  NIGHT IN THE LONESOME OCTOBER

  BY

RICHARD LAYMON

LEISURE BOOKS

RAVE REVIEWS FOR

USA

r004KBESTSELLING AUTHOR

RICHARD LAYMON!

"Night in the Lonesome October

is scary. I haven't been this scared while reading

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Hellnotes

"Night in the Lonesome October

is at once one of the eeriest, and one of the most

immediate, horror novels of recent decades."

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(starred Review)

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SAL ACCLAIM [RD LAYMONI

nd deep He gives us characters that

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what makes characters work. Readers f leave burn

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Ray Bradbury's

Something Wicked This

j classic, you are in for a real treat.

The

will put you in the same vicarious world i since the

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an writer of the highest caliber."

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makes the savage termination of so many of them

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aymon is a legend in dark fiction circles ...

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ATTACKERS IN THE NIGHT

Somebody slammed into me from the right. The impact

twisted me and sent me stumbling sideways through the

dark. I tripped over my own feet, fell as if

making a dive into shallow water, and slammed against the

ground so hard that I skidded.

In the distance past my feet, Eileen cried out,

"Eddie! Get him off me!"

I heard a smack like a fist striking bare skin.

"Leave her alone!"I yelled.

As I struggled to get up, I realized that I'd

lost my knife. I

had to

have it. Dropping to my knees, I swept my hands

over the ground.

Eileen whined ... part pain, part terror.

The hell with the knife.

I grabbed a heavy, jagged rock that was larger than

my hand, scrambled to my feet and rushed toward the

sounds from Eileen and what was happening to her.

The sounds sickened me. Sobs and giggles,

punches and slaps, yelps of pain, gasps for

air, muttered curses, wet slurps, frenzied

grunts-

Other

Leisure

books by Richard Laymon:

ISLAND

THE MUSEUM OF HORRORS

IN THE DARK

THE TRAVELING VAMPIRE SHOW

AMONG THE MISSING

ONE RAINY NIGHT

BITE

III THE

LEISURE BOOKS

NEW YORK CITY

To Jerry and Jackie Lentz, our fine friends who

always seem to know what we're laughing about.

A LEISURE BOOK[*REG]

September 2002

Published by

Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

276 Fifth Avenue New York, NY

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be

aware that this book is stolen property. It was

reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher

and neither the author nor the publisher has received any

payment for this "stripped book."

Copyright [*copygg'2001 by Richard Laymon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any

electronic or mechanical means, including

photocopying, recording or by any information storage

and retrieval system, without the written permission

of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

ISBN: 0-8439-5046-3

The name "Leisure Books8andthe stylized Lwith

design are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing

Co., Inc.

Printed in the United States of America.

Visit us on the web at

www.dorchesterpub.com.

AUTHOR8S NOTE

"Casey at the Batea8a poem by Ernest

Lawrence Thayer, was first published under the pen name

"Phin8in the

San Francisco Examiner

on June 3,1888. The classic poem contains

the famous final stanza:

"Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining

bright,

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are

light;

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,

But there is no joy in Mudville: Mighty

Casey has struck out."

The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were

crisped and

sere-

The leaves they were withering and sere;

It was night in the lonesome October Of my most

immemorial year.,.

"Ulalume8Edgar Allan Poe

I was twenty years old and heartbroken the night it

started.

My name is Ed Logan.

Yes, guys can be heartbroken, too. It isn't

an affliction reserved for women only.

Except I think it feels more like an

empty stomach than a broken heart. An aching

hollowness that food can't cure. You know. You've

felt it yourself, I bet. You hurt all the time,

you're restless, you can't think straight, you sort of

wish you were dead but what you

really

want is for everything to be the same as it was when you were

still

with

her ... or him.

In my case, her name was Holly Johnson.

Holly Johnson.

God. I'd better not get started on her.

Suffice it to say I fell in love with Holly with

all my stupid heart and soul last spring when we were

both sophomores at Willmington University.

And she seemed to be in love with me. But then the

semester ended. I went home to Mill Valley and

she went home to Seattle where she worked as a

guidance counselor at some sort of fucking summer

camp and got involved with some

other

counselor. Only I didn't hear about that until

two weeks into the fall semester. I knew she

wasn't on campus, but didn't know why.

Her sorority sisters pleaded ignorance. On the

phone, her mother was evasive. "Holly isn't

home just now, but I'll tell her you called."

Then, on October first, a letter came. "Dear

Ed, I will always cherish the times we had..."

And so on. It might as well have been a letter bomb

... a letter carrying a voodoo bomb that first killed

me, then resurrected me as a zombie.

The night after receiving the letter, I stayed in my apartment

all by myself, drinking vodka (bought by a friend of legal

age) and orange juice until I passed out. In

the morning, I cleaned up the vomit. Then I had

to live through the worst hangover of my life.

Luckily, the letter had arrived on Friday.

By Monday, I'd mostly recovered from my

hangover. But not from my loss.

I attended my classes, going through the motions,

pretending to care, trying to act like the guy people knew as

Ed Logan.

That night, I studied until about eleven o'clock.

Tried

to study is more like it. Though my eyes traveled over

the lines of my

book my thoughts dwelled on Holly. I lingered

on memories of her And ached to have her back. And

agonized over vivid images of her making love

with my replacement, Jay.

He's so special and sensitive,

her letter had said.

How could she fall in love with a guy named Jay!

I'd known three or four Jays, and every last one of

them was an asshole.

He's so special and sensitive.

I wanted to kill him.

I wanted to kill her.

I hated her, but I wanted her back. I

pictured her return, myself weeping as we hugged and

kissed. She was weeping, too, and gasping, "I

love you so much, Ed. I'm so sorry I hurt you.

I'll never leave you again."

Yeah, right.

Anyway, that's how it was going Monday night.

Around eleven, I gave up trying to study. I

turned on the television, but just stared at the screen

without really seeing what was there. I thought about going

to bed, but knew I would end up wide awake,

tormented by Holly and Jay.

At last, I decided to take a walk. Just to get

out of my apartment. Just to be doing something. Just to kill

time.

Thoreau wrote, "You can't kill time without injuring

eternity."

Screw it, I thought. Screw Thoreau. Screw

eternity. Screw everything.

I wanted to go out walking in the night and get

lost

in the night and never come back.

Maybe I would get hit by a car. Maybe someone

would attack and murder me. Maybe I would hike

on over to the train tracks and look for a train with

my number on it. Or maybe I would just keep

walking forever, out of town, out of the state, just

out.

Out was where I wanted most to be.

Outside, the darkness smelled sweet and moist and a

soft wind was blowing. The October night felt more like

summer than fall. Soon, with the exertion of fast

walking, I was sweating inside my chamois shirt and

jeans. So I slowed down. I was in no hurry,

after all.

Though I'd started out with no destination in

mind, I found myself heading east.

No destination in mind?

Maybe, maybe not.

I hadn't set off on my walk with any plan

to make a pilgrimage to Holly's sorority

house, but that's where I went. My feet seemed

i

to take me there all on their own. Of course, that's

nonsense. I guided them there. We walked a

route we had walked so many times before. Instead of

hurrying eagerly to the front door, however, we

crossed to the opposite side of the street. We

didn't stop, but walked very slowly.

There was the veranda where Holly and I had so often

kissed goodnight -- sometimes for an hour or longer.

There, one story up and three windows from the south

corner, was the large picture window of Holly's

room.

Her former

room. The window was dark, now. Some other girl was

probably asleep in the room behind it... in the

same bed where Holly used to sleep.

And where was Holly now? In her own bed in her

parents" house near Seattle? Or in

Jay's

bed?

He's probably fucking her right this second.

I could picture it. I could feel it. I could

feel Holly's soft, warm body under me, her

eager mouth on my lips, her tongue in my mouth,

one of her breasts in my hand, her slippery wet

tightness hugging me.

Except it wasn't me, it was Jay.

He's so special and sensitive.

"Ed

?"

Shit!

Managing a smile, I turned my head. "Oh,

hi, Eileen."

Eileen Danforth, one of Holly's sorority

sisters and best friends. She held some books and

binders clutched against her chest. She was probably

on her way back from studying in the library or the

student union. The wind was blowing her long, dark

hair.

"How's it going

?"

she asked.

I shrugged.

"Guess you must've gotten Holly's letter."

Naturally, Eileen knew all about the letter.

"Yeah," I said.

"Rough."

I nodded. I didn't trust myself to speak.

"Just between you and me, I think Holly blew it."

"Thanks."

"Can't imagine what got into her."

"I can," I muttered.

Eileen's face twitched slightly as if she

felt a small, sharp pain. "Yeah," she said.

"Me, too. I'm really sorry."

"Thanks."

She sighed and shook her head. "It's really a

shame. Who knows, though? Maybe you're better off."

"Doesn't feel that way."

Eileen pressed her lips together. She almost looked

ready to cry. "I know how it feels," she said.

"God, do I ever."

She lifted her eyebrows. "So, did you just come

over here to stare at the

house

?"

,

I shook my head. "I'm on my way to the donut

shop.

'Dandi

?"

"Yeah."

"At this hour?"

"It's open all night."

"I know, but... it's really

out

there.

"Seven miles

."

She grimaced. "That's a

long

way

."

"I've got nothing better to do

."

She looked into my eyes for a while. Then she said,

"Could you use some company? Just give me a couple

of minutes to drop off my books, and . .

."

I was shaking my head. "I think I'd rather be alone

."

"You shouldn't walk all that way by yourself

."

"I'll be fine

."

"It's the middle of the night."

"I know, but ..."

'Let me come with you, okay

?"

I shook my head again. "Maybe some other night

."

"Well, it's up to you. I don't want to ...

you know, make a nuisance out of myself

."

"It's not that

."

"I know. I understand. You just want to be alone

."

"Yeah

."

"But be careful, okay

?"

"I will be

."

"And don't do anything . . . crazy

."

"I'll try not to

."

"It isn't the end of the world, you know

."

I figured my mother would say exactly the same thing

if and when I phoned home and explained about

Holly.

"Just seems that way," Eileen added.

I don't think Mom would've added that.

"Yeah," I said.

"But things'll get better. They really will. You'll

meet someone else . .

."

That would probably be my father's commentary.

"You'll fall in love again

."

"God, I hope not

."

"Don't say that

."

"Sorry

."

"Do me a favor, okay? Bring me back a

couple of donuts

?"

This was Eileen to the hilt. I knew she wasn't

making the request simply due to a fondness for

donuts -- though Dandi's were spectacular. For one

thing, she had a car; she could drive out to Dandi

Donuts whenever the mood struck her. For another,

she was slender and very pretty and tried to stay that way

by avoiding such delicacies as donuts.

Which is not to say she never ate them. She did. But

rarely.

And I knew that tonight her real intent was to give me a

task . . . to divert at least a fraction of my

attention away from Holly.

"Sure," I said. "What kind do you

want

?"

"Glazed old-fashioneds

."

"The specialty of the house

."

"Yeah

."

Eileen smiled a little sadly and licked her lips.

"I can taste them now

."

"Only thing is, I'm not sure what time I'll be

back

."

"Before I have to go to my ten o'clock, I hope

."

"I'll try

."

"I'll be in the student union, drooling with

anticipation

."

"I'll make sure you don't go hungry

."

"Thanks

."

Keeping the books clamped against her chest with her

left arm, she reached out with her right hand and gave my

shoulder a gentle squeeze. I expected her

to say something more, but she didn't. After squeezing my

shoulder, she let go and turned away and went

trotting across the street toward the front of the

sorority house, her dark hair blowing behind her

head, her pleated skirt dancing around her thighs.

If she'd been Holly, I would've been

enthralled by how she looked.

But she wasn't.

Watching Eileen, I felt nothing.

That's not quite true. What I actually felt was a

vague wish that she would somehow

turn into

Holly.

Not Holly the faithless slut who'd dumped me for

her summercamp flame, but the Holly I'd known

last spring, the one I'd loved.

That

Holly.

God, how I wanted her to be with me again!

On the veranda, Eileen looked back at me and

waved. Then she pulled open the door. As she

entered the sorority house, I caught a

glimpse of the reception area.

I used to wait in there for Holly to come down from her

room. Last spring, I spent so many hours in that

reception area that it seemed like a second home.

There were easy chairs, a couple of sofas, several

lamps and tables. There was reading material, too,

to help visitors while away the time as they waited

for their girlfriends ... or daughters.

Old magazines, crossword puzzle books, a

few well-worn paperbacks. And an old,

hardbound copy of

Look Homeward, Angel.

I used to pick up the Wolfe book and read it and

look at the wonderful Douglas W. Gorsline

illustrations while I waited for Holly. The

waiting always seemed to last forever. But finally she would

come walking through the entryway, smiling and so beautiful

that it hurt me to look at her.

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back

again!

I

Setting out from my apartment Monday night, I'd had

no intention of hiking seven miles to Dandi Donuts

and seven miles back. I'd just wanted

out,

just wanted

away.

Now, thanks to Eileen, I had a reason to go there.

A purpose for my walk.

If anybody asks, I thought, I can explain

I'm on my way to Dandi Donuts to pick up a

couple of glazed old-fashioneds for a friend.

Better than saying, "Just out for a stroll

."

Not that anyone was likely to ask.

Away from the campus, few people were wandering about. Only

rarely did a car pass by. Most students were in

their rooms, studying or messing around on their

computers or indulging in deep, philosophical

bullshit sessions with friends or having sex or

sleeping. Non-students were mostly in

their

rooms, too, I supposed. Reading, watching

television, having sex, or sleeping.

As I walked along Division Street, some of the

houses had one or two lighted windows. Others had

no lights on, but a window glowed with the trembling

light from a television. Most of the houses, however,

were dark except for porch lights. Some didn't

even have porch lights on.

Sometimes, I heard voices, thuds, laughter and

other quiet sounds coming from the houses I passed.

Many of them, though, were silent. A few birds were

awake in the trees or air. I heard them

twitter and warble. Mostly, though, I heard my

footsteps on the concrete of the sidewalk. Each

step came regularly. They all sounded just the same

except when I stood on something: a leaf, a stone,

a twig.

I noticed how quickly one step followed another, so

I slowed down. What was the hurry? My only

destination was a donut shop that never closed.

And it was only a random destination, anyway. I had

no real need to get there at all.

What about the donuts I'd promised Eileen?

Not exactly a promise.

But I'd told her I would get them and I intended

to keep my word.

More than likely, I would've headed for Dandi

Donuts even if

she hadn't entered the picture. So it was no big

deal. Not really. Except that now I had an

obligation to go there.

And to get back with the donuts before her ten o'clock

class.

I don't

have

to, I told myself. I don't

have

to go back to campus at all, or back to my

apartment, or anywhere. If I want, I can just

keep walking.

It struck me then that I was walking north. If I

kept on going north, I would eventually end up in

Seattle . . . the land of Holly and Jay.

Desire, rage and sorrow slammed into me.

But I kept on walking.

I'm

not

going to walk to Seattle, I told myself.

Actually, I'd thought seriously about

flying

there after I got Holly's letter on Friday.

Decided against it, though. If she wanted to dump

me for some asshole she met at summer camp, far

be it from me to interfere ... or to go pleading for her

love like some sort of total loser. She could keep

her Jay and I could keep my dignity. I got

drunk.

There would be no visits to Seattle by me.

With any luck, I would never again set eyes on

Holly Johnson.

I only wished I could take my

mind

off her. And that happened a few minutes later when

a man and his dog came down the sidewalk toward

me. The man, stout, swarthy and bearded, wore a

dark turban. The dog on his leash looked like a

Rottweiler.

A Rottweiler on one of those endless leashes that would

allow him several minutes of mauling time while his

owner tried to reel him in.

I almost crossed the street, but it would've been so

obvious.

The man might be offended or take me for a coward

... or even assume I'm some sort of

anti-turban bigot. So I stayed on my side

of the street.

As they approached, I smiled and nodded and

politely stepped off the sidewalk to let them by.

The dog, well ahead of the man, came trotting

over to me and began to sniff the crotch of my jeans.

One good chomp . . .

The man at the other end of the leash seemed uninterested

in his dog's activities.

"Nice doggie," I said in a soft voice.

Its muzzle nudged me. I took a step

backward, and it growled.

The man finally came along. Keeping his head

straight forward, he walked past us without even giving

us a glance. After he'd gone by, his dog licked the

fly of my jeans.

"Get outa here," I muttered.

Though at least fifteen feet away, the man

turned his head and glowered at me. "Speaking to my

dog is not permitted

."

"Sorry

."

He continued on his way, reeling in. The dog

gave me one last prod with his muzzle, then wheeled

around and went trotting after its master.

I scowled in their direction, but neither noticed.

I guess the fellow figured he owned the

sidewalk and his dog owned my crotch.

"Assholes," I muttered.

Neither of them noticed that, either. Which was maybe a good

thing; the bastard might've sicced his dog on me ...

or chased me with a scimitar. (if he had one on

him, I couldn't see it... but no telling

what

he might've had hidden inside his flowing robe.)

Anyway, I resumed walking and kept a sharp

eye out for dogs. Though none seemed to be coming,

several times my passing triggered fits of wild

barking from hounds behind fences or gates. They couldn't

get to me, but their mindless uproar announced my

presence to everyone in the neighborhood. All I

wanted to do was go by, silent and invisible, nobody

even knowing I was there.

Soon, the barking grew less frequent. Maybe

I was walking more quietly, or maybe I'd

simply entered a neighborhood with fewer dogs.

Whatever the reason, I began to feel more calm.

The night was very peaceful.

I saw a white cat scurry across the street and

take shelter underneath a parked car. I heard a

hooting owl. Sometimes, things were so quiet that I could

hear the soft buzz of the streetlights.

As I stepped off a curb, a loud

bring-bring-bringgg!

made my throat catch. I leaped back just as a

bike whished by.

I blurted, "Shit!"

"Wheeee!"

squealed the bike's rider -- a skinny old

woman in black spandex, wearing her ballcap

backward.

A

happenin"

crone.

Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled at

me. I couldn't see her face very well, but it was

pale and thin and I got the impression she was missing

most of her front teeth. For some reason, I got

goosebumps. They stayed with me as she faced forward

and pedaled off.

At the end of the block, she turned a corner. I

was glad to have her out of sight, but I started to worry

that she might be circling around for another pass at

me.

Maybe I'd offended her. Maybe she wanted

retribution. Maybe

she planned to reach out on her next pass and touch

me with a gnarled finger and whisper, "thinner," or

"toad," or "rectum," or something.

I didn't

really

think it would happen, but it sure did cross my

mind.

So I

did

cross Division Street.

For a while, I walked slowly and kept looking

back. I had a funny tickle in my chest that

felt like a giggle or a scream might be crouched

inside me, just waiting for the hag to come wheeling around the

corner.

Finally, to play it safe and give myself a chance

to calm down, I headed down a sidestreet. I

walked two short blocks, then came to Franklin

Street and resumed my journey northward.

She won't find me over here, I thought.

For more than half an hour, not much happened. I just

kept walking up Franklin. The houses seemed a

little older here than those I'd passed on Division

Street. Now and then, dogs barked. Fewer of the

houses had lights on. Only one or two cars

went by. I saw nobody out walking ... or

riding bikes.

But then from the east a girl came walking.

She moved in from the right, some thirty feet ahead of

me, following the sidewalk along the end of the

block. She happened to be facing forward. I

happened to be standing in the shadow of a tree.

I stopped and held my breath.

At the corner, she turned her back to me, stepped

off the curb and started crossing the street.

Standing motionless, I watched her.

I didn't begin to walk until she was about

halfway up the next block. Then I moved out

of the tree's shadows, went to the corner and stepped off

the curb.

I wasn't following her. I was simply continuing

on my course toward Dandi Donuts.

Not following her.

If she'd gone a different way at the corner and

I'd abandoned my previous route to pursue her,

then I

would have been following her. But that wasn't the case.

She had simply positioned herself ahead of me on the

sidewalk I was already using.

She had every right to do so, and I had every right to proceed

without changing my route.

That's what I told myself when I started to follow

her.

I walked at my normal pace for a while,

closing the gap that separated us. Then I slowed

down. I didn't want to overtake her.

Overtaking a woman on a sidewalk,

especially at night and when no one else is

nearby,

always

makes me uncomfortable. As I come up behind one,

she obviously worries she's about to be robbed,

raped or killed. Such women almost always cast a

nervous glance back at me while I'm closing

in. And then they stiffen as I hurry past them.

It's not that I'm a monster, either. I look

pleasant, cheerful and harmless. But I'm a guy.

That's apparently enough to make some women fear my

approach.

To avoid tormenting them, I've learned not

to overtake them on sidewalks. I cross the

street or turn a corner to get off their tails,

or I drastically slow my pace.

What usually happens, I cut my speed to a

dawdle and sometimes stop entirely for short periods

of time, hoping the woman will turn a corner, reach

her destination, or otherwise get out of my way.

When it becomes obvious that she'll be continuing in

front of me, I resign myself to passing her or

I change my own course.

Being in no hurry to reach Dandi Donuts... or

anywhere else. . . I saw no reason

to cross the street or turn a corner.

Just don't spook her, I told myself. Keep a

nice, slow pace and a good distance between us.

She'll never even know I'm here.

So far, the young woman in front of me seemed

completely unaware of my presence. She just kept

walking along with a bouncy, carefree stride, swinging

her arms, turning her head to

look this way and that (but never behind her). Her pale

hair was in a pony tail that bobbed and swayed as she

walked. She wore a dark sweatshirt, dark

trousers and sneakers. She carried nothing at all,

not even a purse. I thought this strange. Women

almost never go anywhere without a purse.

Where is

this

one going? I wondered.

Maybe to Dandi Donuts?

That was too much to hope for. More than likely, she was

on her way home from somewhere. I wondered if her

parents knew she was out on the streets at such an

hour.

Who says she lives with her parents?

For all I knew, she might've been in her

mid-twenties, living on her own, even

married.

But I doubted it.

Though I'd only seen her at a distance and never in

very good light, I'd formed an impression that she was

somewhat younger than me -- perhaps sixteen to eighteen

years old. If that was the case, she most likely

lived at home with her parents.

I'd also formed an impression that she was extremely

attractive.

In the glow of the streetlights, her face had looked

as if it

might

be beautiful. Distance and poor lights can be

misleading, though. Seen clearly, she might have

flaws. Or she might be twice the age I

suspected.

There was, however, more than enough light to reveal the fine

shape of her body underneath her sweatshirt and

trousers.

Not that I felt any desire for her. Thanks

to Holly, women had lost their appeal for me.

I did, however, feel a certain connection to her.

We were two strangers sharing the same route. We

had that in common. She was walking past the same parked

cars, same trees, same lawns, same

houses as me ... seconds sooner, that's all.

She and I were seeing similar sights, hearing very much

the same sounds, smelling and breathing nearly the same

air, feeling the same concrete under our shoes. In

all eternity and infinity, we were existing together in the

same time and place . . . almost.

I couldn't help feeling connected to her.

Connected and protective.

She seemed much too young to be roaming the streets

alone at such an hour of the night, so I intended

to make sure she got home safely.

I now had

two

missions: pick up donuts for Eileen and guard

my new companion.

I

was

her companion, though she didn't know it.

"I

won't let anything happen to you,

I told her in my mind.

Suddenly, she stopped walking. As I halted, her

head began turning to the left.

She's going to look back!

Though standing in the brightness of a streetlight,

I made no attempt to find cover; movement

might catch her eye. Total stillness was my best

defense.

Watching her, I didn't dare breathe.

After a few moments, I realized her eyes were on

a lean white cat sauntering in her direction from the

other side of Franklin Street.

She turned toward the cat and I saw her in

profile for the second time that night. Her outline .

. . her high ponytail, the tilt of her head, the

shape of her face, her slender neck, her high

breasts in front and her rear end pushing out at the

seat of her trousers ... I don't want to say

she looked athletic because that suggests

power.

That would give the wrong impression. More than anything

else, she seemed confident, springy and pert.

She squatted down. With her rear end a few inches

above the sidewalk, she lowered her head and spoke

to the cat. "Come here, kitty," I heard. A hand

reached out past her right knee and beckoned to it.

The cat opened its mouth wide and let out a loud

"Reeoww"

as if to say, "I see you. Hold your horses.

I'm on my way

."

Full of disdain and coyness until it finally got

to her hands.

Moments later, it seemed to slump and melt with

pleasure. She spoke softly as she caressed it,

but I couldn't hear what she was saying. She must've

spent three or four minutes petting it. When she

stood up to leave, the cat rubbed itself against her shins

and calves, slithered between her legs, acted as if it

wanted to wrap itself around her and stop her from going

away.

Almost tripping on it, she let out a quiet laugh

and leaped clear. The moment she began walking away,

I ducked behind a nearby tree. I peered around its

trunk and saw the cat prancing after her, tail

high.

"Row ww!"

She looked back at it and said, "Okay, but just for a

minute

."

Then she turned all the way around, facing the cat and

me.

I pulled back my head. Staring at the bark of the

tree an inch in front of my nose, I waited.

"Yes," I heard her say. "You're a

needy little fellow, aren't you? Yes, you are

."

I couldn't look at her. I could only listen.

She had a wonderful, strange voice. There was

nothing girlish about it. I would almost

say it sounded masculine, but it was too smooth and

lilting for that. It even had a hint of a purr in it as

she talked to the cat.

"Oh, yes, you like that, don't you? Mmm, yes. That

feels

real

good

."

When I risked a peek around the trunk, I found

that she was squatting over the cat, reaching down between her

spread knees to caress it with both hands. The cat was

stretched out on its side.

"Think you've had enough

?"

she asked it. "No such thing as enough, is there

?"

After giving it a final pat, she started to rise so

I had to quit watching.

A few seconds passed. Then the girl said,

"Bye-bye, kitty," in that rich, low

voice of hers.

I stayed hidden, listening. No more sounds came from the

direction of the girl or the cat. Finally, I dared

to take another peek. The cat was still sprawled on

the sidewalk, apparently too languid to move

on. The girl had already crossed the next street.

She wasn't looking back.

I left the shelter of my tree and hurried up the

sidewalk. As I stepped over the cat, I heard

the rumble of its purr. It raised its head and

squawked at me as if annoyed by the intrusion.

I kept on walking.

When I glanced back, the cat was still there, stretched

out long and slim on the pale concrete . . .

luxuriating in memories of the girl's hands, more

than likely, and hoping for her return.

By the time I reached the other side of the street, she was

halfway up the next block. I quickened my

pace, hoping to close the distance between us.

I felt as if my eyes were locked on her back.

But I must've glanced away for an instant. I'm

not sure what distracted me.

When I looked forward again, the sidewalk ahead of

me was empty.

My heart sickened.

Where'd she go?

My first thought was that she had been snatched away by an

assailant. Just where I'd last seen her, the yard

to the right was partly enclosed by thick hedges. He

might've dragged her out of sight... I started

to run.

But what if she'd wandered into the yard for a reason of

her own . . . maybe to visit a stray dog or

another cat?

I quit running.

Still moving too fast, I told myself,

Slow down. I'm just a guy walking by.

Though I tried to walk slowly, my heart raced.

What if she's down? What if some bastard's

raping her?

She'd be yelling, I thought.

Not if he knocked her out. Or killed her.

Aching to run, but holding back, I walked past the

row of hedges. The house was dark, its front lawn

shrouded by shadows. I kept walking, but slowly. Very

slowly. Watching and listening.

Nobody seemed to be down on the ground.

I heard no sounds of struggle.

Did he take her behind the house?

On the dark porch, something moved.

Looking straight forward, I walked on. I even

took a few additional steps after passing the hedge

at the border of the lawn. Then, crouching low, I

crept back to the bushes. I peered around them and

squinted toward the porch.

Several steps above the walkway leading to it, the

porch was enclosed by a low wooden railing. Its roof

sheltered it from most of the night's vague light.

Staring into that darkness, I wondered how I'd managed

to notice any movement at all. Perhaps I'd

only imagined it.

Then a thin, horizontal strip of grayness six

or seven feet high appeared in the blackness of the

porch. I didn't know what it was. As it slowly

thickened, however, I realized the gray strip was

made of vague light from inside the house . . .

growing wider because the front door was being opened.

But opened with such slowness, such stealth, that it seemed

to be some sort of forbidden act.

Chills tingled their way up my spine.

What's going on?

When the area of grayness was wide enough, a black

shape slipped through it. The shape seemed to have a

ponytail.

A moment later, the grayness began to narrow.

Then it was gone.

Suddenly, I smiled.

Of course!

The girl had been away from the house without her

parents" knowledge. She'd probably crept out after their

bedtime, maybe for a tryst with a boyfriend, and I had just

witnessed her return.

The little sneak!

I almost laughed. Not only was I giddy with

relief, but impressed by her daring.

From my place beside the bush, I continued to watch her

house. All the windows remained dark. This made

sense. After sneaking in so smoothly, she would hardly

start running around flicking on lights. No, she

would make her way through the darkness.

She had probably taken off her shoes in the

foyer. Carrying them in one hand, gliding her other hand

along the banister, she'd silently climbed the

stairs.

I knew the routine; I'd done it myself a few

times during my teenaged years. I knew how she

must be moving very slowly, fearful that a board might

squeak underfoot. And I knew the excitement that she

probably felt.

I also knew she might eventually turn on

a light.

Upstairs, if she played it smart, she would sneak

into her bedroom and take off her clothes in the

darkness. Once you've made an undiscovered

entry, your clothes are the only giveaway. Get

them off, put on your pajamas or nightgown or

whatever you wear at bedtime, and you've made it home

free. You can turn on your bedroom light if you

wish, go to the bathroom and turn on its light . .

. Even if you're seen, nobody will know you'd been

outside.

Waiting for a light to come on, I found myself staring at

the third upstairs window from the corner.

Stupid.

This wasn't Holly's sorority house, it was the

home of a stranger. Any of the windows might belong

to the girl's bedroom. Or none of them; her windows

might

face the rear of the house. Her room might even be

downstairs, though that didn't seem likely; in

old, two-story houses, the bedrooms were nearly

always upstairs.

Though several minutes went by, no light appeared

in any of the windows.

She'd had plenty of time to reach her

bedroom. She was probably in her room now,

undressing in the dark. In my mind, it wasn't

complete

darkness. A dim glow of moonlight entered through the

window, illuminating her as she pulled off her dark

sweatshirt.

But in which room? I wondered. Behind which window?

I suddenly realized that her bedroom was most

likely one with windows directly over the porch.

Three windows overlooked its roof. A simple

matter to climb out any of them, walk to the edge of the

porch roof, then slip down a support post to the

railing and hop to the ground.

Was that how the girl had escaped from her house earlier

that night?

I gazed at the windows above the porch. A couple

of them maybe all three -- were likely to be the

windows of her bedroom. She was probably standing just

beyond one of them. . disnear enough to take advantage of the

faint light coming in.

But I couldn't see her.

Each window looked like a mirror reflecting

black night and moonlight. Only a person standing

on the porch roof, face pressed to the glass, would

be able to see in.

I pictured myself up there.

It excited and appalled me.

You've gotta be kidding.

Then I suddenly realized I'd been squatting by the

hedge, gazing at the house for a

long

time . . . five minutes? Ten? What if someone

had noticed me lurking there and called the cops?

I

want to report a prowler.

A Peeping Tom.

Scared, I scooted around to the other side of the

bushes, got to my feet and walked away. I

walked fast. At any moment, a neighbor might

shout at me or confront me with a weapon. Or a

squad car might swing around one of the corners and roar

down the street to hunt me down.

I ached to break into a run and put some real distance

between me and the girl's house!

If I'd been dressed like a fellow out for a jog,

I might've tried running. But I was in my

chamois shirt and jeans. Such clothes would draw

suspicion from anyone seeing me race through the

night. So I held back. I even slowed the

pace of my walking and tried very hard to look

carefree.

I actually pursed my lips and prepared to whistle

a tune, but good sense put a stop to that.

I walked in silence, my heart hammering, my mouth

parched, my body spilling sweat from every pore.

Nobody shouted. Nobody chased me. No cars

came toward me from either direction.

At last, I reached the end of the block. I

crossed to the other side of Franklin and continued

westward on the sidestreet until I found my

way back to Division. Vastly relieved by my

escape, I walked two or three blocks north

on Division before I even remembered about the bike

hag.

A chill scampered up my hot, sweaty back and

raised goosebumps on the nape of my neck.

I whirled around and looked behind me.

No sign of her. Of course not.

Continuing on my way, I felt a little silly for

letting her scare me at all.

But I was glad she

had

scared me. I'd detoured over to Franklin

Street for no other reason than to get away from

her. If I hadn't done that, the girl and

I would have passed each other in the night, two

blocks apart, never converging.

For a while, I toyed with the idea that I'd been

meant

to flee from the bike hag and find the girl. (i often

think strange thoughts

in the dead of night.) Forces of good or evil had

perhaps given the hag a mission: scare the hell out of

Ed Logan so he'll run over to Franklin

Street. . .

Not likely.

But I'd been afraid she might reach out as she

pedaled by, touch me with a crooked finger and mark me

with a curse. So I'd fled. And maybe in fleeing

from a harmless, somewhat daffy old crone, I'd run

into the sort of curse I'd never expected.

Curse or blessing.

As I walked up Division Street on my way

to Dandi Donuts, I felt cursed

and

blessed . . . and bewitched. Not by the bike hag, but

by a certain mysterious girl who'd shared the

sidewalk and some of her secret life with me,

watching unseen in the night.

Still more than a block away from Dandi

Donuts, I could see the hazy glow from its

picture windows hovering over the sidewalk.

The houses had already been left behind. Businesses

lined both sides of the street: a deli, a barber

shop, a gas station, an Italian restaurant

called Louie's, a flower shop, a thrift shop.

All were shut for the night. Most were dark inside, but

some were dimly lighted.

The display window of the thrift shop, for instance. There,

gloomy lights illuminated a pair of sorry

mannequins with fading, chipped paint on their

faces. They stood frozen in odd stances, looking

cheerful for no good reason.

A slender, debonair man in a dusty top hat

and tails wanted to look like Clark Gable but one

side of his mustache was gone. His lady friend, her red

wig slightly askew, wore a red-sequined

dress like a "flapper" from the Roaring Twenties.

The original owner of the gown was probably as gone as

the missing half of Clark's mustache.

A fairly regular patron of Dandi Donuts,

I'd noticed the thriftshop window early during my

first year at the university. In the beginning, I'd

been amused by the battered mannequins and their

outdated costumes. I'd also enjoyed

looking at other items displayed in the window: old

tableware, vases, phonograph records, and even

a few framed paintings. But then, on my way

to Dandi Donuts alone one night, I'd paused

at the window longer than usual. That's when I

realized that the mannequins, clothes, and just about

everything else displayed behind the window were relics of the

dead.

They made me uneasy and depressed.

The next time I went to Dandi Donuts, I

walked on the other side of the street and didn't

look at the thrift-shop window as I passed by.

But I still knew it was there.

After that, I stayed away from the donut shop. I

pretty much intended to avoid it forever, but on a warm

night in the late spring of last year, Holly and

I were out walking. I knew that we'd walked a very

long distance, but I'd been paying attention

to Holly, not to our location. We were holding hands.

Suddenly, she stopped. I stopped, too. In

front of the thrift shop's window.

"Oh, wow," she'd said. 'Look at this stuff

."

I looked. Having Holly at my side, however,

I felt untouched by the gloom. "Clark

Gable," I said.

"Looks like half his mustache is

gone with the wind,"

I

laughed.

"Is this supposed to be Scarlet

?"

she asked.

"More likely Zelda, I think

."

"But she's

got

to be Scarlet. The red hair

."

"Well, maybe

."

"If you want her to be Zelda . .

."

"No, that's all right

."

"He put her in his books, didn't he

?"

"I guess so. I guess she's in

Tender is the Night.

But he didn't call her Zelda

."

Holly turned to me and put her arms around me the

way she often did, not hugging me exactly but

holding herself just slightly against me so I could feel

her breasts as she tilted back her head and stared up

into my eyes. "Will you put

me

in a book someday

?"

she asked.

"Sure I will

."

It always embarrassed and thrilled me when she spoke

of my being a writer -- as if she actually believed

it could happen.

"But use my real name, okay? Holly would be a

good name for my character, don't you think

?"

I nodded. I couldn't actually imagine her with any

name other than Holly.

"When you're big and famous," she said, "I'll

show the book to my kids and tell them how I knew

you back in the early days

."

"You mean

our

kids

?"

I knew she hadn't meant

our

kids, but I'd felt compelled to ask, anyway.

Soft eyes looking up at me, her face

solemn, she said, "You deserve someone better than

me

."

"What

?"

I'd heard her just fine.

"You'll find someone else, someone prettier than

I am, and smarter

"I don't

want

anyone else

."

"You only

think

you don't

."

"I love you, Holly

."

"You love your

idea

of me

."

"What's that supposed to mean

?"

"Maybe I'm not who you think I am

."

"Then who are you

?"

Smiling gently, she rubbed herself against me and said,

"I'm nobody, who are you

?"

"Throwing Emily Dickinson at me.

r

"You're not nobody. You're Holly Johnson and

I love everything about you

."

"Just remember my name, darling, when it comes time

to put me in that book

."

I had a tightness in my throat, but I managed

to say, "I'll never forget your name. But if you go

away and leave me, how will I know where to send

a copy

?"

"I won't leave you. You'll leave me. But

don't worry about sending me a copy. I'll read

all your books. I'll be your biggest fan

."

Then we'd kissed, standing in front of the thrift-shop

window with Rhett and Scarlet (or Zelda) staring

out at us. I'd felt broken inside. But afterwards

we'd gone on into the donut shop and Holly acted

as if nothing horrible had happened. After the

donuts, we went to a large wooded park and made

love under the trees and everything seemed sweeter, more

urgent and intense than ever before.

I remembered all that as I stood in front of the

window, staring in at the dummies for the first time after being

dumped by Holly.

"I'll

never leave you,

she'd said.

You'll leave me.

Yeah, right.

Bitch,

I thought.

And then I thought worse.

The tattered mannequins smiled out at me through the

glass. They looked exactly the same as they'd

looked the night I stood out here with Holly. For

them, nothing had changed. Lucky them.

I never should've come out here, I thought. North had

been a big mistake.

But then,

any

direction would've been a mistake of nearly the

same magnitude. There was almost no place to go where

I hadn't been with Holly when we were in love.

One place, I supposed, was just as bad as any

other.

And north, at least, had the advantage of

donuts.

As I walked through the hazy glow of light from Dandi

Donuts. I glanced inside. Someone at the counter

was making a purchase The display racks had a

meager selection, but I spotted several

old-fashioneds. Some were chocolate covered. As

for the others. I couldn't be sure whether they were plain

or glazed. I pushed open the door and stepped into the

warm, sweet aromas I knew so well.

The clerk -- someone new since last year -- was

busy giving change to a customer.

I walked up to the counter and bent over.

Three of the old-fashioneds were glazed. They looked

crusty and

mouthwatering. I decided to buy all three, save

two for Eileen and eat one here myself while I

enjoyed a hot cup of coffee.

A long walk like this, I deserved two donuts.

What should the second one be? A

chocolate-covered old-fashioned? Maybe a

maple bar? Or one of those fat, sugar-sprinkled

donuts that was loaded with jelly?

So many possibilities.

Most of them looked luscious.

From behind me came a familiar voice. "Hey,

Eddie. Fancy meeting you here

."

I straightened up, turned around, and spotted

Eileen waving at me from a corner table. She was

alone. In front of her was a white Styrofoam

coffee cup and a napkin with about half a donut

sitting on it.

She'd come!

Smiling and shaking my head, I walked toward her.

"Go ahead and get something," she said. "I'm not

going anywhere

."

"I was supposed to

bring

you some donuts," I said.

"I decided to bring myself to them

."

"So . . . you want to cancel your order

?"

"Guess so. I've already got one and a half

inside me

."

"Can I get you anything

?"

She shook her head. "Just go ahead and buy what you

want for yourself

."

So I returned to the counter. I bought a coffee and

two glazed oldfashioneds, paid for them, and carried

them toward Eileen's table.

She looked very fresh and pretty sitting there and

watching me. Her dark-brown hair flowed down and

draped the tops of her shoulders. Since I'd last

seen her, she had changed out of her sweater and pleated

skirt. She now wore blue jeans and a bright

plaid chamois shirt. Below her throat was

a wedge of bare skin. Her shirt wasn't

buttoned until almost halfway down. Slightly

crooked, it was open wide enough to show an edge of her

black bra.

As I sat down across from her, she said, "I changed

my mind about being a nuisance

."

"You're not a nuisance

."

"You wanted to be alone

."

"That's all right. I'm glad you're here

."

It wasn't quite a lie.

She beamed. "Really

?"

"Sure

."

"I just ... it's an awfully long hike out here, you

know? So I figured, well, I'd give you a good

headstart then drive on out and at least

offer

you a ride home. I mean, in case seven miles

was enough for one night

."

"How long did you wait

?"

I asked.

"Before leaving the house

?"

She shrugged. "About an hour and a

half. I set the alarm and took a little nap.

Thought maybe I'd pass you along the way. Then

I didn't, so I figured you must've gotten here

ahead of me. Only

that

sure didn't happen. Not that it matters. I

didn't mind waiting

."

"I took sort of an indirect route

."

"So I gathered

."

She didn't look as if she minded. She just

seemed glad that I was with her now.

"You sure went to a lot of trouble," I said.

"Nah. It was nothing

."

"It was a lot

."

"Well . . . That's okay. I'll be fine for my

ten o'clock. What about you

?"

"Nothing till one

."

"Oh, aren't

you

the lucky one

?"

I smiled at that and tried one of the donuts. My

teeth crunched through its crust and sank into soft,

moist cake inside. The sweetness seemed to flood

my mouth.

"What do you have at one

?"

Eileen asked.

I swallowed some donut. "Shakespeare seminar

."

"Ah. With Horrible Hillary Hatchens

."

I laughed. "Oh, yeah

."

"I had her last year. Yug

."

Eileen, by the way, was a year older than

me. A year older than Holly, too. She'd

been Holly's roommate at the sorority house

last year. Now she was a senior and, like me, an

English major.

Holly had been a psych major. That should come as

no surprise. As everybody knows, the field of

psychology mostly attracts people who are fucked

up.

"In case you haven't noticed," Eileen said,

"Hatchens hates guys

."

"I've noticed, all right

."

"Must've gotten dumped bigtime somewhere along the

line

."

"I can't imagine anyone

not

dumping her," I said.

"She's pretty cute, though, don't you think

?"

"I guess so. Cute but scary

."

Nodding and grinning, Eileen said, "It's hard

to imagine any guy having the nerve to ask

her out in the first place. She

likes

me and

I'm

scared of her

."

I sipped coffee, ate some more donut and nodded now

and then as Eileen continued.

"Anyway, I took pretty good notes last

year. I also have copies of all her exams.

You're welcome to borrow them. I'd let you use

my term paper, too, but she'd probably catch

on. She's a bitch, but she's not stupid

."

Grinning, Eileen added, "Though I'm sure she's

not as smart as she

thinks

she is. I mean, how

could

she be? Nobody's

that

smart

."

With that, she had me laughing. It felt good.

But even as I laughed at her attack on

Dr Hatchens, I wondered what was going on with

Eileen. Had she come all the way out here in the

middle of the night simply to cheer me up? Or was

she trying to start something?

Last year, she'd seemed like an older sister

to Holly. (indeed, she

was

Holly's sorority sister.) She'd always treated

me very well, but only because she considered me to be a

good boyfrstlover for Holly.

That's what I'd thought, anyway.

Maybe I'd had it wrong.

Or maybe that's how it

had

been last year. Now, however, Holly was out of the

picture. Maybe Eileen had hopes of stepping

in to take her place.

Hard to imagine why she would

want

to. I wasn't exactly a prize. She was much

too pretty to be interested in a guy like me.

After giving me a little while to work on my coffee and

donuts, Eileen said, "So how did your walk go

?"

"Not bad. It was nice to get out of my

apartment. And I think it helped take my mind off

. .

."

I couldn't force myself to speak the name.

"La

belle dame sans merci

?"

Eileen suggested.

"I guess you could call her that. I'd probably

call her something else. Short with four letters

."

Eileen laughed a bit sadly.

"Sod her," I said.

"Keeping it literary

."

"Right. Sod her and the steed she rode in on

."

Eileen laughed a bit more, then shook her head.

"It's so awful. I'm so sorry

."

"That's the way it goes

."

"Don't I know it

."

I nodded. I knew that she knew it. My

freshman year at Willmington, I'd seen

Eileen around campus quite a lot. I'd known who

she was, that she was an English major a year

ahead of me, and that she was supposedly engaged to her

high-school sweetheart. Her fianc@ewasn't

on campus, though. He was attending the University

of California at Berkeley . . . about a

two-day drive from Willmington. At some point

before Holly and I started going together last spring,

the guy dumped Eileen. After that, she went around with a

lot of guys, but none for very long.

"Maybe we're both better off," she said.

"I don't know

."

"It's just too bad these things always have to end so badly

."

"I'm not sure anything doesn't," I said.

"Oh, I don't know

."

A smile drifted across her face. "I was always very

glad to see the end of the Shakespeare seminar. I

mean, I love Shakespeare, but Horrible

Hillary Hatchens ..."

"That's a little different

."

"I know. You meant good things. Relationships and

stuff

."

"Yeah

."

"I've heard of people staying friends afterwards

."

"I think that's a crock," I said. "How can they

stay friends? If they love each other and one of them

stabs the other in the back ... I don't think so.

The stabber might want to stay friends, but not the

stabbee

."

Eileen laughed softly. "Being a

stabbee

myself, I guess I'd have to agree with you. I

pretty much just hate Warren. But I don't like

feeling that way. I wish it were different. And I

hate to think that you might end up hating Holly

."

"Yeah, well

."

I went ahead and ate my last donut. I

didn't enjoy it much, though.

Just like I didn't much enjoy talking about

Holly and busted relationships.

As I polished off my coffee, Eileen said,

"So, what's the verdict? Do you want to ride

back with me? Or would you rather hike those seven long,

lonely miles back to your apartment

?"

The question didn't exactly take me by surprise.

Until encountering Eileen in Dandi Donuts,

I'd expected to walk back . . . with a detour

over to Franklin Street for another look at the

house of the mystery girl.

I'd wanted very much to take another look at her

house. With the possibility, I guess, of seeing

her again.

I wanted badly to see her again.

But I couldn't refuse Eileen. Her offer

to drive me home was an unwanted gift, but I

didn't have the heart to turn it down.

"I'd rather ride back with you," I said.

The look on her face made me glad I'd

accepted.

We got up to leave. "Want any donuts for the

road

?"

I asked.

"No no no. I'll turn into a tub

."

Outside, we walked around the corner. Nobody

else was around. The air had the strange damp

smell that it only seemed to get in the hours after

midnight. I heard a shopping cart, but it sounded

far away.

Eileen's car was parked off Division Street.

That's why I hadn't seen it during my approach

to the donut shop.

She'd left it unlocked.

We put on our seatbelts and she started the car.

As she pulled away from the curb, I said, "This

sure beats walking

."

"Glad to be of service, sir

."

It's for the best, I told myself. Going back for

another look at the girl's house would've been a

very bad idea.

Do yourself a favor and forget about her.

Eileen drove around the block, returned

to Division, and turned left.

"Is this the way you came

?"

she asked.

"I went on over to Franklin. Too many people

walking dogs and stuff along here

."

"Maybe that's why it took you so long

."

"Oh, I took a lot of detours

."

"See any interesting sights

?"

"Not really. Just a lot of dark houses

."

"It's strange to be out this time of night," Eileen

said. "Everything's so quiet and still. It's almost as if

we're the only people on the face of the earth

."

"Yeah," I said.

And then I saw someone striding along the sidewalk

on the right side of the street. A girl in a dark

sweatshirt and trousers. She moved with a brisk and

bouncy stride, arms swinging, ponytail bobbing and

swaying behind her head.

My mystery girl.

She's out?

She was out, all right.

As we drove by her, I turned my head to see her

from the front.

"What is it

?"

Eileen asked.

I faced forward nonchalantly and said, "Just someone

walking by

."

"Maybe another donut hound," Eileen said.

"Maybe so

."

"You're still in the place on Church Street

?"

she asked.

"Yep

."

Last year, Eileen had been there fairly often for

one reason or another . . . always involving

Holly. She often dropped Holly off or

picked her up at my place. Sometimes, she came

over for small get-togethers of one sort or another.

Eileen and I had even been alone with each other in

my apartment now and then. It might be just the three of

us, for instance, and Holly would disappear into the

bathroom or run off on an errand. Nothing

had ever happened while Holly was gone. If

Eileen felt any attraction for me, she'd kept

it to herself.

And though she was very beautiful and I liked her as a

person, I'd never felt any

desire

for her. My primary desire in regard to Eileen

had been for her to

leave

so Holly and I could start fooling around.

"Are you in the same rooms and everything

?"

Eileen asked.

"Yeah

."

"Doesn't it bother you?

"Doesn't what

?"

"There must be a lot of memories

."

"I guess

."

Guess his

The final weeks of school last year, Holly had

almost lived there. Now, every corner of every

room, every piece of furniture, gave me

sweet, sad memories of her. Though alive

somewhere else (in Jay's bed?), she haunted my

apartment.

"She was planning to move

in

this semester," I said.

"I know. Have you thought about finding yourself a different

place

?"

"It'd be a lot of trouble. Anyway, it's no

big deal

."

"All those reminders ..."

"Yeah, well. Life goes on

."

I can be full of clich`es when I've got nothing

to say.

That pretty much killed the conversation until we

reached Church Street. The road had several

churches on it. One of them was next door to the

old, two-story brick apartment house where I

lived.

"That'd

be enough to make

me

move out," Eileen said.

"It doesn't bother me much

."

"I know. But it creeps

me

out

."

"Maybe because you're a heathen

."

She laughed. "Maybe because I'm not

."

She stopped at the curb in front of my building.

Hand on the ignition key, she asked, "Mind if

I come up for a minute

?"

"I. . . uh. .

."

Before I could decide where to go from there, Eileen

spoke again.

"I

really

need to use your bathroom. I'm sorry. I

should've gone at the donut shop, I guess, but

"No, that's all right. Come on up

."

"Thanks

."

She killed the headlights, shut off the engine and

plucked out her ignition key. "I'll make it

quick," she said. "I promise

."

"No problem," I said.

We hurried to the front door of the apartment

building. I unlocked it and let us in. Then I

eased the door shut. The interior was silent and

smelled of stale cigarette smoke.

We stepped through the vestibule, turned to the right and

walked softly, speaking not a word as we approached

the landlords" door.

Usually, it stood open.

The landlords, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, would be inside

with their television on. But they only pretended to be

watching it. They were

actually

watching the corridor outside their door, which led to the

only stairway. They seemed to have an abiding

curiosity about the comings and goings of their tenants. I

knew they would

love

to catch me going by with Eileen at this hour.

But this hour was apparently too late for them. Their

door was shut. As we crept past it, I couldn't

even hear their television.

I half expected their door to fly open as we

started to climb the stairs, but it didn't. Finally,

we reached the landing, made the turn and resumed

climbing.

"Safe," I whispered.

Eileen grinned.

Even though we didn't have much to fear from the Fishers

anymore, the late hour and the silence of the building

made me reluctant to speak. Quietly, we

reached the top of the stairs and followed the hallway

to the door of my rooms. As I eased my key

into the lock, I felt Eileen standing close behind

me, not quite touching me.

She followed me in.

A couple of lamps were on. I'd left them that

way before embarking on my walk.

I shut the door. Eileen put a hand on my

shoulder and whispered, "I'll just be a minute

."

"You don't need to whisper anymore

."

"Okay," she said, a trifle more loudly.

Then she took her hand off my shoulder and hurried

away. The bathroom was located off a narrow hall

on the way to my bedroom. She vanished into the

hall. A couple of seconds later, the door

bumped shut.

While I waited for her, I took a quick look

around. I hadn't expected company. The living

room was cluttered with books and magazines,

notebooks and pens and so on. It wasn't filthy,

though. I've got no problem with clutter, but I like

to keep things reasonably clean. For the quarters of a

lone male student who'd spent the past weekend

wallowing in despair, things didn't look too

bad.

I could hear Eileen peeing.

She hadn't lied about needing to go.

I went over to the coffee table, found the remote, and

turned my TV on.

A condom commercial

."

. . . puts the pleasure back into safety

."

I changed channels. An ancient

black-and-white movie showed Lon Chaney

Jr running through a forest. From his scared and guilty

look, I figured this must be

The Wolfman.

The toilet flushed.

I put down the remote and stared at poor, doomed

Lawrence Talbot.

"Anything good on

?"

Eileen asked as she came into the living room.

"All

the good stuff' s on now -- in the dead waste and

middle of the night. .

."

"When churchyards yawn," she added. Then she

yawned, herself.

I yawned, too.

They're contagious.

"Well," she said. "I'd better get going.

Thanks for the use of your facilities

."

"Thanks for the ride

."

"My pleasure

."

She reached the door ahead of me. Instead of

opening it, however, she leaned her back against it, put

out one of her hands and caressed my face. "Are you

going to be all right

?"

"Sure

."

"Are

you sure

?"

I shrugged.

"I'm

not so sure," she said. She took her hand away from

my face, but kept on gazing into my eyes. She

looked very intense and solemn. "That's why I

drove out there. You seemed so ... I don't know,

lost

."

"Good word for it

."

"I want you to be all right, Ed

."

."

" "Cause I know what it's like

."

"Yeah

."

"To lose someone you love

."

I nodded.

"It's hard. It feels like the end of the world

."

"Sort of

."

"But it isn't. It isn't the end of the world. You go

on. Even though you hurt, you go on. And good stuff

does happen to you again. You still have the hurt, but there's

also the good stuff. And sometimes you even forget about the

hurt

."

"If you say so," I said.

"I do. And I mean it

."

And then she glided forward away from the door and put

her arms around me and kissed me. Her mouth tasted of

lipstick and coffee and donuts. Her hands moved

up and down my back. I felt her breasts pushing

against me through our clothes. Then her hands went under the

back of my shirt, so I put my hands under the

back of

her

shirt. Her skin was warm and smooth all the way up

from her waist to her shoulders.

What happened to her bra his

She must've taken it off in the bathroom.

She plotted this!

I wondered vaguely how much she'd plotted and how

much had been spontaneous. I vaguely resented

being tricked and manipulated. I vaguely knew

I should stop this nonsense and politely ask her

to leave.

But the smooth soft bareness of her back indicated a

bare front.

She wouldn't have taken off her bra unless she wanted

me to go there. So I did. Soon, my hands were

savoring the heft and smoothness of her breasts. She

had bigger ones than Holly. When I fingered their

nipples, she moaned into my mouth and writhed.

Then she unbuckled my belt. She unbuttoned

my jeans and lowered my zipper and slipped her hand

inside my underwear. Her fingers wrapped around me,

smooth and cool.

Following her lead, I opened her jeans.

She had no underwear on.

I must've hesitated too long.

"Touch me," she whispered.

So I put my hand inside the front of her jeans.

The denim was damp against the backs of my fingers.

"In," she whispered.

I did. She was all wet and slippery around my

fingers.

Next thing you know, I was on my back on the living

room

carpet. We were both naked and Eileen was hunched

over me, knees on the floor by my hips, hands

clutching my shoulders, breasts swinging, head thrown

back as she slid herself up and down on me, up and

down.

We were still on the floor. Eileen was lying on top

of me. We were sweaty and out of breath. I gently

caressed her back.

She raised her head and looked me in the eyes.

"Told you there'd be good things

."

"Guess you were right

."

"Not the end of the world

?"

she asked.

"Nope

."

"Glad to hear it

."

Then she got off me, picked up her clothes and

disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. When she

returned a few minutes later, she was dressed.

She had brushed her hair. Her face was still flushed

and she had a sort of happy, dazed look in her

eyes.

I'd gotten up and put my jeans on.

We met at the door.

"I'm gonna be a wreck tomorrow," she said.

"You and me both

."

She put her arms around me and gave me a quick

kiss. "Gotta go

."

I nodded. "See ya

."

"Tomorrow, okay

?"

"Sure

."

I opened the door for her and watched her walk

light-footed and bouncy through the dim, silent

hallway. She swung her arms. Her

hair danced and swayed. Her jauntiness reminded

me of the mystery girl. At the top of the stairs, she

turned and waved.

I waved back. Then I listened for a while to make

sure nobody intercepted her.

When I heard the front door of the building latch

shut, I realized that I should've walked her down and

out to her car.

She'll be all right, I thought.

Worried, though, I hurried through my apartment to a

window in my kitchen that had a view of the street. From

there, I watched Eileen climb into her car and

drive away.

I just stood there staring down at the empty street for a

long time after she was gone.

Trying to make sense out of what had happened.

But mostly feeling empty and pleased with myself and

astonished by Eileen, and more than a little bit worried

about where it would lead.

I woke up in bed with my room full of daylight.

The other half of my bed was empty where Holly

should've been. I pictured her lying there asleep,

curled on her side, loops of russet hair

dangling across her face. On mornings before she

woke up, her face always seemed soft and very

young so that she looked like a sleeping child.

A feeling of sadness and longing came over me.

I wondered if there might be a way to get Holly

back.

It didn't seem likely. But even if she gave

up her Jay and returned to me, it wouldn't be the

same. She was different, now. Or maybe she was the

same as she had always been, but now she had shown her

true self.

Her true, horrid self.

The only good way to have Holly in my life from now

on would be to remember how it had been before the summer

came. When she was asleep in the bed beside me, for

instance.

The telephone rang.

With a groan, I turned over. The alarm clock

on my nightstand showed 11:48.

It was set to go off at noon.

As the phone kept ringing, I climbed out of bed and

hurried into the living room. I was naked. But the

sunlit rooms were warm, the curtains were shut and

nobody was here to be shocked so I didn't bother

to put anything on.

On my way to the phone, I stepped where I'd been

down on the carpet last night with Eileen

on top of me. I suddenly had a pretty good

idea who was calling.

"Hello

?"

"Hi, Eddie

."

I wasn't wrong. "Are you up and at "em yet

?"

"Oh, yeah

."

"I didn't want you to oversleep and miss your one

o'clock. Horrible Hatchens would be devastated

."

I almost smiled. "Oh, yeah, she'd miss me

."

"It's almost noon

."

"Getting there. I'd better put it in gear

."

Silence.

Here it comes.

"So," she finally said. "How

are

you this morning

?"

"Not too bad, I guess. How about you

?"

She hesitated, then said, "Pretty good

."

Another silence.

After a while, Eileen said, "So ... do you want

to get together later on

?"

I tried to put some enthusiasm in my voice.

"Sure. That's a good idea

."

"Maybe we could go somewhere and get a burger or

something

."

"Sounds good

."

"Why don't we meet at your place? I think it

might look a little funny if you came over to the

sorority . . . like I'm trying to take Holly's

place, or something

."

And of course you're not.

"I mean, everyone knows everything about you two over here

."

"Ah. Yeah

."

"So it might be better if you and I keep things

to ourselves for a little while. Don't you think

?"

"Good idea," I said.

"So why don't I come by your place at around five

or six? Maybe we can drive somewhere far enough away

so everyone won't know our business

."

Somewhere far away . . .

Suddenly, I was interested.

"There's an Italian place over by Dandi

Donuts," I said. "How about there

?"

"Great. So I'll pick you up around five and

we'll drive out

."

"Sure

."

"Okay, great. I'll see you then

."

"Great

."

"Now don't be late for class

."

"Thanks for the wake-up call

."

"Bye-bye, Eddie

."

"So long

."

I hung up and headed for the bathroom. I used the

toilet, then took a shower. In the shower, I tried

to figure things out.

Mainly, what to do about Eileen?

I liked her and I

really

liked what we'd done in my living room last

night. In fact, I started to get hard just thinking

about it.

But I didn't love her. I didn't want her

moving in with me. I didn't want to marry her. I

didn't want her to bear my children . . .

What if she's already pregnant?

Nan, I thought. We only did it once.

Once can be enough.

I hadn't used a condom. Had

she

used anything?

Sweet, sensitive Holly's idea of

birth control had consisted of good timing, pulling out,

and luck . . . apparently she didn't want

to dignify her lust by admitting it to a doctor or

pharmacist. She wouldn't let me use condoms,

either. According to Holly, she wanted to feel

me

inside her. That suited me fine, since I hated

condoms, too. As a result, though, we'd had a

couple of good scares when her period didn't show

up on time.

Sharing such scares with Holly had brought us closer

... or so I'd felt.

But I didn't want that sort of closeness with

Eileen.

I've gotta get out of this, I thought.

Sure, but how?

I gave it all sorts of thought as I finished my

shower, dried off, had myself a cup of instant coffee

and a chocolate pop tart, then brushed my teeth,

got dressed, gathered my books and headed for

campus.

Some stuff just isn't simple.

Maybe she isn't after any sort of commitment, I

kept telling myself. She knows how much I loved

Holly. She must know I don't love

her.

Maybe she only did that last night to cheer me

up.

Yeah, right.

I should be so lucky.

I never am.

By the time I entered Dexter Hall, generally called

the English Building, I'd decided that honesty is

always the best policy. I would simply have to confront

Eileen and tell her my true feelings.

"I'm afraid I don't love you, Eileen. I

wish that I could, but ... I don't think I'm

capable

of love anymore . . . not after Holly

."

The words felt true to me.

But they sounded in my head like a crock of shit.

There's no good way out of this, buddy.

Entering the seminar room, I smiled at Dr

Hatchens. She smiled back at me. It was one of

those snide smiles. "I'm glad you were finally able

to join us, Mr. Logan

."

I was two minutes late.

"I'm sorry, Dr Hatchens

."

"And so are we all," she said.

And I thought, Things could always be worse. At least

I didn't get maneuvered last night into fucking

Horrible Hillary Hatchens.

I had a hard time paying attention. Focusing on

Othello isn't so easy when you've got wench

troubles of your own.

Dr Hatchens knew I was in trouble, too.

"Would you like to contribute an opinion, Mr.

Logan

?"

"He loved not wisely but too well

."

I managed a feeble smile. Some of the other

English majors laughed, but Dr Hatchens

wasn't amused. "It might behoove you to pay

attention in the future

."

"I'm sorry

."

"We know

."

Shit.

While I waited for five o'clock, my

stomach hurt. Not from hunger, though. From nerves.

I'd decided to break it off.

Not even go to the restaurant with Eileen. Just tell

her quickly, as gently as possible, and get it over

with.

I'd been ready for her ever since about four. From then

on, I couldn't study, couldn't focus on anything

except our approaching confrontation.

I practiced speeches in my head.

They all seemed amazingly lame.

Just tell her the truth, I thought. She'll understand.

She'll understand, all right.

In my mind, I could see the pain in her eyes. The

tears. She said,

"But Eddie, I love you. I thought you loved me,

too

."

Or,

"Isn't it a little late to be telling me this

?"

Or,

'Fuck me and dump me, is that it

?"

Or,

"Go to hell. You're a lousy lay, anyhow

."

I imagined her saying plenty of other things, too .

. . none of them pleasant.

Sometimes, I imagined trying to comfort her. Other

times. I lost my temper.

"You seduced me last night. You plotted the whole

thing. Now that Holly's out of the way, you made the

big play to get me for yourself. I lost my head and

gave in. Which is what you counted on. But it isn't

going any further. It's over. It's finished. I

don't WANT you

."

Thinking that sort of thing, I cringed.

Five o'clock came and went.

I continued to stew.

Terrific. Now she's late. She doesn't even

think enough of me to show up on time. This'll make it

a lot easier.

At ten after, the buzzer rang and my stomach

jumped. Heart hammering, I walked to the intercom.

My legs felt weak. I seemed to be trembling

all over. I pushed the button and said into the

speaker, "Yes

?"

"It's me

."

"Okay, I'll buzz you in

."

I pushed the button to unlock the building's

front door. Then I opened the door of my

apartment and waited for Eileen.

I heard a quiet "Hi" from her, probably

addressed to the Fishers as she walked past their open

door. Then her footsteps were hurrying up the

stairway. She appeared at the top of the stairs,

gave me a smile and came striding toward me.

She wore a white blouse with the sleeves rolled

up her forearms, a short tartan kilt that swished

around her thighs, green knee socks and loafers.

"Missed you," she said and stepped into my arms. She

hugged me very hard at first, squeezing me against herself.

Then she relaxed her hold and kissed me gently

on the mouth.

"I'm really sorry I'm late," she said. "I

couldn't get my car started

."

"That's all right

."

"I guess we'll have to change our dinner plans.

Unless you want to walk out to the restaurant

."

"How did you get here

?"

"Walked. That's why I'm a little late

."

"Oh

."

"I got an early start or I would've been

really

late

."

"What's the matter with your car

?"

"Dead battery, I guess

."

She gave me a grimace that was so exaggerated that

I had to smile. "I left my headlights on

overnight

."

"How'd you manage that

?"

"I had a lot on my mind

."

She laughed softly and kissed me again. "Anyway,

we can walk out to that restaurant if you

want to. Might be fun

."

"Seven miles," I reminded her.

"Mmm. Maybe not so fun. A total of

fourteen, right

?"

"We could go someplace closer," I said.

"What if we call out for pizza

?"

Memories came pounding in. Many times, I'd

phoned for a pizza delivery for Holly and me so

we wouldn't need to go anywhere, just stay together, all

by ourselves in my apartment.

We'd done it sometimes when Eileen was here, too.

"I guess we could do that," I told her.

We decided on a large pepperoni pizza, and

I made the call. "It'll be half an hour,"

I told her.

"I've got an idea. You wait here. I'll

run out and pick up a bottle of wine. We'll

make a party of it

."

"I'm under age

."

"Oh, I know. You poor, dear thing

."

Smiling, she patted my cheek. "That's what

I'm

for. I'll be back in a jiff

."

So off she went.

j

I found my wallet and took out enough money for the

pizza and a tip. Then I sank onto the sofa and

stared into space.

I can't just dump her, I thought. The least I can do

is wait till after we've eaten. No point in

ruining that. We'll have the pizza and drink some wine.

It'll be easier afterward.

Soon, Eileen arrived with a bottle of Merlot

and

the pizza. "We both got here at the same time,"

she explained.

I tried to give her the money. She shook her

head. "It's on me

."

"No, it's not

."

"Hey, this was all my idea. It's my

treat

."

"No, come on. Take it

."

"You can pay next time

."

As if there would be a next time.

"Well," I muttered. "Okay

."

I opened the bottle. Not having any

wineglasses, I took out a couple of tumblers and

half filled them.

"Where do you want to eat

?"

Eileen asked.

Holly and I always used to eat our pizza in the

living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Eileen knew that.

"We can eat at the table if you want," she said.

"The floor'll be all right

."

She frowned slightly. "Are you sure

?"

"If you'd rather sit at the table

"I always liked the floor

."

She let out a quiet laugh. 'For eating pizza.

That's what I meant

."

"Sure

."

She laughed again. "The floor it is," she said.

So we took everything out to the living room. Eileen

placed the pizza box on the floor. She sat on

one side of it and I sat across from her.

Glass in hand, she reached forward and toasted, "To the

good times that

aren't

all gone

."

"Okay," I said.

We clicked our glasses together, then drank. Then

Eileen opened the pizza box. As steam drifted

up, we reached in and pulled out slices of pie that were

dripping with strings of melted cheese.

The pizza was delicious. The wine was cool and

slightly tart. While I ate and drank, I had

a difficult time not staring at Eileen's legs.

They were sheathed in the green socks nearly to her

knees, then bare most of the way up from there.

"So how did Shakespeare go

?"

she asked.

"I was a couple of minutes late

."

"Uh-oh

."

"And then I couldn't think straight. My mind kept

wandering

."

"Guess you didn't get enough sleep last night

."

"How about you

?"

I asked.

She shook her head. "It was all I could do to stay

awake during my ten o'clock. I tried to take a

nap this afternoon, but couldn't pull it off. Too keyed

up, I guess

."

"Keyed up? About what

?"

"What do

you

think

?"

I just looked at her.

Suddenly blushing, she said, "I never meant for things

to go that way last night. I keep thinking ... it

must've looked so

calculated.

But it wasn't. If you think I planned to . .

."

She shook her head. "I didn't. I just wanted

to be your friend, try to help you. You were obviously so

miserable about Holly . . . That's why I drove

out to the donut shop. And then I really

did

need to use your John. It must've looked like an

excuse to get inside your apartment, but it wasn't.

