Resurrection Dreams

  She wanted to reach up and open the catch at the front of her bra. She didn’t do it. She rubbed his legs, and let Jack go on in his own way.

  Come on, she thought. The bra.

  A corner of her mind was amused by her impatience. Wasn’t she the one who’d thought they should wait, see each other many times, slowly growing more intimate, slowly moving closer to a distant night when they would finally complete their long journey?

  Then, she felt him unhook the clasp. Lowering her head, she watched his hands slip beneath the black lace cups. She moaned at the feel of him. His mouth pressed the back of her head. He roamed her breasts, his touch so soft it was like a warm wind. His fingertips drew circles on her nipples. Too lightly. Tormenting her. Making her squirm.

  She reached behind him and squeezed his buttocks. As if this were a signal, he squeezed her breasts, kneaded them. Breathless, she brought her hands up, pressed his hands hard against her, then peeled them away and turned around and embraced him and found his mouth.

  Melvin stopped in the hallway near the open door and leaned against the wall. Moaning, gasping sounds came from inside the room. The creak and squawk of bedsprings.

  He knew what they were doing.

  They wouldn’t be doing it for long.

  He wiped his lips with the back of a hand.

  They’re making it easy for me, he thought. I’ll be on top of them before they know I’m there.

  “No. Wait.” She sounded winded. “Not yet.”

  “What’s wrong?” A man’s voice.

  “It’s rubber time.” Melvin could almost see her smiling as she said it. Smiling and panting, her breasts rising and falling as she gasped for air, her naked body shiny with sweat.

  “A rubber? Are you kidding?”

  “I just don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Aren’t you on the pill or something?”

  “I’m not worried about birth control.”

  “You think I’ve got diseases?”

  “Would you rather argue, or…”

  He moaned. A moan of pleasure. Melvin wondered what she was doing to him. He could guess.

  In a low voice, the guy said, “Hang on, I’ll get one.” The bed creaked. There were quiet footfalls on the carpet.

  Melvin raised the tire tool, though he didn’t think the guy would leave the room.

  “I hate these things.”

  “I know. It’s like wearing a glove.” She sounded amused. “Come here and give it to me.”

  “That’s not how they work.”

  She laughed.

  There were more footsteps. The bed squeaked again. Melvin heard the tearing of the condom’s foil wrapper. He lowered the tire tool and rested it across his leg.

  “Think it’ll fit?” the guy asked.

  “Braggart.”

  Then the guy went “Uhhhh. Yeahhh.”

  Melvin could picture her unrolling the thing down him. He could almost feel the tightness of the cool moist tube, feel her fingers through its thin latex.

  He’d gone to whores a few times over in Blayton. They’d made him wear one. But they’d made him put it on.

  “There,” she said. “All set.”

  Melvin ran his tongue around inside his dry mouth. He took a deep breath. His heart was drumming. He was hard, and saw that the front of his coveralls jutted out like a tent.

  The bed groaned.

  “Oh, yeahhhh.” Him.

  “It…doesn’t feel like a glove to me.” Her.

  “What does it…feel like?”

  “A telephone pole.”

  “Yeahhhh.”

  Time to party, Melvin thought.

  He pictured blood flying, spraying his coveralls.

  Can’t have that.

  He rubbed his mouth. Crouching, he set his tire tool on the hallway runner. He stood and slowly lowered the zipper of his coveralls. He shrugged the garment off his shoulders. It dropped around his feet, and he stepped out of it. Then he picked up the steel bar.

  Panting, he leaned against the wall. It was cool against his back and rump. He listened.

  “Oh…oh.” She sounded as if she was being beaten to death.

  Any minute, Melvin thought.

  “Oh!…Yes…Oh yes.”

  Melvin stepped into the doorway.

  A lamp beside the bed cast bright light onto their thrashing bodies. The guy was stretched out on top of her, half kneeling, his white rump flexing as he ran himself into her. Her hands were clenching his buttocks. Her legs were spread wide, knees high, heels digging into the mattress, pushing herself up to meet his thrusts.

