But his idea was neat. It was worth some work.
So he kept on dragging her. She was leaving faint maroon ribbons on the hallway carpet.
Somebody’s gonna have a real job, he thought, cleaning up all this.
He dragged Ace past his coveralls lying in a heap beside her doorway. And kept on dragging her. Finally, he got her into the bedroom at the end of the hall.
This had to be Vicki’s room.
Leaving her on the floor, he sat on a corner of the bed to catch his breath. His bandage had come unstuck during the long haul. It hung by one end. Blood was all over his belly and groin and legs. He pressed the bandage into place again, but the tape wouldn’t cling. So he just held the bandage there until he could breathe again.
Then he let it dangle. He dragged Ace to the bed, jammed his arms underneath her body, gritted his teeth, and lifted.
Like picking up a damn horse.
But he got her onto the bed. He tugged and shoved until she was lying in the middle. Then he jammed a pillow under her head to prop it up. He arranged her arms so they stretched straight out away from her sides. He spread her legs wide. He admired the display for a few moments, wondered what to do with the scalp, then draped it over the toes of her right foot.
Nice.
He could just see the look on Vicki’s face when he showed her.
Melvin found the knife on the floor beside the bed, where it had fallen when he lifted Ace. He took it with him, and went down the hallway to Ace’s room. The dead guy was face-down, the broken side of his head against the carpet. The carpet looked as if it had soaked up gallons of blood. Melvin bet that if he stepped on it, over there, the blood would squish up between his toes.
Clothes were scattered over the floor near the foot of the bed. Jockey shorts, shoes and socks, a blue shirt and slacks.
A uniform?
He picked up the shirt. It had a colorful sleeve patch that read, “Ellsworth Police Department.” A badge swung on its chest. A plastic name plate over the other breast pocket identified its owner as “Milbourne.”
“Holy shit,” Melvin muttered. “‘Nother cop.”
Cops carry guns.
A bright yellow jersey of some kind lay in a heap, partially covering the guy’s pants. Melvin picked it up. A nightshirt with Minnie Mouse on the front. Once the shirt was out of the way, he spotted Milbourne’s gunbelt and revolver.
Grinning, he waved it at the corpse. “Thanks, buddy. Left mine home.”
The gun would come in handy when Vicki showed up. Without it, he might’ve been forced to mess her up. Now, he wouldn’t need to get rough.
Just stick it in her face, she’ll do what I say.
Step this way, sweetheart. Got something to show you.
My Ace in the hole, he thought, and chuckled.
He took the revolver and knife into the bathroom. He set them on the edge of the sink. Then he tossed his bandage into the waste basket. The bandage on his right hand was loose so he shucked it off and tossed it. Most of his other bandages, he noticed, were hanging and about to fall off. A couple of them were gone, must’ve ended up on the floor someplace.
Well, none of the bites were all that fresh anymore. The only wound that really mattered was the slice across his belly.
He wondered if he had time to take a shower.
Nice to be all squeaky clean for Vicki.
Bad news, though, if she walked into the house while he was under the spray. He wouldn’t even hear her.
Just make it quick, he decided.
He stepped into the tub, skidded the plastic curtain shut, and turned on the water. When it felt hot enough spilling over his hand, he turned the shower knob. Spray spattered down on his back. He straightened up so it hit his chest. Head down, he watched the blood run down his skin. It turned the water pink in front of his feet.
The knife wound kept bleeding. Not much, though.
It reminded him of the Mouth of Ram-Chotep.
No stitches, though. No teeth.
He wondered if it needed stitches. Patricia could do that. She’d done a nice job sewing up the Mouth on Charlie.
Take Vicki home with him, he wouldn’t trust Patricia with a needle.
She’d stick it in my eye.
Just have to get rid of her, Melvin told himself.
He pressed a washcloth against his wound, and turned his back to the spray.
Should’ve got rid of Patricia before, he thought. But he’d had no idea that everything would happen so quickly. It made problems.
He felt worn out.
He’d gone through so much, tonight.
And there was so much more to do. If only he could wish Patricia away. If only he could take Vicki home and not have to worry about dealing with that one.
Maybe keep Vicki in the trunk of his car. Go in the house without her, that’d make it easier.
If Patricia’s as hard to rekill as Charlie…
He didn’t want to think about it.
So much to do.
Made his mind feel soggy.
With a sigh full of weariness, he turned around and shut the water off. He held the washcloth to his wound, slid the curtain aside, and climbed out of the tub. Dripping, he stepped to the bathroom door and opened it. Cool air came in from the hallway. He listened. The house was silent.
Satisfied that Vicki hadn’t arrived yet, he left the doorway and dried himself. He clamped the towel against his belly to stop the bleeding while he removed the adhesive tape and gauze from the medicine cabinet.
He used the entire roll of gauze, running the netted fabric back and forth several times across the length of his wound. It soaked up the leaking blood. The tape didn’t stick well because his skin was slick. He kept wiping himself dry and adding more tape. Finally, the bandage seemed fairly secure.
He picked up the revolver and stepped into the hallway.
