One rainy night, p.11
One Rainy Night, page 11
With some dry towels, she wiped her neck and belly. She fastened the button of her shirt. Then she tore off a yard of towels, moistened them, and left the kitchen.
Hurrying through the living room, she saw Tom still lying motionless near the door, Kara sitting on one of the cushions and reaching into the popcorn bowl beside her.
The girl looked over her shoulder as Denise approached. ‘Did you get it all off?’
‘Hope so.’ On her knees beside Kara, she set down the damp towels and spread the collar of her shirt. ‘Did I miss any?’
‘I don’t think so. There’s none on your skin, anyway. Your shirt’s dirty. Maybe you could borrow one of Mom’s blouses or something. You want me to get one for you?’
‘Not right now. I want to do this first.’ Picking up the towels, she moved closer to Tom. ‘Thought I might as well clean his face off.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean, what if it wakes him up?’
‘We’ve got him tied good.’
‘Yeah, but still. . .’
‘He won’t look nearly as scary once he’s cleaned up a little,’ Denise said, and gently rubbed the wad of damp paper across his forehead. He didn’t stir. In the wake of the towels, his skin looked clean and pale. She wiped his right cheek and jumped as the telephone rang.
‘I’ll get it,’Kara blurted.
‘No, I will.’ She lurched to her feet and dropped the towels.
‘I bet it’s Mom and Dad.’
‘Probably. You watch him.’ She ran for the kitchen. The phone rang three more times before she got to it. ‘Hello?’
‘Denise? It’s John. Is everything all right there?’
‘Yeah, fine.’
‘You’re both OK?’
‘Sure.’
She heard him sigh into the phone. ‘Well, look, I don’t know what’s going on but people are going nuts outside. It apparently has something to do with the rain. The rain’s black out there. We just had three people go crazy and come into the restaurant and kill some people.’
‘My god,’ Denise muttered.
It isn’t just Tom, she thought. She’d felt sure that he wasn’t to blame, but knowing that other people had also gone crazy made her feel better about him.
‘Are you and Lynn OK?’ she asked.
‘We’re fine. But we’re stuck in here. I don’t know when we might get out. We’ll get home as soon as we can, but it might not be for hours. I just don’t know. We have to stay until the rain stops.’ ‘Well, I’ll stay here till you show up.’
‘You’ve got to. You can’t go outside. Make sure Kara doesn’t go out, either. And whatever you do, don’t let anyone into the house.’
‘No. I won’t.’
‘People might try to break in,’ he said, and Denise felt a squirmy coldness in her bowels. ‘I just don’t know. I don’t want to upset you. But it’s possible. I want you to round up some weapons just in case. There’s a hammer in the kitchen in one of the drawers. Kara knows where to find it. And there’re plenty of knives. Grab a couple of big ones. The bathroom door has a lock. It isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing. You can lock yourselves in if there’s trouble.’
‘OK,’ she said, and stiffened as Kara appeared beside her.
‘Is it Mom?’ the girl whispered.
Denise shook her head, and waved her away.
‘One more thing,’ John said.
‘Dad?’ Kara whispered.
Nodding, Denise frowned and jabbed her finger toward the front of the house.
‘I know Kara won’t be thrilled by this, but I want you to turn off all the lights in the house.’
‘Can I talk to him?’
Denise shook her head sharply and kept pointing, but Kara stayed.
‘If the house is dark, I think there’s less chance of someone trying to break in. They’re after people. At least that’s what I’m guessing. So they might not waste time with a house they think is deserted.’
‘OK. I’ll do that as soon as I hang up.’
‘Fine, fine. Is Kara there?’
‘She sure is. Just a second.’ Denise covered the mouthpiece. ‘Don’t mention Tom,’ she warned, then passed the handset to the girl.
‘Oh, hi, Dad.’ She stared at Denise while she listened. She had a nervous look in her eyes.
Don’t tell him!
