Richard Laymon - Fiends

She resisted for a moment, then leaned forward and kissed him. ‘Be careful. Don’t let him hurt you.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, and then he was gone.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Marty listened to his footsteps.

The front door shut quietly. For a few moments, only the chirping of crickets came to her through the open bedroom window. Then she heard Dan’s footsteps by the road. The car door thumped shut. The engine whinnied and started. Gravel crunched under the wheels and the sounds of the car began to fade away.

Willy sat in the darkness of Hedda’s kitchen, watching. He’d been sitting there for a long time. He didn’t mind the wait.

Marty would have to come back. Wherever she’d gone after running off, she couldn’t stay away forever. Sooner or later, she’d come home.

Then he would have her.

Nice of her not to call the cops. Stupid, though. Maybe she went off to find that prick boyfriend of hers, get him to handle it.

Willy hoped so.

He got up from the table, stepped over Hedda, and went to the refrigerator. Not much inside. He grabbed a package of cheese, swung the door shut, and returned to the table. There, he unwrapped a thin slice of cheese and began to eat it.

He was working on his fifth slice when a car stopped in front of Marty’s house. A Ford. The same Ford that he’d followed to the lake last night.

Willy pulled the plastic wrapping off another slice of cheese as the headlights died and a man climbed out of the car.

The prick.

And he had something in his right hand. A gun?

Figures. Cocksucker likes to play hardball.

Willy folded the slice of cheese in half, then folded it again, making a small, thick square. He stuck it into his mouth.

Across the street, the prick was rushing across Marty’s front yard. He disappeared around a corner of the house.

‘Gonna sneak up on me?’ Willy asked with his mouthful of cheese. ‘Real tricky, you dumb-ass shit.’

He got up from the table. His fingers were slippery from the cheese. He wiped them on his jeans and headed for the door. ‘So long, sweet stuff,’ he said to Hedda.

Outside, the hot night air smelled like moist grass. A welcome change from the bad air of the kitchen.

The prick was nowhere to be seen.

Walking with a casual pace, Willy crossed the street.

He opened the back door of the Ford, climbed in, and shut it quietly.

Kneeling on the floor, he peered out the window at Marty’s house.

A light came on in an upstairs window.

Marty’s window?

Willy couldn’t remember what her bedroom had looked like, that morning ten years ago. He only remembered that it had been very sunny. Very bright and sunny, making Marty’s hair shine. Her face had gotten sweaty. There were tiny specks of sweat above her lip. They glistened in the sunlight. She had tears on her cheeks. Her eyelashes stuck together, making little, curly points.

The light in the upstairs window went off.

Willy took the knife from his pocket and opened its blade.

‘What the hell?’ Roger Sanderson knew it was no mirage. It was a real live girl walking slowly through the darkness, her head down. She wore a paisley dress that was torn behind the right shoulder. Roger slowed down and pressed a switch to lower the passenger window.

The girl turned her face toward him and smiled.

‘You lost?’ he called.

‘Me?’

He laughed. ‘Climb aboard, mate, and I’ll see you to a safe port.’

He watched her get in. Her knees were scraped and filthy. Her dress was very short.

‘Nice car,’ she said.

‘Nice dress.’

She pulled the door shut, and the overhead light went off. ‘You like it?’ she asked.

Roger switched the light back on. ‘Sure looks good on you.’

‘Thanks.’ She smiled and blushed. Her face was dirty. Tears, dry now, had drawn streaks down her cheeks. ‘I’m afraid it got ripped,’ she said. ‘Back here. See?’ She leaned forward and turned her back to Roger. Her skin, where it showed through the rip, was scraped raw.

‘How’d that happen?’

‘I fell out of a car. Well, actually, I jumped.’ Her smile vanished. ‘Crazy old guy went weird on me.’

‘Had to hit the silk, huh?’

‘Oh, it’s not silk,’ she said, looking down at her dress. ‘It’s like polyester or something. But it feels like silk, I guess.’ She rubbed the glossy fabric and frowned at Roger.

‘Hit the silk is a figure of speech,’ he said. ‘It means to bail out with a parachute.’

‘I bailed out, all right. No parachute, though.’

‘Did the crazy guy hurt you?’

‘Nope. It was the road that banged me up. He just made a few grabs, but you should’ve heard him talk. Gave me the willies.’ Roger turned off the overhead light, and started driving.

‘So, are you a teacher or something?’ the girl asked.

‘A teacher? What makes you think so?’

‘Your lesson about hitting silk. Plus, nobody but teachers talk about stuff like figures of speech.’

‘Sorry, Holmes, but I’m a sales rep.’

‘I’m not Holmes, I’m Tina.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Tina. I’m Roger.’

‘I think I like you, Roger.’

‘Thank you. I do believe I like you, too.’

After Dan left, Marty lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling. She should’ve stopped him from going. Somehow, she should’ve stopped him. It was insane, going after Willy with a gun.

She spent a long time lying there, thinking about it all and worrying.

Finally, she got up, went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a can of beer. She carried it into the living room and sank onto the sofa.

And gulped the beer.

Damn him anyway.

Has to prove what a tough guy he is.

It’d serve him right if…

No!

God, Dan, you idiot. Who the hell do you think you are, Rambo?

When the can was empty, she flung it across the room. It bounced off the wall and dropped to the carpet.

Then she went into the kitchen and found herself another can of beer. Sipping it, she wandered into the bathroom. She placed the can on the edge of the sink, then sat down on the toilet and urinated. When she stood up and saw herself in the mirror, she shook her head.

Her hair was dark and stringy. Her face was speckled with sweat. She looked down at herself. She was sweaty all over. Her pubic curls were matted down.

She felt pretty sticky down there, too.

So she decided that a shower would be a good way to pass the time while she waited for Dan’s return.

If he does return, she thought.

Stupid macho jerk.

She picked up her can and took it with her to the bathtub. Squatting beside the tub, she had a couple of swallows, then reached out with one hand and turned on the faucets. While the water rushed out of the spout, she tested its heat with one hand and drank beer with the other.

The can was still pretty full by the time she was ready to step in, so she took it with her.

Holding it above the spray, she raised her other hand to close the shower curtain.

She watched the way her arm angled up to the curtain. It was slender and lightly tanned, and it glistened with wetness. She felt a drop of water slide along its underside, tickling.

The curtain’s metal rings clamored along the shower rod as she pulled it shut.

Then she faced the heavy, warm spray.

The water pelted her, flooded her open mouth, spilled down her chin. It drummed her closed eyelids until her eyes ached. Then she bowed her head. It pounded down, matting her hair, streaming down the sides of her face, into her eyes and along her lips and chin. It ran down her shoulders and breasts and belly.