Resurrection Dreams (11 page)

He climbed into his car, made a U-turn, and drove away.

He knew he might be leaving his tire tracks on the dirt shoulder of the road. He thought about going back and rubbing them out. Someone might come along, though. He’d been lucky to take care of Patricia without another car showing up. Tomorrow, he’d send Manny away and put different tires on his car, get rid of these. Easy.

At home, Melvin parked inside his two-car garage. He used the remote control on his dash to lower the door. As it rumbled down, he climbed out of the car.

This was the first gal he’d brought home alive.

Exciting, a live one in his trunk. But a little scary, too.

He stood at the rear of his car and stared at the trunk.

What’m I gonna do with her now?

During the long drive, he’d had plenty of time to consider the problem. But he hadn’t come up with any great ideas. It was a toss-up between killing her immediately and keeping her alive for a while. It might be fun if he didn’t kill her right away. He could tie her up and fool around with her. On the other hand, he was eager to try a new method on her. That, after all, was the reason he took her.

I’m not a goddamn rapist, he told himself.

Besides, how would he tie her up without hurting his bad hand? She was bound to put up a fight. He’d either have to gas her or pound the daylight out of her. Then, if she wasn’t out cold, he’d have to hide her face with something. He sure didn’t want her looking at him while he screwed her. All that contempt in her eyes. Gals nearly always had contempt in their eyes when they looked at him. She would, for sure.

But if he held off till after he killed her and brought her back, she’d be so grateful she’d do anything to please him. Hell, she’d love him.

He went into the house. He came out with his Colt .44 revolver and a green, double-ply plastic trash bag. He shoved the folded bag into a front pocket of his pants. Holding the revolver in his left hand, he unlocked the trunk. The lid rose.

Patricia lay curled on her side, hands covering her face. She was sobbing quietly.

“Climb out,” Melvin said. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Don’t hurt me,” she said through her hands.

“Told you I won’t. Come on.”

She got to her hands and knees inside the trunk, never once looking at him. Her back shook as she wept. A string of snot dangled from her nose, swaying. Slowly, keeping her head down, she climbed out of the trunk. She stood with her back to Melvin, and hunched over and held onto the car.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Just don’t try nothing, you’ll be okay.”

He pushed the revolver under his belt, took the trash bag out of his pocket, and shook it open.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. Just a bag. You’re gonna wear it so you don’t see where we’re going. Stand up straight, arms at your sides.”

She followed his orders. Melvin spread the bag apart, slipped it over her head, and pulled it down her body. It covered her almost to the knees. He took off his belt and made a loop by slipping one end through the buckle. He dropped the loop over her head. The plastic bag crackled as he pulled, closing it around her neck. He left enough slack in the belt so she could still get air.

“Can you breathe okay?” he asked.

Her covered head nodded. Melvin heard her sniffle.

“It’s not too tight?”

“No.”

“Okay, face me.”

She turned around. Melvin shook the belt sideways and watched the buckle slide around to her front. He walked backward, leading her across the garage to the side door of the house. He led her into the house, through the kitchen to another closed door. Opening the door, he said, “Stairs. Be careful.”

“Where’re you taking me?” she asked in a high, whiny voice.

“The basement.” Melvin grinned. “That’s where you’re gonna stay till they come up with the ransom.”

“Ransom?”

“Sure. What did you think, I was gonna murder you or something?”

“All you want’s money?”

“Course.”

Melvin switched on the basement light. Turning his back to the stairway, he took a careful step down. His left hand held the belt. His right hovered over the banister. Patricia hesitated on the top stair. “Go ahead and hold the railing,” he said. “I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

She hitched the plastic bag up around her waist, reached out and clutched the wooden rail.

Melvin stayed two stairs below Patricia, and watched her as they descended. She took slow, careful steps. Her shoes and stockings were white. He hated those white stockings.

They’ll be the first to go, he decided.

“Who’s supposed to pay for me?” she asked. She didn’t sound so upset anymore.

“You tell me.”

“I have some savings.”

“How much?”

