Body Rides

  The skin around her open mouth was shiny, too.

  Her pleated white skirt was torn up the middle and spread open. Her legs were wide apart. She was no longer sitting up straight, but looked as if she’d been dragged forward so that she was halfway off the seat. Her pubic hair looked wet and sticky. The lips of her vagina glistened. There were streaks like snail trails nearby, on her thighs.

  Marta switched off the flashlight and dropped it into a pocket of her shorts.

  As she turned to face the Creeper, she switched the pistol to her right hand.

  He had turned around. The cape was wrapped around him. His face, a pale blur above the blackness, was moving from side to side, denying.

  ‘You messed with her,’ Marta said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Slobbered all over her.’

  ‘I didn’t. She was . . . already like that when I got here.’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Did you rape her?’

  ‘How could I rape her? She’s in the car like that, and . . .’

  ‘All you’d have to do is open the door, maybe drag her out.’

  ‘I didn’t. You can see for yourself . . .’

  ‘You would’ve gotten around to it.’

  ‘No! Honest!’ The cape spread open as he put out his hands. He patted the darkness in front of him as if to calm her down. ‘I didn’t do anything. Please. Just let me go. I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Marta raised the pistol and took aim at the dim oval of his face.

  ‘I kissed her, okay? I kissed her and touched her. That’s all. I swear.’

  ‘Touched her with what?’

  ‘My hands. Just my hands. I swear! I never even opened the door. All I did was lean over it.’

  ‘And play with her. She couldn’t stop you, couldn’t even tell you to quit.’

  ‘Maybe she liked it.’

  ‘I’m going to kill you.’

  ‘No. Please. I’m sorry!’

  Marta stepped toward him. ‘Open your mouth.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Open it.’

  He started to cry. But he opened his mouth.

  Marta put the gun in. ‘Contemplate your sins,’ she said, ‘and prepare to meet your maker.’

  He squealed around the muzzle.

  Marta shoved the pistol, driving it deep into his mouth. He choked. He stumbled backward, but Marta stayed with him, shoving, forcing him back past the front of her Jeep until he was stopped by the wall.

  He choked and sobbed. He said, ‘Bleesh!’

  ‘Sue couldn’t defend herself, just had to sit there and take it. Now it’s your turn.’

  ‘Nuh!’

  ‘Any last request?’

  He started crying like a kid. A kid with a mouth full of barrel.

  Marta jerked the pistol back. It came out smoothly, silently, missing his teeth. As she stepped away, Creeper fell to his knees. He cowered, head down, bawling.

  She pushed the muzzle against the top of his head.

  With her other hand, she reached down and ripped the cape off his back.

  ‘I can’t spare a bullet right now,’ she said. ‘So wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes to kill you.’

  He didn’t move.

  Marta hurried around to the other side of her Jeep. She tossed the cape in. It fell onto Sue’s lap and legs.

  She climbed in behind the steering wheel, tucked the pistol between her thighs, slipped the key into the ignition, and called, ‘You’d better be here when I get back, or I’ll hunt you down forever.’

  She started the engine and put on the headlights.

  As she backed out of the car port, her headlights illuminated the Creeper. Pale and skinny, he was hunkered down on his knees, his face hidden behind his hands. He was naked except for his cowboy boots. He looked pathetic. But Marta didn’t feel sorry for him.

  I should’ve shot him for what he did to Sue. And for what he might do to others, someday. Put a bullet through his head.

  But it wouldn’t have been a good thing to have on her conscience. Also, it would’ve cost her a bullet.

  She had plenty of ammo in her pocket. Getting a new cartridge into the magazine would be difficult, though. Tough on her thumb. Painful.

  She looked over at Sue. ‘How’re you doing?’ she asked.

  Sue didn’t answer. Her body bounced with the roughness of the alley pavement.

  Keeping her left hand on the wheel, Marta reached over and pulled Sue’s shirt down.

  When she came to the end of the alley, she stopped the Jeep. She leaned far over, kissed Sue gently on the cheek, then grabbed the seat belt and strapped her in.

  8.

  Vince, shocked with fright, tried to bring up his gun. His hand moved no more than two inches before it was stopped by Glitt’s quick, steel grip.

