The Shore (Leisure Fiction)

'You know.' The boy shrugged, his gaze swerving to the door. 'He's been busy.'

'Yeah, he's a real worker all right. You learn from him, kid. He worked hard all his life for his money. I knew him since we was both kids with nothing, no shoes even, running around in the street. Nobody never gave neither one of us nothing. You hearing me?'

'No.' He shook his head in urgent confusion. 'I know.'

'Yeah, well, just so's you do know.' He held out the change, but the boy jerked his hand away. 'You tell him I says hi.' He slapped the money down on the counter. 'Tell him I says stop in sometime.' His fingernails hooked, and hairs curled at the edge of his cuffs.

'I will.'

'What's he too high and mighty to speak to his old buddies?'

'No...just...'

'You turning into a hippie?'

'Huh?' He backed away. 'Oh, no, I just...forgot to get a haircut.' He pressed his palm to the door.

'Yeah, you forgot your change too.'

'Oh.' He scooped up the money and fled while the clerk sneered after him.

Putting his head down, he hurried along the block, the chill soughing through the hole in his jeans. The cold feels even worse now. Halfway down the block, he suddenly became afraid; he'd been in such a hurry, he'd rushed right through the lights of the parking lot. Anybody could of seen. Now he stopped and peered about, but the fluorescent lights had blanked his night vision. Was it really him this time? Up there on the boardwalk? Arms outstretched, he plunged into deeper blackness. Could of been anybody really.

But he knew.

Halfway down the alley, he remembered the cat and paused, listening to the wind moan above his head. The handles to the plastic bag had wound tightly around his fingers, but he fumbled out the package of hot dogs. Biting off one end of the wrapper, he peeled out a frank, broke it in pieces, leaving one here on the ground, another by the wall, even tossing a piece over the fence. So's he can find it.

Then he let the wind blow him down the alley like a bit of refuse.

We've been here too long already. As he stood on the trash can and reached for the ladder, the thought he'd been avoiding for days caught up with him. Somebody might of noticed something by now. Other thoughts engulfed him, unwelcome memories that left him gasping: the woman's long mane and the way the blood had flown up this last time, worse than before, the sticking clamminess of it, spurting on his face when he'd used the saw; the noise of the hammer when it hit bone.

Too long. He clambered up the sharp grid of the fire escape. Too long in one place.

With a stiff, metallic grind, the window slid up. Even as he climbed over the sill, he could feel her stare. He'd left her tied in the big chair this time, bound with nylon cord from the basement, two blankets wrapped around her. Somehow she'd managed to knock one away completely, while the other hung loosely. 'You warm enough?' He closed the window. 'Boy, it's bad tonight.'

She watched him rub his hands over the electric heater. His waxen flesh had been scoured by frost until now his cheekbones flared, and his hair--even more blond than her own--held the light with a melting shimmer: he might have been an angel. She turned her face away.

After dumping the groceries on the kitchen table, he crouched beside her and yanked away the remaining blanket to inspect the knots. 'Shit,' he muttered. Her struggles had abraded her wrists, and one of the cords dripped darkly. 'How come you keep doing that?' With one finger, he picked at the adhesive strips that held the chewed gag in place. He yanked. A wounded groan throbbed from her, and he recoiled. 'Don't yell or nothing, all right?' Trembling, he wadded the gag and gently stuck it back in her mouth. 'You know I can't let you start in screaming.'

Everything in the room--the ironing board in the corner, the crumbled newspapers on the small table-- shimmered in her vision.

'If I take it out, do you promise to be good?' With the back of his hand, he stroked her cheek.

She moaned, felt the glimmer in her eyes break and roll down her face.

'Just be good.' He fondled her ear, then the nape of her neck.

When he pulled out the gag, she jerked her head away, panting gutturally through swollen lips. 'Please, let me go. Please, Perry?' Her shoulders heaved. 'I won't tell anybody. I won't tell about anything. I swear.' She gulped air. 'Oh God, please! Somebody, help me!'

'Keep it down, or I got to get the tape again. I mean it. You don't want that, do you?' His voice seemed almost pleading. 'Huh?'

Biting her lip, she shook her head. She could taste blood, and the muscles in her neck throbbed beyond endurance.

'You thirsty?' He strode to the sink and filled a glass.

Again, she twisted her face away, but he stood behind her, gripping her head with one hand, prying the rim of the glass between her lips. She gagged, and water spattered her sweatshirt. 'That's better,' he said. 'You hungry or what?' While she coughed, he wiped at her mouth with his sleeve. 'All right? Dinner won't be long. Tell you what--I'll move the TV in here so we can both watch, and you can keep me company while I cook. Would you like that?'

When he left the room, she struggled in frenzy against the ropes. He would hurt her again tonight--she could tell. The tears stung her cheeks, and she could feel a fresh trickle on her wrists. He would hurt her--he had that look. She gritted her teeth, knowing she couldn't afford to lose control. She had to get him talking, calm him down. At moments like this, her thoughts grew so dispassionately logical they shocked her, but such moments never lasted. Seconds later, the savage panic slashed her. Her numbed fingers still couldn't find the knots, and she felt her arms begin to shake. 'Oh God,' she whispered. She pressed her eyelids shut and rocked back and forth as much as the ropes permitted. 'I don't want to die like this.'

'You say something? Here we go.' He set the portable television on the kitchen table, raveling the cord to the counter. Pulling plugs out of tangled extension cords, he rearranged them experimentally, stringing the hotplate off to the side. 'Got to be careful with this.' The electric heater buzzed loudly. 'We don't want to blow a fuse again.' The squat refrigerator cycled with a lumbering grunt. 'I wish I could think of a way to get some more oil. Shame it takes so long to heat up water for the tub. I'm starting to smell. Next time we move, I got to find us a place with oil still in the tank. Maybe next winter...' His voice faded as he turned to the window.

'Please,' she murmured. 'Please, God.'

'What did you say, Stell?'

She fought, dragging herself back from the fog of despair that lay always ready to envelop her. No one would help. If she were ever to get away from him, she'd have to do it herself. She had to keep him talking, buy time, wait for a chance. It was all she could do for now. She searched his face. The pale mask stared back at her, a face so young, so unreadably soft as to be almost blank. She could detect no human feeling in that unformed countenance. She could no more reason with him than with the ropes that bound her. Again, terror stirred like a small animal within her chest; in seconds, it had her writhing against the chair.

Averting his eyes, he got out a frying pan and started heating the oil, while the television set flickered noiselessly. 'Always takes a few minutes for the sound to come on,' he muttered. 'You like yours burned a little, right?' He rattled things in the kitchen drawer. 'See, I remember. I even got the cheese.'

She mustn't cry anymore. The rancid odor of frying meat wafted around her, causing a ripple of nausea deep in her gut. She had to get him talking. Sound drifted from the television. She drew a deep breath. 'You've grown another inch. Those jeans are too short.' She paused, then forced herself to continue. 'And you're so skinny. They're practically hanging off you.'

Bemused, he fingered the fraying belt loops, then used the heel of his hand to shove the bangs off his forehead.

'You need a haircut too. I could trim it for you. Are there scissors?'

'I'll do it myself.' He shuffled his weight from foot to foot, his hip jutting sharply as he turned away. But her gasp fixed his attention on the newscast.

'...dismembered body has been positively identified as...'