I really had to

go.

But then ... I don't know

."

She took another drink of her wine, then shrugged.

"I just suddenly ... I wanted to make things

better. For both of us. I just suddenly

wanted

you. So I... you know, took off my stuff in the

bathroom

."

"Well, it sure made

my

night

."

"Glad to hear it

."

A sheepish look on her face, she said,

"Anyway, I just wanted you to know. In case you were

wondering. You weren't the victim of a wily,

plotting female. Not really

."

Then she took another drink of wine.

"I never thought I was. Not really

."

Her smile lasted only a moment. Then she said,

"I also want you to know ... I don't expect

anything from you. I didn't do that last night to trap

you. It just happened, you know? It doesn't mean we

have to start

going

together, anything like that. I have no intention of forcing myself

on you

."

Her smile flickered. "Not again, anyway

."

"It wasn't so bad

."

"Glad to hear it. But anyway, I know you're not in

love with me. Okay? I don't expect you

to love me. I can't take Holly's place. Not

in your heart. I know that. It's not what I'm after

."

"What

are

you after

."

"I just . .

."

Her eyes went shiny. "I just don't want you to be

miserable, okay

?"

With the back of a hand, she wiped her eyes. "It

hurts me ... what she did to you. And to see you so

... lonely and desolate. It just

hurts.

I want you to be

happy,

not . .

."

She

really

started crying. "Shit," she gasped. Shaking her

head fiercely, she set down her wineglass and

got to her feet.

I stood up as she went to the door. "Eileen

..."

"I've . . . gotta go. I'm sorry

."

She opened the door.

I hurried toward her, but she raised a hand.

"No," she said. "Don't

."

I stopped.

She stood in the doorway, her back to the hall,

crying and shaking her head. "I didn't come here to

... Never mind. I feel like. . . such an

idiot. I'm sorry. I don't know . . . what

I was thinking

."

"Who does

?"

I said. "Why don't you come back in? We'll have

some more pizza and finish the wine . .

."

"No

."

She raised her head, sniffed, and wiped her eyes.

"God. I'm sorry. I've gotta go

."

She suddenly looked around. Then, raising her hand

again like a cop halting traffic, she came forward and

sidestepped over to where she'd left her purse.

She picked it up. On her way back to the door,

she said, "See you sometime. I guess. If you

want

."

"If you really have to go," I said, "let me at

least walk you back

."

She shook her head. "That's okay. No thanks.

I wanta be ... I never meant to ... to

inflict

myself on you

."

"You haven't

."

"Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah

."

Backing through the doorway, sniffing, she

gave me a little wave with one hand. Then she turned

and hurried down the hall.

I just stood there, gazing at the empty doorway.

I wasn't sure what had just happened. Eileen

had certainly gone haywire. I'd never seen her

that way before, and it left me feeling shocked and

confused. And guilty.

Obviously, I should have stopped her from leaving.

She'd probably hoped I would stop her, but I

hadn't.

I

can still run after her.

But she'd told me not to.

Wants me to, anyway. She's probably

expecting it.

"Not tonight," I muttered, and shut my door.

I ate more pizza and drank more wine, wondering if

Eileen would come back. She might walk a couple

of blocks, change her mind and turn around. Who

knows?

At any moment, the buzzer might ring.

If it did, Eileen would come up and apologize for

her strange behavior and we would probably end up

in bed. Imagining that, I thought about the look and feel

of her last night and I hoped she would come

back.

If I hadn't let her go, or if I'd run after

her, we could've both been naked by now . . .

But then I'd be stuck with her.

At least for tonight.

If she rings the buzzer, I thought, there go my

plans.

That

might not be such a bad thing, either, because my plans

frightened me.

There was still some wine left, so I knocked the cork

back into the neck of the bottle. I put the bottle

and the remaining pizza into my refrigerator. By then,

Eileen had been gone for about twenty minutes.

I sat down and tried to read Coleridge for a

while, but I felt groggy and my mind kept

wandering. I was wasting my time, so I put the book

away and went into my bedroom. The clock on my

nightstand showed 7:10. I set the alarm for 11:00

p.m., then took off my clothes, shut off the light

and climbed into bed.

777.77777.77777.7,1

I found myself in darkness.

My first thought was that someone was buzzing me to be let

in.

Holly? Is Holly here?

Hope leaped up inside me, then fell. It can't

be Holly, I realized. She's gone. It's

Eileen. Eileen came back, after all.

stHis

let her in and we'll make love.

Just about then, I realized nobody was buzzing to be

let in. The sound came from my alarm clock.

Time to get up and start my adventure.

I reached out and killed the noise. Then I climbed

out of bed. I shivered as I hurried across my room

and turned on a light. The

air felt cool on my bare skin, but the shivers

probably had little to do with temperature, more to do with

tension and excitement.

I dressed myself in undershorts, blue jeans, a

dark-blue sweatshirt, socks and my brown leather

high-top hiking boots.

As I sat on an edge of the bed to tie my boots,

I changed my mind about them. They were excellent for

long walks, but what if I needed to be swift?

So I took them off and put on a pair of

Reebok running shoes instead.

I started to take my wallet, then changed my

mind. It was loaded with identification: my

driver's license, student ID, credit cards,

and so on.

What about money?

Nothing'll be open, anyway.

Dandi Donuts?

I took a ten out of my wallet, folded it and

stuffed it into a front pocket of my jeans.

What else?

Nothing else from my wallet. But I pocketed my

Swiss Army knife and my five-inch Maglite

before leaving the bedroom. They both went into front

pockets of my jeans. In the living room, I

grabbed my keys.

Anything else?

A pen and paper in case I needed to take notes.

I pulled a full sheet of lined paper out of my

notebook, folded it like a hanky and slipped it

into a seat pocket of my jeans. Then I slid a

couple of ballpoints into a front pocket.

What else?

A mask?

Why on earth would I need a mask?

Shaking my head, I left.

Downstairs, the Fishers" door stood open. I

planned to ignore the old couple, but

realized at the last moment that it might seem rude.

So I turned my head as I walked by, nodded and

smiled in.

No sign of Mrs. Fisher, but "the mister"

looked up from his easy chair -- positioned for a

view of the hallway -- and called, "Hey there,

Eddie

."

I had to stop. "Hi, Mr. Fisher

."

"How's things

?"

"Not bad. How're things with you and Mrs. Fisher

?"

"Oh, can't complain. Saw your friend Eileen

earlier. Had yourselves a nice pizza, did you

?"

"It was pretty good. Well, I've got to get

going. See you later, Mr. Fisher

."

"Have yourself a good time, son

."

"Thanks," I said, and took off.

It felt very good to be outside in the fresh October

night. The breeze was slightly chilly.

It carried a scent of chimney smoke and sent

leaves drifting down sideways when they fell out

of the trees along the road.

I made mental notes of my observations . . .

partly because I fancied myself a writer and partly

to keep my mind off my real reason for being out in the

night.

When you're up to something iffy, it's better not to think

about it or you might chicken out.

There's nothing iffy about this, I told myself. I'm

taking a walk, that's all.

Over to Franklin Street.

It's a free country, I thought. The sidewalks

are public property. I have every right to go over

to Franklin Street. Nothing at all wrong with

doing that.

I'm just a university student taking a late-night

walk, minding my own business, maybe on my way

to Dandi Donuts.

I'm not breaking any laws.

Nobody (except Eileen) knows I'm

heartbroken. And nobody in the whole world (except

me), knows how I hope in the chambers of my ruined

heart to find a certain girl.

Last night, she'd simply come walking

along. Her route had converged with mine as if by some

miracle of timing and placement.

I was pretty sure it wouldn't happen again.

But I intended to be waiting, tonight, at the same time

and place.

As I walked along, I kept a sharp lookout for

trouble. In particular, I didn't want to be

surprised by dogs or by the bike-riding hag.

She's probably a harmless old lady, I told

myself. Maybe even nice if you get to know her.

Yeah, right.

She could be Mother Theresa, for all I cared: I

didn't want her to

see

me, much less come wheeling up silently from the rear,

startle the crap out of me with her ringer and speed by

... close enough to touch me.

What if she

does

touch me?

It gave me the creeps just thinking about her and keeping

watch for her.

As Falstaff says, "The better part of valour

is discretion; in the

which the better part I have saved my life

."

Avoiding the bike hag wasn't likely to save

my life, but it would do wonders for my peace of

mind. Therefore, several blocks before the area where

she'd put in her appearance last night, I cut

over to Franklin Street.

I liked it much better there. Not only had I

bailed out of the hag's territory, but I'd entered the

mystery girl's

Though I still kept a sharp watch, it was no longer just

for signs of trouble; my watch now included the

possibility of spying the girl.

I walked slowly, turning my head, often looking

over my shoulder.

At length, I came to the sidestreet where I'd

first seen her I stopped at the corner and looked

She wasn't coming

No one was coming, either afoot or by car . . or

by bicycle.

From where I stood, I seemed to be the only person

out and about

Though the hour was late, I was early. I hadn't

kept careful track of time last night, but the girl

had probably come walking toward this corner between about

1215 and 12 30 am My educated

guess

My wristwatch now showed 12.05

At the earliest, she might not show up for another ten

minutes

Ten minutes. To most of us, ten minutes seems like

a very brief period of time Not long enough to do much of

anything However, ten minutes is ample time for a

shower A steak can usually be barbecued in ten minutes

or less And a healthy person can easily walk more

than half a mile in ten minutes At freeway

speeds, ten minutes can take you more than ten miles

But try waiting alone on a street corner in the

middle of the night, and you'll discover that ten minutes

can seem like a long, long time

I only lasted five During that period, six cars

went by. A hairy man in shorts and running

shoes, but no shirt, jogged up the middle of

Franklin Street but paid no attention to me. I

heard telephones in nearby houses ring on two

separate occasions I heard a woman shout,

"Don't you dare,"

Doors slammed shut three or four times. Two

cats ran across the road So did one opossum

Then a gal came striding up the sidewalk, heading

my way with two German shepherds

trotting semi-loose around her I couldn't tell for

sure whether they were wearing leashes, but I didn't

want to find out the hard way.

Abandoning my post, I turned right at the corner and

headed eastward on the sidestreet.

It was Maple Avenue.

Last night, the mystery girl had come from this

direction. With any luck, I might not only

avoid the hounds but encounter her.

I followed Maple Avenue for about ten minutes.

Though I saw no sign of the girl, the road led

me into a shabbier section of town. Single-story

houses with shingled sides, chain-link fences around their

yards, barking dogs often

in

their yards along with collections of debris. People in

this section of town didn't seem to throw anything

away. Instead, when it ceased to be useful, they

displayed it in their yards. Most of the yards were

littered with such items as old chairs, old sofa

cushions, old television sets, toilets,

tires, and often entire automobiles.

God only knew what sort of

person

I might encounter in such a neighborhood.

Fortunately, none seemed to be outdoors at the

moment.

At the railroad tracks, Maple Avenue

descended into a dark underpass so I turned around and

headed back toward Franklin Street, walking more

quickly than before.

It was 12:40 by the time I reached the intersection of

Franklin and Maple.

Had I missed her?

Maybe she's just a little late, I thought.

Or maybe last night was a fluke; the one and

only time she had ever, or

would

ever, walk that particular route at that time of night.

Then again, maybe she does it regularly, but only

once a week.

I looked one way. I looked the other. I

looked all around.

Where are you? Where are you?

You're somewhere, I told myself. And I'll find you.

If Ahab could find the White Whale, whose

far-flung boundaries were those of the seven seas, I

certainly should be able to locate one girl in the

small town of Willmington.

I approached her house from the opposite

side of the street and looked at it casually as I

strolled by.

The front porch and all the windows were dark, the

same as last night.

Was the girl still on her way home?

Had she already returned from tonight's journey?

Maybe she'd stayed in and had gone to bed early.

Was she there in a dark upstairs room, fast

asleep in her bed?

Not daring to stop and keep a vigil on the house, I

continued to the corner. I crossed to her side of the

street, went to the next corner, made a right and

hiked southward along the back side of the block.

At the corner, I made another right and returned

to Franklin Street. This time, I walked up

Franklin on her side.

As I neared her house, a light came on toward

the rear of its ground floor.

My heart lurched. Then it pounded fast and

sickeningly hard as I walked up the driveway of the

house next door, glanced around to see if I were

being observed, and slipped through a space in the

bushes.

The glow from the window pulled me like a promise of

treasure.

Never in my life had I crept up to a window in

an attempt to spy on anyone. This is not to say

I'd never been tempted to give it a try. In the

past, however, I'd always fought off the temptation; my

urge to sneak a peek was feeble compared to my terror

of being caught at it.

Tonight was different. Not only had my world been blasted

apart by the loss of Holly, but I was so vastly

intrigued by the mystery girl that I

had

to look into the window.

As I neared it, I felt weak with fear. I

trembled all over. Underneath my sweatshirt,

perspiration poured down my torso. My underwear

stuck to my sweaty rear end. My genitals felt

as if they were trying to shrivel up and vanish.

Fear of being caught was certainly part of it. But so was

fear of myself, that I should be doing this. And mixed with the

fear was a horrible, nerve-wracking anticipation of

what I might see when I looked through the window.

Someone

had turned on the light, and it was still on.

Someone

was in the room.

The girl?

Breathless and trembling, I looked around to make

sure nobody was watching me. Then I moved

closer to the window. Because the house had a

crawl-space, the windowsill was slightly higher

than my eye level.

Standing close to its left-hand corner, I hooked

my fingertips over the sill and raised myself on

tiptoes.

What if she's looking straight at me?

She wasn't.

Peering through the glass at the bottom corner of the

window, I saw a woman standing in the lighted

kitchen, leaning back against a counter. In her left

hand was a bottle of tequila. She held the

bottle by its neck, took a sip, lowered it by her

side, and just stared forward.

Not looking anywhere close to my window.

She didn't appear to be upset or nervous or

troubled. Not like she'd come into the kitchen to sneak a

few sips. More as if she'd simply found herself in

the mood for a taste of tequila and wandered in. She

seemed tranquil, almost languid.

Could this be the girl's mother?

Not likely. My mystery girl was probably at

least eighteen years old, and this woman

looked no older than thirty.

Her sister?

Whatever her relation to my girl, she was certainly

pretty. Even with mussed hair and no makeup

on, she looked a lot more attractive than most

women. Also, she had a good figure and her white

nightgown didn't hide much of it.

The nightie was very short, reaching only about halfway

down her thighs. Its top was cut so low that I could

see quite a lot of bare skin between her breasts, down

to a couple of inches below her sternum.

Also, the gown was diaphanous . . . made of such

fine, delicate material that I could see through it.

Her nipples were large and dark and erect. She

seemed to have a ladybug tattoo on her left

hip. And to paraphrase Mickey Spillane, I

saw that she was a natural blonde.

My genitals started to unshrivel. Rapidly.

She raised the tequila bottle and took another

sip. When she lowered it, the strap of her nightgown

fell off her left shoulder and down her upper arm.

Without the strap for support, the gown slipped off

her left breast.

I thought,

Holy shit!

She didn't seem bothered at all that one of her

breasts was naked. And why should she be? She was alone

in her kitchen in the middle of the night and had no

idea anyone might be watching her through a window.

No idea I was there, spying on her, getting harder

by the moment.

As she raised the bottle to her mouth for another

drink, her arm lifted the thin strap of her nightgown

only slightly. While she held the bottle up,

her arm obstructed my view of her breast. Then I

could see it again.

I knew I should look away.

Look

away? I should

run

away.

I was violating this woman's privacy, ogling her

body,

and

breaking the law.

I must've been nuts to come to her window at all!

But I'd done it in search of my girl, not to leer

at this sultry stranger.

I've gotta get out of here!

My eyes stayed locked on her.

I

can't

leave, I realized. Not as long as she keeps standing

there, looking the way she does.

Then her head began to turn in my direction.

I sank out of sight and took my fingers off the

sill.

What if she saw me?

I'd ducked pretty fast. Also, it's hard to see

out of windows at night, especially if you're in a

bright room and there isn't much light outside.

Mostly, you only see your own reflection backed

by darkness.

My face had been right up at her window, though, and

probably illuminated by the light from the kitchen.

She

might've

seen me.

Staying low, I crept alongside the wall toward

the front of the house. A safe distance from the kitchen

window, I slipped into a gap in the bushes.

Crouching there, I took a quick look around. I saw

nobody, so I stepped out onto the neighbor's

driveway.

At the foot of the driveway, I turned

to the right. . . toward the house. It seemed like a

wild, risky move. A person in my position

should've gone the other way. I was feeling reckless,

though. And lucky. And curious. So I stepped

past the row of bushes.

Toward the rear of the house, light still glowed from the

kitchen window.

Otherwise, the house remained dark.

Had

she seen me?

I suddenly doubted it.

For a moment, I considered sneaking back to the window for

another look.

Don't press your luck.

Already, I'd left the house behind.

I

As I neared the corner, a car turned onto

Franklin a couple of blocks to the north.

A cop car?

My stomach went squirmy.

She

might've

called the cops. Or maybe one of the neighbors

did.

No time to think.

I dodged up the nearest driveway, ran to the

front of the car parked there, sank to my knees and

hunkered down. Soon, the grumble of an engine

intruded on the night's other sounds. It came from the

north, growing louder, louder.

Though I cowered in hiding, excitement was mixed with

my fear. I had an urge to scream, but also a

strange inclination to giggle.

The car now seemed to be passing directly in

front of the driveway. I heard not only its

engine, but the hiss of its tires and a quiet song from

inside, Garth Brooks singing "The Dance

."

I took a peek.

The car was a large convertible with a guy behind the wheel.

False alarm.

Which didn't mean someone

hadn't

called the police. A squad car might be on its

way this very moment. If I left my hiding place

now, I might be caught out in the open.

I decided to stay put for ten minutes. If no

cops came along by then, I could be fairly sure

nobody had reported me.

My wristwatch showed 1:10 a.m.

The concrete was tough on my knees, so I turned

my back to the car and sat down. And waited.

Ten minutes. Again.

I sat there with my legs crossed and thought about how

strange it was that I should be hiding in front of a car

in a stranger's driveway at such an hour. What

would Holly think?

I'm here because of you, you filthy bitch. If I get

caught by the cops

... or

killed or something . . . it'll be thanks to you.

I hoped she would cringe with guilt for many years.

Fat chance. She doesn't give a shit what

happens to me. Probably never did.

That's not true, I thought. Be fair to her. She

cared.

Only not very much. And not at all once she ran

into Jay-Jay the Prick.

May she rot in Hell.

You don't mean that, I told myself.

Sure I don't.

Look on the bright side, I thought. If she

hadn't dumped me, I

never would've gone out wandering last night, never would've

seen

the girl.

I wouldn't have seen

the woman

tonight, either.

The bitch did me a favor.

I

should thank her.

Even while I sat there thinking such things, part of me

was appraising Ed Logan . . . finding him to be

melodramatic and bitter and childish . . . and

half mad.

Had I lost my mind?

Only a crazy person would set his alarm clock,

get up in the middle of the night and go searching through

town for a complete stranger he'd spent a while

stalking

the night before. And in the process, sneaking up to a

window and spying on a half-naked woman.

All of a sudden, I'd turned into a Peeping

Tom.

What next?

What had

better

be next, I thought, is home. Call the whole thing

off. Go back to my apartment and go to bed.

Get up in the morning and go to class. Get

studious. Get serious with Eileen. Face it,

she's probably better in every way than Holly

ever

was.

Images filled my mind of Eileen last night.

The surprise of finding that she'd taken off her bra

in secret. The delight of putting my hand down the

front of her jeans, slipping my fingers into her

juicy heat. And then how she'd felt gliding down,

wet and snug, slowly impaling herself on me.

How can stalking an unknown girl compare to that?

How can peering through a window at a woman in a

nightgown, even if one breast is showing, be more

tempting than what I'd already seen and done with

Eileen?

It's madness, I thought.

And this is the end of it.

I looked at my wristwatch. Twenty minutes

had gone by, so I abandoned my hiding place.

At the first corner, I turned right. At the next

corner, I turned right again and walked to Franklin

Street.

A turn to the left would take me back toward

home.

A turn to the right would take me toward

her

house again.

Naturally, I turned right.

My heart beat faster as I neared the house.

If the light's still on, I told myself, I won't

go over and look in. I'll just keep on walking.

I won't look.

The kitchen light was off.

Relieved but disappointed, I walked on.

Is

that where she lives? I wondered as I continued

northward on Franklin Street. It was almost

certainly the house I'd watched her enter last

night.

Later, though, I'd seen her several blocks

away while Eileen was driving us back from Dandi

Donuts. What was the girl doing out on the streets

again no more than an hour after sneaking into her house?

Maybe it

isn't

her house.

Last night, I'd suspected she might be

returning home from a rendezvous with her lover. But

what if I had it the wrong way around?

Maybe I hadn't seen her returning home, but

sneaking

into

the house of her lover?

Certainly possible.

If so, who was her lover? The husband of the woman

I'd observed in the kitchen? That could explain the

drinking.

What if

they're

lovers?

My God.

There is no husband? The woman lives alone in the

house, and the girl comes to her late at night. That

might even explain why the woman had gone into her

kitchen at such an hour; to have a few sips while

she waited for the girl to show up. Or maybe the

girl was late and the woman was worried.

Is

she there now?

When I'd passed the house just a few minutes

ago, the kitchen light had been off. Maybe the

woman had simply decided to quit drinking and go

to bed. Or maybe the girl had finally arrived.

I imagined them together in the kitchen. The

girl perhaps taking a sip of the tequila. Then

kissing the woman on the mouth. Then putting a hand

on her bare breast.

It got me pretty excited, thinking about that.

Should I go back to the house?

Are you out of your mind?

Forget about it, I told myself.

Especially

forget about it if they're a couple of lesbians;

I wouldn't stand a chance with either one of them.

It's just as well, I thought. Quit all this

nonsense before I end up in trouble.

Go home.

Why not go to Dandi Donuts first?

And eat a couple of those sweet, greasy donuts

two nights in a row? Bad idea.

But the place seemed like a safe, peaceful

refuge. I didn't

have

to eat donuts. Just sit there in the light and have a

cup of coffee, rest for the hike back.

What if Eileen's there?

She won't be, I told myself.

She

might

be. It's a place she might go if she wants

to find me.

I almost gave up on going to the donut shop. But

I didn't. For one thing, Eileen wasn't very

likely to be there.

stHis

check before I go in.

But it might not be so bad if Eileen

is

there. She cares about me. She'll drive me

home. We'll go up to my rooms and so what if

she isn't Holly ... so what if I'm not in

love with her?

To avoid walking by the thrift shop's window, I

stayed on Franklin and didn't cut over until

I was past Dandi. I walked west on Dale, the

sidestreet on which Eileen had parked her car last

night.

Tonight, her car wasn't there.

I looked in Dandi's windows, anyway. Two

customers were there, sitting far apart. Both were men.

So I entered. As I walked toward the counter, my

eyes slid over to the display case. Half a

dozen glazed old-fashioneds were there, crusty and

golden and glistening.

They looked luscious.

No way, I thought. I'll turn into a fat

slob.

The clerk came up to the counter.

"What can I get you

?"

"A medium coffee and two glazed old-fashioneds

."

So what if I turn into a fat slob?

Holly gonna stop loving me?

'For here or to go

?"

the clerk asked.

'For here

."

I wondered if he remembered me from last night.

And if he did, was he curious about Eileen and why

I'd come here without her tonight?

He must get all kinds, I thought.

I paid him, then turned around with my coffee and

donuts. And wondered where to sit. I wanted to stay

away from the two strangers. Neither of them, however, was

sitting near the table I'd shared with Eileen last

night.

Nor near the table where Holly and I had

sat together the night we'd come here last spring.

still"

never leave you. You'll leave me.

The table would be haunted by her. The ghost of my lost

love who wasn't dead but gone just the same.

Fuck up my appetite.

I went to a table at the opposite end of the room from

where I'd sat with Holly . . . one table away from

last night's table, which was straight in front of me.

That was okay, though. The memories of last night

didn't hurt.

In fact, they were pretty good.

I lifted my Styrofoam cup of coffee, gently

blew the steam away, and raised it to my mouth. My

nose and eyes felt the heat. When I took a

sip, the coffee was too hot on my lips and

tongue. I set it down.

Somebody stepped past me.

I looked up. The man stopped, turned around and

smiled down at me. He wasn't one of the

customers I'd already seen. Must've come in after I

did.

"I could use a cup of coffee," he said. "Can you

spare a buck

?"

Clean and well groomed, he didn't

look

like a bum. Women would probably consider him

handsome. With his golden hair and chiseled features,

he might've stepped off the cover of a romance

novel. He wore a blue chambray shirt that was

partly unbuttoned, tucked into a pair of tight

blue jeans.

Nothing at all threatening about him . . . except his

request.

And maybe his eyes and smile. His eyes seemed

too intense and his smile was too big, a little

lopsided and twitchy. He had clean, straight

teeth, but I felt as if I could see too many of

them.

I suddenly wanted to get the hell away. But what

about my coffee and donuts?

And what if this guy follows me outside?

"Sure," I answered. Though he'd only asked

for one dollar, I took a five out of my

wallet. "Have some donuts, too

."

My hand trembled as I reached out and handed the money

to him.

"Thanks, pal

."

He went over to the counter.

It's only five bucks, I thought. I can afford

it.

In fact, my parents were fairly well off.

Money had never been a concern of mine, but I

didn't like being

asked

for it. People had no right to ask strangers for money. It

was almost like a hold-up . . . using an implied

threat instead of a gun or knife.

The man came back and sat across the table from me.

Shit!

With my money, he'd bought a cup of coffee, a

jelly donut and a maple bar.

"What's your name

?"

he asked.

"Ed

."

"Thanks for the loan, Ed

."

Loan, my ass.

"You're welcome

."

Though his purchases hadn't cost more than two or

three dollars, he didn't return my change.

And I didn't dare ask him for it.

He raised his cup of coffee, squinting slightly

as the steam got in his eyes. Then he took a few

sips and set the cup down. "You mind me sitting

here

?"

he asked.

"No," I lied.

"Glad to hear it. I like you, Ed

."

"Thanks

."

"My kind of guy

."

"Ah

."

Oh, shit. He's gay. He's putting moves

on me.

There was nothing effeminate about him. If anything, he

seemed perhaps

too

masculine.

Some of them are like that, I thought.

He was certainly fit. Not bulked up, but trim.

A lot of them are like that, too.

"I'm Randy," he said.

"Hi, Randy

."

He reached across the table to shake hands. I didn't

want to offend him by refusing, so I shook his hand.

It was bigger than mine. He squeezed hard. Hard

enough to hurt.

Real nice, I thought.

After letting go, he asked, "You live around here

?"

He wants to go home with me?

"Not really

."

"Aren't you going to eat

?"

Nodding, I took a bite of donut. The outside

crunched. The donut probably tasted

spectacular if I could taste it.

He took a bite of his jelly donut.

I drank some coffee.

"Thought maybe you lived around here someplace,"

Randy said.

"Oh

?"

"I've seen you the past couple of nights

."

"Really

?"

What had he seen?

"It's the donuts," I said, and took another

bite. "I've been coming out here for donuts the past

couple of nights

."

"If you say so," Randy said.

Oh, God! Why is he saying this stuff? What

does he know? Has he been following me?

"Is there a problem

?"

I asked.

I

don't like Peeping Toms,

I expected him to say.

"No problem. I just want to talk

."

"Okay

."

"About that gal," he said.

Oh, my God.

"What about her

?"

"She your girlfriend

?"

Is

who

my girlfriend?

What

gal? Is he trying to find out if I'm straight?

"Maybe," I said.

"She's a real fox

."

I nodded slightly. Maybe Randy wasn't gay

after all.

"She's got a real nice rack on her

."

Was he talking about Eileen? Sounded that way.

Leaning toward me, he stared into my eyes. His

pale-blue eyes looked eager. "Does she put

out for you

?"

he asked.

Maybe they look that way, I thought, because of some

medical condition.

Yeah. Lunacy.

I was not about to tell a stranger that Eileen had

'put out" for me. On the other hand, I didn't have

the guts to tell him to mind his own business.

"No," I said.

"You've got one of those

platonic

relationships

?"

"Guess so

."

"Don't you

want

her

?"

"I didn't say that

."

"A great-looking gal. And those tits. Terrific

tits

."

"You don't have to talk about her that way. She's a

nice person

."

"If she's so nice, how come you're not putting it

to her? Bet she's really hot. Hot and juicy

."

"I wouldn't know

."

I'd hardly touched my coffee and donuts, but I

would've gladly abandoned them to get away from this

man. I didn't move, though. Far better to deal

with him in Dandi Donuts than out on the empty

streets.

A

"What's her name

?"

he asked.

"Sarah

."

"Sarah? Nice name. Suits her. What's her

last name

?"

'Lee" almost popped out of my mouth. I got as

far as the L, so I finished up with, "LaFarge

."

"Sarah LaFarge

?"

I nodded.

"A very euphonious name

."

"Guess so," I said. For some reason,

this guy using the word euphonious bothered me.

"Why isn't Sarah LaFarge with you tonight

?"

he asked.

"She had other things to do. We're just friends. We

don't . . .

go

together or anything like that

."

"Not your girlfriend, and yet she spent almost an hour

in here last night waiting for you. Sitting over there

all alone

."

"I didn't know it was that long," I said.

He nodded. "Then

you

had to show up and ruin my plans

."

Another sick feeling rushed through me. "Plans

?"

"You know."

I shook my head.

"My plans for

her.

For Sarah

."

"Ah

."

"I had special plans for her. You ruined them

last night, but now you're back. And so are my

plans

."

"I see

."

"Do you

?"

"You want to ... go out with her

?"

"Wanta go

in

her, Ed

."

"Hey, look . .

."

His smile spread, showing me his rows of straight

white teeth. "She'll love it. They all do. So

where does she live

?"

No harm in giving him a wrong address. So I

said, "I guess I can write it down for

you

."

"I have a better idea. Why don't you

take

me there

?"

"I don't have a car

."

"I do," Randy said.

Apparently, he could afford a car but not coffee and

donuts.

"Even if I took you there . . . she lives in a

secure building. You wouldn't be able to just go in and

get her

."

"She'll come out for you, won't she

?"

"It's . .

."

I looked at my watch. "Two-fifteen

."

"She'll come out for you

."

Nodding, I said, "Maybe

."

"Let's finish up our coffee and donuts

."

I resumed eating. So did Randy. He kept

smiling at me as he chewed.

As I chewed, I tried to think. Mostly, I

couldn't believe this was happening to me. Or

to Eileen, for that matter.

I

can't let this guy get her.

I took a deep breath and said, "I'm not so sure

it's a good idea to go over there, Randy

."

"Sounds like a good idea to me

."

"Not at this hour. Maybe you should give me your

phone number. I can pass it on to her tomorrow, and . .

."

"I don't have a phone, Ed

."

"Well, maybe we can arrange for her to meet you

someplace

."

"Do you think she'd do that

?"

"Sure. I mean, probably. Maybe

the three of us could get together for a lunch

."

He narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Maybe, maybe.

But I don't think so. What I really think,

Eddie, is that you want to keep her for yourself. There

won't be any lunch. You don't want me laying

a finger on her. Isn't that right

?"

"No. If she wants to have lunch with you, it's fine

with me. She's

not

my girlfriend

."

"Really

?"

"Really

."

'Let's go to her place

."

I looked at him.

"Right now

."

"But I told you-"

"I know what you told me. Let's go

."

I looked around the donut shop. Aside from me and

Randy, only one customer remained. He had his

back to us. The clerk wasn't behind the counter, either;

he must've gone into the back room.

"Come on," Randy said quietly.

I nodded. "Okay. But I need to use the

bathroom first

."

Tine. I'll go in with you. We can compare sizes

."

I got to my feet. 'Let's just leave," I

said. "I'll try to hold it

."

"Fine

."

He gestured for me to lead the way. I walked

toward the door. The clerk was still in back. The

customer didn't look around. I opened the door and

walked out into the night.

Randy came out and grabbed my arm. Hard.

"I don't think we should be doing this," I said as

he pulled me along the sidewalk. Rhett and

Zelda gazed out the thrift-shop window at us. "I

wasn't kidding about her being in a secure building.

We won't be able to get in. I think you

should let go of me and . .

."

"Think again

."

A Toyota pickup truck was parked at the

curb. Randy towed me into the street, pulled open the

driver's door and said, "Get in and move over

."

He kept the tight grip on my upper left arm

while I climbed into the pickup. Then he followed

me in. When he was behind the wheel, he shut his

door. Then he jerked my arm, pulling me toward

him, and stuck his face up to mine. "You gonna

give me any trouble

?"

"No

."

"Promise

?"

"I promise

."

"Good boy," he said and suddenly kissed me with his

mouth open.

It's

me

he wants? The Eileen stuff was a lie?

He shoved his tongue into my mouth.

Groaning, I twisted my head away. His lips and

tongue slid across my cheek. He laughed as I

wiped his spit off.

"How'd you like it

?"

he asked. He still had that grip on my arm.

"Not much

."

My voice sounded almost like a whimper.

"You'll get it again if you don't procure Sarah

for me. Fact is, I'll give you the works. It's

you or her, Eddie. Who will it be

?"

"Her," I said.

Randy let go of my arm, reached into a pocket of his

jeans and pulled out his keys. The keys jingled a little

while he searched for

the one he wanted. Then he reached forward and slid a

key into the ignition.

As he turned the key, I twisted sideways in

my seat and pounded a ballpoint pen into him. It

popped through his jeans and into the top of his right thigh.

He yelled,

"Yahh!"

I flung open the passenger door and leaped out and

ran. Not toward Dandi Donuts; I could too

easily see Randy chasing me inside and dragging me

out, nobody trying to help me. Instead, I ran

past the rear of his pickup and poured on the speed.

That's what they tell you to do so the driver can't chase

you without going in reverse.

I glanced over my shoulder to see what was happening.

The back-up lights came on.

Eyes forward, I didn't watch the pickup speed

toward me but I sure heard it.

To my right was Division Street, to my left a row

of store fronts. Nothing was open. I ran past

recessed entryways and display windows. If I

could get across the next sidestreet, I would be on

a residential block where I could cut across

lawns . . . but the street was too far away. And

if I did try to cross it, Randy might hit me

with his truck.

His truck appeared beside me, moving backward,

keeping pace with me. Its passenger door was still

open. If he got any closer to the curb, it would

hit a parking meter or light post.

I thought he might shout threats at me, but

he didn't.

Didn't make a sound, just stayed even with me.

What if he's got a gun?

I did a fast stop and reversed my direction.

He kept going backward.

Just as his brakes squealed, I turned my head

toward the store fronts and saw a dark space between

two of the buildings -- a space too narrow for

Randy's truck. I must've been looking the other

way when I ran past it the first time.

I rushed in.

Behind me, brakes squealed again. Tires skidded.

The engine shut off.

He's coming after me on foot?

A door slammed.

He is!

I

picked up speed. The space between the buildings was

only three or four feet wide and paved like a

walkway. It had a pale area at the very end,

probably where the buildings stopped. Down

in front of my feet, however, was blackness. No

telling what might be there. Invisible debris

crackled and crunched under my shoes. Sometimes, my

feet landed on small, hard objects.

I kicked a can and sent it skittering away. I

crunched broken glass.

At any moment, something might snag my feet and

send me flying headlong . . .

I wanted to slow down, but didn't dare.

Randy was coming, all right. I heard the quick pounding of his

boots on the pavement behind me. They had an uneven

rhythm. Because of his wound?

The way I'd stabbed his leg, it was a wonder he

could run at all.

I wished I'd gotten him with my Swiss Army

knife. But the knife was in the left front

pocket of my jeans. Randy would've seen me go for

it. If he missed that, he definitely would've

noticed me struggling to pry out one of its folding

blades.

So I'd used a ballpoint, instead.

Should've stuck it in his fucking throat!

At least he wasn't gaining on me. He didn't

seem

to be, anyway.

stHis

be okay if he doesn't have a gun.

He must

have one, I thought, or he would've used it by now.

Unless he's afraid of the noise.

I suddenly smashed full-speed into something. I

didn't know what it was, at first. As I plowed it

down and tumbled over it, though, the feel and sounds and

aromas told me it was probably a shopping

cart... a cart parked sideways in the narrow

space and loaded past the brim with the treasures of

its homeless proprietor.

I landed on

him.

He was cadaverous and stank of garbage and

cigarette smoke and excrement and he screamed in

my face. I tried to shove myself off him. His

coat felt like sticky, moist tweed.

He clutched my shirt.

"Gotcha!"

he gasped.

"Let go!"

He didn't. I slugged him in the face and he

let go and I scurried off him and ran for the grayness

at the end of the buildings.

Just as I got there, somebody either fell over the

shopping cart or kicked it.

I broke into a lighted alley, cut to the

right and ran hard for the cross-street at the south end

of the block. Along the way, I glanced over my

shoulder again and again.

No sign of Randy.

At the mouth of the alley, I dodged to the left and

ran across the street.

No traffic anywhere in sight.

No people, either.

I ran farther to the left, rounded the corner of the

block and raced past the first two houses. They had

porch lights on, but the third house didn't. That

porch wasn't screened in. It had no door,

either, but was roofed and surrounded by a wooden railing about

three feet high. The railing had a row of thick

bushes in front of it.

I ran up to the porch, silently climbed its

stairs and dropped to the floor behind the railing,

totally hidden from anyone going by.

Every so often, a car passed. Or a truck. I

didn't dare take a peek. I figured it might

be Randy in his pickup truck, searching for me.

But I'd been on the porch about half an hour, and

he hadn't found me yet. He probably

wouldn't

find me, either -- at least so long as I

stayed put.

stHis

wait another hour just to make sure.

Ten minutes times six.

The hour would pass very quickly if I fell asleep.

I was wide awake, though, sitting with my legs

crossed, my back toward the front railing. From the

half hour I'd already waited, my butt ached and

my back felt a little sore.

Off to my right, maybe eight feet away, the porch

had an old-fashioned swing that hung by chains from a

ceiling beam.

I could stretch out on that, I thought.

But it would probably make all sorts of noise

if I put my weight on it. It was noisy enough

without

me.

The swing liked to move all by itself. With the help of a

breeze, I supposed.

After long silences, it would stir, taking me

by surprise with groans and creaking sounds.

But that wasn't my biggest problem with the swing.

About fifteen minutes into my first half hour, I'd

noticed something unsettling about it.

Though some areas and shapes on the porch

looked black, there were also gray places. I

couldn't always quite be sure what I was really seeing.

Sometimes, when I looked at the swing, I thought

someone was sitting on it. Just sitting there, not moving

at all and staring at me.

I knew nobody

was

on the swing, but it gave me the heebie-jeebies just

the same.

I tried to stop looking at it, but it kept pulling

my eyes back . . . almost as if part of me

enjoyed

the torment.

If I'm staying any longer, I thought, I'd

better get it settled crawl over, reach out and

touch the swing to

prove

nobody's there.

But what if I reach out and my fingers meet someone's

knee? Or what if a hand suddenly clutches my

wrist?

Ridiculous. These were fears for a five year old,

and I was twenty.

Amazing, though, how being alone in a strange place

at three o'clock in the morning shaves the

years off. I

felt

like a kid again. A kid in bed late at night,

wide awake, gazing at the partly open door of his

closet, waiting for a horror to spring out and come for

him.

Forget Randy . . . who's that on the swing?

Nobody, I told myself. Nobody's there at

all. It's just shadows.

Then 'nobody" struck a match.

In its flare, I glimpsed a leering, ancient

face. An instant later, the match flew at me,

followed by a quiet cackle.

As the match scratched a bright curve through the night

and bounced off the sleeve of my sweatshirt, the sound

I made was a quick, high-pitched,

"Eeeeeee!"

Then I was scurrying up, twisting around and leaping from

the top of the porch stairs. I hit the ground

running. Without a glance back, I cut diagonally

across the front yard. The sidewalk felt like a

racetrack. I sprinted, arms pumping, legs

flying, clothes flapping, sneakers smacking the

concrete.

At the corner, I sprang off the curb

and dashed across the next street. Partway down the

block after that, I slowed to a walk and looked

back.

Nobody behind me.

I'd been chased this far only by my goosebumps.

Though breathless and sweaty, I still felt their chill.

I was crawly almost everywhere: thighs, balls,

spine, arms, nipples, nape of neck, scalp and

forehead.

God Almighty, I thought. I must've been on that

porch for thirty-five or forty minutes . . . with

him!

Why'd he just

sit

there?

What was he

doing

there?

Probably just likes to sit out on his porch at

night and watch the world go by.

At three o'clock in the morning?

Hell yes, I thought. That's when all the good stuff

happens.

I chuckled nervously.

Continuing to walk, I turned halfway

around to make sure nobody was coming toward me from the

rear.

The coast looked clear.

For no good reason, it suddenly occurred to me that

perhaps the old man was

stranded

on the swing. Maybe he was paralyzed from a stroke

or something, and his family had put him outside after

supper so he could enjoy the autumn evening. Then

they'd forgotten he was out there and gone to bed.

He hadn't moved or spoken to me because he

couldn't.

He only had use of his hands. The match had been

his version of an emergency flare.

But why the cackle?

Because he's a lunatic, that's why. This damn town

is FULL of lunatics!

It isn't the town, I told myself. It's the hour.

At this hour, probably

everyplace

is full of crazy people. All the sane citizens

are either at night jobs or asleep in their beds.

The loonies rule the town.

But what if the old guy

is

paralyzed? I wondered. Maybe he tried to ask

me for help but the cackle was the best he could do.

Should I go back and check on him?

"Shit," I muttered.

I sure didn't want to do that. But I felt that

maybe I

ought

to.

No!

If he was capable of striking a match and

throwing

it at me, he could've let me know he was there when

I first showed up. He wasn't stranded on the porch;

he was just a nutty old shit with a mean streak.

I didn't go back.

Near the end of the next block, I heard the sound of

an engine. I looked back. Headlights pushed

their brightness into the intersection behind me. Not waiting

to find out if they belonged to Randy's pickup ... or

whether it would turn in my direction ... I ducked

and plunged into a row of bushes.

On the other side, I found myself at the edge of a

lawn. In front of me was a two-story house,

all its windows dark.

Crouched and motionless, I listened.

The engine sound was gone. If not gone, it had faded

with distance until it blended in with the rest of the night's

quiet hum and buzz.

Unless perhaps the driver had stopped and shut his engine

off.

Maybe nearby.

Maybe because he'd spotted me.

Staying low, I crept away from the bushes and

hurried to the rear corner of the house. The back yard

appeared to have a picnic table, lawn chairs and a

barbecue. I didn't see any people, so I

hurried across the grass . . . keeping my eyes

on the chairs.

Nobody

seemed

to be in any of them. Looking at them gave me the

creeps, anyway.

When I came to the cinder-block wall at the other

side of the yard, I looked back.

I saw no one.

With nobody chasing me, climbing the six-foot

wall held no appeal. So I walked alongside

it, making my way slowly through the shadows between the

wall and the house. Ahead of me, beyond the front yard

of the house, was a sidewalk and a street.

-

What street? I wondered.

I had no idea.

I'm lost?

The notion gave me an uneasy flutter that was

different from my fears of bodily harm by Randy,

different from the eerie fright the old man had given

me. This fear felt like a slip toward unreality.

What if I'm really lost and can't find my way

home?

"Ain't gonna happen," I whispered, trying

to calm myself with the sound of my own voice.

Soon as I get to a corner and see the street

signs . .

On the sidewalk directly in front of me,

maybe thirty feet away, the mystery girl

sauntered by. Face forward, one hand stuffed into a

seat pocket of her jeans, one hand swinging by her

side, hips swaying, ponytail flipping behind her

head.

She looked as if she owned the night.

I didn't move, just stood there astonished and

watched her.

When she was out of sight, I began to doubt my

senses. Certainly,

someone

had just walked by. But

her?

It seemed too strange and wonderful.

I hurried to the sidewalk and looked to the right.

There she was! Almost to the next corner.

When she started across the street, I followed her.

All thoughts of going home were lost. I'd found her!

She was in sight! If I ran, I could catch up

to her in a matter of seconds, see her close

up, talk to her . . .

Scare the hell out of her.

I didn't want to scare her, though. I didn't

even feel up to meeting her. For now, all I

wanted was to follow her and watch her. My mystery

girl.

While earlier I'd felt the terror of a child waiting

in bed for the closet monster to come for him, now I

felt like the same child on a wonderful Christmas

morning at first glimpse of the tree's bright colored

lights and the treasures brought by Santa.

Awestruck, shivery with an almost painful sense of

pleasure, I followed her down the next block.

So far, she hadn't looked back.

I picked up my pace. The gap began

to close. She grew larger, more distinct. The nearer

I came to her, the nearer I yearned to be.

Careful! Slow down! Can't let her know I'm

here!

We must've both heard the engine sound at the same

moment.

Randy?

I froze.

The girl didn't freeze, didn't flinch,

simply glided off to the side and vanished among the

shadows of a lawn.

I rushed over to a tree in the grassy strip between the

sidewalk and the curb. It had a trunk as wide as

my body. I hid behind it, standing and ready to run.

Peeking around the side of the trunk, I saw a car

cruise through the intersection. A car, not a pickup

truck. But it had a rack of lights on its roof.

Cops!

The police car seemed to be in no hurry. It

rolled through the intersection, crackles and beeps and

senseless jabber coming from its radio, and kept on

going.

Its sounds faded.

I watched the lawn where the girl had vanished.

And watched it.

Minutes went by, but she didn't reappear.

What's she waiting for?

While I waited, my mind replayed her vanishing

act: the grace and speed with which she'd whirled and

leaped and plunged into darkness. Like a ballerina. Like

a sprite. Like a ninja.

Maybe she turned herself into a shadow.

Sure thing, I thought, scoffing at the notion even

though it almost seemed possible given the strangeness

of the night and the way I felt about the girl.

I continued to wait.

She didn't come out.

What if she knew I was back here and now she's

staying hidden, waiting to see what

I

do?

Suppose I just resume walking and pretend I

don't even know she exists?

Heart thudding, I stepped out from behind my tree. On

the sidewalk, I looked all around as if afraid

someone might be spying on

me

(in case she was watching). Then I followed the

sidewalk toward the corner.

She's probably watching me right now!

My throat tightened. My mouth went dry. My

heart beat even faster and harder.

Watching me, appraising me. Have I been stalking

her? Am I a threat?

Soon, I was striding casually past the place where

she'd vanished.

I kept my face turned away.

See his I'm not interested. I don't even know

you're there. Besides,

I'm harmless. You've got no reason to be

afraid of me. Why don't you come out?

She didn't.

I reached the corner, stepped off the curb and walked

across the street. I continued past the corner house,

then doubled back in its yard and crouched in a dark

place behind some bushes and waited for the girl to show

herself.

I waited and waited.

And began to suspect that she wasn't even there

anymore. Instead of hunkering down and hiding,

maybe she had slipped off into the darkness and hurried

to someplace far away.

I wanted to return and search the lawn for her.

But she

might

still be there, patiently waiting. My return would

confirm she had a stalker.

It wasn't worth the risk.

At last, I gave up and headed for home.

I was lost for a while, and had to check the signs at

three different intersections before I found a street

name I recognized. That street would lead me back

to Division, so I followed it. Not all the way,

though. Often, I took detours in case someone

might be tailing me. A few times, I ducked out

of sight behind trees, bushes or fences.

The sky was gray with the approach of dawn by the time I

entered my apartment building. The Fishers" door was

shut. I made my way silently upstairs. The

long, dim hallway was empty. I went to my

door, tried to make no noise as I unlocked

it, and stepped into my room.

I shut the door, locked it.

Safe!

It took me about five minutes to wash, brush my

teeth, use the toilet, take off my clothes and

climb into bed. Rolling onto my side, I reached

out and picked up the alarm clock. And groaned.

If I set it for 7:00 a.m., that would give me

almost two hours of sleep and leave enough time

to work in a quick shower before heading off for my eight o'clock

Romantic Literature class.

Oh, well. That's why I'd taken the nap last

night.

I set the alarm, turned off the lamp, rolled

over and shut my eyes.

Far as I know, I fell asleep right away.

And dreamed horrible dreams. Several times, I

flinched awake with a frightened gasp, breathless, my

body bathed in sweat, only to look at my clock

and discover it was too early to get up. So I

closed my eyes and tried again and fell into another

nightmare.

I only remember the last of them.

I was lost among the dark streets of town, hurrying

from block to block. Every time I found street

signs, they bore strange names. stHis

never get back in time for class!

As I hurried along, I saw a girl at the

next corner. She wore a loose, white gown that

drifted behind her as she walked.

Maybe she knows where I am!

I hurried after her.

Is it

the girl"!

I wondered. I couldn't tell.

But she was walking away, so I broke into a run.

I quickly gained on her. As I closed in, I

realized she might be frightened by my quick approach.

So I called out,

"Excuse me, miss. I think I'm lost. Could

you help me . . .

?"

She turned around.

She was an old, old man. . . the man from the

porch. Cackling, he raised his arms and trotted

toward me. I whirled around and ran.

He's an old bastard,

I thought.

He'll never catch me.

When I looked back, however, he was riding a

bicycle and gaining on me fast.

I turned to face him. I wanted my knife, but

when I tried to take it from the pocket of my jeans,

I realized I was naked.

Where did I leave my clothes?

I couldn't even remember taking them off.

But there was no time to worry about them now, because the old

man in the gown was speeding closer on his bike. He

was hunched over the handlebars, grinning, a

pencil clamped between his teeth.

Oh God, he's gonna get me with the pencil!

I'll die of lead poisoning!

It isn't lead, I thought. It's graphite. I

felt some slight relief at the realization.

"Gonna shove it up your ass, honey!"

he yelled.

"Gonna give you the works!"

If only I had my knife! I looked down again

to make sure I didn't. I was still naked.

Damn! This is what I get for taking off my

clothes! It's all Holly's fault!

I seemed to recall we'd been making love in a

park somewhere, and that's why I was naked.

Where is she?

I wondered.

Maybe she can get this guy off me.

Did he get her first?

"Got her right here!"

the old man answered from behind me as if he'd heard

my thoughts.

How can he talk with a pencil in his mouth?

I looked back.

The pencil was no longer clamped between his teeth. It

was in his hand, upright, poked into Holly's

neck stump ... He held her severed head high in

his right hand like a big, all-day sucker on a stick.

Her eyes were open, her hair flowing in the breeze.

"Hi, honey!"

she called to me,

"Stop running away

."

I felt glad to see her, but also horrified.

"What do you want

?"

I asked.

"The works,"

answered Holly's severed head.

"The whole works!"

My alarm went off.

Thank God.

I shut it off, then flopped onto my back

feeling nervous and exhausted and slightly nauseous.

How about cutting the eight o'clock?

And do what? Go back to sleep and have another

nightmare or two? No thanks.

Besides, my teacher for Romantic Literature was

Dr Trueman, a truly sweet and daffy old

scholar who would take my absence as a personal

affront. I

had

to go.

So I hauled myself out of bed, groaning, and stumbled

into the kitchen. There, I peeled the plastic lid off

the coffee can, held the can under my nose and inhaled

deeply. The warm, calming aroma of French roast

filled my head. My eyes drifted shut. I

sighed.

I'll sleep all afternoon, I told myself. Just have

to make it through my one o'clock, then I'll come back

here and hit the sack till dinner time.

I spent a couple of minutes making the coffee.

When it started dripping into the pot, I headed off to the

bathroom to take my shower.

As the hot spray splashed against me, I tried

to think about what had happened last night. Not the

dreams, the real stuff. But the real stuff almost

felt unreal and dreamlike. Almost. I knew what

was real and what wasn't.

After pondering it all, I concluded that I'd been

lucky. I'd accomplished part of my mission: got

to see and follow the mystery girl again, even though she

managed to disappear. I'd been treated to a good,

long look at the woman in the kitchen and didn't

get caught at it. The geezer on the

porch had freaked me out but done no real harm.

Most important of all, I'd escaped from

Randy.

He

kissed

me!

It disgusted me to remember it... and scared me to think

about what he might've done if I hadn't gotten

away.

I felt proud, though, of how I'd taken care of

him. I'd been in minor scuffles from time to time, but

I'd never really defended myself before ... or needed

to. I'd certainly never stabbed anyone until

last night.

In my mind, I heard the

pop!

of the ballpoint punching through his jeans. I felt it go

into him and the way the sides of the hole in his thigh held

the pen upright and made it twitch in my hand.

I really nailed the bastard.

The pen

is

mightier than the sword, I thought, and smiled.

If only I'd

had

a sword!

But the pen had done just fine, and it seemed

particularly appropriate since I considered myself

a writer.

I'll have to write about all this someday, I thought as

I climbed out

of the shower. Maybe write a story about the woman in

the kitchen. What was she really doing in there sipping

tequila by herself at that hour of the night?

Was

she waiting for the mystery girl?

Or maybe do a story about the old man on the

porch. What was

he

doing there?

Call it "The Old Man on the Swing

."

I smiled at the thought and pulled my towel off its

bar and began to dry myself. "He was an old man who

sat alone on a swing on his front porch and he

had gone eighty-four days now without scaring the shit out

of anyone

."

Or I could write about Randy and how he sat down

across from me at Dandi Donuts . . . and

how he'd kissed me and pushed his tongue into my

mouth.

I won't write about that, I decided. I might

write about everything else that happened last night, but

not about that.

Maybe a story about the homeless guy sleeping in the

space between the two buildings . . . his

No. I won't write about him, either.

What about the mystery girl?

Oh, yes.

Someday.

Maybe.

Done drying, I headed for the kitchen to get a cup of

coffee and wondered if I would ever see her again.

Not unless she just pops up, I thought. I'm not

gonna go out like last night again. No way. Never

again. I must've been out of my mind. Lucky I

survived.

Walking from my apartment house to the campus a few

blocks away, I kept an eye out for Randy and for

his Toyota pickup truck.

Would he look for me in daylight?

He might.

Might look for Eileen, too.

He'd only seen us far to the north, but it

wouldn't take a genius to figure out we might be

university students.

stHis

have to warn Eileen.

My classes kept me on campus until three

o'clock. Between them, I wandered around outside, sat on

benches, had a burger and Pepsi in the student

union, and spent a while reading in the library. I

kept my eyes open for Eileen, but didn't see

her anywhere.

After my last class of the day, I considered heading

over to her sorority house. But it was out of the way and

she might not even be there. Besides, I hadn't been

able to figure out what to tell Eileen and I felt

too tired to think straight.

So I walked back to my own place and went to bed.

When I woke up, my room was dark. I didn't

know what was going on. My clock showed 8:15. That

helped me figure things out, since the sun would've

been up by that hour of the morning. Pretty soon, I

remembered that I'd climbed into bed for the nap. Then

I remembered the rest.

Something had to be done about Eileen.

After getting dressed, I went into the kitchen and

microwaved the leftover pizza from last

night.

While it was heating up, I checked my answering

machine. No new messages. It hardly

surprised me. Eileen didn't want me to think

she

was forcing

herself on me, so she probably intended to leave the

next move to me.

While I ate my pizza, I read some of

Wordsworth's

The Prelude,

but couldn't concentrate very well. Maybe I would've

done better with

The Prelude

if it had been a real barn-burner, but it wasn't.

At best, it was quiet and lovely and nostalgic.

At worst, boring.

My mind was mostly elsewhere while my eyes moved

over the words. Just as I was about to give up, however,

a passage caught my attention:

"Sometimes it befell

In these night wanderings, that a strong desire

Overpowered my better reason, and the bird

Which was the captive of another's toil

Became my prey; and when the deed was done

I heard among the solitary hills

Low breathings coming after me, and sounds

of undistinguishable motion, steps

Almost as silent as the turf they trod

."

A couple of days ago, I wouldn't have given the

lines a second thought; now, it was as if they'd been

written

about

me -- a night-wanderer whose desire overpowered his

better reason. "The bird' might be the mystery

girl. And the final four lines hinted of danger from

someone "coming after me

."

Someone like Randy, perhaps.

I read the passage again and again, feeling its deep

mystery and magic, struck by the strange union of

circumstances that had compelled me to discover it on this

night of all nights.

After marking the passage with a yellow Hi-liter, I

kept on reading. Wordsworth had my full attention

for about ten more seconds. That's when he started

rhapsodizing about bird eggs and I began wondering

how to get in touch with Eileen.

Call her on the phone? More than

likely, she wasn't in her room; she usually

did most of her studying in the student union or the

library. Even if I

could

reach her on the phone, I probably shouldn't; it

might look as if I were trying to avoid her.

Better to go out and find her in person.

I put Wordsworth and Fitzgerald

(the Great Gatsby

for my Twentieth Century American

Literature class) into my book bag, slung the

strap over one shoulder and left my rooms.

Downstairs, the Fishers" door stood open. They

had their television on. Keeping my head straight

forward, I walked as if I were in a big hurry and

got past their door without being beckoned.

But the Fishers were a minor nuisance. Randy was a

real threat, and he might be anywhere outside.

Cruising the streets, searching for me or Eileen.

Or parked and watching.

Or walking.

I looked for him constantly on my way toward

campus.

Though I carried my Swiss Army knife in a

pocket of my jeans, it didn't give

me much comfort. Neither did my ballpoint pens. My

assault on Randy last night had only succeeded

because I'd taken him by surprise. Next time, he

wouldn't let me get away with it.

There'd better not be a next time.

He might not even

try

to find us, I told myself.

The hell he won't.

But maybe he won't hunt for us this far south.

Maybe he stays in his own area, and we'll be

safe as long as we don't go there.

Maybe. But I doubted it.

Every so often, a pickup truck went by, putting

fear into me. Each time, I got ready to run but the

pickup kept on moving. Now

and then, men who matched Randy's physical shape

came walking toward me. One even had a limp.

None, however, was him.

What if it goes like this from now on? I wondered.

Watching for Randy all the time, everywhere I go, never

knowing when he'll pop up and grab me ...

give me the works.

Or maybe he'll grab Eileen, instead. Drag

her into his car and take her someplace

desolate.

Where no birds sing.

What if he already has her?

My stomach cringed.

I should've

warned her]

What was I thinking? Why didn't I phone her

room the instant I got back to my apartment this

morning?

It hadn't even occurred to me.

She's probably fine, I told myself.

If she isn't, it's all my fault.

By the time I reached campus, I was frantic.

First stop, the student union. Otherwise known as the

Tigers' Den. Willmington University's teams

(and students in general) used to be known as the

Braves. Then came the era of political

correctness. "Braves' was deemed to be a slur

against Native Americans, so a new name had to be

found. We chose to be Tigers. Our student

union, the Braves' Cave, became known as the

Tigers' Den.

It was crowded. Students sat at almost every table: some

by themselves but most of them with friends. They were talking,

laughing, eating snacks, drinking coffee

or soft drinks, some even trying to study -- books

spread out on their tables. The food line was closed

for the night, so several students were busy trying to buy

refreshments from vending machines.

I knew many of the people I saw, and smiled and nodded

at those who noticed me, even exchanged a few

words with some of them.

"Hey, Ed, what's up

?"

"Not much. How about you

?"

"Hangin' in. Come on over "n sit with us

."

"Can't. Thanks, though. I've gotta run

."

That sort of thing.

Several of Eileen's sorority sisters were in the

Den. Among them, someone probably knew where

to find her. I stayed away from them, though. For one

thing, Holly would've come up. For another, they

didn't need to know I had any interest whatsoever in

Eileen.

I left the snack area of the Tigers" Den and

wandered across the room to the lounge section. There,

students sat in armchairs and on

sofas. Many were by themselves, reading. Several couples

occupied the sofas, talking quietly, some holding

hands.

Holly and I had sat together on these sofas so many

times last year . . . trying to study but never for

long, soon holding hands and talking, staring into each

other's eyes, often laughing at little things, giving

each other a pat on the thigh or back. We'd

probably been on every one of the sofas at one time or

another.

We drank our coffee black. We often ate red

vines. They were usually stale. Holly taught me

how to make them soft and mushy by dunking them in

coffee. Sometimes, we took turns eating the same

vine and it excited me to know that my end of the candy had

just been in Holly's mouth.

The memories made me feel hollow and hungry

and sick.

The memories and the loss.

Lovers were here, but Eileen wasn't. I hurried

away and was glad to get outside.

I headed for the library. Holly and I hadn't

really spent any time there together, so it felt like safe

ground. As I walked from the student union toward the

library, the intensity of my loss slowly

faded ... to be replaced by worries about Eileen.

The worries felt better. But they grew stronger

while I searched the library.

What if she's not here?

Then I'll see if she's in her room at the

sorority house.

What if she's not there?

That's when to really start worrying, I told myself.

But even if she isn't in the library or her

room, it won't mean that Randy got her. There are

a lot of other places she might be.

Like where?

I found her on the second floor of the stacks in a

far corner of the room at a study carrel reading

Crime and Punishment.

Thank God, I thought.

It felt great to find her safe.

And I was struck by how wonderful she looked,

sitting there in the light of a reading lamp. Her thick

hair, which usually looked brown, shimmered with

secret threads of gold and russet. Her face

looked warm and smooth. She frowned as if

concentrating deeply on her book. She wore the

bright plaid chamois shirt that she'd had on the

night we made love.

"Hi," I said very quietly.

She raised her head, saw me, and smiled.

"Hi, yourself," she said.

So that I wouldn't loom over her, I crouched.

"I've been looking for you," I said.

"Really

?"

"Yeah. Would you like to go somewhere

?"

"Sure. But can it wait a while? I really need

to get some reading done

."

"Same here

."

"How about an hour

?"

"Fine. There're some empty carrels

."

"Okay. See you in an hour

."

I found a study carrel only a few away from

Eileen's and along the same wall. With everything that

had been going on the past few days, I hadn't

actually started

Gatsby

yet. So I pulled it out of my book bag and

started reading.

I got through about half the first page.

What sort of shit is this?

I knew it was supposed to be a great book.

It'll probably get better, I told himself.

And I tried to read more, but just couldn't.

Some other time.

For certain books, your mind has to be in just the right

mood.

I put

Gatsby

back into my book bag and pulled out my volume of

Wordsworth. I felt totally incapable of reading

that,

too.

"Screw it," I muttered.

Then I reached into my bag again and pulled out a rather

battered old paperback.

The Temple of Gold

by William Goldman. I always kept it in my

book bag, just in case. It was like an old friend I

could trust.

So I opened

The Temple of Gold

to the bookmark for my current reading of it, and jumped

in.

A hand gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. I

looked. It was a girl's hand. Turning my head

further, I found Eileen standing over me. Her

left hand was still on my shoulder. Her right arm was

busy holding her books and binders against her chest.

"Finish early

?"

I asked.

"It's been an hour and fifteen minutes

."

"Huh

?"

"What're

you

reading

?"

I held it up so she could see the cover.

She nodded and smiled. "What class is

that

for?"

"None. I just like it

."

"All caught up with your assigned stuff

?"

"You've gotta be kidding

."

"Anyway, if you can tear yourself away from it, I'm

ready to go

."

'Let's go

."

I put the book away, got up and hung a strap

of the bag over one shoulder. I walked ahead of

Eileen down the narrow aisle toward the staircase,

then opened the door for her.

Stepping past me, she patted me on the rear end and

whispered, "So what's the handle, Zock

?"

"You've

read

it!"

"Hasn't everyone

?"

"It isn't even in print

."

"I know. They've got nothing in print but

The Princess Bride

."

I followed Eileen down the stairs, watching her

long hair bounce and sway, thinking that Holly had

never read

The Temple of Gold

and wondering what was wrong with me that I wasn't in

love with Eileen.

As we walked down the outside steps of the library,

she said, "So, did you come by for your nightly dose of

Eileen's insanity

?"

"Can't live without it

."

She smiled at me. At the bottom of the stairs,

we just kept walking, no discussion of where we were

headed.

"My pleasure," she said. "Anything I can do

to take your mind off you-know-who

."

"I've got other things on my mind

."

Though we were walking side by side, Eileen seemed

to be leading the way. We went in the general

direction of her sorority house. Was I simply

walking her home?

Many other things were in the same direction.

It doesn't matter where we're going, I thought.

After a while, Eileen said, "What sort of things

are

on your mind

?"

"You

."

"Me

?"

"I wanted to make sure you're all right

."

"I'm fine

."

"You didn't seem so fine last night. When you

left

."

"Ah, well, that was simply a matter of

self-preservation. Preserving my self-esteem.

Getting out before I made an even bigger idiot of

myself

."

Eileen was on my left and my left arm was free.

Her arms were full of books and binders, so I put

my hand on her back. She looked at me.

"You weren't making even a

small

idiot of yourself," I told her.

"Yeah, I was. That's all I can ever do when

I'm around you anymore ... go off the deep end

."

"Nan

."

"Yeah

."

I caressed her side, feeling her smoothness through the

chamois shirt.

Looking straight ahead, Eileen said, "I should've

just stayed away from you. The last thing you need is

me

messing up your life

."

"Funny you should mention it," I said, my heart

suddenly beating

hard. "Messing up people's lives. Because you've got

it turned around. I'm the one messing up

your

life

."

"Well, you haven't made it any easier, but it's

not your fault

"There's somebody after you because of me

."

Eileen stopped walking and we faced each other.

"What're you talking about

?"

"There's this guy," I said. "He saw you in the

donut shop when you went out to meet me. I guess

he was about to make a move on you, but he backed off

because I showed up. The thing is, he wants to meet

you. He tried to get your name from me

."

"Did you tell him

?"

"I gave him some fake name. Then he wanted to know

where you live. I wouldn't tell him that, either

."

For a long time, Eileen just stood there looking into my

eyes. Then she said, "I don't get it. When

did this happen

?"

"Well, Monday night's when he saw you

."

"I got that part

."

"Well, I went back to Dandi last

night. That's the first time I ever saw the guy. He

sat down at my table

."

"You went there last night, too

?"

I nodded. "After you left, I started to feel

pretty lousy. I needed to take a walk

."

"I wish you'd told me. I was feeling pretty

lousy myself. I would've gone with you

."

"Thank God you didn't

."

"What possessed you to go out there again

?"

"It was just a place to go. Someplace that's open

."

"But it's so far away. What time did you go

?"

"I don't know

."

Figuring the truth would make things worse, I said,

"I studied for a while after you left. So it was

maybe around nine-thirty or ten

."

She shook her head. "And you went by yourself, I take

it

."

I nodded, shrugged.

"That's

so

dangerous, Eddie. Even a nice little town like this .

. . it's probably not so nice in the middle of the

night. Probably no place is. No place that

has people, anyway

."

And places that don't have people, I thought, probably

have other dangerous things roaming the night.

"Well," I said, "I don't plan to go out there

anymore. But I'm afraid the damage is already

done. This Randy guy

"Is that his name? Randy

?"

"Yeah

."

She cracked a smile.

"What

?"

"A guy named Randy with the hots for me

."

"He's not very amusing," I told her.

"Is he handsome

?"

"I guess so. In a Ted Bundy sort of way

."

"This guy sure rubbed

you

the wrong way

."

"Yeah, he sure did. You know what he said? I

asked him, "You want to go out with her88Meaning you. And

he answered, "No, I wanta go

in

her.""

Her smile went away. "Oh, swell," she

muttered.

"He's not a nice guy

."

"Not if he'll say a thing like that

."

"It gets worse

."

"What

?"

"He made me get into his pickup

truck. He wanted me to show him where you live

."

"He

what?"

"He wanted to get his hands on you last night. And

he tried to force me to help him

."

She grimaced. "You're kidding me

."

"I was supposed to bring you out for him

."

"My God

."

"I wouldn't have done it

."

"I know

."

Gazing into my eyes, she said, "You

didn't

do it

."

"I got away from him. He chased me, but I lost

him. The thing is, he's still . .

."

"The thing is," she interrupted me,

'thanks

."

We were standing on a lighted section of walkway just

north of the quad. Trees were all around us, their

branches casting shadows on the pavement and grass.

To my right was Donner Hall, one of the freshman

dormitories. Just ahead was Division Street.

To the left, out of sight below a steep embankment, was

the Old Mill Stream.

"Come with me," Eileen said.

I followed her to the left. We walked into the

darkness of the trees. A couple of park benches were

at the edge of the embankment above the stream, but

nobody was using them. Eileen set her books and

binders and purse on one of them. I put my book

bag down beside her purse.

In front of the bench, we turned toward each other.

