She Wakes (17 page)

    “Hey, hon. You okay?”

    And he thought for a moment that she was going to pass him by without even saying something which would have been weird even for moody Linda and he had just time for a glimpse of a woman in white way up ahead of them on the hill when Linda turned to face him and he saw she hadn’t come totally empty-handed, not entirely, that she had one short stubby stick in her hand, a stick with a sharp pointed end to it-and had no time to scream at all but only gurgled and looked at her face bathed in tears, pink tears because of the blood from the crushed bloody dome of her skull as she drove the stick into his neck just above his Adam’s apple and twisted it.

    Then a moment later he was dead too.

    

    

    She stood before him naked, her skin glowing in the dim flickering light of his candle.

    He made no attempt to reconcile her presence there with the sprawl of rotting flesh and bone that lay between them on the floor of the cave. They were one and the same aid yet they were not The high reek of decay did not faze him. He was aware of a faint odor, of a running slime beneath his sandaled feet But the corpse meant nothing to him. He did not even remember bringing it there from the church. Certainly not what he’d done to it afterward.

    She spoke to him. The lush wide mouth seemed to move just a split second behind the words.

    “Say what you want.”

    He said nothing, only stood there, yet she nodded.

    “It’s yours,” die said. And he understood her to mean, but not for free.

    She told him her price.

    He agreed.

    For what he asked the price was small indeed. Her lips moved again, the voice just barely proceeding it. It rolled with resonance inside him.

    “Do that,” she said, “then come back to me.”

    He nodded, backed away, his erection grinding at the thin loose trousers.

    “I will make you new."

    He saw the cave wall sweating.

    Suddenly she was gone.

    He saw the crabs swarming over the body, carrying away bits of flesh between their pincers, scuttling all around, blue-black and shining in the candlelight.

    Cupping his hand to the flame he moved quickly to the far side of the cave, heard shells crack beneath his feet, ran up the goat path to the top of the hill.

    The moon was bright. He paused there, breathing heavily. He blew out the candle. He saw the moon glinting on the waves, the bright white clouds overhead.

    Beside him, she turned and smiled. She was naked as before.

    He watched as she drew herself up and the muscles of her calves and shoulders pulled back off bare white bone, the smile the long wide grimace of a skull, the muzzle of an animal. She dove down and out like a graceful slow-flying bird into the sea.

    Nothing disturbed the water.

    He turned, cold, and walked back to the campground to do what he had promised.

    

    

    The woman’s glance appraised him and did not appear to find him wanting.

    It was 11:30 and the Harlequin Bar was crowded so all he could get from the waitress, the Greek woman, was a fugue of drink orders, faces of customers and a kind of general struggle against running down-so that when this one stared so openly he decided to pursue it for a while. Maybe he could learn something.

    She was beautiful. Thick red hair. Light blue eyes. Spectacular.

    Only twice in their sixteen years together had he been unfaithful to Elaine. Once the year before their marriage. He saw that as a last-ditch attempt to cut the growing ties to her and continue going it alone, which up to then was all he knew. He thanked god it had failed. The second time was recent, aberrant and very, very brief and beyond the fact that it had happened at all, meant nothing-certainly nothing to what he felt for Eliane-and the wild bitter memory of that was nearly faded now.

    It would never happen again. He was secure in that.

    Though this one could tempt the saints.

    He was flattered, really.

    Miraculously the seat beside her had just opened up. He took it and ordered a drink.

    He could guess a few things about her. The glance was just a little too open, as though she were undressing him with her eyes-an obnoxious male gesture that was only slightly less offensive in a woman perhaps because it was less familiar. The smile had a calculated sardonic quality that was like a challenge. The tough-girl pose.
I’ve been around,
said the smile.
And I’m still here. Care to find out why?

    Beyond that he couldn’t read her. Nothing more than what she gave him on the surface. If she were drunk or nearly so that might account for it. Or maybe he’d just hit a blind spot again.

    “I’m not supposed to do this,” she said.

    The music was loud but her voice cut through it easily. Chase practically had to shout.

    “Do what?”

    She tilted her drink.

    “Liquor. Cigarettes. Have you got one?”

    He fished one out of his pack, lit it for her. Her eyes held on his while she drew up the flame. Her eyes were an amazing color.

    There was something familiar about her.

    “Have we met?”

    She exhaled deeply. “You don’t think you’d remember?”

    He laughed. “Sorry. Yes, I think I’d remember. But something…”

    “I don't think so. Unless you go to Paris.”

    He did. but not often. Then he realized. “You’re a model.”

    “How’d you guess.”

    “Psychic,” he said.

    “Sure you are.” She coughed. “Damn things.”

    “You’re not supposed to smoke?”

    “Or drink. Lungs are shot, heart’s shot. My doctor says they’ll kill me.”

    “At your age?”

    “I’m afraid so. Had my first heart attack a year ago. I think it was a year ago.”

    “Tough life, being a model.”

    “Tougher than you think.”

    “But you’re not from Paris.”

    “Sure I am. Oh, you mean originally. No.”

    “Where? I can’t place the accent.”

    “You’re not supposed to.” Her voice had gone bored and expressionless. She tossed her long red hair.

    “Look,” she said, “this place is too loud. I know another place. It’s just opening tonight. Want to go and try to find it with me?”

    ‘Try to?”

    “I know the general area. But not where it is exactly. The streets are pretty confusing.”

    He hesitated. He looked around for the barmaid. She was outside hustling drinks. It didn’t look like there’d be much let-up for a while. He’d come back later. The woman intrigued him.

