Brett Halliday - She Woke to Darkness

Gerry Howard was slender and dark and dapper. He wore a loose tweed jacket and fawn-colored slacks and a tan sports shirt, and was bareheaded. There was a knowing smile on his face as he approached Aline. Something like a smirk, yet not exactly that. A smile that shared understanding with her, that said without words: You and I know things that are hidden from ordinary mortals. We know them because we are kindred souls, because we are numbered among the initiates.

The implication of his expression repelled Aline, yet frightened and fascinated her. She stood aside as he entered, then closed the door. He paused close beside her, appraising her sexually, with his eyes, nodded his sleek black head approvingly and pursed his thin lips.

He said, “I must have been pretty tight last night. God forgive me, I asked Vinnie what the hell he saw in you when he raved about his new conquest. Now I see, damn it. I was a fool not to see it last night.”

He moved against her abruptly, pinning her against the door, his chest against her breasts, his pelvic bone pressed to hers. He was no taller than she, and his eyes were level with hers, his pouting lips brazenly waiting a quarter of an inch from her mouth.

Aline Ferris wriggled aside and slapped him hard on the left cheek. She was panting violently, and her response was purely automatic.

His expression changed to one of speculation when she slapped him. His lips parted and the tip of his tongue flicked out to move from left to right. He nodded and said dispassionately:

“Much, much too good for Vinnie. He’d never know what to do with a hellcat like you. I shall put you in my next book.”

He turned away from her with seeming lack of interest, strolled over to the couch and dropped down on it. A single lock of black hair fell aslant his forehead, giving him a rakish look, and Aline had a feeling that he had carefully trained it to lie there.

She went over to a chair across the room from him and sat down. “What do you want here?” she demanded angrily.

He looked at her with speculative amusement. “Do I have to say it in four-letter words?”

“No. But I don’t even know you.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Of course.”

“It didn’t make much last night with Vinnie.”

“Vinnie who? What are you talking about?”

“This is like a slice of dialogue from a particularly bad soap opera,” he said wearily. “The writer has so many pages to fill before the climax of a scene, and so his characters spar along page after page. Let’s not you and me spar.”

“I was not sparring,” Aline responded with spirit. “You’re a total stranger and you ring my bell and demand entrance to my apartment and then start insulting me.”

“Insulting you?” he asked with a slow grin. “Is any woman ever really insulted when a male tells her she is sexually desirable?”

“It depends on the male,” she told him tartly.

He leaned back and lazily got a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out and lighted it, then calmly spun the matchstick on the rug.

“Where’s Vincent?” The two words lashed out at her like the angry crack of a whip.

“Vincent who?” she lashed back.

“My buddy. The lad you hogtied and lashed to the mast last night at Bart’s party. Come off it, woman,” he went on impatiently. “What did you do with him?”

“What makes you think I did anything with him?”

He shook his head sadly. “Here we go again. This isn’t a soap opera. Vinnie Torn. Haven’t got him stashed around here, have you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Uh-huh. I didn’t think so, else you wouldn’t have telephoned him a little while ago. It was you on the phone?” he challenged, pointing his cigarette at her as though he levelled a lethal weapon at her breast.

“How did you know?” Aline’s voice faltered slightly.

“Your voice for one thing. It is good, you know. One of the best things about you. Sexy and intimate. Besides, there has been no other woman in Vinnie’s life for months. What have you done with him?”

“Now, you’re sparring,” she accused angrily. “I don’t know what happened to your precious Vinnie. Last time I saw him was at Bart’s party.”

“I happen to know,” he said slowly and emphatically, “that you and he slipped out together. He told me not to look for him home until late… that you and he had plans, for a few hours. But… where is he now?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed miserably. “That’s why I telephoned to ask for him. If you want to know the exact truth,” she went on angrily, determined not to let her voice break again, “I passed out cold at Bart’s party. I don’t know what happened.”

He eyed her speculatively under sweeping black lashes. “Where were you when you finally came to?”

“That’s not anyone’s business,” she told him defiantly.

“Perhaps not. But Vinnie is my business. I’ve been looking after him for years and I intend to keep on doing so. Where did you leave him? In what condition?”

“I told you the last time I saw him was at the party when I left.”

“And I know you’re lying. You and he left together. See here! You say you passed out. How do you know who you left with or what you did?”

“I’ve done some checking this morning. A man named Ralph Barnes brought me home. You can ask him if you like.”

“I suppose he’d lie for you if you asked him to,” Gerry said with indifference. “I happen to know this much: Vinnie took me aside at the party a little before midnight and said he was taking you with him. And not to worry if he didn’t get back to our place until quite late. When I got home about an hour later, he wasn’t in. He hasn’t come in yet… or phoned or anything. So what am I supposed to think?”

“I don’t care what you think,” she snapped.

He grinned with mocking arrogance. “I could make you care.” He got up and moved across the room, leaned over her and gazed into her eyes with what she realized he must consider hypnotic intensity.

Aline had never felt less susceptible to hypnotism. She glared back into his eyes and said, “Get out of my apartment before I call the police.”

He continued to lean over her and his expression did not change. It was as though he had not heard her. She felt a strange dizziness coming over her, and closed her eyes suddenly. She kept them closed while he pressed his lips hard against hers.

Gerry Howard withdrew his lips quickly, crossed the room to the door and went out.

Aline didn’t open her eyes until she heard the door close behind him. She felt dazed and bewildered, and the familiar room looked unfamiliar. She got up and went to the couch and slumped down on it, pressed her hands over her eyes and tried to put Gerry Howard out of her thoughts.

What now? What could she do next?

While she was debating that question her telephone rang. She jumped, startled by the sound. Then she steeled herself to answer it, trying to steady the beat of her heart as she lifted the receiver.

“Hello,” she breathed into the mouthpiece.

A woman’s angry voice answered, strident, and speaking fast as though she had keyed herself up to the task:

“Aline! This is Ina Dreer and I’m warning you to stay away from Dirk after this. Do you hear me? Stay away from him. If he’s with you now, you can tell him it’s me calling and he’d better get out of there fast if he ever expects to come home again.”

“Whatever are you talking about, Ina?” asked Aline, aghast. “Why would Dirk be here?”

“Isn’t he?”

“No.”

“If he shows up, you send him packing. Hear me?”

“I hear you,” said Aline coldly. “But nothing you’ve said makes any sense. I have no reason to expect Dirk here.”