She reached out, took the front of my shirt in both

her hands and pulled me against her. She kissed me with

her open mouth. As she rubbed herself against me, she

let go of my shirt and wrapped her arms around my

back.

Why here? I wondered. Did she have to lead me

here

of all places?

Last spring, more than once, I'd stood in this very

place with Holly. Embracing her, kissing her,

exploring her body.

I shut my eyes.

She is Holly, I told myself. Holly's right

here with me now in my arms . . .

Yeah, sure.

I couldn't kid myself. The feel was all different,

and so was the smell. Eileen was nearly my own

size. I kissed her without bending over. Her

breasts pushed against my chest, not my stomach, and they

were larger than Holly's. She wasn't pudgy like

Holly, either. She felt firm in places where

Holly was soft. And she didn't use whatever

perfume Holly had always worn. Instead of

Holly's sweet, heartbreaking aroma, Eileen

simply smelled fresh and clean as if she'd just

stepped out of a shower.

Why would I

want

to pretend she's Holly? I wondered.

The hell with Holly.

We kept on holding each other, kept on

kissing. The feel and smell of her soon pushed

all thoughts of Holly out of my mind and there

was only Eileen, here and now, and fresh memories

of her as she'd been on Monday night when we

made love.

Tonight, she wore a bra. I unhooked its back.

Then I moved my hands to her front, slipped them

beneath the loose cups of her bra and filled them with the

warm softness of her breasts.

Her mouth was slippery against mine.

Breathing hard, she used both hands to unfasten my

jeans. When they were open, one hand pulled the elastic

waistband of my shorts toward her and the other hand went

down the front. Her fingers curled around my penis.

I pressed my hand against the crotch of her jeans.

The denim felt warm and moist. She squirmed,

rubbing herself against my fingers, and started to make quiet

whimpery sounds.

Then she gasped, "Wait

."

"What81

"Wait. Not here

."

She slid her hand off me, took my wrist and

eased my hand away from her jeans. I still had one hand

on her breast. "We'd better not do it here," she

whispered.

"B. .

."

"Someone might see us

."

"Okay

."

I fastened the waist button of my jeans, but

didn't bother to pull up my zipper or buckle

my belt.

Eileen didn't fix her bra, either.

"We'll go down there," she said, and nodded toward the

stream.

We hid our books underneath the bench, but Eileen

said, "I'd better take this along," and hung the

strap of her purse over one shoulder. Taking my

hand, she led me to the edge of the embankment.

'Let's try under the bridge," she said.

"Nobody'll see us there His

"What about the trolls

?"

I asked.

"Trolls my ass

."

I laughed. "Okay. Let's do it

."

The slope was steep and slippery. On the way

down, Eileen let go of my hand and put her arms out

for balance. I thought about how her breasts were loose

underneath her shirt. Not that I could see much; the heavy

trees looming over us blocked out so much light that

Eileen was nothing but a vague shape with the purse

swinging by her side.

At the bottom of the slope, we walked carefully

alongside the stream. Though we remained in darkness,

pale light from the streetlamps above the bridge

glowed ahead of us. A couple of times, I heard

cars go by. I couldn't see them or even the

bridge.

Soon, the bridge came into view through the branches

... the Division Street bridge with its low stone

parapet where Holly and I used to linger, staring down

at the creek.

Don't start thinking about Holly, I told myself.

The hell with her.

At least we'd never gone

under

the bridge together. I'd wanted to. One night,

walking Holly back to her sorority, we'd

stopped along the bridge the way we

nearly always did and I asked, "Have you ever been under

there

?"

"No. Have you

?"

"Just once

."

"How was it

?"

"Nice and private

."

She'd given me a look. "Oh, really

?"

"Want to go down and take a look

?"

"Now

?"

"No time like the present

."

"It's almost midnight

."

"No time like almost midnight

."

"I'm

not going down there

."

Smiling, she'd said,

"Trolls

live under bridges

."

"Not this bridge. This one's troll-free

."

"So say you

."

"I could go down first and take a look around

."

"Oh, no you don't. What if they

get

you? And then I'm left up here all by myself while the

trolls have you for a midnight snack. Thanks, but

no thanks

."

"Then come down with me

."

"No no no no no

."

"Where's your sense of adventure

?"

"It doesn't extend to sneaking under bridges at

midnight. I mean, seriously. No

telling

who

might be under there

."

"Well, okay

."

I'd been disappointed that night, but now I was glad

Holly and I hadn't ventured under the bridge. It

was one of the few places where I

hadn't

been with her.

But as Eileen and I walked closer to the bridge,

I saw the darkness of the area down there.

"I'm having second thoughts about this," I said.

"It might not be so safe

."

Eileen stopped, half turned, looked back at

me and reached out her hand. I took it in mine. She

didn't say anything, just gave my hand a squeeze

and kept hold of it as she started walking again.

A car went over on the bridge, tires hissing

on the pavement, engine grumbling, radio heavy on

the bass and giving out low

thump-thump-thumps

that I could feel in my chest. I looked

up but couldn't see the car. Its sounds faded.

"Have you been down here before

?"

I asked.

"Never at night

."

"Me neither

."

"Good," she said. "This'll be a first for both of us

."

We were about to enter a clear area when Eileen

suddenly stopped. Her back stiffened. With her right

hand, she pointed up at the bridge.

A girl about halfway across stopped walking and

leaned over the parapet. A moment later, a guy

showed up beside her. He leaned over the low wall,

too. They both gazed down toward the stream. . . and

toward us.

I was fairly sure they couldn't see us. Not if

we stayed put. But they probably

would

see us if we continued forward.

The girl turned her head toward the boy. He

turned his head toward her and put an arm around her.

Then they kissed. They kissed for a long time

as if nothing else mattered in the world. I knew

exactly how it was. It made me sad. Not just for

myself, but for them, too.

Eileen and I stood motionless in the dark below them,

watching.

A car went by, but it didn't disturb the two

lovers.

Finally, they stopped leaning over the parapet. Standing

up straight, they wrapped their arms around each other

and resumed kissing.

"Okay," Eileen whispered.

We hurried on.

The stream was about ten feet wide as it flowed toward

the darkness under the bridge. On both sides of it were

broad areas of dry, rocky ground littered with

fallen branches and various items that had

probably been thrown off the bridge: beer cans,

a hubcap, an old bicycle wheel, a grimy

white sneaker, a broken pair of sunglasses.

Eileen looked back at me. "This place could

use a clean-up," she whispered.

"Yeah

."

"You okay with this

?"

she asked.

"Fine

."

She squeezed my hand, then faced forward. A few

more steps, and we would be under the bridge.

I looked up, but couldn't see the lovers or

anyone else.

"I'd better go first," I said.

"Be my guest

."

Though she moved aside, she continued to hold my hand

as I stepped past her. "Maybe you'd better let

go," I whispered.

She released my hand, then took hold of the back of

my shirt and walked behind me into the darkness.

Almost utter darkness.

To our left and right, I could see only black.

Straight ahead of us was more black -- about thirty

feet of it -- then a dim gray smudge where the

underpass ended and the stream continued on toward the Old

Mill a couple of blocks away.

"Who turned out the lights

?"

Eileen whispered.

"The trolls

."

"Very funny

."

I walked deeper into the darkness, moving slowly,

Eileen still holding onto my shirt.

"Be careful," she said.

Under here, the air seemed to have a moist chill and it

smelled of old, wet things.

Rocks tipped and rolled under my shoes, scraping

together, softly bumping. But I also stepped on soft

objects that made squishy sounds. My shoe hit

a can and sent it clattering. A couple of times, I

crunched broken glass.

This reminded me of running through the narrow, dark

space between the buildings last night, Randy chasing

me.

The place where I'd fallen over a shopping cart,

tumbled onto a bum.

Eileen tugged my shirt. "This is good," she

whispered.

I started to turn. If I'd turned all the way

around, Eileen would've had at least a hint of light

behind her. But I only turned part of the way before her

hands met my chest. I was facing the stream . . . and

blackness.

"I didn't know it'd be so dark in here," Eileen

whispered.

Though I felt her breath on my lips, I

couldn't see her at all. "Do you want to leave

?"

I asked.

"Huh-uh

."

She touched her moist, warm lips against mine and

began to unfasten the buttons of my shirt. While

she worked on my shirt, I worked on hers. When

both were open, we eased our bodies together. I

felt the cloth of her rumpled bra up near my

collar bones. Below that, her breasts were warm and soft

against me, her nipples stiff. Lower, she was warm

smooth skin all the way down to the waist of her

jeans.

We kissed with open mouths.

Her purse still hung from her right shoulder. I felt

its straps when I reached around her. They didn't

get in the way, though.

I ran my hands up and down her back, savoring

her silken curves. She shivered and hugged me more

tightly.

Too cold

?"

I whispered.

"A little. And a little scared

."

"Wanta go to my place

?"

"No. This is good

."

Her arms loosened their hold on me. Then they went

away. I felt her breath on my face and the warm

pressure of her breasts against my chest and small

pulling sensations at my waist as she unfastened my

jeans. Reaching into my shorts, she caressed me.

Then her breasts eased away from me. I felt her

mouth kiss my chin, the side of my neck, my chest

and my belly as she crouched, pulling down my

shorts and jeans.

Then no part of Eileen seemed to be touching me.

I stood there alone, shivering.

What's going on?

I looked down, but couldn't see her . . . couldn't

see anything in the darkness, not even my own bare

legs.

"Eileen

?"

I whispered.

No answer came.

"What're you doing

?"

A warm, wet something flicked against the front of my

penis, then slid under it.

Felt like a tongue.

II

As it drew back, I was encircled by a moist,

pliant ring. It slipped down me, taking me in.

Lips?

"I sure hope that's you," I whispered.

In response, the mouth tightened its hold and

sucked. Warm hands slid up the backs of my

legs and cupped my buttocks. The mouth took me

in deeper as the hands squeezed and pulled.

Then the mouth slid off me.

"It's only me," Eileen whispered.

She slowly stood up, keeping her body close

to mine so that her breasts rubbed me and my penis rubbed

her.

When she was upright in front of me, I unfastened

her jeans. I slipped a hand down inside the

front of her panties. She was wet and slippery

and hot. My fingers made her writhe and

flinch. Whimpering, she took care of shoving down her

jeans and panties. Her thighs parted.

I took my hand away. She guided my penis between

her legs.

Between them, but barely into her.

We tried for a while. Then I whispered, "This

isn't working too well

."

"I should've worn a skirt. Damn. I've

gotta get these jeans off. Hold onto me,

okay

?"

"Where

?"

"My shoulders, I guess. Just don't let me

fall. Gotta get my shoes off first

."

While I held her shoulders, she bent down in

front of me. I felt her hair against my belly

and penis. She twisted and swayed, rocked from side

to side, and gasped a couple of times when she lost

her balance. I held her steady, though, and kept

her from falling. Finally, she whispered, "There

."

She stood up and eased in against me. She

was bare and warm and smooth. She'd removed her

jeans and panties. Even her purse and bra were

gone, though I didn't think she could've taken them

off while I'd been holding her steady. All she

still wore was her chamois shirt, which was wide open.

I was stiff against her belly. As we kissed, she

rubbed against me, her hands roaming over my back and

rump.

Then, almost as if we knew what we were doing, she

parted her legs and I bent my knees. I felt the

wet curls of her pubic hair along the underside

of my penis, then only cool air when I was

crouched enough to be under her.

Her fingertips found me, guided me. She eased

downward and I felt her slick flesh open around

me. I straightened my knees.

Eileen dug her fingers into my back and moaned as

I slid up high and deep.

She raised one of her legs and hooked it behind me and

I went in deeper yet. I wanted the feel of

both her legs up around me so I pulled at the

back of her other thigh. She brought it up and I was

in all the way.

Both feet off the ground, Eileen clung to me as

if she were climbing a tree trunk while

I clutched her buttocks. She grunted as I

thrust. I could feel her breasts going up and down

while I bounced her. They slapped the fronts of

my shoulders. Whimpering, she clutched my head.

And suddenly she was twitching and grunting. I'd been

trying to keep control of myself, but her frenzy pushed

me over the edge. I started to jerk and throb inside

her. As my semen spurted, she squeezed my head

between her breasts.

And something went wrong.

She let out a frightened squeal as her weight shifted

backward.

Gripping her buttocks, I pranced forward through the

blackness in hopes of getting our balance back.

But my feet tangled in something

- her jeans? -- and down I went, Eileen clinging

to me, me clinging to her, me buried deep inside

her.

I thought we would probably fall into the stream.

We didn't, though.

When her body struck the ground, she let out a

hurt grunt. Her arms fell away from around my

head. Under my face, her chest was heaving, her heart

thudding.

As I started to push myself up, she clutched

my shoulder. In a voice that was high and shaky and

quiet, she said, "Someone else is here

."

I didn't want to believe her, but I did.

"Are you sure

?"

I whispered.

"Yessss. Oh, God

."

"It'll be all right

."

"He pulled my hair . . . made us fall

."

Someone in the dark with us, standing so near to us that he could

reach up and pull Eileen's hair . . . someone so

stealthy, so silent, that we'd been utterly unaware

of his presence.

The fear made my skin crawl like last night when the

old man on the porch struck his match. I wanted

to leap up and run like hell.

I couldn't do it, though. My pants were down around

my ankles Eileen, under me, was naked.

And hurt? She'd taken a hard fall, gotten

herself pounded against the ground with all my weight on

top of her and God-knew-what underneath

her.

"Are you hurt

?"

I whispered.

"Not that bad

."

"Bleeding

?"

"Yeah. A little, anyway

."

"We've gotta get out of here

."

From somewhere off to my left came sniffy sounds like

someone laughing softly through his nostrils.

Eileen's arms clamped around me and her thighs

squeezed against my hips. Her body was trembling

under me.

"It'll be all right," I whispered, my lips

against the side of her neck.

"I'm so scared

."

She started to cry. Small spasms shook her

body. Her hitching sobs sounded awfully loud in the

dark.

I went, "Shhhh

."

So did the person who had hissed his laughs.

So did someone else, over to the right.

Eileen gasped and went rigid.

In a secret corner of my mind, I'd

suspected that the stranger in the dark might be Randy,

that he'd somehow followed us down here. It had been

my fear but also, in some way, my hope. Randy was

horrible, but at least he was known to me. He had a

name, a face . . . and I'd already hurt him

once.

When I heard the second "Shhhh," I decided

Randy had nothing to do with this. Also, I suddenly

remembered the Swiss Army knife in the pocket

of my jeans.

Jeans that were wrapped around my ankles.

"Let go," I whispered against Eileen's neck.

She kept on holding me tight.

"Let go of me," I whispered again.

Though I spoke softly, the strangers in the dark

could probably hear every word. I didn't want

to mention the knife.

"Please," I said.

"You'll run away."

"No, I won't. Just let go

."

"Promise

?"

"I promise

."

She loosened her hold on me. With my hands on the

ground on both sides of her, I pushed myself up.

Then, holding onto my jeans and underwear, I rose

to my feet.

"Eddie

?"

Eileen asked.

"I'm right here

."

As I fastened my jeans, my belt buckle

clinked.

"Get my clothes for me," she whispered.

"I will

."

But first I reached into the front pocket of my jeans

and pulled out my knife. I shifted it to my left

hand, felt the blunt edges of the closed blades and

tools, and tried to catch the slotted side of a

blade with my thumb nail.

"Eddie

?"

It was almost a squeal.

"Huh

?"

"Where

are

you

?"

"Right here

."

"He's

touching

me!"

Somebody slammed into me from the right. The impact

twisted me and sent me stumbling sideways through the

dark. I tripped over my own feet, fell as if

making a dive into shallow water, and slammed against the

ground so hard that I skidded.

In the distance past my feet, Eileen cried out,

"Eddie! Get him off me!"

I heard a smack like a fist striking bare skin.

"Leave her alone!" I yelled.

As I struggled to get up, I realized that I'd

lost my knife. I

had

to have it. Dropping to my knees, I swept my hands

over the ground.

Eileen whined . . . part pain, part terror.

The hell with the knife.

I grabbed a heavy, jagged rock that was larger than

my hand,

II

scrambled to my feet and rushed toward the sounds from

Eileen and what was happening to her.

The sounds sickened me. Sobs and giggles,

punches and slaps, yelps of pain, gasps for

air, muttered curses, wet slurps, frenzied

grunts.

I expected to be taken down, myself, at any

moment.

But then I came to where the sounds were.

I was glad I couldn't see what was being done

to Eileen or who was doing it.

I piled on.

It

was

a pile on: me on top, the attackers underneath

me, Eileen almost certainly on the bottom.

Heads, arms, asses everywhere.

More than two attackers. Three? Four? I

couldn't tell.

I laid into them with my rock.

Their turn to cry out.

I couldn't see them and they couldn't see me. I

think they hurt each other as much as I hurt them.

During the minute or two it lasted, I got

elbowed, punched, scratched and bit.

Then nobody was between Eileen and me. I lay

gasping for breath on top of her sprawled, twitching

body, the rock still clenched in my hand. Where my bare

skin was against her, she felt wet and sticky.

"Are you okay

?"

I whispered.

Crying, she shook her head. I felt it against my

cheek.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

"Where ... are they

?"

"Gone. I don't know. I think they ran off

."

"Let's hurry," she said.

I pushed myself up. When I was on my knees, I

reached down and took hold of her wrists.

"Can you sit up

?"

I asked.

She started to rise, so I pulled her arms. She

winced and whimpered.

Soon, we were both on our feet. She felt

wobbly, though. I had to hold her up. "I'll

carry you," I said.

"My clothes

."

'Let's get out of here before we get jumped again

."

Before she could argue, I dropped the rock and swept

her up in my arms. She was too exhausted or

hurt to fight me. I carried her. cradled against

my chest, toward the gray blur at the mouth of the

underpass.

With every step, I thought we might get attacked again.

Finally, I carried her out of the darkness. We were in the

open for

a few seconds, in plain sight of anyone who

might be looking down toward the stream. I didn't

look back, but nobody called out.

I hurried with Eileen into the shadows of the trees

along the shore. There, I lowered her

gently onto the grass. Then I glanced around.

'Looks like we're safe," I whispered.

She squeezed my hand.

We were shrouded in darkness, but not total darkness.

For the first time since venturing under the bridge, I could

see Eileen. I thought she would at least still have her

chamois shirt, but it was gone like the rest of her

clothes. She seemed to be bloody in places.

"Can you tell if you're bleeding badly anywhere

?"

I asked. "Like if an artery got hit, or

something

?"

"Nothing like that

."

"You sure

?"

"I'm just. . . leaking a little here and there

."

"Okay. Good. Now, I guess we'd better

get you up top and somewhere safe, and I'll go find

a phone and . .

."

"We left my

purse backslash

she blurted as if suddenly remembering.

"Oh shit," I said.

"All my

stuff's

in it

."

Nodding, I took off my shirt. "Put this on

."

I gave it to her. "I'll be right back

."

"No. You'd better not

."

"We can't leave your purse

."

"I can cancel the credit cards and-"

"They'll

know who you are ... where you live."

In a very small voice, she said, "But I don't

want "em to get

you

."

"I'll be fast," I said. "If anyone comes after

you,

yell, okay? Yell or scream, and I'll come

running

."

"Maybe we'd better get help

."

All I did was shake my head. There was not a

moment to lose -- not even in explanations -- if we

hoped to get her purse back.

I whirled around and raced toward the bridge.

Nobody was up top.

When the blackness swallowed me, I stopped

running. I put myself backward in time and tried

to retrace the route I'd taken with Eileen.

I heard nobody.

They probably ran off, I told myself. For all

they know, the cops are on the way.

I His

Crouching, I reached down and patted the ground. I

felt moist earth, rocks and twigs.

Who says I'm even close?

I got down on my hands and knees and crawled.

I wished I had gloves on. Not because of the cold,

but because of the things I found myself touching in the darkness.

Some were sharp, some mushy, some hard, some slimy.

At last, I found a shoe. It felt and smelled

like a fairly new athletic shoe.

After wiping my hands on my jeans, I continued

searching in the same area and found the rest: Eileen's

other shoe, her jeans, her bra and her purse. Her

panties and chamois shirt didn't seem to be

there.

Better get out of here while I still can.

But I liked Eileen's chamois shirt. I

didn't want her to lose it and

I sure didn't want someone

else

ending up with her panties.

On the chance that Eileen might have a flashlight, I

put a hand into her purse and felt around. I touched

her billfold, various cylinders and small

cases, a hair brush, a pocket-sized spiral

notebook, and several unidentified items

wrapped in plastic and paper. No flashlight,

though.

Digging deeper, I found a treasure trove of

loose objects near the bottom of her purse:

sticks of gum, coins, half-used rolls of something

shaped like Lifesavers, a couple of condoms in

plastic wrappers, an array of pens and pencils and

markers, a couple of cigarettes and a book of

matches.

Yes!

I pulled out the matchbook, flipped open the

cardboard cover, tore out a match and struck it.

The head flared, hurting my eyes. I was blinded

for a second or two.

When I could see again, I yelped.

In the murky glow of the matchlight, I saw a bare

foot on the ground just out of my reach.

No one was standing on the foot.

It was toes up. The ankle and shin looked hairy.

Just above the knee, the leg vanished into darkness.

Looking around quickly, I saw nobody else within the

aura of light cast by my match.

The match was starting to burn me. I shook it out,

struck another, then hurried over to the man. He was

naked. He lay motionless on his back. He had

long, wild, filthy hair. His eyebrows,

mustache and beard were so thick that he hardly seemed

to have any face at all. After a moment, however, I

located his small, sooty nose. Then I found his

deep-set eyes with their closed lids.

The hair on the right side of his head was matted

flat, shiny red with blood.

Had I done that to him with my rock?

It seemed likely, but not certain. The

melee had been chaos. No telling who had done

what to anyone.

The man looked dead.

Serves him right, I thought. He attacked us.

Probably tried to rape Eileen.

With that.

It was upright, big and glistening.

Did he rape her?

The match started to burn me, so I shook it out. I

struck another.

The guy was still motionless on his back.

I went looking for my Swiss Army knife. It

almost certainly carried my fingerprints, so I

couldn't leave it down here with a dead man.

Finding it wasn't easy.

Two matches later, however, I spotted its bright

red handle on the ground near a smashed Budweiser

can. I hurried over to it and picked it up.

I shook out my match. Standing in total darkness,

I pried open one of the blades. Then I held

knife in my left hand with the matchbook. With my right

hand, I struck a fresh match.

I was too far away to see the body.

What if he's gone?

99

If

What if he's coming at me?

I walked in his direction. A few seconds

later, the murky light from my match found him. He

was still sprawled on his back.

I stepped up to him. His eyes were still shut. I stared

at his filthy, hairy chest. It didn't seem

to be moving.

He's probably dead, I thought.

But he's got a hard-on. Can a dead guy have a

hard-on?

I had no idea. Seemed possible, but not

likely.

It suddenly occurred to me that it looked bigger than

before.

It's growing?

I muttered, "Oh shit

."

What dreams may come when we have shuffled off this

mortal coil. . .

Don't freak out, I told myself. He's

probably not dead.

If he isn't, I'd better help him. Check

his wounds. Call an ambulance.

Then I thought about what he'd done to us.

"Fuck it," I muttered.

I lit a new match, then did a quick search for

Eileen's chamois shirt and panties. Other

clothes were scattered around: coats, shirts,

trousers, shoes. Even a couple of hats. All

of them looked filthy. Eileen's shirt and

panties, however, didn't seem to be among them.

Fast as I could, I gathered up her purse,

shoes, jeans and bra and hurried out from under the

bridge.

No sooner did I escape from the darkness than I

began to fear the worst for Eileen.

I

shouldn't have left her alone.

The others probably got her . . .

I came to the place where I'd left her in the

shadows, and she wasn't there. I crumbled inside.

They

did

get her.

"Eddie

?"

Her voice came from the wrong direction. I jerked

my head sideways and looked toward the stream. Still,

I couldn't see her.

"Where are you

?"

Several yards upstream, a pale arm lifted into the

air. Below it, a face was a pale smudge against the

black of the water.

I set down her things and walked toward her along the

bank. "You okay

?"

I asked.

"Not bad. How'd it go

?"

"I got your purse and most of your clothes.

Couldn't find your shirt

."

"Any trouble

?"

I crouched down on the grass a few feet away

from her. She was submerged to her neck in the stream.

"The creeps must've all run away," I said.

"Probably figured the first thing we'd do is call

the cops

."

"Why don't you come in and wash up," Eileen

asked. "We can figure out what to do

."

Shaking my head, I said, "I think we should get out

of here. Get you to the student health center

."

"Not the health center

."

"The ER

?"

She stood up, her body rising out of the black

water pale and gleaming in the moonlight. "How about

your place

?"

she asked. Her torso ended at the water's

surface. "I don't much want to be alone right

now . . . tonight. If it's all right with you . .

."

"You should probably see a doctor

."

"I'll see one if I need one. I can look

myself over when we get to your place. Unless you

don't

want

me to come over

."

"I want you to come over

."

"Thanks, Eddie

."

She waded toward me, silvery where the moon lit

her wet skin. I watched how her breasts moved.

Their tips looked like large black coins. Her

navel was a small black dot. With each step she

took, the level of the water lowered.

Seeing the dark patch of her pubic hair, I thought

about the guy under the bridge.

She'll tell me what she wants me to know.

When the water level was down around her knees, she

shuddered and wrapped her arms around her chest. "Do I

still get to wear your shirt

?"

she asked.

"Sure

."

It was on the grass near my feet. I picked it

up and handed it out to her. She put it on. "Ah,

that's better

."

She fastened a button down near her waist, then

climbed out of the stream.

I led the way back along the shore to the place where

I'd left her purse and clothes.

"This is fantastic," she said. She picked up

her purse and took out her billfold.

"A reward won't be necessary," I said.

"You'll get a reward, all right. I can't

believe you actually went back under there

."

"I can't either," I said.

"I was so scared. I was afraid they'd get you

."

"Still might," I said. "We really shouldn't hang

around here any

longer than necessary

."

I looked toward the bridge. It was out of sight,

hidden by the thick tangles of tree branches

looming over the embankment.

"I think we're all right here, don't you

?"

Eileen asked.

"Never know

."

She looked inside her billfold.

"I didn't take anything

."

"I know

you

didn't

."

"I'm sure they didn't, either. If they'd seen

your purse at all, they would've taken it

."

"That's probably true

."

She put the billfold back into her purse.

"I did steal a matchbook," I confessed.

She looked up at me. "Went through my purse,

huh

?"

"For a good cause. I needed some light

."

I took the matchbook out of a pocket of my jeans

and dropped it into her purse. "Thanks," I said.

"Any time

."

She crouched and set her purse on the ground, then

searched through her clothes. Soon, she looked up at

me. "You didn't happen to find a pair of

panties

?"

"They seem to be among the missing

."

"Oh, swell

."

"Sorry

."

"So one of those . . .

trolls . . .

took them

?"

"Not necessarily. I might've just missed them

."

"Hope so," she said. "I hate to think that. .

."

Shaking her head, she stood up and stepped into her

jeans. "We must've been nuts," she muttered as

she fastened the waist button.

"Yeah

."

She pulled up her zipper and smiled at me. "It

was sure something, though. Huh? I mean,

before

. . .

?"

"It was something, all right

."

"I've never . .

."

She shook her head again. "It was

really

something

."

"I'll say

."

She bent down and picked up her bra. "Want

to wear this

?"

she asked.

"I don't think so

."

"Nor do I

."

She stuffed the bra into her purse, then sat on the

ground and started to put on her shoes.

"Are you okay

?"

I asked.

"Pretty okay, all things considered. We're

alive, right? And not too badly hurt. Could've

been a lot worse

."

"That's for sure

."

"What I really want to do is go to your place and

take a nice hot shower and then get somewhat smashed

."

"I've only got about half a bottle of wine

."

"We can pick up something on the way over

."

Shoes on, she stood up. "You must be freezing,"

she said.

"Just a little

."

"My poor sweetheart

."

She opened the shirt wide and stepped against me and

put her arms around me. The heat of her body

seeped into my chilled skin. "How's this

?"

she asked.

"Not bad

."

ttl

At the top of the embankment, we

retrieved our belongings from under the park bench. I

wore my book bag like a small knapsack and

carried Eileen's books and binders against my chest.

That way, I didn't feel quite so cold or bare.

But shirtless I was. Scratched and bloody,

too, as I found out when we entered the glow of a

streetlight.

Because of her soak in the stream, Eileen wasn't

bloody. Her face, however, looked somewhat

battered. Also, her hair was wet and stringy.

To avoid being seen by campus security or by anyone

we knew, we walked

around

the university campus instead of through it.

That's how we ran into Rudy Kirkus.

I'd known Kirkus since my freshman year.

We were both English majors, so we'd spent quite a

lot of time in the same classes. Also, we were both

on the staff of the university's literary magazine,

The Roar.

A smug know-it-all, he seemed to consider himself

God's gift to literature and good taste.

He was an easy guy to recognize at a distance.

Well over six feet tall and skinny, he

walked like a drum major at the head of his

own parade. His uniform was a corduroy jacket with

patches on its elbows, a blue chambray shirt,

blue jeans, loafers and an ascot. He

always

wore a silk ascot around his neck.

If I'd seen Kirkus approaching us, I

would've dragged Eileen in a different direction.

Fast. But he came at us from around the corner of the

bank at Ivy Street, a block south of

campus.

"I

say backslash

he said. He clapped me on the shoulder.

"Eduardo, old man. And Eileen! What ho

?"

Kirkus was a native of San Francisco, but

he affected a British accent and mannerisms.

He'd probably picked up most of his act

by watching those old Sherlock Holmes movies with

Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce.

"How's it going, Kirkus

?"

I asked.

"It goes, it goes

."

Nodding, he put his hands behind his back and began his

usual routine of going up and down, up and down on

the balls of his feet. Head cocked to one side,

he eyed my chest. "I say, old chap, a bit

nippy to be roaming about the streets

sans

shirt

."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," I

told him.

He cocked his head toward Eileen and eyed

her

chest. If another guy had stared that blatantly,

I might've been miffed. But this was Kirkus. Her

breasts, obviously braless under the shirt, would be of

no interest to him . . . except perhaps as objects

of disdain.

"Hello!" he exclaimed.

"You're

wearing his shirt. The plot does thicken, hey what

?"

He bobbed, grinning.

"I'm afraid I left home without mine,"

Eileen told him. "This chap was nice enough to lend me

the use of his

."

Kirkus continued to bob, but his grin vanished while

he hoisted an eyebrow. "You're having me on

."

"Not at all," Eileen said, appearing perfectly

serious.

"And why are you wet

?"

he asked.

"A touch of rain, old bean

."

He still bobbed, but both his eyebrows lowered and crept

toward the bridge of his nose. "And your injuries

?"

he asked. He glanced from Eileen to me, bobbing and

frowning, not so much a drum major, now, as a stern

headmaster determined to get to the bottom of the

mischief. "Have ourselves a bit of a row, did we

?"

Eileen looked to me for this one.

"A spot of trouble with a canine, I'm afraid.

Out on the moor. A huge brute with glowing eyes

."

"I see

."

He took a deep breath, began to sag, then

straightened up again and threw back his head.

"Well, have your sport with me

."

I suddenly felt bad. Kirkus was a

pretentious and arrogant boob, but that was no

excuse for mocking him. "Hey," I said. "I'm

sorry

."

"Me, too," Eileen told him. "We've had

a tough night

."

"Ah

."

He seemed pleased by our contrition. "Quite all right

."

"As a matter of fact," I told him, 'we

got jumped by a gang of teenagers a few minutes

ago. They beat us up pretty good and tore off

Eileen's shirt

."

"Rum go," said Kirkus.

Shrugging, Eileen said, "Well, we got away from

them.

You'd

better watch out for them, though

."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself,"

he said.

"Just be careful," Eileen said. "They're nasty

bastards. They pissed in my hair

."

Kirkus eyed her hair, sniffed the air a couple

of times, and took a step backward.

"We don't want everybody knowing about this," I

explained. "In fact, we don't want

anybody

else knowing about it

."

"It's terribly humiliating," Eileen added.

"And disgusting

."

"We've taken you into our confidence," I said.

"We'd like you to respect it," said Eileen.

"Righto

."

Kirkus gave a stiff nod, bounced, and said,

"Mum's the word

."

"Thank you," Eileen told him.

"Thanks, Rudy," I said.

"And thank

you

for the warning. If the young hooligans have a go at me,

they'll rue the day

."

I reached out and patted his arm. "Knock "em dead

."

"Where were they

?"

he asked.

Eileen turned sideways and pointed behind us. "A

couple of blocks back

."

The boarding house where Kirkus lived was in that

direction.

Scowling, he asked, "How many ruffians did you

encounter

?"

"Six or seven," I said.

He nodded briskly.

"I guess you'll have to go past them to get home,"

I added.

"Quite

."

"They might be gone by now," Eileen pointed out.

Kirkus straightened up and tossed back his head.

" "Danger knows full well that Caesar is more

dangerous than she.""

"You say soea8I told him.

"Ta," he said, and stepped past us.

"Good luck," I told him.

"Give "em hell," Eileen said.

As Kirkus strode bravely down the sidewalk,

we crossed the street. Halfway up the next

block, we both glanced back. Kirkus was nowhere

to be seen.

"Hope he doesn't hurt them," Eileen said.

I chuckled and felt a little mean.

"Poor sod," Eileen said.

We both laughed.

"You know," I said, 'he might not be such a bad

guy if he didn't go around acting like such a fucking

know-it-all snob

."

"A

bloody

know-it-all snob

."

We laughed some more.

On the next block, we came to the Grand

Market.

"You might want to wait out here," Eileen

suggested. "I'll go in and get the stuff

."

I nodded.

"Don't go away

."

She went inside. I stepped around the side, away

from the main street, and stood close to the wall.

Though a few people went by, nobody paid attention

to me.

Eileen was gone for a long time. That's how it seemed,

anyway.

At last, she stepped around the corner with a

brown-paper grocery sack in her arms. "Ah, there

you are," she said. 'Look what I got for you

."

She set down the bag at her feet, reached in and

pulled out something that appeared to be a black cloth.

Grinning, she held it high and spread it open.

"A Dracula cape," she explained.

"So I see

."

"A nice one, too. Put it on

."

"Now

?"

"Come on. I know you're freezing

."

She brought it toward me. "It was the best I could do.

They didn't seem to have any clothes in there.

Lucky for you, they've got a great bunch of

Halloween costumes

."

"I'm supposed to

wear

this

?"

"You can throw it on over your book bag. Wrap it

around yourself like a blanket

."

"Well . .

."

"Better than freezing

."

"I suppose

."

I set my armload of books and binders down on

the sidewalk, then took the cape from

Eileen. I swung it around behind me. It draped

my book bag and shoulders. I wrapped it around my

front. It felt smooth and warm. "Pretty

good," I said.

"You look smashing, as Kirkus might say

."

With that, Eileen stepped closer. She found a

couple of dangling cords and made a bow of them at

my throat. Then she slipped her hands inside the

cape and caressed my chest. "I should've bought you some

vampire teeth

."

I bared my own teeth at her.

She laughed softly and kissed me.

When we resumed our journey, Eileen carried her

own books and binders and purse. I carried the

grocery bag close to my chest with one hand while I

held the cape shut with the other.

In the bag were two cans of squirt cheese (sharp

cheddar and sharp cheddar with bacon), a box of Ritz

crackers and a liter bottle of dark rum.

Though most of the businesses along the street were shut

for the night, people walked past us now and again. Some of them

noticed what I was wearing, and smiled.

With a university in the middle of town, they

were used to all sorts of antics. A guy in a

vampire cape three weeks before Halloween was no

big deal.

After we left the business district behind, the

sidewalks seemed to be empty. Every so often, a

car went by.

We were about two blocks from my apartment house when

Eileen glanced over her shoulder. Facing forward

again, she muttered, "Somebody's back there

."

I looked, but saw only the empty sidewalk

stretched out behind us. I checked the street, then the

sidewalk on the other side of the street. "I

don't see anyone

."

Eileen looked again. "That's funny

."

"Maybe he went in a house," I suggested.

"Or ducked out of sight

."

We kept on walking.

"What did he look like

?"

I asked.

"Just a guy. I

think

it was a guy. He was pretty far back and I

only caught a glimpse of him

."

"Wasn't Kirkus, was it

?"

"I don't think so

."

"Old guy, young guy

?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea. But whoever

he is, let's not lead him to your apartment

."

I'd already thought of that. I nodded. At the next

corner, instead of going straight on to Church

Street, we turned to the left.

"What was he wearing

?"

I asked.

Eileen shook her head again. "Something dark. A

long coat, maybe

."

"Like a trenchcoat

?"

"I don't know

."

"This really sucks," I muttered.

"Think it's someone from under the bridge

?"

"God, I hope not. But I guess it might be.

Or that Randy guy I was telling you about. Or

maybe it's just somebody who happened to be walking

behind us

."

"Let's find out," Eileen said.

We both glanced back. Nobody was behind us. Not

yet, anyway.

"Come on," I said.

Side by side, we ran up the sidewalk. The first

driveway had a car parked in it. The house's

porch light was on, but all the windows looked dark.

Our pursuer -- if we had one -- still hadn't

rounded the corner. We rushed up the driveway and

crouched in front of the car.

I'd been spending a lot of time, lately, hiding

in front of parked cars.

But always alone.

This time, Eileen was hunkered down beside me, her

upper arm lightly touching mine. I could

feel its heat through my cape. She turned her

face toward me. "This is kind of exciting," she

said.

"If you say so

."

I felt mostly anxiety . . . bordering on

dread. And I felt weary. Too much had already

happened tonight. I wanted to be safe in my apartment

with the lights on and the door locked. Underneath all that,

however, I did feel a certain thrill at being

crouched down and hiding with Eileen.

After a while, she said, "What's taking him so long

?"

"How far back was he

?"

She shrugged, and I felt her arm move against mine.

"Just a block

."

She straightened up slightly and peered over the

hood. "I don't see anyone

."

"We'll hear him when he goes by

."

She stayed up, half crouched, her books and

binders clutched to her chest.

"We don't want him to see you," I whispered.

She sank down beside me, and I felt the rub of her

arm. "I don't think he's coming," she said.

"Let's wait a while longer. Maybe he's

being careful

."

"We might've lost him

."

I nodded.

We crouched together in silence, waiting. Out on the

street, a car went by. Its sounds slowly faded

away. I listened for footsteps, but heard none.

Eileen turned her face toward mine. "He

probably wasn't following us in the first place

."

"Maybe not," I said.

"Maybe he just happened to be going in the same

direction as us

."

"Yeah

."

"Happens all the time

."

"Sometimes," I said, 'they

are

following you

."

"Not this time, I guess

."

'Let's make sure," I said. "He might just

be waiting for us to come out of hiding

."

"Guess you're more deeply paranoid than me

."

"More than likely," I said.

"I don't like being on someone else's property

."

r t

"We're not hurting anything

."

"They might not see it that way

."

She twisted partway around and looked toward the house.

I looked, too. From where we were crouched, we

couldn't see any of the windows.

"Guess they can't see us," Eileen whispered.

I looked toward the house next door. "Neither can

they," I said.

Eileen faced me. "We're pretty

well hidden, aren't we

?"

"Pretty well

."

"Not as well as under the bridge, though

."

I wished she hadn't mentioned the bridge. "This is

sure better lit," I whispered.

"I was so scared

."

"Me, too

."

She set her books and binders down on the

concrete. "Hold me," she whispered.

I put down the grocery sack.

On our knees in front of the car, we turned

toward each other. Eileen spread my cape open and

eased in against me. She put her hands on my back

below the bottom of my book bag. I hugged her

gently. She was trembling, but felt warm against my

body.

"That was so terrible," she whispered close to my ear.

"A lot worse for you

."

"They were all over me

."

And in you? I wondered. But I couldn't ask.

"You know what bothers me the most

?"

she asked.

"Huh-uh

."

Here it comes.

"They could see us

."

"I guess so

."

"They

must've

been able to see us," she said. "They knew right where

we were . . . and where to grab and ... or they couldn't

have done all that. But it was pitch-black in there

."

"Not completely," I said.

"We sure couldn't see them. Or even each other

."

"They'd probably been under there long enough for their

eyes to adjust

."

"But it was

so

dark. God, it was dark

."

She pressed herself more tightly against me. The

concrete was hurting my knees. "You can't see in that

kind of darkness no matter

how

long you've been in it

."

"They must've

."

"I know. I know. They were probably there the whole

time. Just

standing there silent. You'd think we would've at least

heard them breathing

."

Or undressing, I thought.

Unless they stripped before we got there.

Maybe they'd been skinny-dipping in the stream.

Didn't seem likely. Not on a chilly night

like this.

"Or smelled them," Eileen said. "Did you

smell them? They stank when they were on me, but I

never smelled them till then

."

"I didn't, either

."

"I thought we were alone

."

"Same here

."

"I mean, we should've been able to

hear

them or something. It doesn't make sense

."

"Huh-uh

."

"And to think they were right there while we ... did all

that

."

She shivered in my arms. "And we didn't even know

it

."

"Ninja bums," I whispered.

She laughed softly, quietly, her breath blowing

hot against the side of my neck, her body shaking.

"Very funny," she whispered.

For a while after that, we didn't say anything. Just

held each other. She stopped trembling. I could

feel the slow, easy rise and fall of her

chest as she breathed.

"We've probably been here long enough," I

said.

"My knees are killing me," she said.

"Me, too

."

"My knees aren't even touching you

."

We both laughed a little at that.

"You're pretty funny for a scholar," I told

her.

"I'm no scholar. Kirkus is the scholar

."

"He just thinks he is

."

"Hope he got home all right

."

"Think he believed us

?"

I asked.

"The teenage gang attack? Yeah. He believed

that, all right

."

"Nice touch, the pee in the hair

."

She laughed. "Did you catch him sniffing? The

look on his face, you'd think he smelled it

."

I put my face against her hair. It seemed

damp and heavy against the side of her head.

"How does it smell

?"

"Fine

."

"I hope nothing awful was in that stream

."

"You can take a nice bath when we get to my

place

."

"Can't wait," she said.

"Ready to go

?"

"Hope I can still stand up

."

I knew just what she meant; my knees felt

rained, too.

We eased away from each other. Eileen picked up

her stack of books and binders and clutched them to her

chest. I grabbed the top of the grocery sack with one

hand and held the front of my cape shut

with the other.

My knees made crackling sounds when I stood

up.

Eileen groaned. "Next time we do this," she

said, "we should bring kneeling pads

."

"That's a very good . .

."

Bring-bring-bringgg.

It was too late to duck.

She came coasting down the sidewalk from the left,

a skinny old hag in black spandex, her

ballcap turned backward, her bike tires

humming softly, almost silent.

As she glided toward the driveway, her head

turned toward us.

Her face was dark with shadows.

She sees us,

I thought, though I couldn't see her eyes.

As her bike sailed across the end of the driveway,

she turned her head even more so she wouldn't lose

sight of us. She kept watching us until she

passed the neighbor's hedge.

Eileen and I stood side by side, motionless and

silent.

From the right came the

bring-bring-bringgg

of the bicycle bell.

Eileen looked at me. "What the

hell

was that

?"

she whispered.

"The bike hag," I said.

"You know her

?"

"Not really

."

Bring-bringgg.

It came from farther away.

"I wanta get outa here," Eileen said.

'Let's go

."

"Oh God, the church," Eileen said as we

crossed the final street on our way to my apartment

building. "Nothing more fun than an old church

late at night. I wonder who's waiting

there

to scare the crap out of us

."

"No one, I'm sure

."

"I'm not sure of anything," she said.

"You want something good to worry about, how about Mr and

Mrs. Fisher

?"

"Oh, they're harmless

."

"If they see us like this . .

."

I shook my head.

"We'll tell them we were set upon by a gang of

teenaged ne'er-do-wells

."

"Sure

."

"Worked on Kirkus," she pointed out.

"Kirkus is an idiot

."

I stepped ahead of Eileen, unlocked the door and

let us in. I shut the door silently. Leading the

way, I crept through the foyer.

The Fishers' door was open, light spilling out into the

gloom of the hallway. From where I stood, I could

hear their television. The music sounded like

Halloween.

"Great," I muttered.

"It's okay," Eileen whispered.

"I'm wearing a

vampire

cape

."

They'll just think you're zany. Come on

."

Eileen left me standing there. As she walked past the

Fishers' open door, she kept her face forward and

didn't look in.

I hurried after her.

On my way past the door, however, I had

to look.

Mrs. Fisher stood just inside the doorway, leaning

forward on her cane. She stared at me through her

thick glasses. Her eyes looked as big as

eggs. I jumped and said, "Oh, hi

."

"Hi back," she said, grinning.

I had to stop.

"What's that outfit ya got on there, Eddie

?"

"A vampire cape. It's for Halloween

."

"What's Holly got on

?"

she asked.

Holly?

I backed away as Mrs. Fisher hobbled into the

hallway. Eileen had stopped at the foot of the

stairs.

"Hi, Mrs. Fisher," she said.

"Come on back and let me take a look at ya,

Holly

."

Eileen smiled and approached.

"What sorta get-up's that

?"

Mrs. Fisher asked her.

"Just my usual clothes

."

"If you say so

."

Mrs. Fisher, herself, was wearing a huge gray

sweatshirt with the old Willmington University

logo on the front. Around the logo, purple letters

read, HOME OF THE BRAVES. She had a

white bath towel wrapped around her waist.

It reached down almost to her knees like a skirt. From

the towel down, her heavy legs were bare. She wore

blue tennis shoes that didn't have any laces.

"Thought ya had on yer Halloween get-up," she

said.

"Not tonight," Eileen said.

"Eddie, he's already got his

."

Turning her giant eyes on me, she said, "Come

on in and show Walter

."

"We really have to get going

."

"It won't take but a second. Give him a

laugh

."

She reached out for me, but I sidestepped toward the

stairway and she missed. "Now don't be so shy,

Eddie

."

"It's awfully late," I said. "I'll show

Walter some other time, okay

?"

"Well

"We'll see you later, Mrs.

Fisher," Eileen said.

"Well, awe right. You two go "n" run on

along. Good seein' ya again, Holly

."

"Thanks," Eileen said. "Same here

."

"My, but you've grown

."

"Thanks

."

"Still just as nice as pie

."

"You, too. See you later

."

At the foot of the stairway, we looked back at

her. She waved goodbye with her cane.

"Night," I said.

"Don't let the bed bugs bite

."

We hurried upstairs. I felt squirmy from the

encounter, but Eileen was smiling.

The second floor hallway was murky with dim,

yellowish light. All the doors were shut.

"She's not so bad," Eileen whispered.

"At least she didn't make any trouble

about you coming up here

."

"Maybe because she thinks I'm Holly

."

"She liked Holly a lot

."

Unlocking my door, I added, "Everyone did.

Guess everyone still does. Except me

."

We entered my rooms and I shut the door.

"I'm not such a big fan anymore, myself,"

Eileen said.

While she set her books and binders down on the

coffee table in front of the sofa, I carried the

grocery sack into the kitchen and put it on the counter.

I reached under my cape and removed my book bag.

As I swung it onto the table, Eileen came

in.

"Okay if I take a shower

?"

she asked.

"Sure. I'll get you a clean washcloth and

towel

."

She followed me to the bathroom. I

flicked on the light, then went to the nearby linen

closet. The washcloth and towel I took down were

pink and soft. I'd bought them last year for Holly

to use when she spent nights with me.

I carried them into the bathroom for Eileen.

"I might need some bandages when I'm done," she

said.

I opened the medicine cabinet and showed her where they

were.

"I'll try to be fast," she said.

"Take your time. No hurry

."

"Go ahead and help yourself to the rum. You don't have

to wait for me

."

"Okay. See you later

."

Leaving her in the bathroom, I shut the door.

But I didn't help myself to the rum. Instead, I

went into my bedroom. With the light on, I turned

to the mirror. My hair was mussed, my face

dirty and scratched. Spreading the cape open, I

bared my teeth and snarled at the mirror.

Big, bad vampire.

Sure.

I

did

look scruffy and a little scary, though.

Should've tried this with Kirkus.

Or the bike hag.

I almost smiled, but my mind suddenly hit me with a

picture of the bum I'd found underneath the bridge.

Feeling hot and sick, I turned away from the

mirror and removed the cape. Then I took off the

rest of my clothes, put on my robe and flopped

down on my bed to wait for Eileen to finish her

shower.

The guy's probably okay, I told myself.

He had that erection.

I should've checked his pulse.

If I'd tried that, he might've grabbed me.

Suppose he

is

dead?

He's not, I told myself. But if he is, they

won't know we had anything to do with it.

We'll have to keep our mouths shut about what happened

under there.

What about Kirkus? He knows we were in a fight.

He might tell on us.

So who cares his It was self-defense anyway.

It's not like I murdered the guy.

But I felt hot and sick from thinking such thoughts.

So stop it, I told myself. Think about something

pleasant. Think about Eileen.

As I gazed at the ceiling and listened to the hiss of the

shower, I pictured her standing under its spray. Steam

swirled around her like hot fog. Water splashed her

face, ran down her body. She was ruddy and

gleaming . . .

Just like Holly.

I shut my eyes.

Holly and I had taken showers together sometimes.

Stood facing each other beneath the hot spray, me

sliding soapy hands over her breasts, Holly

lathering my penis, her slippery hand gliding up and

down.

Should I go to her?

It's Eileen, not Holly.

Holly wouldn't want me, anyway. The slut

has her Jay.

It's Eileen in the shower now.

Maybe she wants me to be with her. Maybe she's

hoping I'll come in, and she'll be disappointed if

I don't.

No no no, I thought. She doesn't want me

now, not after what they did to her. She wants her

privacy while she cleans up and tends to her

wounds.

In my mind, however, I go to her. I sweep

aside the shower curtain and there she stands under the

spray, looking at me and weeping and holding out her

hands for help. She is scratched and scraped and

gashed and chewed, blood spilling from a dozen wounds.

Blood squirts from her nipples. It gushes from

her vagina as hard as water from a garden hose,

pounding the bottom of the tub and splashing against her

ankles and shins.

Help me,

she says.

I climb into the tub.

I'm bleeding to death!

And I say,

Maybe it's your period.

No! They did it to me. Help! Please!

With my fingertips, I pinch her nipples to shut off

the squirting blood.

Yes! But the other! The other! Plug it up!

With what?

I already know what. It's hard and ready.

Keeping her nipples pinched, I position myself under

the hot gusher and push up into her, stopping the rush of

blood.

"Eddie!"

Did it!

"Can you come here!"

Where's she calling from?

Doesn't matter, I think. I can't go anywhere.

If I pull out, she'll bleed to death. This was a

really bad idea. Should've taken her to the emergency

room. Never should've tried to plug her like this.

But it feels so good.

Too good. When I come, I'll get soft and

she'll bleed out and . . .

"Eddie? Can you come in here

?"

I woke up. I was lying on the end of my bed, my

legs hanging off below the knees, my feet on the

floor. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I saw

that my robe hung open. I was stiff and hard, but not

in Eileen.

Nobody in the room but me.

"Eddie

?"

She IS calling!

I lurched up, ran to the bathroom and knocked on

the door. "Eileen

?"

"You okay

?"

she called over the hissing, splashing sounds of the

shower.

"Yeah. Fine

."

"I kept calling and you didn't answer

."

"I guess I drifted off

."

And dreamed a little dream of you.

"I thought something had happened

."

"No. Everything's fine

."

"Can you come in

?"

she asked.

I opened the door and entered.

The bathroom was hot and steamy. Eileen's clothes,

including my shirt, were piled on the floor. I

stepped over them and walked toward the bath

tub. Through the frosted white plastic curtain, I

could see the vague contours and color of her body.

I saw no red.

"Can you come here

?"

she asked.

"Sure

."

I stopped on the bath mat.

"You probably need a shower, too," she said.

"Probably

."

"Want to come in now

?"

I opened my robe and looked down. Still partly

aroused from the dream, I was sticking out straight.

Embarrassing. But a little exciting, too.

Maybe it'll go down if I wait a while.

"Eddie

?"

"Huh

?"

"Coming in

?"

"Just a minute

."

She was facing me through the curtain. One of her

breasts seemed to be touching the frosted plastic.

I gave up any hope of shrinking.

So I took off my robe and tossed it out of the

way. Eileen, obviously watching me, pulled the

curtain aside. I climbed into the tub.

It wasn't much like the dream. Though her wet skin

gleamed, no blood squirted or gushed out of her

body. The injuries that I could see were contusions and

scratches. She also looked as if she'd been

bitten in several places. The teeth hadn't

broken her skin, but they'd left marks.

"You don't look too bad," I said.

"Neither do you

."

I had worse abrasions than Eileen. More

scratches and bite marks, too.

She began to slide a bar of soap over my body.

"I'll get you all nice and squeaky clean,"

she said.

She already looked squeaky clean, herself.

Her sliding hands made me soapy all over. Then

she wrapped her arms around me, pressed

her body gently against mine and kissed me with her

mouth open. She moaned and squirmed. I was upright

and thick against her belly. She felt slippery and

soft all the way down to her knees.

A few times, she flinched when I touched bad

places on her back and buttocks.

Soon, I was down on the bottom of the tub with

Eileen straddling me, clutching my shoulders, her

breasts wobbling and lurching as I drove up into her.

Sometimes, the hot spray of the shower was blocked by her

body. Other times, it got me full in the face.

Standing outside the tub while I gently dried

Eileen, I found that she did have a few cuts on

her back and buttocks. They looked red and raw,

but were no longer bleeding.

I put antiseptic and bandages on them.

Then she asked if I had a hair drier.

"Afraid not

."

"That's all right

."

She held out her hands for the towel.

I gave it to her, then watched while she rubbed her

hair vigorously with it, her arms high, her breasts

shaking. Her breasts had marks on them. Not

from me, but from what the others had done to her under the

bridge.

What

had

they done to her?

"I'll be a few more minutes in here," Eileen

said. "You want to run ahead and make the drinks

?"

"Sure

."

"How about rum and Coke for me

?"

"Coming right up

."

I put on my robe and headed for the door.

"On the rocks," she added.

I glanced over my shoulder at her. She looked

wonderful standing there with her arms up, smiling at me

from under the bunched towel.

"You can leave the door open," she said. "Let the

steam clear out

."

Nodding, I turned away and went into the kitchen. I

made the drinks. Then I carried them into the living

room and returned to the kitchen for the Ritz

crackers and squirt cheese.

When I came out, Eileen was standing in the living

room. Her hair, still moist but neatly brushed,

hung down to her bare shoulders. The pink towel was

wrapped around her waist, one end tucked in at her

hip.

"Wow," I said.

"But a little nippy," she said. "Got anything for

me to wear

?"

"Oh. Sure. I'm sorry

."

"No problem

."

I hurried past her and she followed me down the

hall to my bedroom. I took a cotton

nightshirt out of a dresser drawer. Holding it up

for her to see, I asked, "How's this

?"

t

It was red and had Goofy on it.

Eileen frowned slightly. "Was this Holly's

?"

"It's mine

."

"I bet she wore it, though

."

"Yeah

."

Holly had worn it a lot. The nightshirt had

looked great on her, short and clingy.

"I can get you something else," I said.

Shaking her head, she stepped forward and took it from

me. "No, this is fine

."

She plucked the towel away from her body, tossed

it onto my bed, then put the nightshirt on over

her head. The thin cotton drifted down her body.

It was shorter on her than on Holly.

She raised her arms to sweep her hair out from under the

nightshirt's neck, and the hem lifted higher than

her groin. When she lowered her arms, it descended.

Smiling, she asked. "Do I look okay

?"

"Great

."

"It's a little short

."

"I don't mind if you don't

."

She grinned. "I'm ready for a drink. How about you

?"

"Sure am

."

This time, she led the way. I walked to the living

room behind her, my eyes on the smooth curves of

her buttocks as they flexed under the clinging

nightshirt.

We sat down beside each other on the sofa.

I picked up both drinks and handed one to her. She

raised her glass toward me. "To being safe and

clean and together," she said.

"I'll drink to that

."

We drank.

"Mmmmm, good," Eileen said. "You make a mean

rum and Coke

."

I laughed. "It's not totally disgusting

."

After a few more sips, Eileen set down her

glass and picked up the Ritz crackers.

"Let's dig in

."

While she opened the box of crackers, I peeled

the seal off a canister of squirt cheese.

"Can't believe how hungry I am," she said.

"We had an active night

."

"I'll say. My God. Here, give me

."

I popped the lid off and passed the canister to her.

Upending it, she squirted a small pile of

orange cheese onto a cracker in her hand.

"Open wide," she said. I opened my mouth and she

stuffed the cracker in. I chewed. The cracker

crunched. The cheddar was creamy and tangy and I could

taste the bacon flavor.

Eileen prepared a cracker for herself. She ate it

while I drank more of my rum and Coke. As she

chewed, she closed her eyes. She looked as if

she were relishing a rare delight. After swallowing,

she sighed. "Fantastic

."

"Pretty darn good

."

Squirting cheese onto another cracker, she said,

"I can't believe how hungry I am

."

"You go ahead and eat that one

."

"No, you

."

She pushed it into my mouth, then took another drink

and started preparing another cracker. "It might have

something to do with all that sex," she said.

I nodded and chewed.

"But I bet it makes people hungry when they have

close calls. All that adrenalin. Do you know any

physiology

?"

"Not much

."

"Me neither. But I've been in some earthquakes and

I always feel hungry afterward

."

A smile spread across her face. "Horny, too

."

She popped a cheese-loaded cracker into her mouth.

"You think we're so hungry because we got attacked

?"

Chewing with her mouth shut, she nodded.

Though I felt the heat of a blush spread over my

skin, I asked, "And horny?"

She nodded some more.

"Those bums piling on you made you horny

?"

Frowning slightly, she shook her head. She

swallowed and took a long drink. "Not that.

Surviving. Escaping. Getting away in one

piece.

That's what does it

."

"I thought you meant getting attacked

."

"God, no. You must be kidding

."

She suddenly went silent and stared at me, looking

appalled. "You think I

liked

having those guys on me

?"

"Not really, but ..."

"They were vile. They stank. They were all over me,

slobbering on me, groping me, hurting me. They were

naked.

I could feel their

cocks.

They were trying to

rape

me. And you think I

liked

it

?"

Now or never.

"They

didn't

rape you, did they

?"

I asked.

She looked as if I'd slapped her. She gaped

at me, her mouth drooping.

"I mean, if they did, you might need . .

."

"They didn't.8Her voice was low and steady, her

eyes locked on mine.

"Are you sure

?"

"I think I would know

."

"Okay

."

"You don't

believe

me

?"

I didn't want to tell her about the bum I'd

found when I went back for her purse and clothes.

"I believe you," I said, trying to sound convincing.

"It's just that. . . they were on you for a couple of

minutes . .

."

"Tell me about it

."

"I got to you as fast as I could, but they might've

had time . . . maybe one or two of them . .

."

"Well, they didn't

."

"Okay

."

She looked shocked and sad. "I can't believe you

even felt it necessary to ask

."

"But if they did-"

"If they

did,

do you think for one second I would've invited you into the

bathroom

to fuck

me? Do you think I would endanger your life that way

?"

"No

."

I sounded like a guilty kid on the verge of tears.

"You're damn right I wouldn't!"

"I'm sorry

."

"Not half as sorry as I am. I can't

believe

you, Eddie. My

God!"

"I'm sorry

."

I reached out for her.

"Don't!" she blurted and scooted away from me,

her glass and the squirt cheese in her hands, the box

of Ritz crackers resting on her lap. The Ritz

box tumbled off. Crackers spilled out on the

cushion between us.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I shouldn't have asked

."

"But you did. You did

."

Leaning forward, she slammed her glass and the squirt

cheese onto the table. Then she got to her feet.

"I'll be going now

."

"No, wait. You can't. .

."

"Just watch

."

She hurried around the end of the coffee table, but I

leaped to my feet and intercepted her. I grabbed her

by both upper arms.

Instead of struggling to free herself, she stood motionless

and stared me in the eyes. In a steady voice, she

said, "Let go

."

"I only asked because I care about you

."

"You think I'd

keep

something like that from you? You think I'd let you

touch

me if any of those filthy pigs had

"No. No, I don't

."

"The hell you don't. You must think I'm

a real prize. Just 'cause I put out for you a

couple of times, you've got me mistaken for some

sorta hot-to-trot piece of ass like Holly

who'd rather have a hot cock in her pussy than . .

."

She cut off her words and stared at me. Her mouth

hung open. Her eyes glimmered with tears.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Though stunned, I shook my head as if what she'd

said about Holly didn't matter.

And it didn't matter nearly as much as what I

needed to tell her: "When I went back under the

bridge to get your stuff, I found a body. One

of the guys who attacked you

."

She gaped at me.

"What do you mean, "a body"? Like a

dead

body

?"

"Or unconscious. I don't know. But he ...

he looked as if he'd . . . you know,

been

in someone

."

"What do you mean

?"

"It was wet

."

"Didn't get that way from me

."

"Or from me," I said.

She gave me a sad little smirk. Then she stepped

against me. It was a good, familiar feel. Arms

around me, she lowered her face into the curve on the

side of my neck. I could feel the wetness of her

tears.

Softly, she said, "So you thought this guy had nailed

me, but you went ahead and put

yours

in me anyway

?"

"Well

"What kind of idiot are

you?"

"An optimistic idiot

?"

She laughed, her body shaking against me. Then she

settled down. We held each other for a long time in

silence.

Later, Eileen rubbed her face dry on the

shoulder of my robe. She sniffed and looked at

me. "This guy under the bridge

?"

she said. "Are you the one who put him out of commission

?"

"Probably. When they were on top of you like that, I

went sort of nuts with my rock. If he's dead,

I'm probably the one who killed him

."

"Oh, boy," she said. "What'll we do

?"

"Nothing

."

"Just pretend it didn't happen

?"

I shook my head. "We don't have to pretend

anything. We just accept that somebody got hurt when

we defended ourselves

."

"Got what he deserved," Eileen said.

"Yeah

."

"But what about the police

?"

"Want to report it

?"

I asked.

"No!"

"Didn't think so

."

"But we don't want them coming after us, either. What

if we left something behind

?"

Her shirt and panties.

"I don't think we did," I said. "I searched

around pretty good when I went back

."

"I'm still missing a couple of things

."

"I know. But they weren't there

."

She stared me in the eyes and said, "I think we'd

better go back

."

That was not what I wanted to hear.

"It was pitch-black under there," she said.

"I used your matches

."

"We've got to go back with a good

flashlight

."

"Now

?"

"The sooner the better. Before someone reports the

body. In fact, what we

really

should do is get rid of it. Make it go away

."

"You're kidding, right

?"

"If nothing else," she said, 'we both

bled

down there. If the cops do any kind of real

homicide investigation, they'll pick up samples

of our blood. And your semen

."

I was feeling worse by the word.

"We probably left footprints, too," she

said. "God knows what else. Like maybe your

fingerprints on the murder weapon

."

"It was a rock

."

"Any smooth surfaces

?"

"I don't think so. Anyway, maybe the guy

isn't even dead

."

"But if he is, he's down there in a crime scene

jammed

with evidence against us

."

For the next hour or so, we talked about what to do.

We ate more cheese and crackers and drank more rum

and Coke. Though I made the drinks light, I

felt a little high by the time we were done talking.

In my bedroom, we got dressed. I had enough

clean clothes for both of us. Eileen wore her own

shoes, but brown corduroy trousers that belonged

to me, and the same dark blue sweatshirt that I'd

worn during my adventures the night before. I

dressed myself in a chamois shirt, jeans and the

Reeboks.

I decided to leave my wallet behind, but I

pocketed my Swiss Army knife. As I took

my five-inch Maglite off the night stand, Eileen

said, "Too bad you didn't have

that

with you

."

"Didn't know we'd be going under a bridge

."

"Is this the best flashlight you've got

?"

"The only one I've got. It's pretty good,

though

."

I found a dark blue knit cap for Eileen, a

Yankee ballcap for myself.

"What about gloves

?"

Eileen asked.

"Ball mitts

?"

Like I said, I'd had a few.

"Like rubber gloves or something. Dishwashing gloves

?"

I shook my head.

"Glove gloves

?"

she asked.

I shrugged.

"What do you do in winter

?"

"Put my hands in my pockets

."

"Ah. Then that's it, I guess

."

With that, she pulled her hat on.

We went to the door. Before opening it, I turned

to her. "We sure we wanta do this

?"

"I think we have to

."

She looked very cute in the stocking cap, her hair

stuffed inside it so that she looked boyish. She had

a pale crumb of Ritz cracker at the left

corner of her mouth, adhering to the down above her lip.

With a fingertip, I brushed it away.

She leaned forward and gave me a kiss that was brief

but soft and warm.

"Let's get it over with," she said. "I don't

want to be late for my ten o'clock

."

"I hope that's a joke

."

"No joke

."

"Whatever we're gonna do," I said,

"we'd better have it done before sunrise

."

"Oh, I know that

."

She opened the door.

We had the hallway to ourselves. On the way

downstairs, I worried about encountering the Fishers.

We found their door shut, however, and hurried past

it and got out of the building without being seen.

We had already decided on a route . . . one that

would keep us at least a block from campus until

the very end.

We walked quickly.

A cool breeze was blowing. It had the strange,

moist smell that only comes 'in the dead waste and

middle of the night

."

I'd been out on the streets

last

night at this hour, and later. In trouble even then, but

in more trouble now.

What the hell's happened to my life? I

wondered.

The answer was easy.

Holly.

Holly had broken my heart. She was why I'd

started my night wandering. She was why Eileen had come

into my life, and Eileen had drawn in Randy and led

me down into the darkness under the bridge where the trolls

got us ... and I got one of them.

Thanks a lot, Holly.

But maybe it's more Eileen's fault than

Holly's.

Eileen's only in this because Holly dumped me.

Maybe I ought to be

thanking

Holly for bringing Eileen into my life.

Maybe not.

One thing's for sure, I thought; Holly deserves

credit for the mystery girl. I never would've seen her

if Holly hadn't smashed my world.

I

wonder where she is?

Probably a few miles to the north.

Strolling down a sidewalk? Sneaking into a house?

Maybe keeping her rendezvous with the tequila

drinking woman I'd watched in the kitchen?

What if Randy gets his hands on her?

It's Eileen he wants.

Too bad, asshole, the trolls beat you

to the punch.

No, they only tried.

Where's

Randy

now? I wondered.

Right behind us.

Wouldn't that be terrific?

I had an urge to look over my shoulder, but fought

it off. For one thing, Eileen would question me about it. For

another, what if he's actually back there?

As I walked along beside Eileen, I felt more and

more certain that someone was following us.

I dared not look back.

Words from a poem crept into my mind:

"Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in

fear and dread, And having once turned round walks

on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows, a

frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread

."

How apt! I thought.

Wordsworth? No, I'd never read much Wordsworth

till this semester. Poe? I didn't think so.

I'd memorized several of Poe's poems, but this

didn't seem to be from any of them.

Coleridge!

Almost for sure.

It felt

like Coleridge. I knew only three Coleridge

poems by heart, "Christabel," "Kubla

Khan," and "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

."

This definitely wasn't "Kubla Khan

."

I gave Eileen's hand a squeeze. She looked

at me, and I recited the verse.

"Thanks for creeping me out," she said, smiling.

"It just popped into my head

."

"Can't imagine why

."

"Does it ring a bell

?"

" "It is an ancient Mariner, and he stoppeth

one of three.""

"Ah! Okay. Thanks. I thought it might be

"Christabel.""

" "Mariner.""

"I should've known

."

""Instead of the cross, the Albatross

about my neck was hung

."

his

"Nice poem for a night I killed someone

."

Eileen squeezed my hand. "If he's dead,

we'll deal with it

."

"If you say so

."

"One way or another

."

"What do you mean

?"

I asked.

"Well, we'll have to see what's feasible. Maybe

we can take him for a drive, dump him somewhere

outside of town. Maybe in Gunther Woods

."

"Is your car working

?"

"Got a new battery. It's fine now. I've

been thinking maybe we bring him up closer to the

road, then go get my car and put him in the trunk

."

I imagined us trying to carry the dead, naked bum

up to the road.

Without gloves.

"I don't know," I muttered.

"We'll see," said Eileen.

After taking a very circuitous route, we came upon

the Old Mill Stream a block east of the

Division Street bridge. As we descended its

embankment, I realized I'd forgotten for quite a

while to worry about anyone following us.