  He pulled the trigger anyway.

  Just as he fired, Glitt smashed him in the face with the cell phone.

  Pain exploded through Vince’s face and head.

  Through Sue’s, too.

  She thought, Shit!

  But she heard Glitt crying out through the roar of the gunshot.

  Did we get him? she wondered.

  Vince thought so. In spite of his terror and pain, he seemed to think he’d wounded Glitt, if only in the leg. He wanted to pull the trigger again, but he couldn’t find it. He realized that his hand was empty. He’d dropped the gun.

  I’m gonna die! He’s gonna . . .

  Glitt pounded the phone against his face again.

  Whimpering, Vince fell to his knees.

  Sue thought, Owl The floor striking his knees hurt almost as much as the blows to the face.

  I oughta take a hike before . . .

  She felt herself start to slide out.

  NO! I’m staying! Can’t miss this!

  Vince caught a knee in the face. It crushed his nose and knocked his head back.

  His agony was Sue’s agony.

  Don’t bail out!

  Vince toppled backward.

  Hang on tight! Ride ’em, cowboy!

  He slammed the carpeted floor. Then his head bounced, and his mind flashed as if a firecracker had gone off inside.

  Sue grunted.

  Vince didn’t. He lay sprawled on the carpet, his body limp, his mind vague. He was no longer aware of Glitt or anything that had just occurred. His mental commentary was gone. All that remained was a dream-like scene in which he struggled deep in murky water. Something was after him. Something horrible and merciless that dwelled at the bottom. It was coming up for him. Gaining on him. He had to reach the surface. He would be safe there. But he knew that he didn’t stand a chance. Any moment now, it would grab him by an ankle and drag him down and . . .

  Glitt picked his legs up by the ankles.

  In Vince’s dream, tentacles wrapped his ankles and started dragging him down.

  He cried out.

  But he stayed unconscious.

  Sue stopped paying attention to his dream, and focused on what Glitt was doing. She couldn’t see, because Vince’s eyes were shut. She could feel, though. Glitt was dragging him by his ankles.

  Out of the den, and up the hallway.

  The dragging had rucked up the back of Vince’s warmup jacket. His bare skin rubbed the carpet. It hadn’t felt bad, at first. But now it burned as if the carpet had turned into a bed of coals.

  Not that Vince cared.

  Vince, in a dreamworld of darkest horror, was oblivious of the carpet burns.

  No skin off my back, Sue thought.

  She laughed a little, in spite of the pain.

  Ain’t even my pain. It’s all his. And I aim to enjoy it. ‘You killed Neal, you filthy bastard. Now yer gettin yers.’

  Vince’s body made a turn.

  Where we goin? Sue wondered.

  Vince’s hip bumped into something. A door frame?

  Sue wished he would open his eyes.

  Not that she wa
nted his dream to end. So far, it was a doozy. The creature kept dragging him down, and he knew he was doomed. In the black at the murky bottom, it would do unthinkable things to him.

  Sue tried to figure out what sort of things, but Vince didn’t seem to have any specifics in his mind. He just seemed to expect the worst, and the worst was horrible beyond the power of his imagination.

  What does he think it’s gonna do, eat him?

  Worse than that.

  What could be worse than that?

  Sue wasn’t so sure that she wanted to find out.

  Meanwhile, Glitt seemed to be making some sort of a U-turn with Vince’s body. A few seconds after that, the carpet stopped. A cool, smooth surface slid under his back. The smoothness was broken by strips of narrow cracks.

  There was a difference in the air, too.

  An empty feeling, a dankness.

  We’re in the john.

  With a mixture of fear and glee, Sue figured out where Glitt was probably taking Vince.

  To the bathtub.

  Hey, hey, Vince ol’ boy. Guess what? Yer in for it now. He’s gonna do unto you like he done unto Elise.

  This oughta be good.

  Glitt suddenly let go. Vince’s legs dropped. The heels of his shoes pounded the tile floor.

  The jolting impact saved Vince from whatever horror awaited him at the bottom of the water. He gasped, opened his eyes, and immediately knew that he was lying on the floor of his master bathroom. The overhead lights were on. He saw Glitt looming over him, down past his feet.

