No, I thought. Don’t do it. Keep your mouth shut.
The little town of Chester has its share of crime. I mean, what place doesn’t? But the odds had to be slim that the doorbell was being rung by a burglar. Especially when you consider that, since just after last midnight, I’d run into a weirdo flasher and a serial killer. On top of all that, a burglar? Not likely.
Not impossible, either. But…
Someone used a key on the front door. I heard its quiet ratchety sound as it slid into a lock, heard the latch click back, heard the knob rattle, heard a sigh of hinges as the door swung open.
Shit! Now what?
A man’s voice called out, “Murphy? Yo, Murph? You home? Helllllo? It’s only me from across the sea!” He waited a few seconds, then said, “Yo ho ho, guess you’re not home.”
I heard the door shut, but I didn’t know whether he was inside or out.
Until I heard his footsteps on the carpet.
Great! I’m gonna get found!
Some creep I don’t even know is gonna see me like this.
He must be Murphy’s best friend or brother or something. You don’t give a spare key to just anyone.
This guy is about to have the surprise of his life.
I heard the television come on. It sounded like CNN’s Headline News.
That’s right, I thought. Sit down in the living room and watch some TV news. Just stay put. Don’t move. Murphy’ll be home pretty soon. He’ll figure a way to steer you out of the place, and you’ll never be the wiser.
From the TV came a nifty British voice talking about tribal massacres in some African country. Zaire or Rwanda or some damn place.
Suddenly, during a pause in the broadcast, I heard footsteps again. These were quiet, as if the intruder had taken off his shoes.
What’s he doing?
Going into the kitchen for a beer?
The only route to the kitchen—or just about anywhere else in the apartment—would take him past the open bedroom door.
Maybe he won’t look in.
Fat chance.
I shut my eyes and went limp.
The footsteps suddenly stopped. The intruder said, “Whoa!”
I kept my eyes shut and tried to keep my breathing shallow and slow.
Let him think I’m out cold or dead or something. I sure didn’t want to strike up a conversation with the guy.
“What the hell’s going on here?” he muttered, and came walking slowly into the room. “Lady?” he asked.
I didn’t stir.
He said, “My God, what’s Murphy done?”
He sounded as if he were standing at the foot of the bed. I tried not to think about the view he had. But I could feel myself blushing.
I was blushing, sweating, and my heart was pounding fast. Couldn’t he see any of that?
Not where he’s probably looking.
“Wow,” he said. “Oh, Murphy, Murphy. How’d you land a babe like this?”
Down between my legs, the mattress sank in.
The mattress shook, making me wobble.
What’s he doing?
A hand patted me on the thigh. Very high up on my thigh.
“Hello?” he asked. “Young lady? Can you hear me?”
I didn’t respond.
“Must be out cold,” he muttered.
Moments later, a light fabric fell across my face.
Then two hands were gently caressing my thighs. “What a piece,” he muttered. “Man, oh man. Murph, you lucky dog. No wonder you tied her down. Couldn’t let something like this get away from you.”
His tongue got me. I gasped and flinched with the sudden shock of it, and knew the game was up. With no more need to play possum, I writhed as his mouth stayed where it was and his hands roamed up my body and found my breasts. He caressed them, gently massaged them, squeezed my nipples and pulled while his tongue flicked and delved. Soon, I was panting, thrashing against the ropes.
His mouth lifted off me. “Looks like I’ve awakened Sleeping Beauty. Does this mean I’m a prince?”
It was the same, fake voice.
But this time, I recognized the mind behind it.
“You bastard!” I gasped out.
Opening my eyes, I found a pale blue shirt on top of my face.
Murphy swept it aside and smiled down at me. He was kneeling between my legs, totally naked and erect.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked.
“What do you think?”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“Good,” he said. Then he came down and planted his mouth on my mouth and pushed himself slowly into me until I had all of him. Then he pulled most of the way out, and thrust in so hard that the ropes bit into my ankles and I yelped into his mouth.
He murmured, “Sorry.”
Then he clutched me by the shoulders to hold me still so the ropes wouldn’t hurt me again.
And went at it.
He went crazy on me, plunging and ramming as if he needed to get someplace where nobody’d ever gone before.
By damn, I think he succeeded.
He blew the roof off the joint, so to speak.
I’d never gone through anything like it. My guess is, neither had he.
When he was done, he stayed inside and settled down heavily on top of me, gasping for air. When he could talk, he said, “Are you okay?”
I answered by flexing some muscles down there.
He said, “Ooooh.”
After a while, I said, “That was a rotten trick, you know.”
“Huh?”
“Faking me out. Pretending you were somebody else.”
“Oh. That. Yeah. Figured I owed you one.”
“Very nice.”
“I enjoyed it,” he said.
“You’ve got a real mean streak,” I told him.
“That makes two of us.”
“So, did you get the money okay?”
“Yep. Everything went smooth as silk.”
I gave him a couple more flexes, and felt him starting to grow.
