Out Are the Lights

  'You should've told me.'

  'I know. I'm sorry.'

  'Don't ever lie to me, Dal.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'You can lie your head off to the rest of the world, but save the truth for me.'

  'I will. I promise.'

  'All right. I take it nothing is up?'

  'Huh?'

  'She didn't suspect anything?'

  'No. She thinks it was related to his job. Someone wanted to get even.'

  'Very good.'

  'So everything's working.'

  'Seems to be.'

  'We should get together and celebrate.'

  'Sure. Don't call again. Dal, unless there's an emergency.'

  'When can we get together?'

  'A month, maybe.'

  'I don't know if I can stand it.'

  'You have to. Bye, now.'

  'Hey!'

  She hung up.

  Dal hadn't mentioned the mugging, yet. But he didn't dare call her back. He'd tell her about it another time.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Connie watched her leave the kitchen. She waited a few seconds, then opened the door wider and looked out. No one. She stepped into the kitchen. Through the window, she saw the woman heading back to her chaise.

  She hurried to the front door.

  Then she was striding up the driveway, breathing deeply of the fresh warm air. She felt as if she'd spent hours caged in that house. So good to be out and free!

  Once her car was running, she felt even better.

  She drove down the road away from the house, and tried to piece together what she had learned.

  Obviously, the woman was Elizabeth. She was the one who lured Pete out of the house, last night. Dal used her car to run Pete down. But what happened to Elizabeth? Why the bandages? Why the blood in the bedroom? Did Dal attack her? That hardly seemed likely.

  The bits she'd caught of the phone conversation, with Elizabeth turned away half the time, didn't make much sense.

  As she drove out of the hills, she wondered where to go next. She didn't want to return home and spend the rest of the afternoon worrying about Pete.

  Go to the police? Tell them what she'd learned? What's the penalty for attempted murder? Not much. Hell, even a life term for first degree murder never amounted to more than fifteen years. So what would they get, three or four? Unless Pete…

  No! He's got to live!

  She headed for the hospital, getting more nervous with each mile. All the detective work had kept her from dwelling on Pete's condition. Now, she could think of nothing else. Her hands were wet on the steering wheel and she had trouble getting enough breath.

  She imagined the worst.

  'I'm sorry,' the doctor would say. Just like in the movies. 'We did all we could, but…'

  No, no, no!

  The doctor had said he was stable.

  'Complications.'

  Finally, she entered the parking lot. She walked into the hospital on shaky legs. The lobby smelled like floor wax. She ignored the reception desk, and went to an elevator. Her hand felt cold and numb as she pushed the up button. She leaned against the wall to steady herself while she waited.

  The elevator came. It was deserted. She stepped inside, and pressed the button for the third floor. When the doors slid shut, she wanted to squat down and hug her belly. She leaned on the wall instead. Her teeth were chattering. She clenched her mouth shut.

  The doors opened. She stepped out, and walked to the nurses' station.

  A pink-faced woman smiled up at her. 'Yes?'

  'I'm here to… Mr Harvey? Is he…?'

  'Just a moment, please.' Her eyes lowered to a clipboard.

  Connie pressed her knuckles on the desktop to hold herself up.

  The nurse smiled. 'Mr Harvey has been taken off the critical list.'

  'How is he?'

  'He's doing just fine, all things considered.'

  'Oh, thank…' A sob broke Connie's voice and she covered her face, weeping. She was vaguely aware of the nurse getting up and putting an arm around her and leading her to a couch. The nurse sat down with her, patted her back. When she finally calmed down, the nurse brought her a cup of coffee.

  'May I see him?'

  'Well now, visiting hour isn't till four, and… Just a moment.' The nurse left her and walked down the hall. She looked into a room, then came back, 'I think it'll be all right if you just want a peek. He's sleeping, though. He shouldn't be disturbed.'

  'I'll just look.'

  The nurse led her to the room and opened its door.

