No Sanctuary

“Hi there,” Bert said.

“Hi,” said Rick.

“Let’s take a load off,” the girl said to her haggard friend. She stepped to the side of the trail across from Rick and Bert, swung her pack down, and boosted herself onto a hip-high shelf of rock. The other girl kept her pack on. It scraped against the vertical block of stone as she sagged. Her rump met the trail and she stretched out her legs. She sighed.

Her slim legs were tanned, her shins mottled with trail dust that had turned dark on her sweaty skin. She wore faded blue gym shorts and a gray T-shirt that read UCSC. Her shirt had a wet V, wide at the crew neck and narrowing as it descended between her breasts. Her chest rose and fell as she fought to catch her breath. The bill of her ballcap was tipped upward. A fringe of blond hair clung to her forehead and glossy wisps curled around her ears. In spite of her grimace and sunglasses, Rick could see that she was a beauty.

“From Santa Cruz?” Bert asked.

“I shoulda boogerin’ stayed there,” said the one on the ground.

The one sitting on the rock laughed. “We just got done with final,” she said.

“Great way to start the summer break.”

“Andrea isn’t used to this sort of thing.”

“Neither am I,” Rick said.

“I love it.” The girl swept off her straw cowboy hat. Her thick, brown hair was pinned up except for bangs that fluttered in the breeze. Unlike Andrea, she looked cool and dry. She wore no sunglasses. Her brows were thick, her eyes bright green. Though she lacked Andrea’s delicate features, she had a fresh, athletic look that Rick found appealing.

She tossed her hat. It landed on her pack, slid off, and dropped onto the trail. Leaning back, she braced herself with straight arms. She was wearing a yellow blouse. The sleeves were cut off, and it was unbuttoned and tied below her breasts. From the yellow cord across the gap, Rick guessed that she was wearing a bikini. Her flat belly was tanned. She wore jeans, the legs cut off so high that the ends of her front pockets hung out white against her thighs.

The way her jeans looked disturbed Rick. For a moment, he didn’t know why. Then he remembered that Julie had worn jeans like these, cut so short the pockets showed. He’d been watching her instead of the trail.

My fault, he thought as a warm wave of shame swept through him. If I hadn’t been trying to see up her pants ...

It’s not my fault, he told himself. She shouldn’t have worn something like that if I wasn’t supposed to look. A guy will look. Any guy will look. It was her fault more than mine.

“... your car we parked next to this morning,” the girl in the cut-offs was saying. Rick realized he had missed some of the conversation.

“A blue Pontiac?” Bert asked.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“So you just got in this morning?” Rick asked.

“Seems like a century ago,” Andrea said. Still on the ground, she had slipped out of her pack straps without Rick noticing. Her gray T-shirt was dark around the armpits. She was no longer panting. “Bonnie doesn’t believe in resting. You ask me, I don’t know what’s the big rush.”

“I thought we’d make it over the pass today,” Bonnie said, “but that’s starting to look doubtful. There’s a lake just this side, though. Fern Lake? I suppose we’ll wind up there. What about you?”

Bert shrugged. “We’re not too sure at this point.”

“Are you going over the pass?” Bonnie asked.

“We might head back,” Bert told her. “I’m not feeling too swift.”

Bonnie frowned. “That’s too bad. You might just pack it in?”

“We’re considering it.”

“That’d be a shame, you came this far.”

“Sounds like a good move to me,” Andrea said. She raised one knee and folded her hands around it. Her other leg was still extended. Through the gaping leg-holes of her shorts, Rick saw her shadowed thigh. He looked away.

Bonnie had her ankles crossed.

“There are some guys up the trail,” Rick said. “You may run into them.”

“Guys?” Bonnie asked.

“Three of them,” Bert said. “They’re probably about your age.”

“Oh great,” Andrea muttered.

“What sort of guys?” Bonnie asked.

“How many kinds are there,” Andrea said.

Bonnie uncrossed her feet and swung a boot sideways as if to knock her friend in the head. She missed. “Did they seem all right?” she asked Bert.

“I guess so.”

“They’re not a contingent from Stanford,” Rick said, with a smile in Andrea’s direction. Bonnie threw him a challenging look. He could’ve been mistaken, but he thought it said, Get off my patch, master. And lay off Andrea. She’s mine.

Andrea looked up at Rick and wrinkled her nose. “They’re a contingent from like where?”

“The Youth Authority.”

“I’m gonna barf.”

“They aren’t that bad,” Bert said. “One of them did seem rather hard, but the others were okay. We had a chat with them back at our camp. They didn’t give us any trouble.”

“Sure they didn’t,” Andrea said. “You’ve got him.”

“Rick,” he told her, pleased that the girl believed his presence had prevented trouble.

“Yeah, you had Rick.”

“How far ahead are these guys?” Bonnie asked. Leaning forward, she hunched over and put her hands on her knees. The front of her blouse bunched outward. Rick saw the side of her left breast. The yellow bikini looked too small to hold it all.

“Who knows?” Bert said. “We’ve been stopping a lot. They might be half an hour up the trail, maybe farther.”

“Or they might be just around the bend,” Rick said.

“Just what we need,” Andrea muttered. “Hassled by a trio of cretinous thugs.”

“Who says they’ll hassle us?” Bonnie said.

“They’re guys, aren’t they? No offense, Rick,” she added, and grinned up at him with one side of her mouth. “I’m talking mostly your basic teenage toad. They got just one thing on their minds, and we all know what that is. Fuckywucky.”

“You’re gross,” Bonnie said.

“But perceptive.” Andrea twisted her head around and peered up at her friend. “You think these guys are gonna just ignore us, we meet up with them?”

“You can level them with your tongue.”

“Yeah, that’d be sure to save the day. Get the scrotes pissed at us.” She turned to Rick. “Maybe the four of us oughta stick together for a while. You mind us tagging along?”

“They’re leaving,” Bonnie reminded her.

“Oh, yeah. Shit soup. You guys sure about that?”

“It’s not definite,” Rick said.

Bert looked at him. “We’ll have to discuss it,” she said. “If we change our minds, we won’t be far behind you.”

“Well,” Bonnie said. “We’d better get moving.” She leaped from her perch, picked up her hat and dusted it off. “If we don’t see you again, have a good trip back.”

“Thanks,” Bert told her. “You too.”

“I was just getting comfortable,” Andrea complained, reaching behind her for the pack straps.

Bonnie lifted her pack off the trail without apparent effort, swung it onto her back, and slipped her arms through the straps.

Andrea struggled with hers. First, she clutched both straps and tried to rise from a squatting position. That didn’t work, so she lurched forward onto her hands and knees, then thrust herself up.

“So graceful,” Bonnie said.

Grimacing, Andrea rubbed her hands on her shorts. They left dust smears on the faded blue fabric. She turned her palms up. “Never gonna be clean again,” she muttered.

“The pleasures of roughing it,” Bert told her.

“Yeah. You guys really serious about leaving?”

“We’ll see,” Bert said.

Andrea grinned at her. “Want to loan us Rick for a few days? We’ll make sure we get him back to you in good condition.”

She caught Bonnie’s sour look and rolled up her eyes in a gesture of mock despair.

What’s with the attitude all the time, Bonnie? Can’t take a joke? Loosen up for godsake, we’re on vacation here.

Rick laughed. “I could go for that.”

He was joking. Almost.

Bert slapped his leg. “Sorry,” she told Andrea, “I’m afraid I can’t do without him. He’s my love-slave.”

The girls, including Bert, laughed it up.

“Real cute,” Rick said, smiling but embarrassed.

Still laughing, Bonnie and Andrea raised hands in farewell, turned away, and began striding up the trail. Rick and Bert watched until the two girls disappeared around a bend in the trail.

“Nice kids,” Bert said.

“Yeah.”

“So what about it?” she asked. “Do you still want to split?”

“I don’t know,” Rick said. “Maybe not.”

Bert looked amused.

“You have to admit, they change the picture somewhat. In terms of the guys,” he added.

“I’d say so,” Bert agreed. “Substitute victims. If the boys are so inclined. Which would let us off the hook.”

“They must be out of their gourds, coming out to a place like this. Two girls.”

“Dykes,” Bert said.

“You think so?”

She laughed. “Maybe. On the other hand, maybe not. Not fully fledged yet, anyway. Borderline in my opinion. Bonnie’s the pushy one and Andrea’s playing hard to get. But don’t quote me on that. And I don’t think they’re out of their gourds. They’re probably safer out here than they’d be on the streets of Santa Cruz.”

“That’s not saying much.”

“So what are we going to do?” Bert asked.

“I think they’re worried about running into the guys.”

“Of course they are. You made the fellows sound like escapees from a chain-gang.”

“What do you want to do?” Rick asked.

“Let’s stay. We’ll give the girls a good long lead. The guys can jump them and fuck their brains out, and be too pooped to care by the time we go by.”

“Sometimes,” Rick said, “you’re very strange.”

She contorted her face and rolled her eyes.

“Does this mean you think we should join up with them?” Rick asked.

“I’m not thrilled by the idea, but I guess it makes sense. I get my camping trip, the girls get our protection, and you get to continue drooling over a couple of nymphets young enough to be your daughters.”

“I wasn’t drooling,” Rick protested. “And I’m not that old.” She arched an eyebrow.

Rick grinned. “Maybe we’d better forget it. I just might lose control and go for them.”

“I’m worried.”

“Obviously.”

“You get the urge, buddy, just remember something.”

“What?”

Smiling, Bert gently squeezed him through the front of his pants. “They ain’t me.” She let go and patted his leg. “Come on, we’d better catch up with the children.”

Chapter Twelve

Jerry Dobbs was smiling at Gillian over the top of the fence. “Sorry,” he said. “Did I startle you?”

“That’s all right.” The jolt of alarm she’d felt at first hearing his voice faded, but her heart still raced from the shock of it. She managed a smile.

“A little warm today for the hot tub, don’t you think? How about coming over here and joining me in the pool? I was just about to go in myself.”

Gillian, surprised and delighted by the offer, didn’t hesitate. “That sounds great.”

“Come around to my driveway, I’ll open the gate for you.”

“Be right there,” she said.

His face disappeared, and Gillian went into the house.

She knew she was breaking her rule against fraternizing with neighbors, but she didn’t care. Ever since meeting Jerry so briefly last night, she’d hoped to see more of him. He must’ve felt drawn to her, also. A guy doesn’t invite just anyone over to use his pool.

I’ll have to watch what I say to him, she cautioned herself.

Wouldn’t do, at all, to slip up and let him find out I’m not Fredrick’s niece.

Fredrick, the sicko.

The house, though pleasantly cool after the heat outside, seemed forbidding to Gillian as she hurried toward the bedroom.

She dreaded the thought of spending another night in it.

I won’t, she told herself. After I leave Jerry’s, I’ll pack up and get out of here.

In the bedroom, she set her beer bottle on the dresser and slipped into sandals. She turned to the wall of mirrors. And shook her head in dismay. The bikini was little more than cords that tied at her hips and behind her back and neck. Strung from the cords were flimsy, meager swatches of snug white fabric. Gillian felt naked. This was an outfit for wearing in private, not in front of strangers. She had a modest onepiece swimsuit for beaches and pools, but it was back in her apartment; she hadn’t foreseen any need to bring it along.

That’s because you don’t go swimming with neighbors, she thought. Right.

She considered changing into shorts and a T-shirt.

He already saw me in this. He’d think I’m nuts.

With a sigh, she put on her shirt as a cover-up. The shirt was long enough to drape the scanty bottom of her bikini. She buttoned it, brushed her short hair, then picked up her beer bottle and headed for the front door.

She removed the burglar bar. Having no key, she left the door unlocked.

She walked across Jerry’s yard and found him waiting at the open gate of his driveway. He was lean and dark. Instead of trunks, he wore an old pair of tan corduroys with the legs cut off.

“Glad you could come over,” he said.

“Who could refuse a swimming pool on a day like thins?”

He shut the gate. Gillian walked with him toward the rear.

“Enjoying the house-sitting?” he asked.

“It sure beats staying in my little apartment.”

“Does your apartment have a pool?”

Gillian nodded. “I never use it, though. There could be thirty people watching you from their windows. Not to mention an assorted variety of tenants who might decide to join in the fun.”

“Yeah. Know just what you mean.”

His pool was shimmering and clear, its surface flat in the still afternoon.

“Feel free to dive in,” Jerry said. “I think I’ll get myself a beer. Could you use another?”

Gillian squinted at her bottle. It was half-empty. “Sure, why not?”

She sat at the table under the shade of its broad umbrella while Jerry went into the house. She sipped her beer. Her hand trembled slightly and she felt her heart thumping. She looked at the house. From the rear, it seemed similar to Fredrick’s.

Bet it doesn’t come with a collection of sick magazines, she thought.

Or mirrors on the ceiling.

Not that I’d mind the mirrors.

She wished her heart would slow down.

Take it easy, she told herself. Relax.

The rear door slid open and Jerry came out with a bottle of beer in each hand. He sat at the table. He pushed a bottle across to her.

