Flesh (7 page)

“You’re Celia Jamerson, right?” he asked. “I saw you in
The Glass Menagerie.
You were great.”

“Thanks,” Celia said.

“You probably don’t remember me.”

“You’re Jason’s friend, aren’t you?”

He grinned, his thin lips stretching away from big, crooked teeth. “I’m his roommate, Roland. Anyway, I was just wondering if you’re okay. What happened, were you in an accident?”

“I had a little mishap on my bike.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry.” His gaze traveled sideways to Alison and slid down her body, then returned to Celia. “I hope it wasn’t serious,” he said.

“Well, thank you. I’ll be all right. How’s Jason?”

“Oh, he’s fine. He’ll be trying out for the spring play. I know he’s hoping you’ll be in it.”

“I don’t know. Auditions are next week. I’m pretty banged up.”

“That’s awful.” He looked again at Alison. She felt an urge to pull her jacket shut. “Anyway, I’d better get going. Hope you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks,” Celia said. “See you around.”

He turned and walked away.

Alison realized she had been holding her breath as if afraid of inhaling a disease.

“What a dream boat,” Helen said.

“A nightmare boat,” Alison muttered. “I feel like I need a bath.”

“He sure looked us over.”

Alison hadn’t seen him looking Helen over, but she kept her mouth shut.

Celia shrugged. “It was nice of him to be concerned about me.”

“Play your cards right,” Helen told her, “maybe he’ll ask you out. How’d you like to model your new nightie for him?”

“Gimme a break.”

With Helen in the lead, they walked toward the food area. Alison still felt a little squirmy. Though there wasn’t much similarity between them, Roland somehow reminded her of Prince Charming, the crazed, filthy man she’d seen yesterday afternoon at Gabby’s.

They stopped at one of the refreshment stands. Helen ordered a drink and a hot dog. Alison and Celia each ordered sodas. They found a vacant table in the middle of the concourse and sat down.

Poking her straw through the plastic lid of her drink, Alison could almost see Roland leering at her. “What a creep,” she muttered.

“He gives new meaning,” said Helen, “to the expression ‘nasty slimy yuck.’”

Celia grinned. “Yeah, but his roomy’s not half bad.”

“He the guy who played the gentleman caller?” Alison asked.

“That’s the one.”

“If he’s so wonderful,” Helen asked, squeezing a thick trail of mustard across her hot dog, “how come you haven’t added him to your list?”

“For godsake, he’s a
freshman.”

“Shouldn’t let a little thing like that stop you.”

“You kidding? I’d never live it down, it got around I was seeing a frosh. Besides, he’s already going with some gal.”

“So,” Helen said, “it’s not that he’s a freshman. Just that somebody else has dibs on him.”

“Gimme a break. He’d drop her like a hot spud if I gave him the ol’ look.”

Helen took a big bite out of her hot dog. Mustard dribbled down her chin. Wiping the mustard off with the back of a hand, she said to Alison in a muffled voice, “Don’t you just adore modesty in a person?”

“Hell,” Alison said, “she’s probably right.”

“Not that I intend to give Jason the ol’ look,” Celia pointed out. “Like I said, he’s a freshman.”

Helen licked the mustard smear off the back of her hand. “Maybe you could date him incognito. Wear Groucho glasses.”

“He’s got to have a personality defect,” Alison said, “if he pals around with that weirdo.”

Celia grinned. “Can’t judge a person by his roommates. Shit, look at
mine.
”

Roland waited alone. He wished Jason were here, not off in Weston for his sister’s wedding. They could talk about the bet, make jokes. It wouldn’t be nearly so bad.

It wouldn’t be happening at all if Jason were here. Dana wouldn’t have crapped on him.

The bitch.

She’d always despised him, he knew that. But she never let it show much until today.

She was probably ticked because Jason left without her. They always went to the movies on Friday nights, then parked somewhere to screw around.

But not tonight.

No fun and games with Jason tonight, so take it out on Roland.

He stepped to the windows.

It was raining like shit out there.

A car came in off Spring Street, its headlights making slick paths on the pavement of the parking lot. Roland’s stomach twisted. As the car neared the rear entrance to the dorm, however, he saw that it wasn’t a Volkswagen.

The clock on his desk showed a quarter till nine. If Dana was on time, she wouldn’t be here for another fifteen minutes.

Fourteen.

His stomach stayed tight.

That bitch, why is she doing this to me?

Did it have to do with the Polaroids? That’s when she went haywire, after she realized he must’ve seen them.

Crouching at Jason’s desk, Roland slid open the bottom drawer, lifted out a stack of
Penthouse
and
Hustler
magazines,
and pulled out the envelope. He took it to his desk. Sitting down, he turned on his gooseneck lamp. He removed the ten photos from the envelope and spread them across his desktop.

Two of them were overexposed.

Another shot, this one a real close-up apparently taken from between her knees, was blurry. Jason must’ve been so excited he forgot to adjust the distance setting. But he’d tried again and gotten it right.

Yeah, Dana probably wasn’t very happy at all that I got a look at these.