‘Yeah, everything fine. We’re having a nice party. We made some popcorn, and . . .’ She fell silent. Her lower lip strained down, baring her teeth. ‘Oh, gosh.’
I’d better check on Tom, Denise thought.
But she wanted to hear Kara’s end of the conversation.
‘I will . . . OK . . . I love you, too . . . Bye.’ She reached high and hung up the phone. When she turned to Denise, she wore her spooked-by-the-boogeyman look, but there was no hint of amusement. ‘What’re we going to do?’
‘What did your father say?’
‘He said I should do whatever you tell me and not give you any argument.’
Denise gently squeezed the girl’s shoulder. ‘Everything will be OK.’
Her face changed. She looked as if she might be considering something that was very personal and very embarrassing. ‘I hate to say this, but I think maybe we oughta hide.’
‘Probably a good idea. But your dad mentioned a hammer. Do you know where it is?’
‘Oh, sure.’
‘Why don’t you get it and pick out a good sharp knife for me? I’ll be right back.’
Denise strode quickly through the dining room, into the living room.
She halted when she saw the foyer.
Tom was gone.
‘Oh my God,’ she muttered.
He’d left his shoes behind. Along with Denise’s belt, coiled and abandoned on the tile floor beyond the cushions and popcorn bowl and soda glasses. The two jumpropes were missing. So was the fireplace poker.
Breathless, she took a few steps backward, then whirled around and raced into the kitchen. ‘He got loose.’
Kara’s eyes spread wide and she sucked in a quick breath. In one of her hands was a claw hammer.
Denise rushed up to her and took it. She slipped a butcher knife from the wooden block on the counter.
‘What’ll we do?’ the girl whispered.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I don’t think I want to go around hunting for him.’
‘Me neither,’ Denise said. She hurried to the kitchen entrance and looked out. ‘Let’s just stay right here. At least he won’t be able to take us by surprise.’
6
‘Mom! Mom!’
Francine kept wheezing.
Trev slowed the car and looked back. Lisa was shaking her mother by the shoulders so roughly that the woman’s head was flopping.
‘That isn’t doing any good,’ Trev said. He faced the front again. ‘Just try holding her or something.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘Does she have asthma?’
‘No.’
‘It’s probably a panic attack.’
‘Mom!’
The woman went on sucking air with high, whiny gasps.
Should’ve left them in the station, Trev thought. If he’d known the gal was going to lose it. . .
Hell, she has every right.
Trev himself felt as if he were hanging over a cliff by his fingertips and the slightest push might send him plunging down into a chasm of panic.
He kept seeing the four black figures coming toward his car. He kept seeing the severed head slam against the windshield. And the body speared by the axe handle, still bouncing and swaying in front of the hood, kept it ail from receding into the past.
He wanted to lose the damn thing.
But the guy was stuck fast.
He’d considered jumping out into the rain and just yanking him off the axe. It would’ve been worth the risk of getting wet or being attacked by other crazies. But he’d decided it was not worth the loss of time.
The crash and detour had stolen four or five minutes from him. From Maureen.
Let the bastard have his ride.
Trev hadn’t returned to Guthrie. He’d gone one block over, made another right, and now he was speeding up Flower Avenue, parallel to Guthrie. He’d lost count of the cross-streets. He’d quit slowing down for intersections. He suspected he must be getting close to Third.
We’ll either crash and burn, or we’ll be there pretty quick.
He wished Francine would stop making those awful gasping noises. He had half a mind to climb back there and shut her up.
The center line ended. He hit the brakes. His car fishtailed into the intersection. When it slid to a stop, he peered out the windows. His headbeams lit the side of a red Porsche. It seemed to be parked at a curb.
If his sense of direction wasn’t screwed up, the skid had taken him across the northbound lane of the cross-street. This should be O’Casey’s side of the street.
If this is Third.
The restaurant would be near the middle of the block.