  Melvin walked silently toward the end of the bed.

  He couldn’t see their faces, so they couldn’t see him.

  She kept bucking herself up against the guy, gasping and murmuring. “Oh…Oh God…Yes…In, in.”

  Melvin pictured himself ramming the iron right up lover-boy’s ass. That’d be a kick, but it wouldn’t do the job.

  He leaped onto the bed and dropped his knees onto the guy’s rump, onto her hands.

  Driving him down. The guy grunted.

  She squealed.

  “How’s that for in,” Melvin gasped. Felt his knees sliding away. Threw himself forward and clutched the wet nape of the guy’s neck, stopping the slide, and swung the bar.

  The impact made pain blast through his bitten hand and streak up his arm to the shoulder.

  But it sure did a number on lover-boy. Knocked his head sideways. Sent a spray of blood slapping the wall.

  “No!”

  She had blood flecking her face. Her eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets.

  “Yes,” Melvin said, and smashed the lug wrench end of the tool once more against the man’s crushed temple. This time, the blood flew up spattering Melvin’s face and shoulders. The limp body suddenly rocked beneath him. His knees slipped down the backs of the legs. He flopped, and before he could scurry up something trapped under him—one of her hands—twisted and clawed his thigh and shoved between his legs. He flung himself backward just as it found his genitals. The hand clamped shut. The fingers bumped him. They didn’t catch hold, though. Missed their chance to squeeze and crush, missed their chance to disable him. But the bump was enough to send a shock-wave of nauseating pain through his body.

  He hunched over and grabbed the back of the dead man’s leg to hold himself steady. He needed a second. Just a second to recover.

  But the bitch didn’t give it to him.

  She lurched and twisted, throwing the body sideways, tumbling Melvin off the bed. His back slammed the floor. The guy landed on top of him. And she was on top of the body. Melvin could feel her up there, jostling the body, her weight shoving the bastard’s butt against his face as if she were trying to smother him with it.

  She wasn’t up there long. Just long enough to untangle herself. Then she either rolled or fell off the pile. She hit the floor beside Melvin. He heard her hit, couldn’t see her. Not until he flung himself over, toppling the body away.

  She was scuttering toward the door on her hands and knees, whimpering, looking back over her shoulder. Melvin crawled over the body, got to his feet, and went after her. She pushed herself up. She stumbled into the hall. Melvin lurched through the doorway. She was already a few strides ahead of him. He cocked back his arm, ready to hurl the bar at her head. But what if he missed? Then he’d be without his only weapon and she might pick it up—use it on him. He kept the bar in his hands and raced after her.

  But she was faster.

  She’s gonna get away!

  He lost sight of her when she darted into the kitchen.

  She’s gonna get out the door and start screaming!

  Melvin’s shoulder hit the doorframe. He bounced off, grunting, and stumbled into the dark kitchen. And spotted her. She wasn’t going for the door. Her pale figure was at the counter, reaching out, her back to Melvin.

  He slapped the wall, raced his hand down it, and found the switch plate. He flipped the s
witch. As light filled the kitchen, she whirled around.

  A butcher knife in her hand.

  She stood there, gazing at him, blinking sweat out of her eyes, gulping air. Ropes of wet hair hung over her eyes. Her face was dripping, sweat mixing with the guy’s blood and running down, dripping off her jaw. Her chest was heaving, her breasts shaking. Her wet skin gleamed as if slicked with oil.

  She looked beautiful. Like some kind of warrior goddess.

  Melvin stared. He wanted her. He’d only wanted to kill her, but now he ached for the feel of her savage body under him, writhing and slippery.

  Beneath the desire, he felt a chilly stirring of fear.

  “All right,” she gasped. “End…of the line…fucker.” She took a step toward him.

  Melvin fought an urge to back away. He bent over a little and raised the tire iron. “Come ‘n get it.”