“Beck’s,” Gillian said, reading the label. “I like it.”

“What’s that you’re drinking?”

She slid the bottle toward him. “Corona. Have some. It’s okay, I don’t have any diseases.” As the words came out, she felt herself blush. That’s certainly laying the cards on the table, she thought.

Jerry drank from her bottle and nodded. “I’ll have to pick up some of this stuff.” He passed it back to her.

She drank the rest of it. “Uncle Fredrick has good taste in beer,” she said. “I can’t say the same for his taste in reading matter.”

“Oh?”

Careful, she thought. “He seems to go in for some pretty gruesome stuffy.”

“I guess we all have our quirks.”

“Does he seem all right to you?”

Jerry shrugged. “I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I really don’t know the man at all. I’ve said hi to him a couple of times when we’ve crossed paths, but that’s about the extent of it. He keeps to himself pretty much. So do I. Comes from all those years of apartment living, I think. The less I see of my neighbors, the better.”

“That’s why you poked your head over the fence and asked me over,” Gillian said, smiling.

He laughed. “That’s different.” He took a drink of beer and flinched slightly as the bottle dripped water onto his chest. Gillian watched the clear bead trickle down his skin, leaving a shiny trail. He smeared it with the flat of his hand.

“Are you on vacation?” he asked.

“Me? I’m on permanent vacation,” Gillian said. “I don’t do much in the way of work.”

“How nice for you. Wealthy family?”

“Dead family.”

His eyes widened.

Gillian felt a little shocked herself. Why am I telling him the truth about my family? she wondered. Would’ve been easier to lie. She always lied about her background.

“I shouldn’t be flippant about it. I’m sorry. But it’s been a few years and I usually don’t ... I usually just make up a story. The fact is, my parents were killed in a traffic accident. A deputy sheriff’s car lost its brakes while it was in hot pursuit of a robbery suspect and smashed into them. My parents’ attorney filed a wrongful-death suit on my behalf, and it was settled for a good sum. I’m pretty well. set up.” Gillian shrugged.

“I’m sorry about your folks.”

“Well, thanks. What is it that you do?”

“I design computer programs.”

“Ah, you must be a brain.”

“That’s me.” He laughed and took a drink of beer.

“What kind of programs?”

“I specialize in weapons systems.”

“You mean like for missiles?”

“Something like that.”

“Yikes. Guess I’d better stop asking questions or you’ll put the FBI on me.”

“That’s right.” He set down his bottle. “Well, ’m about ready to go in for a dip. How about you?”

“Sure.” Gillian lingered at the table, taking another sip of beer while Jerry rose from his seat. He hitched up his shorts and turned toward the pool. Gillian pushed her chair back. He looked around at her. “You don’t have to wait for me,” she said, and crossed a foot over her knee to remove a sandal. Nodding, Jerry headed for the deep end of the pool. Gillian slipped off her other sandal and stood up. She slowly unbuttoned her shirt. As Jerry dove, she took it off. She draped it over the chair and stepped quickly to the pool, watching him skim beneath the surface to the opposite side. He was just coming up for air when she leaped. She hit the water in a shallow dive. For an instant, the chill was an agony. Then it felt good as she glided along through the silence. Her fingers touched the tile wall. She bobbed to the surface and stood. The water covered her to the shoulders.

She spotted Jerry near the middle of the pool, treading water, watching her. “I missed your dive,” he said.

“Too bad. It was a ten.”

“Let’s see you go off the board.”

“Thanks, anyway.”

“I’ll go first.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

He swam to the side and boosted himself up. His sodden shorts hung low. Gillian saw a pale band of skin where his tan stopped, the top of his buttocks. He tugged the shorts up as he walked toward the diving board. Pausing at the end of the board, he rubbed his hands together. “I’ll now perform my world famous triple somersault.”

He bounced on the board, springing higher and higher, his firm body shining in the sunlight. Suddenly, he tucked and hugged his knees. Gillian winced as his head barely missed the tip of the board. Midway through the first somersault, his back slammed the surface. A geyser of white water exploded.

He came up grinning foolishly, and Gillian clapped. “Bravo!” she called.

“Do I get a ten?”

“I’ll give you a three on the grounds that you survived at all.”

“Okay. Let’s see how an expert does it.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. I’m you can do better than me.”

“I’m not much into diving.”

“You’re too modest.”

That’s about right, she thought.

Jerry side-stroked to the opposite side of the pool. Facing Gillian, he boosted himself up and sat on the edge. He grinned and wiped the water from his eyes. “I’ll make you a deal. One dive will get you a steak dinner tonight. Barbecued by the master chef, me. How about it?”

“Shameless bribery,” Gillian said.

“Naturally, the offer includes cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.”

“What about dessert?”

“Ice-cream, followed by after-dinner drinks.”

“And all I have to do is one dive off the board?”

“That’s all.”

“How come you’re so eager for me to go off the board?”

“So I can get a good look at you,” he said.

His smile vanished. “And so you can stop being nervous about your bikini.”

“You noticed, huh?”

“Yep. You came over here in a shirt. That was my first clue. Then you kept it on.”

“I don’t usually parade around in something like this.”

“But remember, I’ve already seen you in it.”

“You took me by surprise.”

“Nevertheless, the damage is done. I’ve seen what there is to see.”

Gillian grimaced.

“I think we’ll both enjoy ourselves a lot more once you get over the self-consciousness. You can stop worrying about what I might see, and I can stop worrying about trying to see what you’re hiding.”

“Makes sense,” she muttered. She rolled her eyes upward and sighed. She wished she had left the shirt back at the house. Drawing attention to her timidity had turned out to be even more embarrassing than if she had simply shown herself from the start. “I feel like an idiot,” she said.

“Don’t. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. If I were in your place, I would’ve been reluctant, myself, about going over to a stranger’s pool in an outfit that exposed every intimate detail of my anatomy.”

The remark stunned Gillian for an instant. Then, bursting into laughter, she cried out, “You bastard!”

He rocked, clutching his knees and grinning, delighted.

Gillian whirled around, still laughing, and thrust herself out of the pool. She strode toward the far end, scowling over her shoulder at him. “Every intimate detail, my ass!”

“That’s included!” he called. He wasn’t laughing anymore. His smile was slipping. He stared at her.

Gillian looked away from him.

It’s all right, she told herself. Plenty of women wear as little as this to the beach. Why should it bother me?

Her wet feet slapped the concrete. Water trickled down her body. The cling of the bikini kept her terribly aware of how little there was of it. Her breasts, though firm and not very large, jiggled and swayed as if they were bare. Without looking down, she knew that her nipples were erect and that the fabric of the bikini was too flimsy to hide the fact.

At the end of the pool, she turned toward the diving board. Jerry was still sitting with his legs in the water. He was gazing straight ahead.

He’s not even looking at me!

Gillian felt a mixture of relief and annoyance.

She stepped onto the diving board. Jerry kept staring into space.

She walked to the end of the board. It was springy under her feet. She stood straight, toes curled over the edge, and waited for the board to stop moving.

What’s with this guy? she wondered. He bribes me to climb out of the pool so he can get a good look at me, and then it’s like I’m not even here.

“Yoo-hoo,” she called.

His head turned. “Oh,” he said, as if mildly surprised to see her.

“Welcome back.”

“Guess I was daydreaming for a second there.”

“Gee, thanks. I thought you couldn’t wait to ogle my marvelous, semi-nude body.”

His eyes slowly roamed down Gillian. “And a fine body it is,” he said. “Now, let’s see if you can top my dive.”

“That’d be tough,” she said. What do you want? she asked herself. Do you want him to gape and pant in awe? Lick his lips? Drool? The bastard could show a tiny bit more interest.

Maybe he’s gay.

Wouldn’t that be a joke?

With a sigh, Gillian hopped. Her feet hit the board. She leaped as it flung her up. Soaring over the pool, she arched toward the sky, bent quickly at the waist and touched her toes, then straightened her body and knifed down into the water. When her fingertips brushed the bottom, she pushed herself away and glided to the surface.

Jerry held up both hands with their fingers spread. “Definitely a ten,” he said. “I had no idea I was in the presence of a champion.”

“I.think it was a seven,” Gillian told him. “But thanks.”

“I knew you looked familiar. I saw you in the Olympics.” Zit

“I’m not that good,” she said.

“Could’ve fooled me. And you claimed you weren’t into diving.”

“It was an easy one.”

“Well, don’t stop now. Let’s see another.”

“Okay, one more.” She boosted herself of the pool. “Don’t expect anything spectacular,” she cautioned him. “I’m a little rusty.”

She was standing at the end of the board before she realized that she had forgotten to be self-conscious about her bikini. Jerry was watching her. He had an eager look on his face.

What the hell, she thought. He thinks I’m a great diver.

She bounced high, tucked, somersaulted, and went in straight and clean.

Jerry was clapping when she came up. “An artist!” he proclaimed. “A virtuoso. You could win trophies for that kind of performance.”

“I’ve got a few,” Gillian admitted, treading water just in front of his submerged feet.

“I don’t doubt it. Let’s see another one.”

“I think two’s enough,” she said. “I don’t want to press my luck. Next time, I might belly-flop and embarrass myself.”

“Just one more?” he asked.

What’s the point of refusing? she thought. He really wants to see me dive again, and I’ve got no good reason to disappoint him. “Okay,” she said. “One more, and that’s it. For now, anyway.”

“Terrific.”

Instead of crossing the pool to climb out where she had before, she swam to Jerry’s side. He watched as she placed her hands on the edge next to him and thrust herself up. Gillian stayed there for a moment, braced with stiff arms. She saw him glance at her breasts, then look into her eyes. “I’ll do a really hard one this time,” she said. “My grand finale.”

Jerry made a thumbs-up sign.

Gillian swung her leg up, climbed from the pool, and hurried to the diving board. She walked out to the end of it, stood motionless until the board stopped shaking, then did an about-face.

Her back to the pool, she stood erect with her arms at her sides. She jumped, bounded straight up, came down again and bounced higher. On the third leap, she shot herself away from the board, did a quick somersault and snapped rigid, coming down fast with the board at her back and her arms stretched toward the water.

She had an instant of stabbing fear when she realized she had come out of the tuck too late.

Her head missed the end of the board. So did her upper back. It caught her just above the buttocks. She gritted her teeth as the board pounded her, scraped her and knocked her forward. She glimpsed her bare legs kicking against the pale sky. Then the water blurred her view.

She blew out air through her nose. Plunging toward the bottom of the pool, she wondered how badly she was hurt. She clawed at the water.

Then she felt a hand on her back. The hand found her arm and pulled her. She reached out and grabbed the side of the pool. Jerry was beside her.

His face looked pale. “My God,” he gasped, “are you okay?”

She shook her head. Her heart was slamming with fear and her throat felt clamped tight. Tears filled her eyes. She crossed her arms on the tiles, and rested her face on them. Jerry’s hand gently rubbed her back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have made you do it.”

“It’s what I get ... for showing off.”

“Damn, I bet that hurt.”

“I feel... like I got... kicked by a mule.”

“You ever been kicked by a mule?”

“Don’t be a wiseguy.” She managed to swallow. She took a deep breath. She wiped a wet forearm across her eyes, then reached down and carefully fingered a raw area near the top of her right buttock. She could feel loose edges of skin that had been peeled down. Her left buttock was in better shape. It felt battered and slightly scuffed, but not flayed.

Suddenly alarmed, Gillian reached lower. Her bikini pants.

“Oh shit,” she muttered.

“What?”

“I lost something.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Easy for you to say,” she told Jerry. She thought she was done crying, but her voice broke and her eyes flooded. “Damn it!” she gasped.

“I’ll find them for you.”

Jerry was no longer beside her. She wiped her eyes and turned around. He was far below the surface, kicking his way toward the bottom of the pool.

Gillian pushed away from the edge. She swam toward the shallow end, then stood. She was shoulder-deep. She peered down. The water blurred the view, but not enough.

Jerry was swimming toward her, well below the surface, the white rag of her bikini pants fluttering in his grip.

She drove her hands down quickly to cover herself.

Jerry veered off. So he has his eyes open under there, Gillian thought. Wonderful.

He swam toward the left, moved past her, and stood up. He lifted her pants out of the water. “Here you go.”

He looked into her eyes. He didn’t look down.

Gillian uncovered herself. She took the garment from him. The cords on both sides dangled, torn loose from the seat. “It’s ruined,” she muttered.

“You can’t put it on?”

She shook her head. She sighed. She felt as if she might burst into tears again.

“I’ll get you something to wear,” Jerry said. He turned away, waded to the side of the pool, climbed out, and hurried across the sundeck to the rear of his house.

While he was gone, Gillian moved to the pool wall. She pressed herself to it, feeling the slick tile against her belly and hips and pubic mound and thighs.

The initial pain had been replaced by a dull ache. Even the skinned areas no longer hurt much.

What hurt was the humiliation.

It wasn’t much different from the time, a few years ago, when she got plastered at a party and barfed on the floor in front of everyone.