He steered away from the Porsche, drove slowly alongside it, passed a Subaru, and came to an alley. He swung into the alley and stopped.
‘Wait here.’
‘You can’t leave us!’ Lisa blurted.
Francine kept wheezing.
‘You can’t get out,’ Trev said. He shut off the wipers and headlights, and stuffed the keys into a front pocket of his jeans. ‘I’ll be back pretty soon. Just keep your eyes open. Give me one of those shotguns.’
Lisa passed an Ithaca over the seat back.
‘Keep the other one handy. And your mom’s got Patterson’s revolver. Get it out of her purse and have it ready.’
‘Please!’ Lisa cried out.
‘I’ll hurry. Just take it easy.’ He flung open the door. Clutching the forestock of the shotgun, he climbed out into the rain. He punched down the lock button and slammed the door.
He took a couple of steps toward the front of the car. Holding the shotgun by its barrel, he leaned over the hood and pressed butt plate against the dead man’s shoulder. He shoved hard, thrusting the body away. The axe handle came out. The guy tumbled backward and dropped out of sight.
Trev saw no point in wasting precious time to wrench the axe out of the hood.
He walked quickly past the rear of the car, stepped out of the alley and headed up the sidewalk to his left. A nightlight illuminated the interior of the shop beside him. The place looked deserted. The sign near the top of its display window identified it as Ace Camera, and Trev’s heart quickened.
This was Third, all right. Ace Camera was adjacent to O’Casey’s.
Please, he thought. Please, let her be OK.
Just ahead, the overhang of O’Casey’s awning blocked out the rain. Beyond the curtain of darkness, light spilled onto the sidewalk. Trev hurried toward it. He thought of Hemingway and the clean, well-lighted place. This was a dry, well-lighted place. A safe refuge from the storm.
Though he ached to get there, he also felt dread.
What if . . . ?
Don’t think about it.
Then he was under the awning, out of the rain, standing in the light. He gazed through the open space where O’Casey’s window used to be. He felt as if his brain were squeezing itself into a cold, dark ball.
Numb, he made his way to the open door.
He entered and scanned the restaurant. Nothing moved. He felt half blind, trying to see through the eyeholes. With one hand, he pulled off Patterson’s hat and dragged the plastic hood over his head. He set them on the nearest table and breathed deeply and realized he was making wheezy noises just like Francine.
He wanted to call out for Maureen and Liam, but he knew he didn’t have enough breath for that.
He moved carefully through the room. The hardwood floor was slick with patches of dark water, spilled beer and blood and slabs of pizza. It was littered with window glass, overturned benches and tables, broken steins, wine and soda glasses, pitchers and plates. There were knives and forks on the floor. Glass shakers of salt and pepper, parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes. And bodies. So many bodies.
He tried not to see the kids. He only glanced briefly at the male adults. None was stocky and red-haired. Two of the men, blood mixed with the black of their skin and clothes, must have been assailants from outside.
One of the dead women was also black.
Of the other females, one was obese. She lay on her back with a wedge of pizza still in her mouth and a wedge of glass in her throat. One, facedown, looked tall and slender like Maureen, but had blonde hair. One, curled on her side with her arms around a small boy, was pregnant.
Trev squeezed his eyes shut.
I’ve gotta get out of here.
But he couldn’t leave, not without knowing.
One female, head out of sight under a table, wore a denim skirt that was rucked up around her waist. She had heavy legs. She wasn’t Maureen.
That left a slim, long-legged female sprawled on her back across the top of the last table before the order counter. Trev knew that he’d found Maureen. He couldn’t see her face or the color of her hair. The way her head hung over the far end of the table, only the underside of her chin was in sight. But he knew.
And he knew that they’d done more than murder her.
Why her?
It was obvious. Because she was so beautiful. Her looks must’ve turned on one or more of the invaders.
