“What?”
“We’re evacuating the area. A gas main broke.”
The door opened.
Roy lunged. The guard chain snapped taut. Its mounting shot from the doorjamb. The door slammed into the man, knocking him backward. Roy dived into him, covered his mouth, and jabbed the knife into his throat.
“Marv?” a woman called. “What’s going on out there?”
Roy shut the front door.
“Marv?” Fear in her voice. “Marv, are you all right?”
Roy heard the whirr of a spinning telephone dial. He ran to the hall. Near the end, light shone through an open door. He rushed toward it. He was almost there when a girl stepped out of a dark doorway, glanced at him, and gasped. Roy grabbed her hair.
“Mommy!” Roy called. “Hang up the phone or I cut your daughter’s throat.”
“God in heaven!”
“Let me hear it.” He yanked the girl’s hair. She cried out.
The phone clattered. “It’s down! I put it down!”
Roy twisted the girl’s hair, making her turn around. “Walk,” he said. Knife blade poised across her throat, he walked behind her to the far bedroom.
The woman stood next to her bed, stiff and trembling. She wore a white nightgown. Her pale arms were crossed tightly as if she were trying to warm herself.
“What…what did you do to Marv?”
“He’s all right.”
Her eyes lowered to Roy’s knife hand. He glanced down. His hand was shiny red. “So I lied,” he said.
“God in heaven! O merciful God!”
“Shut up.”
“You killed him!”
“Shut up.”
“You killed my Marv!”
He shoved the girl roughly toward the bed and ran at the hysterical woman. Her mouth gaped wide to scream. Clutching the front of her nightgown, he jerked her forward and punched the knife into her stomach. She sucked air as if her wind had been knocked out. “Gonna shut up now?” Roy asked, and stabbed again.
She started to sag, so Roy let go of the nightgown. She sank to her knees, both hands pressing her belly. Then she slumped forward.
The girl on the bed didn’t move. She just stared.
“Now, you don’t want to get stabbed, too, do you?” he asked her.
She shook her head. She was trembling. She looked ready to scream.
Roy glanced down at himself. His shirt and pants dripped blood. “I guess I’m a mess, aren’t I?”
She said nothing.
“What’s your name?”
“Joni.”
“How old are you, Joni?”
“I’ll be ten.”
“Why don’t you come along and help me clean up.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Do you want me to stab you?”
She shook her head. Her lips trembled.
“Then come with me.” Taking her hand, he pulled her off the bed. He led her down the hallway until he found the bathroom. He turned on its light, and pulled her inside.
The bathroom was long, with a sink and counter close to the door, a space, and then the toilet. The bathtub, set into the wall opposite the toilet, had frosted shower doors.
Roy led the girl to the toilet. The seat was already down. Its green, fuzzy cover matched the carpet. “Sit there.”
Joni obeyed.
Kneeling in front of her, Roy unfastened the buttons of her pajama top. She sobbed. “Knock that off.” He slipped the pajamas down her arms. “We’ll get good and clean,” he said. He unsnapped the waistband, tugged the pants out from under her, and down her legs. She clamped her knees together. Arms crossed over breasts no more developed than a boy’s, she bent far down, bringing her shoulders almost to her knees.
Roy turned on the hot water. As it splashed into the tub, he undressed himself. When all his clothes lay heaped on the floor, he plugged the bathtub drain. He adjusted the water so it was hot, but not scalding.
Joni still sat on the toilet seat, hunched over and hugging her knees.
Roy grabbed her arm. She tried to pull free, so he slapped the side of her head. She yelped, but didn’t move. Standing in front of her, Roy grabbed both arms and jerked her to her feet. She cried, “No!” as he swung her into the bathtub. Her feet whipped. She kicked the metal spout and cried out in pain. Roy nearly lost his grip but managed to keep from falling backward. She splashed the water, rump first. Roy climbed in, facing her.
He knelt in the water. “I’ve about had it,” he warned. “Sit still.”
She kicked. Her heel caught him in the thigh.
“Okay.”
Clutching her ankles, he lifted her legs and pulled her forward. Her head slipped underwater. Her eyes and mouth were puckered shut. Her hands slapped the sides of the tub, reached up blindly for something to hold, found nothing, and splashed water. Roy watched the frantic girl, enjoying the struggle, excited by the sight of her skinny body and the cleft at the hairless joining of her legs.
He let her ankles down. The girl’s face broke the surface, eyes and mouth gaping as if surprised. She gasped air. Roy let her sit up.
“No more trouble,” he said.
She sniffed, and wiped her runny nose with the back of her hand. Then she crossed her arms and bent forward.
Roy twisted sideways. He turned off the cold faucet, and let just the hot water run for a while. The water level rose. Soon it was good and hot and deep. He turned off the water.
“Let’s switch places,” he said. Standing, he stepped over her. She scooted forward, her rump squeaking on the enamel. Roy sat down, leaned against the cool back of the tub, and stretched out his legs on each side of her.
“Now we’ll get all clean,” he said.
He lifted a bar of soap from its tray and began to rub her back. When that was slick, he eased her closer so she was reclining against him. Reaching over her shoulders, he soaped her chest, her belly. Her skin was warm, pliant, slippery. He pulled her more tightly against him. He put the soap in the tray. He reached down between her legs.
That’s when the mother staggered up to the tub, raising a butcher knife. Roy’s left hand rammed the sliding door shut. The knife point thumped the door, and scraped down it. Roy shoved the girl forward. He kneed her away. Pressing the edge of the door to keep it shut, he got his feet under him. The mother lurched sideways. Her left hand let go of her sopping, bloody nightgown and reached for the rear half of the sliding door. Roy held it shut with his other hand. As if there were no door, the woman plunged the knife toward Roy’s face. It’s point hit, shaking the door. She stabbed again and again. The sound from her throat was part growl, part an outcry of pain or frustration.
Joni gripped Roy’s leg and started to pull.
“Bitch! Let go!”
He released the right-hand door long enough to bat Joni’s face with the back of his fist. Her head jerked with the impact. It thudded the tile wall.
The mother reached for the free door. Roy got to it first and held it shut. Growling with rage, she grabbed the top runner of the doors. She climbed and pulled herself until she was standing on the tub’s edge. Her face appeared above Roy, eyes wild. She swung her right arm down, slashing toward him. He ducked below the knife’s arc.
Inches from his eyes, the mother’s red, clinging nightgown smeared blood on the door. She was pressed tightly to the door, her bare feet on the rim of the tub.
She grunted. The blade whished above him. She propped her left knee on the towel bar halfway up the door.
Shit, she’s climbing it!
Roy jerked the door. It slid open, slamming the wall at the front of the tub. Reaching forward with both hands, he clutched the woman’s right ankle. He pulled. His hands slipped on the bloody skin, but he kept his grip. With a cry of horror, she flopped backward. She hit the floor first with the back of her head. She went limp. Still holding her right ankle, Roy climbed out of the tub. He picked up her other leg and swiveled her away from the tub.