That was worse, she decided. This time, at least, it was an accident. It wasn’t exactly my fault.

If I hadn’t been showing off...

Jerry came out of the house with a blue terri-cloth robe. “This should do the trick,” he said. He dropped it onto the pool deck in front of her, then turned away.

Gillian climbed out, hoping he wouldn’t take advantage of the opportunity to look at her. She put on the bulky robe, and belted it shut. “Okay,” she said.

He faced her. He was frowning. “Better?” he asked.

Gillian nodded. “Thanks.”

“You really caught it.”

“Yeah. I noticed. Thanks for pulling me out.”

“Do you think you need a doctor? I could drive you to an emergency room.”

“No, it’s not that bad. I’ll have an ugly ass for a couple of weeks, that’s all.”

Jerry smiled a little sadly. “It’s a shame for something that gorgeous to get banged up.”

Heat rushed to Gillian’s face. “I’d better get going,” she muttered. Stepping over to the table, she slipped into her sandals and picked up the shirt she had worn as a cover-up.

“You’ll come back for the barbecue, won’t you?”

“I don’t know, Jerry.”

“You earned it. The hard way.”

“I don’t know. This is all ... pretty embarrassing.”

“Yeah, I guess it would be.” He lowered his voice. “Look, the invitation stands. I’d really like you to come over. But I’ll understand, if you’d rather not.”

“If I do come, are you going to make me dive?”

He looked up at her. “Certainly. If you won’t dive, forget it. Stay home and starve.”

“What time do the festivities start?”

“Say five?”

Gillian nodded. “We’ll see. I’ll bring you back your robe, anyway.”

He walked with her to the gate, and opened it. “I’m awfully sorry you got hurt.”

“I’m awfully sorry I lost my pants.”

“I’m not.”

“Screw you, buster.”

He patted her gently on the arm. She stepped through the gate and walked down his driveway, trying hard not to limp.

Chapter Thirteen

“I think we should push on,” Bert said. “It’s still early, and Dead Mule Pass is only two miles.”

“Two miles straight up,” Andrea pointed out. “I don’t know why we want to push it. This looks like a perfectly good place to spend the night.”

Rick thought so, too. The lake was surrounded by trees, and the shady place where they’d stopped was close to the shore and had a rushing stream nearby. There were flat areas where they could pitch their tents, a ring of stones for a campfire, and sawn-off logs for seats.

Nobody was using the seats. All four had dropped to the ground and were resting against their packs.

“Let’s go on,” Bonnie said, looking up from a map spread across her legs. “It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours to the top. We’ll come into a whole string of lakes just on the other side of the pass.”

“Bug squat,” Andrea muttered.

Bert smiled at her. “Look at it this way. If we don’t go over the pass this afternoon, we’ll be hitting it first thing in the morning. Wouldn’t you rather get it over with?”

“Maybe it’ll flatten out overnight. Maybe we’ll die in our sleep. Maybe...”

“What do you think, Rick?” Bonnie asked.

“Yeah, Rick,” Andrea said. “How about it? Which’ll it be, the Bataan Death March with yours truly more than likely turning toes up along the way, or a pleasant afternoon relaxing here by the lake, possibly going in for a dip?”

“Well,” he said, “it’s two against one.”

“Make it two against two. I’ll give you my first-born.”

“No fair bribing,” Bert told her.

“It’s nice here,” Rick said. And it would be very nice indeed if the ladies decided to take a dip in the lake. “Also, the chain-gang is probably up ahead somewhere. I’d prefer not to run into them.”

“Right,” Andrea said. “We stay here, we won’t meet up with The Three Thugateers.”

“But I think we should keep moving,” Rick finished.

“Stabbed in the back!” Andrea blurted.

“Sorry. I just think it’ll be nice to get the hard part over with.”

Sure I do, he thought.

He wanted to stay here. But Andrea wanted to stay and Bert didn’t. He had to side with Bert, damn it. Because Andrea was young and beautiful, and it wouldn’t look right if he didn’t.

“Guess I’m out-numbered,” Andrea said. “You guys’ll regret it when I drop dead of heat prostitution.”

“Prostration,” Bonnie corrected.

“You die your way, I’ll die mine.”

They got up, shouldered their packs, and hiked up the path that led from the lake to the main trail, leaving the shade behind. Ahead was the barren, rocky side of a mountain with switchbacks zigzagging up its slope and no top in sight.

Rick supposed that Jase, Luke and Wally were up there someplace. But he wondered if he had misjudged them. If the guys had any plans for staging a confrontation, they probably would’ve done it by now.

Unless they’re biding their time, he thought, waiting for just the right opportunity.

Maybe waiting for nightfall.

If we’d just stayed at the lake, we might’ve lost them for good.

There are four of us now, he told himself. We’ve got them out-numbered. That should give them second thoughts. But the temptation might be greater. Three gals instead of just one. Three times the temptation. Might be too much for them. Take me out of the picture, they’ll have a field day.

Hell, they might not even know about Bonnie and Andrea.

I hope not.

Bonnie, in the lead, came to the first turn in the trail. She rounded it and kept walking, facing them now as she started up the next level. She swung her arms. Her stout legs took powerful strides. She looked as sturdy as a tugboat.

Andrea, behind her, hesitated when she reached the turning place. Tilting back her head, she peered at the trail and bared her upper teeth. Her chest rose. Rick could almost hear her pained sigh as her chest deflated. Clutching the straps at her shoulders, she leaned forward and started trudging. Her legs looked too slim and frail to support her under the weight of the big pack.

Bert, just in front of him, seemed neither as fragile as Andrea nor as solid as Bonnie. Lithe and graceful, that was Bert. Rick watched her slender legs swing out, watched the way the seat of her loose tan shorts moved with each step.

Here I am, he thought, one guy with the three of them. Not bad. Better make that two of them, though. Count Bonnie out. Try anything with her, you’d probably get a right hook for your trouble. Or a rock to the head. Good looker, though. So, count your chickens, Ricky baby, it’s not all bad—three gals and one guy. Know some dudes who’d give their eye teeth...

If I just didn’t have to worry about those other guys ... and make sure Bert doesn’t catch me eyeing the other two. Especially Andrea. Wouldn’t mind seeing a lot more of that one. And she’s available, looks like. Maybe she’s straight after all.

Bert looked back at him. “You hanging in okay?” she asked.

“No problem. How about you?”

A comer of her mouth twitched. She turned around and walked backward. “It’s starting to get to me,” she admitted. She took off her hat and rubbed a sleeve across her brow. Fringes of hair were clinging in damp curls around her face. Her faded blue shirt was dark around the collar. All but the lower two buttons were unfastened. Her skin in the opening gleamed as if it were oiled. She was breathing hard, and Rick could see a glossy patch of skin below her sternum throb with her pulsebeat.

“Maybe we should take five,” he said.

“Let’s keep at it a while longer. Gotta get this over with.” With a wry smile, she shook her head and raised her arm, pointing at something behind Rick.

He looked around.

Bert was pointing at Fern Lake. It looked clear blue and cold below them. “And to think we could be there right now,” she said. “Maybe Andrea had the right idea.”

“No pain, no gain.”

“Wise-ass. Why didn’t you talk me out of this?”

“Would’ve looked like I was siding with Andrea.”

“Long as that’s all you do with her.”

“She’s an eight, you’re a ten.”

Bert huffed out a laugh without much breath behind it. “I’d say she’s more of a six, but that’s in the eye of the be-holder.” Grinning, she turned away.

She walked slowly, staying a few strides ahead of Rick. Even though the hike was beginning to take its toll on her, she could easily have passed Andrea. She was probably even capable of leaving Bonnie in her dust, if she had the inclination. Ever since they had joined up with the girls, however, Rick had kept to the rear and Bert had remained in front of him like a barrier. When Andrea slowed down, Bert slowed down even more. When Andrea stopped to rest, Bert stopped too, and the three of them waited until she was ready to move on.

Protecting her interests.

Just as well, Rick thought. It keeps the burden off me.

If Bert went on ahead at her normal pace, he would need to choose between trying to keep up with her (and letting Andrea disappear behind him), or staying back with Andrea (which would look as if he were choosing to desert Bert). Either way, it would’ve been lousy.

This was better.

A lot to be said for hiking behind the three of them. Nice view.

Too bad they aren’t naked, he thought. On the other hand, that’d be rough. Then I’d feel compelled to take over the lead. The front view could be far superior to the rear. Rick smiled. Every silver lining has its cloud.

Be worth the effort, though. Plug on ahead. No pain, no gain. Get up in front for the view. Walk backward the way Bert was doing a while ago, careful not to fall on your ass or step off the side of the mountain. They’d be hiking toward him single-file.

Rick stopped smiling.

They’d still have on their hats, their socks and boots. They’d still be lugging their packs, the straps pulling their shoulders back and thrusting their breasts forward. Their breasts would jiggle and bob as they walked. Their skin would gleam with sweat. Their muffs would be powdered with trail dust.

“How about a little fucky-wucky?” Andrea called to him.

“Don’t be so gross,” Bonnie told her.

He asked Bert for permission. “Long as I’m first,” she replied. Then all three gaped in alarm. Rick whirled around. Jase smashed his head with a rock.

He came to. The guys were gone. The girls lay sprawled along the trail in motionless heaps. He rushed down to them and crouched over Bert. Her throat was split as if slashed by a razor. She had blood in her open eyes. Whimpering, Rick backed away and tripped over Bonnie. He rolled off her without looking and found himself on his hands and knees, staring at Andrea. She was staked to the trail, spread-eagled. Her neck was a pulpy red stump. Her head was between her legs, peering at him over the bloody mat of her pubic hair.

“It’s all right.” It was Bert’s voice. He opened his eyes. His head was on her lap. Her throat was healed. She was in her clothes again, though her shirt gaped open and he could see the side of a breast above his face. She was mopping his forehead with a cold, wet rag.

Andrea and Bonnie were also alive again, both kneeling beside Rick. They wore clothes, but no packs. They were staring at him.

He suddenly had to vomit.

He lurched up and scurried away on hands and knees, but didn’t get far before spasms wracked him and he heaved. When he finished, he crawled backward away from the mess. He turned around and met Bert’s gaze. She looked worried.

“What happened?” Rick asked.

She shook her head. “I heard you groan. I looked back just in time to see you fall flat on your face.”

“Christ,” he muttered.

Bert passed a water bottle to him. He gulped the cold liquid.

“What was it?” Andrea asked.

Yeah, he thought. What was it? Exhaustion? Dehydration? The heat? He’d been feeling just fine before it happened. Having quite a pleasant, erotic daydream and suddenly it turned on him, twisted into something hideous.

As if all his worries about Jase, Luke and Wally had blasted to the surface and knocked him out.

Some kind of paranoia attack?

A premonition?

Rick felt a sudden chill.

That old John Newland show, One Step Beyond. People were always having dreams or visions foretelling disaster. ESP.

I’ve never had any ESP.

This was just my imagination taking a nose-dive.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “I guess I just passed out.”

“Did you feel it coming on?” Bonnie asked.

“No, I was fine.” He shrugged. “I feel all right now.”

“We’d still better rest for awhile,” Bert said. Putting a hand on his shoulder, she guided him down. He stretched out on the trail and lay his head on her lap. She smoothed the damp cloth over his brow.

“Maybe we’d better turn back,” Bonnie said.

“If we’d stayed at the lake in the first place,” Andrea said, “this wouldn’t have happened.” She sounded angry, as if she held Bonnie and Bert responsible. “He could’ve fallen over the friggin’ side and broken his neck.”

“I’ll be all right,” Rick protested. “We can go on in a minute.”

“We’re still a long way from the top,” Bert told him. “I think Bonnie’s right. We should go back down to the lake. We can tackle this again first thing in the morning when everybody’s fresh.”

“Before it gets so hot,” Bonnie added.

“Really, I...”

“It’s settled,” Bert said.

Rick closed his eyes.

We’re going back down to the lake, he thought. I wanted to stay there in the first place.

He wondered if a scheming corner of his mind had staged the nasty little skit in hopes of getting the group to turn back. Slap Rick off his feet, everyone gets worried, hy-ho, hy-ho, it’s back to the lake we go.

It’s what you wanted. It’s safer there. The guys are up ahead, and it’s the guys you want to avoid, so it’s all working out great.

Great, except I conked out like a wimp, then barfed right in front of everyone...

Shit..

Way to go, Ricky-babes.

Hearing movement, he opened his eyes. And figured he saw a shadow. A darting figure disappearing behind a rock.

Gone.

A scrawny leafless tree dipping over the rock made short, jagged patches of shadow.

He peered into the shimmering heat. Nothing but rock and goddamn tree. He groaned, snapped his eyes shut and shook his head. When he opened them he saw that Bonnie and Andrea were both on their feet, turning away from him. Bonnie strode up the trail toward her pack. She must have thrown it down and come running back when he passed out. Andrea’s pack was next to Bert’s, only a couple of yards away. As she went to it, Rick lifted his head off Bert’s lap, hoping to orient himself because they didn’t seem to be on the trail.