She usually wore corduroy pants or jeans. They were gone. Both her shoes were missing. She wore white socks. A torn rag of red panties dangled from her left ankle. Her thighs were mottled with gray smudges. On the table between her legs was a pizza. Her blood covered it. And blood concealed the true color of her pubic hair. Where her torso wasn’t sheathed with gleaming crimson, her skin bore dark streaks and stains. A mouth-sized chunk of flesh was missing from her right breast. Most of her throat had been chewed out.
Saliva kept flooding into Trev’s mouth. He knew he was about to vomit. He swallowed quickly, but more saliva poured in.
He took a few more steps, staggering past the side of the table, and saw the woman’s face.
She wore a mask of blood. Her wide mouth showed broken teeth. Raw pulp remained where her nose should’ve been. One eye was gone, and all that remained was a sloppy red pit.
Her hair hung toward the floor in thick, matted ropes of red.
But here and there, blood had missed it.
The hair was blonde.
Blonde, not the auburn of Maureen.
Thank God, Trev thought.
He threw up.
When he was done, he looked across the aisle. There were no bodies near the table there. Its surface was clear except for a glass of red wine and a stein of beer. He stepped over to it. The stein was half full. He picked it up and began to drink. The beer was cool, but not chilly.
Maybe Maureen and Liam escaped, he thought. He knew that the kitchen had a rear door. They could’ve fled out into the rain. Or maybe they hid.
He was certain he would find their bodies in the kitchen area.
Please, he thought. Don’t let them be dead.
He set down the empty stein. He took a deep, trembling breath, then strode to the open side of the counter and entered the kitchen.
He saw no one.
Stepping past the ovens, he felt their heat. Probably pizzas in them right now, as black as the crazies who had committed the slaughter.
He found dials, and turned the ovens off.
He considered opening them and looking in. As he reached for a handle, however, he remembered a book he’d read a few years ago. Phantoms. The oven of an abandoned bakery had a severed head or two inside. So he stepped away from the ovens.
‘Maureen?’ he called. His voice sounded high and strange, and much too loud. But he forced himself to call out Liam’s name.
No response.
He found Liam on the floor behind the food preparation island. The Irishman’s body was sprawled on top of a woman. Her slim, bare legs were stretched out between Liam’s. Her head was out of sight beneath him.
Trev felt his mind shrivel and darken just as it had done when he stood outside and first looked in at the massacre. A vague, shadowy image came to him of Liam throwing his body on Maureen to protect her.
But there was so much blood on the floor around them.
He tumbled Liam off the woman. The handle of a knife jutted from the middle of his chest.
The crescent blade of a two-handled pizza cutter was embedded deep in the woman’s neck.
They’d killed each other.
Her black face was intact.
Not Maureen.
Her skin was stained ebony from head to toe. At first, Trev thought she was naked. Then he realized she wore a string bikini.
A bikini in November?
Changed into it, all the better to enjoy the sudden warm downpour?
Trev’s dazed mind pictured a bikini-clad young woman prancing through puddles, dancing around a lamp post, singing in the rain.
Gene Killer.
He heard himself chuckle.
He thought, Fuck, don’t lose it. Hang on.
And he hung on while he searched the rest of the kitchen.
7
‘What’s he doing?’ Kara whispered.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe he left.’
Denise supposed that was possible. Since discovering that Tom had gotten loose, she and Kara hadn’t seen or heard anything to suggest that he remained in the house. He might’ve gone straight out the front door.
Or he might be waiting for them just beyond the dining room entry.
‘Your dad said we could lock ourselves in the bathroom,’ Denise whispered.
‘We can’t get there.’
‘We can if Tom left the house.’
‘But what if he didn’t?’
‘I don’t like waiting here,’ Denise said, watching from the kitchen doorway. ‘I know we’d be able to see him coming, but we’ve got no door at all. He can get right at us. If we could just make it into the bathroom . . .’
Kara shook her head. ‘He’d get us.’
