Beware (5 page)

She hit the floor.

Rough hands jerked her pants off. She tried to scramble up, but the weight of a man drove her against the floor, forced her legs apart. Her blouse was ripped off her back. Then he was lying on her, pinning her arms to the floor. She felt his hardness against her rump.

“Scream, cunt, and I’ll rip off your head.”

She pressed her face to the rug. She cried, she whimpered with pain, she bit her lips until she tasted their blood, but she didn’t scream. At some point, with the man grunting and thrusting in the darkness above her, Lacey passed out.

Dukane landed his Cessna Bonanza, that night, at Santa Monica airport. He stepped into the passenger cabin.

Alice smiled at him. “Hello, dead man.”

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Very nice. I spent it thinking about what they’ll do to you.”

“Nothing too drastic, I hope.” He bent down and unlocked the cuffs chaining her left wrist to the seat’s armrest.

“You messed with Laveda, man. You’re good as dead.”

“
Better
than dead, at the moment.”

“Sure, joke. You’ll be laughing outa the other side of your face when they catch up with you. And they will. And I’ll be with’em, you can count on it. I’ll be the one with the knife, cutting out your eyes.”

“Such talk,” he said.

“You can’t hide from us. We’re everywhere. We know all. We’re all powerful.”

“Yep. Okay, stand up.” He backed away. Alice stepped into the aisle. She looked good in the yellow sundress—fresh, and even younger than her
nineteen years. Dukane had bought it at a Penny’s in Houma, leaving Alice drugged in the passenger seat of his rented car. After buying the dress, he drove to a deserted stretch of road. He braced her against the side of the car, stripped off the oversized shirt he’d earlier used to clothe her, and wrestled her limp body into the dress.

“Are we getting outa this plane, or you just gonna stare at me all night?”

“We need to make a decision. I can either take you out of here handcuffed, as a prisoner, or you can agree to cooperate and we’ll go to my car like friends. Which do you prefer?” “You don’t need the cuffs.” “If you try to get away, you’ll be hurt.” “I know, I know. You proved that back in the bayou, didn’t you? Well, I’ll tell you something. I don’t have to get away from you. They’ll come for me. Wherever you take me, they’ll come. I don’t have to lift a finger—just wait and use my powers to call them.”

“Fancy car,” Alice said as Dukane climbed into the Jaguar beside her. “Kidnapping must pay good.”

“Yep.” The car grumbled to life.

“How much did my folks pay you?”

“Enough.”

“Enough to die for?”

“That’s not in my plans.”

“It’s in mine. They’ll have to die, too. Can’t go messing with Laveda.”

“You’re a sweetheart,” Dukane said. He backed out of the parking space, and headed for the exit.

“Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, man.”

“I know. You’re all powerful. You’ve drunk at the river.”

“Fuckin’ right.”

“Imagine. All that from drinking a gal’s blood.”

“The blood is the life.”

“Where’ve I heard that before,” he said, and switched the radio on. He turned left onto Ocean Park Blvd.

“This isn’t the way home.”

“I’m not taking you home. You’ve got a date with a certain Dr. T. R. Miles. He specializes in deprogramming screwed up kids.”

“Deprogramming?” She made a quiet, nasal laugh. “What do you think I am, a Moonie?”

“I didn’t hire him, your parents did. Far as I’m concerned, you and the rest of Laveda’s gang ought to be burned at the stake.”

Her head jerked toward him.

“That’s how the old-timers dealt with witches, I believe.”

“We’re not witches,” she muttered.

“Near enough. Laveda’s got her own set of rules and rituals, but it boils down to the same thing—you’re a bunch of homicidal lunatics on a power trip. You need to be stopped.”

“We can’t be stopped,” she said, but the earlier tone of scornful confidence was gone from her voice. “We’re everywhere.”

“Put the torch to Laveda, and the whole gang would fall apart.”

“Shut up.”

A layer of fog hung over the road as they neared the ocean. It swirled in the headlights, rolled off the windshield. Dukane slowed down. He squinted ahead, searching for the dim glow of traffic lights.