They were at one of the hairpins where the trail turned back on itself. One wing of the trail stretched downward along the mountainside, one angled upward to meet another juncture far beyond the place where Bonnie was swinging her pack off the ground. Rick raised his eyes. The side of the mountain seemed to go on forever. The higher switchbacks were barely visible, faint pencil lines zigzagging upward.

He looked at Andrea as she sat down. She leaned back against her pack and stretched out her legs. She folded her hands behind her head. The side of her gray T-shirt, from armpit to waist, was dark with sweat. Turning her head, she smiled at Rick. “Too bad you didn’t flop a little sooner.”

“I don’t think it’s something to joke about,” Bert said.

“Who’s joking? Felt like I was crawling up the bunghole of the universe. A couple more minutes, they could’ve renamed it Dead Andrea Pass.”

Rick smiled at her, then put his head down. Bert’s hip bone was against the nape of his neck. She turned slightly, and the knob went away. She felt good under his head. He pressed his face against her, then winced and turned away as the hot belt buckle stung his nose. Bert laughed softly. “Not your day,” she whispered.

Nice view, though, he thought. If her shirt was open about one more inch, he’d be able to see her left nipple. If Andrea and Bonnie weren’t around ...

You’d better just forget about the goddamn nice views, he warned himself. They get you into nothing but trouble.

Bonnie appeared. She swung her pack to the ground not far beyond Rick’s feet, then sat down on a boulder with her back to the mountainside.

“That lake does look nice down there,” she said.

“Too bad we’re not in it,” Andrea muttered. “But at least we don’t have to—”

“What?” Bonnie asked.

“Something flashed up there.”

Bonnie twisted around and tilted her head back. “Where?” “Way up. There it is again.”

Rick felt a clutch in his chest. He sat up, scooted himself around in the dust until he was beside Bert, and searched the mountainside.

He too saw the flash. It was followed by a second blink of brilliant glare. Double-barreled, he thought.

“It’s the sun hitting something,” Bonnie said.

“A piece of glass?” Bert suggested.

“How about binocular lenses,” Rick said.

Bert moaned and started to fasten a button.

“Cripes,” Bonnie muttered.

“Those fuckheads are spying on us!” Andrea blurted. “Spy on this, you jack-offs!” She jammed her middle finger into the air.

Bonnie saw her do it. “Don’t!”

“Maybe it’s someone else,” Bert said.

“I don’t care who it is,” Bonnie said. “They shouldn’t be watching us with binoculars.”

“Scumbags.”

“It’s them, all right.” Rick had hoped that the boys didn’t know about Andrea and Bonnie. But they knew. And they were very interested, or they wouldn’t be studying the group with field glasses.

Andrea got up. She walked in front of Rick and sat down near the end of the lower trail, her back to a cluster of rocks so she would be out of sight from above. “Aren’t gonna get their kicks looking at me,” she muttered.

Bonnie shoved herself off the boulder and squatted. “Maybe we ought to start down.”

Bert nodded. “I don’t like this at all.”

You and me both, Rick thought. “Let’s get moving.”

Chapter Fourteen

Gillian woke up. She was sprawled on the water bed. Lifting her head off the pillow, she looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Three-twenty. That left more than an hour and a half before it was time to go over to Jerry’s.

If I’m going, she thought.

She groaned as she climbed off the undulating bed. Her back ached, and her rump felt stiff and sore. Standing up straight, she turned her back to the wall of mirrors. She looked over one shoulder. Her right buttock had a three-inch band of shiny red near its top. Some curls of white skin rimmed the lower edge of the scrape. She picked at one of the larger pieces, thinking she might peel it off like the dead skin after a sunburn, but pulling it hurt so she stopped. The left buttock, now so raw, looked as if someone had taken a hard swipe at it with sandpaper. The skin around both abrasions had a rosy glow. That’s where the bruises will come, she thought. That’s where I’ll be black and blue.

Could’ve been a lot worse, she thought.

The rosy glow suddenly spread. Even her face took on a deep red hue.

God, why couldn’t I just get bashed up? Why did I have to lose my pants?

Talk about your Stupid Human Tricks.

Jerry was good about it, though. Hell, he was terrific.

He really wants me to come over.

And I told him I’d bring his robe back.

She lifted the robe off the foot of the bed where she had tossed it before flopping down. It was still damp inside. She didn’t see any blood on the dark blue fabric, but maybe she ought to throw it into the washing machine, anyway.

She tossed the robe down, stepped into her sandals, and slipped into her shirt. The shirt felt fine. The way it draped her rear end, it didn’t even touch the wounds as long as she stood very straight.

When she bent over to pick up the robe, the shirt fell lightly against the raw place. It stuck to moisture there when she straightened up. She plucked it away, thinking she had better bandage that side, at least.

First, I’ll throw this in the wash.

She carried Jerry’s robe outside.

On her way to the laundry room, she looked at the high redwood fence and listened for the splashy sound of swimming. There was only silence from the other side. Maybe Jerry had gone inside. Or maybe he was stretched out, sun-bathing.

I might still be there, she thought, if I hadn’t crashed and burned.

She saw herself lying on one of his loungers. She felt the heavy heat of the sun, and then Jerry’s hands sliding over her skin, spreading oil on her back and legs.

It might have gone that way, she thought. With a sigh, she entered the laundry room.

In spite of the light coming in through the curtained windows, the room seemed dark after the brightness outside. Next to a large basin stood a drier. On the other side of the drier was a top-loading washer. A nearby shelf held a collection of detergents and bleaches.

Gillian lifted the lip of the washing machine and peered inside. The drum appeared to be empty. She stuffed Jerry’s robe inside, sprinkled it with soap powder, and closed the lid. She changed the temperature setting to cold, and turned the dial to regular. The machine started with a rush of shooting water.

Jerry’ll think I’m terribly domestic, she thought, returning the robe to him all freshly laundered.

Smiling, she looked away from the washing machine. At the end of the room stood a white-painted cabinet. Its doors were shut.

Normally, Gillian’s curiousity would have been whetted by the sight. She would’ve hurried to inspect the contents.

But the urge wasn’t there.

She realized that she’d had enough of Fredrick. She didn’t want to inspect anymore of his possessions, didn’t care to discover anymore of his secrets.

She left the cabinet unexplored and went out the door.

Walking into the driveway, she angled toward Jerry’s fence.

Don’t be a ditz, she told herself.

Why not?

On tiptoe, she peered over the top of the fence. The pool was deserted. Jerry was nowhere to be seen. Feeling a small tug of disappointment, Gillian turned away. She cut across the driveway and entered the den through its sliding glass door.

In the bathroom, she searched the medicine cabinet. She found adhesive tape and a roll of gauze. And three straight razors, one with a scrimshaw handle depicting an old-fashioned sailing ship. She picked that one up. Holding it carefully, she fingered a trigger-like lever and the blade flashed up.

She grimaced and muttered, “Yook.”

Fredrick Holden would, she thought, have a collection of straight razors. They way his taste seems to run, he probably daydreams of slicing up naked women.

Maybe he does slice up naked women.

Goldilocks and the homicidal maniac.

Cute thought, that.

She looked closely at the white handle of the razor. Any bloodstains? Didn’t seem to be.

She set the razor down on the edge of the sink, then took off her shirt. There was only enough gauze to make a bandage for her main scrape, so she didn’t need the razor to cut it off the roll. Lucky me, she thought. She folded the netty fabric into a pad. Then she stripped off two lengths of tape to secure its edges. She used her teeth to rip the tape off the spool.

I could’ve gotten by, she thought, without even touching the damn razor.

She picked it up and carefully folded the blade. She put it back into the medicine cabinet, set the remaining tape inside, and shut the mirrored door.

Her face in the mirror looked flushed. Specks of sweat glistened on her forehead, under her eyes, over her lip. A hand towel hung from a bar beside the sink, but the thought of wiping her face on one of Fredrick’s towels was repulsive.

She used her shirt to mop the sweat off her face.

Then she stepped in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door. She turned around. Peering over her shoulder, she pressed the bandage into place.

She put on her shirt as she walked to the den. She went directly to the bar, opened the refrigerator, and took out a bottle of beer. After a few swallows, she sighed.

Now what? she wondered.

The washing cycle wouldn’t be finished yet.

She wished she could take her suitcase out to the car. That way, there would be no need to return here after leaving Jerry’s house tonight. But he might see her carrying it out.

I’ll get it all ready, she decided, and leave it by the door when I go over. Then I’ll just have to reach in, grab it, and take off.

Beer in hand, she stepped around the end of the bar and glanced at the digital clock on the VCR. Three thirty-eight. Christ. Only eighteen minutes had gone by since she woke up from her nap.

Give yourself about twenty minutes to get ready, you’ve still got an hour to kill.

Read? She felt too restless to read.

So watch the tube, she thought.

She wandered over to the shelves and looked at Fredrick’s collection of video tapes.

Should’ve known, she thought, as she started to read the tides: Maniac, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Halloween, Friday the 13th, 2000 Maniacs, Psycho, Dressed to Kill Badlands, Visiting Hours, Mother’s Day, Body Double, Sleepaway Camp, Return to the Valley of the Dolls, Ten to Midnight, The Ripper, I Spit on Your Grave, and a lot more. Gillian had seen several of the movies in Fredrick’s collection. Most of them featured nude women and nasty murders.

This guy has a real bent, she thought.

Crouching to inspect a lower shelf, she found some tides that were more to her liking: Back to the Future, E.T., Star Wars, Alien, The Howling, The Snows of Kilimanjaro, and about a dozen others. She’d never seen The Howling. She’d enjoyed the book, and the movie was supposed to be good. There wouldn’t be enough time to watch all of it, but she could take a look at the first half, then rent the tape later and watch the rest back at her apartment. So she slipped its case off the shelf and carried it over to the television.

The VCR was a different make from hers. She studied it for a few moments, then turned on the television, pressed a button marked Power and another marked Play. The machine came on. She took her beer to the easy chair and sat down.

The movie opened with a young woman standing under a shower. She turned slowly, humming as she soaped herself and the camera roamed her body.

Werewolf victim number one, Gillian thought.

She was a little surprised by the explicit nudity. They even showed a close-up of the girl’s vagina as she stroked it with a sudsy hand. The picture quality was poor, too. It looked grainy and cheap.

Suddenly, the shower curtain shot open. The girl yelped in surprise as a hand grabbed her hair and jerked her backward. She fell over the edge of the tub and landed with a slap of wet skin against the tile floor. Kicking and whimpering, she was dragged out of the bathroom by her hair.

The screen went dark.

Against the black background appeared the words: Torture Slave.

What’s going on? Gillian wondered. She glanced at the plastic box on the floor. It clearly belonged to The Howling, not something called Torture Slave.

Credits were still showing on the television. Screenplay by Tryon Cleaver, directed by Otto Keller. Obviously pseudonyms created by guys with terrific senses of humor.

Must be some kind of porn, Gillian thought.

The credits ended.

The girl from the shower was hanging by her wrists from ropes attached to ceiling beams in the living room of a house. She squirmed and screamed while a man in black clothes stood nearby. His back was to the camera. He was facing a fireplace, holding a wrought-iron poker.

Gillian muttered, “Oh, shit.”

She rushed from her chair, stopped the tape and ejected it. Her hands trembled as she placed the cassette into the box labeled The Howling.

What kind of sick crap is this? she wondered.

She stepped over to the shelves and scanned all the titles on the three rows of video tapes. No Torture Slave in the whole collection.

She slipped the cassette back into its place and pulled out Star Wars. She opened the box. The cassette inside had no label at all.

She took it to the television. Crouching there, she inserted it in the VCR and pressed the Play button. For a few seconds, the screen was blank.

Then a young woman inside an elevator approached its opening doors. Before she could step out, two thugs in leather jackets rushed in, knocking her backward. She slammed against the rear wall of the elevator. Laughing, one of the men tore open her blouse. The other yanked her skirt up.

Gillian stopped the show. She ejected the cassette and took it back to the shelves.

Probably E.T., Back to tbe Future, and the rest of them in this section of Fredrick’s collection were more of the same. The popular titles on the containers were camouflage for his secret library of sick videos.

Where did he even get such things? Gillian wondered. Maybe he ordered them through one of those S&M magazines he kept in his bedroom. Did they come packaged as legitimate films? That hardly seemed likely. Pretty expensive, though, if he bought all those popular videos just for their cases.

The guy’s loaded. He can afford to squander money when he has that much of it.

Why would he even bother? He could keep the things in a closet, or something. Maybe he enjoys having them hidden in plain sight. His little secret.

A guy like this, his mind’s warped. He probably has plenty of strange games. I’d just as soon not run into anymore of them, Gillian thought.

She wondered if she should get her camera and snap some photos of his video tape collection. She didn’t much care to have such a reminder; it would be like taking a little of Fredrick the Gross home with her. On the other hand, she already had shots of his book and magazine collection—with the exception of S&M and child porn. If she left without taking pictures of his tapes, she might regret it later. Besides, she had time to kill.

