‘I’m going out for a second.’
‘No!’
‘He can’t hurt us, honey.’
‘Please.’
‘I think he might be dead.’
She opened the car door and climbed out carefully. She locked the door. Shut it. Tried it. Fingering the side of the car for balance, she eased herself down the slope. She stood above the man. He didn’t move. She zipped her windbreaker, and knelt beside him.
‘Hey,’ she said. She jiggled his shoulder. ‘Hey, are you okay?’
She pressed a hand flat against his chest, felt its rise and fall, felt the light throbbing of his heart.
‘Can you wake up?’ she asked. ‘I want to help you. Are you hurt?’
In the growing darkness, she didn’t notice the moving, gloved hand until it grabbed her wrist.
4.
With a startled yelp, Donna tried to twist free. She couldn’t break the man’s stiff grip.
His eyes opened.
‘Let go. Please.’
‘It hurts,’ he said.
His hand squeezed more tightly. His grip felt strange. Glancing down, Donna saw that he was holding her with only two fingers and the thumb of his right hand. The other two glove fingers remained straight. With a vague stir of revulsion, she realized there were probably no fingers inside those parts of the glove.
‘I’m sorry it hurts,’ Donna said, ‘but you’re hurting me, now.’
‘You’ll run.’
‘No. I promise.’
His tight grip eased. ‘I wasn’t going to hurt you,’ he said. He sounded as if he might cry. ‘I just wanted in. You didn’t have to hurt me.’
‘I was frightened.’
‘I just wanted in.’
‘Where are you hurt?’
‘Here.’ He pointed at the hack of his head.
‘I can’t see.’
Groaning, he rolled over. Donna saw the pale shape of a rock on the ground where his head had been. Though the night was too dark to be certain, there didn’t seem to be blood on his head. She touched it, feeling the soft brush of his hair stubble, and found a lump. Then she inspected her fingers. She rubbed them together. No blood.
‘I’m Axel,’ the man said. ‘Axel Kutch.’
‘I’m Donna. I don’t think you’re bleeding.’
‘Dah-nuh.’
‘Yes.’
‘Donna.’
‘Axel.’
He got to his hands and knees and turned his face to her. ‘I just wanted in.’
‘That’s okay, Axel.’
‘Do I have to go now?’
‘No.’
‘Can I stay with you?’
‘Maybe we can all go away. Will you drive us somewhere for help?’
‘I drive good.’
Donna helped him to stand. ‘Why don’t we wait for the fog to lift, then you can drive us somewhere for help.’
‘Home.’
‘Your home?’
He nodded. ‘It’s safe.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Malcasa Point.’
‘Is that nearby?’
‘We’ll go there.’
‘Where is it, Axel?’
He pointed into the darkness. North.
‘We’ll go home. It’s safe.’
‘Okay. But we have to wait for the fog to lift. You wait in your car, and we’ll wait in ours.’
‘Come with me.’
‘When the fog lifts. Good-bye.’ She feared he would try to stop her from getting into the car, but he didn’t. She shut the door and rolled down the window. ‘Axel?’ He limped closer. ‘This is my daughter, Sandy.’
‘San-dee,’ he said.
‘This is Axel Kutch.’
‘Hi,’ Sandy greeted him, her voice soft and uncertain.
‘We’ll see you later,’ Donna said. She waved goodbye and rolled up the window.
For a few moments, Axel stared silently in at them. Then he climbed the slope and was gone.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ the girl asked.
‘I think he’s . . . slow.’
‘You mean a retard?’
‘That’s not a nice way to put it, Sandy.’
‘We’ve got them like that at school. Retards. Know what they’re called? Special.’
‘That sounds a lot better.’
‘Yeah, I guess. Where’d he go?’
‘Back to his car.’
‘Is he leaving?’ Sandy’s voice was eager with hope.
‘Nope. We’ll wait for the fog to thin out, then he’s going to drive us out of here.’
‘We’re going in his car?’
‘Ours isn’t going any place.’
‘I know, but . . .’
‘Would you rather stay here?’
