Shit, no.
She gripped the door handle. Her thumb depressed the leaf-shaped metal tab and she heard the latch draw back. But she didn’t open the door.
She licked her lips.
Do it, she told herself. Get your damned suitcase and get the hell out of here. Grab it, you’ll be back in Jerry’s house in about fifteen seconds, maybe eight if you put on the old spring.
She took a deep breath.
Maybe I should wait for Jerry, she thought.
Damn it, the suitcase is right at the door. All I have to do is reach in. Maybe one step into the house, that’s all. Then I’m home free.
She swung open the door.
The house was dark. It was supposed to be. Fredrick’s timer was set to shut off the lamp at eleven.
Her suitcase was a dim shape on the floor, just far enough inside so the opening door wouldn’t knock against it.
Exactly where she’d left it.
No sweat.
Glad I didn’t wake Jerry up for this.
She stepped over the threshold, took one more step, bent forward and reached for the suitcase handle.
A pale hand shot past the edge of the door, snatched Gillian’s wrist, and swung her stumbling forward into the dark. The suitcase tripped her. She knocked it over and fell across it.
The hand on her wrist was gone.
The front door thudded shut.
She scurried forward, knees on the suitcase, then on the carpet. She started to push herself up, but someone landed on her back, smashing her down flat. Her breath blasted out. She turned her head in time to prevent the front of her face from pounding the floor, and pain flashed through her cheek-bone and jaw. Then something—a fist?—struck the other side of her face.
She wondered vaguely what was happening. Somebody’s been waiting behind the door?
Not...
She couldn’t think of the name. The owner. Not him. Not him! A burglar? She’d left the door unlocked.
Another punch smashed the side of her face.
The weight left her body. Fingers dug into her armpits and she was lifted. Her knees rested on the floor for a moment. Then she was hoisted higher, jerked backward against a body, swung around and pulled, heels dragging along the carpet. Out of the living room. Into the hall. Through a doorway.
The hands thrust her away and let go. She flapped her arms, grabbing at the darkness for a moment before she hit the floor flat on her back. A dim figure leaped past her sprawled body.
She squinted when light stabbed her eyes.
Through a tingling in her ears, she heard a man’s voice. “Oh, you’re a beauty, a real first-rate beauty.”
She raised her head. A man was standing near her feet, smiling down at her. He looked younger than thirty. He looked clean-cut with his short brown hair, white knit shirt and blue slacks. There was glee in his smile and eyes.
It’s him, Gillian thought. Oh Jesus.
“I’m glad you dropped in,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you. Knew you’d be back.”
He unbuckled his belt and slid it out of the loops of his slacks. He doubled it.
“Does anybody know you’re here?”
Gillian shook her head. She raised her knees.
“Answer me.”
“No,” she gasped. “Nobody knows.”
“Where were you tonight?”
“No place.”
“Not what I wanted to hear,” he said, and rushed forward, swinging the belt.
Gillian flung up her arms. The belt snapped against her, lashed her arms and belly and legs as the man danced around her, bending and whipping. She rolled over and covered her head. The belt smacked her back and buttocks. She shivered with the stinging pain. She heard herself whimpering, making sharp sucking sounds each time the belt hit her.
He’s not going to stop, she thought. He’s ... enjoying himself.
When he pranced past her head, she reached out and grabbed his ankles. She tugged, but he stayed up and lashed her harder than before, the belt whistling and slapping her sides and rump. Lurching forward, she tried to bite his ankle. He tore himself free and leaped backward in time to avoid her teeth.
“Ooee! A fighter! I’m gonna have fun with you.”
Dropping to his knees in front of Gillian, he grabbed her hair. She yelped and felt as if her scalp were being ripped as she was jerked up.
They were both on their knees, facing each other.
His fists were tight against the sides of her head, clenching her hair.
His face was blurry through Gillian’s tears, but she saw that he was still smiling. He had slobber on his chin.
His hands shot down. They snatched the neck of her blouse and yanked. The front flew open and he peeled the blouse off her shoulders, tugging it halfway down so it pinned her arms at her sides.
He stared at her breasts. His eyes were so wide they seemed lidless.
“Where were you tonight?” he asked.
“I ... went ... for a walk.”
“Bad lie.” He pinched her nipples and twisted them. As pain streaked through her, she realized vaguely that he had let go, and then she saw a fist floating up from his side. It seemed to be coming at her very slowly and she thought that she should have no trouble at all ducking it, and then it crashed into her face.
The telephone was ringing. Gillian felt a rush of terror.
I won’t answer it, she thought. If I don’t pick it up, Mom and Dad will be all right. Just ignore it. It’ll stop.
It didn’t stop.
She sat up in bed.
The handset was in its cradle. Blood streamed from both ends. Puddles of blood were spreading over the top of the nightstand.
“No!” she cried out. “Stop!”
The phone kept ringing. The blood began to dribble off the nightstand’s edges.
Then the handset leaped from the cradle and flew at her. It sprayed her face with blood. It wrapped the cord around her neck. She started to choke. She pulled at the cord, but it tangled her hands, bound them.
The mouthpiece pressed against her mouth, spouting blood down her throat as the cord strangled her.
Then the receiver mashed her ear. “Your turn,” whispered the voice of the phone. “Your turn now.”
Gillian jerked awake.
But the nightmare didn’t stop. She
A surge of motion tipped Gillian.
Something was vibrating under her. She could hear an engine sound and the hiss of wheels spinning on a road.
I’m in a car.
Her eyes saw only black. She blinked them to make sure they were open.
On a car floor. The back seat floor? she wondered. But no light. None at all. And no driveshaft bump under my side.
Gillian’s legs were bent. She began to straighten them, very slowly in case the movement should tighten the