She went to the bedroom for her camera.

I don’t have to put any of these in my scrapbook, she thought. Just throw them in the back of a drawer if I don’t want to look at them. But at least I’ll have the things.

Back in the den, Gillian removed Psycbo, I Spit on your Grave, 2000 Maniacs, and several more from the shelf of legitimate videos and arranged them on the floor. She took a close-up showing their covers. As she put them away, she wondered if even these were what they seemed to be. Probably. But she opened the case of I Spit on your Grave. The label on the cassette inside had the same title. So the psycho/ slasher movies were for real. Naturally.

Crouching, she took down a dozen of the videos with the phony cases. She spread them on the floor, took a shot, and returned them to the shelf.

She wondered when she’d find time to put all this down into note form-but maybe she wouldn’t want to; the pictures would speak for themselves. She returned to the bedroom with her camera and put it into the suitcase. The clock on the nightstand showed five minutes after four.

The washing machine had probably stopped by now.

Gillian hurried through the house.

I won’t wait for five o’clock, she decided. As soon as the robe’s in the drier, I’ll come in and get ready. By the time I’m set to go, the robe should be pretty dry. Jerry won’t mind if I show up a little early.

Outside, she resisted the urge to peer over the fence again. She walked straight to the laundry room. The washing machine was silent. She opened the lid, reached inside, and lifted out the heavy, sodden robe. She dropped it on top of the drier.

Bending over, she opened the drier’s door.

And groaned.

Fredrick had gone off and left laundry in the machine.

Just what I want to do, Gillian thought. Touch his stuff. At least it looks dry.

Reaching into the drum, she pulled out a washcloth, a shirt, some white socks and a few pairs of brightly colored bikini underpants. She tossed them on top of a drier beside Jerry’s robe. When she dragged out a large blue bathtowel, the machine was empty.

Except for a book.

It was oversized, with a brown leatherette cover, and looked like a photo album.

So what’s it doing in the drier? Gillian wondered.

She supposed that Fredrick had put it there as a precaution, to save it in case the house burnt down while he was away.

She removed it, set it on top of the drier, and stuffed Jerry’s robe into the machine. She dosed the door. She pushed a button to start the drying cycle.

Then she stared at the album.

My big chance, she thought, to see what Fredrick looks like. A guy with mirrors all over his bedroom would probably have quite a collection of photos featuring himself.

It’s more likely crammed with Polaroids of his girlfriends in the raw. That would be his speed.

Do I really want to find out? I doubt it.

Gillian left the album on top of the drier, turned away, and walked to the laundry room door. She stepped outside into the sunlight. Then she halted. She sighed.

If I look in the album, I’ll regret it.

She muttered, “Shit,” turned around, strode to the drier and picked up the album. Holding it under one arm, she walked quickly to the lounge and sat down. She rested the book on her crossed legs and opened it.

There were no photographs on the page. Pressed beneath the clear plastic sheet was a newspaper clipping. There was nothing to indicate the name of the paper or the date. Gillian read the story.U of A CO-ED VANISHESFoul play is suspected in the disappearance, Saturday, of 19-year-old Candice Fairborn, a University of Arizona co-ed, from. her apartment on Spring Street.According to police authorities, the roommate of Miss, Fairborn returned to the ground-floor apartment Stun-day evening after a weekend outing to find a rear window open. Further investigation led to the discovery of an upset lamp in the victim’s bedroom along with the torn. remnants of her nightgown.. Being sought in connection with the disappearance Ls Miss Fairborn’s former boyfriend ...

The story continued, but Gillian didn’t bother to finish it. She turned the page. And found another clipping.MYSTERY BODY GREEN BAY HOUSEWIFEThe partially decomposed body discovered Thursday by hikers in the Bagley Rapids area has been identified as Kathy Ellen Warnack, the 22-year-old wife of Ronald Warnack, who disappeared from their Jackson Avenue home on August 4.According to the coroner’s report, the slain woman had been sexually molested and died of multiple stab wounds...

Gillian had a tight, cold feeling in her stomach.

Why did Fredrick Holden keep these clippings? Why, indeed ?

Her hand trembled as she turned the page.GRISLY DISCOVERYSaranak Lake—The remains of an unidentified female were found Saturday in a densely wooded area north of Saranak Lake...

She glanced at the next page. Eighteen-year-old Pam Jones had vanished from her parents’ home in Park Ridge while they were out playing bridge. On the next page was the story of Maggie Drukker, a twenty-three-year-old housewife who disappeared from her New Orleans apartment while her husband was working the graveyard shift at the airport.

The raped and mutilated body of a Seattle secretary was found in the woods near Salem, Oregon, two weeks after her disappearance.

Remains, partially devoured by wildlife, were found in the bayou and identified by dental charts as belonging to Maggie Drukker, who had disappeared from her New Orleans apartment on November 2nd.

Page after page, the stories went on. Young women mysteriously vanishing from their homes or apartments. Corpses found in secluded, wild areas. On four occasions, stories of the discovered bodies matched earlier stories of disappearances. Gillian turned several pages and came to one without a clipping. The remaining pages of the album were bare.

She turned back to the final story.MISSING TEEN FOUND SLAINUnderhill—The raped and savagely mutilated body discovered Friday by hikers in the Smuggler’s Notch area of Mt. Mansfield has been identified as that of 17-year-old Rhonda Bain, who was abducted May 24 from her parents’ home in Burlington.The nude corpse of the teen was found ...

Gillian didn’t read the rest of it. Numb and confused, she flipped to the front of the album. She counted the clipping. Twenty-six of them.

She looked again at each.

Most of the stories contained references to locations. Some of the areas were unfamiliar to Gillian, but she knew enough geography to realize that the disappearances and murders had taken place in states all over the country.

None in California, though. That was interesting.

She shut the album and stared at it.

Why, for godsake, did Fredrick Holden have a scrapbook like this?

Yeah, why?

Why do I keep my photographs and stuff?

To look at them and remember.

Chapter Fifteen

“You guys should get first choice of where you want to set up your tent,” Bonnie said.

“I think we’ll do some scouting around,” Bert told her. “You can have this campsite. I’m sure we’ll find a good one.”

Rick felt something collapse inside. Oh no, he thought. Bert, no.

Andrea pulled a boot off and looked up, perplexed. “What do you mean?” she asked. “You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“There’s plenty of room here,” Bonnie added. “There’s no reason to go.”

“I’m sure we won’t go far,” Bert said. “You girls didn’t come out here to be stuck with us.”

“And vice versa,” Andrea muttered.

Bert didn’t respond to that remark. “Maybe we can get together later on, tell stories around the campfire or something.”

“Whoopee.” Andrea looked at Rick. “I thought we were all going to stick together.”

“Yeah. Well. I guess it doesn’t really matter. We’ll be close by, in case anything happens.”

“Nothing’s going to happen,” Bert said. “I’m sure Jase and the others are over the pass by now.” She turned to Rick. “Why don’t we leave our packs here until we find a place? No point in lugging them around anymore than necessary.”

Andrea peeled a sock off her foot and threw it down.

Rick followed Bert to a path near the shore of the lake. “There are probably a lot of good campsites,” she said.

“This one has the stream. We want to have running water, don’t we?”

“Maybe we’ll find another stream.”

They walked only a short distance before Rick spotted a clearing with a fire ring. “Let’s check this place out,” he suggested.

Bert scanned it from where she stood. “We can do better,” she said.

It’s too close to the girls’ camp for her taste, Rick thought. Great. Wonderful. Shit.

They kept walking. Soon, they came to a clearing with a built-up fireplace that had a grate. There were logs for seats, even a makeshift table. The area had high clusters of rock on three sides that would provide a natural barrier against the wind.

It was probably not much more than a five-minute hike from the girls’ camp.

“This looks perfect,” Rick said.

“Not bad,” Bert agreed. “Why don’t we keep going, though? There’s no big hurry. Maybe we’ll run into something even better if we keep looking.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe we’ll find a stream.”

They found a stream.

But not before they had rounded the end of the lake.

Standing on a small rise, they stared down at it. The stream by the girls’ camp was a trickle compared to this. The wide band of water rushed down over bare rocks, white and frothy in places; in other places gleaming like clear glass. Not far from where it spilled into the lake, the stream formed a wide pool.

“Oh, this is fabulous,” Bert said.

Rick tried to spot the girls’ camp. He couldn’t. The stream emptied into an inlet with a rim of rocky, wooded land across the front. There was only a narrow opening between a high outcropping on the shore and the end of the sheltering arm. Bert couldn’t have found a more secluded spot. And there was a camping area on the other side of the stream, down near the inlet.

She smiled at Rick and squeezed his hand. “Come on.” She led him down the slope. She had a spring in her step. She really loves this place, Rick thought. And he couldn’t blame her. But it was too far from Andrea and Bonnie.

When they reached the stream, Bert stopped at its edge. She stood there, turning her head, smiling as she watched it rush and swirl. It sounded like a strong wind, and a hint of coolness seemed to rise off its surface.

“What do you think?” she asked. She looked eager. And she looked ready for disappointment.

“It is nice,” he admitted.

“I know we’re a long way from the girls, but this is so beautiful and we’d have it all to ourselves. It’s the kind of place I was hoping we’d find, even before we started out.”

“Okay,” Rick said.

“You want to camp with the girls, don’t you?”

“No, of course not. It’s just that we told them ...”

“We don’t owe them anything. Hell, we spent the whole day with them. We didn’t come on this trip to have a four-some. We came to be with each other.”

“It’s just that I’m worried about them.”

“The guys are long gone, Rick. The girls don’t need our protection.”

“No, I suppose not. I said we could stay here.”

“Your heart wasn’t in it. Do you want Andrea? Is that it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Because if you do, just say so. I’ll camp here, out of your way. Maybe we can even get Bonnie to come over, so she won’t...” Her voice snagged. Her eyes glimmered wet. She turned away.

Rick put his hands on her shoulders. “For godsake, Bert.”

“I’m sure she’d be ... more than happy to oblige you.”

“It might be nice,” Rick said. He felt Bert stiffen under his hands. “But she isn’t you.”

“Oh, I’m sure she has pretty much the same parts.”

“So do a Volkswagen and a Rolls-Royce.”

“Christ, you’re going automotive on me?”

“Four wheels and an engine, but there’s a difference.”

“You don’t even have a Rolls-Royce.”

“Got you.”

She sniffed and rubbed a shirtsleeve across her nose. “Yeah, you got me. Still want me to move in with you?”

“Will you?”

“No. But I’ll think about it.” She turned around. Her dirty, tear-streaked face wore half a smile.

“Your mascara ran,” Rick said.

“What mascara?” The other half of her smile came up.

“You need to wash your face.”

“Thanks, buster. You seen yourself lately?” She kissed him on the mouth. “Anyone for a bath?” she whispered.

“We’ll freeze our nuts off.”

“You may.”

“We’d better get back,” Bert said. “The girls might think we’re lost and come looking. If they see you like this ...”

“They’d go apeshit, but they’d be tough out of luck. I couldn’t get it up now if my life depended on it.”

“Wouldn’t bet on that,” Bert said.

He felt her hand.

“Ah, I was right.” She patted his belly. “But enough of this. We’d better get dressed.”

She sat up. Her back was speckled with grit. The smooth face of the rock still bore her wet imprint.

They both stood. Rick used his open hands to brush off her back and rump. Then he turned around, and she did the same for him. “For a man,” she said, “you have a very nice ass.”

“Well, don’t beat it to death.”

She squeezed it and stepped away.

When they were dressed, they crossed the stream, leaping from rock to rock, and made their way down to the campsite. The shaded clearing had a fireplace with a grate, and a good flat area where they decided their tent would go.

“Looks fine to me,” Rick said.

“Any more qualms about abandoning the girls?”

“They’ll be all right.”

“Would you feel better if we asked them to come over here? I’m not willing to give up this place, but if they want to bring their stuff over...”

“You’ve sure changed your tune.”

Bert shrugged. “I guess Andrea doesn’t seem like such a big threat anymore.”

“I guess she wouldn’t,” Rick said.

Bert reached forward and clasped her hands behind Rick’s neck. “So, what do you think? Should we allow them into our nice little hideaway?”

He slipped his hands inside her open shirt. He curled them over her breasts, lightly caressing the smooth skin and stiff nipples. “I don’t think so,” he said. “They’d just be in the way.”

“Let’s bring our packs over.” She tipped back her head and squirmed against his moving hands.

“What’s the hurry?”

“I want to ... lie out on the rocks again ... while the sun’s still on them.”

“That’s certainly worth hurrying for.”

She swallowed. “Thought you might think so.”

Rick drew the front of her shirt together and fastened the middle button. She released his neck. Her hands glided down his shoulders, then dropped away.

He followed Bert across the clearing and up the rock slabs to the stream. They hopped across it. The flat surface on the other side, where they had made love, was dry now.

Rick remembered how her wet skin had been cold at first, and stippled with goosebumps.

Then he remembered what his mind had done.

