Richard Laymon - Blood Games

Or like a witch waiting for the same kind of end.

A male witch is called a warlock , she thought.

She wondered what that made Batty.

And felt a tremor as she remembered Batty’s threat to kill them all. Get me plenty a fresh items for m’stock. Including one of Finley’s breasts. I’ll cut me this one right off.

This is all bad enough without thinking about that, she told herself.

I broke Batty’s arm. He can’t hurt us. She can’t. It can’t. Unless with magic…

Forget it.

Just worry about Hank.

The windows at the front of the lobby, which had been rectangles of dim gray a short while ago, now were nearly black. Abilene watched them through the gaps between the uprights of the balcony railing. She tried to watch the door, too. She knew just where it ought to be, but she couldn’t see it.

I’ll see it if it opens , she thought. It’ll let in darkness, but that’s bound to be brighter than what we’ve got in here.

She doubted that Hank would enter the lodge from the front, anyway.

Sometimes, she scanned the long room below her from the foot of the stairway to the fireplace at the other end. Not that she could see the stairway or the fireplace. All that she could really make out, down there, were the vague shapes of the support beams. Probably a dozen of them. A few were visible against the lesser darkness of the windows. She could distinguish the others, just barely, because they seemed to be a shade lighter than the wood of the walls and floorboards. A very slight degree of a shade lighter, so that they almost seemed not to be there at all, and appeared to melt away if she tried too hard to see them.

She didn’t like looking at those posts. Didn’t like it at all. The way they shifted and vanished. The way she kept expecting someone, hiding among them, to slide into view and scurry from one to another.

Every so often, when her nerves needed a rest from the vigil, she looked at Jim.

Some time ago, he’d slid down the beam and sat on the floor.

She could see him there, now, his legs stretched out. Only his bare skin was visible, blurred and dusky. His head hung forward so that his dark hair concealed his face. Where his cut-off jeans covered him, he didn’t appear to be there at all. He looked like a torso and legs, as if the section from just below his hips to partway down his thighs had been severed and thrown away.

Not a pretty idea , she thought.

She wondered if he would be all right down there.

He’ll be fine , she told herself. Hank won’t do anything to him. The creep’s after us, not his brother.

Unless he figures out, somehow, that Jim has thrown in with us.

He’s got no way of knowing.

Besides, Finley’ll shoot him the moment he shows up.

Finley, some time ago, had stopped leaning against the banister and sat down. She was silent at Abilene’s left, the shotgun across her thighs. The tan of her safari shirt and shorts matched her skin so well in the darkness that Abilene couldn’t tell where her clothes left off and her skin began. As Abilene was looking at her, Finley turned her head. In the blur of her face were muddy white eyes. A row of teeth, as dim as her eyes, showed for a moment when she smiled.

I wish we could at least talk , Abilene thought.

She reached over and gave Finley’s knee a brief squeeze.

‘Don’t get fresh,’ Finley whispered.

That brought a smile to Abilene, but either Cora or Vivian went ‘Shhhhhh.’

Abilene turned her head toward them.

Cora’s right leg was still extended, its bandaged foot almost touching Abilene’s thigh. Her left leg was bent, its knee raised. She had let go of the railing and eased herself backward so her head was on Vivian’s lap.

Both of Cora’s legs seemed to end high up her thighs. Like Jim, she looked as if the tops of her legs and her pelvic region had been lopped out. But her shorts were skimpier than his, so less appeared to be missing.

The shorts, Abilene remembered, were red. For a few moments, she couldn’t recall the color of the tank top. Yellow or… no, pink. Pale, faded pink. The fresh blood on Cora’s back had been bright red on pink. Now, the shirt was a shade of gray somewhat lighter than the skin of Cora’s chest beyond the low scooped neck and around the shoulder straps.

Cora’s face was a dark oval smudge against the white of Vivian’s shorts. Of course, the shorts didn’t look any whiter than had Finley’s eyes and teeth. They were dingy gray, the same as her knit pullover. But that gray seemed to be brighter than anything else in sight.

Vivian’s clothes almost glowed in the dark.

Her legs were crossed and she was leaning backward, braced up with dim arms.

Her shirt looked very much like a ghostly apparition floating at an angle above the floor, nobody in it at all.

The Tipton Shirt without the Tipton Girl.

This isn’t a Tipton, she reminded herself. It’s a Ralph Lauren or something.

And awfully damn visible.

If I can see it this well , Abilene thought, anyone can .

Including Hank.

That outfit could blow us all out of the water.

Why the hell didn’t she change her clothes!

Too late for that. Way too late for that. Shit!

Oughta make her take ’em off.

Calm down, she told herself. It’s not like Viv did it on purpose. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that she would stand out like this.

Hadn’t occurred to the rest of us, either.

Any of us might’ve ended up dressed in white. The whole idea of trying to blend in with the darkness simply hadn’t come up.

She’d blend in a lot better if she did take off those clothes.

They’re a hell of a lot brighter than her skin.

Abilene considered suggesting it.

Oh yeah, she thought. Right. Ask her to strip down. Sure thing. We’re up here waiting for a Goddamn homicidal sex pervert to show up and I calmly ask Viv to get naked. Brilliant. Forget it.

Too bad Finley isn’t the one in white. She’d be delighted to shuck off every stitch.

Abilene looked down at herself. Her own plaid blouse was dark, her skirt as black as the night. But the short skirt was rucked up high because of how she sat. She saw that she, too, was wearing white.

I’m not taking off my panties .

Besides, nobody down below could possibly be in a position to see the small bit of pale fabric.

For that matter, she realized, Vivian was far enough from the railing that no one on the ground floor should be able to see her white clothes, either.

Only if Hank were actually up here…

Abilene peered into the darkness beyond Vivian. She saw nothing.

He could be right there, right now.

We would’ve heard him , she told herself. You can’t take a step in this old place without a floorboard creaking .

But maybe he can.

We should’ve prepared better , she thought. Why didn’t we bring the trash box with us? If we’d set up empty cans and bottles across the balcony floor, they’d be kicked over by anyone sneaking toward us .

Or we could’ve strung a rope across it to trip him .

We don’t have enough rope for that , she realized. But we could’ve used belts or something. Anything to make him trip or at least make noise.

Too late for that kind of thing, now.

Unless a couple of us want to hurry back to the car.

And that’s exactly when Hank would show up.

If he’s not already here.

Standing just on the other side of Vivian. Wearing something dark. A knife in his hand.