  Both legs were in traction. The head and face were bandaged. He was snoring.

  Connie smiled. The nurse led her away.

  'Can you tell me his injuries?'

  'Well, just in general.'

  'That's all right.'

  'He has compound fractures of both legs, three broken ribs, a concussion, plus a roomful of lacerations and contusions. Doctor was worried most about the concussion, but it isn't real severe, fortunately. Now, you should get on home and climb in bed before you fall down.'

  Connie looked at her watch. Nearly three, if visiting hour's at four…

  'You just forget about visiting hour. Mr Harvey won't be in any condition to appreciate your company. If I were you, I'd just go home and take care of myself, and come back tomorrow.'

  'But tonight…'

  'He won't even know you're here, honey.'

  ***

  Back at her apartment, Connie climbed into bed. She intended to heed the nurse's advice - but only so far. She would take a little nap, then fix dinner and dress up and head out to the hospital for the eight o'clock visiting hour. Even if Pete wouldn't know she was there, at least she could sit by him, hold his hand. And who knows, maybe he would be awake after all.

  She slept.

  ***

  When she opened her eyes, the room was dim.

  'Oh no,' she muttered. She looked at the clock. Five after eight. 'Damn!'

  The hospital was a half hour drive. By the time she could get dressed and over there…

  Forget it. Tomorrow would have to do.

  She sat on the corner of the bed and wondered how to spend the evening. She felt very good. And very hungry. Putting on her satin robe, she went into the kitchen. She looked in the refrigerator. Nothing she could make a decent dinner out of. And anything in the freezer would take forever to thaw.

  So I'll go out, she thought. How about the Sizzler? Then she had a better idea: she would drive over to the Safeway, buy a fresh slab of tenderloin and some other goodies, come back to the apartment and have a feast.

  A regular celebration.

  Hoist a few drinks to Pete's health, a few to the imminent downfall of Dal and Elizabeth.

  Great idea!

  She hurried into her bedroom to change.

  As she slowed down for the entrance to the Safeway parking lot, she saw the movie theater on the next block.

  The Haunted Palace.

  Where she'd gone on her first night out with Pete.

  She drove past the Safeway.

  Don't do this, she warned herself. Don't get started again. The minute something goes wrong in your life, you head for the movies.

  This is different. Not an escape, like the other times. Pete is alive! We'll be together again. This isn't an escape, it's a celebration!

  A celebration of my first date with Pete.

  As she parked behind the theater, she hoped it had hot dogs.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Connie paused in front of the ticket window of the Haunted Palace, and checked the show times. The Howling had started at 7:15. Savage Schreck would come on at 8:55, followed by City of the Dead at 9:10. If she wanted to stick around. The Howling would show again at 10:50.

  She stepped up to the window and bought a ticket from the same white-faced girl with straight black hair who'd sold the tickets to Pete.

  Bruno waited inside the door, his face twisted under the nylon stocking. His blood
y T-shirt reminded Connie of the carpet at Elizabeth 's house.

  'Hi, Bruno,' she said, and handed him the ticket. He ripped it in half. Giving back the stub, he touched her hand. She went into the restroom to wash it.

  No hurry. The less she saw of The Howling's finish, the better. In a different theater-one without Bruno hanging around-she would've waited in the lobby until the movie ended.

  In the mirror above the sink, she saw that she didn't look as bad as she expected. A little pale. A little nervous in the eyes. Her hair could use a shampoo.

  The top of her warm-up suit was open too much. She raised the zipper a couple of inches. If she'd known she would be out for more than a quick trip to the supermarket, she would've worn a bra. She felt rather exposed without it. Nothing to be done, though. She hiked up her pants and left the restroom.

  The girls at the refreshment counter looked like clones of the ticket girl. The nearer one smiled with bright red lips.

  'I'll have a hot dog and a large Pepsi,' Connie said. 'Make that two hot dogs.'

  While she waited, she looked around. Bruno, standing by the door, was watching her.