How could he have let himself imagine such things?

It had been Bert under him, but sometimes it was Andrea; Andrea naked on the trail to Dead Mule Pass, but not dead, not decapitated, alive and writhing, gasping and clutching at him as he rammed; and then she was Julie sprawled beneath him in nothing but her knee socks, Julie his stepmother, but she was no more dead than Andrea or Bert and those were her hands tugging at his buttocks to urge him deeper into her wet, hugging heat. Rick had thought, this is wrong, this is bad. But he couldn’t help it. He loved it. He was having Bert and Andrea and Julie all at once.

It’s these damn mountains, he thought, ashamed now that he’d allowed such fantasies to take hold. It’s the mountains and not enough sleep last night and hiking all day in the heat. It’s what happened with Julie all those years ago. It’s Jase and Luke and Wally and knowing what they’d do to the women if they got the chance. Or is it what I would like to do to them?

Hadn’t Bert suggested as much this morning?

You’re scaring me, she’d said. What tbe hell is going on inside your head?

Your imagination is revolting.

Sounds to me like you’re projecting your own fantasies onto those guys.

Yeah? And what was I projecting when we caught them spying on us with their binoculars? Was that my imagination, too?

But you have to admit, he thought, your imagination’s been throwing some real curves lately. Some wild stuff. Dreaming up that slaughter on the trail, turning Bert into Andrea, which was bad enough but understandable; turning her into Julie, which was sick.

Need to get home. All this will stop when I’m home.

God, we almost turned back this morning before the girls came along. We’d be home tonight, or at least out of the damned mountains, maybe in a hotel at Tahoe, but I had to open my big mouth and talk Bert into staying. To watch out for the girls. To watch them, more like it. Had nothing to do with protecting them.

What did I think, I’d get in their pants? Fat chance of that, unless I bashed in Bert’s head ...

Or slit her throat.

“Oh my God!” Bert gasped. She stopped abruptly and grabbed his arm.

Rick felt a surge of dread that she’d somehow read his mind. His face burned. She’s not psychic anymore than I am, he told himself. And I’m not. That trail massacre was mind garbage, paranoia, not a premonition.

But it came roaring back through his head—the sprawled naked bodies, the mutilations, the death—when he saw what Bert was pointing at.

Jase, Wally and Luke.

The three were crouched side by side among the rocks of an outcropping that jutted into the lake.

They had their backs to Rick and Bert.

The way they peered over the top reminded Rick of old westerns, of outlaws waiting to ambush a stagecoach.

“Those bastards,” Bert muttered.

Rick pulled her off the path and into the trees, where they couldn’t be seen if the boys should turn around.

“Those assholes are spying on the girls,” she said. Her eyes looked fierce and unafraid.

“Close up, this time.”

“Can you imagine? If that was them with the binoculars, they actually came all the way back down.”

“Obviously liked what they saw.”

“The nerve of those ...” A red hue washed over her face. “You don’t think they watched us, do you?”

Rick shook his head. “No. They don’t know where we are.”

“They would’ve, though. If they’d known.”

“Yep.”

“I’d like to rip out their eyes.” -

“It could come to that,” Rick said. “They might not be happy, just looking.”

“We’d better do something. Maybe we can sneak up and take them by surprise.”

“And then what? I forgot to bring my black belt.” And my revolver’s in my pack. “I don’t think this is the right time to confront them. We’d be... catching them red-handed. I don’t think they’d like that at all.”

“Screw what they’d like.”

“If they feel cornered, they might decide to go for broke and have at us. I seriously doubt that we’d come out on top. Let’s just stay out of their way. If we circle the lake, we can come around from the front and join up with the girls, and those three scums won’t know that we’re onto them.”

“That makes sense,” Bert said. “Yeah. That’s what we’ll do.”

“Guess we can write this place off,” Bert said when they came to the stream. “Now we’ve gotta stick with the girls.”

“Maybe we can all come over here.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “It’s no good now, anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugged and looked at him. “It was nice, though, wasn’t it?” .

“Fantastic.”

“At least we had that.”

They hiked through the trees, staying away from the shoreline path, until they heard faint splashing sounds. Then Rick led the way to the edge of the lake. They ducked behind a deadfall and peered out through the rotted limbs.

“Oh great,” Bert said. “Just great.”

Andrea and Bonnie were directly across the lake from them, knee-deep in the water near the shore. Bonnie, in her yellow bikini, was bent over and splashing herself. Andrea, in a black bikini, stood closer to the shore, rigid and hugging her chest as if she were freezing.

Rick turned his eyes to the jut of rocks where the boys had been. He couldn’t see them.

“So where are the guys?” Bert asked.

“Still there, probably. Enjoying the view.”

“Nice of the girls to be so obliging.”

“They don’t know they’re being watched,” Rick said.

Bonnie waded farther out. The water climbed her stout legs. Her lips peeled back in a grimace when the cold lapped her groin. She turned to face Andrea. She spoke, but Rick couldn’t quite make out her words. When Andrea replied, her voice carried clearly across the water. “Yeah, sure it’s not so bad. Tell me that when you’re pissing icicles.”

“Come on,” Bert said. “Let’s get going.”

Rick glanced toward the rocks. This time he did see a shadow. Small. Fleeting. Even imagined a low, cackling laugh. He exhaled slowly and shook his head in disbelief. What was the matter with him? The place was giving him the creeps, that was the matter. At least The Three Thugateers were flesh and blood. He could handle them okay. But skinny shadows? No way.

Bert was moving forward. Had she seen him staring at the rocks like some crazy lunatic? In case she had, Rick said, “I wish the guys would show themselves.”

Andrea turned around and waded toward shore. Her hips swayed. Her small, firm rump flexed with each step. Her bikini pants were low enough for Rick to see the shadow of cleavage between her buttocks.

“Quit stalling,” Bert said. “You’re no better than those peeping Toms.”

“I just hope they don’t do anything but look,” he said. “We’d better get over there fast.”

“Before the girls get dressed,” Bert added.

She is psychic.

With Bert in the lead, they stayed away from the shore, and only pale bits of the lake were visible through the dense trees to the right. A few times, Rick heard the girls’ faint voices. There were occasional splashing sounds.

Finally, Rick saw bright orange in the distance. “Looks like a tent,” he said.

Bert nodded.

They made their way into the clearing. Their own packs were on the ground near the side of the tent. The girls’ packs were propped up against rocks, and open. Rick saw no one, not even when he turned toward the lake. He felt himself knot up.

Oh my God, he thought.

We would’ve heard shouts, he told himself.

Not necessarily. If the guys took them by surprise ...

He headed for his pack.

“Going for your camera?” Bert asked. The smile fell off her face when she saw Rick’s expression. “What’s wrong? You don’t think... ?” Her head snapped toward the lake. “Bonnie?” she called. “Andrea?”

“Over here,” Bonnie called from the direction of the lake.

“You guys get lost or something?” Andrea asked.

Bert looked relieved. She glanced at Rick and rolled her eyes upward.

“False alarm,” Rick muttered.

He followed Bert to the lake shore and they found the girls on a sunlit slab of rock that slanted gently into the water. They had their towels beneath them. Bonnie was sitting up, hands on her raised knees, looking over her shoulder as they approached. Andrea was stretched out, face resting on her crossed arms. Her bikini top, untied so the strings wouldn’t leave marks across her back, was pressed between her body and the towel. The side of her breast was bare and pale. Rick forced himself to look away. He glanced to the left. The cluster of rocks where the boys had been lurking was farther away than he had supposed—maybe fifty yards off. With the binoculars, though, they’d still have a fine view.

“Don’t look around or anything,” Bert told the girls. “Try not to show any reactions.”

Frowning, Bonnie turned herself around to face them.

Andrea lifted her head. She glanced from Bert to Rock.

“The guys are here,” Rick said.

“You’re shitting me,” Andrea muttered. “Our guys? The chain-gang?”

“They’re down the shore a ways,” Bert explained. “Or they were, when we saw them about half an hour ago. They were hiding behind some rocks, watching the two of you while you were in the water.”

“Jesus.”

“You’re serious?” Bonnie asked. “They’re right here at the lake?” She kept her eyes on Bert. Rick admired her restraint in not trying to spot them. “They were way up the trail above us,” she said. “They came all the way down just to...”

“Must’ve really liked what they saw,” Andrea said.

“Where are they?”

Bert turned so her body would block the boys’ view, raised a hand to her belly, and pointed.

Bonnie still didn’t look that way. Andrea tried, twisting her head to look over her shoulder and rolling just a bit. Her right breast unmashed and lifted partway out of the limp bikini. Bert sidestepped into the path of Andrea’s view. Unable to see past her, Andrea eased down again. She picked up the ends of her bikini strings, bent her arms up high behind her back, and started to tie them.

“To get over there,” Bonnie said, “they had to go right past us.”

“You know, this really sucks.” Andrea finished tying her bikini. She sat up, adjusted her top, and crossed her legs. “Do you realize how much this sucks? These scrotes came all the way down the trail. They were almost to the top. They came all the way back down and snuck past and spied on us like a bunch of fucking voyeurs. And we’re not supposed to know they’re around. What are they planning on, anyway? They obviously aren’t gonna leave, not this late in the afternoon. It not only sucks, it’s extremely creepy.”

“Aren’t they going to pitch tents or build a fire or anything?” Bonnie asked.

“If they do that,” Rick said, “they’ll give away that they’re here.”

“What they’re gonna do,” Andrea said, “is keep hidden and sometime during the night they’re gonna move in.”

Bonnie looked up at Rick. “What are we going to do?” He thought about the gun in his pack.

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Bert said. “Why don’t you two get into some clothes, then the four of us will take a walk and pay the guys a visit.”

Andrea grinned. “Fuckin’ A, right!”

onnie looked grim. She nodded. “Yeah, let’s face the bastards.”

“I agree,” Rick said. “If there’s going to be trouble, better to get it over with. While it’s still light out and we can see what we’re doing.”

“What they’re doing,” Bert added. “And let’s not go empty-handed.”

Chapter Sixteen

“Damn it,” Bert said. “I have to pee.”

“Pick a tree,” Rick told her.

She scanned the woods around the clearing. “What about our three friends? I certainly don’t need an audience.”

“They’re probably still near the place where we spotted them. I don’t think they’d come in close. Not while it’s still light out.”

“Want to come along?”

“I thought you didn’t need an audience.”

“You don’t have to watch.”

How do I get out of this? he wondered. The girls were inside their tent getting dressed. Bert going off to urinate would give him just the chance he needed to grab his revolver out of the pack.

Bert reached a suitable clearing, well away from the trail, bent over her pack and took out some toilet paper and a small plastic shovel. She frowned. And bent her head to get a closer look at what she saw on the ground.

A paw print. A large one.

“My God,” she breathed, almost forgetting why she was here in the first place. Her stomach lurched and a warm patch began to spread between her legs. She clamped her muscles tight to stop the patch getting any bigger.

Bert rocked back on her heels. Trying to come to terms with what this new danger would mean to them. She leaned forward to examine the palm-size pawmark imprinted in the sand.

Relatively new. A few hours old at the most. Another one, to the right of the first, lay about eight inches ahead. She looked back and saw two more.

“My God,” she whispered again. Cougar, by the look of it—and one helluva size. It’s in the vicinity. Or was last night. Just passing through? Or is this its patch?

No sign of it now, anyway. She got to her feet. Slowly. Thinking, one cougar and you got more cougars ... Great. That’s all we need. Should’ve listened to Rick and gone to Mauii instead.

Scooping up her pack, paper and trowel, Bert raced back to Rick.

“Hey,” she panted, pulling up short. She took a couple of deep breaths to steady the tremor in her voice. “Looks like we got company, Rick. Big cat type company...”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure. Come see for yourself. I know cougars are around in the mountains, the Rockies, mainly. But let’s hope this is a one-off that’s strayed from home...”

She tried, but she couldn’t convince herself that this cougar was a one-off. One vacation she’d helped out at a feline breeding center in Rosamund. From her time there, she’d learned enough about big cat behavior to know that there was probably a mom cougar, and a bunch of kitty cougars holed up in the rocks somewhere near.

Rick followed her back to the clearing.

Apart from coyotes and maybe the occasional wolverine, he’d discounted other wildlife. Keep to the track, he’d thought. No problems if we keep to the track. But if it looks like we got mountain lions tracking us down as well as the teen trio, then maybe it’s time to bring out the gun ...

“We better keep our eyes peeled. For cats—and for The Three Thugateers,” Bert said. “And tell the girls, too. Better safe than sorry. Anyway, we keep to the main trail, cougars won’t bother us.”

“Okay. But you said we shouldn’t confront the guys empty-handed,” Rick said. “What did you have in mind?”

“Weapons.” She patted the sheath knife on her belt and eyed Rick’s. “The girls have knives, too.”

Rick opened the side pocket of his pack. He pulled out the T-shirt and unwrapped his revolver.

Bert gazed at it. “My God,” she muttered.