“How come no condom?” I asked.
“Didn’t see much point. Not after the way you got me before.”
“For which you decided to pay me back by impersonating a stranger and scaring me shitless.”
“Not exactly.”
“No?”
“That’s just…the way it turned out. What I’d planned to do was come straight in, strip naked and jump on you. No tricks. But when I showed up, there was a bunch of Jehovah’s Witnesses at the front door.”
“You’re kidding. That was a Jehovah’s Witness ringing the doorbell?”
“Yep.”
“Never figured that.”
“I figured you were probably freaking.”
“I wasn’t freaking.”
He laughed. It felt strange and great, the way he shook on top of me and deep inside me while he laughed.
“I might’ve been mildly concerned,” I admitted.
He laughed some more.
“What freaked me,” I explained, “was when some sneaky, rotten son-of-a-bitch unlocked the door and came in.”
“That was me,” he said.
I said, “Duh.”
He laughed again.
“Bastard.”
“You loved it.”
“Not the trick, I didn’t. That really stank.”
“Who did you think I was?”
“One of your horny buddies. Or maybe a brother.”
“Whoever you thought I was, you must’ve liked him. I didn’t hear any complaints.”
“That’s only because I was trying to play possum.”
“If you hadn’t been playing possum, you would’ve seen right away that it was only me. The moment I walked into the bedroom. I didn’t throw the shirt over your face until pretty far along.”
“What if I hadn’t figured it was you?” I asked. “Were you just going to screw me and leave, so I’d go on thinking it was someone else?”
&
nbsp; “I knew you’d recognize me. I’m surprised it took you as long as it did.”
“It was the prince crack,” I explained, and had to smile.
“Ah, well.”
“When I heard that, I knew it was you.”
“Not only beautiful, but smart.”
“That’s me,” I said. Turning my head, I kissed the side of his face. Then I asked, “You gonna let me up, now?”
“Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.”
“My hands and feet are numb.”
“Oh. Uh-oh.” He pushed himself up and slid out of me. Frowning, he said, “I should’ve untied you first thing. I didn’t realize the ropes were that tight. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it’s fine.”
Kneeling over my chest, he leaned forward, reached out with both hands, and started trying to untie my left wrist.
It reminded me a lot of my Judy dream.
Except that Judy’d had breasts and a knife.
Soon, Murphy managed to pluck open the knot. He loosened the rope around my wrist, and I pulled my hand free. It really was numb. I shook it, trying to get some feeling back, while he worked on the knot at my other wrist.
“I shouldn’t have made these so tight,” he muttered.
“Had to make it look good.”
“Not really,” he said. “I came back without any cops.”
“See? It worked.”
He laughed, and kept on struggling with the knot.
With circulation coming back, my left hand began to feel hot and get pins and needles. I kept flapping it around and wiggling my fingers.
“This one’s sure tight,” he said.
“Maybe you should get a knife.”
“Yeah. That might save a lot of trouble.”
He tried for another few seconds, then climbed off me and the bed.
“Back in a second,” he said.
I raised my head off the pillow and watched him stride toward the doorway. His tan stopped just above his rear end, and started again at the tops of his legs. His ass looked pale as cream, and smooth. The firm, round buttocks took turns flexing as he walked.
In the doorway, he turned around.
I liked the front view better.
Leaning sideways, he rested a shoulder against the door frame and smiled at me. “Can I get you anything else while I’m in the kitchen? A glass of water for your Morning Dehydration Syndrome? A Pepsi? A beer?”
“Just hurry, okay? If I’m tied up much longer, something may have to get amputated.”
He raised his eyebrows. “If anything has to come off, may I have it?”
37
IDENTITY CRISIS
“Very funny,” I muttered.
“I’ll take anything. I’m not picky.”
“Every piece of me is precious?”
“You got it.”
“Go!”
He laughed and hurried away.
With my free left hand, I reached under the pillow and grabbed the miniature cassette. I thought about hiding it on my person, so to speak. But what if Murphy decided to have another go at me while it was in there?
So I just slid it between my back and the mattress, where it would be easy to reach.
I no sooner had it out of sight than Murphy came hurrying in with a knife. He carried it in his right hand, down low by his side. Its blade, at least eight inches long, was straight out and pointing at me.
The blade wasn’t all that was pointing at me.
They were level with each other, both tilting at the same slightly upward angle, and one about as long as the other. While the knife swung back and forth at the end of Murphy’s arm, the thick shaft bounced and swayed with each step he took.
“You come well armed,” I said.
He smirked and shook his head, but didn’t say anything.
Stopping beside my right hand, he bent over and eased the blade down onto the rope. He wouldn’t be going for the knot, but for the clothesline itself where it was tight around my wrist. Only the thickness of the rope—less than half an inch—stood between the blade’s edge and my skin. “Don’t move,” he muttered. “I don’t want to cut you.”
The way he was hunkered over with his head down, his hair fell across his brow and hid his eyes. He looked like a big kid with a messy mop of hair.
