Flesh

Wait till she leaves, and nail her while she’s walking home?

If the guy’s any kind of gentleman, he’ll walk her home. Besides, I want her inside somewhere so I won’t have to worry about intrusions.

I’ll want a long time alone with her.

Go on back to the dorm, he decided, and look her up in the directory.

Yeah.

Roland rubbed his sweaty, trembling hands on his shirt.

“Hurry home, Alison,” he whispered.

Then he hurried away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jake saw a blonde girl on a tricycle behind the chain link gate at the end of a house’s driveway. She wore a white blouse.

Kimmy?

He could only see her back.

What would she be doing here, riding a trike? Maybe this is a friend’s house. Barbara said she’d phoned all of…

The right front of the patrol car tipped upward. Jake forced his eyes away from the girl. He jammed the brake pedal down, but not in time, and the car slammed into the trunk of oak. The impact flung him forward. The safety harness locked, caught him across the shoulder and chest, and threw him back against his seat.

The girl, hearing the crash, looked over her shoulder.

She wasn’t Kimmy.

Smoke or steam began rolling out from under the hood. Jake turned off the engine. He released the harness latch. Trembling, he opened the door and got out to see what had happened. He shook his head. He couldn’t believe it.

Watching the girl, he’d let the car turn. Its right front tire had climbed the corner of the driveway and he’d smacked into a tree on the grassy stretch between the curb and the sidewalk.

He staggered to the front of the car. It was hissing. The white cloud pouring through the caved-in grill and around the edges of the hood smelled wet and rubbery. He didn’t need to open the hood to know what had happened: he’d ruptured the radiator.

Dropping onto the driver’s seat, he reached for the radio mike.

“Thanks for the lift,” he muttered, and climbed out of unit one.

“Grab some rest before you start looking again,” Danny suggested.

“Sure.” He swung the door shut. The cruiser pulled away.

Jake walked up the driveway toward his car, digging into a pocket for his keys. He felt exhausted and sick to his stomach. His head throbbed. He needed badly to urinate. On wobbly legs, he turned away from the driveway and crossed his lawn to the front door.

He let himself in. Though it was dusk outside, the house was dark. He turned on a light in the living room.

After using the toilet, he swallowed three aspirin. He rubbed the back of his stiff neck. In the medicine cabinet mirror, he looked as bad as he felt. His hair was mussed. His red eyes seemed strangely vacant. His face had a grayish pallor. Under his arms, his uniform blouse was stained with sweat.

He washed his face, then went to his bedroom. He started to take off his damp clothes.

You thought it was bad yesterday. You thought searching the Oakwood was bad.

You didn’t know the meaning of bad.

He peeled off his wet socks and underwear and left them on the floor. He took fresh ones, from his dresser, knew he would probably fall if he tried to step into them, sat down on his bed, put on the fresh underwear, then the socks. Groaning, he stood up again. He went to the closet for a clean shirt. He slipped into it, tried to fasten a button, and gave up. He took a pair of brown corduroy pants off their hanger and carried them to the bed. Sitting down, he pulled them up his legs.

Yesterday was nothing, he thought. Yesterday it was your goddamn imagination working overtime.

He remembered checking under his bed for the snakething and almost blasting Cookie Monster.

Me want cookie!

His eyes burned and tears blurred his vision.

He turned his head to the nightstand where he had placed Cookie after coming so close to putting a bullet between its bobbly eyes.

The doll was gone.

Jake knew he’d left it there.

He checked the floor around the nightstand. Then he was on his feet, all the weariness and pain washed away by a cleansing surge of hope, on his feet and pulling up his pants and rushing from his room and across the hall and hitting the light switch and finding Cookie Monster on Kimmy’s bed, snug against the side of Kimmy’s neck, held there by her tiny hand.

Then Jake was on his knees, his arm across her hot back, his face against her shoulder.

“Barbara, she’s here. She’s fine.”

“Oh, my God!” For a long time, Barbara said nothing more. Jake listened to her weeping. Finally, she found enough control to ask, “Where is she?”

“Here. At my house.”

“Where did you find her?”

“Right here, I came back to get the car, and—”

“That’s impossible. It’s miles.”

“A little more than three, I guess.”

“Oh, damn you! Why didn’t you look there first!”

“I thought about it, I just…it seemed…it’s so far. I didn’t even think she’d know the way, much less walk that far. I still can hardly believe it. But she’s here.”

“Do you have any idea the hell I’ve been going through?”

“It’s over now. She’s safe.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“She’s asleep.”

“Wake her up, goddamn it!”

“In a while.”

“Now!”

“Calm down. I have to call headquarters and get the search called off. Then I’ll wake her up. She’s probably starving. I’ll get her something to eat and bring her over to you in an hour or so. Have a drink or something. Get hold of yourself. I don’t want you all hysterical when she shows up.”

“Hysterical? Who’s hysterical? I had her dead in a ditch somewhere and all the time she’s off paying a fucking surprise visit to her fucking Daddy!”

“I have to call headquarters,” he repeated. “We’ll be along in a while.” Then he hung up.

When he was done with the second call, he returned to Kimmy’s room. She was still sleeping.

Jake knelt beside her and stroked her head. Her hair was damp. He put a hand on her back. Her skin was very hot through the fabric of her blouse. He felt the rise and fall of her breathing. She snored softly.

Jake tickled the rim of her ear. Without waking up, she rubbed the itch with Cookie Monster’s furry blue head.

He smiled. He had a lump in his throat, but he was better now. Earlier, he’d fallen completely apart. She had slept through all that, fortunately.