‘He scares me.’
‘That’s just because he’s strange. If he wanted to do us harm, he’s had plenty of opportunity. He certainly couldn’t find a better location for it than right here.’
‘Maybe, maybe not.’
‘Anyway, we can’t just stay here.’
‘I know. Dad’ll get us.’ The girl’s eyes were black holes in the oval of her face. ‘Dad’s not in prison anymore, is he?’
‘No, he’s not. The district attorney . . . remember Mr Goldstein? . . . he telephoned this morning. They let Dad out yesterday. Mr Goldstein called to warn us.’
‘Are we running away?’
‘Yes.’
The girl on the floor lapsed into silence. Donna, resting against the steering wheel, closed her eyes. At some point, she fell asleep. She was awakened by a quiet sob.
‘Sandy, what is it?’
‘It won’t do any good.’
‘What won’t?’
‘He’ll get us.’
‘Honey!’
‘He will!’
‘Try to sleep, honey. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.’
The girl became silent except for an occasional sniff. Donna, leaning on the steering wheel, waited for sleep. When it finally came, it was a tense, aching half-sleep feverish with vivid dreams. She stood it as long as she could. At last, she had to get out. If the rest of her body could endure the torment, her full bladder couldn’t.
Taking the box of Kleenex from the floor beside Sandy, she climbed silently from the car. The chilly air made her shake. She breathed deeply. Rolling her head, she tried to work the stiffness out of her sore neck muscles. It didn’t seem to help much. She locked the door and pushed it quietly shut.
Before letting go of its handle, she looked over the top of the car. On the shoulder of the road, less than twenty feet from the rear of the Maverick, was a pick-up truck.
Axel Kutch sat on the roof of its cab, legs hanging over the windshield. His face, turned skyward, was lighted by a full moon. He seemed to be staring at it, as if entranced.
Silently, Donna crept down the slope. From the bottom of the ditch, she could still see Axel’s head. She watched it as she opened her corduroys. The huge head was still tilted back, its mouth gaping. She crouched close to the car.
The breeze was cold on her skin.
I was cold, like that time. And I had my pants down.
Everything will be fine, she thought.
He’ll sniff us down.
When she finished, Donna climbed the slope to the roadside. Axel, sitting on the roof of his truck cab, didn’t seem to notice.
‘Axel?’
His hands flinched. He looked down at her and smiled. ‘Donna,’ he said.
‘The fog’s gone. Maybe we can leave now.’
Without a word, he jumped down. When he hit the asphalt road, his left leg buckled, but he kept his balance.
‘What’s going on?’ Sandy called to them.
‘We’re leaving.’
The three of them unpacked the Maverick and transferred the suitcases to the bed of the pick-up truck. Then they climbed inside, Donna sitting between Axel and her daughter.
‘Help me remember where the car is,’ she told Sandy
.
‘Will we come back for it?’
‘We sure will.’
Axel steered his truck on to the road. He grinned at Donna. She grinned back.
‘You smell good,’ he said.
She thanked him.
Then he was quiet. On the radio, Jeannie C. Riley sang about the Harper Valley PTA. Donna fell asleep before the end of the song. She opened her eyes, sometime later, saw the truck’s headlights opening a path through the darkness of the curving road, and shut them again. Later, she was awakened when Axel started to sing along in his thick, low voice, with ‘The Blind Man in the Bleachers.’ She drifted again into sleep. A hand on her thigh woke her up.
Axel’s hand.
‘Here we are,’ he said. Lifting the hand away, he pointed.
The headlights lit a metal sign: ‘WELCOME TO MALCASA POINT, pop. 400. Drive with Care.’
Looking ahead through the bars of a wrought-iron fence, Donna saw a dark, Victorian house: a strange mixture of bay windows, gables, and balconies. At one end of the roof, a cone-shaped peak jabbed at the night. ‘What’s this place?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘Beast House,’ said Axel.
‘The Beast House?’
He nodded.
‘Where the murders were?’
‘They were fools.’
‘Who?’