Though he liked the idea of being naked when Vicki showed up, he realized he would have to go outside, lead her to his car, drive her to his house. If he did that and somebody saw him not wearing a stitch…
He walked toward his coveralls.
Maybe wait till after she’s here, he thought.
Might be awkward, though, trying to keep the gun on her while he dressed.
He put the revolver down, and climbed into his coveralls. They felt hot, confining. The fabric stuck to his damp skin. He left the front open, picked up the gun, and wandered up the hallway to Vicki’s room.
He stepped inside.
His heart slammed.
He stared at the bed, at the stained coverlet and pillow.
Ace was gone.
Vicki, curled on her side, head resting on Jack’s outstretched arm, lay motionless and stared at him. Only moments ago, she had been caressing his chest and he had mumbled a few words too low and slurred for her to understand.
His eyes were shut. His mouth hung open a bit. He was breathing slowly. She wondered if he was asleep.
She hoped so.
Asleep, he wouldn’t give her any trouble about leaving.
She didn’t want to leave. She felt lazy and comfortable and safe. She felt as if she were home. This was where she belonged, and Ace’s house seemed like a long, empty distance from here.
If she didn’t go, she knew she would regret it. She did want there to be something held back, something saved for another time. Not saved for him alone, but also for herself. A special gift hidden away, anticipated.
They had given their bodies and their hearts. All that remained to give was freedom from the ache of parting. It was what they both wanted. It was what she intended to save.
For the honeymoon?
She would make it wait for then, no matter how badly she wanted to stay.
Slowly, she lifted her hand off Jack’s chest and rolled away from him. The bed made barely a sound as she stood up. Turning, she looked down at Jack. Except for the slow rise and fall of his chest, he didn’t move.
Vicki felt the soft breath of
the breeze against her skin. It was comfortable, now, but it wouldn’t remain quite so warm as the night went on. The bed’s top sheet lay rumpled on the floor. She crouched and picked it up, and floated it down over Jack’s sleeping form.
He didn’t wake up.
Vicki shook her head. Disappointed in herself. Knowing her only concern hadn’t been for Jack’s comfort. A corner of her mind had hoped the touch of the sheet would disturb his sleep and he would try to stop her from leaving.
She found herself wanting to kiss him goodnight.
Right. Why don’t you just shake him awake and be done with it? Or climb back in bed and go to sleep?
Leave or don’t. Stop playing games.
Resolved…resigned…Vicki gathered up her clothes. She carried them into the hallway.
She considered turning off the bedroom light and shutting the door. But the room going dark might awaken him. The door might squeak.
So she left the room as it was, moved silently through the hallway and down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, she put on her clothes. She carried her shoes into the living room. There, she spotted her purse on the easy chair.
I ought to leave him a note, she thought.
Right, and maybe he’ll wake up while you’re writing it…
This isn’t just another ploy to postpone leaving, she told herself. He’s going to wake up alone. He’ll miss me, and he’ll be hurt that I snuck away. I have to leave him a note.
Vicki sat on the chair, opened her purse, and took out a notepad and pen.
Melvin’s mind reeled as he searched.
Ace was dead, damn it! The dead don’t get up and run away!
No?
Where is she?
The bedroom window was open, but its screen was still in place.
He dropped to his knees and peered under the bed.
He rushed to the closet and yanked its door open.
He ran into the hallway.
He felt sick and dizzy. This couldn’t be happening. It was like a rotten dream. Running down the hall, he wondered if maybe it was a dream. Maybe he’d fallen asleep in the shower and he would wake up in a minute choking on water—and Ace would still be lying in the bed where she belonged. Still dead.
I’m not dreaming, he told himself.
Ace isn’t dead.
Or Vicki or someone showed up while he was in the shower and took her away.
He raced into the living room. The carpet looked clean. If she’d come this way, there had to be blood. Unless someone was carrying her. Then, maybe…
The front door had a guard chain on it. She must’ve put the chain on so Vicki couldn’t come in and surprise her with the cop.
She hadn’t gone out that way.
Melvin rushed into the kitchen. His hip bumped a chair, crashing the chair against the edge of the table. He flinched, more from the sudden noise than the slight pain. Sidestepping, he swiveled his head.
The floor was smeared and splashed with blood over where he’d nailed Ace. There were even foot tracks.
But no Ace.
The screen door was shut. The inner wooden door with its splintered edge stood open.
He had left it open, himself, so…
He suddenly felt as if he’d been kneed in the stomach. He bent over, gasping, and stared.
At red smudges on the linoleum leading to the doorway.
His gaze followed them backward to the messy area.
He groaned.
He could see Ace. See her staggering in from the hallway entrance, slipping and sliding through the blood, coming out of it on this side, tracking it to the door.
To confirm what he already knew, he stepped up close to the screen door and touched its handle.
Sticky. His fingertip came away stained.
“NO! NO NO NO!” He slapped a hand across his mouth to block the shouts.
Gotta calm down, he thought.
She’s alive. She’s outside. She got away. She’s gonna fuck up everything.
No.
He pushed open the door and leaped onto the patio. He scanned the darkness of the back yard.