  She suddenly rushed him, snarling, feet slapping the floor, knife slashing.

  Melvin’s heart seemed to freeze.

  She’s gonna kill me!

  He swung at her face. The iron bar knocked her jaw crooked. He saw her eyes roll upward as her head was whipped aside. At the same instant, he felt a streak of warmth across his belly. Not pain. Just a long line of heat.

  But the blow from the tool had done it’s job.

  He watched her spin away, head tipped back, arms flying out, knife sailing from her hand. She crashed against the floor, slid sideways on her belly, then lay motionless.

  Melvin looked down at himself.

  She got me!

  He felt sick as he stared at the wound. It was five or six inches long, straight across the belly, just below his navel. A curtain of blood flowed down from it, sheathing his groin and thighs. His penis was shrinking, getting smaller and smaller as if it wanted to hide.

  He fingered a raw edge of the cut. Peeled it back like a lip. Not very deep. But now it was beginning to hurt. To really hurt.

  “You bitch!” he shrieked. “Look what you done!”

  She moved a little.

  He hurled the bar. She flinched and gasped “Uh!” as it gouged the skin of her shoulder blade. It didn’t stick, though. It bounced off and skittered across the linoleum.

  Melvin, forearm to his slashed belly, hurried to pick up the bar.

  It had come to a stop beside the knife.

  He picked up the knife, instead. When he straightened up, he saw that his legs were red all the way down to his feet.

  He stepped over to the sink, being careful not to slip and fall on his own blood. There, he found a moist dishrag. Knife clamped between his teeth, he folded the rag and pressed it against his cut.

  “You hurt me bad, you bitch.”

  She just lay sprawled there. She bled where the bar had torn her skin.

  Melvin remembered that she’d flinched and made a sound. So she wasn’t out cold. Dazed, maybe, but not unconscious.

  Still able to feel pain.

  He straddled her and sat on her back. With the tip of the knife, he prodded her wound. She made a quick, high bleat and her muscles fluttered under him.

  Melvin peeled the rag off his cut. He squeezed it into a tight ball, blood spilling out between his fingers. Then lay the knife between her shoulder blades, grabbed her hair, lifted her head off the floor, and stuffed the rag into her mouth.

  If she was dazed, she came out of it when Melvin drew the blade across her brow. She gave a spastic jerk as if jolted by a charge of electricity. She shrieked into the rag. She rammed her hands and knees against the floor, started to push herself up. Melvin cut with one hand. With the other, he yanked her hair. With a wet, tearing sound, her scalp peeled back. He kept his grip on it and rode the crazed, screaming woman like a horse for a moment before she threw him.

  He hit the floor, rolling. And got to his knees.

  And held up the thatch of hair. It swayed, the flesh from the top of her head sprinkling a circle of blood.

  “Scalped ya,” he said, grinning as he panted for air.

  She wiped blood out of her eyes. Looked around. Scurried toward the tire tool.

  “No y’don’t!”

  Melvin sprang up. His feet flew out from under him. His rump pounded the floor.

  Slipping and sliding on the blood, he crawled toward her.

  She got a hand on the tire tool.

  He pounded the knife down into her back.

  She flopped. She made a wet smacking sound when she hit the floor.

  Melvin pulled the knife out, raised it high, and stabbed Ace again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Vicki squeezed him as hard as she could, crushing him against her, then let her arms flop onto the bed. She slid her feet down the backs of his legs, and lay spread-eagled beneath his weight. He was still deep inside her. She was filled with him, peaceful and tired.

  Jack pushed himself up enough so his face was above her. His chest no longer tight against hers, air came in, cool against her hot, damp skin. He stared into her eyes, searching them. He looked very solemn. After a long while, he said, “I think I love you, Vicki Chandler.”

  She felt as if her heart were swelling. She reached up and held his sides. “I think maybe I love you, too.”

