“She won’t phone,” Molly said.
“She might demand ransom.”
Molly laughed sadly, a broken expression of hopelessness. “Ransom! You still don’t understand. It isn’t ransom that she wants.”
“What, then?” David asked.
“Didn’t you read those newspaper clippings, David? Didn’t you listen to Chumley? She’s insane. She’s dangerous. She’s homicidal. And she has our son!”
David stopped pacing and stood in the center of the room. He appeared to try returning the gaze of her reflection in the dark windowpane, but there wasn’t enough substance there and he turned away.
“Even insane people have their own kind of unique logic,” he said. “It’s only a matter of figuring out how she thinks.”
“She thinks like an animal. A cunning, predatory animal that concentrates all of itself on getting what it wants.”
“And you think she wants Michael?”
“He’s only part of it,” Molly said. “She wants you, David. She wants to become me. In some psychotic way, she wants to live my life.”
He said nothing. Instead he walked over and stood behind her, then began massaging her shoulders. When she didn’t respond, he bent over and kissed her cheek. She still didn’t respond, watching the scene in the windowpane as if it were theater and didn’t involve her.
He stopped massaging, lowered his arms to his sides, and sighed. “You’re trembling, Mol. It’s been a long time since we’ve eaten. You need something to keep your strength up.”
She shook her head no. Dread filled her; she wasn’t remotely hungry.
“You should at least have something to drink,” he insisted. “I’m going to get some ice and try to find a soda machine. What do you want me to bring you?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve got to have something, Mol. Soda. A bag of pretzels or potato chips from a machine. Anything”
When she didn’t answer, he went to the dresser, picked up the plastic ice bucket, and walked to the door.
She saw his reflection turn to face her.
“The door will lock behind me, Mol. I’ll let myself back in with my key. I won’t knock. If anyone knocks, don’t go to the door. Promise me.”
She remained silent. She simply had nothing to say to him, though she knew he was frustrated, near losing his temper.
“Dammit, Mol! This isn’t helping Michael. Isn’t helping you. Or me. We need you. Haven’t you figured that out? We need you!”
She found herself standing up despite her great weariness. She looked at him, smiled feebly, and nodded.
He smiled back, looking immensely relieved. “Better, Mol. Much better.”
Still carrying the ice bucket, he came to her and held her close. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and he kissed her forehead. His lips felt cool and dry as death.
“Gonna be okay here alone?” he asked.
She nodded, near tears. He was right. He did need her. Michael needed her. “Sure,” she said. “Don’t worry. Go ahead.”
She watched him walk to the door, look back at her, then leave. He pulled the door tightly closed behind him so that the lock clicking metallically into place was loud and definite.
Molly stood still for a moment, then went to the dresser and studied her image in the mirror.
She shook her head in dismay. Her complexion was chalky, as if she’d suffered a long illness. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. Her hair was in wild disarray.
She attempted to rearrange her hair with her fingers, but it was futile. It simply sprang back up where she tried to smooth it down, and lay lank and lifeless where she tried to fluff it up. She opened the top dresser drawer, got out her cosmetic kit, and felt around inside it for a comb.
There was none. She and David had packed too hurriedly to remember everything they’d need. She wished now she’d asked him to go down to the lobby and see if he could borrow a comb from the desk. They probably kept a supply of courtesy toiletries for forgetful guests. If they had none, he might have gone to the drugstore down the street to buy a comb.
She glanced over at their empty suitcases stacked on a folding stand. It was possible that there was a comb in one of them from a previous trip. When they traveled, they were always buying things they’d forgotten, sometimes tucking them away in pockets or zippered compartments for the return trip then not remembering to unpack them.
She went to the stack of softsided luggage and checked inside the top suitcase. Found nothing.
Then she unzipped an outer compartment on the stiff fabric side of the second suitcase and reached inside.
Her groping fingers felt plastic, but it wasn’t a comb.
51
David managed to wrestle two Pepsi-Cola cans and a bag of pretzels from the vending machines on the floor below. The ice machine was in an alcove across the hall. It gurgled and clunked as he approached, as if it had been waiting and was producing ice just for him.
After scooping ice into the plastic bucket, he managed to juggle everything so he could carry it, then walked toward the elevator.
He wasn’t really worried about Deirdre learning where they were and showing up there. There was no way she could find out which hotel they’d chosen. Only the police knew.
He broke stride for a moment. And Julia? Did Julia know?
Well, it probably wouldn’t matter. Still, he’d have to ask Molly if she’d talked to Julia, told her their location. Molly was right: Deirdre had the cunning and intensity of a carnivore on the hunt. If she decided to try locating them, she’d do anything.
He only hoped she wouldn’t hurt Michael. That was something David told himself over and over wouldn’t happen. God knew, he was aware of her kinkiness. She could enjoy inflicting pain. But he hadn’t seen that kind of sadism in her, the inclination to harm a child.
He rode the elevator up a floor and got out. Balancing soda cans and pretzel bag in one hand, the ice bucket in the other, he made his way down the hall to the room.
Clutching the bucket under his arm and using his key, he entered, pushing open the door with his hip, his back to the room. He used his foot to close the door, turning around as he did so.
He dropped the ice bucket, unaware of it bouncing off his toe, or of the small, cylindrical chunks of ice scattering over the carpet. The shock of what he saw hit him with a palpable force that winded him.
Molly was sitting in the chair by the window again, hunched over and hugging her stomach. But now she was watching television.
The VCR’s red light was glowing. Moans were coming from the TV. On the screen, David was on top of Deirdre. Her legs were locked around his waist, her fingers clutching his back like talons sunk into prey. She turned to face the camera and smiled wildly, the corruption of her madness gleaming in her eyes.
Dropping everything else he was carrying, David ran across the room and fumbled with the unfamiliar VCR controls.
Finally he found the power switch and the screen went blank. Then he ejected the cassette. He stooped and picked up a soda can, laid the cassette on top of the TV, and bashed it again and again with the can.
All his effort had little effect other than to crack the black plastic casing.
He tossed the can aside, then picked up the cassette and brought it down repeatedly and with all his strength