Nobody was following us, I thought.

Oh, yeah?

Now I was worried again.

When we reached the shore of the stream, I whispered,

"Let's wait here a minute and make sure

nobody's coming

."

"Was someone behind us

?"

"Not that I know of. Just wanta be careful

."

Nodding slightly, Eileen whispered, "Nothing

wrong with a healthy dose of paranoia when returning

to a crime scene

."

We crouched among some bushes. Eileen put an

arm across my back, and I could feel her breast against

the side of my arm.

Breath tickling my ear, she whispered, "If

somebody's following us, I hope it ain't one a

them frightful fiends

."

"You and me both

."

For a while after that, we were silent and listening. I

heard the breeze in the leaves around us. I heard a

car, but it sounded far away. Now and then, a bird

twittered. An owl hooted. Something small

scurried over the ground somewhere up the embankment from

us.

I was aware, every moment, of Eileen's breast touching

my arm. I could feel its warmth through the layers of

my shirt and her sweatshirt. I felt its slight

movement each time she breathed in or out.

Is she doing this on purpose to get me excited?

I wondered.

At least it's taking my mind off our troubles.

"I don't think anyone's coming," she whispered.

"Ready to go

?"

"Might as well get it over with

."

When we stood up, the side of my arm lost her

warmth and felt chilly.

I took the lead. We walked along a path by the

shore of the stream. Though I held my flashlight

ready. I kept it off.

We walked in silence.

Soon, the Division Street bridge came

into sight. The area underneath it looked black.

We can't go under there, I thought. The others might've

come back by now.

At least I've got a flashlight this time.

Not very far from the bridge at all, I stopped and

studied the area. Because we were approaching from the

opposite side, everything looked much the same, but

reversed, as if I were observing my memories of

earlier that night in a mirror.

It was different in other ways, too. No lovers were

lingering by the parapet. No cars were going by. And the

approach to the blackness below the bridge was more

cluttered with foliage than it had been on the

opposite side.

To enter, we would need to force our way through tangles

of bushes. Or wade in the stream.

Either way, I thought, they'll probably hear us

coming.

I turned to Eileen and whispered. "How about calling

it quits

?"

"How about going to jail

?"

"I just think we might be pressing our luck

."

"Just think how great we'll feel after it's taken

care of

."

"I don't know. I have a bad feeling about this

."

"It'll be fine. We've got the flashlight

."

"Yeah

."

"If anyone's in there . . . anyone

alive . . .

we'll take off like bats outa hell

."

"I suppose

."

"It'll be all right

."

"I sure hope so

."

"Why don't you give me the flashlight and I'll

go first

?"

"Nah, that's all right

."

Not waiting for any more suggestions, I turned away

and headed for the dark passageway under the bridge.

I felt tight and heavy inside. My heart

hammered. My penis retreated and my scrotum

shriveled. My bowels squirmed.

This is

not

a good idea, I thought.

But I kept moving, anyway.

Being a guy isn't always a picnic. To keep

women from thinking we're jerks or cowards -- and

consequently scorning or dumping us

- we do what they want us to do. Even when we

don't want to do it. Even when we know better.

I knew

this

was a bad idea.

But I'd already voiced my objections and Eileen still

thought we should go through with it.

Okay. Let's just see.

I started trudging through a waist-high thicket. It

snagged my jeans, rustled and crackled. Dry

leaves crunched under my shoes. Twigs snapped.

They'll hear us coming a mile away.

I halted. Eileen put a hand on my back and

stopped behind me. I turned the flashlight on.

Its beam drove a narrow, widening tube of brightness

into the black, lighting air and ground, the stream,

rags and an old mattress and mashed cans and

broken bottles.

But no naked man sprawled on the ground.

No people at all.

Until I swept the beam a small distance to the

left. Near the far end of its reach, it dimly

illuminated a low, squatting circle of men.

Hairy, filthy, bloody.

All of them looking at us.

Chewing.

Blood spilling from their mouths.

Behind my back, Eileen grunted with shock and

despair and horror as if she'd just watched a panda

get beheaded.

I shut off the flashlight fast.

Eileen whispered, "Fucking shit

."

Whirling around, I gasped, "Let's go!"

They didn't get us. I don't really think they

tried very hard. We heard them scurrying and grunting

behind us for probably less than a minute. When we

climbed the embankment, they apparently quit. . .

not willing to risk being seen by whomever else might be

up and about at such an hour.

Eileen and I kept running. We ran for blocks

and blocks, gasping for breath, often glancing back,

our shoes slapping the pavement of sidewalks and

streets. A few times, we ducked out of sight

to hide from approaching cars.

Mostly, though, we just kept running. I hardly

paid attention to where we were . . . just so we were running

away

from the bridge. Then Eileen hit my arm and pointed

across an empty parking lot toward a

Speed-D-Mart and laundromat, both open

24 hours a day.

"Come on," she gasped.

As we ran through the parking lot, I thought she wanted

us to go inside one place or the other ...

to get off the streets and hide? Then I spotted

our destination; a pair of pay phones between the

entrances.

The narrow walkway in front of them was empty.

Unusual, I thought.

Though I'd been disoriented for a while, I now

knew where we were. I'd used this

Speed-D-Mart myself many times. And there were usually

panhandlers loitering nearby, shuffling along with hands

out, murmuring requests for money.

Not tonight, though.

Bet I know where

they

are, I thought. Having a little midnight snack.

It's way past midnight.

Instead of snatching up one of the phones, Eileen

turned around and slumped against the wall. She panted

for breath. She wiped her face with a sleeve.

"You okay

?"

I whispered.

"You kidding?

Jeezus!

You see what they were doing

?"

"I think so

."

"Jeezus!"

"Well, we left "em in the dust

."

"They were

eating

him

."

"Looked that way

."

"Yaaahr

"It's all right. We got away

."

"We've gotta call the cops," she gasped.

"Maybe they can get "em

."

"I hope so

."

"It's okay with you

?"

"Yeah

."

"I don't think we ... need to worry about . . .

getting blamed

."

I nodded. Any evidence of me or Eileen at the

crime scene would be insignificant, if not

obliterated entirely by the gang of trolls.

"I'll do it," Eileen said. She pushed herself off

the wall and lurched over to one of the phones.

"I don't think we have any change," I said.

"Doesn't matter. You can . . . don't need it

to call the cops

."

"Oh

."

I hadn't known that.

She picked up a handset and tapped nine-one-one

on the keypad.

"Anonymous

?"

I asked.

She nodded. "Is this a bad idea

?"

"I think we have to

."

"Yes," she said into the mouthpiece. "Somebody's

getting murdered down by the Mill Stream under the

Division Street bridge

."

She hung up. "There

."

She picked up the handset again. Holding it in the

sleeve of her sweatshirt, she quickly rubbed its

surfaces. Then she hung up again. With a sleeve,

she wiped the keypad. "Let's get out of here

."

We ran around the nearest corner and down the block.

After turning the next corner, we slowed to a walk.

We were both huffing for air. Eileen took hold of

my hand. We walked quickly, not talking, keeping

watch on the area around us.

Once, we hid when a car approached. We

didn't hide again, however, until we were just around the

corner from my apartment. Beside us was the churchyard's

wrought-iron fence. "Let's go in here," I

whispered.

Eileen looked behind us.

"Come on

."

I pulled her hand.

"What

?"

"Just wanta make sure

."

I thought she might resist, but she stayed with me as

I led her through the gateway of the old cemetery. The

church in front of us looked dark at every window. The

graveyard was illuminated only by the dim glow from

nearby streetlights. Through

the bars of the fence, I could see the sidewalk where

we'd just been.

"What're we doing

?"

Eileen whispered as we hurried among the

tombstones.

Most of them weren't large enough for us to hide behind.

"Here

."

Near the fence was a vault the size of a small shed.

We crouched down behind it.

"What're we doing here

?"

Eileen asked again.

"Just want to make sure nobody's following us

."

"Did you see anyone

?"

"No

."

"Thank God for that, anyway

."

In silence, she looked around the graveyard. We

had our backs to the vault, but both of us were

squatting like catchers behind home plate, not leaning

against it.

Though I didn't watch the sidewalk, we were near

enough to hear anyone walking by.

Or pedaling by?

It isn't the bike hag I'm worried about, I

thought. It's the trolls from under the bridge. Or

Randy.

"We could've picked a different place,"

Eileen whispered.

"Sorry

."

"Bone orchards aren't my idea of a good time

."

"Lots of good hiding places, though

."

"Yeah. No telling who

else

might be hiding here

."

"We'll be fine," I told her.

We went silent. She put a hand on my back.

It felt warm through my shirt. After a while, she

said, "I wonder what's happening under the bridge

right now

."

"Cops must be there

."

"Yeah

."

"Hope they went in force

."

"The trolls are probably long gone

."

I nodded, certain Eileen was right.

"Think they were really eating him

?"

she asked.

"Looked that way

."

"How

could

they

?"

"It happens

."

"Right under the bridge? That's on

campus,

for godsake

."

"It probably doesn't happen every night

."

"Nobody's

missing,"

she said. "Not that I know of. We'd hear about it if

anyone disappeared

."

"Maybe they only eat their own

."

"Ooof

."

"Anyway, maybe that's

not

what we saw. We only got a glimpse

."

"I guess it'll be on the radio first," she said.

"The radio gets everything first

."

"Can't wait

."

"Whatever happens," she said, "we play

ignorant

."

"Right

."

"The cops have no reason to suspect us of anything

."

"We're a little beat up," I reminded her.

"If they question us, we'll give them the story we

gave Kirkus. But they won't. Nobody'll

even notice we're banged up except a few

students and maybe some faculty, and we can tell

them anything we want

."

"Sounds good

."

"But we'd better work on the story we told

Kirkus. Come up with details so we'll be able

to get our stories straight

."

"Where'd we say it happened

?"

I asked.

"Let's wait till we get inside

."

"Sure

."

"Can we go inside

now?"

"Maybe give it a few more minutes

."

"I have to pee

really

badly, Ed. And I'm wearing your pants

."

"Ah. Okay. I guess we can go in

."

We stood up and looked around. Then, holding hands,

we walked through the graveyard to the place where we'd

entered. I leaned out the gateway.

Nobody was in sight.

So we left and went around the corner and past the

front of the church and up the walkway to the front

door of my apartment building. I unlocked the

door. We went inside.

The Fishers' door was shut.

The upstairs hallway was dim and deserted. I

unlocked my door and we entered my room. When the

door was shut, Eileen wrapped her arms around me

and whispered, "Safe

."

When I woke up Thursday morning, I raised

my head off the pillow and looked at the clock on

the nightstand.

10:32

I rolled the other way. Eileen's side of the bed

was empty.

Considering what we'd been through last night, I'd

thought she might cut her ten o'clock class. She

must've gotten up and gone to it, though.

I imagined her sitting at a desk in the English

building. I wasn't sure which class she had, so

I didn't imagine a teacher. Just Eileen sitting

there, her face bruised and scratched. I pictured

her rubbing her eyes. Yawning. How much sleep

did she get, maybe three hours?

I wondered what she was wearing. Had she gone back

to the sorority house for clean clothes of her own?

Or did she go to class in my corduroy trousers

and sweatshirt from last night? With no bra on?

Imagining her breasts loose under the sweatshirt, I

started getting hard.

No panties, either?

A troll got her panties.

Trolls suddenly swarmed through my mind,

sickening me, scaring me, shrinking me. Knowing the

torment would continue so long as I remained in bed,

I threw the sheet aside and climbed out.

As I put my robe on, the comfortable aroma of

coffee reached me. Eileen must've brewed a pot

before leaving.

I went into the bathroom, used the toilet, then

hurried to the kitchen. On the table, a sheet of lined

notebook paper was standing up like a pup tent. The

side facing me had handwriting on it.

I picked up the paper and read it:

Dear Eddie,

As you may have realized by now, I decided not to miss

my ten o'clock class. We must keep up appearances

so as to avoid arousing suspicion.

We ought to go about our respective lives as if

nothing has happened. (in other words, you should

attend your regular classes, too.)

For the sake of not drawing any undue attention

to ourselves, I think it would be best if we stay apart

for a period of time, Let's give our faces an

opportunity to heal before we allow ourselves to be seen

again side by side.

This won't be easy, but I think it might be the

smart thing to do, as we do NOT want anyone

to suspect we were involved in any way with what

happened last night.

I will miss you so much, Eddie. Please do not

mistake this note for any sort of "brush-off

."

In no way am I trying to dump you. I feel so

very good when we're together.

Hope you sleep late and wake up missing me.

Talk to you later.

All my love, Me PS Burn after reading.

I smiled when I read the PS. Then I filled

a mug with coffee, sat at the table and read her

note again. It made a lot of sense to go about our

lives as if nothing were wrong. It also made sense

to stay away from each other until our faces looked

better.

But her denial that this was a 'brush-off made me

worry that it might be exactly that, or a

preliminary move in that direction.

Why did she even bring it up?

Just to reassure me, probably. Just to remind me

that she's not Holly.

Several times, I reread the line, "I feel so very

good when we're together

."

She'd closed the letter, "All my love

."

It's pretty obvious how she feels, I thought.

She loves me. She doesn't want to stay away

from me, just thinks it's necessary to avoid arousing

suspicion.

Unless she's lying.

She's not lying, I told myself. She's not

Holly. If I start thinking they're all like

Holly, I'm screwed.

Eileen means what she says.

Probably.

I hid her note, then came back into the kitchen,

turned on the radio and poured myself another mug of

coffee. Rush Limbaugh was on, talking about

Bill and Hillary and obstruction of justice.

We'd done a little obstructing of our own, I

thought... at least to the extent that we didn't

report everything we knew. We'd conspired to do more,

but the trolls had saved us from that.

Oughta send them a thank you.

Dear Friends,

Just a quick note to express my gratitude for the

way you all

pitched in and cleaned up our mess last

night. Next time, I'll

provide the wine. Perhaps a nice Merlot.

Bon appetit!

Eddie

I smiled, but felt raunchy about it.

Next time?

There won't be a next time, fellows. You're

probably all in jail by now.

Rush's program broke for news, weather, and a

load of commercials. I sat at the table and stared

at the radio, listening, hardly daring to breathe.

The news at the top of the hour regularly covered

major latebreaking stories on the international,

national, state and local levels.

For a local story, half a dozen homeless guys

cannibalizing one of their pals under a campus

bridge ought to qualify.

There was no mention of it.

At six minutes after eleven, the break ended and

Rush came back.

I gaped at the radio.

How could they not cover a story like that?

All sorts of possibilities swirled through my

mind: the cops had kept quiet about it (possibly

to avoid freaking out the good citizens of

Willmington); nobody had been sent to the scene in

response to Eileen's call; she hadn't actually

talked to a 911 operator; the cops had gone to the

wrong bridge; or they'd gone to the correct

bridge, but found no mutilated body, no

evidence of murder.

Another possibility: a couple of cops

might've gone to the correct bridge and gotten

ambushed by the trolls. I strongly doubted that one,

though. The dispatcher would've known where they went. If

they failed to report in, all sorts of back-up

would've poured into the area.

The news story then would've been enormous.

So what

is

going on? I wondered.

I had a couple of hours before my Shakespeare

seminar, so I decided to head for campus early and

do some looking around.

It was a wonderful October day, chilly and fresh,

sunny, the air carrying a scent of woodsmoke.

I wore jeans and a chamois shirt,

my Yankees cap and sunglasses. The cap and

sunglasses made me feel like a cliche1. They

did, however, conceal some of my injuries.

Most of the people I passed on my way to campus and

then through the quad paid no attention to me: they were

hurrying toward urgent destinations, or ambling along

and chit-chatting with friends, or dwelling deep in their

own thoughts of glory, disgrace, nooky, or what have

you. A few of them noticed me and nodded. I nodded

and smiled in return.

Walking through the campus, I looked for signs that

an alarming story was on the loose. I saw only

the usual. Some students and faculty bopped along

eagerly. Others seemed blas`e". This one looked

frantic, that one smug, this one blissful, that one

petulant, this one cheerfully confident.

Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to be going on.

Then Stanley Jones came striding my way. He

was a fellow English major, so we'd been in

several classes together. I'd even visited his

apartment a few times last year when we were

collaborating on a project about Edgar Allan

Poe. He lived on the same block as

Kirkus. Therefore, he couldn't reach campus without

crossing Division Street.

As he approached, I said, "Hey there, Stanley

."

Though he'd been looking glum, he

raised his head and smiled when he heard my voice.

"Hey, Ed

."

"How goes it

?"

"SOS

."

(translation: "Same old shit

."

were Then his eyebrows flew up. "What happened to

you?"

"What do you mean

?"

"You get stomped or something

?"

""My head is bloody, but unbowed.""

"Shit, man

."

"Actually, I crashed and burned playing

Frisbee yesterday. Ran into a tree

."

"It messed you up, man."

"You should've seen the tree

."

Stanley laughed and shook his head. Then

he frowned. "Hey, tough about Holly

."

I hadn't expected that. It felt like a heat bomb

exploding in my chest. "Thanks," I muttered.

"Really sucks

."

"Yeah

."

"Shit

."

"Yeah

."

Grimacing, he said, "But you know what they say:

can't live

with

"em, can't shoot 'em

."

I'd heard it before, but I laughed a little anyway.

Then I asked, "Who says so

?"

Which got a pretty good laugh from Stanley.

"Right on," he said. "Anyway, I gotta

haul ass over to the library. See you later, huh

?"

"Right

."

"Watch out for low-flying aspens

."

"Good one, Stan

."

He continued on his way.

Tough about Holly.

Thanks for the reminder, pal.

He was just trying to be nice, I told myself. But

I felt the loss of her all over again for a while.

It might've lasted a lot longer, but the bench came

into sight.

The bench, nearly hidden among the trees, was where

Eileen and I had left our books last night before

descending the embankment and going under the bridge.

Give it a quick look, make sure we didn't

forget anything.

I started toward it, then changed my mind.

I've gotta act like everyone else. The worst thing

I can do is draw attention to myself.

I stayed on the walkway and continued striding along

as if I had someplace to go. Someplace east of

campus. Someplace on the other side of Division

Street.

I looked straight ahead. I looked

to my right. I looked up and down. But I didn't

look to the left.

Not until I stood at the curb of Division

Street.

Before crossing, a person is

supposed

to look both ways.

I did so. And when I finally turned my head to the

left, I saw not a single police car.

No cars or vans or trucks or vehicles of

any kind at all were stopped on the bridge or

anywhere near it.

I saw Eileen once that afternoon. I was on my way

to Shakespeare, climbing the stairs toward the

second floor of the English building when she came

trotting down the stairs, her books and binders

hugged to her chest.

She was indeed wearing my university sweatshirt and

corduroy trousers. No hat, no sunglasses.

She'd made no attempt at all to hide her

injuries.

She had one black eye. She wore a small

bandage above her left eyebrow, another on her right

cheekbone, another on her jaw. She had a

swollen, split lip, a bruise on her

chin and a bruise on her left cheekbone.

When we converged on the stairway, others were above and

below us. She met my eyes, flashed me a quick

smile and trotted on down. I felt a soft

puff of breeze as she passed me.

I wanted to turn around and watch her a while

longer, but resisted the urge.

The afternoon edition of the local newspaper mentioned

nothing about a murder under the Division Street

bridge or anywhere else in town.

The five o'clock news said nothing about any killing

whatsoever in the peaceful community of Willmington.

What gives? I wondered. It

did

happen, didn't it?

At about seven o'clock that evening, I was studying at my

kitchen table when the telephone rang. I jumped.

My heart lurched. Frightened, I hurried to the

phone and picked it up. "Hello

?"

"Hi, honey

."

Eileen's voice.

Honey.

"Hi. How's it going

?"

"I don't know. Not bad, considering. Strange,

though. I'm glad I at least got to

see

you today

."

"Same here. You had my clothes on

."

"Hope you don't mind

."

"I like it

."

"They're nice and comfy. My own things are all

messed up . . . what's left of them. I threw

them in your hamper, by the way

."

"Fine. Maybe I'll do a wash tonight

."

"Do you know how to get bloodstains out

?"

"Not exactly

."

"Maybe I'd better take care of it

."

"Coming over

?"

I asked.

"Not tonight. Did you read my note

?"

"Yeah

."

"I think the less we're seen together, the better.

I mean, we're both pretty messed up. Our

faces

."

"What've you been telling people

?"

"My boyfriend beat me up

."

"Huh

?"

She laughed. It sounded good. "What about you

?"

she asked.

"I've been saying Kirkus tried to bugger me

."

She laughed even harder. "Oh, that's awful,

Eddie. You should be ashamed of yourself

."

"Oh, I am, I am. What I

actually said is that I ran into a tree chasing a

Frisbee

."

"That's pretty good. In my story, I fell out

of a tree

."

"What were you doing in a tree

?"

"A kid's kite got stuck in it. Over at the

park? So I climbed up to set it free for him

."

"That was very heroic of you

."

"I know. I'm a wonderful person

."

"We both have a tree motif," I pointed out.

"Great minds," she said.

There was a pause.

"So," she said, 'd you suppose anyone's listening

in

?"

"Not likely

."

"Not that it matters. I mean, we didn't really do

anything wrong. Right

?"

"Right," I said.

If you don't count me probably killing a guy.

Plus a small conspiracy to destroy the evidence.

"Have you noticed," she asked, 't nobody seems

to know anything about it

?"

"I noticed, all right

."

" "Tis passing strange.""

"More than "passing.""

"Maybe the cops thought my call was a prank

."

"Maybe that's it."

"I mean, I've thought about this

a lot,"

she said, 'and nothing makes sense. I think they either

didn't

send

any cops to the bridge or the cops showed up but

couldn't find anything wrong

."

"A good chance it's one or the other," I said.

"You know . . . his Shit! This isn't good. I

wanted those guys

in

jail, you know

?"

"Me, too

."

"That bridge ... I go across it every day . . .

two, four,

six

times a day. And at

night.

Are they under there every night

?"

"I don't know

."

"I took the long way around to get home this afternoon.

I mean, I don't want to walk across that bridge

anymore. But they might be under

any

bridge, you know? And where are they during the

day

?"

"Wandering around begging for money, I suppose

."

Eileen was silent for a few seconds. Then she

said, "What're we going to do

?"

"Well, they don't seem to be grabbing people off the

streets. We would've heard about it

."

"We haven't heard about

this,"

she said.

"I know, but the guy last night was one of their own.

If a student got snatched, we'd never hear the

end of it

."

"That's true, I guess

."

"So I don't think we need to worry too much.

As far as we know, the only reason they . . .

bothered

that guy was because he was already dead

."

"If he

was

dead

."

"Yeah

."

It was nice to think that maybe I

hadn't

killed him.

stHis

never know for sure.

"So what should we do about them

?"

Eileen asked.

"Stay out from under bridges

."

"That's a given. But do you think we should try calling

the police again

?"

"If you want to. I don't see much point in

it, though. We called last night when it mattered.

If they didn't take care of it then . . .

maybe we oughta just figure they missed their chance.

At this point, we're probably better off if

they

never

find out about last night

."

"You think we should just stay out of it

?"

"Pretty much. It was one thing, you know, when they had

a chance of catching the trolls red-handed. That

won't happen now. Too much time's gone by

."

"They probably scattered right after we got

away," Eileen said.

"Right. And by now, there's been time for them to go back and

clean the place up

."

What if they left the remains of the body, cleaned

up after themselves but left Eileen's shirt and

panties there for the cops to find?

Would they be sneaky enough to do a thing like that?

"I just hate to leave it this way," Eileen said.

"What if somebody else goes under the bridge like

we did, and

they

end up getting . . . you know, attacked by those people

?"

Something suddenly occurred to me. "You know what?

"Those p8w probably stay away from there for

months.

They know they were seen

."

"That's true," Eileen said. "I bet you're right

."

"Wanta go under and look around

?"

"Oh, sure, the very moment hell freezes over

."

I wondered if I should go under just to see what they'd

left behind. The idea of it terrified me.

Not a chance, I thought.

But I

should.

I won't.

"Not to change the subject," I said, "but how

long do you want to stay away from me

?"

"I don't

want

to stay away from you at all. I just think it'll be the

wise thing to do. Don't you

?"

"I guess so

."

In a voice lower than before, she said, "I already

miss you

."

"I miss you, too

."

"We'll have to just be phone friends for a while

."

"It's not the same," I said.

"I know. I'm sorry

."

"Not your fault

."

"In a way, it is. It was my big idea to go under

the bridge last night. If we hadn't done that,

none of this would be happening

."

"It was worth it

."

She made a quiet laugh. "Think so

?"

"Sure

."

"You're so . .

."

The way her voice went, I knew she was starting

to cry.

"It's all right," I told her. "Everything's

fine. We'll just stay apart for a few days ...

till our faces heal up, right

?"

"Right," she said.

"Then we'll be back together and everything will be fine and

we'll stay out from under bridges forever

."

"Uh-uh

."

"In the meantime," I said, 'this'll give us a

chance to catch up on our studies

."

She sniffed. "And our sleep

."

"Exactly

."

By the time we hung up, we were both still in agreement

on the two major issues: we wouldn't give the

police another call and we would stay away from each

other for the next several days.

I stared at the phone and sighed.

I missed Eileen badly. I missed the sound of

her voice and the look of her and the feel of her. I

wanted her here in my apartment. Sitting on the sofa

with me. Sipping wine. Wearing maybe my robe and

nothing at all underneath it.

But since that was not to be ...

My heart racing with excitement, I went into my

bedroom and set my alarm clock for

11:00 p.m. Then I shut off the light, took

off my clothes and climbed into bed. The sheets were

cold at first, then warm.

For a while, I felt too agitated to sleep.

Too many thoughts, some exciting, some unpleasant, were

swirling through my mind.

Calm down, I told myself. Just settle down and

fall asleep and eleven'll be here before you know it.

I slept hard. When the alarm blared at eleven

o'clock, I shut it off and considered getting out of bed.

Forget it, I thought. I need a full night of

sleep. I need

several

full nights of sleep.

Anyway, it's too dangerous out there.

"And every fiend, as in a dream, Doth stalk the

lonesome night

."

I didn't know where the lines came from, but they sounded

like Coleridge.

Eileen might be able to identify them.

She's not here.

That's the point, I realized. That's why I set the

alarm, to wake me up to go wandering, to go looking for the

mystery girl.

Do I really want to do that? It's bad out there.

Too damn many fiends. I just need to go back

to sleep.

Go out tomorrow night. Better yet, don't. Who

needs it?

If I keep going out, they'll get me.

But if I

don't

go out, I'll never see

her

again.

I didn't see her last night. I won't see

her tonight, either, if I stay in where it's nice and

safe.

Suddenly, sleepy no more, excited and frightened

instead, I climbed out of bed. My room was

chilly. I shivered as I hurried into my clothes.

Downstairs, the Fishers" door stood open.

Oh, great.

What am I, their entertainment?

I ought to move out, I thought. Find myself a place

where I can come and go without a couple of spies keeping

track of my every movement.

Face forward, I raised my hand hi greeting and

walked quickly past their doorway. On my

way by, I heard Andy Kaufman doing his

Latka voice. A

Taxi

rerun.

When their doorway was behind me, I picked up my

pace. I didn't look back. As I turned the

corner to the foyer, however, my peripheral vision

picked up someone back near their room. A Fisher

. I couldn't tell which -- was watching me from the

doorway. He or she didn't speak.

Take a picture, I thought. It lasts longer.

I hurried through the foyer, worried that the Fisher

might ask me to come back.

No call to go rushing off. Come on back and chat a

spell.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I got outside. Even as I put space between

myself and the building, I imagined being called back

to their door.

Say, what're you up to, going out at this hour?

Say, what happened to your face there?

"None of your business, folks," I muttered.

You shouldn't oughta go off roaming by yourself this time of

night, I

imagined the old man warning me.

Ain't safe. That's when all the fiends come out, you

know, and they're lookin" to give you the works.

Thanks for the warning, I thought. You're telling me

nothing I don't already know.

In truth, I'd already taken certain fiends

into consideration, choosing a route that would keep me west

of Division Street until I was well north of the

bridge.

I would not only stay away from Division until I

was past the bridge, but also past the sorority house.

I didn't need memories of Holly inflicting

themselves on me. Nor did I need Eileen to look

out a window and see me walking by.

The road I followed northward was Fairmont

Street. Like Division, it passed over the Old

Mill Stream. Its bridge looked almost the same

as the other, but older and shabbier. Four light posts

were built into the parapets, two on each side of the

street. They had old-fashioned white globes

over their bulbs. All the globes were intact, but

three were dark.

No cars were coming. No people were anywhere in sight.

They're all

under

the bridge, I thought.

The Division Street bridge might've been

better than this.

I considered turning back, trying another route.

Don't be a wuss.

Approaching the bridge, I quickened my pace.

They probably

are

under this one, I thought. Or maybe hunkered down,

clinging to the other side of the parapet, waiting to leap

over and grab me when I go by.

Why don't

I

just run across it?

Not unless something happens.

As I started across the bridge, I stepped off the

curb and took a

diagonal route to the middle of the street. Then I

walked the center line to keep a lane of pavement

and a sidewalk between me and; either side of the bridge.

Space to see them coming.

Of course, I might get hit by a car. :

Nothing was coming, but that could change in a matter of

seconds. ,

stHis

have plenty of time to get out of the way.

I hurried over the bridge with long, quick strides,

swinging my arms high, watching both sides and

straight ahead, glancing over my shoulder every few

seconds to make sure I was safe from behind.

So far, so good.

I was halfway across when, a couple of blocks up

the street, headlights brightened an intersection. My

stomach tightened.

The unseen car was on a sidestreet. It might

continue straight ahead, turn left or turn right.

Only a left hand turn would bring it in my

direction.

The car stopped at the corner. I could see its

front bumper, but no more. Too many trees and

bushes stood in the way.

Couldn't tell if it was a police car.

Couldn't tell if it was a pickup truck.

If it was either, I didn't want to be seen walking

down the middle of the street. I hurried to the left.

The vehicle moved forward and its headlights swept

an arch of brightness through the intersection as it turned

left.

Not a patrol car or pickup truck, thank

God.

Some sort of dark, medium-sized van.

Hugely relieved, I hopped the curb and strode

along the sidewalk, too close to the parapet for

comfort.

Almost across.

The van was rumbling closer.

I glanced over my shoulder. Nobody was sneaking

up behind me.

The parapet ended. I'd reached the other side of the

bridge slightly nervous but safe and sound.

The van, slowing down, eased toward the curb in

front of me and stopped. In the glow from a nearby

streetlight, I could see that it was black. Its

front passenger window glided down.

Oh, God, what now?

I stopped, remaining on the sidewalk.

The passenger seat appeared to be empty. The

driver leaned toward it, looked out at me and

spoke. Because of the engine noise, I couldn't make

out her words. I shook my head.

" . . . over here," she called.

Shaking my head some more, I took a couple of

steps closer to the van.

" . , . find . . . street. . . know ... it

is

?"

Asking directions? It might be a trick.

The whole town isn't crazy, I told myself.

Maybe this person is really lost.

I stepped to the curb and leaned forward. The woman

behind the wheel had a thin, pale face. Hair as

dark and sleek as oil hung to her shoulders. She

seemed to be wearing a shiny black blouse.

"Sorry," I said. "I couldn't hear you too

well. Where are you trying to go

?"

"Why don't you climb in

?"

Confounded, I didn't know whether to be flattered or

frightened. . . or neither.

"I thought you needed directions," I said.

"Just climb in. I want to ask you something

."

"I can hear you from here

."

"Come on," she said. "What's the matter with you?

I just want to talk to you

."

"About what

?"

She unfastened the top button of her blouse.

"Get in, then I'll tell you

."

"I don't think so

."

"Please

?"

She unfastened another button. Then another.

"Scared

?"

"No

."

Then another. "I bet you're lonely, aren't you

?"

"No

."

"Walking out here all by yourself at this hour

."

"I've got to get going

."

"Why don't you just climb in here with me

?"

She slid the blouse aside.

Everybody's nuts!

I stared at her pale breast and its dark

nipple.

"Now

will you climb in, honey

?"

"Uh, no thanks

."

Through the quiet rumble of the engine noise, I heard

soft laughter. It didn't come from the woman, though.

It came from somewhere behind her in the van and it sounded like

men.

I think I squealed.

I know I ran like hell.

I expected the van to speed after me in reverse, just

as Randy had done a couple of nights earlier. Then

the gal would hit the brakes and the side door would

fly open and her hidden men would leap out and chase me

down.

Nothing like that happened.

As I dashed for the nearest corner, I glanced back

and saw the van take off ... driving forward, its

doors still shut. be

Just some sort of prank? I wondered. Give the

kid a scare?

Sure.

Afraid the van might return, I ran

across the street and around the corner and hid behind the

trunk of a tree. Several minutes to went by.

Maybe I should head for home as soon as it's

safe, I thought. One close call is enough for one

night.

And miss the girl?

I might not be able to find her, anyway. Besides,

it's not worth the risk.

What if I'd gotten into the van? His

Don't even think about it, I told myself. I

didn't

get in; that's what matters. ,

On the other side of the street, a man walked by with a

Great Dane on a leash.

That's what I need, I thought. An enormous,

dangerous dog. Keep the fiends at bay.

The man and his dog vanished around a corner, but I

remained in hiding. The van didn't return. No

other vehicles went by, either. I finally stepped

away from the tree and began to walk in the direction from

which I'd come.

Discretion being the better part of valour . . .

What is

wrong

with this town, anyway?

Maybe there's a lunatic asylum nearby and they

open its doors at night, let all the inmates

run loose in the streets.

Have a good time, darlings. Raise some hell. But you

must be back before sunrise.

Nice.

Might make for an interesting story, I thought.

Sort of far-fetched, but a situation like that would

explain what's wrong. Something

has

to be wrong with this place. Every town isn't like this at

night.

Or maybe they are.

Soon, I found myself approaching the Fairmont

Street bridge. It stood between me and home. I

looked at its empty, shadowed street, its low

stone parapets, and the darkness on both sides.

I would have to cross it sooner or later. This

bridge or another, and God only knew what

might be lurking under any of them.

Nothing will happen, I told myself.

I'd walked across such bridges hundreds of times

in the past couple of years -- often late at night

-- without any trouble.

That was before

I

knew.

We used to joke about trolls lurking under the

bridges, but we never

knew.

Well short of the bridge, I halted, suddenly

reluctant to cross it again.

Aside from whatever fears I had in regard to the

bridge, I hated the idea of being a quitter.

I'd set out to search for the girl. Was I really going

to call it quits because some creeps in a van scared

the hell out of me?

If I quit tonight, I may never see her again.

I

have

to see her, I thought. And talk to her. And find out

her name and why she roams the streets at night and

whether she's lonely and what it's like to be with her.

Shaking my head, I turned my back to the bridge

and left it behind.

I kept a sharp watch. Every so often, the approach

of a person or vehicle forced me to duck out of

sight. As time went on without any more troubling

incidents, however, my courage seemed to grow. I

spent less time hiding, more time hurrying from

block to block.

After making my way northward on Fairmont for

nearly an hour,

1 turned right on a sidestreet. I followed it

to the east and came upon Division Street, then

continued eastward until I arrived at Franklin.

As I found myself nearing region of the mystery girl,

my fears seemed to fade beneath the excitement of

possibly encountering her. Instead of watching all

around me for dangers, I watched for her.

She's

somewhere,

I told myself. If not on this sidewalk, on

another. Or she might be in one of these houses.

Or even crouching behind bushes somewhere, hiding from a

suspected threat.

She might even be hiding from me.

Perhaps I had already walked past her and she'd watched

me from the shadows.

Please don't hide from me.

I told her in my mind.

I'm nobody to fear. I would never hurt you.

At length, I came upon the house that she'd entered

on Monday night. . disthe house where, on Tuesday

night, I'd watched the tequila woman.

I looked toward the kitchen window, but it was dark.

From what I could see as I walked by, the entire

house was, dark.

At the end of the block, I crossed Franklin.

I came back on the other side of the street and

hid among bushes in a front lawn directly!

across from the house. I

My wristwatch showed 12:40.

backslash

Everyone's probably asleep in there, I thought.

But who?

The tequila woman almost certainly lived in the

house.

What about the mystery girl? I'd seen her go in,

but she'd shown up later the same night over on

Division Street. Had she only come here to visit

the tequila woman or some other member of the

household?

Perhaps, I thought. Or perhaps this

is

her house. Monday night, she might've returned

home for something that she needed, sneaked in and grabbed

it, then headed off for her main destination.

I could see a problem with that theory, though. After

watching her go in, I'd hung around for a

while, then walked to Dandi Donuts and spent time

there with Eileen . . .

Where Randy watched

us.

Don't start thinking about him. Get back to the

problem.

Where was I? The girl. The time lapse.

Between the time she entered the house and when I later saw

her on Division Street, more than an hour had

gone by.

Her two locations were only about a five-minute

walk from each other.

An hour, maybe longer, was unaccounted for.

If she'd spent it inside the house, she hadn't just

rushed in to grab something ... or change shoes or go

to the bathroom or take, care of some other simple

matter. She'd been inside too long for' anything

of that sort.

Why would someone return home in the middle of the

night, stay an hour, then leave? What did she do

in there? Take a nap? Take a shower? Bake a

cake?

Make love?

Making love in her own house, then leaving within the

hour,: didn't make sense to me.

I couldn't think of

any

good reason for her to sneak into her own house at that time

of night, stay an hour, then leave.

It's not her house?

But that doesn't mean she isn't in it. She might

be inside right now. Or she might be on her way

over.

I made up my mind to stay put. There was a good

chance she would either show up or leave before too long.

All I needed to do was wait.

I waited. And waited.

Of course, she might be fast asleep in her own

house on some other block. Or she might be having

a maple bar at Dandi Donuts or roaming along

a sidewalk miles away. She might be almost

anywhere.

What if Randy snatched her, gave her the works?

She's fine, I told myself.

Or she's dead under a bridge . . . his

She's fine.

Or captured by the van people . . . his

No. She's fine. But she isn't likely to

stay

fine if ...

I heard a distant engine. It slowly grew

louder. From the rough grumbly noise, it sounded

powerful. It might belong to a truck. Or a

pickup truck.

Randy on the prowl?

Maybe it's the van.

Though I was well hidden among the bushes, my

heart pounded hard as I watched the street in front

of me.

Headlights brightened the pavement.

A police car passed by, moving slowly.

Keep going! I

told it.

Keep going! Keep going!

It did.

When it was gone, I crouched there trembling and sweaty

and breathless.

Oughta be glad it was cops, I thought. They might be

the ones to save my ass if things go really wrong.

A lot of good they did last night.

What

did

they do last night? Did they even

look

under the bridge?

Maybe they're in cahoots with the trolls.

That seemed awfully far-fetched, but sometimes

far-fetched stuff is true.

When they pick up suspects at night, maybe

they take them underneath one of the bridges and turn them

over to the trolls.

Ridiculous. But it might make for a story.

Why would the cops do something like that? For a bottle of

wine? For a piece of the action? A piece of the

person pie?

Got it! The cops kill two birds with one stone:

they eliminate

suspects permanently, plus they keep the

trolls from going after decent folk for fresh meat.

But what do

they

get?

The satisfaction of a job well done.

I chuckled softly.

That makes

two

story ideas. Not bad for one night.

Even if I don't find the girl, this has been a

pretty worthwhile . . .

Across the street, a dark shape drifted

down the porch stairs and cut across the lawn toward the

sidewalk. Out of the shadows, the shape had a light,

springy stride. Behind it, a ponytail bounced and

swung.

I gaped at her, astonished. Though I'd hoped very

much to find her, I hadn't really expected to have an

easy time of it. The search might have taken three or

four nights, or even a week or two. It

might've taken a month. There had also been a real

possibility that I would never see her again at all.

And here she was, coming out of the very house I'd seen her

enter on Monday night.

At the sidewalk, she turned to her right and headed

north on Franklin Street. When she reached the

end of the block, I scurried out of my hiding

place.

What if tequila woman's watching?

Nobody seemed to be on the porch. The front

door appeared to be shut. All the downstairs and

upstairs windows that I could see were dark, and

nobody was visible at any of them, looking out.

If she saw me, it's too late to do anything about

it.

Staying on my side of Franklin, I walked

toward the end of the block.

Tomorrow night, she'll tell the girl.

If not sooner. Maybe she'll tell her on the

phone tomorrow. Or in class. Or at work.

Honey, when you left the house last night I

observed a stranger creep out of the bushes across the

street and commence to follow you.

In my mind, she spoke with a mellow drawl like a

Tennessee Williams character.

You'd best take care. Perhaps you should stay away from

here until the matter has been resolved.

Then again, there was no good reason to assume she'd

seen me. When the time came for the girl to leave, she

might've remained in bed. Or perhaps she had gone

to the kitchen for a nightcap.

In fact, she might've slept through everything. For

all I really knew, someone other than tequila

woman was the object of the girl's visits to the

house.

What if

that

person looked out and saw me?

Nobody saw me!

Probably not, I told myself. But if someone

did,

the girl will probably find out about it tomorrow.

Tonight might be my only chance.

I crossed the street, and we were both on the same

sidewalk.

Though we walked nearly a block apart, the narrow,

straight strip of concrete joined us.

Her pace was more gradual than mine. She strolled

along as if out for no other purpose than to savor

the night. For a while, I allowed myself to close the

gap. Then I slowed down.

As on the night of our first encounter, I felt the

strange awareness that in all the vast reaches of time and

space, she and I were now occupying the same moment and

place.

In so many different ways, we might've missed this

rendezvous.

And yet, here it was.

The forces of chance or nature or God had drawn

us together on this night of all nights of the year. With a

little help from my own determination to find her.

Now what? I wondered.

I wanted to

know

her, not just follow her.

I've gotta get closer.

How? So far, she seemed unaware of my

presence. That wouldn't last for long, however, if I

tried to catch up.

She sees me coming, she'll take off.

Not for the first time in my life, I wished I were

invisible. I would hurry up the sidewalk, stay

only a stride or two behind her for a while to watch

the way she moved, then rush ahead and walk

backward to study the front of her. Unseen, I

would be free to stare at her for as long as I wished.

I wouldn't have to go away, not even when she reached her

home. I could simply go inside and stay with her.

Perhaps she would take a bath before going to bed.

I imagined standing nearby in her bedroom while she

pulled her sweatshirt off.

Yeah, right,

I thought.

In my dreams.

On the off-chance I can't turn invisible, I thought,

what

should

I do?

Instead of closing in from behind, how about making my

approach from the front? That would be less likely

to spook her. Run around the block and get ahead of

her. Maybe even start walking

away

so she's behind

me.

Then I slow my pace. I slow it way down and

she closes in. Maybe.

Great plan, I thought. Better, anyway, than

trying to turn myself invisible.

Moving in the right direction.

Only one little problem. In putting my plan

into effect, I would make the detour and return

to Franklin Street and the girl would be gone. That's

how things work in real life.

Looked good on paper . . .

In fact, she might

not

be gone. There was a good chance she would continue to walk

north on Franklin for a while.

Not if I try to circle around. I'll lose her

for sure.

Better just to hold back and follow her at a safe

distance. See what happens. With any luck,

maybe she'll lead me to her home.

A few minutes later, she crossed Franklin

Street.

Good thing I'd decided not to circle around.

She would've been gone, just as I'd suspected.

Leaving Franklin behind, she headed westward on the

sidestreet. After she walked out of sight, I ran

across Franklin. I slowed to a casual stroll as

I approached the corner. When I came to the end

of the block, I casually turned my head to the right,

then to the left.

The sidewalk was clear.

I

lost her?

Before I had time for dismay, a stir of motion drew

my eyes to her. She was crossing the street, almost

to the other side. Fearing she might glance back, I

looked for cover. The streetlamp posts were too

narrow. So was the trunk of the nearest tree. But a

car was parked at the curb, so I rushed over and

crouched beside it.

A lousy place to hide. It offered me concealment from

the girl, but from not much else.

Peering over its hood, I saw her walk across the

front lawn of an old, two-story house by the

alley. No lights shone in any of the windows. The

porch, too, was dark.

In the glow of the streetlights, she climbed the porch

stairs. Then the shadows consumed her. I

watched for the front door of the house to open. Perhaps a

strip of gray would appear and widen, such as I'd

observed on Monday night.

Perhaps not.

I detected no sign of the door being opened or

shut.

There would be nothing to see, I told myself, if the

house is as dark inside as the porch.

Maybe, however, she didn't open the door at

all.

What if she's still on the porch?

Maybe this isn't where she lives, and she's hiding

on the porch because she fears she's being followed.

"Because she knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind

her tread

."

Caught a glimpse of me following her, maybe,

and thinks

I'm

a fiend. It made me feel ashamed.

I'm not a fiend,

I told her in my mind. I

would never do anything to hurt you. There's no reason in

the world for you to be afraid of me.

Sure, I thought. Right. No reason?

How about I'm

stalking

her? Why shouldn't she be afraid of me? For all

she knows, I might be hoping to abduct her . . .

take her into the woods somewhere (or under a bridge),

and rip off her clothes and do things to make her

scream.

I imagined her in a dark place, hanging by her

wrists, naked and writhing.

I

would never do that,

I told her in my mind.

But she had no way of knowing. She couldn't be blamed

for fearing me.

Is

she watching from the porch?

I felt terribly vulnerable, crouched beside the car.

Somebody might come along. Even now, someone in a

nearby house might be watching me. Maybe the

cops had already been called.

If they don't come out for bloody murder under a

bridge, I thought, they won't come looking for me.

Think not?

I needed to find a better place to hide. But if

the girl was watching from the porch, she would

see me abandon my place by the car and her worst

fears would seem justified. I would lose any chance

of befriending her.

She's probably in the house, I told myself. I

missed her opening the door, that's all.

But if she's on the porch . . .

I heard a car coming. It sounded far away. I

couldn't figure out which direction it was coming from.

Just what I need!

Anyone driving by on Franklin to my right or on the

north-south street to my left (its name escaped

me) would have a chance to see me hiding behind the parked

car.

But if I run off,

she

might see me.

What'll I do?

The sound of the engine grew louder.

Shit oh shit!

The parked car giving me such limited shelter was low

and close to the curb. I couldn't possibly crawl

under it, not from this side.

As headlights brightened the intersection of Franklin

Street, I lay down flat on the grass by the car

and lowered my face against my crossed arms.

Along with the engine sounds and the hiss of the tires on

the pavement, I heard familiar music. Warren

Zevon. "Excitable Boy

."

The sounds grew louder as the car moved through the

intersection.

I raised my head.

A small, pale pickup truck just like Randy's.

I dropped my head and shut my eyes. The

pickup continued through the intersection, heading south on

Franklin.

It might not be Randy's, I told myself. I

hadn't seen the driver, and he probably hadn't

seen me. There must be lots of compact,

light-colored pickup trucks in a town the size

of Willmington.

It was Randy, all right. He's cruising the

streets, looking for me. Looking for Eileen.

How about the mystery girl? I wondered. Would she

do?

It sickened me to think of what Randy might do to the

girl if he ever got the chance.

Does she know about him? Does she watch out for him?

She probably watches out for everybody . . .

including me.

Suddenly realizing that Randy (if that was him) might

circle the block and come for me, I shoved myself up

and ran. I ran across the street and across the lawn and

up the porch stairs. Breathless, heart thudding, I

halted in the darkness of the porch.

The girl didn't seem to be there. Remembering the

old man who'd frightened me so badly, however, I

tiptoed around and checked the porch swing and in all the

patches of blackness where a person might be hiding.

Nobody was on the porch except me.

Afraid that Randy might drive by at any moment,

I sank down in a dark corner with my back to the

railings.

He'll never see me here.

Listening for the approach of his pickup, I heard

only a faint

shhhh

that might've been the noise of distant engines. The

sounds were so indistinct that some might not be coming from cars

or trucks or vans. Perhaps an airplane was

going by, high and far away. Perhaps some of the sound was

the hiss of breezes passing through treetops all

over town.

Randy's pickup was certainly nowhere nearby.

Unless he'd killed the engine.

Maybe he did see me and he's coming back on

foot.

I wished I hadn't thought of that.

I sat motionless and frightened for a while, hardly daring

to breathe. After maybe ten minutes, however, it began

to seem that Randy wouldn't show up.

He probably hadn't seen me, after all Maybe

the pickup truck wasn't even his

As my fears of Randy faded, I turned my mind

to thoughts of the girl She had gone into this very house She

was somewhere inside it at this very moment

If the walls and floors were invisible, she would be in

plain sight Upstairs, probably Maybe in the

bathroom, or maybe in her bed

Had she gone to bed without washing her face? Or

brushing her teeth? Or going to the toilet?

From my corner of the porch, I should have been able to hear

water running through the pipes I'd heard nothing of the

sort

Maybe she finished in the bathroom before I came

over I'd watched the porch from across the street for at

least five minutes, maybe even ten Plenty of

time to scrub the face, brush the teeth and use the

toilet She could've done all that before I arrived

While I'd been searching the porch and

sitting in a corner and worrying about Randy, she

might've gone into her dark bedroom, taken off her

clothes, put on whatever she liked to sleep in, and

climbed into her bed

She's probably in bed right now, I thought Curled

on her side, covered to the shoulders by a sheet and

blanket Wearing what? She didn't seem like the

sort to go for a frilly nightgown or teddy More

likely, she wore pajamas or a simple

cotton nightshirt

How about nothing at all?

A little chilly for that

And so I imagined her under the covers in a white

nightshirt I could see her under there The way she was

curled on her side, half her face was buried in

her pillow and her rear end showed below the nightshirt's

hem

If I were invisible, I would sneak into the house and

find her bedroom I would stand by her bed and watch her

sleep and listen to her breathing I might even draw

the blanket and sheet carefully down her body,

let them drift to the floor at the foot of the bed in

order to see her uncovered

Her white nightshirt almost glows in the darkness Her

skin looks dusky I can see the curves

of her bare buttocks, the shadowy cleft between them

Maybe she doesn't sleep in a nightshirt, after

all Maybe she sleeps in the nude

Much better

Moaning in her sleep, she rolls onto her back

As if stumbling out of my fantasy, I suddenly

wondered if the front door was locked

The girl might've forgotten to lock it after sneaking

in. Also, from what I'd heard and read, a fairly

large percentage of people rarely lock the doors of

their cars or homes at night. Especially in

small towns.

What if this door isn't locked?

I could open it and sneak in. In the darkness of the

house, I would be

almost

invisible. I could go to the girl's bedroom and stand

by her bed and . . .

Not a chance. Not me.

But I could.

I

could

do plenty, I thought. But I'm not

going

to. I must be losing my mind to even

think

about it. For one thing, I might get caught. For

another, I wouldn't do it even if there were no chance

whatsoever of being caught.

Is that so? I thought. Then why the fantasies about

being invisible? The only reason to be invisible is

to do whatever you want without getting caught.

Well, I'm

not

invisible. If I go sneaking into the house, somebody

might catch me in the act. Clobber me. Shoot

me. Hold me for the police. And what'll the girl

think? She'll figure I'm a criminal or a

pervert. She'll

never

have anything to do with me after that.

But if everyone is sleeping and I'm very quiet. .

.

Again, I imagined myself standing over the girl's bed,

staring down at her.

I'm

not

going in, I told myself. Besides, the door's

probably locked.

If it's locked, that settles it.

That would settle it, all right. Opening someone's

unlocked door was one thing -- and maybe within the

realm of possibility -- but

breaking

in was totally out of the question.

Just see.

My fear and excitement began to grow.

No big deal, I thought. Just get up and go to the

door and see if it's locked. Why not? What's the

worst that can happen? If I get caught at it,

I can play drunk or confused and pretend I'm

at the wrong house. Anyway, it's probably not

a crime to try a door.

No crime, but wrong. I knew it was wrong,

knew it was a bad idea (like going under the bridge

last night), but got to my feet anyway. Standing

motionless in my corner of the porch, I looked around

the neighborhood. Here and there, the streets were well

lighted. Trees, however, cast shadows on the

pavement and lawns. In every direction, the lighted

places were surrounded by motes of darkness.

Anyone

might be lurking in those dark places, watching. Or

watching from behind a parked car. Or from behind bushes.

Or from inside a house across the street.

I was in darkness myself, however, and probably almost

unseeable.

So I made my way toward the front door,

walking slowly, putting my feet down gently. A

couple of times, floorboards creaked under my

weight. The sounds made me cringe, though they were so

quiet that nobody else could've heard them.

I'm not really doing this, I thought.

And yet, I was.

My journey to the door seemed to take ages. I

couldn't even see it, though I had a general idea

of where it ought to be ... a straight shot from the top

of the porch stairs.

Reaching through the darkness with one hand, I touched a

stiff, tight screen.

Two

doors, not just one. Doubles my chance of being locked

out.

Feeling my way downward and sideways, I found

the handle of the screen door.

Don't do X.

I pulled gently and the screen door swung toward

me. Its hinges, apparently well lubricated,

made almost no sound at all.

One down, one to go.

What am

I

doing?

Propping the screen door open with my shoulder, I

touched the inner door. Smooth wood, slick with

layers of varnish. Its handle felt like thick,

cool brass. With my thumb, I pressed down

slowly on the lock release. It sank down and

down and I heard the bolt slide back.

I pushed forward slightly. The door eased away

an inch or two.

Holy shit, it opens!

Now shut it and get the hell out of here!

I pushed the door open a few more inches. Though I

knew it was open, I couldn't see the jamb, the

door, or the gap between them.

Dark as hell in there.

I really

would

be invisible.

Don't even think about it.

I had never in my life entered anyone's place

without being invited. I had never cheated, never

shoplifted, never driven a car through a stoplight

(on purpose), never told a major

lie, never bullied anyone, never started a fight,

never in fact done

anything

particularly immoral, unethical or illegal.

. .

Oh, yeah, killed that guy last night.

If I

did

kill him, it was self-defense. Stabbing Randy in the

leg had been self-defense, too.

Oh, yeah, and I spied on the tequila woman.

That was pretty bad. Not nearly as bad, however, as

sneaking into a stranger's house in the middle of the

night.

Do this, I thought, and I'm really crossing a line.

And where will it end? Maybe it won't stop with watching

the girl sleep. Maybe I'll feel compelled

to remove her covers, and after that I'll . . .

No! All I'll do is look.

Don't even do that! Shut the door right now and get

the hell out of here!

Before I could pull it shut -- or open it wide --

the handle was jerked from my grip.

I gasped with surprise. So did someone inside the

house and close in front of me.

The girl?

A low, husky voice murmured, "House

inspector

."

"Huh

?"

I asked.

A hand pressed against my chest. "No need to be

alarmed," the girl said, pushing me aside. As she

stepped by me, she added, "You passed with flying

colors

."

Then she lurched forward, raced across the porch and

leaped from the top of the stairs. Silhouetted by the

streetlights, she seemed to hang in midair for a

moment, arms spread out wide, her right leg thrown

forward, her ponytail high behind her head. As she

dropped, her sweatshirt lifted, baring her

midriff.

The screen door banged shut.

Her sneakers clapped against the walkway and she

took off running for the street.

I didn't leap from the porch, but descended the

stairs in a couple of quick bounds and sprinted after her

-- chasing her, but also fleeing from the house

because someone

must've

heard the door slam.

The girl was fast. Not as fast as me, though.

I narrowed the gap between us, but didn't try to stop

her. We were still too close to the house.

We raced across a street, dashed around a corner,

ran down a sidewalk, cut across another street

in the middle of a block, then ran down another

stretch of sidewalk.

I remained four or five strides behind her,

listening as she panted for breath, hearing the smack of

her sneakers, watching her ponytail leap and swing,

her bulky sweatshirt flop, her arms pump, her

legs fly out one after the other.

It was wonderful to be chasing her. But awful, too.

She must've been terrified.

"Hey," I said.

"I didn't steal anything

."

"I'm not chasing youea8I blurted. "We're just. .

. fleeing in the . . . same direction

."

"I didn't hurt. . . anyone

."

"I just. . . want to talk

."

"Leave me alone

."

"Stop running. Please

."

"Get outa here

."

I stayed a few strides behind her until she ran

into the next street. Then I picked up speed,

caught up to her and ran alongside her. She

turned her head and scowled at me.

Even in the poor glow of the streetlights, I could

see that she looked younger than me. Maybe

eighteen, maybe as young as fifteen or sixteen.

And far more beautiful than I'd imagined.

"Can't we ... just talk

?"

I asked.

Matching strides, we leaped over the next curb.

The narrow sidewalk forced me closer to her.

"Stop, okay

?"

I asked. "You can't . . . outrun me. Why not

?"

She rammed me with her shoulder. As the impact

knocked me to the right, I reached out and grabbed a

handful of her sweatshirt. I kept hold of it as

I raced off the edge of the sidewalk. My feet

hit the lawn. My legs crossed. Then came a

wild, twisting dive.

My side slammed the damp grass. I slid,

tumbling, holding on tight to the girl's

sweatshirt, bringing her down with me. She landed on

me, squirmed and rolled off. I scrambled onto

her, sat on her and pinned her arms to the ground. She

grunted and writhed. I held on.

"N. . . gonna hurt you," I said.

"Get off

."

"Calm down. Please. Just... lie still

."

She thrashed and bucked, but couldn't throw me.

Finally, she stopped. She lay beneath me, chest rising

and falling as she fiercely panted for air.

"J. . . take it easy," 1 said. "Okay?

Not gonna hurt you

."

Gradually, she regained control of her

breathing.

"Are you all right

?"

I asked.

"Let

me up

."

"You'll make me chase you again

."

"I've had enough running

."

"So you won't try to run away

?"

I asked.

"You're too fast for me, anyhow

."

I was too fast for her, but she would probably try

to run again, anyway, if I let her up. We were

in the front yard of a house, however, quite close to the

sidewalk and street. We weren't in shadows, either.

"Look," I said, 'we can't stay here.

Somebody'll see us

."

"So let me up

."

"I don't want you to run away

."

"I won't. Okay? Let me up

."

I wanted a friend, not a captive. So I climbed

off her and stepped back. She said, "Thanks

."

Her sweatshirt was twisted and rumpled, her belly

bare. She sat up, straightened her sweatshirt,

then got to her feet. Reaching back with both hands,

she brushed off the seat of her jeans.

"I'm sorry you fell," I said.

"I didn't exactly fall, now, did I

?"

"Well, I helped

."

"You grabbed hold and took me with you

."

Reminding her that she was the one who had shoved me off

the sidewalk didn't seem like a great idea, so

I answered, "I was afraid you'd get away

."

"You claimed you weren't chasing me. We were "fleeing

in the same direction"

?"

A corner of her mouth curled up.

"Sorry

."

"You didn't want me to get away, but you weren't

chasing me. How does that work

?"

"It's complicated

."

"Why don't you just let me go, okay? I didn't

steal anything. I didn't hurt anyone. Your

family's fine

."

Not wanting to lie, I avoided the word

my

when I said, "And the house passed inspection with flying

colors

?"

A slight smile drifted across her face. "It's

splendid. Come on, let me go. Please? I can

tell you're a nice guy. You don't want to get

me in trouble, do you

?"

Ist

can tell you're a nice guy.

Maybe she'd only said it to soften me

up, but it gave me a pleasant, warm feeling.

"I don't want to get you in trouble," I said,

following her to the sidewalk. I'd like to help you,

if . .

."

"Then just let me go

."

"Tell me one thing and I will," I said. "What were

you doing in the house

?"

"Okay. But let's get away from here first

."

We walked side by side to the end of the block and

around the corner. Then she stopped, turned to me and

said, "It's sort of embarrassing. I needed a

bathroom. Very badly. I knew I wouldn't be able

to get to my own house in time. There aren't any

public facilities for miles, and I didn't

want to do it outside. That'd be too gross. So

I decided to try a house. I went to three or

four . . . they had locked doors. But yours

didn't, so I let myself in

."

"You could've rung the doorbell and asked permission

."

She grimaced. "I know. But it's ... what, about

one-thirty? Nobody wants someone ringing the

doorbell at this hour. Besides, it was so

embarrassing.

Can you imagine going to the door of a stranger's house

and asking to use their bathroom

?"

I was embarrassed to be

hearing

about it. Even though I knew she was lying, my mind

gave me images of her entering a bathroom and

pulling down her jeans. Then I remembered that

Eileen had gotten herself invited into my apartment

Monday night by claiming a need to use the toilet.

What is it, some sort of standard ploy?

Maybe it's chapter twelve in

The Girl's Guide to Male Manipulation.

("As the male animal is naturally both

embarrassed and aroused -- and embarrassed

by

his arousal -- when confronted with the elimination

processes of the female, the "bathroom8gambit

is a surefire winner . .

."

"Can you

?"

she repeated.

"Can I

?"

"Imagine the embarrassment

?"

"Oh. Sure. It'd be terrible

."

Nodding, she said, "So I just snuck in and took

care of it. All I did was use the toilet. I

didn't bother anyone. I didn't take anything.

Do you want to check my pockets

?"

She pulled her sweatshirt up a few inches higher

than the waistband of her jeans.

I saw the skin of her belly. "I don't have

to check," I told her.

"You believe me

?"

"I'll take your word for it

."

"Thanks

."

She lowered the sweatshirt. "Can I go now

?"

"If you want. I won't chase you

."

"Will

you flee

in the same direction

?"

"I

was,"

I said. "The slamming door probably woke up

everyone in the house

."

She looked perplexed.

"I don't live there

."

"What

?"

"It's not my house

."

"Not your house. Then what were you doing there

?"

"Hiding," I said, and began to walk again. She

stayed with me, walking slowly by my side.

"Hiding from what

?"

she asked as we strolled together down the sidewalk.

"A guy in a pickup truck. He's after me

."

"Why's he after you

?"

"I'm not sure, but... He saw me at Dandi

Donuts a few nights ago. I was there with my

girlfriend

."

"You have a girlfriend

."

Eileen was part of the story and had to be mentioned, but I

could've referred to her as a 'friend" or a "former

girlfriend

."

Calling her anything other than a girlfriend or

lover, however, would've been like a lie. I didn't

want to betray Eileen that way. Nor did I

wish to lie to this girl.

Plus, the mention of a girlfriend was sure to make me

seem less threatening.

Maybe it's Chapter Twelve in

The Guy's Guide to Female Manipulation.

("As the female animal naturally suspects that

all males are predators, many of their

basic fears are allayed by the belief that the man in

their presence has his eyes and penis set upon

different prey

."

were

"Her name's Eileen," I said. "We're

students at the university

."

"Willies," she said.

I nodded, smiling. I'd heard the term before: it was

what townies often liked to call us.

"Wet Willies," the girl added.

"That's us

."

"So the two of you were at Dandi ..."

"Yeah. And this guy saw us together. Apparently, he

liked the looks of Eileen

."

"Is she pretty

?"

Not as pretty as you, I thought. Would've been dumb

to say it, though. Better if she thinks I'm

totally devoted to Eileen. "Very pretty," I

said.

"So what did he do? This guy

?"

"Nothing at the time. That was Monday. We didn't

even know he'd seen us. But I went back to the

donut shop on Tuesday night and he was there. He

wanted me to take him to Eileen

."

"She wasn't with you

?"

"Not on Tuesday

."

"Why not

?"

I

left her behind so I could spend the night hunting for

you.

That would go over big.

With a shrug, I said, "She wasn't feeling very

well

."

A lie? Not necessarily. Not exactly the

truth, either. "So she stayed behind

."

"Where

?"

"In her sorority house

."

"Which one

?"

"Alpha Phi

."

The girl nodded.

"You know where that is

?"

I asked.

"I know where everything is. Everything in

this

town, anyway. So you were at Dandi Donuts without

Eileen, and this guy

"He made me go outside with him and get into his

pickup truck. He planned to drive me over

to the sorority house, and I was supposed to bring

Eileen out so he could take her off in his truck.

He said he wanted to "give her the works.""

The girl wrinkled her nose.

"But I got away from him. That was Tuesday night,

and I guess he's still after me. I saw his pickup

go by tonight, so I ran over to that house and hid on its

porch. That's why I was there when you came out

."

"You were about to go in

."

Taken by surprise, feeling caught, I felt

myself blush. Luckily, we were walking through a patch

of shadows just then. Even though the girl was looking at

my face, she probably couldn't see that it was red.

"I wanted to find out if the door was locked," I

explained.

"So you could hide from him in the house

?"

Trying not to lie, I said, "Any port in a storm

."

Before she could hit me with another question, I said, "The

guy's name is Randy, by the way. He drives a

light-colored Toyota pickup truck. You should

watch out for him when you're out at night. He might

try to get you

."

"I'll be careful

."

"My name's Ed, by the way. Ed Logan

."

"Okay

."

"It's fine if you don't want to tell me your name

."

She just looked at me.

"I guess there's no point in knowing your name,

anyway, if you're leaving

."

"I can stay a while," she said.

"Really

?"

I almost blurted,

Great!

Not wanting to seem too excited, though, I

simply smiled and said, "Good

."

"But I'm not going to tell you my name

."

"No problem

."

"You can call me whatever you want

."

"Okay. How about. .

."

The name "Holly' almost leaped out.

Are you nuts? Don't call her that!

"How about what

?"

she asked.

"Bertha

."

She laughed. "Thanks anyway

."

"Esmeralda

?"

"Give me a break

."

"Rumplestiltskin

?"

"Oh, sure

."

"I'm doing the best I can

."

"You get one more chance

."

"How about Chris

?"

I suggested.

"With a C-H or a K

?"

"C-H

."

"Not bad," she said. "But how about Casey instead

?"

"The initials or the word

?"

"C-A-S-E-ally

."

""Oh, there is no joy in Mudville,"" I

said.

She smiled. "This Casey doesn't strike out

."

I laughed. "Glad to hear it. And I'm glad you

know the poem

."

"Doesn't everyone

?"

"Probably not

."

She would be a lot more likely to know it, however,

if

Casey was her actual name. "It's pretty

popular, though," I admitted.

Up the street several blocks ahead of us,

headlights appeared.

"Uh-oh," I said.

Smiling, Casey gave me a Clint Eastwood

squint and asked, "Feeling lucky, punk

?"

"Huh

?"

"Want to ride it out

?"

"Huh

?"

As the vehicle kept coming toward us, its headlights

seemed to grow larger and farther apart.

"Ride or hide? Do we stand our ground and hope

for the best, or duck out of sight

?"

Was she serious?

"Might be cops," she said. "Might be that fellow

Randy. Might be worse. No telling what we

might get. That's part of the fun

."

"You do this a lot

?"

"All the time. Only at night, though. You'd have

to be nuts to play it in daylight

."

I laughed.

Though the vehicle was a lot closer now, I still

couldn't make out its shape. The engine sounded

grumbly and low.

If we wait much longer . . .

"What's it gonna be

?"

Casey asked.

I was pretty sure what

she

wanted. "Ride it out," I said.

"Good man

."

Grinning, she patted me on the back like a pal.

So we went on walking side by side. I felt very

brave and daring and eager to run like hell.

Casey smiled at me. "Fun, huh

?"

"Oh, yeah

."

At the end of the block ahead of us, the vehicle

came through the intersection. I could see it well in the

glow of the streetlights. It was a Jeep ... or

one of those imitation Jeeps . . . with an open top

and roll bar.

"Ah," said Casey. "It's the Wigginses

."

We couldn't see the occupants yet, so she must've

recognized their Jeep.

As it neared us, the Wigginses came into view. The

driver had blonde or gray hair in a

flat-top crew cut. She wore shorts and a

sleeveless tan shirt as if she were driving through a

desert at high noon. Her arms and legs looked

powerful. She seemed to have a tattoo on her thick

upper arm, but I couldn't make out its details.

The passenger looked like a slender replica of the

driver. She had a matching crew cut. Her

outfit was the same except for its smaller size

and the fact that her shirt had short sleeves rather than

no sleeves at all.

Going past us, the driver glanced our way. I

expected Casey to wave, but she didn't. Nor

did the driver wave at us. She simply gave us

a glance, then returned her gaze to the road ahead.

The passenger never seemed to notice us at all.

After they went by, Casey smiled at me. "That's

how we play Ride or Hide

."

"Ah

."

"It's always more exciting when you ride it out

."

"I'm sure,"

"Admit it, you liked it

."

"I'm just glad it was only the Wigginses

."

"Could've been worse," Casey admitted.

"They didn't seem very friendly

."

"We're not precisely on speaking terms

."

"Or waving terms," I added.

