And snapped open again.
In one limp hand she held a glass of wine. The wine was red and dark. Staring into its ruby depths she saw ...
But the glass slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor. Rising up on an arm, she looked down at it. Watched the stem snap away ...
Smoothly. Neatly.
She stared at it for what seemed like an age. Then her eyes slid beyond the glass to the patch of spilt wine spreading around it.
Whose?
Her face felt taut, expressionless. As if her skull was hard, molded wax. She glanced down at her arms, turning them over, this way and that. Studied her hands.
No blood there.
Her arms fell, heavily, and her eyes strayed down the length of her body. It came as no surprise to see that she was naked. Naked and glistening with sweat. It was so hot.
She opened her mouth to scream but nothing came.
Then, like angry snakes, cords and wires whipped themselves around her ankles. Cutting into her flesh. At the same time, her wrists crushed violently together. She jerked with the shock and pain. Beads of sweat and blood eased out of her pores.
A strangled scream broke from Gillian’s lips.
And another one. Louder this time.
In a frenzy of fear, she kicked and floundered in the tub; her body thrashed, the water heaving around her like a storm at sea. Her wrists, mashed tight together, were thrust up high before her.
She came to with a jolt.
Her hands hit water, hard. With a tremendous splash, waves of it smacked her face, stung her eyes ...
“No panic, Gilly-babes. Just your friendly neighborhood nightmare,” she muttered, clutching her arms across her breasts and shivering some more.
“So I dropped off in the tub. Lesson to be learned there. Never relax on the job, babe. Take a tub, sure. But
Toweling herself dry, she dwelt on the mystery telephone caller. Who could it have been? She shrugged and slipped into a long, hooded terri-cloth robe she found hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Maybe she would never know.
Tying the belt tightly around her waist, she dug her hands deep into the pockets. A grateful smile curved her lips. So long, nightmare. Time for beddy-byes.
She felt warmer already.
Snuggling between the satin sheets on Uncle Fredrick’s Amazing Wonderbed, she curled up into a fetal ball. Undulating gently with her movements, the bed reminded her of the bath she’d just climbed out of.
She still felt shaky after her weird experience.
After falling asleep in the tub.
That, and her scary dream or nightmare, whatever it had been. She told herself that similar slip-ups must never, ever happen again. Her intrusions were based on perfect planning. No, she prided herself on being the consummate strategist, right?
So no more sloppy hiccups. Okay?
She shuddered and shook her head, making the bed bounce some more. What if Fredrick Holden had come home early and found her hallucinating in his tub?
Yeah.
When Gillian woke up in the morning, a mild breeze was stirring the curtains. She squirmed a little, enjoying the feel of the satin sheets sliding against her bare skin and the way the water-filled mattress undulated. Turning over, she saw herself on the ceiling. She drew the sheet away, stretched, and folded her hands under her head.
Fredrick Holden might have a few quirks, she thought, but she had to admit that the combination of water bed, satin sheets and mirrors was rather appealing. She wouldn’t want to have such things herself, but they would be nice for the few days she hoped to stay here.
Gillian was in no rush to leave the bed.
Soon, she found herself sliding around, rolling, savoring the smooth feel of the sheet and the warm breeze from the window. She tried every position she could dunk of and watched herself in the mirrors, at first with simple curiosity about how she looked from the different angles. Then she imagined a man being with her, a man admiring her display. He had the face of Jerry from next door. She twisted and writhed and contorted herself into erotic poses for his benefit, and suddenly blushed with shame.
For godsake, she thought, what am I doing?
She sprang from the bed. She was sweaty and breathing hard.
The blue satin bottom sheet, dark in places from her moist body, swelled and sank like the skin of something alive and panting.
Fredrick’s Amazing Wonderbed. Too true, Gillian thought. Climb aboard, folks. See the astounding Miracle Mirrors transform you before your very eyes into lusting slaves of carnality.
Come one, come all.
Who’re you kidding? Gillian thought. It’s not the bed and mirrors, it’s me.
Been alone too much.
She opened her suitcase, took out her white bikini and hurried to the bathroom. She dried herself before putting it on.
In the kitchen, she made coffee. While she waited for the pot to fill, she went to the den, opened the curtains, and slid the glass door wide. Most of the concrete slab behind the house was still in shade. The breeze felt good on her hot skin. She returned to the bedroom for her sunglasses and book, then poured herself a mug of coffee. and stepped outside.
The redwood lounge chair needed a pad. She found one in a storage room alongside the garage. Then she sat down, crossed her legs, and drank coffee while she read her Simon Clark paperback.
When the mug was empty, she wandered over to the fence. On tiptoes, she peered into Jerry’s back yard. He wasn’t there. He had a big pool that shimmered in the morning sunlight, a patio set with an umbrella over the table, a couple of loungers and a barbecue.
It was against procedure, she reminded herself, to get involved with neighbors. It was risky. Too much danger of letting something slip. You make the brief, initial contact to allay their suspicions, then you stay away from them.
Curious that Jerry had wandered into her Wonderbed fan- . tasy.
A little disturbing.
Disturbing, too, that she had hoped to see him when she looked over the fence.
The last thing you need is to get interested in some guy, she thought. All they do is mess you up.
Gillian went into the house for more coffee, then resumed reading until the mug was empty again.