‘They went in at night.’
He slowed the truck.
‘What are you . . .?’
He turned left on to an unpaved road directly across from the ticket booth of Beast House. Ahead of them, perhaps fifty yards up the road, stood a two-story brick house with a garage.
‘Here we are,’ Axel said.
‘What if this?’
‘Home. It’s safe.’
‘Mom?’ Sandy’s voice was like a moan of despair.
Donna took the girl’s hand. The palm was sweaty.
‘It’s safe,’ Axel repeated.
‘It doesn’t have windows. Not a single window.’
‘No. It’s safe.’
‘We’re not going in there, Axel.’
5.
‘Isn’t there some place else we can spend the night?’ Donna asked.
‘No.’
‘Isn’t there?’
‘I want you here.’
‘We won’t stay here. Not in that house.’
‘Mother’s here.’
‘It’s not that. Just take us some place else. There has to be some kind of motel or something.’
‘You’re mad at me,’ he said.
‘No, I’m not. Just take us some place else, where we can stay till morning.’
He backed the pick-up on to the road, and drove through the few blocks of Malcasa Point’s business section. At the north end of town was a Chevron station. Closed. Half a mile beyond it, Axel pulled into the lighted parking lot of the Welcome Inn. Overhead, a red neon sign flashed the word ‘VACANCY.’
‘This is just fine,’ Donna said. ‘Let’s just unload our luggage, and we’ll be all set.’
They climbed from the truck. Reaching into the back, Axel pulled out the suitcases.
‘I’ll go home,’ he said.
‘Thanks a lot for helping us like you did.’
He grinned and shrugged.
‘Yeah,’ said Sandy. ‘Same here.’
‘Wait.’ His grin became very big. Reaching into a hip pocket, he pulled out his billfold. The black leather looked old, shiny with a dull gloss from so much use, and ragged at the corners. It flopped open. He spread the lips of its bill compartment, which was bloated more with a thick assortment of papers and cards than with money. Holding the billfold inches from his nose, he searched it. He began to mutter. He looked at Donna with a silent plea for patience, then made a quick, embarrassed smile at Sandy, ‘Wait,’ he said. Turning his back to them, he ducked his head and bit the fingertips of his right-hand glove.
Donna glanced at the motel office. It looked empty, but lighted. The coffee shop across the driveway was crowded. She could smell french fries. Her stomach rumbled.
‘Ah!’ Glove hanging from his teeth, Axel swung around. In his hand – or what there was of a hand – he held two blue cards. The skin of his hand was seamed with scars. Half-inch stumps remained of the two missing fingers. The tip of his middle finger was gone. Two flesh-coloured bandages wrapped his thumb.
Donna took the card, smiling in spite of the heavy thickness she suddenly felt in her stomach. She started to read the top one. ‘COMPLIMENTARY’ was printed in block letters. The small type beneath it was difficult to see in the lights of the parking lot, but she struggled with it, reading aloud. ‘This ticket entitles the bearer to one free, guided tour of Malcasa Point’s infamous, world-renowned Beast House . . .’
‘Is that the scary old place with the fence?’ Sandy asked.
Axel nodded, grinning. Donna saw that his glove was on again.
‘Hey, that’d be neat!’
‘I work there,’ he said, looking proud.
‘Is there really a beast?’ the girl asked.
‘Just at night. No tours after four.’
‘Well, thank you for the tickets, Axel. And for driving us here.’
‘Will you come?’
‘We’ll try to see it,’ Donna said, though she had no intention of touring such a place.
‘Are you the tour guide?’ asked Sandy.
‘I clean. Scrub-a-dub-dub.’ Waving at them, he climbed into his truck. Donna and Sandy watched it roll out of the parking lot. It disappeared down the road towards Malcasa Point.
‘Well.’ Donna took a deep breath, relishing the relief she felt at Axel’s departure. ‘Let’s get registered, and then we’ll grab a bite to eat.’
‘A bite won’t be enough.’
‘We’ll buy the joint out.’
They picked up their suitcases and walked towards the motel office.