Roland unsnapped the case on his belt and pulled out his folding Buck knife. He pried open the blade. Touched its point to the glossy surface between her thighs. “How do you like
this
?” he whispered in a shaky voice. He felt an urge to shove the knife in, but didn’t dare. Jason would know he was the one who’d done it.

Pressing the flat of the blade against his chin, Roland stared down at the photos.

What if I give them to her? Maybe she’d let me off the hook.

If I try that, she’ll know I’m scared.

I’ll spend the night in that fucking restaurant and I’ll make a hundred bucks. A cinch. Might even be fun.

Fun. Like hell.

But he didn’t have any choice. If he backed out, Dana would tell everyone he’s a chicken and a phony.

Maybe I can find a way to get back at her.

He slipped the photos into the envelope.

The faint beep of a car horn made him flinch. He stood up, saw his reflection in the window, and turned off the lamp. Looking down through the darkness, he saw a VW bug at the curb. It was Dana’s all right. He recognized the banner on its aerial.

Roland pushed open the glass door and jogged toward the car. He was hunched over as if the rain were a heavy weight.
His shoes slapped water off the pavement. He wore a dark stocking cap and a windbreaker. A sleeping bag was clutched to his chest.

Dana leaned across the seat to open the door for him.

After climbing in, he dropped the sleeping bag to the floor between his feet, pulled the door shut, and struggled out of a small backpack.

“A beautiful night for your adventure,” Dana said.

“Yeah. Too bad there’s no thunder and lightning.” He chuckled. He sounded nervous.

Dana pulled away from the curb and headed across the parking lot. “You’ll have to give me directions.”

“Take a right on Spring. I’ll let you know when to turn off.”

She stopped at the parking lot exit, waited for a few cars to swoosh past, and turned onto Spring Street. The rain was coming down hard. She leaned forward, trying to see better.

Roland was silent.

Usually he talked nonstop.

“Scared?” Dana asked.

“Yeah, I’m scared. Your wiper blades aren’t worth shit.”

“Tell me about it,” Dana muttered. Instead of sweeping the water aside, they seemed to smear it and leave trails across the windshield.

“I didn’t come out tonight to get killed in a car wreck.”

“I know. You came out to get killed in a haunted restaurant.”

“Haunted. That’s a good one.”

“Don’t you think so? Aren’t you the guy who told me and Jason that ghosts happen when people get croaked too fast?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Sure. We were walking back from that midnight show of
The Uninvited
and you said a ghost gets started when someone doesn’t know he’s dead yet. His spirit, or whatever, thinks he’s still alive. Isn’t that how you explained it?”

“Well, that’s a theory, anyway.”

“These two people got
blown away
last night. Can’t be
much more sudden than that. So their ghosts must be hanging around, don’t you think?”

Roland didn’t answer.

“My camera’s in the backseat. Maybe you can get some snapshots of them.”

“Make a left at the traffic light,” he muttered.

There was no turn pocket. Dana checked the rearview mirror. The road behind her was dark, so she slowed. A pickup truck approached from the front. She squinted against the glare of its headlights. The truck sped by, spray from its tires splashing her door and window. Dana made the turn, then took a deep breath. The road ahead was dark except for a few streetlights. There were houses on both sides. She knew that the road led out of town, but couldn’t remember a restaurant along the stretch.

“You don’t believe in ghosts,” Roland said.

“Ah, but you do. Or is that just part of your act?”

“They don’t scare me.”

“Ever seen one?”

“No.”

“Not yet, huh?”

“If ghosts exist, they’re harmless. They can’t do anything to you.”

“Such as cut your throat or something?” Dana asked, glancing at him and grinning.

“They wouldn’t be able to hold a knife. Or anything else, for that matter. They don’t have any substance. All they can do is appear.”

“And turn you into a raving lunatic.”

“Only if you’re scared of them.”

“Which you aren’t, of course.”

“There’s no reason to be.”

“Who are you trying to convince?”

Roland said nothing.

“The gal got her head blown off, right?” Dana said. “Does that mean her ghost won’t have a head?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I thought you were supposed to be an expert.”

Dana saw no more houses ahead. On both sides of the road were fields, barren except for scattered trees. “Where
is
this place, anyway?”

“We’re almost there.”

“Seems like a queer place for a restaurant, this far out.”

“The turnoff’s around the next bend. You’ll want to go right.”

“I don’t know much about these things,” Dana said, “but I’d bet the babe’s ghost is missing its noggin. Just a guess, you understand.”

“You’d better slow down.”

There were headlights near the crest of the hill far ahead. Her rearview mirror was dark. She eased down on the brake but couldn’t see the side road. “Where?”

Roland pointed.

It was a narrow low space that looked more like a driveway than a road.

Dana slowed almost to a stop. As she turned, the VW’s headlights swept across a large, dark, wood sign. She tried to read the sign’s carved words, but they were a blur through the water streaked and splattered on her windshield. The wipers beating back and forth were no help—just another distraction. The headlights left the sign. Squinting, Dana saw the falling rain, the slick trails her head beams made on the pavement, and land rising on both sides of the road.

“Have you got the money?” Roland asked.

“In my purse.” She grinned at him. “Not that you’ll be getting it.”