“Just in case there’s real trouble,” he said. He lifted the back of his shirt and pushed the pistol under his belt. Its barrel slid down cool between his buttocks. He let his shirt-tail hang out to conceal the bulge.

“I don’t believe this,” Bert said.

“I knew you wouldn’t like the idea. That’s why I kept it out of sight. But it’ll do us a lot more good than knives and a hatchet.”

“You wouldn’t shoot anyone?”

“If we’re attacked ... This isn’t fun ’n games, Bert. We’ve got to be ready to protect ourselves.”

“But a gun.”

“They’ve got knives, too, you know. You actually think we’d stand a chance if it came to a fight?”

“I don’t want anyone getting killed.”

“As long as it’s them and not us.”

“You and Dirty Harry. Maybe we shouldn’t take any weapons at all.”

“Are you looking to get yourself gang-raped? Or chewed up by a cougar?”

“Yeah. Cougars.” The color drained from her face.

“It’ll stay in my belt unless they try for us.”

“Promise?” she asked in a small voice. “You won’t wave it in their faces and threaten them?”

“They’ll never know I have it. If I pull the gun, it comes out firing.”

“Don’t let the girls know about it, either. Andrea—she might start something with the guys if she knew you had it.”

“It’ll be our secret. You and me.”

“I wish it was just your secret.”

“Well, now at least you know we’ve got some protection.”

“A real comfort. You didn’t happen to bring along a nuclear warhead?”

“Wouldn’t fit in my pack.”

Bert sighed. “Let’s go. My teeth are floating.”

He followed her out of the clearing. They leaped the small stream. A distance beyond it, he stopped and Bert went ahead. She stepped behind a tree. Rick heard her belt buckle, the rustle of fabric as she lowered her pants.

She didn’t take it well, he thought. But at least she didn’t go ape. She’ll be damn glad I’ve got the gun if things get so bad that I have to use it. The look on her face when I mentioned getting gang-banged. Hell, she’d probably use it herself before she’d let that happen.

Give the gun to ber if she’s so afraid of what I’ll do with it.

I don’t think so. No, I don’t think so. Not such a hot idea. She might not even know how to fire the thing, and even if she did, she might chicken out until it’s too late. Too late for all of us.

I’ll just keep it, thanks.

Just let them try something, they’ll be dead meat.

Dead meat.

The words had a chilling ring to them.

Rick began to tremble. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth.

If I’d had a gun last time, Julie would still be alive. They wouldn’t have fucked her and killed her. I’d have blown their heads off and saved her and we wouldn’t have been alone together until Dad got back with help and Dad wouldn’t have acted like I’d killed her and he wouldn’t have turned into a drunk and killed himself and my life wouldn’t have turned to shit.

All because I didn’t have a gun.

Well, I’ve got one now.

Bert came out from behind the trees, fastening her belt. When she saw Rick, her face darkened. “What’s wrong?” She looked around as if expecting to spot the guys.

“Everything’s fine,” Rick said.

“Is it?”

“I’m just worried about what might happen.”

“What’s to worry about? You’ve got your equalizer.”

“Thank God.”

They returned to the clearing. The girls were out of their tent. Both had changed into jeans and jogging shoes. Bonnie wore a sweatshirt, Andrea a red plaid shirt with long sleeves. It looked too big for her, and it wasn’t tucked in.

“Do you have knives or something?” Rick asked.

Nodding, Bonnie patted a bulge in a front pocket of her jeans. Andrea lifted the front of her shirt. Sheathed at her hip was a hunting knife with a staghorn handle. “Bonnie has a tomahawk we could take along,” she said.

“It’s my brother’s old Boy Scout hand-axe. But we probably shouldn’t take it with us. I mean, we don’t want to look like we’ve come to do battle.”

“I agree,” Bert said. “I think we should just play it very cool.”

“Maybe you should do the talking,” Rick suggested. “You were good with them this morning.”

“Okay.”

“And no mouthing off,” Bonnie told Andrea.

“You think I’m stupid?”

“You flipped them off, didn’t you?”

“That was different. They were ten miles away.” She scrunched up her face and said, “Uh-oh. You don’t suppose that’s why they came down? Maybe I pissed them off and they came down to pound the shit out of me.”

Her tone was half joking, but Rick could see that the possibility had her worried.

He’d read, last month, of a motorist being killed because he gave the finger to the driver of a pickup truck that cut him off. The pickup stopped, blocking the road. The driver got out, pulled the man from the car, and beat him to death with a tire iron.

“I’m sure your gesture didn’t help the situation,” Bonnie said.

“I doubt if that’s why they’re here,” Bert said, and Rick nodded in agreement.

“Good. Glad of that. So all they want to do is fuck our butts off.”

“Hilarious,” Bonnie muttered.

“Come on,” Bert said. “Let’s get it over with.”

She led the way. Rick followed. His leg muscles felt soft and shaky. Everything, he realized, felt soft and shaky, as if his skin was filled with jelly.

“Oh, and incidentally,” Bert murmured, over her shoulder,

“I came across cougar tracks when I went for a pee back there.” She glanced at the girls’ faces and saw that she had all of their attention. “Just thought you ought to know.”

“Should we whistle a happy tune?” Andrea asked.

“Should we shut up?” Bonnie suggested.

“Everybody wearing clean panties?”

Rick heard a soft whack.

“Hey!”

“Just cut it out,” said Bonnie. “There’s nothing funny going on here.”

“Why don’t you lighten up.” Andrea sounded hurt. “Just because we’re walking toward our imminent defilement and demise, you don’t have to be so fucking tense about it.”

Rick looked back. “We’ll be okay,” he said.

Andrea made a grim smile. “Encouragement from the male. You ever hear the one about the Lone Ranger and Tonto? They’re surrounded by an Injun war party, they’re out of ammo. The Lone Ranger turns to Tonto and says, ‘Looks like we’re gonna buy the ranch.’ And Tonto, he says, ‘What you mean we, white man?’ ”

We’re not out of ammo, Rick thought. He wanted to lift his shirt-tail and let her see the revolver, but he’d promised Bert to keep the gun secret from the girls.

It would ease their minds, knowing.

But Bert was right. If Andrea knew about the gun, she might become very brave and make matters worse.

“We’ll be all right,” he said.

“Yeah? You got an Uzi or something?”

“No, but I’m good with my dukes.”

She smiled. “That’s consoling.”

“Is this banter absolutely necessary?” Bert asked.

Rick faced forward again. “Just trying to keep up the morale of the troops.”

Her eyes flashed. She looked shaky. Rick realized, suddenly, that he no longer felt loose and shivery inside. “The banter helps,” he said. “Why don’t I take over the lead.” Bert nodded. She stepped aside. Though the late afternoon was mild and they had been walking in the shade, she was wet. Honey-colored curls were stuck to her forehead. Her face and neck looked slick. The sides of her pale blue shirt were dark. Rick saw that she had buttoned it all the way up. He stopped in front of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

A corner of her mouth twitched. “Maybe we should turn back,” she said. “The more I think about it...”

“Why don’t I go on ahead,” Rick suggested. “You and the girls could wait here. There’s no need for all of us to confront those creeps.”

“I’m not going to let you do it alone,” Bert said.

“Besides,” Bonnie added, “we don’t even know for sure where they are. Or the wildlife, and I’m talking cats, here, for that matter.”

“Yeah,” Andrea said. “What if you go on your own, and the guys, or the cats, jump the rest of us?”

“The bastards are probably up near those rocks,” Rick said, pointing. He deliberately didn’t mention cats. They hadn’t actually seen a cougar anyway, so in his opinion, The Thugateers posed a more immediate danger.

The rocks suddenly seemed very close. There it was again. Whoever, whatever it was, ducked out of the way, behind another rock. It wasn’t one of the teens. Too thin, too wiry. Too spindly. What the hell was it? Good thing he’d got the gun.

For godsake, what is it about this place?

One thing’s for sure. Little House on the Prairie it ain’t.

Too right...

Best not alarm the girls till I know the score about our mystery stalker.

“We’d better all stick together,” Andrea said. “It’ll be four against three. Even if some of us are of the female variety, it doesn’t mean we’re helpless.”

“And we’ve got our knives,” Bonnie added.

“We’ll stay together,” Bert said.

Rick kept going. She moved on behind him. He felt her hand rub lightly for a moment between his shoulder blades. Then it was gone.

He walked along the shoreline path, closer and closer to the rocks where the boys had been crouching to watch Bonnie and Andrea. He saw no heads among the rocks.

They would’ve seen us coming by now, he thought. They probably took to the trees. We may not find them at all.

He passed the rocks, and looked back at the place where they’d been.

Gone.

Bert touched his shoulder. He snapped his head to the left.

Jase was sitting on a log beside the fire ring of a campsite not far from shore. He wore jeans and no shirt. He was staring at them. A cigarette hung from a comer of his mouth.

Luke was stretched out on a sleeping bag in a patch of sunlight. His hands were folded under his head. He wore sunglasses and jockey shorts. His skin looked almost as white as his underwear, except for a cluster of zits in the center of his chest.

Wally, sitting cross-legged in the shade, was stripping the wrapper off a Mars bar. He still wore his cut-off jeans and camouflage shirt.

“Hi there,” Jase said as Rick entered the clearing. Bert moved up beside him, and he heard the footsteps of the girls to the rear.

Wally looked up from his candy bar. A smile spread across his broad face. Luke propped himself up with straight arms and crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles.

“Thought you people would be on the other side of the pass by now,” Jase said.

“We thought you would, too,” Bert told him.

“Nope. When we got to this place, we decided to flake out.”

“Wally was whining about his feet,” Luke said.

Wally, chewing on his candy bar, nodded agreement.

“So you didn’t go up the mountain at all?” Bert asked.

“Nope. Been here since about noon.”

“Funny. We walked right by this place a couple of hours ago and you weren’t here.”

“Don’t know how that happened.”

“Must’ve been while we were gathering firewood,” Luke said.

Rick glanced at the pile of kindling and branches near the fireplace. He hadn’t noticed it when he and Bert had looked at the campsite earlier. But he was certain that the boys’ packs hadn’t been here either.

They’re lying, he thought. Of course they are. They’d been the ones with the binoculars high up on the trail, and they’d come back down because of the women.

“Are you going to introduce us to your friends?” Jase asked.

“Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum,” Andrea said.

Luke grinned.

“The friendly type,” Jase said, and mashed his cigarette under his boot.

“I don’t like being spied on,” Andrea said.

“Shut up, would you?” Bonnie muttered.

“Has somebody been spying on you?” Jase asked.

“Sounds like she means us,” Luke said. “Do you mean us?”

“Who do you think I mean, anus-face?”

“Woooo.”

Bert whirled around and glared at Andrea. “Would you please stop it?”

“You people must have us mixed up with someone else,” Jase said, all innocence. “We haven’t been spying on anyone. We’ve just been hanging out, relaxing. Isn’t that right, Wally?”

Wally swallowed and nodded. His face was bright red.

“Isn’t that right, Luke?”

“We have simply been minding our own business. Frankly, I find myself disgruntled. Not only are we being unjustly accused, but my face has been maligned by this vicious wench.”

“I think you’re the one getting spied on,” Wally blurted.

“Indeed. I believe they came here for the sole purpose of ogling me in my dainties.”

“Nothing there to ogle,” Andrea said.

Wally whooped. Jase’s thin lips turned up. Bonnie squeezed Andrea’s shoulder, making her grimace for a moment before she knocked the hand away.

With a thumb, Luke hooked out his waistband and peered down the front. “Oh yeah,” he said, “something there all right. Want to see?”

“That’s about enough,” Rick said.

The elastic snapped down. Luke grinned at him.

“I don’t know what you guys think you’re up to, but rd suggest you pack up your stuff and get out of here,” Rick said.

Jase narrowed his eyes. “Hey, man, it’s a free country. You don’t like us here, you move on.”

“And have you follow us there, too?”

“We haven’t followed you anywhere. We were here first. You don’t like it, tough.”

“We’re not leaving,” Bert told him. “We’re staying exactly where we are—and I’m sure you know where that is. We saw you looking at the girls from those rocks by the shore. Now here’s the thing. Stay away. Don’t come anywhere near our camp, or else.”

“Oooo, I’m trembling,” Luke said. “I’m so scared I just don’t know what to do.”

Jase sneered. “I don’t know what your problem is. You come in here like gangbusters, calling us names, telling us to get out of here, threatening us. Where do you get off, huh? We didn’t do shit to you. Sure, we took a look when those two were swimming. Why not? It’s a public lake. They want to go swimming, we got every right to watch. So we watched, so what? I tell you, the view wasn’t all that terrific. As for staying away from your camp, you can bet on it. Give me one good reason why we’d want to go near your camp.”

“They probably think we want to molest them,” Luke said.

“Wishful thinking,” Jase said.

Wally, staring at the ground, chuckled.

“Just stay away,” Bert said. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“You stay away from us. We’re not interested. You gals get the hots, you’ll just have to settle for him.” He looked at Rick. “I’m sure he’d be glad to ...”

“Shut your face,” Rick snapped.