  Creepy.

  Well, he's supposed to be creepy.

  Turning away, she watched the numbers appear on the cash register. She paid the girl, and took her food to the end of the counter. There, she opened the foil-wrapped hot dogs. Steam drifted up from them. Mouth watering, she squirted mustard onto both hot dogs. She wrapped them up, grabbed a straw and a couple of napkins, and hurried into the dark auditorium.

  She found an empty seat at the end of a row, but didn't want to block the man behind it. She took the next seat over.

  She ate her hot dogs slowly, trying not to watch the screen. But the action drew her eyes.

  What the hell, she decided. So I'll know how it ends.

  She watched the rest of the movie, fascinated.

  Then the lights came up. Looking around, she saw that the theater was crowded for a weeknight. Must be a couple hundred people, she guessed.

  She checked her wristwatch. Ten to nine. If she'd gone to the hospital, she would just be arriving. Ten minutes to spend with Pete.

  She should've gone.

  Too late now.

  Maybe she'd overslept on purpose. Maybe, subconsciously, she didn't want to see Pete tonight. Didn't want to see him lying there broken.

  The thought made her bum with guilt. Well, she would make up for it tomorrow. She'd be there waiting at four…

  The lights dimmed.

  Words appeared on the screen, red and dripping like blood: SCREAM GEMS PRESENTS OTTO SCHRECK IN… flames curled out of SAVAGE SCHRECK.

  It is daylight. A young woman in a dirty gingham dress makes her way down a slope, glancing nervously over her shoulder. At the bottom of the slope, she crouches by a brook. She dips her hands into the water and drinks.

  Knife raised, an Indian rushes down the slope. His body is naked except for a red breechclout. Warpaint streaks his skin.

  A goddamn maniac, Connie thought.

  The girl continues to drink.

  Get out of there! Connie wanted to shout.

  Finally, she looks around. Fright twists her face. She throws herself into the brook, splashes to the surface, and wades through the waist-high water.

  The savage leaps from the shore, black hair streaming behind him, knife clamped in his teeth, and drops onto the girl's back.

  They crash into the water.

  The girl breaks the surface. She is on her back, coughing, kicking, waving her arms. She seems, at first, to be floating. Then she is lifted straight out of the water. The savage raises her overhead and throws her.

  She smashes through a bush near shore, hits the ground shoulder-first, and rolls.

  She lies there stunned.

  The savage strides through the water. Climbing the bank, he takes the knife from his teeth.

  The girl is on her hands and knees, trying to get up.

  Run! Connie thought.

  But she can't get to her feet.

  The savage kicks her in the belly.

  Connie grunted as the impact lifted the girl completely off the ground.

  She falls onto her back, clutching her belly, her knees upraised.

  The savage crouches at her head. He twists her hair around his hand, and pulls it taut. He presses the knife against her scalp.

  'Oh God,' Connie muttered.

  A young man in the next row looked around at her, grinning. Connie smiled back, and shrugged.

  Blood streams down the girl's face. Her eyes bulge. Her mouth is stretched open so wide she looks as if her cheeks might rip.

  At least I can't hear the scream, Connie thought.

  Suddenly, a revolver muzzle pushes against the back of the savage's head. He stops trying to scalp the girl.

  Connie sighed with relief.

  While the girl lies on the ground, crying and clutching her slashed head, a red-haired man in cowboy clothes ties the savage's hands with strips of rawhide.

  The scene changes. The savage sits astride a horse beneath an oak tree. A rope hangs from a branch overhead. Its noose is around his neck.

  All right, Connie thought.

  ***

  The girl stands nearby, watching. Her head has been bandaged with a strip of fabric tom from her dress.

  The cowboy smiles at her. His mouth moves. 'You wanta do the honors?'

  She nods, steps to the rear of the horse, and slaps its haunch. The horse lunges away. The rope snaps taut, jerking the savage off the saddle. He swings, kicking and twisting, his face turning purple, his tongue lolling out.

