Flesh

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.