"Waving is against the rules

."

"Really

?"

"Of course

."

tilde

"So who are they? The Wigginses

."

"Sisters. Walinda's the big one. Linda's her

kid sister

."

"Linda and Walinda Wiggins

?"

"That's them. Ever hear of them? They used

to be pro wrestlers

."

"You're kidding

."

She shook her head. "They were in the ring for about five

years. Even won some championships. They've

got the trophies to prove it

."

"They don't wrestle anymore

?"

"They gave it up after Linda lost her arm

."

"Lost her

arm?"

I realized I'd only seen her right arm.

"Not in the ring. Here in town a couple of years

ago. Nobody knows how it happened. Walinda

drove her to the emergency room at about two in the

morning. Her left arm was gone at the shoulder

."

"Nobody knows

how

she lost it

?"

"Well, I guess Linda and Walinda

know, but they wouldn't say

."

"Weird," I muttered.

"Lotta weird stuff goes on around here,"

Casey told me.

"I've noticed

."

"Wanta know what's

really

weird

?"

"What

?"

I asked.

"They've

got

the arm. It's in their house. They keep it in like a

fish tank -- an aquarium -- only the tank

doesn't have any fish in it. Just Linda's arm. In

some sort of preservative. Formaldehyde or

something like that

."

"You're kidding

."

"I've seen it with my own eyes

."

"Holy . . . cow

."

"It's exceedingly gross," Casey said.

"I can imagine. Are Linda and Walinda nuts

or something

?"

"Either nuts or zany. Sometimes, it's hard to know the

difference

."

I could hardly believe the mystery girl and I were

walking along together, talking and laughing and she

actually seemed to like me. It may seem strange,

but even though I wanted to leap for joy, I somehow

also felt a little like crying. I struggled, however,

to keep it all to myself.

I needed to be very careful about everything I said and

did, or risk scaring her off.

As we continued our way up the sidewalk, Casey

said, "Maybe you can teach Eileen how to play

Ride or Hide

."

"She's not much of a night owl

."

"You have to get her out really late, after

midnight at the very

least,

or Ride or Hide isn't worth playing

."

"And why is that

?"

I asked.

"You know why

."

"Because that's when everyone who comes along is either

crazy or zany

?"

"Yep, you got it. Not everyone, though

."

"Not you and me."

She laughed. "Speak for yourself, Chucky

."

"It's Ed

."

"I know. Anyway, I think maybe

half the

people out at an hour like this are normal. You've got

some people, it's their job to be out. Like cops, for instance.

And truckers. A

lot

of stuff gets delivered at night. And a lot of

cleaning up gets done. And fixing up. You've got

maintenance crews on the streets sometimes, repairing

sewer lines or traffic lights, stuff like that. Then

there're also some people whose lives are reversed because

they've got a late shift or early shift where they

work. You see some of them out at night. It's sort

of like daytime for them. Plus, there are a few who just go

out wandering because they love what it's like at night

."

"Like you

?"

I asked.

She tossed me a quick smile. "Maybe.

Anyhow, that pretty much accounts for the half that

aren't crazy.

Just about everyone else is, which is why you only play

Ride or Hide at night. Somebody comes toward

you, you've got a fifty-fifty chance of running

into trouble

."

"You've given it a lot of thought," I said.

"I pay attention, that's all"

"Do you come out every night88The question was asked before I

realized it might be a mistake

She answered, though "Pretty much How about

you'""

"Off and on," I said "Not very often, really,

until this week This makes four nights in a row

His

"You're getting hooked'

"Looks that way'

"What does Eileen think about it?"

"She doesn't always know She doesn't know I'm

out tonight, for instance His

"Will you tell her about it?"

"I don't know Probably not She wouldn't be

thrilled that I went off in the middle of the night without

her She might feel left out Plus, she knows

it's dangerous And if I told her about you " I

shook my head "She probably wouldn't take it very

well'

"Think she'd be jealous9'

"More than likely His

"Even though we aren't doing anything9"

"Well, we're spending some time together and she's not

here His

"I'd better leave," Casey said She humed

ahead of me, turned around and walked backward

"Nice to meet you, though Maybe we'll

run into each other."

"No, don't go Please Not yet'

"I'd better It's been fun, though His

"How about one more round of Ride or Hide9" I

asked

"I don't know, Chucky It might be a long

wait'

"Might be a short one," I said

A corner of her mouth tilted up She kept

walking backward "I don't want to get you in

trouble with Eileen His

Maybe telling her about Eileen hadn't been such a

hot idea, after all

"There won't be any trouble," I said "She

doesn't have to know about any of this So how about it9

One more round9"

She seemed to think about it for a few seconds Then

she said, "Okay Sure As long as we don't have

to wait too long His

"Great"

She stopped and waited for me When I caught up

to her, she turned around and walked beside me "I

suppose we can give it fifteen or twenty

minutes," she said

"Do you need to be home by a certain time?"

She looked at me and chuckled "What do you think?"

"Well you're obviously not out here at

this

hour with anyone's

permission. You look pretty young to have a place of

your own, so you probably live at home with your

parents. Or parent. My guess is, you sneaked out

of the house after they went to sleep. How am I doing

?"

"Very logical," she said.

"Accurate

?"

"Maybe

."

"If I'm right, then you probably need to get

home before your parents get up in the morning

."

"Very good. I can see you're a brain

."

Laughing, I said, "Thanks. S. Is dawn your

deadline

?"

"Maybe

."

"What about school

?"

I asked.

"What about it

?"

She seemed cheerful, not at all reluctant

to discuss the situation, so I pressed on. "Are you

still

in

school

?"

"Do I look like I'm in school

?"

"Not at this exact moment. .

."

"You

are

sharp, Ed

."

"Have you got classes in the morning

?"

"Maybe. Do you

?"

"An eight o'clock

."

"Are you sure

you

have time for another round of Ride or Hide

?"

"I don't mind missing a little sleep

."

"Neither do I," said Casey. We walked along

in silence for a short time. Then she smiled at me and

asked, "Do you want to guess my grade

?"

"A-plus

."

She shook her head. "Something needs to be done about

your sense of humor

."

"Wonderful, isn't it

?"

She laughed. "Sure. If you prefer to think so

."

"You wanted me to guess your grade level? Like

freshman, sophomore . . .

?"

"There you go

."

"Well, I'd have to say you must be a senior

."

"Why's that

?"

"Your obvious maturity, intelligence and wit

."

She bounced her knuckles off my upper arm.

"Your physical strength," I added.

She laughed.

"So, am I right? Are you a senior

?"

I

"Maybe

."

"Maybe?

You aren't going to tell

?"

"You're assuming I even

go

to school

."

"You said you do

."

"Did I? Really

?"

"I thought so."

"Think again, Chucky

."

"Are you saying you

don't

go to school

?"

"Not admitting to anything

."

"How about your age

?"

"How old do you

think

I am

?"

Grinning, I shook my head. "Lotta good it'll

do. Even if I guess right, you won't admit it

."

"Are you sure

?"

I laughed. "No, I'm not sure

."

"Can't hurt to give it a try

."

"Okay. I'll say eighteen

."

"Wishful thinking

."

I blushed, taking her remark as a reference to the

state's legal age of sexual consent.

"Try again," she said.

"Younger

?"

"I'm not giving clues

."

"Okay

."

"Put your powers of reason to work

."

"Unless you're extremely mature for your age,

you're probably no younger than fifteen. You have

awfully well developed verbal skills for any

sort of teenager at all

."

"Why, I'm flattered, sir

."

"From your physical appearance, I'd say you're

definitely under twenty-one. I'd probably

rule out twenty, too

."

"If I'm under twenty-one, I'm obviously not

twenty-two

."

She grimaced. "Gripes, your humor is rubbing

off on me

."

"It's an improvement

."

She blurted out a laugh, then glanced around as if

afraid she might've given away our presence.

I looked around, too. I had no idea where we

were. The houses on both sides of the street were

looking shabbier and farther apart than those that had

surrounded us earlier. The street seemed darker. But

I saw nobody watching us, no traffic coming.

"So how about my age

?"

Casey asked in a hushed voice.

"Okay. Probably somewhere between fifteen and

nineteen. Am I close

?"

"Maybe

."

I growled. She laughed. Then she said, "Look.

You're such a brain

."

"Not really

."

"Sure you are. So try this out. Take your own

age, double it, divide by two, then subtract the

number of your feet

."

"My shoe size

?"

"How many

feet

do you have at the end of your legs

?"

"Okay

."

I gave it some thought, then gave her my answer.

"Eighteen

."

"Ah!"

"You're eighteen

?"

"Don't you remember, I told you there wouldn't be

any clues

?"

"But

the formula]"

"That was for me to find out

your

age. Which is twenty. Am I right

?"

"Right"

Casey laughed She looked wonderful laughing.

Though I ached to put my arms around her and hold her

close to me, I only smiled and shook my head

"Anything else you'd like to know9' she asked.

"As if you would

tell

me His

"Give it a try

."

"I don't have a clue in the world as to where we are

."

She looked around. "No problem. I know

precisely where we are

."

"If you're going to take off pretty soon, how

would you like to lead me somewhere familiar?"

"Where

is

familiar?"

"Well, I know Division and Franklin fairly

well

."

"Let's head back," she said. "But we'll use

a different route It's always more interesting that way His

"Good idea

."

We continued walking in the same direction. At the

end of the block, however, we turned right at the

corner. We made another right at the next

corner, too, and headed back in the direction from which

we'd come, but one street over.

"Just so you'll know," Casey said, "Franklin and

Division are straight ahead

."

"Thanks

."

"In case we get separated

."

"I hope that doesn't happen

."

"One never knows If we have to hide, we might

lose each other'

"How'll I find you again88I asked.

She turned her head and stared at me. "Maybe you

won't

."

"If you don't want me to . .

."

"We'll see

."

Don't push it, I told myself.

"Want to check out the park88she asked.

"Sure

."

"This way " We cut across the street. At the

corner, we went to the left. We followed the

sidewalk to the end of the block.

There, eater-corner from us, was what appeared to be a

public park.

We trotted through the empty intersection.

Just on the other side was a baseball field.

Nothing fancy, just a backstop behind home plate,

one small set of bleachers along the first-base line

and another set along the third-base line. The

field was equipped with banks of lights for night

games, but the lights were dark.

"I don't see anybody," Casey said. "Do

you

?"

"Looks deserted

."

"Keep your eyes open

."

We stepped around one end of the backstop.

"There's a playground over that way," Casey

said. She pointed toward the far end of the park. I could

make out the vague shapes of monkey bars, swing

sets, slides and other equipment. "Want to go

over and look

?"

she asked.

"Sure," I said.

Side by side, we walked up the middle of the

baseball diamond, over the pitcher's mound and on

past second base. The base bag was missing. So

were all the others. "I wonder where the bases go at

night," I said.

"Home," Casey said.

I laughed, but not loudly. It felt strange to be

walking across a baseball field at such an hour.

Leaving the diamond behind, we headed out through center

field. The grass whispered under our shoes. Though

there seemed to be no light except for the glow of the

moon, we both cast shadows ahead of us.

There were no trees nearby.

I looked over my shoulder just to make

sure nobody was watching us.

Casey looked, too

"So far, so good," I said.

"Hardly anyone's ever around here after dark. Not

unless there's a night game. It's too exposed

."

"I've noticed that

."

"The night loonies get nervous when they're out in

the open

."

"Night loonies

?"

"You know

."

"I guess so," I said. "The town's full of

"em

."

"Half full," she corrected me.

"Aren't you afraid of them

?"

I asked.

"They don't hurt anyone," she said.

I couldn't believe my ears.

"They

don't?"

She gave me a one-sided smile. "They don't

hurt anyone they can't

catch.

If they catch you, though, forget it

."

"What do they do

?"

I asked.

"They

get

you. And that's all she wrote. You're gone. Unless

you manage to escape. They almost got me once.

It was pretty soon after I started coming out at

night. I didn't know any better and tried

to help this guy. Must've been three o'clock in the

morning. He looked like your typical homeless

guy, going down the middle of the street with all his

stuff in a shopping cart. I was on a sidewalk and

we went past each other heading in opposite

directions. I was all set to run, but he kept

going. You know how noisy those shopping carts are

?"

"Oh, yeah

."

"All of a sudden, his wasn't. I turned around

to see what was going on, and the guy was down, just lying

there on the street, not moving. So I went running

over to see if I could help

."

She shook her head. "Stupid move

."

By this time, we'd left the outfield behind and were

approaching the children's playground area. Studying the

shadowed darkness, I saw nobody wandering about, no

strange shapes on the park benches, nobody on the

swings or monkey bars or slides or

teeter-totter or carousel, nobody anywhere else

in the area.

"When I bent down to help the guy," Casey

said, "he bashed me on the head with a bottle.

Anyway, I think that's what he did. The

seizure . . . whatever ... it'd been a fake-out

to lure me over and get me. He knocked me out.

When I woke up, I was

in

his shopping cart. It

had

been piled up to the top, so he must've gotten rid

of most of the stuff to make room for me.

Guess he figured I was a better class of

junk

."

We walked over to a swing set. Casey sat on

one of the swings. I stood in front of her, but off

to one side.

"He hadn't taken out

all

his crap," she explained. "I could feel some of it

under my back

."

"How did you fit in

?"

"It was a pretty big cart," she said. Smiling,

she pushed her feet at the ground and moved herself

back and forth a little. "I only fit in from my head

to my butt. My legs were sticking up over the top

of the basket and my feet dangled in front.

Anyway, I was pretty shocked to find myself in a

predicament like that..."

"I'll bet

."

"When you're stuck in a grocery cart, there's no

easy way

to escape. I couldn't just leap out and run

away, so I played possum

."

"You must've been scared to death

."

"I sort of was and sort of wasn't. I'd been in

some bad situations before and I'd gotten out of them in

one piece . . . more or less. So I figured

I'd get out of this one, too

."

"I guess you did," I said.

"Guess so

."

She smiled up at me. "I'm here

."

"How did you get away

?"

"Well, I kept

hoping

someone would see us and stop him. Like a cop, for

instance? I mean, nobody could exactly look at

us without seeing me in the shopping cart. He didn't

even bother to cover me. I was right there in plain

sight

."

"At three o'clock in the morning," I

added.

"Right. But it's not as if

nobody's

out at that hour. You know that

."

"I know, all right

."

"I heard a jogger once. And I thought I heard

a bike go by. Even a few cars, too. I think

the jogger and bike went right past us on the same

street. None of the cars did, but I heard them go

through intersections pretty close to us. Nobody said

anything or did anything. They just kept going

."

"Maybe they didn't see you

."

"Half of them were probably weirdos, themselves

."

I smiled. "Yeah

."

"Anyway, the guy finally got where he was taking

me. He turned the cart over and dumped me out, but

he must've already figured out I was playing possum.

When I tried to get up and run, he grabbed me and

pounded me half senseless. Then he swung

me over his shoulder and carried me down a slope.

I had a pretty good idea where we were, and

figured he was taking me down by the stream where we'd

be good and hidden. I figured he planned to molest

me, you know? For starters

."

I nodded. My mouth was dry, my heart pounding

hard.

"When we got down to where the stream was, I thought

he would throw me down and do it. I wanted him

to try. That's when they're easiest, when they're all

hot and ready to stick it in. Only thing is, he

didn't stop and put me down. Instead, he turned

and carried me along the shore. He was gonna take

me under the bridge

."

Casey frowned up at me. "One thing about

bridges, Ed. You don't want to go under them at

night

."

"I've noticed," I muttered.

"I figured I'd better do something real fast and

get away. Before

I had a chance, though, he calls out,

"Come "n get it!"

And he gets

answers

from under the bridge. Like a bunch of guys are already

there waiting for him. Maybe a couple of gals,

too

."

Shaking her head, Casey muttered, "Damn.

That

scared me. I thought my skin was going to crawl off

my bones. It scares me just remembering

."

"It scares me just listening," I said.

"Well, I wasn't about to let him take me

under

there. The way he had me, I was sort of drooped

over his back with my legs down his front, and he

had just one arm across my legs to hold me steady. His

other hand . . . well, it was feeling up my rear

end. I hadn't fought him, so far, just stayed limp and

kept my mouth shut, so he wasn't expecting

anything.

"All of a sudden, I grabbed hold of his trousers

with both hands and kicked my legs up for all I was

worth. . . like unbending myself. He couldn't hold

on. For a second, I was straight up,

teetering on the back of his shoulder. Then I

flipped the rest of the way over and dropped to the ground

behind him. I landed on my feet, but just barely. I

was so off balance I fell back against him . . . which

steadied

me

but knocked him flying. I think he actually bumped

into some of the others. Sounded like one or two of them went

down. And maybe they blocked the shore for a few

seconds so none of the others could get by very fast. I

don't know what really happened, just that I ran like

my ass was on fire and nobody ever caught me

."

"Thank God for that," I muttered.

"I don't like to think about it much . . . what they

might've done to me. I sure didn't like the way

he called, "Come and get it.8That's what my mom

used to say when it was time for supper

."

"What do you think he meant

?"

I asked.

Swaying back and forth, Casey looked up at me

and sounded almost amused as she said, "He took me

most of the way there in a grocery cart. I

guess that's a clue

."

r

Chapter Thirty-eight

"Where'd this happen

?"

I asked. "What bridge

?"

"I'm not sure. It was before I knew the town very

well. I do know backslash backslash it was one

of the bridges that crosses over the Old Mill

Stream

."

"On Division

?"

She shook her head. "No. That's right by the

campus. This was a pretty good distance to the west.

Maybe over near Fairmoni or . .

."

She mentioned a couple of other street names, but I

only heard Fairmont; the street I'd taken

north earlier that night to avoid Division.

"I live near there," I said. "Near

Fairmont

."

"Well, don't go under the bridge. I'm not sure

that's where the guy tried to take me, but it doesn't

matter much. You never know which bridge they'll be under

."

"You've studied them

?"

I asked.

"I sees what I sees

."

"You think they ... eat people

?"

She shrugged. "Whatever they can get into a shopping

cart

."

I nodded.

"At this point

."

Casey said, "you're supposed to tell me I'm

nuts. People don't eat people

."

"People eating people," I said, "isn't as unusual as

most people would like to believe

."

"Well, they seem to do it around here. The night

loonies, anyway. How about giving me a

push

?"

"Sure

."

I stepped behind Casey's swing. Bending over

slightly, I put my hands behind her shoulders and

gently pushed. She glided forward, the chains

creaking.

"Harder," she said.

When she came back at me, I thrust harder and

she went higher. I took a couple of steps away

so she wouldn't collide with me on her return.

Her back pressed against my hands and I shoved again.

"Harder," she said.

Next time, I shoved harder. My hands were lower on

her back. There seemed to be nothing between the

sweatshirt and her skin. I felt the curves of her

ribcage.

"You're doing good," she said.

"Thanks

."

Soon, I had her flying. On her upward

course, she leaned far back, pulling at the chains,

her legs out straight, her ponytail hanging toward

the ground. On the way down, she sat up

and bent her knees, bringing her feet up close to the

bottom of the swing, and her ponytail went in against the

back of her neck.

I had to keep moving farther away to avoid being

stuck. As she went higher, my contact with her back

traveled lower and lower. My open hands pushed at

her flanks, then her hips, then the sides of her

jean-clad buttocks, and then the edge of the swing

seat.

Finally, she went so high that slack came into the

chains. She and the swing fell for a moment. Then the

chains went taut, the swing lurching and jerking and going

crooked. Casey laughed. She swept downward,

twisting.

"Want me to . . .

?"

"I'm fine," she said.

I moved out of the way. Casey began to pump, and

soon she had the swing gliding along on a steady

course.

"Nicely done," I said.

"Thanks

."

"You didn't really need a pusher

."

"No, but I liked it. Why don't you grab a

swing

?"

I'd rather watch you, I thought. But I didn't say

it. Instead, I sat on the swing next to hers. The

wooden seat and cool chains felt good and familiar.

Too familiar to be memories from childhood.

I suddenly remembered that I'd been at a

playground last spring with Holly. On a warm,

scented night near the end of the semester, we'd sat

side by side on swings very much like these. Neither of us

had done any real swinging; we'd just sat and talked

softly for a very long time.

I could picture Holly sitting there in the darkness,

her head turned toward me, her hands on the chains,

her bare feet in the sand under the swing. She'd been

wearing white shorts. Her skin had seemed much

darker than the shorts.

Was

this

the playground where we'd been? I couldn't be sure.

I realized that I didn't much care.

Nor did I feel the sadness and longing and

bitterness that usually came with memories of

Holly.

"Gerrr-onimo!"

Casey called, but not very loudly.

Her voice pulled me into the present and I raised

my eyes in time to see her leave the swing at the

height of its arc. She seemed to let

go of its chains and remain high in the air as the seat

fell away from under her, twisting and flopping. After a

moment poised in midair, she dropped as if she'd

stepped off a high dive.

Legs straight, arms spread out, she plunged

toward the ground. The image reminded me of her

earlier jump from the porch. This, however, was a

straight descent and a much greater fall. Her

ponytail flipped up higher than the top of her

head. Her sweatshirt flew up to her armpits. I

saw her bare back: I glimpsed the side of her

left breast.

The ponytail and sweatshirt leaped down. Her

knees bent. As if shoved from behind by an invisible

bully, she stumbled forward very fast for a few paces

then fell to her hands and knees.

I jumped off my swing. Hurrying toward her, I

asked, "Are you okay

?"

"I'm splendid

."

She tumbled over and rolled onto her back.

Smiling up at me, she put her folded hands

underneath her head and raised her knees. "It's like

flyingea8she said.

"And crashing

."

She laughed softly. "It didn't hurt much

."

"You like pain

?"

"I'm not a big fan, but I'm not scared of a little.

It was worth some pain to fly like that

."

Smiling down at her, I shook my head.

"You think I'm nuts

."

"A trifle peculiar, perhaps

."

She chuckled. Then, in a low and raspy voice as

if imitating an old geezer -- probably one of

her relatives -- she said, "That's a peculiar

one, that Casey. Been a touch daffy ever since she

fell on her head

."

"You fell on your head

?"

I asked.

"Oh, sure," she replied in her usual

voice. "A few times. And I've gotten

clobbered on the noggin plenty of times, too. Good

thing it's so hard

."

She took a hand out from under her head and knuckled her

brow as if rapping on a door. Then she frowned.

"What

?"

"Nobody home

."

I grinned.

Casey sat up. She reached out a hand the way people do

when they want a pull to their feet. I took hold

of it. As I tugged her up, glad for the feel of her

hand in mine, I watched her face. She seemed

to be looking into my eyes.

When she was standing, I tried to let go of her hand.

She kept hold of mine. Neither of us moved. We

stood there, holding hands

and gazing into each other's eyes My heart pounded

harder and I felt a tightness in my

throat

She squeezed my hand

I started to pull her toward me, but she shook her

head and put her other hand against my chest "Just

friends," she said "Okay?"

Though I sank inside, I also felt a certain

joy that she had accepted me as a friend

"Sure," I said "Friends His

Still holding hands, we shook on it as if making a

deal "Don't look so glum," she said

"I'm not glum'

"We hardly even know each other Besides, you've already

got Eileen His

Was Eileen the

real

reason Casey intended to be 'j friends" with me?

I almost told her that Eileen and I had broken up

It wouldn't exactly be a lie, we had agreed

to stop seeing each other -- at least for a few days,

to avoid arousing suspicion about our injuries But it

would be a betrayal of Eileen A lie to Casey,

too, whether or not I preferred to call it that

Besides, maybe Casey only considered me

"safe" because of my relationship to Eileen

"I'm happy just to be your friend," I said

"Good " She shook my hand again "I'm glad that's

settled. Now we can just have a good time and stop thinking

about that other stuff'

Had

she

been thinking about that other stuff?

Obviously. I suddenly felt almost gleeful

Just as suddenly, fear swept through me

"What88Casey asked

I let go of her hand and pointed She turned around

"Where88she asked

"On the backstop His

When she saw him, she didn't make a sound, but

her head moved slightly up and down

Past the playground, beyond center field and second

base and the pitcher's mound and home plate, perhaps

three feet off the ground, someone was clinging like a

monkey to the chain-link backstop

He seemed to be on the other side of it, facing our

way

My skin crawled

"Anyone you know88Casey asked. She sounded calm

"I don't think so His

"Isn't Eileen, is it?"

"I think it's a guy

."

She turned her head and smiled at me. "I think

so, too

."

"A

big

guy," I pointed out.

"Isn't Randy, is it

?"

"Looks too big to be Randy

."

Her smile grew bigger. "Wanta go find out

?"

"Not especially. Aren't you scared

?"

"He's pretty far away. And he seems to be

happy just watching

."

As if the man had heard Casey and wished to prove

her wrong, he scurried down the backstop.

My stomach seemed to flip.

He dropped to the ground.

"Shit," I muttered.

He trotted around one end of the backstop then turned

our way and broke into a run.

"Oh, dear," said Casey. Then she faced me,

smiling, and asked, "Ride or hide

?"

"Run," I suggested.

"Good thought," Casey said. "Let's go

."

She whirled around and took off across the playground.

I ran close to her side, but slower, letting her

stay in the lead. She knew the area better than I

did. Also, I wanted to stay slightly back

to guard her rear.

When I looked over my shoulder, the man was still

chasing us. He seemed to be dressed in black,

floppy clothes. He chugged along with his head down,

his heavy legs moving fairly well for such a big

guy, his hands punching at the night. There was something

off-kilter about the way he ran. That Hemingway character

from "The Battler" came into my mind. Not Nick

Adams, but the crazy boxer, Ad Francis.

Paul Newman played him in the movie, but this

guy was a lot bigger than Paul Newman and I

had a feeling he was no Ad Francis. I

wished

he were Ad Francis.

At the other side of the playground, I

looked back again. He was still pounding after us.

Not gaining on us, though.

We leaped off the curb and took a diagonal

course toward the other side of the street. No cars

were coming. None was even in sight except for those parked

along the street and in driveways.

We ran up a driveway to the sidewalk and

swung to the right. The sidewalk was narrow, so I

dropped back. Running directly behind Casey,

I matched her stride for stride and watched her

ponytail prance.

As we neared the end of the block, I looked over

my shoulder. I couldn't see our pursuer at first.

Then I spotted him way back, pounding his way

past a teeter-totter.

"We're leaving him in the dust," I gasped.

"The game's not ... Ride or Run," Casey

said. "It's Ride or Hide

."

"Yeah, but. .

."

"Like this

."

She suddenly veered to the left. I followed her off

the sidewalk, onto the grass of a lawn,

and up half a dozen wooden stairs to the front

porch of a house.

The porch was dark. It had a swing and I hoped an

old man wasn't sitting there, watching us in

silence.

We're nowhere near that house, I thought. But I

wasn't sure. I had only vague notions about

our location.

"Be very quiet," Casey whispered. Then she

opened the screen door of the house.

"What're we-

?"

"Shhhh

."

She opened the main door.

I followed her in. Standing on the other side of the

threshold, I eased the screen door shut. Then

I stepped out of the way and Casey closed the solid

wooden door very quietly.

She took hold of my arm. I looked at her, but

could hardly see her at all.

Off to one side, a dim gray luminescence seemed

to be entering the living room through a large window. I

could make out the vague shapes of furniture over

there, but the foyer where we stood was almost

black.

Though Casey's hand remained in the same position

on my arm, I could tell that she was moving. She

pulled slightly. I leaned toward her and she

whispered, "We'll stay here till he's gone

."

Her breath was soft and warm against the side of my

neck.

"Whose house is this

?"

I whispered.

"Ours

."

The news came as a vast relief, and also brought a

sense of joy that she trusted me enough to bring me to her

home.

If she was telling the truth.

It seemed like quite a coincidence, Casey's own

home just happening to be across the street from the

playground and such a handy place to hide when we

suddenly found ourselves being chased.

Or maybe not such a coincidence. After all, ever

since I'd joined Casey, she had been leading the

way. She'd brought me into this, area of town, taken

me to the playground, led me to this house.

Maybe the man chasing us was incidental and Casey

had meant to bring me here all along.

"We'd better take off our shoes," she

whispered, her breath stroking my neck.

She let go of my arm.

Balancing on one foot, then the other, I removed

my shoes.

"Give them to me," Casey whispered. "I'll

put 'em with mine

."

I reached out with a shoe in each hand. She touched my

hands found my shoes and took them away. Stepping

by, she brushed against me.

Moments later, she took hold of my arm again.

"Let's go upstairs, she whispered.

Upstairs. To her bedroom?

What had happened to just being friends?

I felt stunned, thrilled and scared.

Calm down, I told myself. Just because we're going

upstairs doesn't mean we'll make love.

"We've gotta be very quiet," she whispered.

"Don't wanta wake anyone

."

"Who else is here

?"

"Let's take a look

."

"Don't you know

?"

"Shhhh

."

Casey in the lead, we sneaked through the foyer and

climbed a stairway. The darkness was so deep that

having my eyes open or shut made no difference.

I kept them open anyway. Casey kept hold

of my right arm. I slid my left hand up the

banister. We moved very slowly, very quietly. Every

so often, a stair creaked or groaned.

My God, I thought. I'm sneaking upstairs with

Casey, the mystery girl.

My excitement was nearly unbearable. So was my

fear.

What if her parents catch us?

What if they don't, and she takes me into her

bedroom and we make love?

What if our pursuer saw which house we ran to,

and comes in to get us?

I was pretty sure Casey hadn't locked the

front door.

I imagined the big man lumbering up the

stairs, pulling out a knife as he reached the

second floor.

Fee, fi, fo, fum . . .

Shit.

At the top of the stairs, Casey guided me to the

left. We moved along silently on the carpet.

Ahead of us, a window seemed almost bright with the gray

of the night outside. The gray seeped in, filling

that end of the hallway but dimming away as it neared us,

leaving most of the corridor black.

A growly sound sent shivers up my spine.

Casey halted.

She'd stopped us in front of a doorway. The

growly sounds came from that direction, and I realized

they were snores from someone sleeping. No, from

two

people sleeping. To our left was a doorway. The room

beyond it was slightly less dark than where we stood.

Casey pulled gently on my arm and I followed

her into the room. It had a very large bed between two

windows. The window curtains were shut, but light from

outside came through them and from spaces at their edges.

There seemed to be two people asleep on the bed. Their

heads were on pillows. One person was covered to the

shoulders with blankets, while the other,

curled on her side, had no sheet or blanket

on her at all. She seemed to be wearing dark

pajamas, but her feet were bare. The room was

chilly. I thought her feet must be cold.

I supposed these two people must be Casey's mother and

father.

Strange that she would bring me into their bedroom while

they slept.

She must have her reasons, I thought.

Though I wanted to get out of the room, Casey still

held my arm. She led me past the right side of the

bed, all the way to the window. There, she let go of

my arm. With both hands, she parted the curtains.

Light from outside poured in. At first, it seemed

so bright that I feared it might disturb the sleepers.

But they continued to snore and I realized that the light

from outside was not very bright, after all.

As Casey spread the curtains all the way open,

quiet, skidding sounds came from the top.

The sleepers went on snoring.

Casey moved sideways to make room for me at

the window. I eased over until my arm touched

hers. Looking down through the glass, we had a fine

view of the area in front of the house.

That's why she'd brought us into this room.

Except for shadowed places, the lawn and

sidewalk and road were well lighted

by streetlamps. We could even see portions of the

neighbors' property to both sides of Casey's

house and across the road.

Nobody was in sight.

Where is he?

Maybe, having no idea where we'd gone, the chaser

had run on by to search for us on different streets,

different blocks. Maybe he'd quit and wandered

off.

Or maybe he knew exactly where we'd gone.

He might be hiding down there, waiting for us to come out.

Maybe in those bushes across the street. Or behind one

of the parked cars. Or behind the trunk of the tree in

Casey's front yard. Or on the porch of this very

house,

or already inside.

If only we could

see

him!

Suddenly, I wondered if he could see

us.

Standing this close to the glass, we might be visible

to someone looking up at the window.

As if Casey shared the thought, she bumped gently

against my side. I moved out of the way. She reached

high with both hands and slid the curtains shut.

Taking me by the arm, she led me toward the bedroom

door. About halfway there, however, she stopped.

She gave my arm a squeeze, then let go. I

slowly turned and watched her drift through the darkness

to the side of the bed where the uncovered woman was

sleeping.

She draped a blanket over the woman's bare

feet.

The woman kept on snoring.

Casey came back to me. Her hand found my forearm

and she led me out of the room.

r*

She guided me down the hallway and into another

bedroom. I hoped it might be hers, but the

curtains were open. In the glow from outside, I saw

the shape of someone on a single bed beneath one of the

windows. A head lay on the pillow. The rest of the

body was hidden under a blanket.

For a moment, I thought this might be a fake person

-- a dummy put there by Casey before she crept out

of the house. But sounds of slow, steady

breathing came from that direction. Unless Casey's

ruse was sophisticated enough to include sound effects,

the shape on the bed was a real person.

Beneath the other window was a second bed. Empty.

Was

this

Casey's bed? Did she share the room with a sister?

Its blankets looked smooth and straight. If

Casey had gone to bed earlier in the night, she'd

apparently made the bed before departing for her

adventures.

Breath soft against my ear, Casey whispered,

"We'll wait here for a while

."

Then she stepped away from me and silently shut the

bedroom door.

After that, she led me by the hand to the empty bed. "Lie

down," she whispered.

Heart thudding wildly, I sank onto the bed. It

made some quiet creaking sounds. I scooted over

to the far edge to make room for Casey. On my

back, I watched her sit on the edge of the

mattress, swing her legs up, and lie flat.

She turned her face toward me. "You can take a

nap if you want," she whispered.

I found her hand and held it. She gave my hand a

squeeze.

"I don't think I can sleep," I said, hoping

my quiet voice wouldn't disturb the other girl.

"Why not

?"

"I'm a little nervous

."

"About what

?"

"Everything

."

She turned onto her side, facing me. I

turned onto my side, too. The mattress

shook slightly as she scooted closer to me. She

put an arm behind my back. I felt her breath on

my lips, her breasts touching me through soft

fabrics, the warmth of her thighs touching mine. I

reached over her side and laid my hand on her

back.

"You don't have to be nervous," she whispered.

"We're safe here

."

I almost mentioned that she hadn't locked the front

door. If I'd said it, though, she

might've gone downstairs to correct the situation.

I wanted her to stay just where she was.

"Try to sleep," she whispered.

"That'd be a good trick

."

"All you've got to do is relax. Think nice

thoughts

."

I closed my eyes. My thoughts were nice, all

right. All about Casey on the bed with me.

From the feel of her breath, her lips were only an

inch or two away from mine. I longed to kiss her,

to scoot closer and hold her body tightly against

mine, to slip a hand up the back of her sweatshirt.

Is that what she's hoping for? I wondered.

Back in the playground, she'd stopped me when I

made a move to kiss her.

Just friends,

she'd said. And,

We hardly even know each other.

And,

You've already got Eileen.

Had she changed her mind?

Not likely.

Then what're we doing in her bed?

It's just a place to stay while we wait for things

to get safe outside.

Really? The living room would've been fine for that.

But we're not in the living room, we're in her

bedroom.

Suppose she

does

want me to make a move? If I don't do it,

she'll think I'm either a chicken or I'm not

interested in her.

But she's already told me

not

to. If I go ahead and try it anyway, she'll

think I'm a jerk. I imagined her saying,

What part of the word 'no" don't you understand?

Casey would never say such a thing. No halfway

considerate person would

ever

say such a crappy thing to someone. She might like me

less, though.

"Maybe I'll try counting sheep," I

whispered.

She didn't answer.

My comment, pretty inane if I do say so myself,

hadn't required an answer. Still, her

silence seemed a little odd.

"Casey

?"

I whispered.

Her warm breath blew against my lips and chin. The

breeze went away as she slowly filled her

lungs. Then the air returned to my face.

She's asleep!

She breathed with an easy, peaceful rhythm that sounded

much the same as the breathing that came from the other bed.

How could she let herself fall asleep? She and I

were supposed to be in this together.

I felt abandoned and disappointed.

And worried.

After all, I was a stranger in this house. Casey

was my host, my guide, my protector. So long

as she remained asleep, however, I was on my own.

I

can wake her up.

The way she'd dropped off so fast, it was obvious

that she needed sleep. I probably needed it,

myself, but I was too keyed up.

I'd better

not

fall asleep, I thought.

I pictured myself waking up in daylight with Casey

in my arms, her parents and sister standing over the bed,

glaring down at me.

Wouldn't that be lovely?

It won't happen, I told myself. The moment I

start to get drowsy, I'll wake Casey up and

tell her I have to leave. She can either see me to the

door or stay here. In the meantime, I'll just let

her sleep.

But what if I drift off?

That sort of thing can sneak up on you. I might just

close my eyes thinking I'll rest them for a few

moments . . . and not wake up till six or

seven.

I thought about setting my wristwatch alarm.

Unfortunately, the watch was on my left wrist,

and my left arm was trapped underneath me. Just as

well, probably. Though the alarm's noise was a

quiet beep, it might be loud enough to wake up the

girl in the other bed.

Casey squirmed in her sleep. Her back slid

under my hand and she made a soft "Mmm" sound as

if she liked how my hand felt. When she quit

squirming, I went on rubbing her back. I

caressed her in slow, gentle circles,

making the sweatshirt move over her smooth skin.

I didn't intentionally work the sweatshirt upward.

After a while, however, it got rumpled. Feeling

my way downward, I discovered that the sweatshirt no

longer overlapped the top of her jeans. A distance of

two or three inches separated them. In the space

between them was Casey's bare skin.

I put my hand there. She continued to sleep. Her

skin felt smooth and slightly cool.

At the very back, the waistband of her jeans was pursed

out slightly. Probably something to do with the way she was

curled on her side.

I turned my hand and eased my fingers in. An inch

or so down, I felt the thin elastic band of her

panties. Keeping my fingers outside the

panties, I stroked the top of her buttocks through

the slick fabric.

Her breathing stayed the same, so I knew she still

slept.

I thought how easy it would be to slip my fingers

under

the elastic.

Just a little bit.

I knew I shouldn't do it.

What'll it hurt? She's asleep.

She'll never even know I did it.

It's wrong.

But I was already pretty excited by that point.

Unwilling to stop myself, I went ahead and snuck

my hand down under the back of her panties. I

slid my fingers slowly across her buttocks and

stroked the smooth, warm valley between them.

Casey still slept.

Fearful of disturbing her if I explored too

deeply, I kept my hand fairly high on her

rump.

When she moaned, I moved my hand higher -- and out

from inside her panties.

Moments later, her breathing returned to the slow in and

out of her sleep rhythm.

"Casey

?"

I whispered.

She didn't respond, so I slipped my hand beneath

the bottom of her sweatshirt. She felt good and

warm under there. My hand glided slowly, savoring her

smoothness and curves. I caressed her from side

to side, slowly making my way upward all the way

to the backs of her shoulders.

And now the front?

I wanted badly to do it. I was hard and aching.

My hand continued to caress her back. The way she was

curled on her side, her left breast still pushed

against me.

It's already touching my chest, I told myself.

What's the difference if it's touching my hand?

Plenty.

Underneath her sweatshirt, my hand moved slowly

downward until it almost came out. Then I eased it

up her side, feeling the curves of her ribcage.

Her arm, draped over my side, wasn't in the

way. I stopped my hand on the warm skin just below her

armpit.

She still breathed slowly, deeply.

The ball of my thumb rested against a rising

smoothness that was probably the side of her breast.

Now all I needed to do was bring my hand toward me.

Are you out of your mind? What if she wakes up?

I'll tell her I thought she was awake the whole

time.

You wanta blow everything just to cop a feel? Are you

nuts? Go find Eileen, you can mess with her tits

to your heart's content.

I didn't care about Eileen's.

I ached to touch Casey's. Especially the

one I could feel against my chest and against the side of

my hand.

If she catches me, she'll hate me.

If she doesn't catch me, I thought, I'll

hate myself. I saw nothing particularly wrong with

caressing her back while she slept -- or even

her

low

back -- but to feel up her breasts was crossing the

line.

If I don't draw the line at that, what next?

Unfasten her jeans and put my hand down the front

of her panties? Slip a few fingers into her?

I imagined myself doing just that.

Aching with lust, I gritted my teeth and slid my

hand downward, out from under her sweatshirt.

I placed my hand safely in the middle of her

back and sighed.

Casey went on sleeping.

I don't know how much time went by -- perhaps five

minutes, maybe ten -- before I realized that sounds

of slow, steady breathing no longer came from the

direction of the other bed.

Casey's head blocked my view. I raised my

head enough to see over her with one eye.

While I watched, the girl in the other bed turned

onto her side and pushed herself up on one elbow.

"Hey," the girl said, her voice a fairly

loud whisper.

Going squirmy inside, I didn't say a thing.

I didn't move.

"Is that you

?"

she asked.

Time to call in the troops. I grabbed Casey's

arm and shook it. "Mmm

?"

Lowering my head, I whispered, "She's awake

."

"Mmm

?"

"Who

is

that

?"

the girl asked. She sounded somewhat concerned, but not

alarmed.

Casey made another quiet, "Mmm," sound.

Then her lips pushed softly against mine. They were

open and warm and moist and too quickly gone.

Moaning again, Casey rolled onto her back and

turned her head toward the girl. "Hi,

Marianne," she whispered.

"Is someone with you

?"

"Yeah

."

"A

boy?"

"Yeah. His name's Ed. He's my new friend

."

"Hi, Marianne," I whispered.

"Hi, Ed

."

Casey sat up and swung her feet to the floor.

"Ed's a student at the university

."

"Cool," said Marianne.

"Marianne's in the eighth grade," Casey

explained.

"Cool," I said.

Marianne laughed softly.

"Ed's real nice," Casey explained to her,

"but he already has a girlfriend so I guess I'm

out of luck

."

"I wouldn't say that," I whispered.

She looked around at me, then stood up and moved

silently across the floor to Marianne's bed. There,

she said, "How're you doing, honey

?"

"Oh, not so bad

."

Casey bent down over the bed. She put her arms

around the girl, who then reached up and embraced her.

They clung to each other and didn't let go. After a

while, someone began very quietly to sob.

"It's all right," Casey whispered.

"No it's not

."

"Sure

."

"I thought. . . you weren't coming back

."

"I'm here

."

"Thought you . . . didn't care about me ...

anymore

."

"I'll always care about you

."

"But you . . . didn't come

."

"It hasn't been that long, has it

?"

"Yes it has

."

"A week

?"

"Longer," Marianne said, and sniffed. "Almost

two. Twelve nights

."

"I'm sorry

."

"I've missed you so bad

."

"I've missed you, too

."

"Then why didn't you

come?"

"I have lots to do

."

"Was it "cause of him

."

"No, no. I only met Ed tonight. But

I have lots of places I need to go. I come here as

often as I can

."

"I wish you'd come more

."

"I know. So do I. But I'm here now

."

"Yeah

."

They released each other. Marianne scooted over.

Casey lifted the covers and crawled into the bed.

After a few minutes, she eased herself out of

Marianne's bed and came toward me. By the sounds

of the breathing I heard, Marianne must've fallen

asleep.

Bending over me, Casey whispered, "We can go now

."

I made my way slowly across the mattress. Then

Casey took my hand and pulled. I stood up.

Keeping hold of my hand, she led me out of the room

and down the dark hallway to the top of the stairs, then

down the stairway.

At the bottom, we put on our shoes. Though I

expected Casey to lead me straight to the front

door, we turned away from it. In a

corridor that was nearly pitch black, she

whispered, "Do you want to use the bathroom

?"

"Here in the house

?"

"Yeah

."

I had to go fairly badly, but I said, "I

don't think so

."

"Okay. I'll be right out

."

She let go of my hand. I heard a few soft

footfalls. Then, just to my right, a door bumped

quietly shut.

A moment later, a strip of yellow light appeared

across the bottom of the door.

Maybe this

is

her house, I thought.

From the sound of her urine drilling the water, she

must've had to go very badly. It went on for a long

time. After it stopped, I heard a faucet come on.

She was washing her hands, but she hadn't flushed yet.

Under the circumstances, maybe you

don't

flush.

She opened the door a crack. The bathroom light

was still on. Her face close to the crack, she

whispered, "You sure you don't want to go

?"

"I'm sure

."

She nodded, then stepped away from the door. After the

toilet flushed, she came back and turned off the

light. I heard the door open. She found my arm,

then my hand. Her hand felt cold from the faucet.

Instead of turning us around and heading for the front

door, she led us toward the back of the house. The

carpet ended. In the vague light from the windows, I

saw cupboards, counters, a stove and a

refrigerator.

"Thirsty

?"

Casey asked.

"I don't think so

."

"Hungry

?"

"Shouldn't we get out of here

?"

"Why

?"

"This isn't really your house, is it

?"

While she continued to hold my hand, her free hand

patted me on the chest. "So that's the problem

."

"Yeah

."

"Don't worry about it

."

"It isn't your house, is it

?"

"Not exactly

."

"I didn't think so

."

"But we've got permission

."

"Whose

?"

"Marianne's. We're like her guests

."

"What about her parents

?"

"They're asleep

."

"God, I hope so

."

She laughed softly.

"Do they know you sneak into their house in the middle of the

night

?"

I asked.

"God, I hope not

."

She patted my chest again, then released

IT

my hand and walked over to the refrigerator. She

opened it. Light flooded out. Looking over her

shoulder, she asked, "What'll you have

?"

"Nothing

."

"A Coke? A beer

?"

"No! Are you nuts? We've gotta get out of

here

."

"How about a maraschino cherry

?"

"No!"

She removed a jar of the bright red cherries from a

shelf in the refrigerator door, unscrewed the

lid and held out the jar toward me. "Come on, help

yourself

."

"It's stealing

."

"Nah

."

I shook my head and refused to take a cherry, so

she turned away and set the Lid down on a shelf

inside the refrigerator. Going into the jar with her

thumb and forefinger, she pinched a long stem and lifted

a cherry out of its clear red juice. She let a

few drips fall into the jar, then tilted back her

head, opened her mouth and lowered in the cherry. She

brought her teeth closer together. A small tug

jerked the cherry up against them and the stem came off.

She chewed and I heard the wet squishy sounds and

could almost taste the cherry's sweetness.

I liked maraschino cherries very much, but not

enough to take one that didn't belong to me.

"I

know

you want one," Casey whispered.

"No thanks

."

"Come on

."

She inserted her thumb and forefinger again and fished for a

stem. "It's okay with Marianne. She says I

should make myself at home

."

"But her parents

."

"The hell with them. They're creeps. They're

horrible to her.8She caught a stem and lifted out a

cherry. Holding it above the jar. she whispered,

"Open up

."

I opened up and tilted back my head. Casey

raised the cherry above my mouth. Then she teased me

with it, bumping it against my lips a few times before

lowering it into my mouth. I brought my teeth closer

together and she plucked the stem off. The loose cherry

rolled around inside my mouth. I got it

between my molars and squeezed it a little. It felt

springy. Juice seeped out of it. Then I chomped

and the cherry exploded, flooding my mouth with sweet

juices.

"You've eaten of the forbidden fruit," Casey

whispered. "Now your ass is doomed

."

I almost burst out laughing. I fought it back, though.

"Thanks a lot," I said.

Laughing softly, Casey screwed on the lid and

returned the jar to its place on the shelf of the

refrigerator door.

"Now can we go

?"

I asked.

"Whenever you're ready, Eddie

."

She shut the door, and darkness clutched the kitchen.

t

The kitchen had a door to the back yard, so we used

it. After the darkness inside the house, the night

seemed very bright. We stood on the elevated deck

just outside the door and looked all around.

No sign of the man who had chased us.

No sign of anyone else, either.

We descended a few stairs to the yard, then went

around the side of the house. At the front corner,

we stopped in the shadows and stood motionless for a long

time.

Nobody was in sight.

"I guess the coast is clear," I said.

"Looks that way

."

Still keeping careful watch, we made our way to the

sidewalk. "I'll stick with you for a while

."

Casey said. "Then maybe we'd better call it

a night

."

"You have lots of other places to go

?"

She took hold of my hand. We started walking

toward the end of the block. "I have certain things

to do," she said. "Places I go

."

"Like Marianne's house

?"

She shrugged. "Marianne's my friend. I visit

her when I can

."

"Not often enough

."

"Her house came in handy, didn't it

?"

Nodding, I asked, "Does she leave the front

door unlocked for you

?"

"Doesn't have to. Her parents never lock it

."

"They have no idea you sneak in

?"

"Haven't got a clue. If they ever found out, they

would

start locking the door. Not that it'd keep me out

."

"You also go through locked doors

?"

She beamed a smile. "They're my specialty

."

"You're a very bad girl

."

Her smile went slightly crooked. "Think so

?"

"Not really

."

"Good. I don't think so, either

."

"How come locked doors are your "specialty"

?"

"I'm good at opening them

."

"And going into places where you don't belong

?"

"People don't necessarily lock their doors to keep

me

out. They're

more worried about burglars and killers and other

assorted denizens of evil

."

"Or maybe to keep out everyone who isn't

invited

inside

."

She smiled at me. "They might invite me in if

they knew me

."

"I'm sure they would

."

"Marianne would

."

"Not her parents, though

."

"Not hardly. But you can't please everyone, and I

don't even try. That's a nice thing about night

roaming; you're mostly on your own and don't have

to deal with people. You can watch them. You can hide from them.

You can even get to know them pretty well if you

want, but they never have to know

you

."

"Like going around invisible

."

"Precisely

."

"And being invisible, you make a habit of sneaking

into people's houses

?"

Her smile broke out again. "It's been known

to happen

."

"Why do you do it

?"

"Why not

?"

"It's against the law. It's dangerous

."

"It's exciting

."

"Is that why you do it

?"

I asked.

"I just do it. I like to do it and I do it.

You

did it tonight. What'd you think

?"

"I thought you lived there. In fact, you

said

it was your house

."

She gave my hand a squeeze. "I was speaking

figuratively, college boy

."

"How is someone else's house yours

figuratively!"

Not even pausing to consider her answer, she said,

"It's

like

mine while I'm in it

."

Laughing, I said, "That's a stretch

."

"Perchance

."

Suddenly, a thought struck me with concern and sorrow.

"Do you

have

a home

?"

"What makes you ask

?"

"You're roaming around all night, obviously going

into

other

people's homes

."

"Does that mean I don't have one of my own

?"

"It might

."

"But not necessarily

."

"Where

do

you live

?"

Her smile died. "Wherever I want

."

"You don't

have

a place

?"

"Of course I do

."

"I mean a place of your own. Not somebody

else's house. Your own house or apartment or

something

."

"Maybe I do and maybe I don't

."

"You don't," I said.

"Think not

?"

"Where are your parents

?"

I asked.

"Who says I have any

?"

"Are you an orphan

?"

"That'd make them dead

."

"So you

do

have parents

."

"Somewhere

."

"But not here

?"

"Let me ask

you

something," she said.

"Okay

."

"Do you want to see me tomorrow night

?"

"Sure

."

"Why

?"

"Why? Because . . " Be careful, I warned myself.

"I like being with you

."

"Why

?"

"I don't know. Because you're interesting. And funny

."

"Isn't Eileen interesting and funny

?"

"Sort of. Not like you, though

."

"But she's your girlfriend. You said so yourself. Don't

you want to be with

her

tomorrow night

?"

"Which night is that? This is already Friday morning .

.

."

To me, it's still Thursday night

."

"When does it become Friday

?"

"Sunrise

."

"So "tomorrow night8is Friday night

?"

"Exactly

."

"I'm free," I said.

"What about Eileen? Friday night, shouldn't you be

seeing your girlfriend

?"

Oh, boy.

"We agreed to stay away from each other for a few

days

."

"How come

?"

I wanted to tell Casey the truth. Easy enough

to explain about getting attacked and probably

killing a guy and the rest that happened Wednesday

night; my real problem would be admitting that I'd

gone under the bridge to have sex with Eileen.

"I think I mentioned she hasn't been feeling very

well

?"

Casey nodded.

"It's probably nothing serious, but she doesn't

want

me

to catch it. So we definitely won't be getting

together tomorrow night

."

"Are you sure you didn't have a fight with her

?"

I frowned and said nothing.

"You look like you were in a fight with

somebody

."

I

almost cringed. I'd forgotten about the bruises and

scratches on my face. "Oh, that," I said.

"You didn't beat her up, did you

?"

"No!"

"What happened to you

?"

Stalling, I shrugged. Then I thought of something.

"There's this guy I know, Kirkus. He's a real

jerk

."

So far, I wasn't lying. "We're both on the

staff of the university's literary magazine. We

get together a couple of times a month to read the

stories and poems that people submit. Anyway,

Kirkus read this story of mine . .

."

"You wrote it

?"

"Yeah. Anyway, Kirkus read it and said it was

lousy. "Pedestrian and sophomoric, full of

gratuitous violence and sexea8he said. So I

called him a tight-ass, illiterate old prig

and one thing sorta led to another

."

Still the truth. "Next thing you know, I said something he

really

didn't like and he punched me in the face. So I

punched him

."

I smiled and shook my head. "It was all pretty

dumb. We threw a lot of punches and both of us

got bruised up a little. It was no big deal

."

All

the truth.

But it had happened the previous May.

"So you and Eileen didn't have a fight

?"

What if Casey sees her?

We

didn't

fight.

"No," I said. "We've never had an actual

fight

."

"Do you ever hit girls

?"

"Not if you don't count Kirkus

."

"I thought he was a guy

."

"Nobody's absolutely sure. Anyway, I

think Eileen's just down with a bug. Like maybe the

flu or something

."

"What happens when she gets well

?"

I took a few moments, trying to think of a good

answer. Then I said, "She's never up past

eleven or twelve, anyway. And she lives over

at the sorority house, not with me. So I can come out

whenever I want to

."

"On the sly

?"

"She doesn't have to know everything I do. We're not

. . .

engaged or anything. We haven't even been going

together all that long

."

"How long

?"

Since Monday night. And this was Thursday night,

by Casey's calculations.

"Well," I said, "we got to know each other

last spring, but we didn't really start going together

until this semester

."

"So that makes it okay to see someone else behind her

back

?"

"I'm not exactly

seeing

you. We only met. . . what, a couple of hours

ago

?"

"But we're getting together tomorrow night, aren't we

?"

"I hope so

."

"Will you tell Eileen about it

?"

"Probably not

."

"So you

will

be seeing me behind her back

."

"Yeah, but we're not doing anything

."

"We're doing something

."

"Well, yeah, but not-"

Casey stepped up against me, wrapped her arms

around me and kissed me on the mouth. As the kiss

went on, I put my arms around her. We were

pressed tightly together. I could feel her breasts and

ribcage against my chest, her belly against mine, the

curve of her mons pushing against my crotch.

Her mouth eased away. "Are we doing anything yet

?"

"Sure are

."

"Just so you know," she said. Then, "See you tomorrow

night

."

"You're leaving

?"

She walked backward, smiling. "Going, goinggg.

. dis8She whirled] around. As she ran down the

sidewalk, she called over her shoulder

"Gone!"

"But where'full . .

."

. . . she dodged out of sight behind a hedge . . .

" ... we meet

?"

She didn't answer.

I ran past the hedge, but she wasn't there. I

couldn't see her anywhere.

"Casey

?"

I called.

She didn't answer.

I wandered around looking for her, thinking that perhaps she was

playing a small prank and might turn up again.

Finally, I realized she was gone for the night.

Giving up, I took a few moments to figure out

which way to go for Division Street, and commenced my

journey home.

A few times, I had occasion to play Ride or

Hide. Each time, I hid.

I watched from my hiding places.

A police car cruised by. So did a moving

van. And Linda and Walinda Wiggins in their

Jeep. (why were

they

still out?) But I didn't see Randy's pickup

truck or the van I'd encountered at the

Fairmont Street bridge.

A guy in a sweatsuit ran down the middle of the

street alongside his Doberman, which may or may

not have been on a leash. I heard the tinny rattle

and clank of a shopping cart somewhere nearby, but saw

neither the cart nor the person pushing it.

I didn't see any trolls at all ...

'night loonies," as Casey called them.

I didn't see the bike hag, either.

Most of all, I didn't see Casey.

When I came to the Franklin Street bridge

over the Old Mill stream, I ran across it.

Soon after that, I was safe inside my apartment.

After a couple of hours of sleep, a shower and a cup

of coffee, I left the building to head for my eight

o'clock Romantic Literature class and found

Eileen coming up the sidewalk toward me.

I felt a moment of alarm. But she

looked cheerful. Seeing me, she smiled and waved and

quickened her pace.

It was a windy autumn morning. Her thick hair

blew, some of it flying across her face. She wore

a green sweater, a plaid skirt and green knee

socks. Her breasts went up and down inside the

sweater with the motions of her walking. The wind flung

her skirt against her legs.

She looked wonderful.

Except for her face. Even her face, however,

looked better than when I'd seen her yesterday

morning. She still had bandages above her left

eyebrow, on her right cheekbone and on her jaw, but

her eye and lip were less puffy. Nor did her

bruises show. I guess she'd covered them with

makeup.

"Good morning," she said.

"Hi

."

"Surprised to see me

?"

"Yeah

."

Surprised and disoriented. Though I'd only been

with Casey for a couple of hours last

night, Eileen now seemed a little foreign to me:

bigger, heavier, older, more steady and mature, more

stable, less dangerous and less exciting.

All she carried was the purse hanging from her

shoulder. When she opened her arms, I swung my

book bag down to the sidewalk. We embraced.

She squeezed herself against me and I felt the soft

push of her breasts. Her cheek was cool against my

face.

"I've missed you so much," she whispered.

"Me, too

."

Then I added, "Missed you

."

Then she eased her hold, moved her face back and

kissed me on the mouth ... a gentle touch to avoid

hurting her split lip. Stepping away, she said,

"I just thought I'd come by and see you safely to your

eight o'clock

."

"Good deal

."

I shouldered my book bag and we started walking.

"Anything going on

?"

I asked.

"Not a thing. It's like nothing ever happened Wednesday

night

."

"Let's hope it stays that way

."

"I'm halfway thinking nothing

did

happen. Except I can feel the aftereffects.

And

see

"em when I look in a mirror

."

"You're looking a lot better

."

"You, too. But I still

feel

like a disaster

."

"You got it a lot worse than me," I said, and

wondered again if her injuries included rape.

"The worst part was staying away from you yesterday. I

hated

that

."

"Me, too

."

"And I got to thinking it was really sort of pointless.

I mean, what've we got to hide

?"

"Murder

."

"You didn't murder anyone. Even if you

did

kill that guy, it was self-defense. But there

doesn't seem to be any sort of investigation going

on. I don't think they've even found his body.

As far as the cops go, nothing happened. So I

don't know if we really need to stay away from each

other any more

."

"I don't know," I said. "People see us side

by side, they've gotta figure we got hurt

together

."

"We have our tree stories," she said. Though she

smiled, she looked troubled. Apparently, she had

expected me to go along with her new idea.

It took me a few moments to remember the tree

stories. "I ran into one chasing a

Frisbee, and you fell out of a tree rescuing a

kitten

?"

"A kite

."

"Yeah. In my professional opinion as an

amateur writer, the two stories are somewhat

lame and marginally believable, taken separately.

Put them together, though, and nobody'll believe them

."

"Do you really think it matters

?"

"It might matter if the body turns up

."

"Maybe," she said. "But Kirkus saw us together

right after it happened, anyway. He knows we got

beaten up

."

"He won't tell

."

"He won't

?"

"Nah. If he thought I killed someone, the last

thing he would do is turn me in. He might threaten

to, but he wouldn't actually do it. He'd

keep what he knows a secret and try to control me

with it

."

She smiled. "You really think so

?"

"Pretty sure

."

"Why on earth would he do that

?"

"He's got the hots for me

."

"Wooo!" she blurted, and laughed. Then she said,

"You're awful."

"I might be awful, but I think I'm right. He's

careful not to let it show too much

"Disguises it with overt hostility

?"

Eileen suggested, smiling and nodding.

"Exactly

."

"I'd never thought of it that way. I've always just seen

him as a self-important pain in the ass, but you

might be right

."

"If I am, we probably don't need

to worry about Kirkus tipping off the cops

."

"He might do it in a fit of jealous rage

."

"Nah

."

"Or good citizenship might overcome his lust for you

."

"I doubt it

."

"Anyway," said Eileen, 'x's a moot point

since there's no body and no investigation

."

"Yet," I added.

"I don't think there

will

be. Those awful creeps under the bridge must've

done something . . . hidden the body somewhere . . .

maybe buried it.

"Or devoured it completely," I threw in.

"All but the bones

."

"Even

the bones, maybe. Dogs eat bones down to nothing

."

"Ug

."

Closer to campus, the streets and sidewalks were

busy with students and faculty members. I

recognized most of them. So far, however, nobody

seemed to be paying attention to Eileen or me.

"Maybe we'd better split up," I said.

"Do we have to

?"

"If we don't, we'll have to start fielding questions

about our faces. And it's the sort of thing people will

probably talk about and remember

."

"I don't think it'll matter

."

"I'm the one who killed the guy

."

"You don't know that for sure

."

"Let's just play it safe. Okay? Just for today,

let's keep our distance. It's Friday, so we'll

have the whole weekend to heal up some more before everyone

starts seeing us together

."

We both stopped at the corner.

Eileen's smile was gone. "You think we should stay

away from each other till

Monday?"

"It might be a good idea. Just to play it safe

."

Frowning, she asked, "Is something going on

?"

"It was your idea in the first place, you know. Staying

away from each other till our faces heal.

Remember your note

?"

She nodded, but she didn't look happy.

"And we discussed it last night

."

"I know," she said.

"I thought we'd agreed that we shouldn't be seen together

for... I don't know,

several

days

."

"I guess we did," she admitted.

"So if we just wait till Monday . .

."

"Being

seen

together isn't the same as

being

together. We can still be together if nobody's around to see

us, can't we? What would that hurt

?"

My chances of being with Casey tonight.

Realizing I was in hazardous territory, I said,

"You're right," and tried to look pleased. "The thing

is not to be

seen

together. So how about coming over to my place later on

?"

"You don't sound very sure

."

"No, I'm sure. Yeah! It'll be great.

We'll need to stay in, but. .

."

"No problem

."

She seemed happier. "I tell you what; I'll

bring everything over. Drinks, food. You won't have

to do anything but be there

."

"Great!" I said.

"What time should I come by

?"

The earlier, the better.

"How about five

?"

"You got it. See you then

."

Smiling, she whirled around and went striding off down

the sidewalk, hair and skirt blowing in the wind.

I muttered, "Just great

."

Kirkus intercepted me as I walked past the

student union. Raising a hand, he called out,

"What ho, Eduardo!"

Speaking of the devil, I thought.

I wasn't surprised to see him, though; like me,

he was in Dr Trueman's eight o'clock Romantic

Lit class. More often than not, he met me along

the way to it, suddenly popping out of a door or out from

behind a nearby tree as if he'd been waiting in

ambuscade.

"Hey there, Rudy," I called to him.

He came striding toward me, bouncing on the balls

of his feet. Around his neck was a tangerine-colored

ascot. He wore his usual corduroy jacket,

blue chambray shirt and blue jeans.

Though just about everyone else on campus lugged book

bags on their shoulders, jaunty Kirkus carried

a large leather briefcase.

I hadn't seen him since Wednesday night, but

I'd spoken badly about him much more recently ...

to both Casey and Eileen. He had no way of

knowing about any of that. I felt a little guilty,

anyway.

"How you doing

?"

I asked as he caught up with me.

"Tip top, old bean

."

"Glad to hear it. No trouble with the ruffians

Wednesday night

?"

For a moment, he seemed at a loss. Could he

possibly have forgotten the incident? Before I had a

chance to kick myself for mentioning it, he tipped back his

head and said, "Ah! None at all. No, indeed,

I glimpsed neither hide nor hair of the

hooligans. I'd rather hoped to retrieve

Eileen's blouse, but they must've gone off with their

prize

."

He looked pleased, no doubt with his choice of

gone off.

"And how fares the fair Eileen

?"

he asked.

"Fairly well

."

He rolled his eyes upward to disparage

my

word play.

"She's improving," I added.

"Looked as if she'd had a bit of a rough go

."

"She's pretty embarrassed about the whole thing

."

"Eileen embarrassed? I say,

you

were the chap without the shirt

."

"Right. By the time

you

saw us

."

"Ah, yes. You'd lent your garment to the damsel.

Quite the chivalrous gesture, what

?"

"I couldn't let her walk around half naked,"

I said. Discussing the matter with Kirkus made me

feel squirmy, but I had a plan growing in my

mind. "After those creeps tore off her blouse, she

was . . . she had nothing on up there

."

"Braless in Gaza, was she

?"

Nodding, I said, "Must've been six or seven

guys got to see her ... you know

."

"Her precious boobies

."

"I shouldn't be telling you this

."

"Oh, please do

."

"They touched her, too. Some of them . . . you know .

. . felt her up

."

"Oh, dear. Before or after they whizzed on her hair

?"

I'd forgotten that part of Eileen's story.

"Before," I said. Shaking my head, I

went on. "She's

really

embarrassed by the whole episode. She doesn't

want anyone to know about it. If people hear about that sort

of thing, they picture it in their minds. And they

talk. Pretty soon, everybody's thinking about

Eileen without a top on and guys groping her and

pissing on her and all that

."

"Quite so

."

He smiled. "I'm thinking about it even as we speak

."

Maybe he's not so gay, after all.

I said, "Eileen sure doesn't want everyone

on campus picturing her like that

."

"Certainly not

."

"So maybe you could just forget you saw us

."

"Hardly possible, dear fellow, to forget such a

rare and wondrous sight

."

Wondrous sight? 7 was the shirtless one.

"Okay," I said, "you don't have to

forget

it. How about just keeping it to yourself? Eileen and I would

both be very grateful

."

The corners of Kirkus's mouth turned upward and

his eyes sparkled. "Mum's the word, old sport

."

With that, he pressed his lips together and locked them with

an invisible key. He tossed the key over his

shoulder and brushed off his hands.

"Thanks," I said.

"You're quite welcome, really

."

"And don't let Eileen know we had this talk,

okay? She'd be really upset if she found out

I'd blabbed to you

."

"Righto

."

He clapped me on the back.

Side by side, we climbed the concrete stairs

toward the side entrance of the English building.

Suddenly I noticed, a few steps above us, the

backside of Horrible Hillary

Hatchens. Her head with its pixie haircut

looked very small up there. She wore a white

pullover sweater, a tight gray skirt, and

cowgirl boots. For a woman with such a slight

build, she had a remarkably broad rear end.

Luckily, I wouldn't be sitting in her class again

until the following Tuesday, which seemed like years

away.

As Hatchens entered the door at the top of the

stairs, Kirkus asked, "When shall I join you for

dinner

?"

"Dinner

?"

"How about tonight

?"

"I'm seeing Eileen tonight

."

"Splendid! We'll make it a threesome!"

The top stair had a dip worn into its concrete by the

tread of countless feet. It was generally considered

special. I considered it mostly a safety

hazard, and carefully stepped around it.

Inside, the building smelled like floor wax and

old wood. It was also quite dark. Daylight

had a way of refusing to enter the old windows.

I spotted Hatchens strutting down the first-floor

hallway. She seemed to be predominantly

butt.

Kirkus and I started climbing the stairs toward the

second floor. The stairwell above us appeared

to be deserted. The way sounds traveled and

reverberated, however, voices and tramping feet and the

creaking sounds of stairs and banisters seemed to be

coming from all around us. Kirkus's voice joined them.

"Dinner

?"

he asked.

"What about it

?"

"You, me and Eileen. Tonight

."

I shook my head. "I don't know if she'll like

that idea

."

"Oy, vaht's not to like

?"

he asked, switching from his phony British voice

to his phony Jewish-mother voice. Kirkus was a

man of numerous, if feeble, talents.

"A nosh, a nosh, my kingdom for a nosh!"

"Jeez

."

"Your shiksa, she von't even know I'm there

."

"Yeah, right

."

"So, vee haff a date

?"

"Now you're starting to sound like a Nazi

."

"Yah? Vee haff

vays

to make you talk, yankee dog!"

At the top of the stairs, we turned to the right and

headed down a wide hallway toward our

classroom. The hall was nearly deserted. I

glanced at my wristwatch. Five till eight.

Though class rarely began on time, most of the other

students were probably already seated and ready.

"Zo," said Kirkus. "Dinner tonight

?"

"I guess so, but only if you swear you'll never

tell anyone about Eileen ..."