“I’ll get it, all right.”

“I’d be surprised if you last ten minutes.”

“You’re going to come in at dawn, right?”

“Wrong. We’ll both be back in town snug in our beds before midnight.”

“I mean, just assuming I don’t chicken out. Which I won’t. You’ll come in at dawn?”

“Just come out.”

“You want to see inside the place, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Well, come in anyway.”

“Forget you.”

The sides of the road were gone, and Dana realized she had entered the parking area. She kept driving straight ahead. At first, she couldn’t see the restaurant. Then the head beams found its stairs, porch, and door. The pale band of a police line ribbon was stretched across the porch posts at the top of the stairs. The door was crosshatched with boards.

Dana stopped directly in front of the stairs and killed the headlights. “Whoops,” she said. “Where’d the restaurant go?”

“How am I supposed to get in?”

Dana bent over, head against the steering wheel, and reached down between her knees. Her fingertips combed the gritty floor mat until they found the pry bar. She picked it up and gave it to Roland.

“You thought of everything,” he muttered.

Twisting around, Dana knelt on her seat and got the camera out of the back. “Take some good ones,” she said. “Especially of the gal. No head. Should be nifty.”

Roland put the camera into his pack. Leaning forward, he swung the pack behind him and struggled into its shoulder straps. He hugged the sleeping bag against his side and gripped the pry bar. “How about turning on the headlights till I’m inside?” he asked.

“Why not.” The lights tunneled into the darkness. “Have fun.”

“You’ll come in for me at dawn,” he said. It was not a request.

“I’m not going inside that place.”

“I think you will.” He opened the door and climbed out.
Standing in the rain, he leaned inside. “I’ve got the pictures with me.”

“Give them here,” Dana snapped.

“You may have them in the morning. If you
don’t
come in after me, you’ll never see them again. But everyone else will.”

“You shit!”

He slammed the door.

When he was in front of the car, Dana blasted the horn and he jumped. He turned around. Glared at her. Then curled his lip above his crooked teeth and turned away. At the top of the stairs, he broke the police ribbon and stepped to the door. He started to pry the boards off.

Dana, furious, watched him. Her heart was beating fast, her breath hissing through her nostrils. She saw herself rush up behind Roland and slam his head against the door until he was senseless. Then she would search him and find the pictures.

But she didn’t move.

Her luck, the creep would probably hear her coming.

In her mind, she saw Roland whirl around and lay open her head with the bar.

She wouldn’t put it past him.

He’s a fucking wimp, she thought, but he’s not exactly stable.

She saw him drag her body into the restaurant.

The thoughts began to frighten her.

Roland got the door open. He lifted his sleeping bag off the porch, glanced back at Dana, then went inside. The door swung shut.

Dana shut off the headlights.

Leaning across the seat, she locked the passenger door.

She reached for the ignition key, intending to turn the engine off. But she changed her mind, shifted to reverse, and slowly backed the car away. She considered leaving. It would serve the shit right, getting stranded out here. If he realized she was gone, however, he might decide to spread out his sleeping
bag on the porch. He had to spend the night inside. That was the bet. That was the punishment, the price he had to pay for being such an asshole.

And for looking at the pictures.

He has them
with
him.

Dana, suddenly realizing she might be dangerously close to the rear of the parking area, hit her brakes. The car jolted to a stop. She set the emergency brake and killed the engine.

When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found that she could see the restaurant. It was about fifty years ahead of her, a low dark shape the width of the parking lot, black beneath its hooded porch.

It looked forbidding.

And Roland was inside.

Dana smiled. “You’ll have a
real
good time,” she muttered.

When Roland closed the restaurant door, he stood motionless and scanned the darkness. He could see nothing. He heard only his own heartbeat and quick breaths and the sounds of the rain.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, he told himself.

His body seemed to believe otherwise.

He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to drop the sleeping bag, take off his pack, and get his hands on the flashlight. But he couldn’t move.

Go ahead and do it.

He was sure it would be all right, but part of him knew with absolute certainty that something was hunched silent in the dark nearby. Aware of his presence. Waiting. If he made the slightest move, it would come for him.

The quiet whinnying of Dana’s car engine broke through his fear. He turned around and opened the restaurant’s door. The Volkswagen was backing away.

She’s leaving?

The thought alarmed him at first, then filled him with
relief. If she actually drove off, he wouldn’t need to stay inside. Spend the night on the porch, maybe. Keep a lookout and make sure he was back inside when she returned.

If
she returned.

And if she didn’t come back in the morning, the hike back to town was only a few miles and he’d still win the bet.

The car didn’t turn around. Near the far end of the parking lot, its red brake lights glowed briefly.

It stopped.

The engine went silent.

Roland’s hope died. Dana wasn’t leaving, after all, just putting some distance between herself and the restaurant. She must’ve been nervous about being close to it.

He watched for a while, but the car didn’t move again.

Leaving the door open for a quick escape, Roland dropped his sleeping bag to the floor. He took off his pack and removed the flashlight. With his back to the doorway, he thumbed the flashlight switch. The strong beam shot out. He whipped it from right to left. Shadows jumped and writhed, but no foul shape was lurching toward him.