He’s still in the kitchen.
If I try smashing the slats, he’ll know I’m here, and what if he gets to me before I can—
Rhonda swung her legs off the bed. She rose slowly. The boxsprings squeaked a bit, but then she was standing. She turned to the queen-sized bed. With trembling hands, she smoothed her pillow, drew up the top sheet, then the electric blanket, then the quilt. A few tugs and the bed looked as if it hadn’t been slept in.
She crouched. She sat on the carpet. She lay back and squirmed sideways, the hanging quilt brushing across her body. It passed over her face. She kept moving. It slid over her left breast, then her shoulder. She scooted in farther. Stopping, she fingered the hem of the quilt. It was five or six inches beyond her left hip and about two inches short of touching the floor.
Good enough.
She lay still, hands pressed to the sides of her thighs. She was trembling badly. She heard her quick thudding heartbeat. She heard herself panting. But she didn’t hear footsteps.
He’s probably out of the kitchen, walking on carpet. Where?
Turning her head, Rhonda could see out with one eye. She watched the bottom of the doorway.
Calm down, she told herself.
Oh, sure thing.
Want him to hear your damn heart drumming?
She let go of her legs, rested her hands on the carpet, and concentrated on letting her muscles relax. She filled her lungs slowly and let the air out.
Calm, she thought. You’re not even here. You’re lying on a beach. You’re at the lake, stretched out on a towel. You can hear the waves lapping in, kids squealing and laughing. You can feel the sun and the breeze on your skin. You’re wearing your white bikini.
You’re naked.
Her stomach twisted.
You’re naked and hiding under a bed and somebody’s in the goddamn house.
She suddenly felt trapped. Though the bed didn’t touch her, it seemed to be pressing down, smothering her. She struggled for breath. She wanted out. She ached to squirm free, scurry to her feet and make a dash for safety.
Calm down. He doesn’t know you’re here.
Maybe he does.
The pale beam of a flashlight danced through the darkness beyond the bedroom door. Rhonda glimpsed it. Then it was gone. She held her breath and stared through the gap, waiting. The beam scrawled a quick curlicue, darted high and vanished again.
He’ll come in soon, Rhonda thought. He’ll find me. God, why didn’t I make a run for it when the window broke?
Why didn’t I go with Mom and Dad to Aunt Betty’s?
She forced herself to take a breath.
The beam of the flashlight slanted through the doorway, swept toward Rhonda and up.
He’s checking the bed, she thought.
See, nobody’s here. So get on with it. Rob the place. Take whatever you want, you bastard, just don’t look under the bed.
With the snap of a switch, the lights came on.
Rhonda’s fingernails dug into her thighs.
Her one eye saw a pair of old jogging shoes in the doorway. The ragged cuffs of blue jeans draped their tops and swayed slightly as the man walked forward.
The shoes stopped, turned, moved toward the closet. Rhonda watched the closet door swing open. She heard some empty hangers clink together. A loop of threads hung from the back of the jeans’ frayed left cuff, dangling almost to the floor.
The shoes turned again. They came toward her, veered away, and passed out of sight as the man walked toward the end of the bed. She heard quiet steps crossing the room.
A sudden clatter and skid of metal made Rhonda flinch.
He must’ve yanked the curtains shut.
What for? The backyard is fenced. Nobody can see in. Maybe he doesn’t know that. Or he knows it, but isn’t taking any chances. Not with the light on.
The bed shuddered. It kept shaking above Rhonda. The edge of the bedspread trembled. She turned her face up. There was only darkness above her, but she pictured the man crawling over the mattress.
What’s he
He’s right on top of me!
The bed squawked as if he’d suddenly flopped down hard. Something wispy—the fabric under the boxsprings?—fluttered briefly against Rhonda’s nose.
She heard a click.
What was that?
Rhonda suddenly knew. The stem on the back of the alarm clock. She’d pulled it after getting into bed, wanting to wake up early for
He knows I’m here.
Rhonda squeezed her eyes shut. This isn’t happening, she thought. Please.
The bed shook a little. Turning her head, Rhonda watched fingers curl under the edge of the quilt near her shoulder. The quilt lifted. There was more rustling above her. The quilt stayed up. Hands lowered and pressed flat against the carpet. Then an upside-down head filled the space between the bed and the floor.
A man, perhaps twenty-five or thirty years old, stared in at her. His light brown hair was cut short. Even though his face was upside-down, he looked handsome. In other circumstances, Rhonda might have found herself attracted to him. But she felt only revulsion.
She squirmed sideways, moving toward the center of the bed.
“Go away!” she gasped.
The man did a quick somersault off the bed, landed lightly on his back, rolled over and peered in at her. One hand darted out like a paw. The hooked fingers missed her upper arm by inches and raked back along the carpet.
Pushing himself up, he crawled on hands and knees toward the end of the bed.
Heading for the other side?
Rhonda heard nothing. She turned her head to watch the quilt along the right side of the bed. It was lower there, touching the floor.
She shrieked as cold hands grabbed her ankles.
They pulled. Rhonda skidded, the carpet burning her back. She swept her arms away from her sides, reached up and clung to the metal bedframe. The pulling hands stretched her. She kicked, barking a shin on the end of the frame. The hands tugged. Her body jerked, leaving the floor and pressing the underside of the boxsprings for an instant before she lost her hold and dropped.
The carpet seared her buttocks and back. She clawed at the bed, ripped the flimsy cloth, tried to grab springs, curled fingertips over the edge of a wooden cross-slat. But the man was dragging her too hard and fast. Nothing could stop her rough slide.
The quilt flapped her face.
Clear of the bed, she squirmed and tried to kick her feet free of the man’s grip. He clamped her ankles against his hips. He smiled as if he enjoyed watching her struggle.
Finally, exhausted, she lay still and panted for breath.
The man kept smiling. He kept her feet pinned to his sides. His head moved as he inspected her with wide, glassy eyes.
Rhonda pressed a hand between her legs. She crossed an arm over her breasts.
The man laughed softly.
He said, “No need of modesty, Rhonda.”