‘Can we take the tour tomorrow?’ Sandy asked.
‘We’ll see.’
‘Does that mean no?’
‘If you want to go on the tour, we’ll do it.’
‘All right!’
Chapter Two
Roy rang the doorbell of Apartment 10 and waited. He heard nothing from inside. He jammed the button five times, quickly.
Goddamn bitch, why wouldn’t she open up?
Maybe she’s not home.
She has to be home. Nobody’s out on a Sunday night, not at eleven-thirty.
Maybe she’s asleep.
He pounded the door with his knuckles. Waited. Pounded again.
Down the hallway, a door opened. A man in pyjamas looked out. ‘Knock it off, would you?’
‘Go fuck yourself.’
‘Look, buddy . . .’
‘You want me to kick the shit out of you, just say one more word.’
‘Get out of here, or I’ll call the cops.’
Roy started towards him. The man slammed the door. Roy heard the rattle of a guard chain.
Okay, the guy’s probably dialling right now.
It’d take the cops a few minutes to get here. He decided to use those minutes.
Bracing himself against the wall opposite Apartment 10, he threw himself forward. The heel of his upraised shoe caught the door close to the knob. With a crash, the door shot open. Roy ducked, slid up his right pants leg, and unsheathed the Buck knife he’d bought that day at a sporting goods store. Knife out, he entered the dark apartment.
He turned on a lamp. Crossed the living room. Rushed down a short hallway. The bedroom on the left, probably Sandy’s room, was deserted. Same with the one on the right. He opened its closets. Most of the hangers were bare.
Shit!
He ran out of the apartment, down the stairs, and out the back way to the alley. Across the alley was a row of garages. He ran past the end garage and found a gate. He pushed it open. A walkway led down the side of an apartment building. He followed it to the street.
No cars coming.
He dashed across.
&n
bsp; This block had houses instead of apartment buildings. Much better. He crouched behind a tree and waited for a car to pass. When it was gone, he started along the sidewalk, inspecting each house, looking for the one that seemed most promising.
He chose a small, stucco house that was dark at the windows. He didn’t choose it because of the darkness, he chose it because of the girl’s-style bicycle he saw in the front yard.
Careless, leaving it there.
It could’ve been stolen. Maybe they thought the little fence would protect it.
The fence wouldn’t protect anything.
Roy reached over the gate and carefully lifted the latch. The gate squeaked as he pushed it open. He shut it gently and hurried up the walkway to the front stoop. The door had no peephole. That would make things easier.
He knocked hard and fast. He waited a few seconds, then hit the door three more times.
Light appeared in the living-room window.
‘Who’s there?’ a man asked.
‘Police.’ Roy backed away and crouched slightly, right shoulder towards the door.
‘What do you want?’
‘We’re evacuating the neighbourhood.’
‘What?’
‘We’re evacuating the area. A gas main broke.’
The door opened.
Roy lunged. The guard chain snapped taut. It’s mounting shot from the doorjamb. The door slammed into the man, knocking him backward. Roy dived into him, covered his mouth, and jabbed the knife into his throat.
‘Marv?’ a woman called. ‘What’s going on out there?’
Roy shut the front door.
‘Marv?’ Fear in her voice. ‘Marv, are you all right?’
Roy heard the whirr of a spinning telephone dial. He ran to the hall. Near the end, light shone through an open door. He rushed towards it. He was almost there when a girl stepped out of a dark doorway, glanced at him, and gasped. Roy grabbed her hair.
‘Mommy!’ Roy called. ‘Hang up the phone or I cut your daughter’s throat.’
‘God in heaven!’
‘Let me hear it.’ He yanked the girl’s hair. She cried out.
The phone clattered. ‘It’s down! I put it down!’
Roy twisted the girl’s hair, making her turn around. ‘Walk,’ he said. Knife blade poised across her throat, he walked behind her to the far bedroom.
The woman stood next to her bed, stiff and trembling. She wore a white nightgown. Her pale arms were crossed tightly as if she were trying to warm herself.