. Brad stared.
She helped him take off his shirt, then embraced him. When she sucked on his mouth, he finally started to move.
He stroked her breasts.
She lay on the cool floor. It was rough and hard beneath her shoulder blades. Brad unfastened her shorts. Knees up, she raised her buttocks off the floor. Brad pulled the shorts up to her knees, down to her ankles. She kicked them away. Brad opened his jeans and crawled between her legs.
He was big. Even bigger than Mickey. So big it hurt. Stretching her, filling her. She dug her nails into his back, crushed her mouth to his, and met each hard thrust with one of her own. Again and again. Clawing, groaning, together pounding him high and deep.
A face appeared above the counter. A girl’s face. She looked sixteen or so. A beautiful face. A horrified face.
It watched.
Somehow, the watching excited Peggy even more.
She didn’t care where the girl came from. Maybe from a rear entrance. It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered except Brad inside her.
‘God, darling!’ she gasped, clenching his buttocks.
Nothing but Brad.
His teeth clamped on her shoulder as he plunged.
Nothing.
The girl looking down from above had tears in her eyes. She lifted a hand to wipe them off. Her short sleeve was a shiny swirl of color.