Calm down, I told myself. For one thing, he’s
Like I said before, dreams stink. They’re no good for anything. They only exist to torture you any way they can.
He doesn’t love me, I told myself.
But he
The bank
No matter what story he might tell the cops, he’d be in a world of trouble the moment they found me tied to the bed. A naked woman, roped down, with numerous minor injuries and his semen inside.
Before you know it, they’ll be thinking
For a while, I tried to come up with a good story to explain how it all worked. Maybe the four of us went to the park together on a double-date. I was Tony’s date and Judy was Murphy’s date. But then Murphy decided he wanted
How does Milo the Killer Slob fit in?
Maybe Judy escaped from Murphy, only to be grabbed by Milo—a thrill-killer lurking around in the woods in search of victims. He jumps her and takes her to his camp…
Awfully far-fetched.
I could just say Judy ran off into the woods and I don’t know what happened to her after that.
But what about Tony’s car? I’d have to explain how it ended up back at Judy’s apartment building—with his body in it.
That’d be a good trick.
It’s probably not the only problem, either.
What about the tape from Tony’s answering machine? If the cops showed up and cut me free, they would be sure to find it under the pillow.
Simple.
But how could I possibly come up with a sensible story that explained everything?
Good idea.
Tell the cops I don’t know how
That should work.
At least until Judy spills the beans.
I should’ve killed her when I had the chance.
I suddenly had an urge to get free, run out to Judy’s car and speed over to Miller’s Woods, find the camp and finish her off.
But the ropes held me down.
I strained at them with my arms and legs. They were nothing but pieces of old clothesline, and seemed to stretch as I pulled. They also tightened around my wrists and ankles. I kept pulling, anyway. For all I knew, Murphy might’ve done a lousy job tying the other ends around the legs of the bed. Maybe something would give, down there. Or maybe I could break the ropes by sheer strength.
They held, but I didn’t give up.
I pulled, jerked, kicked, squirmed and bucked. Soon, I was out of breath and pouring sweat.
I quit struggling, and rested.
The ropes had tightened so much that they’d cut off my circulation. My hands and feet were numb. The pillow case and sheet underneath me felt soaked.
Gasping for air, I blinked sweat out of my eyes.
And thought, Maybe I
While I was waiting to make my next try, someone rang the doorbell.
36
INVADER
At any time of the day or night, I hate the sound of a doorbell. It almost always means someone has shown up uninvited.
An intruder is barging into your life.
Invading.
No matter what, it’s annoying and a little scary.
But just try having the doorbell ring when you’re naked in the bedroom of a guy you hardly know, you’re tied down, and your legs are spread apart about as far as they’ll go.
When I heard that doorbell, I felt as if someone had shot a hose full of ice water up my bowels.
I froze.
The bell rang again.
So what if it is? I told myself. Cops can’t come into a place without being invited. Not unless they have a search warrant.
The bell rang again.
Calm down, I told myself. Whoever it is, they can’t get in. Sooner or later, they’ll give up and go away.
Again, the bell rang.
They do that. They pick a place that looks deserted. But before they break in, they ring the doorbell to make