  What’s he doing here?

  While Vince tried to piece things together, Sue studied Glitt.

  This was the same guy she’d seen with Neal in the parking lot just before hell broke loose. She and Marta had figured he must be Glitt, but they hadn’t known for sure.

  The top of his head was bandaged. His thick, tangled beard made him look like some sort of crazy wino or hippie.

  Looks nuttier than Manson.

  He wore a long-sleeved black shirt. And black leather trousers so tight that they seemed to hug his long, bony legs. An inch or so of leather was gouged out of the left side, just below his knee. The furrow slanted downward from the front. Sue could see raw, pulpy flesh inside it.

  Ya got him, Vince. A piece of him, anyhow.

  Blood ran down from the wound, coating the leg of his pants and the side of his left boot, making a small puddle on the tile floor.

  For a while, he did nothing except stand there and glare at Vince.

  Vince had managed to figure things out. He felt shriveled and sick with fear, but his mind worked fast, trying to figure a way out.

  He’ll want his money. That’s the thing. Promise him the money – promise him anything!

  Why’d he bring me in here? This is where he killed Elise.

  He just wants to scare me. He might be a sadistic maniac, but he’s not gonna throw away a chance at half a million bucks.

  ‘Wanta bet?’ Sue asked him, though she knew he couldn’t hear her thoughts.

  ‘Vincent, Vincent,’ Glitt said. As he spoke, he squatted down.

  ‘I thought . . . you were a burglar,’ Vince said.

  ‘Not me. I’m a killer.’

  ‘I mean . . . I wouldn’t have . . . shot you.’

  ‘Sure,’ Glitt said. Reaching down with both hands, he picked up Vince’s left foot and pulled its shoe off.

  Vince’s fear surged. ‘What’re you doing?’ he gasped.

  Glitt tossed the shoe aside and dropped the foot. ‘You didn’t come up with the money, Vincent.’

  ‘It got stolen. Wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘No fooling?’ Glitt asked, but he didn’t sound interested. He picked up Vince’s other foot and removed the shoe.

  ‘This afternoon,’ Vince explained. ‘They robbed me. Took it all. A guy, couple of cunts.’

  ‘Real nice language, buster,’ Sue told him.

  ‘Look what they did? See?’ Lifting a hand, he pointed at his chin. ‘That’s from the prick’s gun. See? He hit me with it.’

  ‘Terrible,’ Glitt said, and lowered Vince’s bare foot to the floor.

  Still squatting, he reached for the knife at his hip.

  Vince whimpered.

  Glitt pulled the knife out of his black leather sheath. It had a wide, shiny blade.

  Vince’s bowels curdled.

  ‘They robbed me, Les! What was I supposed to do? The banks were closed. But I’ll get more!’

  ‘Really?’ Glitt asked, but he didn’t sound interested.

  He lowered the blade of his knife between the second and third toes of Vince’s right foot. With his other hand, he clutched the ankle.

  ‘Leslie? Hey. I’ll get you the money. Honest! I swear to God!’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Monday!’ he blurted. ‘The minute my bank opens.’

  ‘Great,’ Glitt said with no enthusiasm. Then he slowly slid the blade, slicing into the tissue between Vince’s toes.

  Ouch! Sue thought.

  ‘No!’ Vince squealed in his mind. He tried to jerk his foot away, but Glitt held on. The blade kept gliding, slicing deeper. ‘No!’ Vince blurted. ‘Please!’

  Glitt’s eyes were gleeful. Grinning, he inserted the blade into the crevice between Vince’s third and fourth toes. He pressed it gently against the skin at the bottom, then drew it very slowly toward himself.

  Sue cringed.

  Vince, squealing, flinched and shuddered.

  Sue began to wonder if she could stand it.

  Ain’t my foot.

  But she felt every bit of Vince’s pain, anyway. Every bit of his terror.

  Gettin payback in spades, the bastard.

  The knife went away. Sue felt like sighing with relief.

  Vince raised his head and gazed at his bloody foot. He sobbed. Then he said, ‘Don’t hurt me any more. Please!’

