Never before had she realised how many places there were to hide in the bookstore. Divided into four long, tall lanes with a full back wall packed with additional books, a person could easily hide behind one of the corners where the lanes ended.
Or could easily sneak down into the basement and wait.
'Hello,' she called again.
She didn't really expect a response. None came.
Where was Richie?
God, it seemed as if he'd been gone an hour now.
How long could it take to get two Blizzards and smoke a cigarette? He shouldn't be smoking anyway. It was such a stupid, deadly habit-
'Found it.'
The man had come as if from nowhere. She had been looking up and down the lanes on the east side of the store and he'd walked up from behind her.
He held in his hands a somewhat tattered Bantam paperback copy of
'My lucky night, I guess,' the man said. He had a very nice smile until you noticed how cold and cheerless it was. There was no warmth in his dark eyes, either.
She glanced down at the gun. Was she being dumb? What was so menacing about this man when you came right down to it? And, to be exact, she'd felt this same sort of panic working on her before in the store-some of her mother's paranoia rubbing off on her.
She took his ten-dollar bill and set it on the corner of the register, the way Brewster had shown her, to make change.
She had just got the register open when she heard him moving.
When she looked up again, he was gone.
Quickly, her eyes scanned the lanes. No sight of him-but of course she couldn't see all the lanes. She heard a clicking sound and turned around. Saw him.
At the door.
Snapping the safety lock in place.
Pulling down the white shade with the red word CLOSED on it.
'What're you doing?' she said.
'You know what I'm doing.'
'This isn't funny.'
'It isn't meant to be funny.'
'You go unlock that door or I'll call the police.'
An old fashioned black phone sat on the counter. He walked over to it. He lifted the receiver and handed it to her. 'Be my guest.'
'I've got a friend who's coming back. He'll know something's wrong.'
'I'm not going to hurt you, you know.'
'I wasn't lying about my friend. His name's Richie.'
'All I want is for us to have a nice time.'
'Please.'
He walked around the counter.
Just when she thought she might leap free from him, he snatched her wrist in his hand. He was very strong. And very quick.
'Ow,' she said.
'See, you're making me do this.'
'No, I'm not. Please.'
'You help me out and I'll help you out.'
She was afraid to guess what he meant by that.
In disbelief, she watched him unzip his trousers. In moments, his penis was in his hand. It was longer and harder than she'd ever imagined a penis could be.
He guided her hand down to it.
'No!' she said.
He slapped her with such stunning force that she literally lost her senses-all she was aware of was darkness and coldness rushing up her sinuses and up into her head. A darkness and coldness she equated with death.
Only as she began to compose herself was she aware that he'd tom her blouse and bra away from her chest. Her small but full breasts were exposed to the drab light and drafts of the aged bookstore.
He pulled her to him. She was aware of his penis rubbing up against her own sex and of the scent of him- sharp and sweaty now, filled with desire and danger.
He got his fingers on her own zipper, got her fly open, and then crammed his hand inside her panties, finding her dry sex immediately.
'You'd better relax, honey. You don't want to be dry when I get inside you.'
She tried to slap him, but it was no use. She could not find an angle from which a slap would hurt him. He had her pressed tightly to him.
With brutal force, he tore her jeans away from her hips and threw her back against the counter. He got her legs spread apart and tried to get up inside her.
This time she managed to slap him on the back of the head.
If he felt the blow, he gave no clue. Instead, he tried for a second time to get up inside her, the head of his penis brushing the lips of her vagina.
When she screamed, he brought his hand up as if by magic and struck her with terrible fury across the mouth.
She felt blood fill the inside of her mouth immediately. She knew she would not scream anymore. She was too afraid of getting hit again.
Where was Richie?
A cigarette and a quick trip to the Dairy Queen couldn't possibly have-
'Now you listen, you little cunt. I want to enjoy you. Do you understand me?'
He had his face pushed right up against hers. His features were huge, grotesque. 'I want to get inside you and have a good time. If you try to stop me, I'll kill you.'
And then he reached down as if he were going to pick up something from the floor-there was the sound of something being unclasped-and then a small butcher knife filled his hand.
He brought the gleaming blade not to her face, not to her throat, but to her left breast.
'You know what this knife could do to that?' The tip of the blade tweaked her pink nipple. 'You want to find out what it could do to that?'
She heard herself whimpering, pleading: 'No, no.'
'Then you do what I tell you, you understand? You do what I tell you or I'm going to take you apart piece by piece.' He seized her breast with such force that she felt her knees buckle. 'And I'm going to start with your nice little tit here. All right?'
Something like a scream started up her throat and through the bubbling blood in her mouth but the back of his hand smashed across her lips once again, killing the sound utterly.
'Now let's have some fun,' he said.
The woman ahead of him in line wore tight white stretch pants. She must have been at least one hundred pounds overweight. Easily. She ordered three Buster Bars, two Dillies, a ninety-five-cent cone, and two large Blizzards. She wore no wedding ring and she had no kids with her. Richie had the depressing feeling that maybe all the goodies were just for her. He was depressed because he had an aunt like that. Ever since her husband-an Amway distributor who called everybody 'Chief' and 'Ace'-had left her, all she seemed capable of was pigging out. She'd even had surgery to waylay her incredible eating binges. But so far anyway it was no use. She still ate like a Roman legion.
The woman's goodies fitted into three big white bags. She kept her eyes down as she left the fluorescent