"Unt her vunderbar boobies unt zee

pee in her hair

."

"Right

."

Smiling, Kirkus patted me on the back.

"I'm quite looking forward to our engagement, Eduardo

."

"My place at five

."

"And your place is where

?"

I told him the address. "Do you know where that is

?"

"I'll find it

."

"I'm sure you will

."

I hardly dared hope otherwise.

Stepping aside, I let Kirkus enter the

classroom first. I followed him through the doorway.

Just as I'd thought, nearly everyone had already arrived.

There must've been fifteen of them. They were gathered rather

loosely at the seminar table, some talking to friends, a

few using the time to catch up on Wordsworth, some

drooping in their seats as if barely

conscious.

"What ho!" Kirkus greeted the whole gang.

He was ignored by many, groaned at by several. A

few other students rolled their eyes upward in

despair.

""Awake!"" Kirkus proclaimed.

""Arise! Or be forever fallen!""

"You and the horse you rode in on," muttered Connor

Blayton, a gruff and whiskered aspiring

playwright.

I went to my usual place on the left side of the

table. My chair was between Stanley Jones and

Marcia Palmer. Stanley smiled at me as I

pulled my chair away from the table. "How goes it,

man

?"

I asked.

"SOS

."

"You said it

."

I sat down. "Good morning, Marcia

."

Not looking away from her open book, Marcia

nodded.

"Is that the one where he wanders lonely as a cloud

?"

I asked.

"Grow up," Marcia said. She wasn't among

my fans.

"I'm working on it," I said.

"Work harder

."

"Pithy

."

She turned her head and scowled at me. She was a

senior, probably the smartest of all the current

English majors, beautiful and blonde and a

grade-A bitch. At the moment, she looked ready

to seethe. "What did you say

?"

she asked.

"Pithy

."

"That'd better be what you said

."

"It thertainly ith what I thaid

."

"Know what

?"

"What

?"

"Get fucked

."

I gave her my warmest smile.

"Cretin," she muttered, and turned away.

"That hurt," I said.

She ignored me.

Into the room bounded Dr Trueman,

silver-haired, ruddy of cheek, dressed in a

trim tweed suit and red bowtie. He carried a

weathered brown briefcase with wide leather straps and

large buckles. Stopping at the head of the table, he

regarded us with his sparkling eyes. "Fresh faces,

newly scrubbed! Youth! Passion! Love!" He

fixed his merry eyes on me. "King Edward of

Willmington!"

"Sir

?"

"For godsake, what befell your face

?"

"Mayhem, sir

."

"I hope you saw to it that your enemy paid dearly for his

insolence

."

"I destroyed him entirely, sir

."

"Bravo!" Dr Trueman plonked his

briefcase on the table and applauded me. So did

about half the students in the room, while others

shook their heads and rolled their eyes. Marcia

hung her head and shook it slowly. Kirkus was

among those who joined the applause.

Only I knew I'd told the honest truth.

About halfway through Dr Trueman's class, I

realized that I'd invited Kirkus over to my

apartment for a supper that was being provided by Eileen.

stHis

bring everything over,

she'd said.

Drinks, food.

She would bring them for two, not three. And she

wasn't likely to be delighted by the presence of

Kirkus.

She needed to be told of the additional guest.

Warned.

Around noon, I saw her at a distance. I

didn't call out or go after her, though. For this sort

of news, I preferred the telephone.

Back in my apartment shortly after three o'clock that

afternoon, I made a call to Eileen's room. I

hoped to get her answering machine, but she picked up

the phone herself.

"It's meea8I said.

"Hi, me

."

"About dinner tonight. .

."

"Uh-oh

."

"I'm afraid Kirkus has invited himself over

."

"Kirkus? Are you kidding

?"

"It's sort of an extortion thing. I had a little

talk with him about Wednesday night and he agreed

to keep his mouth shut. Thing is, dinner seems to be

part of the deal

."

"Wow. Maybe he

does

have the hots for you

."

"Maybe he just wants a free dinner

."

"Well, you caught me just in time. I was about to head

for the store. I'll pick up a little more of a few things

."

"I'm really sorry about this

."

"Oh, don't be. It's not your fault he finds

you irresistible

."

"Very funny

."

"I guess he and I will be vying for your attention

."

"Won't be any contest," I said.

"Just the same, I'll dress for the occasion

."

The words sank in. My imagination took over and

my body reacted.

"What do you have in mind

?"

I asked.

"You'll just have to wait and see. I'd better get

going. See you around five

."

"See you

."

Suddenly, Kirkus or no Kirkus, I was

eager for five o'clock to arrive.

By about four, I'd finished showering and dressing. I

sat at the kitchen table to study Chaucer, and had just

about worked my way to the end of "The Prologue of the

Wyves Tale of Bathe" when my buzzer went

off.

I marked my place and glanced at my wristwatch.

Four-thirty.

At the speaker, I said, "Who's there

?"

"Your intellectual and moral superior

."

"Impossible," I said.

"Open up, old boy

."

Leave it to Kirkus to arrive half an hour

early.

I buzzed him in. Then I just stood there,

annoyed. I soon heard footfalls coming up the

hallway, but waited for his knock before I" opened

the door.

He'd changed clothes for the occasion. His blue jeans

looked to brand new. He also wore a

white shirt instead of the usual blue chambray.

Instead of his corduroy jacket, he wore a

jacket of light brown suede. He now sported a

royal blue ascot, not the tangerine one he'd

worn to Romantic Lit.

Head tilted back, he smiled in at me and bobbed

up and down on the balls of his feet. "I'm

early," he announced.

"No problem

."

"And I come bearing gifts

."

He held out a bottle of white wine.

"Thanks

."

I accepted it, stepped out of the way and said, "Come

on in and take a load off

."

He entered my apartment and looked around. "The

beckoning fair one isn't here yet

?"

"Not yet. Would you like some of this wine

?"

"We might prefer to save it for dinner

."

"Eileen's bringing something to drink. I could open this

now if you want

."

"If you like

."

He went to a window and looked out. "How inspiring be

to dwell in such proximity to a church

."

"It has a nice little graveyard," I said,

taking the bottle into the " kitchen. "You can't see

it from here

."

I almost told him that my bedroom had a view of the

graveyard, but the less said to Kirkus " about my

bedroom, the better.

While he continued to stare out the window, I opened the

bottle. I located a couple of water

glasses. As I poured wine into them, I',

asked, "So how'd you lay your mitts on the wine?

Not twenty-one yet, are you

?"

"Certainly not. Are you

?"

"Not till next year

."

"Then why would I be twenty-one while you're not?

We're both juniors

."

"Maybe you had to repeat the fourth grade," I

suggested, carrying the glasses into the living room.

He turned away from the window and faced me. "In

fact, I

skipped

a grade

."

"Wow! Really? So you're only nineteen

?"

"A mature nineteen

."

"If you say so

."

He smirked at me. "Considerably more mature

than you, I dare say

."

"Well, shit yeah. I don't even

own

an ascot

."

I put a glass into his hand, then said, "Thanks

for bringing the wine," and took a drink from

my glass. It didn't taste bad.

"No toast

?"

he asked.

"No toast, no bacon, no eggs

."

"And little or no wit," he added.

I almost laughed, but didn't want to give him the

satisfaction.

"Good wine," I told him.

"Thank you

."

"Who picked it out for you

?"

"Ah, Logan

."

"Ah, Kirkus. Why don't you have a seat

?"

"Merci,"

he said, and wandered over to the armchair. Stopping in

front of it, he turned around and faced me. He

took a sip of wine. Then he said, "I'm really

quite overwhelmed by your generosity in inviting me to dinner

."

"I'm pretty sure you invited yourself

."

"Did I

?"

Smiling, he sat down.

"That's how I recall it," I said, and sat on

the sofa a safe distance from him.

"As I recall, you requested a service from me and

kindly invited me over to show your gratitude."

"Something like that

."

"You

are

grateful for my pledge of silence, I take it

?"

"The pledge doesn't interest me much, but the silence

does

."

Smiling unpleasantly, he took a sip of wine.

"If you hope for my cooperation, it might behoove

you to treat me with a certain amount of consideration

."

"Behoove

?"

"There you go again."

"A thousand pardons

."

Raising both eyebrows, he asked, "Would you

prefer that I leave? I could, you know. I could quite

easily remove myself from the premises . .

."

""And take thy beak from out my heart. .

."

his

He stood up.

Staying seated, I patted the air and said, "Down,

boy. Down. Just kidding. Stay. I promised you

dinner. Eileen's expecting you. She's even

picking up extra groceries. We'd both be

tres

disappointed if you force us to eat without the glory of

your presence

."

Kirkus sat. He smiled. He said, "You are

such a wad

."

"Want to call a truce

?"

I asked.

"Calling a truce would presume we're at war.

Are we at war, Eduardo

?"

I shrugged. "Not really. A war of wits, maybe

."

"For which you are sadly lacking in weaponry

."

I tried to think of a comeback, but nothing worthwhile

popped into my mind -- tending perhaps to prove his

point.

He sipped his wine and looked smug.

I said, "Actually, I used to be marvelously

intelligent, witty and urbane -- but then they

stole my ascot

."

"Oh, how droll

."

"Noel Coward and Somerset Maugham chased me

three blocks for it

."

Looking singularly unamused, Kirkus set his

glass on the lamp table, reached to his neck with

both hands, untied his ascot and held it out to me.

"Perhaps you would like to borrow mine," he said.

Three big, blue letters were tattooed across his

throat.

FAG

"Is it real

?"

I asked. "A real tattoo

?"

"Of course it's real

."

Maybe real, but amateurish. The sort of

tattoo that a person might do to himself with a sharp

instrument and ink, shaky hands and no artistic talent

at all. "Oh, man," I said. "What were you

thinking

?"

"I hardly did this to myself, dear fellow

."

"Somebody

else

did it to you

?"

"Oh, yes

."

I must've been gaping at Kirkus like a stunned

fish.

"Perhaps you would enjoy hearing about it," he said. "You

seem to have a special fondness for the morbid and

outre. Perhaps you'll enjoy putting me in

one of your stories

."

I shook my head. "No, that's all right. Really.

Why don't you go ahead and put your ascot back

on

?"

"Let it replace the one stolen by Coward and

Maugham," he said, and tossed it to me.

Halfway between us, the silken cloth fluttered open

and drifted to the floor.

I went over to it, crouched and picked it up. Taking

it to Kirkus, I said, "I had no idea you've

been wearing these things to hide your tattoo

."

"Is that why

?"

"Isn't it

?"

"For that and for the style

."

Laughing softly, I reached out with it. He plucked

it from my fingers.

On my way back to the sofa, he said, "I won't

tell you the whole sad tale; I'll make it

brief

."

"You don't have to tell me anything," I said, and

sat down.

"Oh, but you'll find it "right up your alleyea8s

to speak. Lurid, brutal, sordid and trite

."

"Oh, thanks. In that case, I've

got

to hear it

."

"I know

."

"If it's such a good story, maybe you should save it

until Eileen gets here

."

"That would hardly be appropriate

."

He wrapped the ascot around his neck and began

to tie it. "This is for your ears only

."

"Are you sure you want to tell me

?"

"We'll

both

have secrets to keep

."

"You said I could write about it

."

"Someday

."

I looked at my wristwatch. A quarter till

five. "Maybe you oughta just skip it

."

"Oh, no. I insist

."

He took a drink of wine, then commenced. "I'm

sure the basics are all quite familiar to you: the

overly sensitive, fatherless boy with the relentless and

irrepressible mother; the boy being picked on

by Neanderthals at school; taking refuge in the

safety of books. All terribly trite and

predictable ..."

I took a drink of wine and wished I were elsewhere.

With any luck, Eileen would show up immediately.

"The other kids used to laugh and call me names

."

Like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I thought,

and felt a strange urge to laugh. Then I

realized

name was Rudy, short for Rudolph. His name seemed

like a bizarre and not-so-funny joke.

"I could never walk down a hallway at

school," he explained, 'without someone tripping me

or bumping into me or knocking the books out of my

hands. During recess and lunch, a great sport was

to grab me and stuff me into a trashcan. Sometimes,

a group of jocks would jump me and run off with my

pants. And of course I was regularly beaten up.

In short, I grew up friendless, trusting no one,

fearing and despising my tormenters. Not unlike the

childhood of countless other chaps

."

"I knew a few," I told him. During my

schooldays, I'd only been a level or two

higher on the social scale, myself, and I'd

befriended guys who were worse off than me. I

couldn't tell Kirkus that, however. You can't say

"one of my best friends was a geek . . . or gay

... or black ... or Jewish . .

."

It might be true, but you can't say it. There's a

lot you can't say.

So I kept my mouth shut about the cool band of

social rejects with whom I used to hang

out.

After a deep sigh, Kirkus resumed.

"Ironically, they were calling me a queer, a homo

and a fag long before I'd ever engaged in any sexual

activity with

anyone:

boy, girl or aardvark. Apparently, my

appearance and manner were the only oddities they

required

."

"It's pretty rotten," I said.

"You may not believe this, Ed, but I was a

nice

young lad. I'd yet to develop my aloof and

cynical demeanor, nor the smug pomposity that you

seem to find so irritating

."

"Hard to imagine you without "em

."

"Oh, I was a dear

."

I laughed softly.

"However, they hated me anyway. My chief

oppressor was a chap named Dennis Grant, a rather

typical high school bully: strong,

fat, ugly and stupid. He tormented me constantly

-- usually in front of his friends, of course, in

order to show off his toughness. Then one afternoon I stayed

at school late to help one of the teachers. By the time

I'd finished, the hallway was deserted. Except

for Dennis. He was waiting for me with his knife.

He pulled me into one of the bathrooms and made me

get down on my knees. Then he opened his fly and

hauled out "George." Why he called it

George, I have no idea

."

Kirkus tried to smile, but couldn't manage it.

His eyes were suddenly shiny.

"I said to Dennis, "What am I supposed to do with

that88He said, "You know what to do with it, you fuckin"

fag.8I said, "Look who's calling who a

fag.8That, as it turned out, was a vast error

."

A couple of tears leaked out of his eyes. He

rubbed them away with the back of a hand. "At any

rate, after pounding me to a sticky pulp, Dennis

gave me my first taste of George there on the

filthy bathroom floor. And thus was I

introduced into the joys of the gay lifestyle

."

All I could say was, "Jeez

."

"It lacked a bit in the way of romance and comfort

."

He pulled out a handkerchief, blew his nose, then

sighed and put his hanky away. "We

did,

however, have a smoke afterward

."

"Did he do the tattoo

?"

Kirkus shrugged. "I've never learned whether the

artistry was performed by Dennis or by his buddy,

Brad

."

"This Brad was there, too

?"

"Oh, no. Not at all. Dennis and I were quite

alone that day in the school bathroom . . . and quite

alone on every occasion afterward. Or so we thought

."

"It happened more than once

?"

"Oh, my dear Eduardo, Dennis got together with me

almost daily after that

."

"You couldn't stop him

?"

"I saw no point in trying. He'd done what

he'd done. I'd done what I'd done. It did

seem horrid at first. Before long, however, I found

myself looking forward to our sessions. Dennis was rather

magnificent, really

."

I tried not to look aghast.

"Unfortunately, his friend Brad caught us in the

act one fine evening in Dennis's garage. In a

valiant attempt to maintain his dignity, Dennis

pretended to be the victim of an unwarranted

assault by yours truly and they

both

beat me senseless

."

Lightly stroking

the front of his ascot, Kirkus said, "I

returned to consciousness the next morning naked in a

dumpster behind a 7-Eleven store . . . tattooed

with perhaps the only three-letter word Dennis and Brad were

capable of spelling correctly

."

"My God," I muttered.

"And that's my tale. Lurid enough for your taste

?"

"It's awful, Rudy. Jeez

."

"It isn't the worst thing that has ever happened to me,

but it is the tale of my tattoo

."

"What happened to Dennis and Brad

?"

"I haven't a clue," said Kirkus. "I

left all that behind when I came to Willmington. I

brought nothing of it with me except the memories, the

scars and the tattoo

."

"You could probably get the tattoo removed

."

"Oh, certainly

."

Again, he stroked his ascot. "Unfortunately,

I'm rather fond of it

."

"If you're fond of it, why do you hide it

?"

"It's private. I share it only with

certain special friends. Friends like you

."

"Ahh

."

"You

are

my friend, aren't you

?"

"I guess so," I said, feeling slightly

sick. "In a way. I mean, you're okay

except when you're being a pompous, smug asshole

."

"You're such a dear," he said.

"I can do without you calling me that. And I don't

want you trying any funny stuff with me, either

."

"Have you ever given it a try

?"

"No, and I don't aim to, either

."

"As the sage says, "Don't knock it till

you've tried it

."

his

"Sometimes, the sage is full of shit

."

"Ah, Logan! You never cease to astonish me.

Is

anyone

more plebian than you

?"

Chuckling, he picked up his glass. He drank

it empty, then held it out in my direction. "More,

please

?"

A few minutes later, Eileen arrived. I

buzzed her in, then opened the door and stood at the

threshold to watch for her. She soon appeared at the

top of the stairs, a grocery bag hugged to her chest.

She wore a yellow windbreaker, but it reached down

only to her waist. It seemed to be covering the top

of a forest-green evening gown. The gown's skirt was

clingy, reached down to her ankles, and had a slit

up the left side.

"Back in a minute," I said over my shoulder.

Kirkus answered, "No rush, old man

."

I hurried down the hall. As Eileen walked

toward me, her left leg came out of the slit, went

back in, came out again. She obviously

had no stocking on. Her leg looked very bare.

When I took the bag from her, she put a hand behind

my head and I leaned toward her. The bag was between us.

Our bodies crunched its paper, squeezed whatever

was inside it and made a couple of bottles clink

softly. We kissed. Her face felt cool from the

weather outside. I took it easy on her lips,

but then she slipped her tongue into my mouth and we

really went at it for a while, Eileen moaning and me

growing stiff.

Too soon, she eased away from me. She was wet

around the mouth. She smiled. "I've been wanting

to do that

."

"Me, too

."

"Guess we'd better not keep Kirkus

waiting," she said. "What did he do, get here

early

?"

"Half an

hour

early

."

"Was it edifying

?"

"Oh, yeah

."

I carried the groceries. As we walked side

by side, she said, "It's a little warm in here for this,"

and took off her windbreaker. Her gown had a

plunging neckline; it plunged nearly to her waist,

her long V of bare skin gradually narrowing on its

way down.

"Wow," I said.

She smiled. "Like it

?"

"You look fantastic

."

Putting a hand on my shoulder, she leaned toward

me. Breath tickling my ear, she whispered, "If

Kirkus has on the same outfit, I'll just die

."

"Oh, you bitch

."

We both laughed, but it tapered off before we reached the

doorway of my apartment.

As we entered, Kirkus stood up.

"Hi, Rudy," Eileen said.

"Eileen. Aren't

we

looking splendid tonight!" He bobbed on the .

balls of his feet, tilted his head to one side and

said, "On our way' to the prom, are we

?"

"Just an old frock," Eileen said. "Glad you

could join us tonight

."

be

"My pleasure

."

"Do you like Mexican

?"

"Mexican of what variety

?"

"Of the food and drink variety," Eileen said.

"Such as beef fajitas and my infamous

Hoocha de los

Muertos

."

"What's that

?"

I asked, grinning.

"Let's go in the kitchen and I'll show you

."

I followed Eileen into the kitchen, Kirkus tagging

along behind us. I set the grocery bag onto the

counter. Eileen peered inside, then i reached in and

took out a quart bottle of Cuervo Gold

tequila. Next, out came a somewhat smaller

bottle of Triple Sec.

Holding a bottle in each hand, she turned around and

assumed a serious demeanor. "This," she said, 'and

this. A glass, some ice, and a

lot

of this

."

She gave the tequila bottle a shake. "Then a

wee tad of this

."

She shook the Triple Sec. "Stir briskly

with a coffin nail

."

"A cigarette

?"

I asked.

"Don't be absurd. The nail from a coffin

."

"Ah. Well, I don't think I have one of those

."

"In that case, a finger will have to do. But don't

worry, I'll take] care of it. Ed, why

don't you get down the glasses

?"

I removed three glasses from the cupboard.

Eileen instructed me were' to add ice cubes. Then

she instructed Kirkus and I to wait in the living

room. "Too many people in the kitchen! I'll be out in

a minute with the drinks

."

"Which you fully intend to stir with your finger

?"

asked Kirkus.

Smiling, she twirled her forefinger in the air.

"How sanitary," he said.

"The alcohol kills the germs," she explained.

"You know that, don't you

?"

Laughing, I left the kitchen.

Soon, we were all in the living room, sitting around

the coffee table, sipping our

Hoocha de los Muertos

and munching on tortilla chips dipped in salsa.

Eileen was beside me on the sofa. Each time she leaned

toward the table, slack came into the top of

her gown,

letting me see most of her right breast. . .

including a bruise near the front that couldn't be

seen when she was sitting up straight.

The smooth, pale breast, smudged by the bruise,

excited me and reminded me of what we'd gone through

together and made me feel closer to her. It also made

me feel like a louse. Eileen was too beautiful,

too smart and funny and good, to deserve having me

slip away at night to seek out Casey.

Luckily, with the drinking and talking, I didn't have

a whole lot of time to dwell on how I was betraying

her.

When our glasses were empty, Eileen took them

into the kitchen. She came out with two fresh drinks.

I vowed to take things more slowly with my second

Hoocha.

They were nothing but booze

- margaritas minus the citrus additives -- and

my head already felt light.

Her back to Kirkus, Eileen bent over at the

waist and set both the glasses on the table. The

front of her gown loosened and drooped. I could

see her entire left breast. It was swaying

slightly. Its nipple was erect. From

her smile, she knew exactly what I could see.

Remaining bowed, she asked, "Should I bring you in some

more chips

?"

"I can come out and get them

."

"No, no, stay right where you are. I'll bring them in

."

She straightened up and turned toward Kirkus.

"How you doing, Rudy

?"

He grinned. "Tip-top

."

"Hand me my glass

?"

she asked me.

Hers wasn't quite empty. I picked it up and

gave it to her.

"Gracias,"

she said.

"Da nada,"

said I, and immediately wondered whether I'd responded

in Spanish or French. It shouldn't have been a

problem; I'd had only one drink so far.

As Eileen went into the kitchen, I tried

to think of 'y're welcome" in French.

Da Nada?

Or was that Spanish, as I'd intended? Then I

thought of Hemingway. "Our nada who art in nada

."

So it

is

Spanish. But no, maybe not. He'd spent all

that time in Paris.

"Something amiss, old boy

?"

asked Kirkus.

He was about the last person to whom I would confess such

befuddlement. "Eileen is a miss," I said,

making an effort to speak clearly.

"I heard that," she said, coming out of the kitchen with the

bag of tortilla chips. "Hell, I was hoping

to be a hit, not a miss

."

"Miss as opposed to Mrs.," I explained.

"So you say," she said, and bent over the table just as

she'd done

before and shook more chips into the bowl. Just as before, I

gazed at her breast. "Can I get you anything else

?"

she asked, remaining bowed. I met her eyes. She

looked vastly pleased with herself.

"You're driving the poor lad to madness," said

Kirkus. Though he couldn't see what I could, he

obviously realized what was going on.

Eileen's smile widened. "Am I

?"

she asked me.

"I'm fine," I said.

"Good

."

She straightened up. "Now you two boys will just have

to get along without me for a while. My fajitas are

beckoning. Just give a shout if you need anything

."

She turned toward the kitchen.

I didn't want her to go. "Could you use a hand

?"

"Nope, thanks anyway. You stay out here and

entertain our guest

."

"You might not be able to find everything

."

"If I get stuck, I'll give you a shout

."

She went on into the kitchen. A few moments later,

the sounds of her activities were joined by Willie

Nelson and Ray Charles singing "Seven Spanish

Angels

."

I took a drink and smiled at Kirkus. "Great

music," I said.

"Once again confirming your pedestrian taste, good

fellow

."

"Up yours

."

"Don't say it if you don't mean it

."

I laughed and shook my head. "That'll be the day

."

" "The lady doth protest too much,

methinks.""

"I ain't no lady

."

"Ah, and

vive la difference

."

Though I understood the French (or was it

Spanish? -- damn the

Hoocha de los Muertosf),

I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. I

scowled at him.

"Oh, don't pretend to take offense. You're

flattered and you know it

."

"Huh? Flattered

?"

Leaning forward, speaking quietly, Kirkus said,

"And well you

should

be, here in your apartment with

two

beautiful people, both of whom would simply love to eat

you alive

."

For an awful moment, it ran through my mind that perhaps

Eileen and Kirkus had set a trap for me, that

they intended to have

me

for dinner. After what I'd seen under the bridge

Wednesday night -- and what I'd heard from

Casey -- it didn't seem terribly

far-fetched.

Yeah, right.

Of course, I knew full well what Kirkus

had really meant.

"Don't even think about it," I told him.

"I can hardly resist

thinking

about it, dear boy. You're so luscious

."

"You wanta knock it off

?"

"Oh, lighten up. I'm not about to pounce on you.

I am a gentleman, after all. I've never forced

myself on anyone

."

"Glad to hear it

."

"If you want me, though, just whistle. You know how

to whistle, don't you? Put your lips together

"Give me a fuckin' break

."

Eileen came out of the kitchen. She was wearing my one

and only apron -- which I had never worn, myself.

"Eddie, you want to come in here and clear off the table

?"

"Saved by the belle," I said.

Kirkus smirked. "You're excused

."

After removing my computer and books and papers from the

kitchen table, I put out the place mats, napkins

and silverware.

"Won't be long, now," I said to Kirkus.

At his seat facing the coffee table, he raised his

drink toward me, winked, and took a sip.

I went over to Eileen. She was standing in front of the

stove, an area of the kitchen that couldn't be seen from the

living room. She held a spatula in one hand and

her drink in the other. I stepped behind her, slipped

my hands underneath her apron, wrapped my arms around

her waist, and looked down over her shoulder. On the

burner was a skillet full of sizzling strips of

marinated steak.

"Smells great," I said.

She finished her drink, then set down her glass.

"How goes it with Kirkus

?"

"He wants me

."

"Don't we all

."

"But he promises to leave me unmolested

unless I whistle

."

The way Eileen's cheek pressed against my face,

I figured she must be smiling. "Do you know how

to whistle

?"

she asked.

"You were eavesdropping

?"

Her head shook. "Saw the movie

."

"That wasn't in the book, you know.

To Have and Have N.

The whistling business

."

"I didn't know that

."

"Now you do

."

"It feels wonderful to be well informed," she

said, and pushed her rump against me and moved it from

side to side, rubbing my groin.

I whistled softly, close to her ear.

She asked, "Was that for me or for Kirkus

?"

I tried to put a hand inside the front of her

gown, but she clutched my wrist through the apron. "Not

now, honey. You better go on back and keep our

friend company

."

"I can help you

."

"I'll take care of everything. It'll just be a

couple more minutes. Go on, okay? It's not

polite to leave him alone

."

"All right

."

I gave the side of her neck a kiss, then

returned to the living room. "What's up,

Rudolph

?"

"Oh, please His

I went to the sofa, sat and picked up my drink

My glass was still half-full of my second

Hoocha de los Muertos,

but the ice had melted I took a sip It was still

fairly cold

On the radio, Randy Travis was singing "Heroes

and Friends

."

"It's almost ready," I said

"I'm in no hurry," Kirkus said

"Are you having a lovely time?"

"Quite

."

"Glad to hear it" I dipped a chip into the

salsa, then maneuvered it into my mouth without dripping

As I crunched the chip, Kirkus said, "We should

do this more often Next time, I'll host the affair at

my place

."

I almost said, "Don't hold your breath," but I

was feeling too good to be mean even to Kirkus The

aroma of the fajitas was wonderful, Eileen was wearing

the wonderful dress, I'd had fine views of her

wonderful breasts, I planned to go out later and have a

wonderful time with Casey, and I was wonderfully,

mildly high from the

hoocha

"Well," I said, "just let us know when you want

us"

He raised both eyebrows "Will you really come88For a

moment, I glimpsed hope and sadness in his eyes

They were quickly hidden, however, behind his usual

haughty demeanor

"Maybe," I said "I guess it'll depend

."

"On what, dare I ask?"

"Let's just see how things go tonight"

"I shall be on my best behavior His

From out in the kitchen came the beep of the microwave

"I'll prepare my specialty," Kirkus said

"What's that88I asked him

"Pork roast'

"Not

long pork,

I hope His

He frowned "Long pork?"

Eileen appeared in the kitchen entryway She had

taken off the apron and she was smiling "Come and get

it, guys His

Kirkus and I went to the table and sat down Eileen

took our glasses "Go ahead and get started,"

she said "I'll make refills

."

"What should we do88I asked

"Grab a tortilla, spread it with sour cream or

avocado or whatever, throw on some meat and cheese

and lettuce, whatever, roll it up and chow

down"

"Easy for you to say," I said

Soon, she came over with all three glasses

full of her special

concoction. Then she sat down. She raised her

glass and said, "Good for what ails ya

."

Kirkus and I picked up our glasses. We

all leaned forward and bumped each other's glasses.

Kirkus sipped his drink.

"Grande,"

he said.

"Mucho grande

."

I

sipped mine.

"Rio Grande

."

Eileen sipped hers and said, "Mississippi

."

I hoisted my glass. "To Mark Twain

."

"Oi," said Kirkus.

"You got a problem with Mark Twain

?"

"He's

so

plebian. No wonder you adore him, Eduardo

."

"Huck Finn's

the greatest novel ever written

."

I felt a moment of guilt over betraying

William Goldman. But if I'd tried

to claim

The Temple of Gold

or

Boys and Girls Together

as the greatest novel. . .

"Oh, please," Kirkus said.

"It is

."

"American," Eileen said. "Greatest

American

novel, maybe. Gotta leave out the British and the

Irish and the Russians and the French. .

."

"What'd the French ever write

?"

I asked.

"Dumas

?"

Eileen said. "Hello?

The Three Musketeers.

And De Maupassant

."

"Let's not forget Sartre and Camus and the great

Simone," Kirkus said.

7 like Simone," I proclaimed. "He's good

."

"She," said Kirkus.

"I like that detective of his, Maigret

."

"That's Simenon," Eileen corrected me.

"Georges Simenon

."

"I was speaking, old boy, of Simone de

Beauvoir

."

"Oh. Of course you were. She sucks

."

Eileen laughed.

"You must simply adore playing the fool,"

Kirkus told me.

"Anyway," I said, 'if we can get

back to

Huckleberry Finn,

the greatest American novel ..."

"Highly overrated," said Kirkus.

"Hemingway says it's the best

."

"Proving my point," said Kirkus.

"I'd have to go with

Atlas Shrugged,"

Eileen said. "That's the best book I've

ever

read, and they don't even teach it in school

."

"They don't

?"

I said.

"No school I've ever heard of. That's "cause

all the teachers hate her. They lie about her. They

won't teach her books

."

Scowling, Eileen spread some sour cream on a

steaming, flour tortilla. "They're

afraid of every damn thing she ever wrote. Most

teachers are commies, in case you haven't noticed

."

This was a side of Eileen I'd never seen before --

the intoxicated side, I suppose

."

"Commies

?"

said Kirkus. "Dear me

."

Narrowing one eye at him, Eileen said, "My dad

fought the goddamn commies in Vietnam. You think

there's something

funny

about that

?"

"I apologize if I've tread on your toes,

my dear ... or the toes of your father's combat

boots. But really,

communism?

You must admit the subject is a trifle

passe

these days. Which also makes Ann Rand's books

passe

."

"Ever read one

?"

she asked.

"I wouldn't waste my time," Kirkus said.

She pointed her fork at me. "How about you, Eddie

?"

"I'm afraid not. I'd like to, though

."

She turned her fork to the steak platter and placed a

few strips of meat on her tortilla.

"Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead, We the

Living.

We're forced to read every goddamn book that ever came

down the pike by the

chosen

few.

The Great Gatsby,

for godsake.

The Pearl,

for godsake

."

"The Scarlet Letterea'1

I joined in.

"Not to mention

Madame Ovary,"

she said. "What the fuck is

that

about

."

Kirkus shook his head and looked very disappointed in

us.

"Hundreds

of books," Eileen continued. "Books by every

Tom, Dick and Charlie that ever put pen to paper,

but Ann Rand? Huh-uh. Not Rand. She's better

than most of them,

nobody's

better, but they try to keep her away from us

"cause they hate her message

."

"Her message is selfishness, my dear," said

Kirkus.

Eileen sprinkled grated cheese on top of her

beef, then began to roll her tortilla. "That's

what they want you to believe, "cause they don't

want you reading her. Know what her real message

is

?"

"I fear you're about to tell us

."

"Nobody has a single goddamn right," she said,

"to take what doesn't belong to them. Like a

government, for instance. The government's got

no right to make us do anything . . . not even for what

they call "the common good.8We're nobody's

slaves. We have an absolute right to the fruits of

our own labor and we don't owe jack-shit

to society. You ever hear of John Gait

?"

"Of course," said Kirkus, and sighed.

"Who is John Gait

?"

"Who

is

John Gait

?"

Eileen asked him.

"He's obviously a creation of your literary

goddess

."

I

"He turned off the lights of the world

."

As she spoke the words, her voice went husky and

tears glimmered in her eyes.

"And that means

?"

asked Kirkus.

"That's what they don't want you to find out," said

Eileen. She wiped her eyes, then took a

drink, then said, "Read the book" and picked up

her rolled tortilla.

"Atlas Shrugged?"

I asked.

She nodded and sniffed.

"Perhaps I'll give it a try," Kirkus said.

"A novel capable of reducing the stout Eileen

Danforth to tears

"Watch that "stout8business," Eileen said.

"It was a reference to your character, not your physique

."

"Something wrong with my physique

?"

"Not at all, deary. From the standpoint

of this

observer, it's really quite spectacular

."

"Thanks

."

"Is it not truly spectacular, Eduardo

?"

he asked me.

"I'd say so," I said. A little

worried about his negative, I added, "It is

."

"Of course, he

has

to say so, being your boyfriend

cum

loverboy pun intended, of course -- whereas 7 am

truly disinterested and speak the truth without fear of

reprisal. From a perspective of complete

objectivity, I can say that your physique is

truly extraordinary. At least what I've seen

of it. I'm sure Edward has the advantage over

me in that regard

."

I muttered, "Jeesh

."

He eyed me. "You do have a flair for words, old

boy

."

To Eileen, he said, "Speaking of which, I understand that

the entire gang of ruffians Wednesday night had

the pleasure of feasting their eyes on your undraped

titties. Seems that everyone has seen them but me

."

Staring at him, she tilted her head

sideways. "Where did you pick up that bit of

news

?"

Kirkus looked at me and smiled. "Was I not

supposed to tell

?"

"What ever happened to "mum's the word"

?"

I asked.

"I wasn't aware you meant it to apply to the fair

Eileen

."

I groaned.

"No problem," Eileen said. Then she shoved some

of her tortilla between her teeth and tore off a

mouthful. As she chewed, her eyes again became shiny.

She swallowed and wiped her mouth with a napkin. Then

she said, "Excuse me

."

She shoved back her chair, stood up, and walked

out of the kitchen.

From where I sat, I watched her stride across the

living room and

enter the hall. Moments later, a door shut. She

had apparently gone into the bathroom.

"Oh, dear," said Kirkus, and smiled. "Do you

suppose it was something she ate

?"

"Probably something

you

said," I told him.

Looking delighted, he said, "Woe is me

."

"Asshole

."

"Don't be too quick to blame me, old boy. She

might simply be hurling. Those are powerful drinks.

I'm more than a trifle smashed myself

."

"I'd better go check on her

."

"Oh, don't be too hasty. Give her some time.

Whatever her problem may be, she would probably rather

not have an audience quite yet. Why don't we both

stay here and enjoy the repast before it gets cold?

Give Eileen an opportunity to recover in

private

."

"Maybe you're right," I said.

"I most frequently am

."

"When she does come out, keep your mouth shut about

Wednesday night, okay? The last thing she needs

is to have you rubbing it all in. We're trying to put

it behind us

."

"Quite so," said Kirkus. "My mistake

."

We both commenced to eat our fajitas. By the time we

were done, perhaps ten minutes later, Eileen still had not

returned to the table.

"I'm going to check on her," I said, scooting

back my chair.

"Give her my regards," said Kirkus.

As I'd suspected, the bathroom door was shut.

I knocked gently.

"What

?"

"Eileen? It's me

."

"Leave me alone

."

"What's wrong

?"

"Just go away

."

"Is it what Kirkus said

?"

The door suddenly opened. Eileen grabbed the

front of my shirt and pulled me in and shut the

door. Her eyes were red and wet, her face streaked

with tears.

Still clutching my shirt, she said, "What did you

tell him? Did you tell him

everything

?"

"No

."

"It was suppose to be our secret. How could you

blab

to him

?"

"I didn't tell him anything. Not about what really

happened. Nothing about under the bridge. All I

told him was the stuff we made up about the gang of

teenagers jumping us. The same thing we told him

Wednesday night

."

"Oh really? Know what? I don't

recall telling him they ripped off my

caret caret

an less-than caret feasted their eyes on my

undraped titties

."

"That's just Kirkus. The undraped stuff

."

"What else did you tell him

?"

"I think . . . well,

you

told him they pissed in your hair, remember

?"

"Of course I remember

."

"I reminded him of that. And I told him that you

felt really humiliated by the whole thing and that's why

you didn't want anyone to know about it

."

"What else

?"

"That's about it

."

"About

?"

My face heated up.

If she didn't hear it from me, she might hear it

from Kirkus. "I think I mentioned something about them

touching you

."

"Touching me

?"

"Fondling you

."

"Where

?"

"I guess your breasts

."

"You told Kirkus they fondled my breasts

?"

"I think I mentioned something along those lines

."

"Thanks a lot

."

"He's gay

."

"That makes it all right

?"

"It was just so he'd understand why he has

to keep his mouth shut

."

"Well, thanks a lot

."

"I'm sorry. If I'd known it would upset you like

this, I never would've told him anything

."

"What else

did

you tell him

?"

"Nothing. That's it

."

"Are you sure

?"

"Pretty sure

."

"You didn't figure it would make a better story

if they fucked me

?"

"No

."

"Well, I appreciate your restraint

."

"Come on, Eileen, don't be this way

."

"And what way am I being

?"

"You're blowing it all out of proportion. I mean,

the whole idea was to make him realize how

humiliated you'd feel if he told anyone

"Really should've had me gangbanged

."

"Cut it out

."

"What'd you tell him about

you!

You've got a bunch of creeps ripping off

my

clothes and feasting their eyes on

my

undraped titties and groping

me,

what'd they do to

you?

Seems sorta one-sided if you ask me. You're

making stuff up, why not have them tear off

your

clothes and grope

you.

Hell, that would've made a

better

story, don't you think? Considering Kirkus

."

"Maybe

."

"I mean,

you're

the one he's got the hots for

."

"You

were the one wearing

my

shirt when we ran into him Wednesday night

."

Her eyes widened slightly. Her mouth opened as

if she were about to say something. She blinked a few

times. Then she said, "Oh

."

Then she said, "That's a point

."

Then she said, "Even still

."

I put my arms around her. "I'm sorry I

told him all that stuff

."

"It's just. . . if it just wasn't Kirkus.

He's such a shit. I don't like him knowing stuff like

that. Or thinking stuff about me. Thinking about me naked

."

"He's gay," I said again.

"Maybe he is and maybe he isn't

."

"I'm pretty sure he is

."

"Even still

."

She pushed her face against the side of my neck.

It felt warm and wet. She sniffed. "And I've

gotta be wearing this stupid dress

."

"It's a wonderful dress

."

"In front of him

."

"He doesn't care

."

"Oh, I bet

."

"Shall we go out and ask him

?"

She shook her head. "I'm so embarrassed

."

"You shouldn't be

."

"And I drank too much

."

"We all did

."

"But I'm the one who fell apart right in front of

God and everyone

."

"I'm sure God forgives you. I know I do, and

who cares if Kirkus does

?"

She stroked the back of my head. "I love you so

much, Eddie

."

"Now I

know

you're drunk

."

"I do. I've loved you from the very start, even when you

were going with Holly. Did you know that

?"

"Not really

."

The sound of Holly's name gave my stomach a

twist.

"You never even suspected, did you

?"

"No

."

"I know. I never let anyone know how I felt.

It was just for me to know. But I ached inside. I ached

for you. It hurt so much to see her with you that way. I

wanted so much for it to be me

."

"And now it is," I said. The words made me

feel like a louse.

Eileen hugged me hard and kissed the side of my

neck. "I'm so glad," she said. "I'm so

glad

."

"We should probably get back to the kitchen," I

said. "You'll feel better after you've had some more

to eat

."

She nodded. Then she took a deep breath and

sighed. "Okay," she said. "But I ...

I need to change first

."

"Change how

?"

She laughed and sniffed. "My clothes. I don't

want Kirkus seeing me in this again. Even if he

is gay

."

"He is

."

"Can I wear something of yours

?"

"Whatever you want

."

We let go of each other. I opened the bathroom

door and Eileen followed me into the hallway.

"I'll just be a minute," she said, and headed for my

bedroom.

"See you later," I said.

I found Kirkus on the living room sofa, the

remains of a drink in one hand, his legs crossed.

At the sight of me, he said, "I was beginning

to feel abandoned

."

"Eileen'll be along in a minute

."

"How is she

?"

"Pretty upset

."

"Not with me, I hope

."

"With both of us. She didn't like me telling you that

stuff. She thought it was too personal

."

"We embarrassed her

?"

I nodded.

"How peculiar

."

"What do you mean

?"

"Did you by any remote chance happen to notice

what she's wearing? And she's thrown into a tizzy by a

few words regarding the very assets she is so

brazenly displaying for all the world to see

?"

"It's two different things," I said.

"A left and a right

?"

"Knock it off

."

I sat in the armchair. "She'll be out in a

minute. She's changing clothes

."

"Oh, pity

."

"When she does come out, how about. . . r

"I'll be an angel," he said. "For you

."

"Thanks

."

I would believe it when I saw it.

We sat there for a few minutes and didn't talk

much. Every so often, I glanced toward the hallway.

"She doesn't appear to be appearing," Kirkus

said.

"I'd better see what's going on

."

*

I went down the hallway to my bedroom. The door

was shut. I knocked softly, but Eileen didn't

respond so I eased it open. The light was on.

Eileen, still in her gown, was lying on my

bed, snoring. Her arms were limp by her sides, her

legs hanging off the edge of the mattress, her feet

not quite touching the floor. Her left leg, free of the

slit in her skirt, was bare all the way up to her

hip.

I took a step toward her, then changed my mind.

Leaving the lamp on, I stepped into the hallway and

silently shut the door.

When I entered the living room, Kirkus raised his

eyebrows.

"She's out," I said.

"Out

?"

"Asleep

."

"Passed out, you mean

."

"I don't know. Anyway, I decided not to wake

her up

."

"Good idea

."

Shrugging, I said, "So I guess that's about it.

Thanks for coming over, Rudy. Maybe we'll do it

again sometime

."

"But the night is young

."

"Well, I'm a little tired myself. I'll

probably take a nap, then try to hit the books

for a while

."

Instead of getting up, Kirkus smiled and spread

out his arms along the back of the sofa. "I really

shouldn't leave without properly thanking the hostess

."

"You can thank her tomorrow

."

"Oh, that would never do. I'll stay. She's bound

to wake up sooner or later

."

"Kirkus

."

"Be nice, Eddie. I am, after all, your guest

."

"The party's over, okay? Time to go

."

"Now, now. You don't want to ruin a beautiful

evening by turning surly at the end, do you? Why

don't you offer me another drink? Those

Hooches

are certainly tasty. We'll both partake of

another while we have ourselves a nice chat, and then

I'll be on my way

."

I was about to protest.

"Pleeeease," he said, and batted his eyelids.

"Don't do that

."

"One more itsy-bitsy drink. For the road

."

"Then you'll go

?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die

."

With an outstretched forefinger," he grandly crossed

his heart.

"All right

."

I started toward the kitchen. "We'll have one more:

drink, then you'll leave. No ifs, ands or buts

."

"I shall hightail my tail out the door

."

"Okay

."

In the kitchen, I took our glasses off the table

and put ice into to them. I didn't want another

drink, myself. I'd had more than enough already, and was

afraid that one more might knock me] off my

feet.

I had plans for those feet.

But I couldn't figure an easy way to fake the

look of a

Hoocha,!

so I went ahead and made two real ones. I

carried them into the! living room.

Kirkus patted the sofa beside him. "Sit here

."

"Thanks anyway," I said.

"I'm not a leper, old boy

."

"I know

."

Keeping the coffee table between us, I set down his

glass.

"Please

."

Again, he patted the cushion by his hip. "Don't

worry, I won't molest you

."

"Glad to hear it

."

I took my own drink back to the armchair and be

sat down.

He smirked slightly. "You're afraid of me

."

"I'm not afraid of you

."

"Then sit with me

."

"I'm fine here

."

I took a small sip of my drink, then put it

down on the lamp table.

"Actually," Kirkus said, 'though I've often

assailed you for various aspects of your rather

unfortunate personality, I never dreamed you were a

homophobe

."

"A homophobe? Is that something like a xylophone

?"

"I'm not amused

."

"Neither am I, as a matter of fact.

All of a sudden, you're calling me names

."

"If the shoe fits . .

."

"I would really expect a more original figure of

speech, Kirkus, from someone of your erudition

."

He chuckled softly, shook his head, and took a

drink. "Sit where you like," he said.

"Thanks for the permission

."

Slumped on the sofa, he took another drink.

Then he stared at me. Then he sighed. "Eduardo,

Eduardo

."

"Rudolph, Rudolph

."

"What must you think of me

?"

"Right now, I just wish you'd leave so I can take a

nap

."

"I'm rather sleepy, myself

."

He yawned elaborately and patted his

mouth. "And I've such a

long

walk home. Perhaps I should take a brief nap

here before I leave

."

"Yeah, sure

."

"We'll

both

nap

."

"Right

."

"No

?"

"No

."

"My God, man, what are you afraid of

?"

There was no answer that wouldn't either offend Kirkus

or cause him to mock me, so I simply shrugged.

"You're afraid I'll molest you while you

snooze," he said.

Bingo.

"I didn't say that," I said.

"I would never do such a thing

."

"If you say so

."

His eyes suddenly twinkled. "Shall we give it a

try

?"

"No

."

He laughed. "Coward

."

"Gimme a break

."

"No," he said, frowning. "You give

me

a break. Don't automatically think the worst of

me. What have I ever done to make you suspect I

would molest you in your sleep

?"

"Nothing I can think of at the moment," I

admitted.

"And I

would

never do it

."

Breaking into a smile, he said, "Tempted though I

might be

."

"Well, I aim to save you from the temptation.

Drink up, okay

?"

"You're a hard man, Eduardo

."

"Yeah

."

"Of course, I

adore

hard men

."

With that, he raised his glass as if toasting me, then

drank the rest of his

Hoocha de los Muertos.

I stood up and went to the door and opened it.

"So it's the bum's rush, is it

?"

"I wouldn't put it that way. Party's over, that's

all. Time to fold your tent like the Arab and-silently

steal away

."

"How poetic," he muttered.

"Knew you'd like it

."

He struggled off the sofa, stretched and yawned, then

came to

the door and stopped in front of me. He bobbed up

and down a couple of times on the balls of his feet.

Then he said, "Well, old caret man, it's been

a slice

."

"Yep

."

"Please inform Sleeping Beauty that I adored the

repast and her cocktails were marvelous

."

"I'll tell her

."

He stuck out his hand. I shook it. When I tried

to let go, he held on.

"Until next time at

my

place," he said.

"We'll see

."

He released my hand. Backing into the hallway, he

said, "Still mates

?"

"Mates

?"

"Friends, laddie

."

"I guess so

."

"Jolly!" He twirled away and strolled down

the hallway.

I shut my door.

"All right!" I whispered.

Though glad to be rid of him, I also felt

slightly ashamed of myself. I'd treated him

badly. He'd brought it on himself, but that didn't

make me feel any better about it.

I carried our glasses out to the kitchen. His was

empty, but mine was nearly full. I poured the

remains of my drink into the sink. Then I cleared

off the table and started to do the dishes.

For a long time, I couldn't take my mind off

Kirkus. In some

"dis

ways, I felt sorry for him. He'd had some

tough times in his life. There was no excuse for the way

kids had abused him in school. . . and the

tattoo]

The last thing he needed was

me

adding 1 to his grief.

I should really be nicer to him, I thought. I ought to be

his friend.

Then I thought, How can I be his friend when he acts like

a total asshole half the time?

For a while, I wondered

why

he was such an asshole.

He really isn't one, I thought. It's an act.

A very obvious act.

Which made it even more strange. Why would he or

anyone else put on an elaborate performance

designed to annoy people? Did he

want

everyone to despise him?

Apparently.

Some sort of self-destructive thing?

Maybe it's to keep people at a distance so he

doesn't get attached to them. Get attached, and

they can hurt you.

Dump you.

Like my good old friend, Holly, hurt me.

As I scrubbed the skillet in which Eileen had

prepared the fajitas, I wondered what Holly was

doing at the moment. I glanced at my wristwatch.

A quarter till eight. Maybe on her way to the

movies with Jay-Jay the Wonder Boy.

Or are they in bed?

I pictured Holly on her back, a handsome

strange boy on top of her, plunging into her . .

. and I felt no jealousy, no bittersweet

longing for Holly, no pain, no anger, not much of

anything at all.

I didn't really

care

what Holly was doing. Didn't care at all.

As I dried the skillet with a dish towel, I

wondered what Casey might be doing at the moment.

Not even eight o'clock yet. Was she in a house

somewhere? Her own, or someone else's? Or was she

outside, roaming the dark streets?

If I went out now, would I have any luck finding

her?

I can't go out now, I reminded myself; Eileen's

here.

She's asleep.

Is she?

I finished the dishes, then went down the hall to my

bedroom. Gently pushing open the door, I saw that

the lamp was still on. I opened the door wider and saw

Eileen. She was still crooked on my bed, her legs

hanging off. She didn't look as if she'd moved

at all since the last time I'd seen her.

Dead to the world, but snoring up a storm.

She's so out of it, I thought, she probably won't

wake up for hours. If left alone, she might

sleep through the entire night and halfway through tomorrow

morning.

She'll never know I'm gone.

I can't just go off and leave her, I told myself. It

wouldn't be fair. She came over to be with me. She

made those great drinks and the dinner. She loves me.

I can't just

abandon

her.

She's asleep.

But what if she wakes up later? She might. And

then she'll know I went away.

Leave her a note.

Sneaking around the bedroom, I gathered my blue

jeans, chamois shirt, sneakers, knife and

flashlight while Eileen continued

to snore.

I carried them into the hall and set them down. Standing

in the doorway, I watched Eileen for a while.

Especially the skin revealed by the plunging top of

her gown. And her left leg outside the slit.

Exposed to the hip, and no sign of panties.

Isn't she wearing any?

I

could find out . . . simply sneak over to the bed and

ease my hand through the slit.

She isn't.

But if she does have panties on, I thought, she

would be glad to have me take them off.

Except she's asleep.

Asleep.

Staring at Eileen, I remembered being in the bed with

Casey last night. The feel of her warm breath

on my face as she slept. The feel of her

breast. And how I had furtively explored her .

. .

I suddenly ached to be with Casey.

No matter that Eileen loved me, that Eileen was

sprawled on my bed, that Eileen's body was almost

within sight and touch beneath her gown. No matter that she

was beautiful and passionate and smart and

wonderful. No matter any of it; I needed to be

with Casey.

I was tempted to turn off the bedroom light. In the

dark, Eileen would probably sleep longer. Again,

however, I feared that a sudden absence of light might

wake her. So I left it on and silently shut the

door.

In the living room, I changed into my dark clothes

and slipped the knife and flashlight into my

pockets. Then I went into the kitchen to write my

note.

It wasn't easy. The first version had so many words and

entire sentences scratched out that I finally threw it

in the wastebasket and started over again.

Come on

."

I thought. She'll wake up and I'll

never

get out of here.

Finally, it was done.

Your dinner was great! Kirkus loved it, too, and

he thanks you profusely. (i finally got him

to leave.)

Hope you had a good sleep. I didn't want

to disturb you, so I left you as-is.

I'm feeling a little restless, myself, and am going for a

walk. The walk is why I'm not here, in case

you're wondering.

Please don't leave. You're welcome to stay

all night. I'm counting on finding you here when I

return. Tomorrow's Saturday. No classes. We

can sleep in. Maybe I'll bring us back some

donuts for breakfast.

Done except for the closing.

It required, "Love, Ed," but I was

reluctant.

Go ahead, I told myself.

I

could

just sign it, "Me

."

She'll hate it if she doesn't find "love"

at the bottom of the note.

But what if I don't love her? Should 1 write

it anyway?

Not

writing it would be like a blatant denial that I love

her. I don't want that.

Why not?

Maybe I

do

love her.

Then why am I sneaking out to find Casey?

Muttering, "Screw it," I signed, "Love,

Ed

."

I gave the note a final, quick proof-reading, then

folded it in half and stood it up like a tent in the

middle of the kitchen table. On my way to the door,

I was tempted to look in on Eileen again to make

sure she was still asleep.

If she's awake, I'll call it off. I'll

stay. We'll make love and . . .

Forget it, I thought. If she is awake, I

don't want to know it.

I stepped out into the hall, eased my door shut,

made sure it was locked, then headed for the stairway.

My heart was beating fast. My legs felt shaky.

How can I do this to her?

Easy, I told myself.

But it wasn't easy, not really. I knew it was

wrong to sneak out, leaving Eileen on her own.

Especially

wrong because I was abandoning her to go on a quest for

Casey.

I'm stabbing her in the back.

No, I'm not, I thought. More than likely,

she'll be asleep the whole time I'm gone.

Is she

less

stabbed in the back, I wondered, if she doesn't

~know about it?

Probably not. I've

done

the deed whether Eileen's aware of it or not. I'm

just as much of a bastard either way.

No better than Holly.

So

don't

go, I told myself.

I started making my way slowly, quietly down the

stairs.

Go on back, I told myself. Destroy the note

. . .

still

can't.

I can't give up Casey. Maybe it won't work

out, anyway, but I have to see it through and find out.

Can't just quit on her when we've only just gotten

started. Not out of some stupid loyalty

to Eileen.

What did I really owe to Eileen, anyway?

I'd no sooner been dumped by Holly than

Eileen had jumped all over me.

I'm not her lover, I'm her prey.

With those thoughts racing through my mind, I felt

justified and

"dis

liberated and rotten as I hurried down the final

stairs and heard voices from the Fishers' room.

One voice belonged to Mrs. Fisher.

The other came from Kirkus.

Yellow light was spilling onto the carpet runner

in front of the Fishers' doorway.

I stopped.

My chances of sneaking past the door without being seen were

pretty much zip.

Just great, I thought.

Maybe it's a sign; I'm not

meant

to leave the building. I'm not meant to go out and see

Casey tonight. I'm meant, instead, to return to my

apartment and be with Eileen.

"Fuck what's meant," I muttered.

I strode forward. My heart pounded

faster. The voices from inside the room grew

louder, more distinct.

" . . . sure it will be splendid," Kirkus

said.

"Well, come on by tomorrow and I'll . .

."

I walked past the doorway. In my peripheral

vision, I glimpsed the back of Kirkus. He

seemed to be well inside the room.

"There goes young Logan, now," said Mrs.

Fisher.

Shit.

"Where's

he

off to

?"

inquired Kirkus.

I kept moving, faster than before.

I rounded the corner, then rushed across the foyer to the

building's front door. As I pulled it open,

Kirkus called out, "Eduardo!"

Caught!

Briefly, I considered bolting.

Play it cool!

Holding the door wide open, I looked

around and smiled at Kirkus. "I'm just on my

way out," I said. "You coming

?"

He nodded and hurried toward me. I held the

door for him, then followed him outside.

"Waylaid by the landlady

?"

I asked.

"Not at all," said Kirkus. "Agnes is a

dear. We've been having a marvelous time, and it

appears that I'll shortly be your neighbor

."

What

?"

"They have a vacancy upstairs, a mere two

doors away from

you

."

"And you're thinking about moving in

?"

"It's very nearly a done deal, old boy

."

He slapped me on the back. "Isn't it

wonderful

?"

"Wonderful

."

I tried not to sound aghast.

"I'm so thrilled

."

At the sidewalk in front of the building, I

stopped and faced him. "We can talk about it tomorrow,"

I said. "I have to get going

."

"Decided against the nap, did we

?"

"I felt like getting some fresh air

."

"Well, allow me to accompany you. Together, we'll

drink deep of the brisk October night

."

"I was hoping for some peace and quiet

."

"I'm fine with that," said Kirkus. "Mum's the

word

."

I turned to the right and started walking. Kirkus

stayed by my side.

After a couple of minutes, he said, "Does the

fair Eileen realize you've deserted her

?"

"She's asleep

."

"And so you availed yourself of the opportunity to sneak

away

."

"Give it a rest, huh

?"

"Did you sneak out in hopes of finding

me?"

"In your dreams, Kirkus

."

He laughed softly. "One can hope

."

"Don't you need to be getting home

?"

"Not at all

."

What does it take to get rid of him!

"Nothing would tickle me more," he said, "than

to while away the night with you, Eduardo

."

"I'd really prefer to be alone

."

"You're just saying that.

Nobody

likes to be alone

."

"Speak for yourself

."

"Where are we going

?"

he asked.

"I'm

going this way," I told him.

"I'm

going this way, too

."

So far, we were both walking northward along

Fairmont Street. Even though I'd come out much

earlier than usual, it made sense to start heading in

the right direction.

"Such a splendid night," Kirkus soon said.

"The chill October breeze, the blowing leaves, the

dancing shadows. I feel as if I" in the midst

of a Ray Bradbury story

."

"I feel like I'm in a Gore Vidal

."

Kirkus let out a whoop of laughter and

patted me on the butt "Naughty boy!"

When the Fairmont Street bridge came

into sight, Kirkus asked, "Where

are

we going, old boy

?"

"Onward," I said.

"Beyond the bridge

?"

"Far beyond the bridge

."

"You must have a destination in mind

."

"Dandi Donuts

."

"You jest

."

"Nope

."

If he stays with me, I thought, that's exactly where

I'll go. Maybe have a couple of donuts and a

cup of coffee, pass some time with Kirkus, then

lose him and go looking for Casey.

"That's

miles

away

."

""I have miles to go before I sleep.""

"Oh, dear

."

"You can come along if you want, but it's up to you. With

or without you, I'm going to Dandi Donuts

."

"You must be mad

."

"TRUE! -- nervous -- very, very dreadfully nervous

I had been and am; but why

comw

you say that I am mad?""

"Delightful! A quote for every occasion

."

"Just trying to impress you, old bean

."

"If you hope to impress me, quote Camus

."

"In that case, you'll have to remain unimpressed

."

We began to make our way over the bridge. Of the

four old-fashioned lamps by its sides, three of the

globes were dark and one glowed with murky

light. The same as last night.

We were about halfway across when Kirkus said,

"Don't you just adore the Old Mill Stream

?"

"It's pretty nice

."

Saying, "So picturesque and romantic," he

turned aside and stepped over to the parapet.

Though I halted, I didn't join him.

He glanced back at me. "Are you in such great

haste for donuts that you have no time to linger and enjoy the

beauties of the night

?"

"Pretty much

."

"I should think a setting such as this would have a special

appeal for you. It's so ... Poe-ish

."

"The stream

?"

"The old, gloomy bridge. Don't you think so

?"

"I

suppose

."

He beckoned to me. "Please

."

I

just stood there and looked at him.

He shook his head.

"I

promise not to molest you

."

"Comforting. Are you coming

?"

"You come here

."

"I

don't think so

."

"My

God, man.

All I

want to do is linger here for a few brief minutes and

enjoy the view

."

"I'm not stopping you

."

I started walking away. Glancing back, I said,

"See you later

."

"I

wouldn't go off and leave

you,

old man

."

Though he sounded nearly as smug as usual, I

heard a note of pain in his voice. "Okay,"

I said. "I'll wait for you

."

"Thank you

."

He turned away. Bending over, he put his

elbows on the parapet. His head moved slightly from

side to side, up and down. Then he looked back

at me. "It's a splendid view," he said.

"I've seen it

."

"Come here and see it with me

."

"Thanks anyway

."

He muttered, "It's thrilling to

be

loathed," and turned away. Oh, great.

His back to me, his elbows on the parapet, he

lowered his head. I watched him for a while. Then

I

asked, "You okay

?"

He neither answered nor moved. "Rudy

?"

Still no response, so

I

went over to him. Close

by

his side,

I

bent over and put my elbows on the parapet. The

area below us was so dark that I could hardly see the

stream. "Nice view,"

I

said. "I can't see a thing

."

He didn't look at me, just leaned there with his head

drooping and stared down.

"Hey,"

I

said. "Cheer up, okay

?"

He kept staring down for a while. Then he said,

"Perhaps

I

should jump

."

"Up

and down for

joy

?"

"You're so amusing

."

"You mean "jump8z in

off the bridge here

?"

"It seems like a fine idea

."

"A

smashing idea,"

I

said. "Asshole," said Kirkus.

"I wouldn't do it if

I

were you

."

,If

you

were

me, you might

."

"Well, shit yes. Put it

that

way

."

He laughed, but it sounded dreary. "Edward, Edward

."

,Is there something going on that

I

don't know about?"

"I

don't believe so

."

"No hideous, fatal disease?"

"My

health is splendid

."

"Won't be if you jump off this bridge

."

"Ever the wiseass

."

"I'm not kidding, man. It might

look

like a long way down, but it isn't. You might break

a couple of bones, but it isn't likely to kill you

."

"Perhaps we should find out

."

With that, he flung a leg up and over the parapet.

instead of trying to grab him,

I

said,

"I

wouldn't

."

He swung his other leg up and over, then sat there,

his feet hanging toward the stream, his hands flat against

the concrete on both sides of his rear end.

"If

you fall,"

I

said, "it's gonna really fuck you up

."

"I'm already fucked up

."

"Be that as it may

. .

."

"Besides,

I

have no intention of falling

."

"Best laid plans

. .

."

"The plan is to jump, not to fall

."

"You don't want to do that

."

"We shall see

."

With more agility than

I

expected from Kirkus, he rose from his sitting

position and stood up. The top of the parapet was

plenty wide enough to stand on, but

I

wouldn't have wanted to do it myself. It made my stomach

feel funny to see Kirkus up there. He stood

fairly straight, but with his knees bent slightly and

his arms out for balance.

"Okay,"

I

said. "Great. Now come on down

."

"You don't believe

I'll

jump?"

"I

believe it. Come on down, okay?"

"Why?"

"You're scaring me

."

"You care if I jump?"

"Of

course

I

care. Come on, Rudy. I don't want you to get

hurt

."

"You do nothing

but

hurt me

."

"It isn't

... I

don't

mean

to. It's just

...

you can be real annoying sometimes and it's fun to give you

a hard time. It's nothing to jump

off

a bridge about. Especially a low bridge

."

."

"I'm

sorry.

Okay? Just come on down. I tell you, you don't

want to jump. I don't want you to jump.

We're friends, aren't we7'

"Would that we were

."

From somewhere beyond Kirkus -- and below him -- came a

couple of fast claps. A husky voice called,

"Come on V jump, Tinkerbell. We gotcha

."

Another two claps.

Kirkus looked down and squealed, "Oh, dear

God!" and lost his balance. He swung his arms,

trying to steady himself.

The audience below him -- five or six

spectators, by the sounds of them -- whistled, cheered

and clapped.

I grabbed Kirkus around both thighs and jerked

hard. With another squeal, he fell.

Onto me.

His weight rushed me backward until I fell

off the curb and into the street and he smashed down on

top of me. My back slammed the pavement. Then

my head hit.

Clonk!

The impact seemed to shake my brain. I saw a

brief, dazzling display of fireworks.

Kirkus rolled off. On hands and knees, he

looked down at my face and gasped, "Are you

okay

?"

I groaned.

"Oh, dear God

."

"I'll live," I mumbled.

"What've I done to you

?"

"Never mind. J. . . help me up

."

"No, no, you shouldn't move. I'll go

call an ambulance

."

"Don't. I'm okay

."

"You might have a concussion or ..."

I reached up and grabbed his arm. Hard. "Just help

me up. I'll be okay. I'm sure as hell not

gonna . . .

wait

here while you . . . run off to call an ambulance.

Not gonna let

them

get me

."

"They did seem rather . . . unsavory

."

"We've gotta get outa here

."

He raised his head and looked around. "Perhaps you're

right

."

Letting go of his arm, I shoved at the pavement and

braced myself up on my elbows. Though my head

ached and felt too heavy for my neck, it didn't

seem to be bleeding. Nothing, at any

rate, was running down my scalp or the back of

my neck.

I turned my head slowly. A car was coming, but it

seemed to be a couple of blocks away. No

sign of the group from under the bridge.

Kirkus crouched behind me, grabbed my sides just below

my armpits, and helped me sit up. Then he

held on while I struggled the rest of the way to my

feet.

"Thanks," I said.

He still held on.

"You can let go

."

"You won't fall

?"

"We need to get out of the street

."

He moved to my side and clutched my upper left

arm. I staggered

to the curb and stepped onto the sidewalk. With my

free hand, I reached up and fingered the back of my

head. I had a big lump there. Touching it, I

winced.

The car was almost to the bridge.

I muttered, "Ride or Hide

?"

"Pardon

?"

"Nothing

."

Immediately, I wished I hadn't mentioned the game.

It was Casey's and mine, and I felt cheap for

speaking of it in front of Kirkus.

The car came closer. Its headlights made me

squint. I looked away. Soon, the car passed

us. It kept on going.

Still clinging to my arm, Kirkus turned me southward

and guided me along. We'd taken several steps

before I realized what was going on. "Hey," I

said. "Whoa

."

He didn't stop, kept pulling me.

"Wrong way," I said.

"I'm taking you home

."

"No. Huh-uh. I'm not going back

."

"I'm afraid you are, old boy. You're in no

condition to be hiking anywhere, much less to some donut

shop on the outer edges of nowhere

."

I jerked my arm from his grip.

"Edward!"

I dodged around him and headed north. Of course,

he hurried after me. Not looking back, I raised

my hands and said, "Don't touch me

."

"Please. This is no time to be foolish

."

He reached for my arm, but I knocked his hand away.

"Don't mess with me!" I walked as fast as I

could, though every stride pounded jolts of pain up my

neck and into my head.

Kirkus kept after me, staying a couple of paces

back. We left the bridge behind, but I didn't

slow my pace. "This is madness," he said. "You

can't simply continue on your merry way; you're

injured

."

"Thanks to you," I reminded him.

"It was your own fault. You should've let me jump

."

"You weren't jumping, you were falling. And those guys

down there would've had a field day with you

."

For a while, we didn't talk. Kirkus simply

remained behind me, silent as I walked northward.

A couple of blocks later, he said, "I

suppose I ought to thank you

."

"Don't bother

."

Quickening his pace, he came up alongside me and

put a hand on my back. "You saved my life,

Eddie

."

"More than likely

."

"And now you're hurt, and it's my fault

."

"Looks that way

."

"I'm so sorry

."

"Hey," I said, "it's all right. Okay

?"

"I owe you my life

."

"You don't owe me anything

."

"1 d. I do. Not only because you saved me, but because

you

cared

enough to save me. Cared about

me.

Nobody has ever cared about me before

."

"I don't care

that

much

."

Laughing softly, he patted my back. "Enough

to reach out and drag me back from the brink of

destruction

."

"Forget about it, okay

?"

"I'll never forget about it

."

"Just do me one favor, then," I said.

"Anything

."

"Don't try something like that again. Next time, I'll

let you

fall

."

He patted my back some more. "Oh, Eduardo,

you're so

tough

."

"Hands off, okay

?"

His hand stopped patting me, but remained on my

back. "And how's the head

?"

"Not great

."

"Shall I kiss it and make it better

?"

"No

."

He chuckled. "I thought not

."

"I really don't need this, Kirkus

."

"Don't need what, old boy

?"

"I'm in no mood to be fending you off

."

"Then don't

."

Whirling, I knocked his hand away from my back.

"Just

stop

it! Stop touching me!

Stop flirting,

or whatever the hell it is you're doing. I don't

appreciate it. Just leave me the fuck alone

."