In the silence, he thought about Alice’s bluster falling away at the mention of fire. She seemed to have an exaggerated fear of burning.

He’d noted the same dread in the man named Walter. The muscular fellow had acted brazen, at first, during Dukane’s interrogation three nights before the bayou gathering. Like Alice, he’d claimed to be invulnerable. He’d refused to talk. But he broke down, whimpering and pleading, when Dukane doused him with gasoline. In short order, he told about Laveda’s group, its structure and purposes, the extent of its membership, the time and location of the meeting. What Dukane learned had scared the hell out of him, but it gave him all he needed to know in his search for Alice.

At the blur of a red light just ahead, Dukane eased down on the brake. He hit the arm of the turn signal, hoping this was Main, and turned left when the light changed. He drove slowly, gazing into the fog, seeking a landmark. When he saw the Boulangerie, off to the right, he knew where he was. He continued down Main, glimpsed a cluster of vague figures at the entrance to the Oar House, and kept going until he reached the traffic signal at Rose. A pair of
dim lights appeared ahead. He waited for the car to pass, then turned left and parked at the curb.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They climbed from the car. Alice followed him up the street, hunched slightly and moving fast, her bare arms crossed against her breasts.

“We’re almost there,” Dukane told her, his chin shaking. He clenched his teeth, then made a conscious effort to relax his muscles and stop the shivering. Alice, he knew, must be freezing in her thin sundress. He put an arm across her shoulders, but she whirled away.

“Don’t touch me,” she said.

“Just trying to help.”

“I can live without it.”

They crossed a dark street, and hurried up the sidewalk. “This is it,” he said, nodding toward the lighted porch of a small, wood-frame house. He opened the gate. They rushed up a narrow walkway. Dukane took the porch stairs two at a time, and rang the doorbell.

Alice waited beside him, legs tight together, arms hugging herself, teeth chattering.

The door was opened as far as the guard chain allowed. A black-haired, attractive woman studied them through her wire-rimmed glasses.

“We’re here to see Dr. Miles,” Dukane said.

“Yes?”

“I’m Dukane.”

The woman nodded. She shut the door briefly, then swung it open. “Please come in.”

They stepped into the warm house. The woman shut the door, took a sip of coffee from her Snoopy mug, and turned to them. “You must be Alice,” she said.

Alice curled her nose.

“You both look chilled to the bone. Let’s go in by the fire, and I’ll get you some coffee.”

They followed her into the living room. It was wood paneled and cozy, with the feel of a summer cottage. Alice crossed toward the fireplace. She stopped two yards from its screen, and held out her hands.

“Cream or sugar?”

Alice didn’t respond.

“I’ll take mine black,” Dukane said.

“Back in a jiff,” the woman said, and left.

Dukane stepped past Alice. He stood close to the fire, feeling its heat through his trouser legs, then crouching to warm his upper body and face. He turned around, still squatting, and smiled up at Alice. “Nothing like a nice, crackling fire.”

“Get fucked.”

The woman came back, carrying a coffee mug in each hand. Dukane noticed the way her breasts jiggled slightly under the cashmere of her white turtleneck. Below the hem of her tweed skirt, her calves looked trim and well defined. Probably, Dukane thought, she jogs on the beach—just like half the other residents of Venice.

He stood, and accepted a hot mug. This one came from the Hearst Castle gift shop. She held out a Big Apple mug to Alice.

Alice swatted it from her hand. The mug flipped away, exploding coffee, and bounced off the rug.

The woman slapped her face.

Alice leaped at her, snarling, hands out like claws. As Dukane set his mug on the mantel, he saw that the woman needed no help. She grabbed Alice’s right arm, jerked it toward her, and swiveled around. Her rump caught Alice low. The girl flew over her back and hit the floor with a grunt.

“Sorry about that, but I won’t allow intemperate behavior.” Her sweater had pulled up, revealing lightly tanned skin above her belt. She adjusted her sweater, and stared down at Alice. “Is that understood?”

