Flesh

“Anyway, the thing is, she didn’t come back. I stayed by the front door, near the bar. I heard her wandering around. After a while, she called out and said she’d found the wine cellar. I guess she went down there. I waited a long time, Jase, but she didn’t come back.”

“So you ran off and left her?”

“No. Not then, anyway. I went to the kitchen. It was…that’s where those two people got killed. There was blood. Lots of it.”

“You must’ve felt right at home,” Jason muttered. There was no humor in his tone. He sounded annoyed and worried.

“It was pretty disgusting. Anyway, I found an open door with stairs leading down to the cellar. I shined my flashlight down, but I couldn’t see her. Then I called her name a few times. She didn’t answer. Finally, I started to go down. I was pretty damn scared, but I’d made up my mind I had to find her. I’d just gone down a couple of stairs when I heard someone laugh. It was a real quiet, nasty laugh. That’s when I got the fuck out of there.”

Jason’s mouth hung open. He gazed at Roland with wide, bloodshot eyes.

“I ran out and got in the car. She’d left the keys in it. I thought I’d go for the police, and then I realized it must’ve been Dana who’d laughed that way.”

“Did it sound like her?”

“God, who knows? When I heard it, I thought it sounded like a man. Then I got to thinking, and I was sure it must’ve been Dana. She did it to scare me off. You know? To win the bet. So I was sitting in her car and she’d won the hundred bucks by pulling that stunt and scaring me off, so I got kind of pissed at her and I figured it’d serve her right if I just took off with the car and left her there. So that’s what I did.”

“Jesus.”

Roland shrugged. “It’s just a few miles out. I figured, let her walk. She’s probably back at her dorm by now.”

Jason got up without another word and left the room. Roland went to the door and watched him stride down the corridor—heading for one of the pay phones near the exit door.

Roland sat on his bed and waited. His story had sounded quite convincing, he thought. He forced his smile away in time to greet Jason with a somber face.

“I talked to Kerry. Dana isn’t back yet. She sounded pretty worried.”

“Maybe Dana got a late start. Like I said, it’s a few miles. If you want, we could drive out that way and give her a lift.”

“Let’s go.”

Jason’s car was low on gas, so he said they should take Dana’s Volkswagen. He told Roland to drive. Then he settled in the passenger seat and shut his eyes. “Tell me when we get there,” he said.

He wished he’d taken it easy on the booze, yesterday. All that champagne at the reception, then dinner with his folks—cocktails, more champagne, brandy afterward. Great fun at the time, but now he had a headache and his stomach felt as if he’d been eating rotten eggs. And his body seemed to buzz.

Should’ve skipped the whole deal, he thought. Could’ve been here last night, instead, making it with Dana. Then none of this would’ve happened.

What did those two think they were doing, going out to some damn empty restaurant like that?

Easy to figure. Dana wanted to mess with Roland’s head. Never could stand the guy. As for Roland, he probably had some fancy hopes of putting it to her. Lotsa luck on that one, pal. You were the last guy on earth, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Hates your guts, pal.

What if he tried and she told him to fuck off and he went ape and nailed her?

The thoughts made Jason’s heart pound harder, sending jolts of pain into his head.

Roland might be a little peculiar, he told himself, but the guy wouldn’t pull something like that. He might want to, but he didn’t have the guts. Especially not with Dana.

But it could’ve started with a small disagreement. Dana turned mean, lashed out at him with that tongue of hers. Next thing you know, Roland strikes back.

If he hurt her, I’ll kill him.

Jason rubbed his temples. He remembered a talk with Roland, late one night in the darkness of their room when they both were lying awake.

Jason: If you could fuck any girl on campus, who’d it be? Aside from Dana.

Roland: I don’t want to fuck Dana.

Jason: Oh, sure.

Roland: Geez, I don’t know.

Jason: Just one. Who’d it be?

Roland: Mademoiselle LaRue. (His French teacher.)

Jason: You’re joking. She’s a bitch.

Roland: She’s a real piece.

Jason: She’s a bitch. What are you, a glutton for punishment? Roland: First, I’d tie her up. I’d throw the rope over a rafter or something, so she’s hanging there. Then I’d take out my knife and cut off all her clothes. When she’s all naked, I’d start cutting on her.

Jason: Pervert. I said “fuck,” not “torture.”

Roland: Oh, I’d get around to that. Eventually. But I’d want to have some fun with her, first.

Jason: Fun? You are warped, man. Definitely warped.

Just a fantasy of his, Jason told himself. The guy’s a chicken. He’d never actually try to do anything like that, not with Mademoiselle LaRue or Dana or anyone else. All just talk.

Better be.

He opened his eyes and looked at Roland.

“Almost there,” Roland said. “I’ve been watching the road. Surprised we haven’t run across her walking. But you know, she could’ve been getting back about the time we started out. Maybe we just missed her.”

Or maybe she’s at the restaurant, tied up and hanging from a rafter, stripped and cut up…

“She better be all right,” Jason muttered.

“God, I hope so,” Roland said. “I keep thinking about that laugh I heard in the cellar. I mean, suppose it wasn’t Dana?” His lips pulled into a tight line. He looked in pain. “If anything happened to her, it’s all my fault. I should’ve gone down there. I should’ve.”

Ahead, on the right, was a sign for the Oakwood Inn. Roland slowed the car and swung onto a narrow road in front of the sign.

“What if someone was down there?” he said. “Like a pervert or something, and he got her? Maybe he hangs around the place, just waiting for people to come along.”

“You’ve seen too many of those splatter movies,” Jason told him.

“That kind of thing happens, though. In real life. Look at Psycho and Texas Chainsaw Massacre. They were both based on real life, on that Ed Gein guy in Wisconsin. Know what he used to do, he used to dress up in the skins of his victims— wear ’em like clothes.”

“Hey, come on. I don’t want to hear this.”

“All his neighbors thought he was a real neat guy because he’d bring them gifts of meat. What they didn’t know, the meat was human.”

“For Christsake, cut it out.”

“I’m just saying it’s not just in movies. Weird shit happens.”

Roland stopped the car in front of the restaurant. He turned off the engine. He frowned at Jason. “Wish I’d brought my knife,” he whispered. “I mean, there’s probably nobody in there, but…”

“Wait in the car if you’re scared.” Jason threw open the door and climbed out. He walked straight to the porch stairs. He took them two at a time.

Bad enough, he thought, without Roland talking about that stuff and acting like he’s scared some nut might be hiding in the restaurant.