    He examined his motives. Yes, that was all it was. That was as far as it went.

    He still couldn’t read her.

    “Let’s go.”

    They moved out the door, down through the crowd in front of the terrace, into the streets.

    “They built this to confuse pirates, you know that? This maze.” Chase said he didn’t.

    “Sure. The idea was that the locals would know exactly where they were going but nobody else would. Gave them a head start against invaders. They’re still the only ones who know where they’re going as far as I can see.”

    “Are we lost yet?”

    “Not yet.”

    “You in a hurry?”

    “No.”

    “Slow down, then, will you?”

    She had a good ten years on him and they were going uphill into town. The going wasn’t hard but his cold had cut his wind down.

    She eased the pace a little but still stayed three or four steps ahead of him. He didn’t want to complain again. But he wondered if this had been a good idea.

    She kept turning corners. As though she knew exactly where she was going. He’d turn a comer after her and there would be another one. He didn’t know if she was lost but he was.

    
Hell, it’s a small town,
he thought. They’d come out someplace he knew eventually.

    She kept talking. This looks familiar. No, that's not right. Maybe here. He heard a note of steadily increasing anxiety in her voice but it was strange-he couldn’t read anxiety.

    He knew by now that she wasn’t drunk. Usually, if he tried, he could penetrate to some level and anxiety-any strong emotional state-only made it that much easier.

    But she was utterly closed off to him.

    He had blind spots, sure. And never knew why or when he’d have them. But almost always there was something.

    And where had he seen her before?

    Somewhere.

    Those eyes. Nearly the same color as…

    “Here we go.”

    She moved confidently out ahead of him.

    The Greeks turned in early. Some of the streets were brightly lit and others completely dark. This one was dark.

    He narrowly avoided hitting his head on the projected rail of a balcony. In the distance he heard the bass thump of rock ‘n’ roll. So there was definitely a bar nearby. But it was hard to tell in which direction. He was tiring. *

    The whitewashed walls all began to look the same to him as did the closed shuttered stores and markets. Vines and flowers brushed his hair. His shoes sounded loud on the fieldstone walk. The night was warm. He was perspiring.

    The music came and went, chimerical. She turned another comer.

    It occurred to him that he didn’t even know her name.

    “Of course you do, Mr. Chase.”

    Startled, he turned the comer.

    The street was empty.

    Yet he felt her there, nearby and all around him. He read her.

    The full weight and force of her. Alien and frightful.

    All she’d concealed from him.

    

    

    She was getting very close to Dodgson. Very quickly.

    It was always somewhat dangerous with a man but with this one it was probably more so than usual. A writer who said he’d never write again. Suppose they stayed together. What in the world would they live on? She had to laugh.

    Why was she so happy?

    Because she was happy-listening to him in the shower singing tunelessly, wanting to make love to him again. She lay across his bed and closed her eyes and let the fantasy come. He’d walk out of the shower and see her there. He’d drop the towel and lean over. She knew exactly how he’d smell, of plain soap and Aussie shampoo, the stuff with papaya. She imaged his hands on her, very firm and gentle.

    There came a time when you simply had to close your eyes and jump, didn’t you? When you had to have a certain courage.

    She recalled her mother dying, riddled with cancer. She had always been very close to her mother. And on this day, the day before she died, Billie had been taking it badly. The end was so close now. Her mother had awakened and looked at her and then reached over and patted her arm.

    
I’m doing this alone,
she said.
You can’t go with me.

    Her mother had known about courage.

    And she wondered how her mother would have felt about her involvement with Robert. She’d known about the hospital in Spain and the rape. And she’d looked on, saddened, Billie thought, as she cut herself off from men-saddened but understanding.

    She thought she knew what her mother would say.

    
He’s a nice man, isn’t he? Well, you’re your mother’s daughter, dear. And you need a man.

    She closed her eyes and saw them making love and felt her nipples tighten. Her eyes snapped open.

    
I know what,
she thought.

    She got off the bed. She unbuttoned the checkered blouse and pulled off the jeans.

    Underneath she wore a filmy beige bra and matching bikini panties. Thus far Robert had seen neither of them. She looked into the mirror. With the tan, there was almost the illusion of nakedness. I’m never going to look any better, she thought. Dodgson, I’ve got a little treat for you. And you’d better appreciate this because my ego’s showing.

    She hopped back into bed.

    Cover or no cover?

    She felt like a cinema director laying out the properties.

    No covers. And a little stretch position to tighten up the tummy. She laughed aloud. Really. Billie.

    
I’m not certain Mum would approve of this at all.

    She heard the shower go off and Dodgson humming, drying himself. Any moment now.

    She wondered if she was blushing.

    “Billie?”

    He opened the bathroom door and stood there. She couldn’t help laughing. The expression on his face-perfect! Then he laughed too.

    “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

    He dropped the towel, sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her. His hair was still very wet when she put her hands into it.

    “You look lovely,” he said. “I almost hate to take them off.”

    “Don’t, then, for a little while.”

    “Okay.” He kissed her again. “For a little while.”

    She pulled him down to her mouth, to her neck, while his hands moved lightly over her breasts and down to her belly and over the side of her panties to the fine down of her inner thigh, teasing her, then back over her hips and butt and up to pluck and roll the nipple under the thin material. His hands were smooth and felt wonderful to her, urgent and masculine yet thoughtful, considerate of all the textures of her body, the sleek tight surfaces of muscle here, the tender softness there, of all the weights and hollows.