The water splashing on Karen seemed less hot than before. Sliding forward, she twisted the shower handle down. The spray ceased, and water gushed from the faucet. She stopped all the cold, and continued to fill the tub, a hand under the spout until the falling water started to cool. Then she shut it off.
She lay down, her head against the rear of the tub, all but her face submerged in the warmth. The enamel was slick against her back, but she felt the washcloth under her rump. She pulled it free, wrung it out, and spread it over her face.
Wrapped in heat, she felt tranquil and lazy. The soreness seeped from her muscles. Her limp arms were buoyed up. She forced them down, and slid her fingers beneath her buttocks to stop them from rising.
Her mind began to drift. She was crouching by a mountain stream, splashing herself with water so cold it stung. She saw Scott's eager eyes, felt his hand cup her breast. When he pulled off her shirt, she reminded herself that he hadn't done that; they'd kissed and moved on and found the campsite for their first night. But now he did. He pulled off her shirt and kissed the teeth marks on her breasts. There shouldn't be teeth marks, but there were, and he kissed them gently. He plucked open the drawstring of her sweatpants. She'd been wearing shorts that afternoon, but never mind. They were off and she was sprawled naked on a hot granite slab beside the stream, with the spray of the tumbling water icy on her skin, and the sun hot. Scott, standing between her spread legs, wore only a gray sweatshirt. Karen's sweatshirt. It was much too tight. He struggled to take it off, but couldn't, so he slit it up the front with a straight razor. He knelt down. 'I've got a surprise for you,' he said. Reaching into a bowl, he scooped out a handful of white lather. He spread it on her groin. 'Are you going to shave me?' she asked. Scott didn't answer. He rubbed her with the thick, slippery cream, then piled a huge heap of it on her belly. As he smeared it over her skin, he said, 'It's not what you think.' She asked, 'What is it?' He swirled it over her breasts, made tiny white peaks on each nipple, and licked them off. 'Whipped cream,' he said. 'I'm going to eat you up.' He raised his face and grinned, but he wasn't Scott anymore but a gaunt, wrinkled old woman with watery eyes and crooked brown teeth. There were dabs of whipped cream on her lips and the tip of her nose. 'No! Get away!' Karen gasped. The awful face darted down. She tried to twist away, but the teeth clamped on her breast and sank in. The old woman shook her head like a savaging dog, jerked free, and loomed over Karen's face, chewing a clump of flesh; blood and whipped cream spilled onto Karen's lips. Karen started to scream. Her mouth filled with water.
The choking startled her awake. She spit out a mouthful of water as she lurched upright. The washcloth peeled away from her face. She curled forward, muscles afire as a lit of coughing racked her body.
Gasping and coughing, she thrust herself out of the water. She swept an arm toward the shower curtain, then crabbed a wet fold as her right foot skidded out from under her. The curtain yanked taut, ripped free. Her legs shot out and she was falling. She heard a heavy splash an instant In-fore her head-seemed to explode. She slid down. Water covered her eyes, and then she saw nothing at all.
Kneeling on his bedroom floor, Nick unstrapped his sleeping bag from his pack frame and rolled it aside.
Right now, he thought, he would be lying next to Julie high in the mountains, if only. 'Damn it,' he muttered.
He opened his pack and began to empty it, tossing his dirty clothes into a heap for the laundry hamper, setting aside his cook kit, utensils, and water bottle for a trip to the kitchen, making a third pile of equipment — compass, first-aid kit, rope, toilet articles — that would need no attention and could simply be returned to the pack for the next time.
The next time?
After what had happened at Mesquite, he doubted he would ever want to go backpacking again. But you never know. Always in the past, when he stayed away from the mountains too long, he'd been hit with a longing to return, a strong aching need like homesickness. Maybe he wouldn't get that feeling anymore.
Maybe nothing would ever be the same again.
He'd killed a man. He knotted up at the thought of it. Everyone — even the sheriff deputy after hearing the story — had told him it was all right, that the guy had it coming, that Nick had performed a service by ridding the world of him. Nick had told himself the same thing, over and over, and part of him was glad he'd done it — avenged Karen and Julie, stopped the man from attacking Julie's father with the rock, made it so he would never hurt anyone again.
Hut deep inside he felt a steady tight sickness at the knowledge that he had ended a life. The man was dead. Dead. He would never again feel the sun on his face, or.
Or rape another woman.
If he'd been dead a week ago, he couldn't have attacked Karen or Julie. He couldn't have messed up their lives, and my life.
And if he'd gotten away, there might've been campers tonight or next week or next year to terrorize, maybe kill.
I did the right thing, Nick told himself. I shouldn't have to feel like shit. It's not fair.
'Nick?'
He looked over his shoulder. His father, dressed in a bathrobe, was standing in the doorway.
'Phone call.'
He felt a cold edge of panic. From the look on Dad's lace, though, he realized he had nothing to fear. 'Who is II?'
'A certain Miss O'Toole.'
Nick got to his feet, wincing with the ache of sore muscles, and hobbled down the hallway behind his father.
'You can take it in the den, but stay off the couch in those jeans or your mother'll throw a fit.'
'Right,' he said.
Dad limped into the master bedroom, and Nick hurried ahead to the den. He snatched the phone off its cradle and aid, 'I've got it.' The bedroom extension went dead.
Hello?' he asked.
'Hi.' Her voice sounded slightly different over the phone, but familiar enough to send a warm rush through Nick.
'Hi, Julie. How are you?'
'Long time no see, huh?'
'Yeah.'
There was a long pause. Nick tried to find something to say, and wondered if Julie were having the same trouble, Even with the silence, he liked the feel of being close to her 'I just thought I'd call,' she finally said, 'and make sure you got home okay.'
He smiled. 'Afraid the curse might've got us?'
He heard her quiet laughter. 'Pardon me while I barf,' she said.
'Benny still at it?'
'We had about two hours of peace after we left the hospital. That's because he fell asleep. Then Dad had to stop at Denny's so we could feed our faces, and Benny spent the rest of the time trying to convert us. The kid's warped.'
'We're not allowed to talk about it. I brought it up once, and Mom nearly went through the ceiling. You know the first commandment?'
'Whose?'
'God's. You know, to Moses? The stone tablets?'
'Oh, those commandments. I know the eleventh is, 'Don't get caught.' '
Chuckling, Nick started to sit on the couch. He stopped himself in time, and sat on the carpet instead. 'Anyway, the first commandment says, 'Thou shalt have no other gods before me' — something like that. According to Mom, that means it's a sin to believe in occult stuff.'
