Her mind wandered restlessly.
What if nobody should come? What if they left her here to starve? She would die of thirst before starving. God, her mouth was dry. Her teeth felt like granite blocks.
She hadn’t eaten since dinner last night. Breaded pork chops, white rice dripping with teriyaki sauce, iced tea. She wished she had a gallon of iced tea now. She would drink it straight from the pitcher, spilling some, letting it stream down her neck and chest.
They’ll come, she told herself. Sooner or later. They wouldn’t have brought me here and bandaged me just to let me die. They’ll keep me alive for the beast.
Oh God, the beast.
But I’ll fool them. They’ll open that door and I’ll be out like a flash and cut them up if I have to, they won’t get me, they won’t take me alive.
Or maybe the door will open and it’ll be Dad or maybe the cops. They must be looking for me. But they wouldn’t know where to look.
If only she had stayed home last night. It’s a punishment. She’d had the hots for Brian and now she has to pay. What happened to Brian? He’s probably dead. Maybe he’s alive, though. Maybe in the house. A prisoner.
Somebody is. Somebody with a baby.
Maybe the house is full of prisoners.
That’s why Kutch built it without windows. Not to keep out the beast, the way she sometimes claimed on the tours, but to keep her prisoners in.
Janice was sprawled flat on the floor, arms and legs stretched out, face pressing the carpet, her mind drifting from thought to thought when she suddenly heard footsteps. Her heart gave a lurch. She thrust herself up and crawled to the left, one hand raking the darkness in search of the wall. Her fingernails scraped against it. She slid her right hand sideways and felt the doorframe.
The footsteps sounded very close.
Patting the carpet, she tried to find the bulb. She’d left it near the door’s edge, its jagged glass down so she wouldn’t cut her fingers groping for it.
She heard the metallic scrape and snick of a key pushing into the lock.
Where is it?
Then the side of her right hand swept against the bulb. She clenched the grooved base, and started to rise as the door swung inward. The figure of a girl was silhouetted against the blue light from the corridor. She had a bag clamped under her chin, a can in one hand, a key in the other. Gasping, she took a quick step back as Janice lunged at her. The bag dropped to her feet.
Janice, surprised by the stranger’s smaller size and apparent youth, couldn’t bring herself to slash out. Instead, she grabbed a handful of the girl’s T-shirt and yanked her forward. She hooked an arm around the girl’s back, twisted, and slammed her against the doorframe. The girl grunted, but her left hand swung up, hammering the can against Janice’s face. The blow stunned her. She staggered backwards, hanging onto the squirming body, and they both fell.
Janice was on the bottom. She rolled. She caught hold of the flailing arms, forced them to the carpet. As the girl bucked and writhed under her, she crawled up the body. She straddled the chest, used her knees to pin down the arms.
“Get off me,” the girl demanded. “Get off!” Her legs flew up. A knee smashed against Janice’s back. “Bitch!”
Janice raised a fist. The girl’s face, dim in the blue light from the corridor, looked fierce. But very young. She was probably thirteen or fourteen. She was part of this, though. She had to be taken care of. Janice shot her fist down. As it descended, the body jerked under her. The light swept away. A moment after her fist smashed the sneering face, the door banged shut.
She was in blackness again.
She punched blindly in a rage, each blow hurting her knuckles sending pain up her wrists and forearms.
The girl was sobbing. “No. Stop. Please!”
“Shut up. Don’t move or I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you.” To prove her point, she clutched the girl’s throat.
“I promise.”
“Okay.” She relaxed the pressure, but kept her fingers around the throat. “How do I get out of here?”
“You can’t.”
“Just watch me.”
“You can’t,” the girl sobbed. “The door’s locked.”
“You unlocked it.”
“Just to…get in. When I kicked it shut, it locked again. Try it…if you don’t believe me.”
“Where’s the key?”
“In the hall. I dropped it in the hall.”
“You mean we’re both locked in?”
“Yeah, and you’d better not hurt me or you’ll be sorry.”
Janice slapped her face. “Who else is in the house?”
“You’ll find out.”
She slapped her again. “No more wise answers, you little shit. Who’s here?”
The girl sniffled. “Maggie,” she muttered. “And Wick. And Agnes. And my mom and brother.”
“I heard a baby.”
“That’s my brother, Jud. He’s six months.”
“And the beast?”
She hesitated.
“Do they keep it here?”
“They don’t keep it. This is its home.”
“It just wanders around loose?”
“Sure.”
“Great.”
“They’ll come looking for me. When I don’t come back…”
“That’s just fine. I’ll be ready.”
“You can’t get out of here. It’s impossible. You think my mom’d still be around if there was a way out? She’s tried over and over but we always catch her.”
“We? You mean your own mother’s a prisoner and you help the others?”
“We can’t let her get away. She’d ruin everything.”
“What kind of a kid are you?”
She didn’t answer.
“What’s your name?”
“Sandy. Sandy Hayes.”
“Well, Sandy Hayes, I’m going to get out of here and ruin everything and you can fucking well count on it.”
“Fat chance.”
Janice squeezed her throat. “Okay, lie still. Don’t even think about moving.” She climbed off Sandy’s body. Kneeling beside her in the darkness, she felt along the T-shirt to the waist of the pants. She fingered a belt. She opened its buckle and tugged it free. Draping it around her neck so she wouldn’t lose it, she patted the pants’ pockets. They seemed to be empty. She unfastened the waist button, slid the zipper down, and yanked the pants down Sandy’s legs. The girl wore shoes. She pulled them off, set them nearby, and finished removing the pants.
She tried to put them on. They were much too small. After a short struggle, she gave up.
She slid her hands up Sandy’s legs and hooked her fingers under the elastic of her panties.
“Hey!”
“Shut up.” She drew the panties down. She tried them on. The filmy material had enough stretch to allow a snug fit. She clutched Sandy’s thigh. “Okay, sit up and take off your T-shirt.”
She waited for it.
“Here.”
She swept out a hand and took the garment. Spreading it against herself, she could feel that it was far too small. A tight fit would hurt her wounds. She stretched its neck, yanked until it tore, then split the fabric all the way down. She put the shirt on easily, like a smock, the opening at her back.
Using the belt, she bound Sandy’s feet together.
The hands were still free. A bra might be useful for binding them. She moved her hand up the girl’s belly and paused at the feel of tape. “You’re bandaged?”
“I hurt myself.”
Her fingers glided over Sandy’s skin, touching two more bandages: one on the side, one on a breast. The girl wore no bra.
“How’d you get hurt?” Janice asked.
“The same as you.”
“What?”
“You know.”