"Oh, dear

."

"Know what

?"

I asked.

"I sense you're about to enlighten me

."

"We might actually stand

some

chance of being friends if you'd stop acting like such a fag

all the time

."

"Oh, my. Aren't

we

distraught

."

"Just leave me alone. Go home

."

I turned and walked away from him.

He came striding after me.

Over my shoulder, I said, "Get outa here.

I've had it with you. Go find someone else to bother

."

"Very well," he said. "Good

."

He halted. "Perhaps

I'll

wake up Eileen and bother her

."

I

stopped and turned around to face him. "Leave

Eileen out of this

."

"You obviously hope to leave Eileen out of this

...

your peculiar little adventure. Exactly why

did

you sneak out of your apartment tonight? Don't tell me

you're on a quest for donuts. Even if I'm

gullible enough to believe such rot, I doubt that

Eileen is. She'll more than likely

suspect the worst

."

"I should've let you fall

."

"Now, don't be surly. Eileen needn't know

anything

."

Smiling, he came up the sidewalk. He stopped

in front of me and reached out and patted my shoulder.

"Your secret is safe with me," he said. "Shall

we be

off?"

"Extortion must be a way of life with you

."

"I

prefer to think of it as persuasion

."

Side

by

side, we resumed our northward walk.

"Don't you simply love autumn88he asked after

a while. "The crisp, fresh wind, the blowing

leaves? The tang of woodsmoke in the air?"

"It's adorable," I said.

"Oh, dear. You're in a snit

."

"I just wanted to take a walk

."

"I

know, I know. And you're

having

your walk

."

"It's not the same

."

"It's ever so much better," he said. "You have me

along for companionship

."

"Whether

I

want you or not

."

"Of

course you want me. You're simply too

plebian to admit it

."

"Oh, yeah

."

"Deny it all you please. We both know that you find

me desirable. Deep down, you want me.

The thought of kissing me makes your little heart go

pitty-pat

."

"The thought of kissing you makes me want to barf

."

"Shall we experiment?"

My

heart didn't go pitty-pat, it thudded. "Don't

even think about it,"

I

said.

"One little kiss.

I

know you want to

."

"No

."

He forced me off the sidewalk. Grabbing both my

arms, he turned me and pushed my back against a

tree.

"Don't

."

"You'll like it.

I

know you will

."

"No

."

"Yes

."

His face moved in closer to mine. "Yes," he

said again. I turned my face away.

Lips brushing my cheek, he said, "Just one kiss

."

"No

."

"You want me to leave, don't you88he whispered.

"I'll

leave if you kiss me.

I'll

leave and

I

won't go to Eileen.

I'll

go back to my own apartment and you'll be free to meet

with your secret flame and nobody will ever know any of

this happened

."

"I haven't got a secret flame

."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire

."

"And I'm not gonna kiss you

."

"Afraid you'll enjoy it?"8Fuck you

."

"Certainly, if you'd rather

."

One of his hands turned my face toward him and he

planted his mouth on mine. I pinched my lips

tight together. Moaning. he tried to push his tongue

in. And then

I

felt his other hand against the front of my jeans,

rubbing me.

My

fist got him in the solar plexus. He

whooshed

against my mouth, folded over. Stumbling backward,

he crossed the sidewalk and dropped onto his ass

on someone's front yard. He sat there, hunched

over, hugging his belly and wheezing.

"You got your kiss,"

I

said. "Now go home

."

He didn't even lift his head.

I

wiped my lips with the back of my hand, turned away

from him and broke into a run. At the end of the block,

I

glanced back. He was on his hands and knees on the

sidewalk, looking at me.

I cut across Fairmont, raced up a

sidestreet and turned left at the next comer. The

running made my head hurt worse, made it

throb with pain. Also, I knew

I

looked conspicuous. When people run for exercise, they

wear proper outfits: shorts or warm-up suits

or sweatclothes, not jeans and a chamois shirt.

Late at night, my clothes hadn't mattered very

much; almost nobody was around to see me. But this was

well before the bedtime of most adults. It was also a

Friday night, so many of them had probably gone out

to movies or friends' houses. Plenty had remained

at home, too. Nearly every house was well

lighted. Through picture windows,

I

glimpsed people in their living rooms. Some were

watching television or reading. Others appeared to be

having parties.

Few of those inside the houses probably saw me

run

by. I

was definitely noticed, however,

by

some who were outside. They seemed to be everywhere: on

their way to or from cars; taking walks, alone or in

couples; taking their dogs for a stroll; walking or

running for exercise

-

in proper attire, of course; standing outside their

houses while they puffed at cigarettes; driving

by

in cars and vans and SUV'S and pickup trucks.

It crossed my mind that Randy might drive

by

and recognize me, but the thought didn't bother me

much. For one thing. my head pounded so badly that I

couldn't be bothered. For another,

I

was more worried about being spotted

by

Kirkus.

He was probably coming after me. Maybe

I'd

lost him, but

I

couldn't count on it.

I

needed to get out of sight. Find a place to hide,

to rest, to wait. Give Kirkus time to give up and

go home.

I

stopped running. Though

I

panted for air and poured sweat, my head didn't

feel quite so horrible.

If I could just lie down for a while

...

But where?

A

few hours from now, most of the lights would be off.

Most of the people would be in bed. I would be surrounded

by

good, dark places were I could hunker down and rest

unseen. Now, however, the night seemed alive and

terribly crowded.

I've

got

to go somewhere,

I

thought.

if

only

I

knew where to find Casey. This early, she might be

anywhere.

Probably in her own house,

I

thought.

If

she has one.

I

had no idea where that might be, or whether it even

existed.

She must live somewhere.

Doesn't matter, I told myself.

I'll

find her later. At the usual time. I hope. For

now,

I

just need a place to hide and rest. Marianne's

house?

The extra bed in her room would be wonderful. At

this hour, however, her parents would probably still be up

and around. Marianne might welcome me, but her

parents certainly wouldn't.

How about the park across the street from her house?

I

could go to the playground area and lie down on the

grass for a while.

I remembered Casey on the grass after her jump

from the swing.

Nice to be in a place where

I'd

been with her.

But then

I

remembered the man leaping down from the backstop and

running toward us. The memory of him sent chills

crawling up the back of my neck.

My

head began hurting worse.

Forget the park.

I

wondered if the tequila drinking woman over on

Franklin Street would let me in.

I

could ring her doorbell, explain that I'm

Casey's friend and need a place to rest for a while.

No way.

First,

I

would never have the guts. Second, she might not be the

one to answer the door. Third, I had no idea

what sort of relationship

-

if any

-

she had with Casey. Unlikely as it seemed,

maybe she wasn't even aware of Casey's

visits to her house.

She must be aware of them. Twice,

I'd

seen Casey either entering or leaving the woman's

house.

I started Walking in that direction.

Not with any intention of ringing the doorbell or

attempting to enter. But it was where

I

would probably start looking for Casey later On,

so why

not go there now?

I

was just as likely to find a hiding place near that

house as anywhere else. Maybe in the backyard,

or behind a neighbor's house, or across the street.

It seemed like a fine idea.

It was a long way off, though. Could

I

go that far without Kirkus spotting me? And with such a

stiff neck and throbbing head?

If I could just take something for the headache and lie

down for a while!

No doubt Casey would be able to get me some

aspirin.

Hours from now.

So many hours,

I

suddenly realized, that

I

could walk back to my apartment, take some aspirin,

lie down for a while, and be back out on the streets

in plenty of time to start searching for her.

Only two problems with that: Kirkus and Eileen.

Kirkus might intercept me. At my apartment,

Eileen might already

awake. Or she might wake up before

I

could leave again.

Better to live with the headache than to risk losing a

night with Casey.

A

couple of minutes later, grimacing and rubbing my

neck and turning my head, I looked toward a

house and realized it had no lights on.

All

the windows were dark and so was the porch.

No cars were parked in the driveway. The stretch of

curb in front of the house was also empty.

By

all appearances, nobody was home.

In my imagination,

I

saw a medicine cabinet loaded with pain

relievers.

I

saw a bedroom with a king-sized bed.

If

nobody is home

...

Don't even think about it, I told myself.

Casey would do it.

By

the time

I

reached the front porch,

I

was so frightened that my heart was thudding wildly and my

head felt as if it might explode.

The area near the welcome mat was littered with

fliers and brochures. They looked as if they'd

been piling up for several days, maybe longer.

Nobody

is

home.

Just to make sure,

I

pressed the doorbell button. From inside the

house came a faint sound of ringing.

Nothing more.

I

rang again, waited a while longer, then reached forward

and found the screen door's handle.

I

pulled and the door swung toward me. Bracing it with

my body,

I

reached for the handle of the main door.

What if Casey opens it from the inside?

I

thought. And comes out and says,

House inspector.

The memory made me smile.

Of

course, Casey didn't come out of this house. Its

door was locked.

Good,

I

thought. That's that.

I

wanted aspirin and a bed so badly that

I

might've gone in, had the door been unlocked, but

I

certainly wouldn't

break in.

It's not exactly breaking in if

I

use a key,

I

thought.

Not that I'll find one.

I didn't find the key under the doormat.

I

did find it on a thin ledge above the door.

Why

anyone would lock a house then leave its key near

the front door is beyond me. But some people do. Maybe

they have an overpowering fear of locking themselves out. Who

knows? People do plenty of strange and foolish things.

Hand trembling,

I

pushed the key into the lock and turned it. The latch

clacked back, very loud.

I

flinched. Then

I

waited, listening. No sounds came from inside the

house or from anywhere nearby.

I

heard only my own quick breathing, my own pounding

heart. So

I

eased open the door and looked in.

Darkness. Nobody's home,

I

told myself again.

I

can just walk in, find the medicine cabinet and help

myself to a couple of aspirin.

It's no big crime.

Take some aspirin. Forget about lying down, just

take the aspirin and get out fast before someone comes

home. In and out in two or three minutes.

But I couldn't move.

I

just kept standing there, staring into the darkness.

Do it,

I

told myself. Don't be such a chicken. The place

is empty.

What if someone comes back?

I'll be

in and gone in two minutes.

I can't do it. It's wrong.

Not

that

wrong.

If

Casey were here, she would've gone in

by

now,

Whatever,

I'd

better stop standing here on the porch

thinking

about it. Someone'll come along and see me.

The tension was making my head throb with pain.

I really need some aspirin!

I imagined Casey smiling at me, shaking her

head, saying,

You could've been in and out in the amount of time you've

been standing here worrying about it.

I

entered the house, shut the door, stood motionless and

listened: Silence except for some electrical

hums and a quiet, clicking sound that probably

came

from

a clock.

The air felt warmer than outside. Much warmer.

Apparently, the owners had forgotten to turn down the

thermostat before going away.

Unless someone's here.

The thought made my head hurt worse. Nobody's

here,

I

told myself

I

pulled the Maglite out of my pocket, but didn't

turn it on. Even if the house were empty, someone

outside might notice my light if I used it.

But

I

kept it in my hand, just in case, and started walking

slowly through the house. Because of dim light coming in through

windows, I could make out the general shapes of things

well enough to avoid falling over furniture. And

well enough to find doorways.

I

made my way through the living room. Here and there,

small dots glowed in the darkness from the television,

the cable box, the VCR. Bright green numbers near

the floor showed

9:20.

What if they've got an alarm?

Again, pain soared into my head.

Half the people in this town don't even lock their

doors. The odds of anyone having an alarm

...

Just get it done and get out!

At the rear of the living room,

I

hurried through the dark rectangle of an entryway.

In almost total darkness,

I

twisted the head of my flashlight and the bright, narrow

beam leaped out.

I

was in a hall with doorways on both sides.

Framed pictures hung on the walls.

The nearest loomed near my shoulder.

I

glanced at it and saw a hideous face. For just an

instant,

I

doubted it was just a painting.

I

gasped and leaped away. Then

I

found it with my flashlight.

Wild red fright-wig, enormous crimson nose,

white-painted skin and a gawdy, scarlet smile.

A

clown face. It looked demented.

I

hurried forward, glimpsed another clown painting,

then swept my light through a doorway and discovered a

bathroom.

I

ducked inside and closed the door.

And felt

-

stupidly

-

as if

I'd

shut it to keep the clowns out. Trembling,

I

stepped away from the door, turned around and

swept the bathroom with my flashlight: toilet,

tub with shower doors, counters, and a mirror above the

sink. The mirror reflected the flashlight beam and

my haggard face. They swung away when

I

pulled at one side of the mirror and it opened on

hinges.

Behind it was the medicine cabinet. Shelves lined with

medications and ointments. Including Tylenol and

Extra Strength Bufferin.

I

snatched down the Bufferin, fought open its

"child-proof" cap and shook a couple of tablets

into my trembling hand.

Holding them, I closed the plastic bottle and

returned it to the shelf.

I

shut the medicine cabinet, then turned the cold

water on.

What if somebody can hear it?

Nobody's in the house,

I

told myself again. Nobody but me, (and those damn

clowns.)

I

tossed the pills into my mouth. Bent over the sink.

Cupped water into my mouth and swallowed them.

After they were down,

I

drank more water. Then

I

shut off the faucet.

I

dried my hands on my jeans.

I

wiped my wet mouth on my sleeve. And

sighed. Still frightened, but pleased with myself.

Now,

get out of here fast.

Turning away from the sink,

I

realized

I

needed to urinate. It's not that urgent,

I

told myself. Just hold it and go later.

I'm in a bathroom, for Pete's sake!

Last night,

I'd

been in worse shape but

I'd

refused to use the toilet in Marianne's house.

That was different. That house had

people

in it.

I

stepped over to the toilet and lifted its lid and

seat. The bowl looked reasonably clean. Holding

the flashlight in my teeth,

I

unzipped and pulled out and started to go. It

sounded very loud in the silence. Like Casey last

night.

Is anybody listening?

Stop it. Are you

trying

to scare yourself?

Done and zippered shut, I considered leaving the

toilet unflushed. It was sure to make a lot of

noise. But

I'd

already made plenty of noise, so why worry about a

little more? Besides, it would be crude not to flush.

I

wanted to leave the house exactly as

I

had found it

-

minus a couple

of

Bufferins.

SO I

Pushed the handle down. With an explosive gush of

water, the toilet flushed.

Time to get!

I

took the flashlight out of my mouth. Holding it in

my left hand,

I

opened the bathroom door with my right.

I

stepped out and looked both ways. To my right were the

living room, the foyer and the front door. To my

left, the hall continued on another twenty feet

or so. More doorways in that direction. And more

wooden picture frames on the walls.

Did every frame contain a painting of a clown?

Take a look and see.

Oh, sure.

I

was tempted, though. And excited

by

the idea of not fleeing from the house.

I'm already in,

I

told myself I've taken care of business.

I

can leave any time I want. So why not check the

place out for a minute or two?

At least check the rest of the paintings,

I

thought. See if they're all clowns.

I

can tell Casey about it. I can write about it.

(what sort of person collects clown paintings?

A

clown, himself. Or a circus fan. Or a John

Wayne Gacy fan.)

Heart thudding fresh waves of pain into my head,

I

turned to the left and made my way silently up the

hallway. Each time

I

approached a painting, I aimed my light at it.

Every painting depicted a different clown. They all

looked slightly mad.

Afraid of making noise, I didn't try to open

either of the closed doors that

I

came upon. Two more doors, however, stood wide

open.

I

stepped into the first doorway, shined my light around and

felt as if

I'd

entered a one-room museum devoted

entirely to clowns. In one corner stood a

life-size mannequin in full clown makeup and

costume. Along the walls were glass-fronted

cases displaying clown dolls, circus posters,

old newspaper articles, and items of clown gear

such as wigs and rubber noses and

floppy

shoes and baggy trousers.

I

made my way quickly along the cases, shining my

light through the glass, excited

by

this strange discovery.

Most of the newspaper clippings, brown with age, had

to do with Clement O8Toole, who portrayed a

clown called Sunny Boy. None of the hallway

paintings had shown Sunny Boy. He was a large,

fat clown. Wearing a straw hat and baggy

overalls, he resembled an oversized Tom

Sawyer. He had the standard enormous red nose, but

his white-painted face had yellow streaks radiating

away from his eyes and mouth

-

the rays of Sunny Boy's sun,

I

suppose.

The clippings had dates from the 1950's through the

1980's. Not daring to stop and read them, I only

glanced at some of the headlines and dates. Clement

must've been a real star. But in

1988,

he'd nearly died in a circus tent fire.

He'd survived his burns, but was horribly

I

disfigured and Sunny Boy never put in another

appearance under the Big Top-

Clement must be at least seventy

by

now, I thought. If he's still alive.

Almost ready to move on,

I

turned my flashlight to the mannequin in the comer of the

room.

It was dressed and made up to look like Clement's

Sunny Boy.

Someone

had gone to a lot of trouble and expense.

Sunny Boy looked as good as what you might see

in an actual wax museum, except something

seemed to be wrong with its face. Some of the

wax had apparently melted, bubbled, flowed into odd

shapes.

Too much heat somewhere along the line, I thought.

A

shame. It wasn't very noticeable from a distance, but

up close

...

And up close, the dummy's eyes looked old and

bloodshot. Goosebumps started creeping up my

spine. Keeping my flashlight on the dummy,

I

backed toward the door.

I

wanted to whirl around and run, but was afraid to take

my eyes off it.

Don't be ridiculous. It's just a dummy.

A

very lifelike dummy.

In the hallway,

I

swung my light out of the room and walked away.

Enough of this place.

I

was almost to the living room when a frail, reedy

voice

-

like the voice of an old, old man

-

tremored down the hallway from behind me. It

quietly sang,

"Oh, Sunny Boy, the pipes, the pipes are

calling

...

from glen to glen, and down the mountainside

.

.

."

I ran through the house, somehow managing not to crash

into furniture or walls. Outside,

I

leaped off the porch, ran to the street and across the

street, and kept on running. I raced around a

comer, crossed another street, turned another

corner, kept on running, and finally, in a

neighborhood of expensive-looking homes, came

upon a two-story house with a lighted porch but dark

windows.

The area behind the house was enclosed

by

a fence, but the gate wasn't locked.

Quietly,

I

entered. Then I crept alongside the house. In

back,

I

found a swimming pool.

The pool wasn't lighted. Neither was the patio or

any rear window of the house.

The patio had a barbecue grill, a

glass-topped table surrounded

by

iron chairs, a couple of aluminum patio

chairs, and a lounge with a small table beside it. On that

table was a drinking glass.

I

picked it up. It was made of sturdy plastic, and

had a puddle of liquid in the bottom.

Probably from melted ice cubes. Someone must've

enjoyed a cocktail out here earlier.

Had he or she also gone swimming? It had been a

nice, sunny day, warm for October.

Bending over, I swept a hand over the plastic

tubing of the lounge. It felt smooth and cool and

dry. The tubing sank under my weight as

I

sat on it. I lowered the backrest and lay down.

Pale, moonlit shreds of clouds were scooting across

the sky. night breeze carried a chimney scent of

burning wood.

This is nice,

I

thought.

Hands folded on my belly, I shut my eyes.

Though the breeze felt cool against my face,

I

was snug in jeans and my thick, soft shirt.

The tightness and pain began to drain away.

This is so nice,

I

thought. Now if I just don't get caught back

here.

My

luck, some withered old zombie'll climb out of the

pool and come slouching over to me.

What

is it

with this town? I wondered. Everywhere

I

go, creeps and weirdos.

Not everywhere,

I

told myself. Don't forget Casey. Neither a

creep nor a weirdo. And Marianne seemed

nice. Bet the tequila woman's nice, too.

How about one of

them

climbing out of the pool? Which one?

As

I

imagined the side of the pool, someone boosted herself out

of the water and climbed onto the edge. The tequila

woman, slender and beautiful in the moonlight. Her

hair wasn't wet, but her nightgown was. The

pale gown clung to her body and ended high on her

thighs. She came toward me with slow, graceful

strides. Along the way, though, she changed

into Casey.

Good,

I

thought.

I

don't even know the tequila woman really.

Casey was dressed in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt.

I

tried to imagine her in the wet, clinging

nightgown that showed everything, but couldn't make it

happen. Still, she sure looked good.

She crouched beside me and reached over and stroked my

brow.

You had yourself a nasty knock on the bean,

Chuck-were,.

Kirkus fell on me.

I'll kiss it and make it well.

Unfortunately, the bump was on the back of my

head.

I'll turn over,

I

said. But I didn't move. Though

I

definitely wanted Casey to kiss my bump,

I

felt very comfortable on my back.

I'll turn over in a little while,

I

thought.

The next time

I

thought about turning over,

I

felt calm and well rested and alert.

I

opened my eyes.

A

few pale rags of clouds were rushing across the sky.

The full moon was high and very bright. Apparently,

I'd

been asleep.

An area at the back of my scalp felt stiff and

sore, but my head felt pretty good inside. The

nap had apparently given the aspirin a chance to do

its

job.

I

raised my left arm above my face and pressed the

button to light my wristwatch.

11: 10.

Not bad!

Wary of my head,

I

sat up slowly. Then

I

got to my feet, and still felt fine.

Very good.

I

looked around.

All

the lights were out, just as they'd been before my nap.

MY lucky night,

I

thought.

Yeah, right. Lucky if I don't count Sunny

Boy or the creeps under the bridge or Kirkus

falling on me or my head getting bounced off the

street.

About,

well,

I

thought. After all that, things can only get better.

Oh, yeah?

Let's hope so. Let's at least hope I've

lost Kirkus for the night and let's hope

I

don't have any trouble finding Casey. That's all

I

really want. Simple, really. Casey and no

Kirkus.

I

went around the side of the house, let myself out through the

gate, then stopped at a corner of the

front lawn. The neighborhood didn't look

familiar. It was darker than when

I'd

arrived.

I

saw nobody wandering about. For a while, no cars went

by.

Then two came along, one after the other, and kept

on going.

Eleven-fifteen on a Friday night.

A

lot of people are already in bed. Some are on their way

home from movies or parties. Others are still out,

living it up.

And where's my good buddy Kirkus?

I

wondered. Back in his own apartment

by

now? Or did he return to mine and wake up

Eileen so she could fully appreciate my

disappearance?

If he did that

... to

Maybe, saints preserve us, he went back to the

damn bridge and jumped off. And wouldn't

that be a pity?

I felt guilty for thinking it.

He wouldn't,

I

told myself. He never meant to jump in the first

place, just climbed up there for the drama of it. He

wouldn't have done it at all if

I

hadn't been there.

Did it to get my attention. Well, he got it,

all right.

I suddenly remembered the feel of his open mouth, the

feel of his hand. It made me a little sick, the way

you might feel if you accidentally stepped on a dead

baby bird.

I

wiped my lips on my sleeve, then started

walking. At the sidewalk,

I

turned to the left and headed for the end of the block. You

try to be friends with a guy,

I

thought, and he does that to

you.

"What do you expect

?"

I

muttered.

When

I

reached the corner, I looked up at the street

signs. Olive and Conway? I'd never heard of

either of them.

Where the hell

am I?

After running away from Kirk-us,

I'd

concentrated (to the extent that

I'd

been able to think at all) on making turns and losing

him. I hadn't paid much attention at all to my

actual location. Nor had

I

kept track of my route after running away from

Sunny Boy's house.

Doesn't matter,

I

told myself. I'm not actually lost, just

temporarily

vague about my position. No cause for

alarm.

I

was obviously somewhere north of the Fairmont Street

bridge. That was my impression, anyway. After

ditching Kirkus, I'd headed generally to the north and

east.

I

think.

I

knew where

I

wanted

to be

...

at the tequila woman's house on Franklin

Street to begin my watch for Casey.

So which way is that?

Farther north?, probably.

But which way is north?

Standing on the corner,

I

turned around in a

full circle.

I

looked up and down the roads. Saw

headlights, parked cars, trees and houses.

Nothing, however, stood out as a landmark.

Terrific. it's all right,

I

told myself I've got plenty of time.

Pick a direction, any direction. Doesn't

matter. whichever way

I

go,

I'll

soon run into a street

I

recognize. Then

I'll

be set.

I turned to the right and walked quickly. The faster I

walked, the sooner I would find a street I

recognized and the sooner

I

could calm down.

It didn't feel good, not knowing where

I

was. It gave me an uneasy feeling as if

I'd wandered into the Twilight Zone.

I

half expected Rod Serling to step out from behind a

tree.

Offered for your consideration

...

one Edward Logan

...

He went out on a fine October night in search of

his true love but found, instead, that streets don't

always lead where

you

expect and that love may not always find a way,"

especially in that region of uncertain boundaries we

call

...

The sound of an engine broke into my thoughts.

I

looked over my shoulder. Headlights. Coming on

fast.

Ride or Hide? Too late to hide.

So

I stood motionless on the sidewalk and watched the

headlights grow larger, brighter.

A

pickup truck.

It raced

by.

As it passed me, I saw that it was a compact

pickup truck, pale in color.

I

couldn't see the driver, but

I

saw the passenger for a couple of seconds.

Her head was drooping as if she'd fallen asleep.

It wobbled with the motions of the truck. So did her

shoulders. She probably Would've fallen over if

not for her seatbelt.

The way her head hung down, most of her face was

shrouded

by

her hair.

She seemed to be wearing a dark, skimpy garment with a

plunging neckline. It was open very wide, showing an

expanse of dusky skin and much of her left breast.

Eileen?

In Randy's pickup truck?

The truck must've been

fifty

feet away

by

the time I got over my shock enough to give

chase.

I

gained on it for a few seconds while it waited at

a stop sign at the end of the block.

Then it took off and left me behind.

Though

I

kept after the pickup truck, it was soon a block

ahead of me. Then two blocks. Then it turned

left.

By

the time

I

reached the corner where it had turned, it was nowhere to be

seen.

Exhausted, head pounding again,

I

quit running.

I

leaned back against a tree and tried to catch my

breath. And tried to talk myself out of what

I'd

seen.

Maybe it

wasn't

Eileen.

I

hadn't gotten a very good look at the passenger's

face

-

only glimpsed it, and the light had been bad, and her

hair had been in the way. She might've been a

stranger who bore a certain resemblance

to Eileen.

And wore Eileen's dress?

It wasn't necessarily Eileen's dress,

I

told myself. Obviously, its top had a similar

(identical, who am I trying to kid?)

design to Eileen's dress. But who knows what it

might've looked Re from the chest down? And was it

even green?

The pickup truck wasn't necessarily

Randy's, either. It had looked similar, but there must

be a lot of light-colored compact pickup

trucks around town. And I hadn't even gotten a

glimpse of the driver.

What

I'd

seen might easily have been a local

couple, strangers to me, a guy and his girlfriend on

their way home from some sort of formal occasion: a

dance, a dinner party, maybe even a wedding.

Sure thing.

It was Eileen, all right. Asleep or

unconscious (dead?) in the Passenger seat of

Randy's pickup truck. Somehow, he had found her

and grabbed her and now he was taking her someplace.

I had special plans for her,

he'd said at the donut shop.

You want to go out with her?

I

want to go in her.

He's taking her someplace to do that,

I

realized. Someplace Private where he can go in

her. Where he can

give her the works.

Or maybe she's still back at my apartment,

asleep in my bed. Fat chance.

She might be,

I

told myself. Maybe it really and truly wasn't

Eileen in the pickup.

It was.

But

I

had to know for certain.

I

Call. Find a phone and call. If she answers

... ...

she won't

...

everything's fine.

There might be a pay phone over near Dandi

Donuts. Though

I

couldn't specifically recall seeing one in the

vicinity, it seemed like a good place to try.

If I

can find my way there.

I

had stopped at a corner with a signpost, but hadn't

checked it yet.

Let's hope.

I

looked up at the signs: Olive and Franklin.

Franklin!

Somehow, in my confusion, I must've crossed

Division without even knowing it.

I

looked up and down Franklin Street. The houses

seemed vaguely familiar. More than likely,

I

was still south of the tequila woman's house.

North should be to the left

...

the same direction Randy had gone.

He's taking Eileen someplace north of here.

As

I

started hiking up Franklin Street,

I

realized that Randy's destination might be nearby.

Maybe he'd kept driving or turned onto a

different road, but maybe he'd stopped at a

curb along Franklin

...

or pulled into a driveway. So

I

slowed down and kept watch for his pickup.

I also kept watch for the tequila woman's house.

And for Casey. Casey'll get me to a phone,

I

thought. She'll probably take me into the

nearest dark house

...

or maybe into the home of a 'friend" such as Marianne

or the tequila woman.

Now that

I

really

need Casey,

I

probably won't be able to find her.

I'll

just go on to Dandi Donuts.

By

the time

I

get to the tequila woman's house, it won't be

much farther to Dale. Take Dale on back

to Division, and

I'll

be at the donut shop.

What's the point?

I

wondered. Eileen

isn't

going to answer the phone.

She might.

She really might, I told myself. The mind can be a

tricky thing. It sometimes shows you what you're

expecting to see, not what is actually in front of

your eyes. Maybe the girl in the pickup truck

looked very different from Eileen. The "Plunging

neckline' of her gown could've actually been something

like a V-shaped design on a sweater.

Possible.

Stopping at a corner,

I

looked both ways. No traffic. No sign of

Randy's pickup truck parked along either side of the

street or in any nearby driveways. No sign

of any pedestrians in the distance. I hurried across.

The porch and windows of the comer house were dark.

Why

go all the way to Dandi Donuts?

I

pictured myself

sneaking into the comer house, creeping through its darkness,

finding a telephone

...

"Not a chance,"

I

muttered, and kept on walking.

But what if I can't find a pay phone?

There has to be one over

by

Dale and Division.

Doesn't

have

to be. And if there is, it might be out of order.

I'm not going to sneak into another supposedly empty

house! Not tonight, not ever!

(not

by

myself anyway.)

When

I

reached the next comer, the home of the tequila woman

came into sight.

I

forced myself to look away from it and check in both

directions for Randy's pickup truck and for

Casey. No sign of either. So

I

crossed the intersection.

Keeping Franklin Street between me and the tequila

woman's house, I continued northward.

Slowly.

For a while,

I

had a view of the kitchen window. It was dark. But the

porch lights were on. Light also showed through the

curtains of the large front window.

She

-

they

-

apparently hadn't gone to bed yet. I checked my

watch again. 11:48.

Instead of going on to Dandi Donuts, why not hide

and wait here for Casey to show up?

Might take hours.

What if she's in the house right now?

Even if she isn't, the tequila woman

probably is. Maybe she'll let me use her

phone.

I

stepped

off

the curb, made sure no traffic was coming, and

walked to the other side of Franklin Street.

MY mouth was dry.

My

heart thudded. Fresh pain began to pulse inside

my head.

I can't be doing this,

I

thought. Sure I can.

Why

not?

I climbed the porch stairs.

I've lost MY mind. The bump on the head

must've scrambled

my

brains.

stood on the welcome mat and pressed the

doorbell button.

A

I

sound of chimes came from inside the house.

I

had a strong urge to run away.

What'll I say?

I

had no idea.

On the other side of the screen door, the

main door opened a few inches, letting out a

vertical strip of light. At about my neck

level, a guard chain pulled taut. Then a face

appeared in the gap. Tequila woman's face.

It was prettier than

I

remembered it. And younger. Her large blue eyes

looked out at me.

"Yes88she asked. She sounded neither frightened nor

angry, but somewhat puzzled.

"My

name's

Ed,"

I told her. "I'm very sorry to bother you, but

there's some trouble and I'm wondering if

I

might be able to use your phone

."

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head sideways

and seemed to be considering my request.

"I

know it's almost midnight," I said, 'b it's sort

of an emergency

."

"Your name is what?" she asked.

"Ed,"

I repeated.

"Ed

Logan?"

Stunned, all I could do was gape at her.

She shut the main door.

A

moment later, it swung wide. She reached forward,

pushed the screen door open and said, "Come on in,

Ed

."

She knows

me? It didn't seem possible.

As

I

entered her house, she backed into the foyer.

I

saw that she was barefoot, wearing tan corduroy

trousers and a long-sleeved white blouse. The

blouse was untucked. It wasn't completely

buttoned.

After shutting the door, she offered her hand. "I'm

Lois," she said.

"Hi, Lois

."

I

shook her hand. It was warm and smooth. I could

hardly believe

I

was shaking the hand of the woman

I'd

spied on. And she

knew my name!

"Are you okay

?"

she asked. "You know who

I

am

?"

"I believe we have a friend in common," she said.

"She's all right, isn't she

?"

"As far as

I

know.

I

haven't seen her tonight.

I

just came here because your lights are on and

I

really need to use a phone

."

Whether or not she believed me, she said, "it's

over here," and turned away.

I followed her into the living room. Nobody else

was there. The television was off. No music was

playing. In the silence, I could hear Our

footsteps on the carpet. The tail of Lois's

blouse draped the seat

of

her corduroys.

She walked to a lamp table at the end of the sofa,

picked up a cordless phone, turned around and handed

it to me, saying, "Here

you go.,

"Thank you

."

As

I

tapped the numbers in, Lois wandered out of the room.

Probably to give me some privacy. It seemed

very trusting of her.

A

book lay open on her lamp table, face down,

probably to keep

her Place. She must've been reading it when

I

rang the doorbell.

Light in August

by

Faulkner.

After several rings, my answering machine took the

call.

My

own voice told me, "This is

Ed.

I'm not in right now. Please leave your name and

number at the beep

."

Along came the beep.

"Eileen

?"

I

asked. "Are you there? It's me. It's

Ed. If

you're there,

I

need to talk to you

."

I

waited for a few seconds, then said, "Eileen?

Are You there? It's really important. I

have

to talk to you.

Please

pick up if you're there

."

After waiting a while longer, I returned

Lois's phone to its cradle.

This is bad, I thought. This is really really bad.

It wasn't someone else in the pickup, it was

Eileen.

Of

course. It was

always

Eileen.

But if she'd answered the phone

.

There was never much chance of that.

Lois came back into the room. "Is everything

okay

?"

"Not really. But thanks for letting me use your

phone

."

"Is there anything

I

can do

?"

I

sighed.

"I

don't know

."

It was hard to concentrate.

"You look beat.

Why

don't you sit down and relax? Would you like some

coffee?

A

drink

?"

"I

don't think I want anything

."

I

sank onto the sofa and leaned back. It felt good.

Lois sat down beside me. Turning toward me, she

tucked one leg under the other and rested an arm across the

back of the sofa. The way she sat, her

blouse was drawn up against the underside of her left

breast. The same breast

I'd

seen naked on Tuesday night.

I was blushing, and knew it. "You seem very

upset," Lois said.

Not knowing what to say,

I

just nodded.

"I'll

help you if

I

can," she said.

"My

friend thinks the world

of you

."

The words warmed and flu-Wed me. "She does? We

only met last night

."

"She couldn't wait to come here and tell me all about

it

."

"When was she here

?"

"This morning. Early this morning. She was very

excited. She couldn't stop talking about you

."

"That's

...

great

."

"You must be a pretty special guy

."

"Not really

."

"She thinks you are. That's enough for me

."

"Well. Thanks

."

"I'll

help you if

I

can

."

"Thanks

."

"What can

I

do for you

?"

"I'm not sure

."

"Do you want to tell me about the problem

?"

I

said,

"Uh,"

and thought, Do I?

"Does it have to do with the man who's been after you? What

was his name, Ralph

?"

"Randy.

She told you about him, too

?"

,she tells me pretty much everything

."

"Do you know about Eileen

?"

"Your girlfriend

?"

"Yeah. Eileen.

I

don't know if she's exactly my girlfriend

anymore

...

but

I

think

I

saw her tonight. Just like ten minutes ago. This pickup

truck went

by.

It looked like Randy's, and this

girl

in the passenger seat looked like Eileen. And she

didn't seem to be conscious. Maybe she was just

sleeping,

I

don't know. Maybe she wasn't even Eileen.

It might not've been Randy's pickup, either. But

what I'm afraid of is that he got his hands on

Eileen and he's taking her somewhere

."

"You think he kidnapped her

?"

Nodding,

I

said, "But maybe it wasn't really Eileen. That's

why

I

wanted to call, to see if she was still at home.

I

got the answering machine, but she didn't pick up.

So it probably

was

her in the pickup. Unless maybe she slept through the

phone call

...

the ringing and everything. Or maybe she was in the

bathroom.

I

just don't know. What I think, though, is that Randy

has her

."

"Did you leave my number on the message

machine88Lois asked.

"No

."

"Why don't you call again? Maybe she

is

there, but just couldn't reach the phone in time

."

"Okay. Good idea

."

Though

I

didn't hold much hope,

I

reached over to the lamp table and picked up the phone.

I

punched the redial button. After a quick, musical

series of beeps, my home phone rang. Just like

last time, my machine picked up and delivered my

message. Then came the beep. "Eileen,"

I

said. "It's

Ed.

Are you there? This is Pretty urgent, so please

pick up if you're there

."

Lois patted my thigh. "Leave my number,"

she whispered.

"Are You there

?"

I

asked again. Then

I

said, "Okay. Anyway. You can call me back

at

. .

."

I

found Lois's number above the keypad, and read it

off. Then I repeated it more slowly. "Get back

to me as soon as you can,"

I

said, and hung up.

Lois gave

my

leg another pat. "If she calls while we're

gone, my machine'll take it.,

"While we're gone

?"

"Let's drive over to Eileen's place and see

if she's there

."

"I don't have a car

."

"I

do. Let's go: She sprang up from the sofa. As

I

followed her across the living room, she said, "Wait

by

the door.

I'll

be right back.,

While I stood in the foyer, she hurried toward the

rear of the house.

A

couple of minutes later, she returned with white

sneakers on her feet and a purse hanging from her

shoulder. She walked so fast her hair shook. So

did her breasts, but

I

tried not to watch them.

"All

set

."

she said, and swung open the door.

I

stepped outside. She came after me, shut the main

door, and hurried down the porch stairs.

I

rushed after her, letting the screen door bang shut.

Her car was in the driveway.

We both climbed in. As she keyed the ignition,

she said, "Toward campus?"

"Yeah. At Fairmont and Church

."

"Got it

."

Watching over her shoulder, she backed down her

driveway. Then she shifted and started driving south

on Franklin.

"I

really appreciate this,"

I

said.

"No problem.

I

just hope it turns out to be a false alarm

."

"Me, too. But

I'd

be surprised

."

"If she isn't there, we'll take the next step

."

"What'll that be?"

I

asked.

"Let's worry about that if we come to it

."

"Okay

."

Lois looked toward me for a moment. "How do you

think you'll handle your situation?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem to be involved with two women

simultaneously

."

"Yeah.

I

guess

I

am

."

"That sort of thing always ends badly for someone

."

When she said that,

I

remembered my own feelings when

I'd

read the letter from Holly: my disbelief, my ache of

loss, the pain of imagining her with Jay.

I'd

felt as if my heart had been torn apart.

I'd

thought my happiness was gone forever.

I can't put anyone through that.

But the letter had come only last Friday, one week

ago. The real devastation had only lasted a few

days.

I'd

started getting better on Monday night

-

the night Eileen met me at Dandi Donuts and

drove me back to my apartment and we made love

on the living-room floor

-

also the night

I

first saw the mystery girl and followed her, wondering

about her and longing to meet her.

One of them had given the world back to me. One, or

both.

"Someone's bound to get hurt," Lois said.

"Someone

always gets

hurt in deals like that

."

"I

know

."

"What're you going to do?"

"I'm not sure yet

."

"You don't want to hurt Casey

."

"I don't want to hurt anyone

."

Then

I

realized she'd called the girl as Casey. "So that

is

her name? Casey? She was kidding around about making up

a name for me to call her, but I

thought

it was really Casey

."

"It is

."

"Casey whaff "Just Casey

."

"You don't want to tell me her last name?

Lois glanced at me again. "I'd be glad to tell

you, Eddie, but

I

don't know it myself'

"What

do

you know about her?"

I

asked,

"I

know what

I

need to know

."

When she said that,

I

couldn't stop a single, quiet laugh from coming out.

"What88she asked.

"You must be the one who taught her how to talk in

circles

."

Lois tamed her head. We were passing a

streetlight, and

I

saw the smile on her face. "Maybe she taught

me

."

"Does she come to your house

every day?"

"I wish. Sometimes, it's every day for a while. Then

I

might not see her for a few days

...

or longer

."

She glanced at me.

"I

can't stand it when she doesn't come.

I

always think the worst. That something's happened to her. That

I'll never see her again

."

On the last word, her voice broke. She took

deep breaths. Then she asked, "How's that for

straight-forward?"

"Good

."

Holding the steering wheel with one band at a time, she

wiped her eyes.

"Doesn't Casey have a place to live

?"

I asked. "She is not without places to live

."

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a guess

-

she doesn't tell me everything

-

but

I

think she probably has houses and apartments all

over town

."

"But not a place of her own?"

Lois shook her head. "I've asked her to live

with me. She will sleep there sometimes, come

by

for meals

. . .

but she never stays for long. Sooner or later, she

always says, "Gotta go. See

you

around.""

Going, going, gone,

I

thought. "And then she's off

."

I

asked,

"Why?"

"Other places to go. Other people to see

."

Voice breaking again, she said, "I hate it. But

what're you gonna do? It's just Casey.

If

she weren't that way, she wouldn't be Casey. You know

what I mean?"

"I

guess so," I said, though I really wasn't

sure. "I'd hate for her to change

."

"Yeah,"

I

said.

Then I saw my apartment building just ahead. "That's

it next to the church,"

I

said.

Lois pulled to the curb and stopped. "Do you want

me to go in with you?"

"I

can just run up and check. Be right back

."

As I swung open the passenger door, she said,

"Good luck, Eddie

."

"Thanks

."

I

hurried around the front of her car. As

I

ran across the street,

I

noticed Eileen's Saturn parked halfway up

the block. It had the Willmington University

sticker on the rear window and the Jack in the Box

clown head atop its radio antenna.

Her car's still here. Maybe she is, too.

The front door of the apartment building was locked as

it should be.

I

let myself in. Turning the comer on my way to the

stairs,

I

saw light from the Fishers' doorway. Voices were

coming from their television.

Eyes forward,

I

walked quickly and quietly past their door.

Nobody called out. I hurried up the stairs,

reached the landing without being accosted, and climbed to the

second floor. The hallway was deserted.

I

went to the door of my apartment.

Shut. Locked.

Please let her be here!

My

hand trembled so badly that

I

had a hard time getting the key into the lock. At

last, it slipped in and

I

opened the door.

My

living room was lighted, but silent.

I

glanced around. Nobody there. The kitchen lights were

off. The hallway to my bedroom was dark.

Had

I

left the lights like this? I couldn't remember.

On my way down the hall,

I

passed the bathroom. Its door was Open, its

light off.

UP

ahead,

I

could see darkness through the doorway of my bedroom.

The sight made me sink inside.

I'd

left that door shut, the light on.

I

was certain of that.

She is gone. Randy has her.

Entering the room,

I

flicked the light switch. The bedside lamp came

on. The bed was empty, as

I'd

known it would be. The covers were a little rumpled.

remembered Eileen lying crooked, her legs

hanging off the edge, her left leg bare to her

hip. I

remembered my urge to go over to her and put MY

hand inside the slit of her dress.

I

should've done it. Should've stayed. She'd still be here.

"Eileen

?"

I

called out. Loud enough to be heard throughout the rooms of

my apartment, but probably not loud enough to disturb other

tenants on the floor.

I

didn't want to alarm my neighbors. Besides, what

was the point in calling at all?

I

called her name once more, anyway. Again, she

didn't answer.

What'd you expect? She's miles away.

Feeling horrible, I hurried to the bathroom and

took two Excedrins. Then

I

used the toilet, flushed, gave my hands a quick

wash, and hurried to the kitchen.

My

note to Eileen was flat on the kitchen table.

I

turned it over. She'd written a message on the

back.

A

very simple message scratched with black ink in

large, sprawling letters.

I'm outa here

That was it. Nothing more. I groaned.

"Nice

job,

Logan,"

I

muttered. "Real nice

job.

Fuck

."

I stumbled around the apartment for a couple of minutes.

Eileen's purse and bright yellow windbreaker were

gone.

The girl in the pickup hadn't been wearing a

windbreaker. Maybe she

wasn't

Eileen.

She was Eileen, all right. Randy probably tore

the windbreaker off her so he could enjoy the view

while he drove. Probably put his hand inside

her dress

...

He's got her completely naked

by

now.

Feeling bludgeoned, I left my apartment and

hurried downstairs. The Fishers" door was still

wide open. Voices still came from their television.

This time,

I

looked in as

I

walked

by.

Mr Fisher, in his chair, raised a hand and said,

"Hold on there, young fella

."

I waited while he pushed himself out of his chair and

came to the door. He wore an old blue

bathrobe and slippers. The robe wasn't closed

very well. "Case you're wondering," he said, 'your

gal took off on you

."

"When was that?"

I

asked.

"Oh, say

. .

."

He narrowed his eyes, nodded. "Yep,

Nash was

just about over with

."

"Nash?"

"Nash Bridges.

You know. Has that Sonny Crockett in it, and that

Cheech fella. Well, it gets over at eleven,

and

I

had to miss me the end of the show 'cause of Holly

coming

by

."

Holly? She'd been here?

My

heart thudded.

I

shriveled inside.

Not quite 'over" Holly, after all?

"Reckon they likely caught the bad guys.

Always do, you know. Show has that Baywatch gal in

it. Now

that's

a hot tomato

."

Did she break

up

with Jay?

"Holly?"

I

asked.

"Nah, the name's Yazzmeeeeen, something along those

lines

."

"You said Holly came

by

."

Does she want me back?

"Oh,

her.

Sure did. Your gal, Holly. Came

by

here all dressed up to beat the band

- .

."

"Wearing what?"

I

asked, already suspecting the truth. He'd

seen Eileen, not Holly.

I

felt a strange mixture of relief and

disappointment.

"Well," he said, 't spiffy green dress. You

know the one

."

He touched his bare belly. "Open down to here.

I

tell you, that's a dress. She wasn't too keen

on me getting a good look at it, though

...

put on her jacket pretty quick when she saw me

."

"Was anybody with her88I asked. "Nary a

soul.,

"Are you sure?"

"I

stood right here talking to her

."

He stomped a slippered foot on the floor.

"She stood right where you are. Reckon I'd of known

if she'd had someone with her. She didn't

."

"How was she?"

"Mighty upset. She'd had herself a cry. You could

tell 'cause of how her eyes was red. I says

to her, "What's the matter, Holly88And she

says, "Eddie up and left me all

by

myself.""

I

doubted that was what she'd said, exactly.

"SO

She gets her jacket zipped up good and high and

then she asks if

I

know when you took off on her. Well, I must've

missed YOU going

by,

and told her so. Then I says

I'll

keep an eye out for You when you come back, and does

she want me to give you a message

?"

"What'd she say?"

Nothing right off the bat. She stands there and sorta

thinks it over for a spell. Then she up and says,

"No thanks, Walter"

. . .

11s1ng my name like that. "No thanks,

Walterea8she says,

"I

reckon

I

know where to find him.8Then she tells me

"Goodnightea8and goes on her way.,

"She was

going to look for me?"

Walter nodded.

"I'd

say so

."

."

"Give you a piece of advice, there, Eddie. That

Holly, she's a humdinger. Know what I mean

?"

"Yeah

."

"Gals like that, they don't come around every day

."

"I know

."

"Gotta treat "em right

."

"I try

."

"Fucked up pretty good tonight, though, didn't you

?"

"Sure did

."

Smiling at me like I was an old buddy, Mr

Fisher gave me a none-too-gentle punch on the

upper arm and said, "Go on out and find her, boy

."

I climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door.

"She's gone," I said. "Her car's still here, but

she isn't. I saw the landlord and he says she

left the building a little before eleven. That's about

twenty minutes before 1 saw her in Randy's

pickup

."

Lois pulled away from the curb. "Do you know

Randy's last name

?"

"No. I don't even know if his name's really

Randy

."

"What about his truck

?"

"A light-colored Toyota pickup. White,

I think

."

"License plate number

?"

"Never got a look at it

."

"Do you know where he lives

?"

"Where he

lives?"

"Yeah

."

"How would I know that? I don't

know

the guy. I've certainly never been to his house

-- if he even has one. I saw him for about ten

minutes Tuesday night. That's all. He forced

me into his pickup and wanted me to take him

to Eileen, but I got away from him. He chased me

and I lost him and I haven't seen him since . .

. not till tonight when he drove by with her

."

Listening to myself, I thought, It's all real. He

really does have her.

I muttered, "God

."

"What does Randy look like

?"

"I don't know, like he could be a male model or

something. Like on the cover of a romance novel

."

"Don't read the stuff, myself

."

"It ain't

Faulkner

," I said.

She turned her head and smiled. "Nope, it

ain't. But I know the look you mean. Bronze

skin. Granite features. Muscles. Flowing

mane of hair

."

"That's about it

."

"What's his hair color

?"

"Blond

."

"Ash blond . . .

?"

"Golden

."

"How old is he

?"

"I don't know, thirty

?"

"Size

?"

"Bigger than me. Maybe six-two. And heavier,

stronger

."

Nodding, Lois flicked on her turn signal.

"He doesn't sound like anyone I know

."

"You wouldn't

want

to know him

."

"No, but I'd sure like to know who he is ... where

to find him

."

She slowed down and made a right turn. "Any

thoughts as to where he might take Eileen

?"

"Not really. Last I saw, they were just south

of your house, heading north on Franklin. If he

has a place in town, I guess it's probably

on the north side. The night he spotted me with

Eileen, we were at Dandi Donuts. Maybe he

lives near there. Or maybe he lives out of town

and just drives in sometimes. Even if he does live

in town, he might not take Eileen to his house.

I mean, I wouldn't

."

"Where would you take her

?"

Lois asked.

"If I wanted to do really bad stuff to her

?"

"Is that what you think Randy has it mind

?"

Feeling grim, I said, "I'm pretty sure it

is

."

"So where would you take her

?"

"Maybe into the woods. That way, I wouldn't have

to worry about neighbors hearing or seeing anything.

I wouldn't have to move her body after I'm done with

it. And I wouldn't end up with traces of

evidence in my house for the police to find

."

Lois turned her head toward me. "You're not a

killer yourself, are you

?"

"Nah. But I'm trying to be a writer.

Apparently, I lean toward the morbid and

grotesque. I suppose I think about murders and

things like that more than most people

."

"Well, if he took her into the woods, we'll

never find them

."

"It's just what I might do. Maybe Randy

doesn't like the woods. Or maybe he has good

reasons to take her to his house or to some other

building . . . anyplace that's closed at night.

They'd at least be

warmer

than the woods. Not that it's very cold tonight, but you

might

want

to be in a nice, warm place if you're going to

... you know, mess around with someone

."

Nodding, Lois turned a corner. Now we were

northbound on Franklin Street. "We'll stop

at my house for a minute," she said. "Pick up

a few things. Then we'll drive around, see if

we can spot Randy's truck

."

"What about calling the police

?"

I asked.

Lois was silent for a few seconds. Then she said,

"Not me

."

I remembered Eileen's nine-one-one call on

Wednesday night. . . and the strange lack of

results.

"They

might

be able to help," I said.

"I have some things in my past

."

"Oh

."

"They don't like me much

."

Smiling, I asked,

"You're

not a killer, are you

?"

"Yes

."

She seemed serious. Still, I said, "You're kidding

."

"No

."

"You

killed

someone

?"

"My husband

."

"My God

."

"He was also the brother of a local cop

."

"Oh, my God

."

But wait, I thought. She's not in prison. She's

sitting right next to me. "You weren't convicted

?"

I asked.

"The charges were dropped. It was self-defense. But

a lot of people think I should've gotten nailed for it.

Particularly Joe's family and his brother's cop

friends. So they haven't got much use for me. If

you

want to call the cops, I can drop you off at a

pay phone. Just please don't bring me into it. Or

Casey

."

"Casey

?"

"They'd

love

to get their hands on her

."

"What do you mean

?"

Lois swung to the curb in front of her house and

stopped the car. She kept it running, though. "What

do

you

think

?"

she asked. "You think girls her age are

allowed

to do what she does

?"

"Not really, but . .

."

"At the very least, they'll put her in a foster

home. At worst, she might be sent to a juvenile

detention center. I

hope

that's the worst. She doesn't tell me everything.

For all I know, she could end up in prison

."

"I sure don't want anything like that to happen

."

"So if you bring the police into this situation, be very

careful what you tell them. Leave me and Casey out

of it

."

I nodded.

"Should I take you to a phone

?"

"I'm not sure

."

"I know you want to help Eileen

."

"I've got to. I've got to save

her. If I can

."

"What I've seen of the cops in this town," Lois

said, "they're not so great. It's like we've got the

bottom of the barrel. We

used

to have some good ones, but they

left because it's such a shit

department

."

"You think I shouldn't call

?"

"If you do, you might end up waiting on a corner

all night. Or they might show up in an hour and not

take you seriously, might figure you're trying

to make trouble for Eileen because maybe she went out with

another guy. Or they might think

you

did something to her. That's the way this bunch operates

."

"From what I've seen," I said, "they aren't very

good

."

"They're fuck-ups. And even if a miracle

happens and one of these guys believes your

story, you've got nothing much for him to go on. You've

got a description of the suspect, but no name, no

address, no license plate number. The cops

might

be able to help somehow, but it's not likely. The main

thing is, Eileen has to be found fast. Here's what

I'd

do. You and me, we go looking for the pickup truck.

Maybe we'll be lucky. If not, I'll drop

you off at a phone and you can go ahead and call the

cops. How does that sound

?"

"Okay, I guess

."

"You don't sound very sure

."

"I'm not

."

It seemed wrong not to bring in the police right away.

They were professionals. They had the manpower

to conduct a thorough search. Hell, one of them might

know

Randy, know exactly where to find him.

On the other hand, according to Lois, they're fuck-ups.

I tended to believe her; apparently, they

hadn't responded at all to Eileen's call on

Wednesday night. A call reporting a

murder.

If I get the cops involved, I'll have to do it

without Lois. I'll be on my own. And they'll

force me out. As soon as they get my statement,

they'll be done with me.

We'll take it from here, Mr Logan. You can go

on home, now.

"Let's do it," I said.

"Wait here," Lois said. "It'll be faster.

I'll be in and out

."

"Sure

."

She climbed out of her car and ran to her house. She

took the porch stairs two at a time.

Seeing a strip of light appear and widen when she

opened the front door, it struck me that this was the

same house Casey had entered the first night I

followed her. Hidden in the darkness of the porch, she'd

opened the door with great stealth as if breaking in ...

or sneaking back into her parents" house after a

late-night rendezvous.

Why had she been so furtive about it? Who

had she been trying to hide from? Certainly not from

Lois.

Maybe Lois doesn't live alone.

She

seemed

to live alone.

Maybe Casey sneaked in to surprise her.

On the other hand, perhaps her secretive behavior

h

ad nothing to do with who was in

side the house, but rather with who might be

outside.

Outside watching her.

Me?

Maybe not me in particular, but anyone who might be

looking out a window or driving by or roaming the

streets. She wanted nobody to know about her

visits to Lois. Or about

any

of her activities, more than likely.

Where is she now? I wondered.

Doesn't matter. What matters is saving

Eileen. Take care of this, and there'll be plenty of

other nights to be with Casey.

I missed her, though. I'd wanted so

badly to see her tonight.

Too

badly. That's why this happened. I should've stayed with

Eileen.

She wasn't supposed to wake up!

And if she did, she wasn't supposed to leave.

I'm outa here.

Real nice.

Out of my apartment and into Randy's pickup. He

must've spotted her immediately after she came out of the

building, before she could get to her car.

Did he just happen to be driving by?

Maybe he'd seen her earlier and followed her.

Or seen me, for that matter. Found out where I

lived. Staked the place out and bided his time, waiting

for just the right moment.

However he did it, he did it. He got her. And

now he's going to give her the works.

He's probably already doing it, I thought.

I looked at my wristwatch. 11:58.

What time had I seen them go by? Somewhere around

11:15 or

11:20. They were still on the road at that point. So

if he took her someplace in town, they probably

would've arrived there no later than

11:30.

So maybe he'd been at her for half an hour, so

far.

Less time, if he took her farther away.

They might

still

be on the road, on their way to a secluded place

in the woods or maybe a farmhouse outside of

town or ...

If they are, I thought, she might be all right so far

but we'll never find them in time.

I heard the thud of Lois's house door bumping

shut. Then she bounded down the stairs. She hadn't

changed her clothes. Instead of her purse, however,

she now carried an overnight bag. She hurried

around to the driver's side of her car, opened the door

and swung her bag in. Its buckles jangled.

I smelled leather. "Wanta put this on the floor

?"

I took it from her. It was heavy. Leaning forward,

I set it on the floor near my feet.

Lois climbed into the car, shut her door and started

the engine. "I was hoping Casey might be there. She

knows this town inside and out. Not to mention, she can get

through doors like they aren't even there

."

"Any ideas where she might be

?"

I asked.

"Sure. In somebody's house. Unless she's

roaming the streets or fooling around in a park or

... she might be almost anywhere. Most likely in a

house, though

."

"Like whose

?"

I asked.

Shaking her head, Lois pulled away from the curb.

"No sense in sitting still while we talk. Keep

your eyes open for the pickup. I'll check the parked

cars on both sides of the street. You check the

driveways the best you can. It was heading north on

Franklin when you saw it, right

?"

"Right

."

I started watching the driveways.

"So we'll try going north till we hit the city

limits, I guess, then maybe work out some sort

of east-west pattern on the way back,

try to hit every street. Of course, if he put his

truck in a garage or something, we're screwed

."

"Or if he took her out of town

."

"Well, this is what we can do. Like I said, maybe

we'll be lucky. If we strike out, I'll

drop you off at a pay phone and you can call the

cops if that's what you want to do

."

"Sounds good," I said. "But what about Casey?

Do you have any idea which houses she goes to

?"

"She's told me about some of them. She has

regulars. Certain houses -- certain people -- she

visits from time to time. But I think a lot of it's

random. I can't imagine she has any sort of

fixed schedule. She's what you might call a

"free spirit.""

"I noticed

."

"Maybe a little nuts

."

I smiled. "Think so

?"

"Who knows

?"

"Do you know why she does it

?"

"Why she goes into the houses

?"

"Yeah

."

"I know it started one night when she was out roaming and

someone went after her. She ran into a house to hide.

Thought nobody was home, but she was wrong. They were

home, all right, but asleep in the bedrooms. So

she started to explore the house. God only knows

what sort of buttons

that

pushed. Here's a girl with -- far as I know -- no

family at all, no home, and she's in someone

else's home in the middle of the night. Almost like part

of the family, but

not

part of the family. They're asleep and she's not.

She's sneaking around, looking at them, at what

they've got in their closets and drawers and medicine

cabinet and kitchen, looking at their books, their

mail. . . secretly participating in their

lives

."

Lois shook her head. "I don't know exactly

how one thing led to another, but I know she got

hooked. Pretty soon, it became her way of

life

."

"She's actually friends with some of the people," I said.

"Yeah. Every so often, somebody wakes up. Or

comes home and catches her. She's made a lot of

friends. Me, for instance. I was having a pretty rough

time a while back . . .

I'm still

having a rough time, but it's not so bad anymore.

Mostly thanks to Casey. Have you ever had one of those

dreams where you wake up crying

?"

"I don't think so

."

"I did. I used to have them a lot, especially right

after what happened with Joe. Anyway, I woke

up sobbing one night and someone was standing over me,

stroking my face, saying, "It's

all right. Everything's fine.8I guess I should've

been terrified, waking up with a stranger in

my room. But I didn't feel that way at all.

I felt . . . peaceful and safe. That was the first

time I ever saw Casey

."

"Must've been nice," I said.

"It was wonderful. She's wonderful. But she's also

... in such danger. Always in such danger. Things

happen to her. They're bound to, the way she wanders

around all night and sneaks through houses. She's had

some terrible beatings. She's been . . . it's not for

me to tell you these things. She might not want you

to know. But awful things have happened to her. You can

imagine. And she's had so many narrow escapes. I

worry so much about her. But she is who she is. I

wouldn't want to change her

."

"It would sure be nice," I said, 'if we could

find her tonight

."

"She'll probably turn up at my house

sooner or later, but I don't know when. For now,

we'd better keep looking for Eileen

."

"Yeah," I said.

Just about then, we drove past a house with a

pale pickup truck parked in its driveway.

Before I could speak up about it, Lois hit the

brakes.

"Think that might be it

?"

she asked.

"I'll take a look

."

I threw open the passenger door, leaped out, and

ran toward the pickup.

A Nissan, not a Toyota.

I hurried back to Lois's car and we resumed

our search.

"This is probably far enough," Lois said.

We'd left the town behind

- along with all the streetlights and most of the

houses. Even the paved sidestreets had

disappeared. Woods were on both sides of us. Every so

often, a dirt road led into the darkness.

"He probably didn't go this far," I agreed.

And hoped.

No other headlights were in sight, so Lois slowed

almost to a stop and made a U-turn. We were just

into the city limits again when we came to a

cross-street. Lois turned right on it.

"Not many houses," she said. "But maybe we'd

better go for a while just in case

."

"Good idea

."

She drove fast. We kept our eyes open for

pickups that might be Randy's. After heading west for

about a mile, she made a left turn, then another

left and we headed east again, back toward

Franklin.

A couple of blocks after Franklin, Lois

made a right turn, then another right and we went west

for a mile or so before cutting over to the next street

and heading east.

Always watching.

Every so often, we came upon light-colored pickup

trucks. Most of them were parked alongside the

street or in the driveways of houses. Sometimes,

I could tell from a distance that a certain pickup

wasn't Randy's. Other times, I had to climb out

of the car for a closer look. None was his. They were

always the wrong make, or an older model, or had

some sort of peculiarity: a bumper sticker or

windshield decoration -- dice or a troll or a

graduation tassel hanging from the rearview

mirror -- that Randy's pickup didn't have.

A couple of times, we encountered light-colored

pickup trucks in motion. One came toward us.

Just as it went by, we could see that its driver was a

husky man with a beard. Approaching another pale

pickup from the rear, we saw that it had a built-in

toolbox behind the cab.

Lois kept driving. We both kept looking. I

watched for Casey as much as for Randy's truck.

Then a pickup crossed an intersection a block

in front of us.

"Did you see that

?"

I asked.

"I saw it

."

Lois stepped on the gas. "Didn't get a good

look, did you

?"

"Huh-uh

."

"Anything off about it

?"

"Not that I could see. It

might

be his

."

"I couldn't tell about the size, could you

?"

I shook my head.

"Looked white, though

."

"If it's Randy, why's he still driving around town?

I mean, he's got her

."

"Maybe he's looking for you," Lois said and

took the corner fast. The tires sighed. Almost

tipping over, I grabbed the seatbelt strap up

near my shoulder and held on tight.

When we came out of the turn, I could see red

taillights far ahead of us, but not the vehicle itself.

"Hope that's it," I said.

"Let's find out

."

Lois sped up. At the next corner, we had no

stop sign so we raced through the intersection. No

traffic in either direction. Lois accelerated even

more. We were gaining on the taillights.

I began to see the general shape of the vehicle.

"It's a pickup, all right

."

"Thought so

."

"What if it's him

?"

"I've got a couple of guns in my bag

."

The leather satchel was on the floor between my feet.

I remembered its weight.

"The first thing we need to do," Lois said, "is

see if it's really him. Then we'll-"

Out from between two parked cars just ahead of us came a

bicycle.

Lois shouted, "Sstw'first"

Bright in our headlights, the old woman turned her

head and grinned at us.

The bike hag!

Lois swerved.

But not in time. Not possibly in time. The bike hag

was a dead woman. I imagined her coming at me over

the hood, diving headfirst with her backward ballcap

tight on her skull, her leering, whiskered face

smashing through the windshield . . .

Suddenly, she was no longer in front of us.

A van was. A parked van.

We crashed into its side with a roaring chaos of

noise. I felt myself starting to fly forward, but was

suddenly slammed back, bludgeoned across the chest.

Through the ringing in my ears, a voice. Lois, sounding

like someone who'd just been beaten to the ground and kicked a

few times. "Least I missed her

."

I grunted.

"You okay

?"

she asked.

I was still strapped in the passenger seat. Just in

front of me, a limp cushion was sagging out of the

dashboard. An air bag? Was that what had pounded

me?

The windshield was still intact, somehow, but the front of

Lois's car was smashed and crumpled against the

caved-in side of the van. Steam or smoke was

rising from the engine area. I heard hisses, pings and

clanks.

I looked at Lois. "Guess I'm okay.

How about you

?"

"Just shaken up, I think. You gotta get outa here

."

"Huh

?"

"G. Take the bag

."

"The bag

?"

Did she mean the air bag?

"The

bag.

On the floor

."

Uh

."

"Hurry," she said.

I unlatched my seatbelt. Hunkering down, I

found the leather bag near my feet. As I picked

it up and set it on my lap, Lois opened her

door.

"Get going," she said, and climbed out. "Quick.

Run

."

I opened my door. "What about you

?"

She bent over and leaned in. "I can't leave the

scene. But you get outa here. G. There'll

be cops. I don't want 'em seeing what's in the

bag

."

I suddenly, finally, understood. So I climbed out

with the bag, swung the door shut and turned around.

Lois was staggering toward the rear of her car. "Sure

you're okay

?"

I asked.

She said, "Come here. Help me

."

I hurried around the rear of her car. She hobbled

toward me as if hardly able to stay on her feet.

Though her hair was mussed, I saw no sign of

blood or any other injury. Her blouse dropped

off one shoulder.

"Help me over to the curb," she said.

I put an arm around her. Supporting much of her

weight, I walked her away from the wreckage.

All around us, people from nearby houses were rushing down

their porch stairs, running across their lawns. Many of

them wore robes. Some of the women had curlers in

their hair. I spotted three people with

cell phones

In a quiet voice, Lois said, "You came by after

the crash. You're just a good Samaritan. Blend

in, then disappear before the cops show up

."

"Okay

."

"Anybody still in the car

?"

a man called out from somewhere behind me.

"It was just me," Lois told him.

A woman with a

cell phone

yelled from her front lawn, "Police and

ambulance're on the way!"

"Anybody hurt

?"

asked a husky man running toward us from the other

side of the street.

"The woman might be hurt," I answered.

"I'm okay," she protested. "J. . . shaken

up

."

"What about the van

?"

an elderly woman asked. "Anyone in it

?"

"Somebody better check

."

"It's mine," a man said. "Nobody

better

be in it. How the hell'd

this

happen

?"

"Herman, it doesn't matter

."

"Gonna matter to my insurance company. Anyone

see how this happened

?"

He was answered by a chorus of "No," and

"Didn't see a thing," and, "Heard this awful

crash

."

"Let me help," a man said, hurrying over

to us.

"Here," said someone else. "Here

."

I relinquished my hold on Lois and two men

hustled her over to the curb and eased her down on the

grass.

Someone far away yelled, "Has anyone called

nine-one-one

?"

Different people shouted, "Yes!" and, "Taken care

of," and "Already done

."

"Nobody saw how it happened

?"

The man sounded peeved.

"Oh, hush up, Herman

."

The woman had to be his wife.

On the strip of grass between the curb and the

sidewalk, a small crowd was gathered around

Lois.

"Where do you hurt

?"

someone asked.

"An ambulance is on the way," said someone

else.

"You'll be fine

."

"Don't try to get up

."

"Just lie still, dear

."

"Any broken bones

?"

"Would you like me to call anyone for you

?"

"I'm sure the ambulance'll be here any minute

."

"I'll go get her a blanket

."

That last voice was mine. Nobody looked at me,

but I heard a couple of people say, "Good idea

."

Then the voices faded as I hurried across the

street with the leather satchel swinging by my side.

By the time I heard any sirens, I was more than a

block from the scene of the accident.

Safely away, I had no idea what to do next.

My head was aching again, my chest hurt from being struck

by the air bag and my legs were shaky. I felt weak

and trembly all over.

I was on my own. No companion. No car. Little

or no hope of rescuing Eileen.

Thanks to the bike hag.

Miserable bitch!

Almost as if she'd pedaled in front of us

on purpose to make us crash.

Nobody's that nuts. It's a miracle she

wasn't killed.

Good thing she wasn't, though. Lois would've

really

been in trouble if she'd struck and killed an old

woman on a bike. Hitting the parked van

wasn't nearly so serious. She might get cited

for speeding. Her insurance rates might go up. No

big deal.

Hope she's all right.

She probably is, I told myself.

