As far as I knew, they might all be locked inside the house, somewhere.
Maybe others, too.
I couldn't take any sort of action until I knew where they were being kept.
I'd missed a great opportunity to find them, I realized. While Wesley and Thelma were busy brutalizing Erin in the dance room, I should have gone exploring. I probably could've searched the whole house -- with no danger of being caught. Instead, I'd just planted myself at the window and gotten my kicks watching the show.
I'd blown it.
Maybe I'd blown my single, best chance to find and save my women.
All because I'm a low-life, horny pervert.
On the other hand . . . I didn't know in advance that they'd be spending an hour or more messing with that girl. If I hadn't stayed and watched, maybe I would've been in the house when they got done. I might've bumped smack into them and gotten myself nailed.
Being a low-life, horny pervert might've saved my life.
Might've saved my women, too, since there was nobody to rescue them except me.
You just never know.
Maybe it was a good thing that I stayed and watched.
While I stood outside the window, peering in and thinking about all that stuff, Thelma came back into the room. She was still naked, but no longer bloody. Apparently, she'd gone off somewhere to wash up.
She hurried about, crouching to pick up what they'd left behind: her robe, Wesley's pants and belt, Erin's kilt and blouse and knee socks. Clutching them to her bosom, she circled the room and blew out the candles and lamp flames.
When she finished, the room was dark except for faint light from the doorway -- and its reflection in the mirror. The mirror showed her backside as she hurried down the hall. Then she disappeared.
I decided to climb in through the window and try to catch up with her.
The only safe way to play: keep my eyes on Thelma and Wesley. So long as I never let them out of my sight, they wouldn't be able to take me by surprise.
Also, they were sure to lead me to my women. (Unless my women were dead, which I couldn't allow myself to believe.)
The window screen was attached to the sill by small hook-and-eye catches. A simple flip of two hooks, and the screen should swing out for me.
But the hooks were on the inside.
At the bottom of the screen, just above one of the hooks, I sliced a small flap with my razor, I pushed against it with the tip of my forefinger. The flap lifted inward. I inserted my finger to the second knuckle and shoved the hook sideways. It was tight in the steel eye. But it suddenly popped out.
I started to work on the screen above the other catch. When the flap was made, I put away my razor. Then I poked my finger in. I shoved at the hook. It slipped free.
The screen went loose at the bottom.
I stuck my index fingers into both the flaps.
I started easing the screen toward me. It came easily.
But all of a sudden, a door banged shut somewhere to my right -- in the direction of the front of the house. The sound, though not very loud, startled the hell out of me. I jumped. I felt as if I'd gotten zapped by lightning -- a hot current sizzling through my heart and every vein and artery.
I damn near fell down.
Somehow, though, I kept my hold on the screen. I eased it gently back into place, in spite of my quaking hands. Then I let myself collapse.
I lay on the ground, head up, eyes on the grounds by the front of the mansion. I no longer sizzled from the sudden fright, but my heart wouldn't slow down. It whammed like a madman. I had a hard time catching my breath, too. I was a wreck.
Nobody walked into view.
I heard voices, though. Probably Wesley and Thelma, but the sounds were soft and masked by a thousand jungle noises. I didn't have a clue about what was being said.
After a few seconds, the voices faded out completely.
I pushed myself off the ground and ran alongside the house. Glancing around the corner of the veranda, I found my quarry; Wesley and Thelma, walking Erin toward the jungle.
They had their backs to me.
Thelma's right hand clutched Erin by the arm. She carried a flaming torch in her left hand. It lit the three of them with an aura of shimmering gold.
Thelma wore shoes, and nothing else. Erin wore nothing at all. Wesley, holding her by the right arm, wore his knife belt, a bandage on his right buttock, and high-top sneakers.
Erin limped along between her two captors. She'd been cleaned so that she no longer looked as if she'd been rolling in blood. But I could see a mad pattern of stripes on her back and buttocks.
Her head hung. She looked hugely weary.
They led her away from the mansion, following a dirt pathway that curved to the left and vanished into the jungle.
I watched until they vanished into the jungle. When all I could see was the haze of Thelma's torchlight, I broke cover. I dashed past the side of the veranda and across the front lawn (book bag whapping against my back), and didn't slow down until I came to the dirt path.
Crouching low, I crept forward. With bushes in the way, I could no longer see the glow of Thelma's torch. But she and the others couldn't have gone far. They had to be just a short distance ahead.
I snuck around a curve in the path.
And found them.
Found them on the path, no more than fifty feet in front of me.
Loading Erin into a cage.
A cage the size of a small room, bars on all sides, bars across the top, a door of bars in front.
At the fading edges of the torchlight, I could just barely see a second cage. A space the width of a sidewalk separated it, from Erin's cage -- enough distance to stop the prisoners from reaching each other, touching.
A girl stood in the second cage, her face pressed between two of the bars. She was poorly lit. She looked too small, though, to be any of my women.
I guessed she might be Alice, Erin's sister.
Wesley shoved Erin through the door of the first cage, then swung it shut and locked it with a key.
He had a whole bunch of keys. They hung on a ring the size of a bracelet. After locking Erin in her cage, he slipped the key-ring over his right wrist.
I figured he and Thelma might turn around soon, to start back, so I scurried off the path and crawled in among the bushes and tree trunks. I'd just gotten myself turned around when they came down the path.
I couldn't see them, so they couldn't see me, either.
I saw the glow of the torch, though. It drifted slowly by, no more than six feet in front of me but high off the ground.
Wesley and Thelma weren't talking. I couldn't hear their footsteps, either. All I heard was the soft jangle of the keys.
The light moved on and vanished. The jangle faded away.
I didn't move.
What if it was a trick? Maybe Wesley stayed behind to spring a trap an me. He could've given the key-ring to Thelma.
Don't be ridiculous, I told myself. They almost certainly think I'm dead, and they sure don't know I've tracked them down.
Unless they do.
Unless they spotted me somehow. Somewhere. When l followed them over here to the cages. When I spied on them through the window. Or earlier. Maybe they'd even spotted me before dark.
No.
They don't know I'm here. They think I'm dead. Wesley didn't stay behind to jump me. He and Thelma are on their way back to the mansion.
Probably.
I sure hoped so.
I couldn't see myself staying put all night, hiding there in the bushes on the off-chance that Wesley might be waiting to jump me at the cages.
So I crawled out.
On hands and knees, I looked both ways -- up and down the path.
No sign of anybody.
I couldn't see the light of Thelma's torch, either.
Nor could I see the cages. They'd been eaten by the darkness.
Getting to my feet but staying low, I hurried down the path to where it opened with a view of the front lawn and mansion. Thelma and Wesley had almost reached the veranda.
As I watched, Thelma stepped over to a bucket by the side of the veranda stairs. She swept her torch down and plunged its blazing end into the bucket.