Richard Laymon - Flesh

“He drove away fast.”

“What did he look like?”

“Are you going to put him in jail?”

“I might.”

“Good.”

“But I need to know what he looks like, or I won’t be able to find him.”

“Maybe you should shoot him. I think that might be a good idea.”

“How old was he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was he younger than me?”

“Yeah, but he was grown-up.”

“Did he look old enough to be a student at the college?”

Kimmy shrugged. “He was kind of the same as George.”

George was the boyfriend of Sandra Phillips, who used to babysit for Kimmy before the marriage broke up. At that time, George was a senior in high school.

“What did he look like?”

“Well, he didn’t have a shirt on.” In a sly voice, she added, “I saw his beeps.”

“Did you see his back?” And did his back have a bulge, Jake wondered, as if he had a snake under his skin?

Kimmy shook her head.

“What color was his hair?”

“Black.”

“How about the eyes?”

“I don’t know,” she said, sounding a bit impatient. “Are we almost to Jack-in-the-Box?”

“Just a couple more blocks. Was he skinny, fat?”

“Oh, skinny.”

“Did he wear glasses?”

“Nope.”

“Sunglasses?”

“Daaaaddy.” She sighed heavily. “I’m tired of this.”

“You want me to shoot him, don’t you?”

“Well…”

“What kind of car was he driving?”

“Oh, that’s easy. It was just like Mommy’s.”

“A Porsche?”

“What’s a Porsche?”

“Mommy’s car that Harold bought her.”

“Oh, that. Huh-uh. It was like her old car. Maybe it was her old car!”

“Was it exactly the same? The color and everything?”

“Yeah. Only it had a thing on it.”

“What kind of a thing?”

“A pointy flag.”

“What color was it?”

“Red-orange.”

“Like your red-orange crayon?”

“Well, of course.”

“Where was this flag? Was it glued to a window, or…”

“It was on that thing.” Kimmy pointed through the window at Jake’s radio antenna.

“That’s great, honey. That’ll be a real help. Anything else you can remember about the guy or his car?”

“I don’t think so. His cat’s name was Celia. Only I don’t think he really had a cat, do you? I think it was just a story to make me let him pet Clew and grab me. I bet he wanted to do something bad to me. Only I outsmarted him, didn’t I?”

“You sure did, honey.”

Moments later, Jake swung the car into the crowded lot of a 7-Eleven.

“Hey, you promised Jack-in-the-Box.”

“I need to make a call.” The parking spaces close to the public telephone were taken, so he had to settle for a spot near the far end.

“Are you going to call Mommy?”

“Nope. Want me to?”

“No!”

“I’m calling the police.” He unbuckled Kimmy. She scurried down from her high seat and followed Jake out the driver’s door. Taking hold of her small hand, he led her across the parking lot. “I’m going to tell Barney all about the creep in the Volkswagen.”

Kimmy’s eyes widened with excitement. “Really?”

“Yep. We’re gonna nail that guy.”

“Can we eat before we nail him? I’m starving.”

“We’ll eat as soon as I’m done calling.”

“Well, make it snappy, buster.”

Roland parked Dana’s Volkswagen at the curb halfway down the block and climbed out. He walked past two houses. In the glow of the streetlight, he checked the address he had copied from the student directory: 364 B Apple Lane.

He was on Apple Lane. The porch light of the house across from him revealed the numbers 364 on the front door.

The B on the address undoubtedly meant that Alison had an apartment on the property, either in a different section of the house or in a furnished garage out back.

Light shone through windows on the ground floor and upstairs. Whoever lives in the main part of the house, Roland thought, must be home. I’d better keep it in mind.

A walkway led straight to the front door, but flagstones curved away to the right.

Roland cut diagonally across the lawn. Stepping onto a flagstone at the corner of the house, he saw a wooden stairway to the second story. A door at the top of the stairs was lighted by a single bulb. A railing up there was decorated with potted plants. Girls would have plants like that, he thought.

Near the bottom of the stairs, a mailbox was mounted on the house wall. Roland stopped beside it. The address on the box was 364 B.

Slowly, he began to climb the stairs.

Hearing voices, he stopped and turned around. The sound came from an open window. Though the window overlooked the stairway, it was far to the side so he couldn’t see in. He listened for a few moments. The voices had a flat quality—and background music. They came from a television.

So Helen is here, just like Alison said.

Watching the tube.

Alone?

She might have a boyfriend visiting.

Possible. I’ll have to be careful, Roland thought.

At the top of the stairs, he removed a plastic bag from the front pocket of his jeans. It was a sturdy translucent wastebasket liner he had taken from his dorm room while planning tonight’s activities. Confident that the noise from the television would prevent Helen from hearing such quiet sounds, he unfolded the bag and puffed into it. The bag expanded with his breath.

He took out the keys he had taken from Celia’s purse, chose the one that appeared most likely to be the door key, and slipped it silently into the lock. He bit the edge of the bag to free his other hand. Then, using both hands, he slowly turned the key and knob. He eased the door open.

The sound from the television increased. He smelled a pleasant odor. Popcorn.

From where he stood with his face pressed to the gap, he could see only a corner of the living room. No one was there.

He swung the door a little wider and sidestepped through the opening.

He saw the top of her head above the sofa back. Her hair was in curlers.

The furniture arrangement made it easy. If the sofa had been placed flush against the wall, he wouldn’t be able to sneak up behind her. But the sofa had a wide space behind it, apparently so people could cross the room without passing in front of anyone who might be sitting there.

Roland considered shutting the door. He decided not to risk making a sound that might disturb her, and left it standing open a few inches.

He took the bag in both hands. Holding it open, he began to walk slowly over the carpet. A slight breeze stirred the bag.

This’ll be a cinch, he thought.

Unless there’s a guy lying on the sofa with his head in her lap.

Then he was close enough to see that nobody else was there. On the cushion beside Helen rested a big white bowl of popcorn. She reached into it and scooped out a handful of popcorn. She was wearing a red bathrobe. Her legs were stretched out, feet resting on top of a low table in front of the sofa. The robe hung open, revealing thick white legs.

Too bad she’s such a pig, Roland thought. This would be much more pleasant if she looked more like Celia or Alison.

No thrill in this.

He raised the bag.

Something thumped off to the side.

He looked. The door had blown shut.

Helen looked, too, her head turning enough to see the door, then turning more and tilting back. Her eyes bugged out when she saw Roland. Half-chewed popcorn spewed from her mouth, some splattering the inside of the plastic bag as he swung it down over her head.

She lunged forward. Roland flung an arm across her face to hold the bag in place. Hugging her head, he was dragged over the back of the sofa. She reached back and tore at his hair. Pain erupted from his scalp.