  ‘You tried to get me whacked.’

  ‘No! Not me!’

  ‘Couldn’t come up with the dough, so you hired a carload of assholes to gun me down.’

  ‘No! I didn’t. Are you kidding? I wouldn’t do a . . .’

  ‘Don’t move,’ Glitt said, and stood up.

  ‘I’ll get you the money.’

  ‘Really,’ Glitt said, and moved over to the side. He climbed down a few steps into something, walked out of sight, then returned and climbed up to floor level – with a thick bar of soap in his hand.

  ‘What’s that for?’ Vince asked. But he knew what it was for.

  ‘You’re gonna be screaming your head off, Vince. We can’t have the neighbors hearing you. Bad enough you shot your fucking gun.’

  The mention of the gunshot raised Vince’s hopes for a moment. His hopes sank, however, when he remembered that he’d shut all the windows and doors to keep Glitt out.

  How did he get in? he wondered.

  ‘Like it matters,’ Sue remarked. ‘He’s in and yer up Shit Creek.’

  Vince also realized that his nearest neighbors were on a cruise down the Mississippi.

  A good chance that nobody had heard the gunshot.

  Glitt straddled Vince’s chest, crouched, and held out the soap. ‘Open up wide and say “ahhh.” ’

  Vince started crying.

  He didn’t want to open his mouth, but Glitt would hurt him if he didn’t.

  He opened wide.

  He didn’t bother saying ‘Ahhh.’

  Glitt pushed the soap in.

  It felt huge inside his mouth. Waxy against the edges of his teeth. Slick against his tongue.

  Real nice, Sue thought.

  The feel and taste reminded Sue of when she was a kid. A few times, she’d let a bad word slip out within hearing range of her parents – or a tattletale. And then her father would take her into the bathroom and jam a bar of soap into her mouth.

  No matter what color, no matter what scent, they all tasted pretty much alike.

  Vince had never gotten the soap treatment, but he was aware that Glitt had
done this to Elise. He’d heard about it on the news, read about it in the paper. And he’d admired Glitt for coming up with such a handy, effective gag. A washcloth would’ve sufficed, but a bar of soap showed style.

  Now, he wished he’d never had such thoughts. They’d tempted Fate. This was payback for enjoying the soap gag when it had been used on Elise.

  Because of the soap, Vince could hardly breathe. He was sucking air in through his nostrils.

  Sue feared she might be suffocating.

  I can hang on if he can. Just gotta remember to bail out if he starts to crump.

  She wondered if she should get out now.

  No, no, no! It’s just startin to get good!

  Glitt, still squatting over Vince, waddled backward. As he retreated, he pulled down the zipper of Vince’s warmup jacket.

  Vince didn’t like it. What’s he doing that for?

  Then Glitt pulled down Vince’s warmup pants.

  No! What’s he doing? Oh, God, no!

  Vince grunted into the bar of soap and shook his head emphatically.

  The tile floor felt cool under his back and buttocks.

  He still wore something; Sue could feel straps and a snug pouch.

  ‘You never impressed me as being a jock,’ Glitt said. Reaching out, he hooked his fingers under the elastic band around Vince’s waist. He tugged it upward, made a couple of slashes with his knife, then tossed Vince’s jockstrap aside.

  ‘Guess you’re not real glad to see me,’ Glitt said, grinning through his beard.

  He fingered Vince’s penis.

  In his mind, Vince shouted, ‘Leave me alone, you dirty bastard!’

  But he said nothing. He wept.

  He’s trying to make me hard, the dirty . . .

  The hand went away.

  ‘Let’s get you into the tub,’ Glitt said, ‘before we make any more messes.’

  9.

  Sue writhed in the passenger seat. Her head thrashed about. She panted for breath. A couple of times, she laughed. Every so often, she flinched and cried out.

  Marta kept glancing at her.

  Nothing to worry about. She’s safe here. She isn’t getting hurt.

  But the thoughts didn’t reassure Marta. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard that they ached. She had a tight knot in her stomach. Every muscle in her body seemed to be rigid.

  She can come back whenever she wants to. Obviously, she doesn’t want to. Not yet.