Alice gazed at the ceiling. “You’re gonna die.”

“Not before I’ve straightened you out.”

“You’re Dr. Miles?” Dukane asked.

Her smile caught him off-guard; he’d expected a condescending smirk. “Don’t be embarrassed,” she said. “A doctor with a name like Teri Miles is begging for erroneous assumptions of gender. You thought I was the good doctor’s receptionist?”

“Or wife. I was starting to envy him.”

She smiled, and surprised him again—this time by blushing.

Dukane took a sip of hot coffee. “I see you can handle yourself well.”

“One has to, in this line of work. I’ve had patients a lot rougher than Alice.”

“She seems to think she’ll get away in short order.”

“I have a locked room for her, grates on the windows. So far, I haven’t lost anyone.”

“She thinks she’ll have help.”

“You made sure you weren’t followed?”

“In that fog, it would’ve taken Rudolph to follow us.”

Dr. Miles grinned. “Any red noses in the rearview mirror?”

“Not a one.”

“We should be all right, then. Nobody knows where she is except you and her parents.”

“
They’ll
know,” Alice said from the floor.

“She thinks they’ll find her through telepathy.”

“I’d say that’s remote.”

“Hope so,” Dukane said. “Laveda’s gang believes in all sorts of hogwash, but if they have any special power, I haven’t seen it in action. I observed one of their meetings, infiltrated it, even had contact with Laveda herself. If she’s some kind of mind reader, I think she would’ve known I didn’t belong. She acted as if I were just another member of the group. They all did. So I think their magic is a lot of talk, not much else. It’s a dangerous bunch, though. They
think
they’ve got a handle on magical powers, so they act as if they do. They’re basically fearless, think they’re invulnerable.”

“We are,” Alice said. She sat up, crossed her legs, and looked up at them, smirking.

“They do fear burning.”

“Fire,” said Dr. Miles, “has traditionally been associated with purification. I’ve dealt with satanists who actually exhibit a phobic response to it.”

“There’s something else I should tell you. They practice human sacrifice. I saw a young woman
murdered at their meeting. The others drank her blood. Even Alice, here.”

Dr. Miles stiffened slightly.

“So it’s a blood thirsty group.”

“You could be in a great deal of danger if they do find out, somehow, that Alice is here.”

“Well…”

“It might be wise for me to stick around.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

“I’d feel easier about it.”

“I don’t think you realize—the process could take weeks, depending on the depth of her conditioning. Besides, I really don’t imagine there’s much cause for concern. Her location’s secret. As for telepathy, I agree with you that it’s hogwash. I’ve been involved with these matters for several years, and haven’t lost a patient yet.”

“All right,” Dukane said. He felt a bit rebuffed, and realized his offer had been motivated by more than simple concern for her safety. He was attracted to her, wanted to spend more time in her presence. “Well, I’ll check in occasionally.”

“Better that you don’t. We wouldn’t want to compromise her location.”

“What ever you say. But be careful, all right?”

“I always am.”

“For all the good it’ll do,” said Alice.

Lacey woke up, and wished she hadn’t. She lay on her back, eyes shut. Her arms, stretched overhead, were numb. Moving slightly, she felt a sheet beneath her. She wasn’t covered: a mild breeze stirred against her skin, probably from the window above her bed.

She tried to lower her arms, but a tightness around the wrists held them in place. They were tied.

She moved her feet. They, at least, were free.

She licked her lips. No gag.

But she was blindfolded. She could feel it. She tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t raise the lids. From the sticky stiffness against them, she guessed they were taped shut.

Lying motionless, she listened. The only sound in the bedroom was the hum of her electric clock. Through the open window came sounds of birds, a car door banging shut, a power mower somewhere in the distance.

So it’s morning.

And I told James I wouldn’t be coming in. Neat play.
Somebody’d come by to check on me, if I hadn’t told him
that.

Just as well. This maniac would only kill him.

If he’s here!

Lacey realized, with a dizzying sense of relief, that he might very well have departed—tied her up, took her car, and headed for distant places. Why not?

