Flesh

The gag had certainly worked.

Scared the hell out of Roland.

Wet his pants.

Funny how he hadn’t tried to hide that, just flashed the light down there to show her the damage as if it were nothing.

In fact, he’d been awfully calm about letting her take the pictures. Even pulled his pants down without much protest.

After having the headless ghost come at him, everything else must’ve seemed easy.

Maybe he’s in shock, or something.

Probably is.

On top of which, he’s scared shitless I’ll drive off and leave him. He knows he damn well better cooperate. Without the key, he’s stuck and he knows it.

Dana shined the light down at her body. Most of the flour was off, but her skin was still dusted white. She would need to take a shower when she got back.

After dressing, she slipped the envelope containing the photos into a rear pocket of her jeans. She pulled the poncho over her head and picked up Roland’s pack.

Her dorm room was without a kitchen, so she had no further use for the flour. She left the open bag on the floor and returned to the cocktail area.

Roland still sat with his back against the bar and his legs stretched out. He looked as if he hadn’t moved at all while she was gone.

“So,” Dana said. “I guess you’re ready to leave.”

He nodded.

“I don’t want pee on my car seat.”

“I’ll sit on my sleeping bag.”

“I’ve got a better idea. How about if you walk back to campus?”

“It’s raining.”

“Yeah, well, you can use a shower.”

“Just give me the key.”

Dana stepped to the table. “I knew you wouldn’t last out the night,” she said. The small key to the handcuffs glinted among the bottles and glasses. She picked it up. “The cuffs were a pretty neat idea, though. You would’ve won for sure if I hadn’t come along. But you lost, all right. I always knew you were a chicken. I guess you knew it, too, or you wouldn’t have cuffed yourself in. Huh? You knew you didn’t have the guts to stick it out.”

She twisted the cap off a bottle of vodka. They key was small enough to fit through the bottle’s neck. She dropped it. The key made a quiet splash. A moment later, it clinked against the bottom. She screwed the cap back on and tightened it with all her strength.

“Do yourself a favor,” she suggested. “Drink your way down to the key. It’ll help take the sting out of your hike.”

Dana tossed the bottle onto his lap.

At the door, she smiled back at him and said, “Cheers.”

The door bumped shut. Roland, in the darkness, clamped the bottle between his legs and twisted the cap off. He tugged his T-shirt up. Dumped vodka onto his belly until the key fell onto his bare skin. Flung the bottle away. Peeled the key off his belly and unlocked the cuff at his wrist.

Dana, walking quickly through the rain, was only a few yards from her car when she figured that Roland had probably succeeded, by now, in removing the handcuffs. It would still take him a while to gather up his sleeping bag. She glanced back, anyway.

Roland!

He looked crazy sprinting toward her, his head thrown back and his mouth wide, his arms windmilling as if he were trying to swim, not run.

In his right hand was a knife.

Dana raced for the car.

She thought, that was damn quick of him.

She thought, what’s he doing with that knife?

Where are my keys?

In the ignition.

Lucky. No fumbling.

She grabbed the door handle and pulled. The force of her pull ripped her fingers from the handle and she remembered she had left the car by its passenger door.

She whirled around.

Roland was almost upon her.

“Okay, look, you can ride back with me!”

He stopped. His lip curled up.

“Hey, Roland, come on.”

He clutched the front of her poncho, jerked her forward, and rammed the knife into her belly.

Roland pulled the knife out. He shoved Dana backward, keeping his grip on the poncho, and lowered her to the pavement. She sat there, moaning and holding her belly.

Roland sat on her legs.

He punched her nose and she flopped back. Her head thumped the pavement. She didn’t lose consciousness, but she didn’t struggle. Rain fell on her face. She blinked and gasped for air.

Straddling her, Roland plucked the front of the poncho away from her body, poked his knife through it, and sliced the plastic sheet open to her throat.

“Plea—” she gasped.

He cut open the front of her sweatshirt and spread it apart.

Rain sluiced away the blood on her belly, but more blood poured from the gash. Her chest rose and fell as she panted. Roland stared at her breasts. Then he put his knife away.

Bending low, he stretched out his arms. He held her breasts. They were wet and slick, warm beneath the wetness.

He kissed the gash on her belly.

He sucked blood from it.

Dana shrieked and jerked rigid beneath him when he bit.

She stayed alive for a long time. It was better that way.

Her heart still throbbed when Roland tore it from her chest cavity.

He was almost full, so he didn’t eat much of it. He stuffed what was left into her chest, then crawled to her head.

He scalped her, cracked open her skull with the pry bar, and scooped out her warm, dripping brain.

The best part.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Just after sunrise, Roland returned to campus. He left Dana’s car in the lot behind his dorm, and hurried into the lobby. He rushed upstairs, along the quiet corridor, and got inside his room without being seen—lucky, since he was naked except for his windbreaker.

He dropped his backpack to the floor, then took off his windbreaker and inspected it for blood. He’d been very