As he gently sawed the rope, his hair hardly moved at all, but the motions of his arm were enough to shake his rigid penis from side to side.
Finally, he cut me.
“Ow!”
“Sorry,” he said, quickly stepping back. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Probably. What’s one more cut?”
“I think that’ll do it, though. Try giving a hard pull.”
I jerked my arm downward. The rope held it for a moment, then made a quiet puh! and let me go.
“I’ll get your feet,” Murphy said and stepped toward the other end of the bed.
I brought my right hand down. It was surrounded by a deep red indentation from the rope. The knife had made a shallow, half-inch slice. Bright red blood was sliding out, streaking my wrist and forearm. I quickly licked the streaks away, then covered the wound with my mouth.
Murphy was watching. “Maybe I’d better get you a bandage,” he said.
“It’s no big deal. Why don’t you go ahead and cut me loose? We can worry about a bandage later. Anyway, we may need several by the time you’re done.”
“I’ll be a lot more careful,” he said. “And this time, I’ll go for the knots.”
“Good idea.”
Bending over my left foot, he started to work the knife back and forth. Its edge made soft, rubbing sounds against the rope.
“I haven’t really had much practice at this sort of thing,” he said.“Not since I was a kid.” He lifted his head and smiled.“In my neighborhood, we were always tying people up.”
“Sounds like you lived in an interesting neighborhood,” I told him.
“I never tied up anyone like you, that’s for sure. But I wished I could. I’ve always wanted to. This was like…” He shook his head and sighed. “Unbelievable,” he said.
“Any time,” I told him.
He grinned, then lowered his head and resumed cutting.
He managed to slice the ropes off both my ankles without drawing any more blood.
When he was done, he asked, “How’s that?”
“Great. Thanks. But I don’t think I can move.”
He picked up my legs and eased them together. Then he sat on the end of the bed, turned sideways, and raised my feet onto his lap. He massaged them with both hands. “Let me know when they’re better,” he said. “I’ll help you into the bathroom and we’ll take care of your cut.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“And I don’t think we should make that drive to Culver City.”
“You don’t?”
“Screw them,” he said. “I’ll FedEx the books. It won’t kill them to wait a day longer.”
“I don’t want to be responsible…”
“Oh, don’t worry about it.”
“What if I hadn’t been here?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? But that’s not how it went down.”
“So, if we’re not going to Culver City, what’ll we do?”
“Whatever we want.”
“I want my five grand,” I told him.
He grinned. “I want to hear your story.”
I said, “Okay.” Though I smiled, I suddenly had a bad feeling inside—which must’ve showed.
“Something wrong?” Murphy asked.
Something was wrong, all right.
So far, he and I…we’d been getting along awfully well. I liked him better than any guy I’d ever known. A lot better.
Maybe I was even falling in love with him.
And maybe he had similar feelings about me.
But if I told him my story—the truth—it would probably ruin everything.
I mean, the truth might make me look pretty bad in his eyes. Might
even disgust him. Especially when he hears about the way I chopped Tony into pieces, and about some of the things I did to Judy.
I can’t tell him!
We kept looking at each other.
Frowning, Murphy asked, “Are you feeling okay?”
“It’s just…I’ve got a little headache. Do you have any aspirin, or…?”
“Sure. I’ll get it for you.” He slid a hand up the bottom of my leg, gave my calf a friendly pat, then lifted my feet off his lap, stood up and lowered them to the mattress. “Would you rather have Excedrin, Tylenol or Bufferin?” he asked.
“You must get a lot of headaches.”
“I get my share. What’ll it be?”
“How about Excedrin?”
Nodding, he took a few steps away from the bed, crouched and picked up his trunks.
“You’re getting dressed?”
“You’ve got a headache.”
“What does one have to do with the other?”
“You mean it wasn’t a hint?” he asked, looking flustered.
“I’m not much for hinting. But if you want to go ahead and get dressed…”
“Well…” He shrugged and smiled. “Maybe we should give you some time to get over your headache before we, uh, do anything too strenuous.”
“Maybe so.”
He stepped into his trunks, pulled them up, then left the room without putting on a shirt.
I reached under my back and grabbed the cassette. Shoving it into my mouth, I climbed off the bed. Then I swooped down and snatched my skirt off the floor. On my way to the door, I swept the skirt around my waist and fastened its buttons. Then I took the cassette out of my mouth. Clutching it in my right hand, I stepped through the doorway.
No sign of Murphy.
From the television came the voice of a man praising the courage of Paula Jones.
From the bathroom came a sound of rushing water.
Walking fast, I crossed the living room. Went straight to my purse near the end of the couch. Bent over it and spread it open.
All I meant to do was drop the cassette inside.
But I gaped at what was in there.
The usual stuff: lipstick, my compact, some tissues, a couple of tampons, my sunglasses, and so on.
Plus two sets of keys—mine and Judy’s.
And the note pad with Tony’s new telephone number.
And my wallet.
My wallet!