"No, I'm not trying to put Sally behind me," he said. "But I am trying to think about the rest of my life. And the ideas of the last few days, the idea that Sally was murdered, that the son of bitch who did it has been walking around this town, talking to me, free, has been curdling my gut. And the fact that every time I see you, I want to screw you so bad it hurts. You practically break in my house, my damn house, and I want to fuck you right here on the floor."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
It was like he'd flipped a switch. Suddenly, I was thinking about it, too, thinking that it would feel good to forget about my problems for a few minutes, and I rolled over on my back and pulled my shirt over my head.
It was short and violent and the most exciting encounter I'd ever experienced. Nails and teeth, slick skin against slick skin, the thud of body against body. Afterward, he lay beside me on the floor in the small space we'd had available and said, "I need to vacuum." He was panting heavily, and the words came out slowly.
"A few dust bunnies," I agreed. "But they were good company."
He wheezed as he laughed, and I pulled my bra back up because there was a draft along the floor. I rolled to my side and propped up on one elbow.
"I made your back bleed," I said, looking from the scratches to my fingernails. "I'm sorry."
"It felt good when it happened," he said, and he was beginning to drift off to sleep. "I don't mind."
While he dozed, I rolled onto my stomach and flipped through the biology book. It was a very basic text, with chapters on plant cells and reproduction, the human nervous system, how eyes work, and...
I glanced at the scratches on Hollis's shoulder and shook my head. I looked back down at the graph on the page.
I pulled my jeans back on.
"Hollis," I said, very quietly.
"Mmph?" he said, opening his eyes.
"I have to go."
"What? Wait a minute. Where's you car?"
"I ran from the motel to your house. I'll walk back."
"No, just wait a minute, I'll run you to the motel. Or you can stay here. I know you don't like to be alone."
It wasn't being alone that made me so antsy. It was being without my brother. But I didn't want to explain that. "I need to go back to the motel," I said, as regretfully as I could manage. "I think the lawyer may call me." Okay, that was a lie, but I was trying to spare his feelings. I had a few things I needed to do, and I'd have free reign to do them when I wasn't around Hollis, the lawman. He pulled on his uniform swiftly.
"Have you eaten?" Hollis asked practically, as we drove down Main.
"Ah... no, I guess not." I hadn't even finished the granola bar.
"Then at least let me take you to Subway to get something."
"That would be good," I agreed, suddenly aware that I was hungry.
The truck filled with the good smell of the hot chicken sub; my mouth was watering.
When Hollis pulled into the slot in front of my room I hopped out of the truck with the bag containing my sandwich; I wanted to use the glare of his headlights to help me fit the key in the lock. The motel was anything but well-lit. Hollis began backing up as I pushed the door open. I turned to wave at him with one hand while the other hand clutched my bag of food. I could vaguely see Hollis's arm move as he switched gears to pull out of the lot.
Suddenly, from inside the room there was a grip on my upper arm that spun me around, then I was stumbling into the room and meeting the rug with a speed that was terrifying.
I rolled to my feet and launched myself at my attacker, pushing him right back out the open door. Never let yourself get cornered. You have to fight instantly, I'd found as a teenager, or your opponent has the upper hand; your injuries hurt too much, or you get scared. And you have to go with it with every fiber of your being. Pull, bite, strike, scratch, squeeze; let go completely. If you're dedicated to hurting someone else, it doesn't register so much when they hurt you. I hardly felt the two pounding blows the man got in on my ribs before I grabbed his testicles and clamped down, and then I bit him on the neck as hard as I could. He was shrieking and trying to pry me off when Hollis separated us.
I sat back against the wall of the motel, sobbing and shaking with the aftermath of unleashing all that, and stared at my assailant, whom Hollis handcuffed with a few economical motions. It was Scot, of course, the teenage admirer of Mary Nell; Scot, who'd tried to attack me before. He was whimpering now, little snot-nose bastard.
"Are you crazy?" Hollis yelled at him. "Are you nuts? What are you doing, attacking a woman like that?"
"She's the one who's crazy," Scot said. He spit out a little blood. "Did you see her?"
"Scot, what the hell made you decide to do this?" I could see that Hollis was absolutely stunned. "Who let you in her room?" He shook the boy.
The teenager stayed silent, glaring up at Hollis.
Vernon McCluskey hobbled out of the office and down the sidewalk to where we were poised in our strange tableau.
"Vernon, did you let this boy into Harper's room?" Hollis bellowed.
"Naw," Vernon said. He looked down at the boy contemptuously. I knew it wasn't because the boy had been poised to attack a smaller woman, but because the boy had failed to attack hard enough, and at the wrong time. "I rented him a room, the room this lady's brother was in earlier. If she happened to leave the adjoining door unlocked, ain't my fault. I had no idea Scot would do anything like this." Vernon shook his head with insincere regret.
Son of a bitch.
If I was feeling paranoid, it was with some justification.
"Get up, Scot," Hollis said. "You're going to jail. Harper, you're going to press charges?"
"Oh, you bet." I needed a hand up, but Hollis was escorting Scot to his truck, and I wouldn't have asked Vernon for a place to spit on the sidewalk. Shakily, I worked my way to my feet. My thigh muscles were trembling, and I felt weak and sick. I hated pretty nearly everyone. "I may have to wait until tomorrow, but I'm definitely going to press charges. I was willing to forgive the first time, when he looked to be a teenager driven nuts by jealousy, but this is above and beyond."
What on earth could have induced this boy, who'd been so scared of his parents and his coach, to attempt something like this? What had he been ordered to do? Kill me, or beat me up?
"Paid," I said. Hollis stopped, halfway through pushing the handcuffed boy up into his truck. "I'll bet someone paid him to do this."
And I saw by Scot's face that I'd struck oil. "Were you supposed to break some bones?" I asked him, conversationally. "Or kill me?"
"Shut up," he said, turning his face away from me. "Just don't talk to me anymore."
"Coward," I said, and I remembered that Harvey Branscom had called him the same thing the morning before. Harvey had been right.
"Burn in hell," Scot said, and then Hollis slammed the door on him.
Vernon was still standing there when they pulled away.
"You do anything but take my key when I leave, I'll slap you with a lawsuit that will bankrupt this motel," I said. I knew damn good and well I'd locked the interconnecting door. "If any harm comes to me, my brother will see to it. Any harm comes to him, our lawyer will do it."
He didn't say anything, but he watched me with old, hostile eyes while I shut and locked my door. I picked up the bag of food from Subway. Luckily, I hadn't gotten a drink, since I had bottled drinks in the ice chest in my room. Vernon probably would have had me arrested for defacing his property if I'd spilled a Coke on his green carpet.
I shoved a chair under the doorknob and moved the ice chest against the connecting door. It wouldn't hold the door, but it would slow down an entrance and provide noise. I used my cell phone to call Art in Atlanta, and I left a detailed account of what had just happened on his answering machine. Just for the record.