  He eased down and gently kissed her mouth. When he pushed himself up again, he smiled. “And it’s not just your body.”

  “Oh, sure thing.”

  “I can take it or leave it.”

  “Right.” She flexed muscles, tightening them around the hardness inside her, and watched Jack’s eyes widen.

  “On second thought…,” he whispered.

  She reached up and pushed her fingers into his damp hair. She drew his head down. She kissed him. She felt him start to move a little, squirm a little, tentatively pressing this way and that as if exploring the soft walls that held him.

  “And one for the road?” she asked.

  The exploration stopped. Jack raised his head. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

  “Indeed I am.”

  “Why?”

  She didn’t want to leave. More than that, she didn’t want to cast a shadow over their time together by ending it with an argument. “Deep, dark reasons,” she said, and tried to look mysterious.

  “Stay. Please.”

  “I didn’t bring my toothbrush.”

  “I have a spare.”

  “Oh yeah?” She smiled. “Whose is it? Anybody I know?”

  “It’s new.” He had such sadness in his eyes. “It’s…”

  “It’s not about a toothbrush, honey.”

  “What is it about.”

  “You and me.”

  “But I thought…”

  “I’d love to stay. And sleep with you. And wake up in the morning in bed with you beside me. And have breakfast together. It would be wonderful. But I won’t. That’s something…I’d rather save.”

  Jack nodded. “I guess I understand. Something special. To save for another time. Like, for the honeymoon.”

  She felt heat rush to her face. Her throat went tight. “Yeah, like for…that.”

  She stared into his eyes.

  “I can feel your heart,” he said.

  “I should think so.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to drop the big question on you. You’re not the only one around here who can save things for later.”

  She felt neither disappointment nor relief, only the sense of wonder and excitement at knowing that he wanted her. He’d said that he loved her, but some people spoke those words easily. Now, he had gone so much further. He had let her know that he needed her in the midst of his life, part of him.

  “Oh, Jack,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around his broad back and kissed him. Gently at first, feeling tender and comfortable and glad, but soon with urgency as he began to move on top of her, began sliding himself within her hugging depths. His tongue entered her mouth and she sucked its thickness as he thrust, pounding her into the bed.

  After bandaging himself in the bathr
oom, Melvin returned to the kitchen. He pulled the knife out of Ace’s back. Then he turned her over.

  “Not so tough now, huh?” he asked.

  She looked like a wreck. A bald wreck. She still had lots of hair on the sides, but the top was a raw, skinned dome. It made her look a little freakish, like Lon Chaney in Phantom of the Opera. And all that red on her face and shoulders reminded him of Sissy Spacek in Carrie after they dumped the bucket of blood on her head at the prom. Her crooked, hanging jaw made her look like…Melvin couldn’t think of a movie character. That part of her just looked like Ace after a run-in with a tire tool.

  The rest of her looked like that sexy babe in the second Howling movie. The one who kept howling and showing off her big knockers.

  For a moment, staring down at her, Melvin regretted messing her up so badly. If he hadn’t ruined her looks, he might’ve taken her home and brought her back to life.

  But that had never been the plan, anyway.

  The plan was just to kill her ass.

  Vicki’s best friend.

  See how she likes it.

  Lying cunt.

  He dropped the knife onto Ace’s belly. Then he picked her scalp off the floor and gave it a toss. It dropped with a soft splat onto one of her breasts. He laughed at the look of it there. Then he moved it down to where the knife was. He grabbed her wrists and began dragging her.

  A heavy thing.

  His sore muscles ached, and he remembered that he’d been bent over just the same way, towing a body, last night in the river.

  Killed Pollock for her. Killed old Gaines for her. She owns the fucking clinic because of me, even if she doesn’t know it.

  Told me I’m special.

  Got rid of me and went straight to that big fucking asshole and started making out with him.

  Gonna be real sorry, though.

  Winded, dripping sweat onto Ace’s face, he wanted to just let go and leave her in the hallway.