I’ll find you. I’ll find you, you bitch!
There was some kind of room at the rear of the lawn. A laundry room or something.
Melvin ran to it, flung open the door and turned on the light. No blood on the floor. But he checked a small enclosure beside the door. Nothing in there but a toilet. He hurried past a washing machine, a basin, a drier. He jerked open a pair of cupboard doors at the end of the room. Then he rushed back outside.
What if she got over to a neighbor’s house?
Cops might be on their way.
I bet she can’t talk. Not the way I fixed her jaw.
They’d still call the cops.
He ran. He ran for the corner of the house. The grass was wet and springy under his bare feet.
He’d left his shoes in the kitchen.
No time to worry about them.
He dashed alongside the house.
All that mattered was getting to his car. Getting to his car before the cops showed up. And driving. Driving to the other house. And blowing that fucker’s brains out. And getting his hands on Vicki.
Take her home.
What about Patricia?
That’s a good one. The whole fucking world was falling on his head. Patricia was just one little piece of it. The least of his worries.
Just worry about getting out of here and getting Vicki.
When he reached the front yard, he stopped running. He stuck the revolver inside his coveralls and clamped it against his side. He scanned the lawn, hoping to find Ace sprawled on the grass. But she wasn’t there. On the sidewalk, he looked both ways. No sign of her there, either.
He wished he’d parked closer. His car was at the end of the block. He wanted to run, but forced himself to walk.
He watched the neighbor’s house as he strode by. Lights shone from its windows. He saw no one peering out at him.
Ace might’ve gone to the house on the other side, he told himself.
Might’ve gone anywhere.
He kept looking back, half expecting to find someone rushing up behind him, yelling—maybe someone with a gun.
At last, he reached his car. He climbed inside. With a trembling hand, he fumbled the key into the ignition. His heart gave a sickening lurch as headlights appeared on the road ahead.
Cops?
He threw himself across the seat and lay there gasping, listening. The sound of the car came closer, closer. Passed him and faded.
Staying down, he twisted the key. The engine caught.
He pushed himself up, glimpsed the red taillights in the side mirror, then put the car into gear and turned the corner.
A car was parked in Ace’s driveway.
She hadn’t said anything about having company tonight. Maybe assumed I’d be staying at Jack’s, Vicki thought, so she didn’t bother to warn me.
She swung the Mustang to the curb across the street from the house.
Now what? she wondered. I don’t want to blunder into something.
She wondered who the man was.
Maybe it’s not a man.
Of course it is.
Ace had broken up with Jerry a couple of weeks ago, and hadn’t mentioned seeing anyone else. She’d had no dates since Vicki moved in.
Maybe she made up with Jerry.
Could be just about anyone, though.
Vicki sighed. She’d been so reluctant to leave Jack. It had taken all her willpower to resist the urge to stay with him. Now this. If she’d known Ace had company, she probably wouldn’t have left.
Maybe I should turn around, she thought, and go back. No. I made my decision. It was the right decision. And I’m here.
Vicki climbed out of the car. She crossed the street and went up the walkway to the front door. She rang the bell. Waited. Rang it again.
That’s plenty of warning, she decided.
She unlocked the door and opened it
—three inches before the guard chain snapped taut.
Great, she thought. Hope they’re not asleep.
She pressed the doorbell a few more times and heard the chimes ring through the house.
“Come on, gang,” she muttered.
Leaning forward, she eased her face into the gap and called, “Ace? Ace, it’s me. You want to let me in?”
Nobody answered.
Okay. They must be in Ace’s room with the door shut. Either asleep or at a bad place to stop, too busy to be interrupted.
Vicki pulled the door shut. She dropped the keys into her handbag, and walked around to the back of the house. Light spilled out through the screen door. The wooden door was open.
If the screen’s locked…
She tried its handle. The door swung open and she stepped into the kitchen.
And went numb.
Blood. Bloody smudges of footprints. And over there…over near the center of the kitchen…
God what happened here!
Gazing at the blood, she took a step forward and kicked something. She looked down. A man’s leather shoe. One of a pair just in front of the door. Crouching, she picked it up and turned it over. The sole was stained with black as if someone had walked through spots of grease in it.
Melvin? Melvin was here?
Maybe still here.
His car in the driveway?
God, Ace, no!
“ACE!”
A sudden noise like a chair scuffing the floor made Vicki flinch and jerk her head to the right. She dropped the shoe.
Curled under the kitchen table, staring at Vicki through the bars of chair legs, was a naked woman.
“Ace?” Vicki whispered.
Didn’t look like Ace. Not with that bloody, distorted face. Not with that raw dome of skull. But the body…
“What did he do to you?” Even as Vicki heard herself blurt the question, she was lunging at the table. She looped the straps of her handbag over her head so the bag hung against her chest, then flung the nearest chair out of the way. She hurled the table up, overturning it. The vase of flowers flew off and hit the wall. The edge of the table crashed against the floor. She dropped onto her knees in front of Ace. Hunching over, she saw blood spilling from two gashes on her back. It came out in slow trickles.