But what am I going to do?

Hurting and depressed, I longed to return to my

apartment and go to bed.

Can't give up.

Besides, even if I

had

to go home, I didn't know where to find it.

Let's figure out where I am.

I walked to the next corner and looked up at the

street sign.

Beaumont and Pittman.

"Huh

?"

I didn't know

either

street.

"Shit

."

Standing at the corner, I looked in all four

directions. The streets were bordered by lampposts and

large trees. A wind was blowing the trees. The

pavement was alive with waving shadows. I saw no

approaching vehicles, no people. The houses looked

pretty much like hundreds of others I'd seen while

roaming the town. Old, middle-class homes, a

mixture of one and two stories. Most had lights

on, if only at their porches, but several were dark.

Where the hell am I?

I'm not lost, I told myself. This just happens to be

the intersection

of a couple of streets I've never heard of.

Pick a direction, any direction, walk another

block or two, and I'll find myself back in

familiar territory.

What if I don't?

Left seemed like a good way to go, so I crossed

Pittman Street and began walking up

Beaumont. Or down Beaumont, perhaps,

since I didn't know whether 1 was going north or

south.

Maybe I can figure it out.

Yeah, sure. The way my head hurt, the way I

ached and trembled all over, I hardly felt

capable of thinking at all.

But I tried.

Before our brief pursuit of the pickup truck,

we'd been cruising the east-west streets, making

our way gradually southward. After

Lois

took off chasing the pickup, she'd made a right

turn. But which way had we been going just before that?

East? Seemed like east, but I wasn't sure.

If it

had

been east, a right turn would've taken us southward.

But if we'd been heading west, the turn would've

taken us to the north.

So which way?

Doesn't matter. Even if I could figure out

where we'd been at the time of the crash, I'd fled from

the scene in a daze, focused only on getting

away, paying no attention to my route.

Don't worry about it, I told myself.

I won't be lost for long.

Not far ahead was another intersection.

I came to it and stopped. Still no traffic, no people.

Only the shadows moved. And the limbs of the trees.

And the leaves in the trees. And the leaves that had

fallen off and were blowing through the night, some flying by as

if on missions, some skidding and tumbling along the

pavement.

I stepped closer to the signpost, shifted Lois's

heavy leather bag to my other hand, and tilted back

my head.

Beaumont and Johnson.

Johnson?

I'd never heard of that street, either.

Moaning, I stepped off the curb. Might as well

continue in the same direction.

This can't go on much longer, I thought. It's not a

huge town and I've explored most of it. I'm

bound to reach a familiar area pretty soon.

Familiar? It's

all

familiar. Just not familiar enough.

I'd probably been on Beaumont Street before,

but hadn't paid attention to its name.

stHis

recognize the next one for sure.

I

got there. To the left, a truck was parked at the

curb. Not a pickup, but a large, boxy Ryder

truck that blocked much of my view in that direction.

To the right, the street had shadows and blowing leaves and

parked cars and houses and nothing that gave away my

location. So I lifted my gaze to the street

signs.

Beaumont and Hamner.

Impossible.

Another

street I'd never heard of?

Where am I? What if I'm not in Willmington

anymore?

Don't be ridiculous, I told myself. But

chills crawled through me and my skin stiffened with

goosebumps.

Take it easy, I thought. I'm still in

Willmington. Nothing weird is happening. I

temporarily don't know where I am, that's all.

It won't last much longer.

I stepped off the curb and began to walk across

Hamner Street.

Bring-bring-bringgg!

I jerked my head to the left, toward the sound of the

bicycle bell. Saw the Ryder truck. Took

a step backward as the bike came out from beside it,

speeding toward me, the grinning old crone hunched

over the handlebars, her bony knees pumping up and

down as she cranked the pedals.

Bring-bring7f

She'd come out of nowhere, this hag, this witch in her

spandex and ballcap, and now she was suddenly bearing

down on me like a nightmare phantom, awful as

what lurks under the beds of terrified children, freezing

my blood, bringing a scream up my throat.

The scream was nearly out when her hand came off the

handlebars and flapped, waving me back. "Outa my

way!" she squawked.

Outa my way?

Outa my WAY???

Not a nightmare phantom, a pushy old bitch!

She zipped past me, missing me by inches, leaving in

her wake a cloying scent of rose perfume.

"Look out where you're going!" I shouted.

She raised her right arm, middle finger extended

toward the sky.

That did it.

I shouted,

"All right!"

She glanced back just in time to see me sling the long

strap of the bag over my shoulder and break into a run.

"Yeeeee!"

she squealed. Facing forward, she raised her skinny

butt off the seat and pumped faster.

I dashed after her, the heavy leather bag swinging beside

me,

bouncing against my flank. At first, I gained on

her. Then she was picking up speed, pulling away from

me.

That's it, I thought. She's gonna get away. I

must've been nuts to think I could outrun someone on

a bike . . . especially hauling luggage.

Whatever

Lois

had in her bag -- guns, flashlights, ammo?

- must've weighed a good fifteen pounds.

Nuts, all right. I'm chasing an

old

woman! What if I

do

catch her? Do I beat her up? Turn her in to the

police for causing Lois's crash?

Moot point, I thought. I don't stand a

chance . . .

The distance between us seemed to be shrinking.

She's slowing down?

Of course, I thought. She's an old woman.

She's wearing out. Down on her seat again, too

tired to keep standing on her pedals.

I was still probably fifty feet back when she

turned a corner. With a detour across the corner of a

lawn, I cut her lead in half. I ran harder.

Closed in. Harder. I was fifteen feet behind

her. Ten. I poured it on, got closer to her and

closer, my feet flying out, almost touching the rear

tire of her bike.

I'll give it a kick, I thought. A good, hard

kick on the side of the tire and down she'll go.

Don't do it! She's an old woman!

She made us crash! Made it so we can't save

Eileen! It's all her fault and it was all on

purpose!

Just as I kicked out at her rear tire, she sped

up. My kick missed. My foot went out too

far and came down crooked and somehow I tripped

all over myself and went down.

The worst part wasn't my fall. The worst part

wasn't the jarring pain of my body striking

the pavement or the burning in my hands and elbows and

knees as I skidded. Nor was the worst part my

blazing, thudding headache.

The worst part was after I'd pushed myself up to my hands

and knees, when I raised my head and saw the old

woman turn her bike around in a small, wobbly

circle and start pedaling toward me.

Out of breath, I couldn't curse or yell. I

did, however, hear myself make a panicky,

whimpery sound.

She pedaled harder, picked up speed, squealed,

"Wheeeee!"

as she raced toward me.

I grabbed the leather handles of the bag and scrambled

to my feet.

Guns in the bag, according to Lois. But it was shut with

half a dozen zippers. No way to pull out a

weapon in time.

Wouldn't shoot the old bitch if I could.

Probably.

Hunkered over her handlebars, grinning like a

lunatic, she looked as if she had every intention of

running me down with her bike.

Bring-bringgg! Bring-bring-bringgggg!

As she bore down on me, I readied

myself to make a last-instant dodge to one side or

the other.

She "II have a fifty-fifty chance . . .

I launched the bag straight at her face and leaped

to the right. The bike would've mowed me down, anyway,

but it swerved aside at the very last moment as the old

woman caught the heavy leather bag -- not in her

face, but in her two hands.

I stumbled, steadied myself against a parked car, and

turned around.

Sitting up straight in her seat, the bike hag

coasted away down the middle of the street not touching the

handlebars at all -- holding Lois's bag high

above her head like a trophy.

I had enough breath to cry out,

"NO!"

The hag answered with a distant,

"Hee-heeeee.r

and lowered the bag in front of her.

I was in no shape to chase her. My fall to the

street had damaged me more than the car crash. The

knees of my jeans were torn. So

were the elbows of my shirt sleeves. My knees,

elbows and palms felt as if they'd been smacked

with bats and scraped raw. They burned.

My head pounded and blazed. But I

had

to go after the old woman. I couldn't let her get

away with Lois's bag -- and guns.

About fifty yards ahead of me, she began to pedal.

Though I ran as fast as I could, it wasn't fast

enough. I could feel blood trickling down my

shins.

The gap between us grew and grew.

Off in the distance, she glided around a corner without

even touching her handlebars, the bag clutched to her

chest.

By the time I turned the corner, she was gone. I

stumbled along for about half a block anyway, then

slowed to a walk.

I'd lost her.

Lost Lois's bag and guns.

Now the hag is armed.

I groaned.

I'd thought the heavy satchel would smash her in the

face and knock her off the bike for sure.

Didn't

think, just reacted.

At the end of the block, the intersection grew brighter.

Headlights.

Not waiting for the vehicle to appear, I rushed over

to the curb. I was on the sidewalk by the time the

lights swung toward me. A tree hid me from

them. After the lights swept by me, I peered around the

side of the trunk.

A black van.

It looked exactly like the van from last night, the

one that had stopped for me near the Fairmont

Street bridge, the one with the woman behind the wheel

and the men in back.

The van moved slowly along the street in my

direction.

It's probably not the same one, I thought.

Then I thought, what if the driver spotted me and

she stops and the whole gang leaps out and comes after me?

Wouldn't that be sweet?

Though the van moved slowly, it drove past my

tree and continued along the street.

I stared at its rear, expecting the brake lights

to come on.

Please please please.

They came on, glaring bright red, and my heart almost

stopped. The van slowed down. Then turned right.

Yes!

But what if it's a trick? Maybe I

should stay with my tree for a while in case they

circle back.

Good idea, I thought.

Rest.

I turned around and leaned my back against the tree and

shut my eyes.

Just give it a minute or two, I told myself.

Can't go on like this, anyway. Besides, what's the

point? I don't know where I am. I don't know

where Randy took Eileen. The hag rode off with the

guns and I don't know where

she

is. I don't know where

anyone

is. Everything's all fucked up.

And where, oh where, is Casey? If only Casey

were here.

She's not.

Oh, there is no joy in Mudville.

At least I can rest.

Lying down would be better. Lying on the nice soft

grass. But I couldn't do that without moving and I

didn't want to move. Being slumped against the tree

was fine.

"I think that I shall never see A bed as

comfy as a tree . .

."

I've got to get going.

Gotta find Eileen.

But how? No idea.

Better find a phone and call the cops. Maybe

they can find her. If only I can find a phone.

Why not do it Casey's way -- sneak into the nearest

house? No no no no no no no. Remember

what happened last time.

Probably a pay phone over by Dandi Donuts.

But where is Dandi Donuts?

"Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns

measureless to man Down to the sunless sea

."

No sacred rivers around here. Just the Old Mill

Stream, and it's miles and miles from Dandi

Donuts.

And I have miles to go before I. . .

Don't fall asleep! I won't. Just resting.

Stop resting and go find Eileen.

Randy's

got her.

I

I know I know I know. What I don't know is

what I can do about it!

Get moving, for starters.

I can't.

Yes I can. Just push away from the tree and start

walking.

In a second. Just give me a second.

Okay, maybe not right now. But pretty soon.

Soon.

Then I felt hands on my shoulders. Moments

later, warm, moist lips kissed me on the mouth.

This is nice, I thought.

It got nicer.

Breasts pushed softly at my chest. Her flat

belly met mine. She was pressed to my groin.

Her legs were warm against my inner thighs. She

seemed to be standing between my legs, leaning forward against

me.

I moaned with pleasure.

I grew hard.

Her tongue slid along my lips, pushed into my

mouth.

Who could this be? I wondered.

It's no one. I'm dreaming.

Am I? It didn't quite seem like a

dream. The lips and tongue felt so real and wet and

pliant. The breasts felt so springy, the belly so

warm.

If it is a dream, I thought, it's a very good one.

Don't wake up and ruin it. Whatever you do,

don't wake up. If you wake up, she'll

vanish.

Who'll vanish?

The bike hag!

I

Erupting with a squeal of horror, I shoved her

away and opened my eyes and saw not the bike hag

stumbling backward across the sidewalk, but Casey.

She sat down hard on the grass of someone's

front lawn.

I gawked at her.

"Ow," she said. The word didn't come out like a gasp

of pain, but like a comment.

"Oh, my God! I never ... I had no idea

it was you

."

She smiled up at me. "Good thing. Otherwise,

I'd be offended as

well

as having a sore butt

."

I pushed away from the tree. Before I could reach her,

she was already on her feet and rubbing the seat of her

corduroys.

"My God, I'm glad to see you

."

I pulled her gently against me. Her arms wrapped

around me. I caressed her back through the softness of

her chamois shirt.

As we held each other close, she asked,

"What's happened to you, Eddie

?"

"Rough night

."

"I hardly recognized you

."

"You go around kissing strangers

?"

"Oh, sometimes. I saw you from pretty far off ...

this guy drooping against a tree. A wreck. I

came over for a closer look. Couldn't believe it

was you. What's going on

?"

While I tried to figure out where to start,

Casey eased away from me. Hands warm against my

flanks, she stared into my eyes. She had no

smile now. She looked serious, concerned.

"A lot's happened," I said. "I'll tell you

everything, but... the thing is, you know that guy Randy I

was telling you about

?"

"How could I forget

him?"

"He took Eileen. I saw his pickup go by and

Eileen was in the passenger seat

."

Casey winced. "Are you sure

?"

"I'm not completely sure of anything. But it

looked like his truck and I'm almost positive it was

Eileen. She wore the same dress . . . She

was sort of slumped in the seat like she was

unconscious

."

"When was this

?"

"I don't know . . . maybe an hour ago.

Maybe longer

."

I took my

hands away from Casey and tried to check my

wristwatch. When I pressed the button to light

its face, nothing happened. I moved the watch around

until it caught the glow from a streetlight. The

digital numbers were gone, the face blank. "Out

of commission," I said.

"But about an hour ago

?"

"Something like that

."

"Which way was the truck heading

?"

"North," I said. "On Franklin Street.

I ran after it for a while. Then

Lois

and I drove around looking for it in her car

."

"Lois

?"

"Your friend Lois

."

"My

Lois? You know her? How on earth . . . his Never

mind. It'll keep. So you and Lois

drove around

?"

"She was helping me try to find Randy and Eileen,

but then we crashed

."

"Oh, no

."

"She's okay. Neither of us really got hurt, but

she had to stay at the scene of the accident. She sent

me off ... didn't want to get caught with guns

in her car

."

"Guns

?"

"The plan was to rescue Eileen if we could find

her. So I took off and then I had a run-in with the

bike hag and

she

ended up with the guns

."

"Bike hag

?"

"This loony old woman . .

."

"Oh. Old Missy

."

"You know her

?"

"We've had encounters. I don't know her name.

She always calls me "Missy.8As in, "Move

it or lose it, Missyea8when she suddenly shows up

out of nowhere. So that's what I call her, Old

Missy

."

"She's the one who made Lois crash. Then later

I chased her and tripped. That's mostly how I

got so messed up

."

"She didn't run you down with her bike

?"

"She tried

."

"She's hit me a couple of times," Casey

said. "On purpose. Sweet thing

."

"When she tried to run me down, I threw

Lois's bag at her. But she

caught

it. So now I've lost Lois's guns unless we

can find her again -- Old Missy

."

"Don't worry about it. I can always get the guns

back. Maybe not tonight, but. .

."

"We planned to use them for the rescue

."

"There won't be any rescue. Not unless you know where

Randy

"We were driving around looking for his pickup. But I

guess that's the end of that. Do you have any ideas? With

all your night

roaming . .

."

She shook her head. "From what you told me, he

doesn't sound like anyone I know . . . Maybe

some guys I've seen around, but nobody in any of

my houses. And pickups like his, there're lots of

those around

."

"We noticed that

."

"You and Lois

?"

I nodded.

"She's a pretty cool gal, isn't

she

?"

"Sure is," I said.

"Any ideas about what to do next

?"

"I was thinking about calling the police. They might not

know how to find Eileen, either, but at least

"You don't want to call the police

."

"That's what Lois said

."

"Let's go over to Dandi Donuts

."

"Glad to. Do you know where it is

?"

"Don't you

?"

she asked.

"I'm all turned around. I don't know

where

I am

."

"Come on. It's not very far

."

She took my hand and led me along the

sidewalk. "That's where Randy saw you with Eileen,

right

?"

"Yeah. Monday night

."

"And that's where you had the run-in with him the next

night, isn't it

?"

I nodded.

"So that's two nights he was at the donut shop.

Maybe the counter guy knows who he is. Maybe

he even lives somewhere near there

."

"He was driving in that general direction when he went

by with Eileen

."

"So we'll check it out

."

"Worth a try," I said.

As we walked along, Casey moved closer to me

and put her arm across my low back. She rested her

hand on my hip. I put my hand on her back and

she smiled at me. "I've been missing youea8she

said.

"I've been missing you, too. A lot.

That's why I came out tonight in the first place --

to find you. I just wanted to be with you. I never thought

all this other stuff would happen

."

"When you go out at night in

this

town, stuff always happens

."

"It wasn't like this last year. Last Spring. We

hardly ever ran into trouble

."

"Well, it does get worse in October.

Seems to. October's always the creepiest month

."

"April is the crudest month; October's the

creepiest? Maybe it's because of Halloween

."

"The whole month's weird

."

Casey smiled up at me. "Course, I sort

of like it that way

."

"I'm sure

."

"Keeps life interesting. So who were you

roaming around with last spring

?"

"This girl, Holly

."

I felt no ache of loss or longing when I said

her name. Maybe because I was saying it to Casey.

"We were out pretty late sometimes

."

"Holly last year, Eileen this year. You're a

busy fellow

."

"She was the first girl I ever . . . really cared about

."

"You loved her

."

She didn't ask, but stated it like a fact.

"What makes you think so

?"

"I can just tell. The way your voice got funny

when you started talking about her

."

"Anyway, she dumped me

."

We walked in silence for a while. Then Casey

said, "That wasn't very nice of her

."

"Well. .

."

She looked at me. "I'll help you get her

back

."

"What

?"

"I'll help you get her back. Holly. I'm

good at that sort of thing

."

She cast a wry smile at me. "It's what I

do

."

"What's what you do

?"

"It's one of my specialties. Fixing things up

for people. Making things better. Maybe I can get you

and Holly back together again

."

"She's in Washington

."

"That might complicate things

."

"Besides, I don't

want

her back. I want

Eileen

back. Not that I'm in love with Eileen

."

"You're not

."

"I just don't want her to get hurt

."

As we approached the next corner, I looked up

at the street sign. The intersection was Beaumont

and Division.

Division!

A block to the right on Division, headlights were coming

our way.

"Ride or hide

?"

asked Casey.

It might've surprised me that someone would think of

playing a game while Eileen urgently needed

to be rescued -- but this was Casey.

Hiding would delay our journey to Dandi Donuts.

"Ride," I said.

Casey and I stood side by side on the corner,

holding hands as the headlights approached.

Soon, I could make out the shape of the vehicle.

Not a pickup, not a van. Just an ordinary

midsize automobile. As it came nearer) to us,

however, it began to slow down.

The corner had no stop sign.

Slowing because of us.

"Now what

?"

I muttered.

Casey gave my hand a squeeze. "All part of the

fun," she said.

"Oh. yeah

."

She chuckled.

The car abruptly veered in our direction, crossed

the center line and entered the lane beside us -- meant for

oncoming traffic.

"Do you know who it is

?"

I asked.

"I don't recognize the car

."

"Wonderful

."

The windshield must've been tinted. I could

see nothing through it except the dim, vague shape

of the driver.

"Be ready to run," Casey said. "Just in case

."

The car stopped by the curb. The driver's window,

tinted like the windshield, showed little more than a

reflection. But it slowly glided downward.

A familiar voice called out, "I say, old

bean, you do look a trifle the worse for wear.

May I offer you a lift

?"

"Kirkus

?"

His face appeared in the open window. "At your

service, Eduardo. And

yours,

fair maiden. Rudolph Kirkus, here. My

mates generally call me Kirkus. Or Captain

Kirkus, if they're feeling droll

."

"I'm Casey," she said.

"Casey, Casey. You must be the beckoning fair

one who has stolen Eduardo's heart! And lovely

you are. "Tis no wonder he's mad for you

."

"What are you doing here

?"

I asked.

"Matters this night are passing strange

."

"I've noticed

."

"How's the old noggin

?"

"Not great

."

"My vast apologies

."

"What do you want, Rudy

?"

"Come with me

."

"We're in a hurry," I said. "We don't have

time for any games

."

"I don't know what's going on," he said, his

phony voice gone so he sounded like an ordinary

guy. "But I need to show you something. Come on. Get

in. Both of you. I'll take you there

."

I looked at Casey.

She nodded.

I hurried to the car's back door, pulled it open

and climbed in. Casey came in after me and shut the

door. Kirkus glanced over his shoulder at us, then

faced forward again and started driving.

"I felt miserable after our . . . our little tiff

earlier tonight. I'm so ashamed of myself

."

"No problem," I said.

"Oh, it is a problem

."

He seemed to be gradually regaining his usual

Kirkus persona. "I know it is. I was simply

devastated after you left . . . after you

escaped

from my clutches, if you will. So I hurried on

home to lick my wounds and ... to make a long

story short, I found myself possessed by an urge

to apologize, to put matters right between us, if

possible . . . and as soon as possible. You'd

mentioned Dandi Donuts as your destination. Hoping

to intercept you among the crullers, I borrowed a

friend's car and drove to the donut shop. You weren't

there, of course

."

"We were on our way just now

."

"Well, I arrived at the shop some time ago.

Expecting you to appear at any moment, I sat

myself down with a cup of tea and a croissant and

waited. And I waited and I waited and I waited

and still no Eduardo

."

"I had delays," I said.

"So it would seem. Well, I could only wait there

so long. People were giving me odd looks. Bizarre

individuals were coming and going. It's really quite a

dreadful place, you know

."

Looking out of the window, 1 saw that we were only about

a block away from the donut shop. "Is that where

you're taking us

?"

I asked.

"More or less," Kirkus said. "You see, I

finally quit my vigil. As I was walking back

to my car, however, I came upon a most peculiar

sight

."

"What was it

?"

"See for yourself

."

Slowing, he swung toward the curb. He drove

close to it, moving past a lamppost and parking

meters and the

narrow dark gap into which I'd run to escape from Randy

on) Tuesday night.

Nearing the rear of a parked car, he stopped.

"Out," he said. His door flew open and he leaped

into the street]

I swung open the curbside door, stepped onto

the sidewalk, then] held the door while Casey

emerged.

"Hurry, old man

."

When Casey was out, I shut the door. Then I

took her by the arm and we turned toward Kirkus.

He stood facing the thrift shop's display window.

Gazing in.

Staring in at the old mannequins that had disturbed me

so much in the past. Rhett and Scarlet, frozen in

time. Always the same, almost, while always gradually

deteriorating. Rhett with half his

moustache gone. Scarlet standing beside him in her gawdy

red dress looking less like Scarlet O8Hara

than a flapper from the Roaring Twenties . . . more

Zelda than Scarlet.

But tonight she didn't wear the fringed and glittery red

dress.

She wore a clingy gown of emerald green. Its

neckline plunged" almost to her waist, revealing a

long V of bare skin that narrowed on its way down.

Her left leg showed through a slit up the skirt. ,

"That's not her normal dress," Casey said.

"It's the same as Eileen's," I muttered.

"It

is

Eileen's," said Kirkus. "It's identical

."

"There might be others . .

."

"Oh, puh-leease. This is not an identical

dress; it's the very same gown that she was wearing at

dinner tonight. And now it's adorning a store-window

dummy. What, as they say, gives

?"

I shook my head. I kept staring through the window,

hardly able to believe what my eyes were

showing me -- and not

wanting

to believe what it seemed to mean.

"Ed

?"

Kirkus asked. "Do you know something about this

?"

Feeling dazed, I answered, "I saw her. An

hour . . . more than an hour ago. She had the

dress on. Went by in a guy's pickup truck

."

"She got snatched," Casey explained. And

went around me and Kirkus and stepped into the entryway

of the shop. A CLOSED sign was hanging inside the

glass door.

Except for the lights of the display window, the shop was

dark.

"What're you doing

?"

I asked.

She tried the door. "Isn't locked," she said.

"It's

always

locked

His

at night

."

Kirkus glanced at me.

"She knows these things," I explained.

Casey opened the door.

"What're you doing

?"

I asked.

"Going in

."

"No, wait

."

She waited, holding the door open, while I

hurried over to her.

"You're

not

going inside," Kirkus said.

Casey gripped my forearm. Speaking in a hushed

voice, she said, "This might be where he's got her.

There's an apartment upstairs

."

"Do you know who lives in it

?"

She shook her head. "I haven't been up there in

a long time. It's been a year, maybe

longer. Nobody was living in it then. Looked like it

was being used for storage. A lot of junk all over

the place. But I don't know . . . people might've

moved in since then

."

"Maybe Randy," I said.

"Could be

."

"We're right next door to the donut shop

."

Casey nodded. "Whether he moved in or not, he

might have Eileen up there. It's just the sort of

place you'd want to take someone if... you know . .

. you wanted to mess around with her. We'd better go

in and see

."

"Wait wait wait," Kirkus said, coming closer

to us. "You can't simply sneak into a store in the

middle of the night. It's a criminal offense

."

"Not if we're invited," Casey told him.

Speaking as if he considered her mentally challenged,

he said, "If this chap

has

absconded with Eileen, he isn't

likely to invite you inside

."

"Already has," said Casey.

"An unlocked door hardly suffices as . .

."

"It isn't just the unlocked door. Why do you

suppose he put Eileen's dress on the dummy

?"

"Why, indeed

?"

"That's

the invitation. Addressed to us. To Ed, in particular

."

"Oh God," I muttered. "You're right

."

Casey gave a brisk nod. "He wants us to go

in and look for her

."

"All the more reason not to do it," Kirkus said.

I scowled at him. "What am I supposed to do?

Just let him keep her and do whatever he wants with

her

?"

"Call the police

."

"No," I said.

Kirkus bent close to me. Speaking quietly and

fast, he said, "It's

what's

done

in such circumstances. One does not simply charge

willy-nilly to the rescue. Not in real life,

Eduardo. You're not Joe Hardy. You're hardly

John Wayne. You'll be breaking the law if you go

in there,

and

you might very well get yourself killed.

Especially

considering that Nancy Drew here is so certain the

dress was put in the window to lure you in

."

"You don't have to come with us," I said.

"That's not the point, dear fellow. The point is,

you

shouldn't go in.

Nobody

should go in. Let's find a telephone, instead, and

ring up the authorities

."

"I'm going in," Casey said. "You

coming, Ed

?"

"Yeah

."

I followed her inside. Before shutting the door, I

said to Kirkus, "Coming

?"

"I should say not

."

"The game's afoot, Watson

."

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Sherlock

."

Almost smiling, I said, "Well, you might want

to ring up the authorities if we're not out in

fifteen minutes

."

"And have them arrest you for breaking in

?"

"Whatever

."

"Ed, don't be an imbecile

."

"Later," I said.

Leaving him outside, I pulled the door

shut.

We walked deeper into the thrift shop, leaving behind the

glow of light from the display window. In the darkness in

front of me, Casey halted and turned around.

She put a hand on my arm and whispered, "Shoes

."

We both removed our shoes. Then she put her

hands on my shoulders and leaned close to me. "You

wait here," she whispered. "I'll go upstairs and

. .

."

"Not without me

."

She squeezed my shoulders. "I do this sort of thing

all the time

."

"But if Randy's waiting for us . .

."

"He'll never know I'm there

."

Her statement seemed more like pride -- or wishful

thinking than fact. "I should go up with you," I said.

"Better if you stay down here. I'll just go up and

scout around, find out what's going on. Then I'll

come back and we'll figure out what to do

."

"God, I wish I hadn't lost those guns

."

"I don't need a gun. I'll be fine. But you

wait here. Promise

?"

I hesitated.

"Promise," she said.

"Okay. I promise

."

Leaning forward, she kissed me gently on the mouth.

Then she whispered, "See ya," and slipped away

from me. Standing motionless, I watched her glide

away like a black shadow. She made no sound at

all. In moments, she disappeared entirely.

Feeling sick inside, I turned around. Lights

from the display window cast a yellow glow over the

clutter of furniture and clothes racks between me

and the front of the shop. I saw rocking chairs,

piles of books and magazines on shelves and

tables, dolls, old-fashioned kerosene lamps,

statues, vases and all sorts of nicknacks.

Hanging on the wall behind the cashier's counter were

velvet paintings of Jesus and John F.

Kennedy and Jerry Garcia, along with a

stuffed "jackalope," the head of a deer, and a barn

owl with a snake clutched in its beak. A variety of

swords and spears were also mounted on the wall.

While making my way toward the counter, I looked

out the

display window. The mannequins and some other items

blocked only a small part of my view.

Kirkus seemed to be gone, but his car was still parked

at the curb. Maybe he'd decided to wait for us

in the donut shop.

Or had he gone off to phone the police?

No, I thought. Whatever else is going on with

Kirkus, he won't do anything that might get me

arrested.

I stepped quietly around one end of the counter, reached

high up the wall with both hands and lifted a katana

off its hooks. Silently, I drew the

Samurai sword out of its sheath. I set the sheath

on the counter, then carried my new weapon toward the

rear of the store.

Halting in the darkness, I listened for Casey.

What's taking her so long?

I stood motionless and barely breathed.

Sounds seemed to be coming from all around me. Quiet

sounds. The ticking of clocks. The soft

hums, perhaps, of various electrical appliances.

Along with barely perceptible sounds I couldn't

recognize -- perhaps old things slowly drying up,

coming apart a little bit at a time: threads of old

coats popping, book paste cracking, maybe the

stuffed head of the deer decomposing ever so slightly,

the shop itself creaking as its boards aged and loosened.

For the first time, I noticed the aroma of the place. It

smelled of old clothes and older books. And stale

cigarette smoke. And pine

scented floor wax and dust. I caught whiffs of

cloying sweetness, too. Underlying all the other

odors seemed to be a sour fragrance be of sweat and

urine.

I should sneak upstairs and find Casey, I thought.

No. I can't go back on my word.

What if Randy got her?

I could at least look for the stairway. That wouldn't be

breaking my promise, would it?

Holding the katana with both hands and upright in front

of my shoulder -- rather like a batter with my

Louisville Slugger, relaxing a bit before the

next pitch -- I walked slowly toward the back

of the shop.

I was making my way through almost total

darkness when someone touched my chest. It surprised

me, but didn't frighten me. I knew who it had

to be. "Eddie," she whispered.

His

"Yeah

."

backslash

"I found her. She's upstairs

."

"Is she okay

?"

"You'd better come up and see

."

"She isn't dead, is she

?"

"No

."

"What about Randy

?"

"I looked around the best I could without showing myself.

If he's up there, I didn't see him. Maybe

he's gone. I don't know

."

She patted my chest. "Come on, and bring the sword

."

"You can see it

?"

"You're backlit

."

"Oh

."

"Can you hold it with one hand

?"

"Sure

."

"Then give me your other

."

I gripped the sword with my right hand and reached out

into the darkness with my left. Casey took hold of

it. She gave it a squeeze. "Ready

?"

"Yeah

."

She led me forward. We walked slowly through the

darkness, taking a route with so many turns I quickly

lost track of our direction.

It's like a maze in here, I thought,

No wonder Casey had been gone so long.

Though I held her hand in mine, I couldn't see

her in front of me.

Why aren't we crashing into things?

She must have spectacular night vision, I thought.

Probably comes from spending her nights sneaking around

in people's dark houses.

Every so often, a floorboard creaked. Otherwise,

we moved in complete silence.

"Stairs," she whispered.

We began to climb a steep, narrow stairway. It

had a banister on the right side. I couldn't hold

on to the banister, but my hip kept bumping against it.

Sometimes, my left shoulder nudged the other side

of the staircase. We were surrounded by utter silence,

utter darkness. The air itself seemed heavy and hot and

black.

At a landing, we turned a corner and light

appeared above us. A murky, shimmering, ruddy glow

in the shape of a rectangle -- a doorway?

Casey blocked much of the glow as she climbed toward

it. Near the top, she released my hand. Crouching

lower and lower, she climbed the final stairs. Then

she crept through the doorway, crawled to the left and

stopped when only her bare feet were still in sight.

I moved up silently. Squatting, I looked

through the doorway.

The staircase apparently opened into the

corner nook of a room. I could see little more than

three poorly lit walls and Casey, on her

hands and knees, peering around the corner.

I set the sword down silently on the floor between

us, then crawled forward, staying so close to Casey

that I brushed against her side.

Just when I realized her head might be in the way of

my view, she eased herself down flat against the

floor.

I peered around the corner.

The only light seemed to come from burning candles. I

could see plenty of them, but had no doubt there must be

others out of sight. They filled the room with a

golden, trembling glow, shadows that shifted and

writhed, and scattered swaths of darkness.

Even in good light, I probably couldn't have seen

much of the room; the clutter got in the way. It was like

looking into a dense forest of statues, chairs, coat

racks, tables, mirrors, figurines, lamps,

chests of drawers, storage cartons, vases,

mannequins and a thousand other things.

Someone, however, had cleared a wide pathway through the

junk.

The pathway led straight to Eileen.

She stood near the middle of the room, about

twenty feet in front of us, facing our way,

naked, surrounded by a couple of dozen burning

candles. Her arms were stretched out to either side,

elevated slightly higher than her shoulders and

secured by handcuffs to a couple of thick upright posts

that were just beyond her reach. She was neither blindfolded nor

gagged. Her feet weren't tied at all. She

stood on them. Though her head was drooping so she

couldn't see us for the moment, she seemed to be

conscious, standing upright" rather than hanging by her

wrists.

Her wet skin gleamed in the candlelight. Most of

her scrapes and scratches and bruises looked like

those she'd sustained Wednesday night when we were

attacked under the bridge. I saw no fresh

blood, but she had ruddy areas on her breasts and

belly and thighs that looked recent.

"Eileen

?"

I called.

As Eileen raised her head, Casey squirmed

backward to get out of sight.

"It's me," I said.

Eileen started to weep.

"Are you okay

?"

I asked. Dumb question.

"Not really

."

"Where is he

?"

"I... I don't know

."

"Is he up here somewhere

?"

"I think so. I'm not sure. I think he's . .

. hiding someplace

."

"You bet I am, pal

."

Randy's voice came from somewhere deep in the room,

somewhere in the region near Eileen.

I

"I'm glad you found us," he said. "I was hoping

you would. It took you a while, though. I'm afraid

we had to go ahead and start without you

."

"What do you want

?"

I asked.

"I've already got

half of

what I want. The other half's you

."

"Okay, I'm here

."

"Did you come alone

?"

"Yeah

."

I glimpsed a flick of movement. Crying out,

Eileen flinched and twisted and jerked her knee up,

losing her balance. She would've fallen if not for the

handcuffs securing her to the posts. As she stood there

on one foot, I saw she had a dart in her leg.

A small, feathered dart -- the sort they use in

pubs -- was sticking out from the side of her left

thigh.

"Hey!" I yelled.

"You told me a fib. You're quite the liar, Ed. I

learned, among other things, that your lady friend's name

is not Sarah LaFarge. Is it, dear

?"

"No," Eileen said, her voice high and

trembly. A thin line of blood was now dribbling

down her leg from the dart wound.

"And she does indeed put out for you. She puts out for

me, too. Don't you, Eileen

?"

"Yes

."

"And now, Ed, you're telling me that you came here

alone when I happen to know otherwise. Tell me

about your friends

."

Friends. Plural. It wasn't simply that he'd

spotted Casey when she came up to scout around.

He must've seen us arrive in the car.

"Casey and Kirkus," I said.

"Which one's the fag

?"

"Kirkus

."

"That would make the other one Casey. Looked like a

real honey, what I saw of her

."

Casey, still by my side but farther back than before,

pushed herself silently to her hands and knees.

"I'd like to see the rest of her. I wanta

see the fag, too. Fact is, how about all three

of you stepping out where I can get a good look at you

?"

f

."

Another dart flew out of the shadows and hit Eileen.

This one stuck in her ribcage just below her left

breast. She flinched and squealed and went up on her

tiptoes, twisting, jerking at the cuffs.

"Stop that!" I yelled.

"You lied

."

"I did not! Kirkus ... he didn't come hi with

us. He was scared. I don't know where he went, but

he stayed outside

."

"And what about Casey

?"

"She's downstairs. She never came up. She's

my lookout. She's supposed to warn me if

anyone shows up. Cops or something

."

No more darts flew out at Eileen. Not for the moment,

anyway.

"You'd better be telling the truth," Randy said.

From the direction of his voice and the darts, he was

apparently somewhere to Eileen's left and slightly in

front of her. So much junk stood between us, however,

that I couldn't see him. Nor did I stand any

chance of reaching him quickly.

"I'm telling the truth," I said.

"You'd better be

."

"I am

."

"If there are any untoward developments ... the

unexpected arrival of your fairy friend, for instance

... or the cops . . . Eileen's situation will

deteriorate rapidly. Do you see how I have her

cuffed

?"

Two sets of handcuffs. One bracelet of each

encircled each of Eileen's wrists. At the end of

their short chains, the other two bracelets were

fastened to thick steel rings that seemed to be bolted

into the posts on each side of Eileen, slightly

higher than her head.

"Setting her free won't be fast and easy, will it

?"

He was right about that. I answered, "No

."

"And do you see the candles surrounding her

?"

The candles that I could see formed a rough circle

around her feet. They were close enough that she could kick

them over if she tried ... or by accident. Each

slender candle, standing by itself in a small holder, was

eight to ten inches tall.

"I see them," I said.

"Easily tipped over, don't you think

?"

"Yeah

."

"Now note what I've put under them

."

Spread out beneath the candle holders -- and Eileen's

feet -- was what looked like an old-fashioned

patchwork quilt.

"A quiltea8I said.

"Yes it is, Ed. And I took the trouble of dousing

the quilt with lamp oil

."

"Lamp oil

?"

"An odorless petroleum product. We sell

it in the shop to go with various kerosene lamps. It's

highly flammable. If just one candle should happen

to fall over . . .

whoof!

Poor Eileen

."

"You're up here, tooea8I said. "I'm between you and the

stairs

."

"I have other ways out, stupid. Eileen, however .

. . she'll have only

one

way out if a fire starts . . .

up in smoke backslash

As if surprised by his own wit, he laughed.

Then he muttered, "Good one

."

In my mind, I saw flames erupting around

Eileen. I saw a sudden look of horror in her

eyes. I watched her writhe in agony and struggle

against the handcuffs. I heard her screams. I saw

her hair catch fire. I watched her skin blister

and crack, heard it sizzle.

"Just tell me what you want," I said.

"Okay? Just tell me, and I'll do it

."

"First, no surprises. Complete cooperation from you

and your friends

."

"I don't know where Kirkus is

."

"Just so he doesn't interfere

."

"If he tries to interfere," I said. "I'll

take care of him. Just don't go starting any

fires, okay

?"

"We'll see. Now, you told me that the girl is

keeping lookout downstairs. Casey

?"

"Yeah

."

"Go down and get her. Bring her up here

."

"What for

?"

Another dart hit Eileen. The point of this one

sank into the side of her left breast. She cried

out,

"Ah!"

and thrashed with the sudden pain, her breasts swinging and

leaping. The rough motion only went on for a few

seconds. When she settled down, the dart was still in

her breast but it dangled as if almost ready to let go.

Sounding patient and slightly amused, Randy said,

"Go downstairs and get Casey. Bring her up

here. We'll be waiting. Won't we, Eileen

?"

Sobbing, Eileen blurted out, "Yes

."

"Okay," I said. "I'll do it. Might take

a few minutes

."

"Remember, no surprises

."

"I know

."

I crawled backward.

Casey, already on her feet, pulled my arm and

helped me stand up. As I turned toward her, she

touched a finger to her lips. Then she moved ahead of

me through the doorway. I followed her.

Making no sound that I could hear, she vanished down

the dark stairs. I went down after her, one

hand on the railing.

At the bottom, I felt a tug on the front of

my shirt. Casey pulled me along behind her on a

twisting route toward the front of the store. When we

reached the glow from the display-window lights, she

stopped and faced me.

"What was he doing to her

?"

she asked.

Staying out of sight, Casey hadn't been able

to watch.

"He threw darts at her. He got her three

times

."

"Oooo

."

"Maybe you'd better get out of here," I said.

She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me

tightly. I stroked her hair. It was damp, and so

was the nape of her neck. "I don't think so,"

she whispered.

"I can't have you getting hurt

."

"Eileen's up there because of us," she whispered.

"It's not your fault," I said.

"Sure it is. You weren't with her tonight because of me.

Anyway, it doesn't matter whose fault anything

is. What matters is, we have to save her

."

"I don't know how

."

"A good fire extinguisher might help. There

must

be one. They're required, a place like this

."

"Are you sure

?"

"I'm the house inspector, remember

?"

"Oh, yeah

."

"Store inspector, too. You can't have a store

without a fire extinguisher

."

"I don't know how we'd find it in time," 1

said. "And there might not be one, anyway. Even if

this place

had

one, I don't think Randy did all this on the

spur of the moment tonight

after

he grabbed Eileen. He probably got most of

it ready in advance. And I bet he didn't leave

any fire extinguishers lying around

."

"Maybe he took one up with him," Casey said,

"just in case

."

"Maybe

."

She let go of me and stepped away. "We'd

better get back up there

."

"Not you."

"Yes, me

."

"Casey

"Don't worry

."

"Don't worry

?"

"I can take care of myself

."

."

"Been doing it for eighteen years and I'm

still here. Still hail and hearty -- mostly

."

"Jesus, Casey

."

"Let's go

."

I reached out to grab her, but my hand found empty

darkness. I tried to go after her, but bumped into something

that fell with a clatter. When that happened, I

remembered the flashlight in my pocket. I

pulled it out, twisted its front, and a narrow beam of

brightness reached out.

I couldn't find Casey with it, though.

With the flashlight to show me the way, I hurried through

the labyrinth of the thrift shop, found my way to the

rear, discovered the staircase and started to climb.

At the landing, I saw Casey in the shimmery glow

of the upstairs doorway. She stood there,

apparently looking down at me. I pocketed my

flashlight and climbed toward her, but she backed

away.

"Wait," I whispered.

Before I could reach the top, she turned her back

to me and stepped around the corner. "Here I am,"

she said, her words loud and meant for Randy.

The katana was still on the floor where I'd left it.

I walked past it, went to Casey and stopped by her

side.

Straight ahead of us was Eileen. While we'd

been downstairs, the dart in her breast must've

fallen out. It lay on the quilt by her left

foot. The other two darts were still embedded in her.

She looked much the same as before. A little bloodier,

though. And she had probably been crying the entire

time we were gone. Her eyes were red, her face shiny

with tears, her nose running. She sniffed and blinked

as she stared at us. Then she shook her head

slightly, but I'm not sure what she meant by it.

"How are you doing

?"

I asked.

A corner of her mouth twitched as if she were trying

to smile. "Been better," she said. Her tongue

came out and licked at the mucous dribbling toward her

upper lip.

"I'm sorry about all this," I told her.

"Thanks for ... trying to help

."

She looked at Casey. "You, too. Thanks

."

"We'll get you out of here," Casey said.

"Bravado from the curie!" Randy's cheerful

voice came from somewhere beyond Eileen's right side.

While we'd been downstairs, he had moved. "And

what a cutie you

are]

No wonder Ed dumped Eileen for you

."

"Nobody dumped anyone," I said.

"Casey, let's see what

you

look like without your clothes on

."

The request didn't surprise me much. Something like

this was to be expected, considering Randy's treatment of

Eileen. But it made me go cold inside.

Casey, staring in the direction of the voice, was

frowning slightly and breathing hard.

"You don't have to," I whispered. "Just go.

Run. Get outa here

."

In a loud voice, she said, "No problem

."

Then she started to unbutton her shirt.

"I'm all eyes," said Randy. "Are

you

all eyes, Ed

?"

"Go to hell," I said.

My words bought Eileen a dart. It stuck in her

right side, just below the armpit. She yelped and jerked.

I shouted, "No!"

She shouted,

"Fuck!"

"I'm sorry!" I blurted at her.

She cried out, "Don't piss him

off backslash

Then she broke down sobbing.

"Okay," Casey called out, and dropped her

shirt to the floor. She didn't have a bra on.

Making no attempt to cover herself, she stood there with

her arms down. Beside and slightly behind her, I

couldn't see her front. But Randy probably could.

"Very

nice," he said.

The tops of her shoulders were golden in the

candlelight. Her bare back was in shadow. She

didn't have a belt on. Her tan corduroy

trousers were low around her hips.

"Now let's see you feel yourself," Randy

said. "We'll pretend your hands are mine. Do

something nice with them

."

She nodded slightly. I saw her right arm bend at

the elbow. From elbow to hand, it disappeared in front of

her. Disappeared from my view, though certainly not from

Randy's.

Her upper arm and shoulders moved. Though I couldn't

see for myself, I knew she must be using both hands

to fondle her breasts. She was squirming slightly,

almost as if she enjoyed it. i

"You don't wanta be missing this, Ed. Get around

in front of her and watch

."

I didn't want to. I knew it would be wrong

to observe Casey as she debased herself for Randy's

enjoyment. Besides, if I moved to the front of

Casey, she would be able to see that I was erect.

But if I don't do it, I thought, he'll get

Eileen with another dart.

Before I could move, Casey turned around and faced

me. She met my eyes. Then her tongue slid

across her lips and I looked down at her hands.

They were cupping the undersides of her breasts, her

thumbs rubbing her nipples.

"You've got yourself a hot one, Ed

."

Casey slid her right hand down her belly, pushed

it under the

waistband of her corduroys and it went lower until

her hand was gone to the wrist. It moved around down there,

disturbing the front of her pants with fingers and

knuckles. Her other hand pulled at the nipple of

her left breast. She stared at me, her eyes

half shut, and slowly squirmed.

"Girl," called Randy, 'take those pants off

."

She pulled her hand out. With shiny wet fingers, she

unfastened the button at her waist. Then she drew

the zipper down. Bending at the waist, she lowered the

corduroys to her ankles.

She remained bent over.

"Casey

?"

Randy asked.

She straightened up and looked in the direction of his

voice. Her corduroys were piled around her feet.

She still wore a pair of powder-blue panties.

Down low at the crotch, they were soaked and clinging

to her.

"Very good," Randy said. "This is going just fine.

You're really a great looking kid, Casey

."

"Thanks

."

"Don't you think so, Ed

?"

My throat was tight and dry, but I said, "Yeah

."

"Now it's your turn

."

"Me

?"

"Off with the clothes, pal

."

"What . . .

?"

"For godsake do it!"

Eileen snapped.

Casey nodded at me and said softly, "Go ahead

."

"Then we'll

all

be naked and happy," Randy called out in a cheery

sing-song.

Casey turned her head. "Should I help him,

Randy? It'll speed things up

."

"Sure. Why not. No tricks, though. We

wouldn't want anything to get in the way of our

wonderful time and turn it ugly, would we

?"

"No, we wouldn't," said Casey.

She stepped up to me, actually smiled, then sank

to her knees. Facing the bulge in my pants, she

said. "You get your shirt off, I'll take care

of the rest

."

While I worked at the buttons of my shirt,

Casey unbuckled my belt, opened the waist of

my jeans and slid the zipper down.

It seemed impossible that such things could be happening.

Such wonderful things, such awful things. I felt as

if I were caught between the horrors of a nightmare and the

astounding lust of a wet dream.

As Eileen watched, I took my shirt off.

Casey slid my jeans and underwear down my legs.

Unconfined, I relished the feel of air against my

rigid tightness. And felt a mixture of shame and

delight at having Casey's face inches

away.

"Wow," she said.

"Wow what

?"

Randy asked.

"It's a beauty

."

"Oh

?"

"You wouldn't believe the size of this thing

."

"You sound as if you've never seen it before

."

"I haven't

."

Tilting back her head, Casey smiled up at

me. She slid a finger up the underside of my

penis, and I shuddered.

"Don't tell me he's never fucked you

."

"Never," Casey said. "Not yet

."

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth. I felt her

moist lips.

Eileen stared at us, blinking rapidly.

Even though Casey's head was in the way, she

must've had a pretty good idea what was going on.

We're doing it to save you,

I told her in my mind.

It doesn't have to mean anything.

But it does, I thought. Oh, it does.

Casey's lips glided, slippery, down my

flesh as she sucked me deep into her mouth.

"What's going on there

?"

Randy asked. He sounded a little worried.

"She's, uh . . . she's . .

."

7's

that little scamp giving you head

?"

"Uh

."

I was about to explode into her mouth, but suddenly it

slid away with a quiet slurpy sound. She again

smiled up at me for a moment before dropping

gracefully backward and catching herself with stiff

arms.

Only her hands and feet touching the floor, her

knees wide apart, she scuttled away from

me, silently moving head first toward Eileen.

What's she . . . his

I suddenly understood.

When Casey had bent over to pull down her

corduroys, Randy had called out her name -- because

he'd no longer been able to see her.

After she'd stood up again, Randy hadn't ordered her

to remove her panties. He'd assumed she was

naked.

He hadn't been able to see my erection, or even

Casey's head as she sucked me.

He can't see that low!

Based on that conclusion, Casey was now off to the

rescue.

And it was my job to play along.

I watched how her breasts jiggled and wobbled. I

watched the shiny dark crotch of her panties.

Moaning, I writhed and reached down as if stroking

her head, as if she were still kneeling in front of me,

sucking.

Eileen watched both of us, a strange look on

her face.

I gasped,

"Uh! Uh! Yes!"

Randy called out,

"Whooeee, go for it!"

I

grunted and squirmed.

"Suck him, honey! Suck him good 'n" get

ready for me!"

Though half dazed with lust and hope, I suddenly

realized that Randy's voice had come from a different

location.

Somewhere nearer than before.

I continued my mime, acting as if Casey were still

on her knees in front of me even as I watched

her scurrying closer and closer to Eileen.

At the edge of the quilt, she stopped the strange

crab-walk, lowered herself to the floor and rolled

over. She squirmed onto the quilt on her

belly like a soldier going under barbed wire.

Braced up on her left elbow, she reached forward

with her right arm and pinched the wick of the nearest candle.

The flame died between her thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, cute

."

Randy's voice. Behind me. I whirled around. The

aisle of cleared floor between me and the corner was

empty at first. Then Randy leaped out from the side.

He slid on his bare feet, stopped himself

and turned toward me. He wore a bandage on his

right thigh where I'd stabbed him with the pen on Tuesday

night. Otherwise, he wore nothing.

Naked and happy.

He was aroused, smiling and holding a pistol in his right

hand.

Eileen shouted,

"Watch out!"

He raised the pistol. It looked like a small

semi-automatic. "Outa the way," he told

me. "Move!"

Straightening up, I glanced over my shoulder.

Casey was still on her belly, busy snuffing

candles. Many were already out, but others still burned. Down

like that, she would be a hard target. But Eileen would be

easy, upright and shackled between the two posts.

I faced Randy and spread my arms like a

basketball player trying to block a shot.

Still smiling, he said, "Dumb fuck," and shot

me.

The noise was a quick, flat bang. A .22? The

pain was a sting on the right side of my ribcage.

I ran at him.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard him say,

"All right

."

He aimed at my face as I rushed him, then

smirked and lowered the pistol and shot me in the thigh.

My leg went out from under me. I slammed against the

floor in front of him. Then he fired twice more,

but nothing else hit me.

Somewhere behind me, a girl cried out in pain.

Randy laughed. "There," he said.

Eileen cried out,

"You fucking bastard!"

"You should thank me," he said. "She was your

competition, stupid

."

I lurched forward and tried to grab Randy's feet,

but he easily stepped out of the way. "You want me,

Ed

?"

he asked. "The feeling's mutual

."

Suddenly, he leaped past me. Crouching over me,

he pulled at my arms, turned me, rolled me

onto my back. He no longer held the pistol.

I wondered where it was.

Then he was kneeling above me, stretching my arms out,

pinning me to the floor. "Gonna give you

the works, Eddie boy. Just like I promised

."

He lowered himself on to me. I felt his erection

against my belly, his mouth on my mouth, his tongue

pushing in.

Suddenly, he pushed himself up. Braced above me

on his hands and knees, he said, "We'll have us a

real good time. But first things first. Gotta get me a

taste of the honey while she's still fresh

."

Casey.

"No," I said.

"Don't worry, I'll be back

."

Then he stuck his forefinger into the hole in my thigh.

Pain blasted through me. I must've blacked out, but not

for long.

I returned to consciousness with Eileen's voice

ripping through my head.

"Let go of her you fucking bastard! Leave her

alone! Don't! Stop that!"

I sat up and saw Randy staggering backward,

dragging Casey by her ankles. Apparently, he

wanted her clear of the fuel-soaked quilt before

having his fun with her.

She'd done a good job, but several candles still

burned.

Eileen, sobbing and grunting, thrashed between the posts like

some sort of female Samson trying to stop the

horror by bringing down the building. But the posts

held firm. So did the handcuffs.

Though pain soared through my body, I struggled to my

knees. I tried to stand up, but my leg wouldn't

let me. So I crawled.

I crawled toward them as Randy, with his back to me,

dropped to his knees between Casey's legs and

tore off her panties. Crawled toward them as

Eileen bucked and thrashed between the posts, specks of

sweat flying off her hair and off her gleaming skin,

three darts still protruding from her body.

"I'll

kill you, Randy!"

she cried out.

"Leave her alone or I'll kill you!"

He didn't leave her alone.

I crawled as fast as I could. I tried to stand up,

but I fell. Disturbed by the sound, Randy looked

over his shoulder. Seeing me down,

he laughed. "Gee, guy, I don't think you're

gonna save the day after all

."

Then he turned his head away and sank down on

top of Casey.

I shouted,

"NO!"

Eileen cried out,

"Don't!"

Randy's white ass flexed as he thrust. Each time

he pounded into her, Casey's small, bare feet

jerked slightly.

Then I heard quick, soft thumping sounds and felt the

floor shaking under my body and wondered what was going

on. Eileen stopped moving. Randy stopped thrusting.

Pushing at the floor, he arched his back and looked

over his shoulder.

This time he didn't laugh.

Someone leaped over me.

Ran straight at Randy.

My view was partly blocked by the tall, running

man, but I saw plenty.

Saw that the running man was Kirkus. Saw Randy

try to climb off Casey. Saw Kirkus swing the

katana. Saw Randy raise an arm to block it and

saw his upraised hand leap off and fly into the

clutter, spraying blood, waving goodbye

to us all.

Kirkus, as if shocked and exhausted by what he'd

done, lowered the sword.

Eileen swayed on her feet, panting for breath.

Randy, on his knees between Casey's legs, held

up the spurting stump of his arm and cried out, 7

need help! Somebody help! Call an

ambulance!"

"Fuck you," gasped Eileen.

Groaning, I pushed myself up to my hands and knees.

And saw one of Casey's small, bare feet

lift off the floor. Her knee came up. Then

her leg swung out of sight in front of Randy.

He said, "What. . .

?"

Then he was hurtled backward. He landed back-first

on the floor not far in front of me. His head

thudded. As he lay there squirming and groaning,

Casey stood up. She was splattered with blood,

some of it probably Randy's, but it must've been

blood of her own dribbling down her inner thighs.

Head down, she hobbled over to Kirkus.

"Mind if I borrow this

?"

she asked, her voice low and husky.

He gave it to her.

Randy squealed,

"You're dead! I shot you!"

"Yeah, right," she said.

She stood over him.

"NO!"

Up on his elbows, he tried to scoot away from

her.

I planted my right foot against the top of his head,

stopping his retreat.

Somehow, even after getting his hand lopped off, he still

had an erection. At least until Casey swung

the sword.

Randy shrieked.

Then he passed out, and the silence seemed strange.

Kirkus, Eileen and I all stared at Casey as

she walked toward Eileen. Her back, dusky with

shadows, seemed free of blood or wounds of any

kind.

"I thought he shot you," I told her, my voice

shaking.

She didn't look at me, but said, "He missed

."

Then she halted in front of Eileen, reared back

with the sword and swung it with both hands. The

blade chopped through the handcuff chain and thudded into the

post. Eileen's left arm dropped to her side.

As she swayed on her feet, right arm still raised and

cuffed Kirkus went to her.

"Watch out for the candles," I warned him. "The

quilt's soaked with oil

."

All he said was, "Okay

."

Then he pulled the darts out of Eileen's body.

Each time, she flinched and winced.

After letting the darts fall to the quilt, Kirkus

wrapped his arms around her. Then Casey chopped through

the chain of the other cuffs. Eileen's right arm fell.

She sagged, but Kirkus held her up. Clinging

to each other, they staggered off the quilt. Kirkus

eased Eileen down to the floor.

Casey had already put the sword down. She was

crawling on her hands and knees, puffing out candles.

As she did so, the room slowly darkened.

Kirkus came over to me. "How's the leg

?"

he asked.

"Shot

."

"I heard the gunfire," he said.

"That why you came up

?"

"Let's say it hastened my decision

."

"Glad you came along," I told him.

"Thanks

."

"The least I could do, old chap. Looks as if I

arrived slightly later, however, than the

proverbial "nick of time.""

"You did pretty good, Rudy

."

He crouched beside me and explored my bare thigh with

both his hands. A couple of times, one of his hands

brushed against my genitals. Accidentally, I'm

sure.

"I can't seem to find an exit wound," he said.

"The bullet's probably in my bone

."

"In your bone," he said, and I half expected

a quip. He didn't come out with one, though.

Instead, he took a folded handkerchief out of his

pocket. "Don't worry, it's clean

."

He pressed it against the hole in my thigh. "Hold

it there," he said. "I'll wrap my belt-"

"Help," Randy murmured. "Help me.

Please

."

In the dimming light, I saw him raise his head.

"Not dead yet

?"

Kirkus asked. "Give it time

."

"Please," Randy murmured again.

"I'll help him," Casey offered.

She came hobbling toward us, a lighted candle in

each hand. Behind her, the room was in darkness. These were

apparently the last two burning candles.

Naked and bloody in the glow of the candles she

carried, Casey looked like a teenaged savage

girl playing her part in some sort of pagan

ritual.

She stopped beside Randy and looked down at him.

"We'd better stop the bleeding," she said, her

voice soft and husky.

"Let him die," Eileen said.

"I concur," said Kirkus.

"I have to do what I can," Casey said.

She sank to her knees, next to Randy's bleeding

wrist but not very far from me. In the fluttery light,

I saw semen trickling down through the blood on her

thighs. "These wounds need to be cauterized," she

said. "Let's see if candles will do the trick

."

A soft chuckle came from Eileen.

"I say," said Kirkus.

Then came the screams from Randy. And the stench.

Later, we lit more candles. We were careful to keep

them away from the quilt.

Kirkus used his belt to secure the handkerchief

over my wound. I didn't complain about the way he

sometimes just happened to touch me; after all, he'd

saved our bacon.

While Casey and I put on our clothes,

Kirkus ran downstairs. He returned a few

minutes later with Eileen's gown. A while after

that, the three of us were dressed and ready to go.

I put Randy's pistol in my pocket, figuring

I would probably tell the authorities

(doctors are required to report gunshot wounds)

that it was my own weapon and I'd shot myself in the leg

by accident. This might work, at least if the gouge

across my side from Randy's first bullet

went undetected -- somewhat more difficult

to explain away

two

gunshot wounds.

"I guess that's about it," I said.

"What'll we do about all this

?"

Eileen asked. "The crime scene

?"

"We simply tell the truth," Kirkus pointed

out. "Eileen was kidnapped and brutalized by this

horrid man and we came to the rescue.

Voila.

It was all quite justifiable

."

"Only one problem with that," Casey said.

"And that is

?"

"No way in hell," she said. "You try bringing the

cops into this,; I'm gone. They're not gonna find

out what happened to me tonight

."

Or what I did to

him.

Or who I am. Or

anything

."

"I'm with Casey," Eileen said. "Even if I

thought she was wrong,

were'

I'd be with her. She almost got killed for me. But

this bastard . . . the things he did to us ... I

don't want to be telling cops about it or have it show

up in the news and be all over campus

."

"I'm not exactly eager, myself," said Kirkus.

"After all, I'm the chap who lopped off his hand

."

"For which I'm forever grateful," I told him.

"Same here," said Eileen.

"You bet," said Casey.

"Thank you," Kirkus said, and I heard a choke

in his voice. "Sorry I wasn't in time to stop

him from . . . violating you

."

"You saved my life," she said. Then she handed her

candles to me and hugged Kirkus and kissed him.

When she stopped, he said, "I say. Glad I

could help

."

After that, we stood around in the candlelight, silent

for a while, looking down at Randy.

Eileen broke the silence. "We've got to do

something about him . . -- about all this. We can't just

walk away. Must be all kinds of evidence they'd

be able to use against us

."

"We might torch the place," Kirkus

suggested.

"No," Casey said. "Even if Randy

did

work here, I'm pretty sure someone else owns the

shop. Besides, a fire might spread to other stores

"Wouldn't wanta burn down Dandi Donuts,"

Eileen said. I couldn't tell whether she meant it

sarcastically.

"And somebody might get hurt if we start a

fire," Casey added. "A fireman or an

innocent bystander

."

"We have to do something," I said. "We've

all

bled up here

."

"Not me," said Kirkus.

"Your fingerprints are on the sword," I pointed

out.

"Won't be," he said, and wandered off with a candle.

"What we need to do," Casey said, 'is get

Randy out of here. Take him out to the car. Clutter this

room up so it looks pretty much like normal, then

drop Randy off somewhere

."

"Like at a hospital

?"

Eileen asked. Again, I wasn't sure whether she

was being sarcastic.

Casey said, "That's not exactly what I have in

mind."

Because of my leg wound, I missed out on the cleanup

and heavy lifting.

Kirkus helped me downstairs and out to the car. I

sat in the back seat and waited, once in a while

ducking out of sight when a car or pedestrian came

along.

After about half an hour, the shop's front door

opened and Casey came out. She looked around, then

walked over to the car and opened its trunk.

Out of the shop rushed Kirkus carrying a big,

rolled rug over his shoulder.

Nice touch, I thought.

Eileen came out after Kirkus. She had a large

coil of rope hanging from her shoulder.

When Kirkus flung the rug into the trunk, the

whole car shook.

Eileen sat up front with Kirkus. Casey

sat in back with me.

As Kirkus swung away from the curb, Casey

squeezed my hand. "How are you doing

?"

she asked.

"Not bad. How about you

?"

"I think everything'll be all right

."

I squeezed her hand and said, "Hey, Rudy, who

you got the rug

?"

"Not Cleopatra

."

"I thought not," I said.

Kirkus stopped his car halfway across the

Fairmont Street bridge the same bridge where

he had almost jumpedstfallen and I'd saved him and

smacked my head on the street.

We all climbed out, even me. With Casey and

Eileen holding me up, I made it to the parapet.

I leaned against it and they let go of me.

They all hurried over to the trunk of Kirkus's

car.

I kept watch. So far, no traffic was

approaching from either, direction. I saw no people, either,

except my friends.

The rug stayed in the trunk.

Randy didn't.

Nobody had bothered to put clothes on him. But his

thigh was still bandaged and there were white rags tied around

both his stumps like two peculiar, blood-stained

flags of surrender.

Kirkus wrapped one end of the rope around Randy's

waist and laiotted it. Then all three picked him

up.

Randy regained consciousness while they were hauling him

over to the parapet. He started whimpering and mumbling.

"What's . . . going on

?"

he asked.

Nobody answered him.

"I need help," he said.

No response.

"Where are we

?"

he asked.

They put him over the low concrete wall of the

bridge.

"No!"

he squealed.

"What're you doing

?"

My leg had been shot, but there was nothing much wrong

with my arms. I took hold of the rope, along with

Kirkus and Eileen and Casey, and helped to lower

Randy slowly toward the Old Mill Stream.

"Hey, no!"

he cried out.

"What're you doing

?"

We lowered him slowly. He squirmed and bucked

on the rope. It felt like having a very large fish

on the line.

Near the top, the structure of the bridge held him

fairly steady. Lower, clear of the bridge, he

began to spin and swing.

"What're you doing!"

he called out again.

"This seems about right," Kirkus said.

The glow of the bridge's single functioning lamp

didn't reach down far enough to light Randy. Peering

over the parapet, however, I was able to see him in the

moonlight -- hovering four or five feet above the

surface of the stream. "Looks good to me," I

said.

We tied off our end of the rope to the base of the

nearest lamppost.

Still, no traffic was in sight.

We all leaned over the parapet and looked down.

Randy was slowly swinging and twirling above the water.

"What if nobody's down there

?"

Eileen asked.

"It'll be fine," said Casey.

A couple of dim shapes waded slowly out from under the

bridge.

"See

?"

said Casey.

"Dear God," Kirkus muttered.

Randy didn't seem to be aware, yet, of the

approaching trolls.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

The girls were helping me back to Kirkus's car

when Randy's very frightened voice said, "Hey, who're

you? What're you guys-"

Then Randy let out a scream I'll never forget.

We all looked at each other. I had

goosebumps. I wouldn't surprised if they did,

too. Eileen muttered, "Holy shit

."

The next day, while I stayed in bed, Kirkus

drove over to the bridge. He came back and

reported that even the rope was gone.

It wasn't my own bed, by the way.

After disposing of Randy, we had a discussion about where

to go and Casey suggested Lois's house. "She's

probably home by now. She'll take care of us

."

By the time we reached her house, Lois had been

home for more than an hour. She seemed overjoyed

to see us ... though upset by our condition.

As it turned out, I didn't need any excuses

for my gunshot wounds. Around dawn, Casey showed

up in the bedroom with a doctor. He was one of her

special friends, one of those souls she'd drawn to her

during the night roaming. A friendly,

elderly man, he removed the bullet from my leg

and patched me up. He also bandaged Eileen's dart

wounds. He injected both of us with tetanus

boosters and gave us antibiotics.

I missed a week of classes because of my leg

wound, but Eileen and Kirkus continued on as if

nothing had happened, and kept me up to date on

various assignments.

I had lots of time for reading and writing.

"If you're writing about

us,"

the one I call Eileen said when she caught me at

it, 'make sure you change the names

."

To which I responded, "Never fear. They're changed

already

."

"What're you calling me

?"

she asked.

"Hillary

."

"You lookin" to die

?"

"Just kidding. I'm calling you Eileen

."

She frowned and nodded, thinking about it Then she said,

"Not bad. Not bad at all. What about the others?"

I told her.

She laughed about one of them.

"Think I should change it

?"

"Oh, hell no. It suits him

."

After I'd been at the house for a few days, Lois

asked me to stay on as sort of a permanent guest.

I explained that her house was too far from campus,

but she offered to let me use her new car. So I

moved

out of my apartment building (pleased to leave the

Fishers behind) and into Lois's house.

Kirkus moved into my old apartment.

It is all fairly strange, really.

I'd gone out for a walk through the streets of town on

a night in early October, the most lonesome night

of my life . . . heartbroken, bitter and

desolate. Within a week, three women had entered

my life and taken away the loneliness and I found

myself happier than I'd ever been.

I still am.

As for Lois, Eileen and Casey, we're taking

things a step at a time. Lois and I, sharing the

same house, have grown to be very close. Eileen

often comes over, and sometimes we go out together. Casey

sleeps in my bed. When I wake up late at

night and discover that she's gone, I don't mind .

. . but I worry about her.

I don't know where it all may lead, but I do

love the journey.

As for Kirkus. . .well, Kirkus is

Kirkus. He's an emotional wreck with the hots

for me. Sometimes, we get along fine. Every so often,

I have to fight him off. We really need to find him a

new boyfriend.

As for Holly, who dumped me for the summer camp

counselor fuck her.

RICHARD LAYMON

  Richard Laymon is the author of over 30

novels and 65 short stories. Though a native

of Illinois and a longtime Californian, his name is

more familiar to readers in Great Britain,

Australia, New Zealand and the rest of the world (where

he is published in 15 foreign languages) than

it is to most Americans. He has written such

novels as

The Woods Are Dark, Out Are the Lights,

Tread Softly, Resurrection Dreams,

Midnight's Lair, The Stake, Quake,

and

Savage.

He also wrote

The Beast House Chronicles

comprised of

The Cellar, Beast House,

and

The Midnight Tour. The Traveling Vampire

Show

won a Bram Stoker Award for Novel of the Year

in

  2001. Two of his earlier novels

(flesh

and

Funland)

and his short story collection (a

Good, Secret Place)

had previously been nominated for Bram Stoker

Awards as well.

  Check out the Richard Laymon Kills!

website at:

www.rlk.cib.net.