Melvin reached the floor of the basement. Patricia stepped down the final two stairs. When the banister ended, she pulled the bag down as far as it would go, apparently prefer-ring to be covered and out of sight.

“I’ve got about eight hundred,” she said. “Will that be enough? You can have it all.”

“Eight hundred?” Melvin stepped behind her. “Sure. That sounds fine.” He wrapped the belt around his left hand.

“Well, good. Then that…”

He jerked the belt. Patricia stumbled toward him as the loop shut, cinching the trash bag tight around her neck. He lurched out of the way. Her rump hit the concrete floor. He scrambled backward up the first three stairs, keeping the belt taut, dragging her until she lay against the steps. She kicked and squirmed. She worked the bag up her body, freeing her arms, and clutched the choking belt.

Melvin frowned. He wanted to suffocate her, not strangle her. He didn’t want marks on her throat. So he gave the belt some slack. She yanked on it. Melvin released his grip. The belt uncoiled from his hand and flew past her feet.

She took a noisy breath and sat up. Her hands plucked at the top of the bag, trying to pull it off her head as if it were a stubborn jersey.

Melvin dropped down behind her. Sitting on the next stair up, he forced Patricia’s arms down and wrapped his legs around her, pinning the arms to her sides. Then, he bent over her head and hugged the bag against her face.

When she was dead, he took off her white stockings first.

Vicki flinched awake, gasping. She rolled onto her side, hushed the clamor of the alarm clock, and flopped onto her back. She stared at the dark ceiling. She was breathless, her heart slamming, her head throbbing with pain.

She couldn’t recall the nightmare, but it must’ve been a doozy. No doubt featuring Melvin.

She lifted an arm out from under the sheet, and rubbed her forehead. It felt hot and damp. When she rubbed her scalp, she found her hair drenched.

Coming down with something? she wondered. Felt like a hangover. Though she’d stayed up late last night in the kitchen with Ace, she’d had nothing to drink except Coke. Probably just a bad case of nightmare.

Though Vicki’s breathing and heart rate seemed to be normal again, she still had the headache. And she felt leaden.

Forget about running this morning, she thought. Just take some aspirin, try to go back to sleep, and hope you can shake the headache.

She brushed the sheet aside. Moaning with the effort, she sat up. From the feel of the warm breeze on her skin, she knew that something was wrong. She looked down. Her left breast was bare. The bodice of the nightgown hung below it. Thinking that the spaghetti strap must’ve slipped off her shoulder, she ran a hand up her arm. The strap wasn’t there.

Must’ve pulled loose.

She swung her legs off the bed and turned on the lamp. Squinting against the brightness, she lifted the pocket of lacy fabric over her breast. At its edge was a ragged notch.

Vicki scowled at it.

She stood and peeled the damp nightgown off her body. She caught the dangling cord. At its tip was the small patch of fabric torn from the front.

“Good God,” she muttered.

Normal tossing and turning couldn’t have done this, no matter how feverish her sleep had been.

She stepped over to the closet door and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. The strap had left a thin red mark on the top of her left shoulder.

Someone had grabbed the nightgown and ripped it from her breast.

Someone, she thought. Guess who.

Unless her room had been invaded during the night by a roaming molester, or Ace was a closet lesbian, Vicki had torn the nightgown herself. The other two possibilities seemed remote. Ace had never shown any inclination toward sexual contact with Vicki. Even if she was interested, she was hardly the type to sneak around copping feels. As for a stranger visiting the room, who was likely to come in and do no more than expose one of her breasts?

Vicki felt certain that nobody could’ve given the nightgown a yank like that without waking her up. It must’ve hurt, the cord abrading her shoulder that way.

She’d done it herself, probably in the throes of the nightmare.

And that frightened her.

She’d been assuming that the nightmares would taper off. Instead, they seemed to be getting worse.

What’s next, sleep-walking?

She tossed the nightgown across a chair, opened the closet door and put on her light, satin robe. Then she made her way through the hall, past Ace’s open door, and entered the bathroom. After using the toilet, she took a bottle of aspirin out of her overnight bag and washed down three tablets with a glass of water.

