Richard Laymon - Blood Games

Does he know how to swim? she wondered.

If not, he might be wading. That’d slow him down plenty.

More likely, though, he was gliding silently toward her below the surface.

She tried to swim faster. Her sneakers felt heavy. They dragged at her feet, slowed her down. She wished she’d gotten rid of them, but couldn’t waste any time doing it now.

I’ve got my shoes slowing me down , she thought, but Jim’s got the knife to hamper him. He can’t possibly swim full speed with that in his hand.

And I can outrace him, shoes or not, as long as I’m up here and he’s down below.

Even though she told herself that, she half expected with every kick to feel the clutch of Jim’s fingers around one of her ankles.

Her right hand, darting out, jabbed a hard surface that curled her fingers and scraped her knuckles. She drew it back fast, flung up her other arm and lunged against the pool’s side. Her feet found the bottom. She leaped, shoving at the granite, knowing for sure Jim would grab her now.

But he didn’t.

She got both knees on the edge and scrabbled away from the pool. She thrust herself up. She ran. The smack of her rubber soles resounded through the silence, horribly loud, but not so loud that she didn’t hear a swush of disturbed water behind her or the wheezy gasp of Jim sucking air into lungs that must need it badly.

Abilene knew she had to be very close to the stairway. She slowed to a walk, rolling her feet to quiet the sound of her footsteps, bending forward and sweeping her arms in search of the banister.

She heard Jim panting, but no new splashy sounds. He’s still in the pool, she thought. Standing in the water, listening for me.

Her right hand hit wood.

And she had a sudden urge to rush up the stairs. She didn’t want to go into the shower room, to be in there in the blackness with Helen’s savaged corpse. If she could get back up to the lobby, maybe she could find the shotgun. Maybe Cora already had it. Or Vivian or Finley might’ve regained consciousness by now and maybe one of them had the shotgun.

They could blow the bastard away.

I’d be leading him straight back up to them , Abilene thought.

They’re safe up there. For now. As long as he’s down here after me.

If I can nail him, they’ll be safe perm…

Water swished and flopped.

Here he comes!

Abilene turned away from the banister. Following a mental picture of where the door marked Gents should be, she crept through the darkness with her arms outstretched. She found the wall. As she felt her way along it, she heard water dripping onto the granite floor. And footsteps. Slow, quiet pats.

He can’t see me , she told herself. Doesn’t know where I am .

She touched the doorframe. Two more sideways steps, and she knew she must be in front of the door.

She pushed.

The hinges squawked.

Rushing footfalls slapped the floor.

Abilene lunged forward, whirled and threw the door shut. It slammed with a crash.

She backed away from it fast, angling to her left and hoping she wouldn’t trip over the bench. Its edge brushed the side of her knee, so she knew she’d cleared it. Knew that she should miss the bank of lockers, too.

The door hinges groaned.

Reaching out, Abilene touched cool metal.

I’m at the end of the lockers.

She couldn’t remember if there was a bench on the other side of them.

But the shower room was there.

She could smell it.

That’s Helen.

Christ!

Imagining the diagonal path she would need to take, she spun around and ran.

She flung her arms out, swept them ahead of her as she charged through the blackness. The stench was like a foul, putrid rag rubbing her face. She tried to hold her breath. Something hammered her right foot out from under her.

As she plunged, arms out to break her fall, she realized it must’ve been the raised threshold of the shower room that had tripped her.

The floor smacked her palms, her knees. It knocked them out from under her. It hammered the breath from her lungs but she managed to keep her head up as she skidded.

Wheezing for air that clogged her nostrils and throat with its-heavy reek of corruption, she belly-crawled until her hands slipped on gooey muck.

‘Gonna end up same as yer fatso friend,’ Jim said from somewhere behind her.

She thrust herself up to her knees and scurried forward. Her hands swept across the mat of congealing blood, but didn’t find Helen.

‘How’d ya like yer skin peeled off? I’ll do that for ya.’

Did he move her? Abilene wondered. Where the hell is she?

Then her right hand jammed beneath something tight against the floor. Whatever it might be, it was too heavy for an arm. She must’ve pushed her hand under Helen’s side or leg. With her other hand, she reached out higher. She touched something sticky and yielding that made her want to pull back. She resisted the urge and felt along the mushy bulges.

She flinched, cried out, as her left foot was stomped.

The pain jolted her body. Her left hand rammed down into glop. Her right hand wedged deeper into the crease between Helen’s body and the floor, fingertips poking something that clinked.

Keys?

‘Guess I gotcha, huh?’

The weight lifted from her foot. Fingers clutched her ankle and pulled. As her knee began sliding backward, she jerked her right hand out from under Helen and hurled herself forward. She dropped across the body, flung her arm out and grabbed hold. Her fingers hooked into cool flesh. Helen’s side? Her rump?

Clinging to it as Jim tugged at her leg, she pulled her left hand out of the clinging slop and groped along Helen and found the knife.

Her swollen forefinger wouldn’t close, but she wrapped her other fingers and thumb around the upright handle.

Clutching it hard, she released her grip on Helen.

She yanked the blade out as Jim dragged her backward.

She didn’t resist him.

She slid off Helen’s body. The floor pounded her chest. As she skidded along, she raised both arms overhead. She passed the knife from her left hand to her right.

Does he know I’ve got it?

He must know he left it here.

But maybe he isn’t thinking about that. Not yet. Maybe.

‘I’ll do whatever you want,’ Abilene gasped. ‘Just don’t hurt me. Please.’

‘Please please please,’ he mocked her. ‘That’s what she kept sayin’. Gal sure didn’t wanta come in here.’ He stopped dragging Abilene. He twisted her foot. She yelped and rolled over quickly onto her back.

‘I really like you, Jim.’

‘Ya won’t much when I start ya’ squealin’.’

Her legs were nudged apart. She felt the knife blade scrape along the inner side of her thigh. It eased higher. She sucked in her breath and shuddered.

Dear God.

Get him now!

A swing and a miss and you’re out.

But the blade went away. A sharp tug at her skirt lifted her buttocks off the floor for a moment before the fabric split. The point pushed under her waistband, then tugged again.

‘Ain’t very sharp,’ he muttered. ‘Gonna hurt like hellfire, skinnin’ ya with it all dull.’

‘You don’t want to do that,’ she said.

‘Sure do. But I gotta pork ya first. I don’t pork dead folks.’

He moved forward, his knees nudging her thighs farther apart.

She felt both his hands on her belly.

Where’s the knife?

Between his teeth, maybe.

He ripped open the front of her blouse.

She heard buttons skitter across the floor.

His hands slid up her body. They clutched her breasts, squeezed.

A swing and a miss and you’re out.

She swung.

She swung her right arm up from her side as hard as she could and the knife lurched in her grip as its blade struck something in the dark beyond her chest and kept on going.