Because, as David Horowitz always says, if it sounds too good to be true, it usually is.

He’s still here. Probably watching me right this second.
Does he know I’m awake?

Lacey tried to breathe slowly and deeply, feigning sleep.

What does he want? she wondered.
Why the hell
hasn’t he killed me like he did the others? Don’t worry, he
probably will.

Unless I get him first.

Fat chance.

You can’t kill a man you never see.

She hadn’t spotted him in the car, though he’d been in the backseat on her way home from Hoffman’s. She and Cliff had missed him when they searched the house—unless he sneaked in later.

But how, in God’s name, did he get into the bathroom? That door never opened, she was almost positive. And he sure didn’t climb in through the window. He was just suddenly there. A magician, a regular Houdini.

How do you kill a guy like that?

Easy, you don’t.

But maybe he is gone.

No, he’s here. Still here.

But why?

Because he
likes
you.

Scream, cunt, and I’ll rip off your head. Sure he
likes me.

The doorbell rang.

Footsteps raced toward her.

She opened her mouth to yell, and a hand slapped across it.

“Don’t make a sound,” whispered the low, scratchy voice from last night.

The bell rang again, loud in the silent house. Who was there? James or Carl coming by to check on her, after all? Cliff? It rang again. She kicked her legs high, twisting to swing them off the bed, but an arm hooked them behind the knees and stopped them. She bucked and writhed. The powerful arm pressed, curling her back, raising her rump off the bed, forcing her legs down until her knees mashed her breasts.

She shook her head, tried to bite the hand. But it stayed tight on her mouth. Her teeth couldn’t find flesh to bite, only scraping it without doing damage.

Mouth covered, compressed as she was, she couldn’t bring in enough air through her nostrils. She stopped struggling and tried to breathe. Her lungs burned.

The doorbell rang again.

Go away!

She sucked air in through her nostrils, but couldn’t draw it in deeply enough, couldn’t seem to get it to her lungs. She felt as if she were drowning. The man seemed to realize this, and pressed his hand slightly upward to block her nose.

No!

A roar filled her head. She sucked against the hand. No air came through. She kicked, but the man pressed her knees harder against her chest. Her heart thundered as if it might explode.

Then the arm stopped pushing at her legs. As she lowered them, the hand left her mouth. She gulped in air.

“I oughta kill you,” the man whispered.

Lacey kept gasping.

He shoved her legs apart, and she felt his mouth. Then he was on top of her, pushing inside her, ramming. Lacey didn’t struggle. She lay still, trying to catch her breath, trying not to think, to build a wall in her head that she could hide behind, away from the pain and filth and terror.

“I’ll untie your hands,” he said when he was finally through.

Lacey nodded.

“You can’t hurt me. You can’t get away from me. Don’t try.”

“I won’t.”

He removed the bonds. Lacey tried to lower her arms. At first, they wouldn’t move. They burned and tingled as feeling slowly returned to them. At last, she was able to bring them down. She rubbed the deep indentations on her wrists.

“What do you want?” she asked.

He made a nasty laugh. “I’ve got what I want. You. And your house.”

Reaching to her face, she touched the adhesive tape over her eyes. Her hands were slapped away.

“Leave it.”

“Who are you?”

“If I told you that, you’d know.”

What kind of answer was that? “Do I know you?” she asked.

“Damn right.”

“What did I do? Did I
do
something to you?”

“It’s what you didn’t do. But we’ve taken care of that, haven’t we?” Lacey flinched as he put a hand on her breast. She didn’t try to remove it, didn’t dare. “I’ve always wanted you. Now I’ve got you. Want to know what’s next?”

She nodded.

“I’m gonna be your guest for a while. For a long, long while. This is a lot better than the market. The market stinks. No bed, no pussy to curl up with. This is just what I want, and I’m gonna stay.”

“Are you…hiding out?”