  The girl and the cowboy turn away and start walking.

  'That's another good Indian,' the cowboy says.

  'What are you gonna do to me?' asks the girl, looking frightened.

  ***

  What's wrong with her? Connie wondered. This is the guy who saved her life.

  ***

  'I'll see you safely back to the settlement,' the cowboy tells her.

  They're still walking away, but the savage swinging below the tree is now straining, his arm and chest muscles bulging.

  The cowboy says, 'I'm sure your folks will be mighty glad to see you.'

  'Bullshit,' the girl says. 'You're gonna kill me, just like you killed Tina.'

  The savage's hands burst free. With rawhide dangling from both bloody wrists, he reaches overhead and clutches the rope. He climbs it, pulling himself upward hand over hand.

  'You're crazy,' says the girl. 'You're all crazy. You don't seriously think you can get away with this? You show this thing on the screen, and people are gonna see me. They'll recognize me, just like I recognized Tina.'

  ***

  What's all this? Connie wondered.

  ***

  'Oh, sooner or later I suppose someone will. In a few weeks, though. I'll be long gone. We'll have thirteen Schrecks by then. Filmworld is picking up the whole package for an even million-planning to edit them into a feature. Nice, don't you agree? You'll be a star.'

  'A dead star.'

  'You'll be immortalized on the silver…' His mouth springs wide as the savage, behind him, shoves a knife into his back.

  The girl tries to run, but the savage grabs her hair and jerks her backwards off her feet. He drags her to the tree. As he props her against it, she scratches his face. He slams a knee into her belly, doubling her. Then he starts tying her to the tree.

  ***

  Connie watched, totally confused. She'd seen plenty of awful movies before, but this had to be the worst. Not only vicious and gruesome, but the dialogue made no sense at all. This must be one of those crazy film-within-a-film movies that Europeans seemed so fond of making. An artsy-fart movie. Not supposed to make sense.

  The savage finishes tying her to the tree.

  'You bastards!' she cries. 'Let me go!'

  Connie watched the savage wander through the trees, gathering twigs. As she realized what they were for, she muttered, 'Oh no.'
br />   ***

  The man in front of her looked around again, smiling. His mouth moved, but the darkness hid his words. He might be saying anything. Connie assumed he was being friendly. Smiling, she nodded agreement with whatever he'd said. He nodded back, and turned away.

  Twigs and sticks are piled around the girl's feet. The savage, several yards away, is standing behind a small fire. He slowly wraps cloth around the head of an arrow. When it is secure, he lowers it into the fire. He raises his bow. He aims the flaming arrow at the girl. It streaks through the air.

  It hits the tree inches above the girl's head.

  'My name is Brit Anderson,' she says. 'I'm not an actress. This is not a movie, it's real. If you can hear me out there-'

  The savage lights another arrow. 'They'll hear whatever we like, bitch.' He shoots the arrow. It enters the kindling at her feet. Smoke rises out, then flames.

  She writhes against the ropes. The hem of her dress catches fire.

  'My name is Brit…'

  A flaming arrow plunges into her chest.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Connie grabbed the shoulder of the man in front of her, and he jumped. 'I've got to talk to you,' she whispered. 'In the lobby. I'm deaf. I read lips. I need light to see what you say.'

  He nodded.

  As they walked up the aisle, Connie glanced back at the screen and saw the girl burning-hair on fire, skin turning black.

  She pushed through the door and clutched the man's arm. He frowned at her, looking puzzled. 'That girl… she was killed.'

  'I know, but…

  'It wasn't fake. They killed her.'

  'Are you out of your mind?'

  'What was she saying there at the end?'

  'Hail Marys.'

  'No. That must've been dubbed. She was saying her name is Brit Anderson, and she's not an actress, and it's really happening. There's a phone over there. I want you to call the police.'

  'The police? Hey, that's serious business.'