Fiends

    She aimed for Willy’s face as he came gliding toward her.

    It was only then that she noticed the shiny blades of glass jutting out of his eyes. And the wide wedge of glass jammed into his mouth, giving him such a big, strange grin. And the slash across his throat.

    She held fire.

    A ceiling beam creaked, and Willy began to glide backward again.

    Marty suddenly realized that he was suspended by his wrists.

    He swung back and forth below the rope like a mutilated Tarzan.

    Lowering her gaze, Marty saw that his genitals were gone.

    So was his left foot.

    When she was done throwing up, Marty entered the shack and looked around. She tried not to look at Willy.

    Nobody else seemed to be there.

    She found lots of blood, especially on the floor near Willy’s dangling body. And on the wall and floor near the broken front window. And on the mattress.

    There was a lot of semen on the mattress, too.

    He must’ve brought someone here. Grabbed some other poor girl after I got away…

    Someone tougher than he counted on.

    Tough enough to take him out.

    ‘Hello?’ she called.

    No answer came.

    ‘Anybody here?’

    Still, no answer.

    ‘Whoever you are… if you can hear me, thanks. I came here to kill the bastard, but you beat me to it.’ Marty suddenly found herself smiling. ‘You did a good job on him! You did a great job!’

    After a few moments, she called, ‘Do you need a ride out of here? Or help? Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention? Hello? I’ll do anything I can for you!’

    Nothing.

    She spent a while longer looking around - hoping Willy’s tough victim - his killer - might return.

    She searched the entire shack.

    As she walked out with the shotgun slung over her shoulder, she wondered what had become of the person.

    She also wondered what had become of Willy’s left foot and his genitals.

    She climbed into the car, turned it around, and headed back for Jack’s place.

46

    The next morning, Tina walked out of the woods and onto the road.

    She was barefoot.

    She was clean from soaking in the lake last night. The lake water had sure felt good on her sunburn and on a lot of places where Willy had hurt her. She supposed she might’ve stayed in it all night, but her hands and arms kept on bleeding.

    So then she’d waded out and hunted around until she found the remains of her paisley dress under the tree where Willy had torn it off her. Willy had ruined it, shredding it with his teeth like that.

    But the shreds had turned out to make very fine bandages. She’d bound the cuts on her arms and hands with bright, shiny rags.

    She’d tied a piece around her left ankle, like a broad bandage, to conceal the handcuffs there.

    And she’d made herself a bikini top by knotting a few pieces together.

***

    After sunrise, she’d returned to the shack. Willy was antsy, and he stank. She’d gotten out as fast as she could.

    Outside, she’d used Willy’s pocket knife to take the legs off his jeans and make herself a pair of cut-offs to wear. She’d put on the shorts, then dropped the knife into her pocket.

    The knife had come in mighty handy in the shack last night. Without it, she’d still be cuffed to Willy.

    She planned to keep the knife forever.

    And keep it always ready, just in case.

    Now, walking alongside the road, she heard the sound of an engine. Turning around, she watched a bright blue pickup truck come around a bend.

    She put out her arm to hitch a ride.

    It was no surprise when the pickup stopped for her. No surprise at all. Not the way she was dressed.

    She bent toward the passenger window.

    The driver, a nice-looking young man, smiled at her. He wore a T-shirt and tan shorts. His smile looked friendly. ‘Can I give you a lift?’ he asked, and glanced at her flimsy, makeshift bikini top.

    ‘You aren’t some kind of pervert or fiend, are you?’

    He suddenly blushed. ‘Me? Nope.’

    ‘Better not be,' Tina said. ‘I’d hate to have to kill you.’

    ‘You and me both,’ he said, and laughed a little.

    Smiling, she climbed in.

    ‘Where to?’ he asked.

    ‘Home,’ she said.

Kitty litter

    ‘She’s here for a kitty!’

    My flinch came to an end before the second word was out of her mouth, but my heart still thudded fast and hard. I’d thought I was alone, you see. I was stretched out on my lounger beside my backyard pool, surrounded by redwood fence, enjoying a new 87th Precinct paperback, savoring the feel of the sunlight and the warm breeze.

    The invasion took me by complete surprise.

    After the jolt by the imperious voice, I jerked my head sideways and saw the girl.

    Already, she was inside the gate and marching boldly toward me.

    I knew right away who she was.

    Monica from down the block.

    Though we’d never actually met, I’d seen Monica around. And heard her. She had a loud, nasal voice which she operated primarily to snap back at her poor mother and berate her little friends.

    I knew her name because she was often the subject of shouted warnings and threats. I also knew it because she used it herself. She belonged to the odd tribe that refers to itself in the third person.

    She was about ten years old, I suppose.

    If I had not been so unfortunate as to observe her behavior on previous occasions, I certainly would’ve been struck by the beauty of the girl striding toward me. She had rich brown hair, gleaming eyes, excellent facial features, a flawless complexion, and a slender body. She didn’t look beautiful to me, however.