Back in the bedroom, she shed the robe, re-set her alarm clock for eight and turned off the lamp. She stretched out on the bed. The damp, cool sheet felt good against her bare skin. The breeze from the open window roamed over her. She rubbed the back of her stiff neck, folded her hands beneath her wet hair and gazed at the ceiling, wondering if she would be able to fall asleep—wondering if she dared.

She dreamed she was on the diving raft with Paul. The sun hadn’t come up yet, and a heavy mist hung over the river. She could see nothing beyond the edges of the platform. “I love you so much,” she said.

“I’ll always love you,” he told her.

She felt a terrible ache of emptiness and longing. “I want this morning to be special, something we can always have and always remember, even if we never see each other again.”

He took her into his arms and kissed her. Vicki began to weep.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You’ll be going away.”

“I’ll come back. Someday, I’ll come back to you.”

“Do you promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He crossed his heart. Then Vicki began to unbutton his shirt. “What’re you doing?”

“We’re going to make love.”

“Here?”

“Nobody can see us.”

Soon, they both were naked. Vicki lay on her back. Paul, stretched out beside her, braced up on an elbow, slid his hand softly over her skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

She curled her fingers around his penis.

Moaning, he climbed onto her. He knelt between her spread legs. He kissed her breasts. “You’re awful nice to me,” he said. But it wasn’t Paul’s voice. “I’m gonna be nice to you.” He licked her nipple and Vicki grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head up. Melvin grinned at her.

She started to scream. Melvin slapped a bandaged hand across her mouth. “I’m gonna be real nice to you.”

“No, please!” Somehow, she was able to speak in spite of his hand.

“It’s okay. See?” He held a foil-wrapped condom above her face.

“No!” she cried out. “Please!”

“Get on with it, would you? We haven’t got all day.” Someone else was with them on the raft.

Vicki turned her head.

Dexter Pollock was kneeling beside them. He took off his robe. He was naked except for a gun belt, and a police badge pinned to his chest. Trickles of blood ran down his breast from the pin holes made by the badge.

“Hey!” someone yelled from a distance. “What’s going on out there?”

The mist lifted. Across the water, far up the beach, was a man sitting atop the playground slide.

Dexter drew his revolver and fired. The man toppled backward and fell to the ground behind the slide’s ladder.

Melvin, kneeling above her, now had jumper cables in his hands. He touched the clamps together and sparks exploded from the sharp copper teeth.

Vicki, yelping, clutched her breasts and lurched upright in bed. The room was bright with sunlight. The clock showed 7:50. In ten more minutes, the alarm would’ve gone off. She wished it had. If the alarm had blared, the sudden waking might’ve shocked the dream from her memory.

Every detail remained vivid.

Her headache seemed to be gone, but her neck muscles felt like iron.

Ace opened the door and peered in. “You okay?”

Vicki nodded. She pulled the sheet up to cover herself.

“You yelled.”

“Had a nightmare.”

“You look like death warmed over and pissed on.”

“Thanks. Feel like it, too.”

Ace came in. She was holding a mug of coffee. Her hair was in curlers. She wore her Minnie Mouse nightshirt. Its front bobbed and swayed and she walked. “Here,” she said, “take this.” She handed the mug to Vicki. “You need it more than me.”

Vicki sipped the hot coffee. She sighed.

Ace sat on the edge of the bed. “Must’ve been a sweetie of a nightmare.”

“Started off just great. Then Melvin and Pollock showed up.”

“I would’ve yelled, too.”

“Jesus.”

“You’re dripping.”

“I know. That’s twice in one night.”

“Same dream?”

Vicki shrugged. “I don’t remember the first one. I’ve been having these damn things ever since I got into town.”

“Every night?”

“I think so.”

“Your psyche must be a wreck.”

“It’s being around Melvin again. He’s in all of them, coming after me. At least the ones I remember.”

“Subconsciously, you desire him.”

“Oh, right. Take a leap.”

“Hope they aren’t premonitions.”

Vicki sneered at her.

Ace patted her leg through the sheet. “I know just what’ll fix you up, hon. A boyfriend, that’s what you need. Fall in love, that’ll take your mind off the Amazing Melvin.”