“Oh yes. And they’re a sharp pack of bastards. They’ll come looking. Might even check here, but we’re too smart for’em. Lacey’s gonna answer the phone, Lacey’s gonna answer the door, Lacey’s even gonna go to work after today, just like everything’s normal. But she won’t let no one in, and she won’t tell our little secret, and she won’t try to run away.’Cause if she does, I’ll do horrible disgusting things to her.”

She couldn’t believe it! He would actually let her leave the house? “All right,” she said.

“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, soon as I let you free, you’ll run off to the cops. If the cops don’t get me, you’ll leave town. Either way,
you’ll be safe from me. But you’re wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. You can’t escape.”

The hand went away from her breast, picked at the side of her face, and ripped the tape away. It came off with a sound like tearing cloth, stinging her skin, uprooting brows and lashes. Lacey clutched her eyes until the pain subsided. Then she lowered her hands. She opened her eyes. Squinting against the light, she looked up. Then to the sides.

The man was gone!

She bolted upright, and studied the sunlit room. He was not there! She swung her legs off the bed, knocking the wadded tape to the floor, and stood up. Dizzy. She grabbed the top of the dresser for support. When her head cleared, she lunged for the doorway.

The door slammed shut. She rushed against it, grabbed the knob.

A hand clutched her shoulders and swung her around.

Nobody there.

She felt hands on both her breasts. They squeezed. She saw depressions the fingers made in her flesh, but not the fingers themselves.

“Get the idea?” the man asked.

“Oh my God,” Lacey muttered. “You’re invisible!”

“Fuckin’ right.”

Reaching to her breasts, she touched his hands. Their surface stopped her fingers like a layer of hard air—but air with the texture of skin. She shook her head. “How?”

“A little miracle.”

“No, really,” she said, trying to sound eager, as if suddenly overcome with curiosity. She touched his hairy wrists, his thick, heavily muscled forearms: he was standing directly in front of her. “Who did it to you? How?”

“If I told you that, you’d know.”

“I want to know.”

“Then you’d…”

Lacey clenched his forearms and kicked, shooting her leg up high through the space in front of her. Her instep smacked flesh. The man’s arms jerked away and he bellowed. Lacey tugged open the door. She dashed out and across the dining room to her kitchen. Grabbing the knob of the back door, she hesitated. What use to run away? How do you hide from an invisible man? You don’t. Sooner or later, he’d get her.

She slid a carving knife out of its rack, and dashed toward the breakfast nook. She rushed alongside the table, swinging a chair out behind her to block the narrow passage. Spinning around, she shoved the other chair out. Now she stood behind the table, both sides blocked, knife in front of her, ready.

Almost ready.

She opened a cupboard behind her. She lifted out a heavy bag. Clamping the knife in her teeth, she unrolled its top.

With a skidding rumble, the table scooted toward her. She lurched backward. The edge of the counter caught her rump. She leapt, throwing herself backward, drawing up her knees. Her buttocks hit the
countertop, and the table crashed against the cupboards.

Lacey dropped her feet to the table. Lunging forward, she flung out the contents of the sack. A cloud of flour filled the air.

The man dived through it, an empty shape in the white powder.

Jerking the knife from her mouth, Lacey plunged it into his back. He shrieked. His head drove into her belly, slamming her backward. Grabbing his shaggy, powdered hair, Lacey tugged away his head. She saw the hazy image of a face, and smashed her fist into its nose. Then she kicked and shoved at the writhing figure until it slid to the floor.

She crawled to the table’s edge, and looked down. He was on his knees, head to the floor, growling, reaching behind him with dusty white arms, groping for the knife. His back was half-clear where his blood had swept the flour off.

Lacey jumped, landed beyond him, and fell. Scurrying to her feet, she ran from the kitchen. She grabbed her handbag and keys off the dining room table, and raced into her bedroom. She yanked her bathrobe off the closet hook. Pulling it on, she ran for the front door. Got outside. Sprinted to her car and locked herself inside and shot it backward out of the driveway. She hit the brakes. Shifted to Drive. And sped up the road away from her house and the man and the horror.

My God, she thought, I did it!