The Voice of the Night

She was still in the first bedroom on the left, sitting as he had left her, roped, ravishing.

“I was afraid it was someone else,” she said.

“You okay?”

“One flashlight wasn’t enough,” she said. “It was too dark in here.”

“Sorry.”

“And I think this place has rats. I heard scratching noises in the walls.”

“We won’t have to stay here much longer,” he said. He bent over the cardboard box and snatched out the two long strips of dish towel that he had brought from home. “Things are moving fast now.”

“Did you talk to Roy?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s coming?”

“He says he’s got things to do for his father and can’t get out of the house right away. He says he can’t make it before ten-thirty.”

“Then it wasn’t necessary to tie me up before you made the call,” she said.

“Yes, it was,” he said. “Don’t pull the ropes apart. He’s on his way now.”

“I thought you said ten-thirty.”

“He was lying.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know. He’s trying to get here ahead of me and set a trap. He thinks I’m as naive as I used to be.”

“Colin … I’m scared.”

“It’ll be all right.”

“Will it?”

“I have the gun.”

“What if you have to use it?”

“I won’t have to.”

“He might force you to.”

“Then I will. I’ll use it if he forces me.”

“But then you’d be guilty-”

“Of self-defense,” Colin said.

“Can you use it?”

“In self-defense. Sure. Of course.”

“You aren’t a killer.”

“I’ll just wound him if I have to,” he said. “Now we’ve got to hurry. I’ve got to put the gag on you. It has to be tight if it’s going to look convincing, but tell me if I make it too tight for comfort.” He fashioned a gag from the two pieces of the dish towel, then said, “Okay?”

She made an unintelligible sound.

“Shake your head-yes or no. Is it too tight?”

She shook her head: no.

He could see that her doubts were growing by the second; she wished she’d never gotten into this. Genuine fear sparked in her eyes, but that was good; it made her look as if she really were the helpless victim that she was pretending to be. Roy, possessed of the instincts of a cunning, vicious animal, would instantly recognize her terror and would be convinced by it.

Colin went to the tape recorder, lifted a piece of trash that was covering it, switched it on, carefully replaced the camouflage, and looked at Heather again. “I’m going out to the head of the stairs to wait for him. Don’t worry.”

He left the room, taking the pistol, one flashlight, and the cardboard box that now contained only the squeeze bottle of ketchup. He put the ketchup and the box in another room, then went to the head of the stairs and switched off his light.

The house was very dark.

He tucked the pistol under his belt, against the small of his back, where Roy couldn’t see it. He wanted to appear unarmed, defenseless, in order to sucker Roy upstairs.

Colin was breathing noisily, virtually gasping, not because he was physically exhausted, but because he was afraid. He concentrated on breathing quietly, but it wasn’t easy.

Something crashed downstairs.

He held his breath, listened.

Another noise.

Roy had arrived.

Colin looked at his read-out watch. Exactly fifteen minutes had passed since he’d left the telephone booth.

It was exactly as Colin had told Heather: Roy had lied about not being able to make it until ten-thirty. He had just wanted to be sure he was the first person in the house. If a trap was going to be laid for him, he intended to be there in the shadows to watch it being set.

Colin had anticipated this development, and he felt good about that. Standing in the dark hall, he smiled.

Something moved in the wall beside him, and he jumped. A mouse. Nothing more than that. It wasn’t Roy. He could still hear Roy downstairs. just a mouse. Maybe a rat. At worst, a couple of rats. Nothing to worry about. But he knew he had better guard against overconfidence, because if he didn’t he would be nothing but food for those rats before the night was out.

Footsteps.

A flashlight, hooded by a hand.

The light moved to the foot of the stairs.

Roy was coming up.

Suddenly, Colin felt that the plan was childish, stupid, naive. It would never work. Not in a million years. He and Heather were going to die.

He swallowed hard and switched on his own light, shone it down the steps. “Hello, Roy.”

42

Roy stopped, pointed his flashlight at Colin.

For several seconds they stared at each other. Colin could see the hatred in Roy’s eyes and he wondered if his own fear was equally visible.

“You’re here already,” Roy said.

“The girl’s up here.”

“There isn’t any girl.”

“Come see.”

“Who is she?”

“Come see,” Colin said.

“What’s the trick?”

“There isn’t one. I told you on the phone. I want to be on your side. I’ve tried being on their side. It didn’t work. They don’t believe me. They don’t care about me. None of them. I hate them. All of them. My mother, too. You were right about her. She’s a fucking bitch. You were right about all of them. They’ll never help me. Never. They’re no good to me at all. And I don’t want to have to run from you forever. I don’t want to have to be looking over my shoulder, for the rest of my life. You can’t be beat. You’ll get me sooner or later. You’re a winner. You win at everything eventually. I see that now. I’m tired of being a loser. That’s why I want to be on your side. I want to win. I want to get even with them, all of them. I’ll do anything you want to do, Roy. Anything.”

“So you got a girl for us.”

“Yeah.”