He felt a tug on his arm. “Come on,” Bert said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Jase said. “Take him away before he loses his temper and hurts me.” ·

Rick stepped backward as Bert pulled him. Bonnie turned away from the boys. Andrea, still facing them, slipped her knife out of its sheath and pointed it at Jase. “I’m gonna be watching for you shitheads,” she said, then turned around.

They walked toward the shoreline path.

The boys began taunting them from a distance.

“Oooooo,” from Luke.

“Now they’re threatening us with weapons,”Jase said. “We oughta get the cops on them.”

“What cops?” Wally asked.

“That’s right, there ain’t no cops out here.”

“Oh, dear!” Luke blurted. “Who, oh who, shall save us from this tribe of paranoid Amazons? Are we damned? Is this all she wrote? And me without a will!”

“Hey,” Wally said, “you should’ve shown them your dick.”

“Wally’s getting brave,” Rick muttered.

“They wouldn’t have known what it was,” Luke said. “Anyway, I didn’t want to turn on that fag who’s with them.”

Rick looked over his shoulder. The trees were in his way.

“What a bunch of crotch lice,” Andrea said.

“Keep your voice down,” Bonnie told her.

“They can’t hear me.”

“How many dykes does it take to screw a fag?” Wally’s voice. Yelling.

“I don’t know, how many?” Luke.

“Three, you dork! Two to hold him down and one to hold him up!”

“The guy’s a wit,” Rick said.

Bert, walking beside him on the path, suddenly stopped and turned around. She glared toward the trees concealing the boys’ camp. Suddenly, she shouted, “I gave you my mosquito repellent, you fat tub of lard!”

Rick looked at her, amazed.

“Well, I did,” she said. A comer of her mouth turned up. Rick patted her rump.

They heard nothing more from the boys as they hiked back to camp.

Chapter Seventeen

“Is something the matter?” Jerry asked.

What could possibly be the matter? Gillian thought. I’ve just spent last night and today in the house of a rapist, a psycho, a homicidal maniac.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“You seem a little distant.”

She forced a smile and waved across the patio table at him. “I’m all right here. No more than, oh, four feet away.”

“Didn’t like the dinner?” he asked.

“It was awful. That’s why I gobbled it down like a sow.”

“Are you saying it was swill?”

Gillian laughed softly.

In spite of his little joke, Jerry still looked concerned. “Is it something I did?”

“No. For heaven’s sake. You’ve been great..”

“If you’re still upset about this afternoon... It.

“It’s not that. So I lost my pants in your pool? Big deal, huh? Yeah. Cripes.” She picked up her mai-tai and drank the last of it. “It’s Fredrick Holden.”

“Who?”

Gillian realized that she had slipped. Maybe it’s Freudian, she thought. Maybe I want to tell him the truth, the whole truth. And what would he think of me then? The girl’s a lunatic who gets her jollies playing Goldilocks.

“Uncle Fredrick,” she said. “I’ve found some things that have me worried.”

“That’s right, you mentioned this afternoon about his gruesome taste in books.”

“It’s more than just books. I had some time to kill before coming over and thought I’d take a look at one of his video tapes. I put one in his VCR. It was supposed to be The Howling. That’s what the case said. It turned out to be some kind of sicko sado-masochistic shit called Torture Slave. I just watched a minute of it. The thing was vile. I mean, I’ve seen a few porno movies in my time. But this was different. This was like something they don’t carry at the corner video shop. I did some snooping, and he’s got a whole bunch of movies like that. They’re all hidden inside cases for stuff like Star Wars and E.T.”

“How well do you know your Uncle Fredrick?” Jerry asked. He sounded worried.

“Not very well,” Gillian said, surprised and glad that he hadn’t made any jokes about wishing she had brought the tape along with her.

“Has he ever tried anything with you?”

She shook her head.

“It seems pretty odd that he would ask you to house-sit for him. He must’ve known that you might look at some of his videos. They weren’t hidden? They were right out in plain sight?”

“On the shelves in his den.”

“Apparently, he didn’t care if you looked at them. Maybe he wanted you to look at them.”

“Why would he want that?”

“I’d hate to speculate. I mean, he’s your uncle.”

Sure he is, Gillian thought.

“How long is he supposed to be away on this trip of his?”

“He told me he’d come back Thursday,” Gillian said.

Jerry frowned at her. “I think it might be a good idea for you to get out of there. I think you should leave right away, go back to your own apartment and stay away from the guy.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Gillian asked.

“I’m serious. If those films are as bad as you say, he isn’t just a normal horny guy who enjoys skin flicks. And the fact that he left them out for you to see ... I don’t like it. I don’t think you should stay in his house. He might be planning to come back early, and ... and I don’t think you should be there when he does.”

And Jerry doesn’t even know about the scrapbook, she thought. Just the movies are enough to make him fear for my safety. Tell him about the scrapbook ...

And he’d probably want to call the police.

And it would all come out that I’m a criminal. No thanks. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “I already made up my mind to leave. I’m all packed up and ready to go. Hell, I’d be gone now except I had to collect on your bribe of dinner.”

Gillian stood up, lifting her plate and glass off the table. “Come on, let’s take the dishes in.”

He loaded his hands and followed her into the kitchen. Three trips later, the patio table was clear. Gillian opened his dishwasher.

“No way,” Jerry said. “These can wait. Would you care for an after-dinner drink?”

“Trying to get me sloshed?”

Jerry stepped up behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders. The feel of them seemed to radiate down her body. The force of her reaction surprised Gillian. Is this the first time he’s touched me? she wondered.

If you don’t count towing me to poolside after my crash.

“How about coffee? he asked.

“I was just kidding about you trying to get me drunk.”

“I know. I’d rather have coffee myself. I’d hate to spend the rest of our evening in a drunken stupor.”

“Me too.”

He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze, then stepped away and began to prepare a pot of coffee.

Gillian turned around. She leaned back against the counter. Its edge pressed her an inch above the abrasions. She wasn’t in pain there, just a little tender. She watched Jerry.

He had dressed nicely for the dinner. He wore a neatly pressed, short-sleeved plaid shirt that was very much like the blouse that Gillian had decided to wear. His slacks were white, the same as Gillian’s shorts. He wore topsiders, she wore sandals.

“Do you realize we match?” she asked.

He smiled. “I noticed.” He dumped scoops of coffee into the filter.

It felt good to be with him.

She wished she could tell him her secret.

Maybe someday, she thought.

Don’t count your chickens ...

“There’s a pen and notepad by the phone,” Jerry said. “In case you want to give me your phone number.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I don’t even know your last name. I looked you up under Holden, but you weren’t there.”

“He’s my mother’s brother,” she said.

Jerry’s tried to find me in the telephone book. He wants my number. He doesn’t want to lose me after I leave tonight.

God. All right! -

“I’m O’Neill,” she told him.

“Gillian O’Neill. Nice.”

She stepped over to the telephone. On the pad there, she wrote her name, address and telephone number.

You’re really giving it away, she thought. You broke the fuck in next door. He’ll be able to tell the cops exactly where to find you.

It won’t come to that. Probably.

So what if there’s a risk?

While standing by the phone, she copied his number off the sticker. She tore it from the bottom of the paper and tucked it into the pocket of her blouse.

Soon, the coffee was done. They took their mugs outside and sat at the table by the pool.

It was dusk. Darkness was not far away.

“I love this time of the evening,” Gillian said. “It’s so peaceful.”

“Yeah.” Jerry sipped his coffee. “We used to go out after supper for some bounce-or-fly on the street in front of the , house.”

“I did that. Didn’t get up to bat very often, though. I wasn’t much of a catch.”

“I bet you were a good catch. I have the feeling you were something of a tomboy.”

“Oh, hell yes.” She drank some more coffee. It was hot and good. “I could knock a ball a mile. I just couldn’t lay my mitt on it.”

“Do you still like to play ball?”

“You being a wiseguy?”

Jerry smiled and they lapsed into silence. It was getting darker now.

“And now? I mean, what do you do now?” he asked.

Here it comes. Story time again, folks.

“Do? In my spare time? Well, I don’t play bounce-or-fly, that’s for sure!”

Jerry raised his eyebrows. Did he detect a challenge in her tone? If so, he wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue the matter of her spare-time activities anymore. They had something good going here, and he didn’t want to mess up.

She winked, threw him a quizzical smile and said, “I scribble.”

“Scribble?”

“Sure. I scribble. Anything that comes to mind, really. Anything and everything. I have this wild, untamable imagination, and when I get bored with life, I just, well ... scribble ...”

“Okay. So you scribble. Do you often get bored?”

“Yep. Pretty often.”

“You bored now?”

Nope.

“Good. I would hate to think ...”

“Jerry. Stop it. I’m having a great time. You’re the perfect host,” she laughed. “And I couldn’t be less bored. Honestly. So please, let’s drop it.”

Jerry laughed. “As a matter of fact, I was thinking we might head over to a park sometime. I could pitch, you could hit.”

“Like after dinner some night? That’d be neat. Of course, if you’re into reliving childhood games, there never was anything as good as hide-and-seek. The hiding part, that’s what I liked. Forget being ‘it.’ I loved to run off and duck into places that were small and dark where they’d never find you. It was always a little scary if you found a good place. I remember how my heart used to pound. Like I was afraid I’d get grabbed by something while I was waiting.”

“It was always such a let-down,” Jerry said, “when they gave up looking.”

“Right. It’s not that you wanted to be found, but you didn’t want to be abandoned.”

“Remember what a drag it was when you’d hear your parents calling your name? You knew it was time to go in.”

“That’s one of the great things about being an adult. Nobody to stop your fun.” Gillian’s heart started pounding hard. “Speaking of fun,” she said through a tightness that had suddenly squeezed her throat.

Jerry raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Why don’t we go swimming?”

He beamed. “Hell, yes. What about your injury, though?”

“I’m just skinned a little. The water will probably feel good.”

“Great. But wasn’t your bikini wrecked?”

“I’ll go in in my skivvies.”

“Skivvies?”

“My bra and panties. If you will.” She shrugged and smiled.

She took a sip of coffee. She had trouble swallowing it. “That sound all right to you?”

“This is the same Gillian O’Neill who was here this afternoon and didn’t want to be seen in a bikini?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “This is a Gillian who’s gotten to know you better.”

“And who’s had a few mai-tais.”

“I’m perfectly sober. Somewhat sober. Besides, it’s dark now. Of course, if you’re too bashful ...”

“I’ll go in and get the towels,” he said. He took a final drink of coffee, then pushed his chair away from the table, got up, and went into the house.

Gillian was relieved that he’d left. She suspected that he’d gone for the towels as a ploy to let her undress in privacy. Decent of him. She had thought she would have to strip in front of him, and had rather looked forward to it, but this made it easier.

She stood up. With trembling hands, she unbuttoned her blouse and took it off. She folded it and placed it on the seat of her chair. Then she stepped out of her sandals. She lowered her shorts, stepped out of them, and dropped them onto her blouse.

The warm breeze roamed her body. She felt naked. Looking down at herself, she supposed that the black bra and panties were no more revealing than her bikini had been. Though the bra had lace cups, the darkness of the night prevented much from showing.

Still, she thought. This isn’t a bikini, this is undies.

Jerry might have been right about the mai-tais.

Too late to back down now.

Who wants to back down? she asked herself.

She felt daring. It reminded her of the way she used to get when she broke into houses. The feverish thrill of the break-ins had diminished over the past couple of years, so that recently it had been little more than a faint stir of excitement. Not like this. This was intense. Her heart was slamming. Her mouth was dry. Her nipples ached under the soft touch of the bra. Her panties were clinging in front.

She looked at the lighted kitchen door. No sign of Jerry.

Reaching back with one hand, she peeled off her bandage. She set it down on her shorts.

Then she stepped to the edge of the pool and dove in. The cold of the water was a harsh shock for an instant. Then it felt fine. It felt better than fine, caressing her everywhere as she glided along below the surface. When her fingertips touched the tiles at the far side, she came up.

She swam toward the shallow end. Finding the bottom with her feet, she stood up. The water covered her to the neck.

Jerry opened the sliding door and stepped out, holding towels in his arms. “You’re already in,” he said. “I missed the show.”

“Tough toenails,” Gillian said. Then she gritted her teeth to stop the tremor in her jaw.

Jerry dropped the towels onto the table. “So you just get to stay in there and watch me?” he asked.

“That’s the picture.”

Shaking his head, he sat down on a chair and took off his shoes and socks. Then he stood and removed his shirt.

“Maybe you could turn on the patio lights,” Gillian suggested.

“Yucka yucka,” he said. He unbuckled his belt, opened the waist button of his trousers, and slid the zipper down.

“We could use some stripper music,” Gillian said.

He pulled his trousers down.

Gillian thought he was wearing boxer shorts, but a white cord hung over the elastic waistband.

“That’s a swimming suit!” she blurted. “Cheat! Cheat!”

Jerry shrugged. “No reason we should both embarrass ourselves.”

“Creep! Heel! Scab!”

Laughing, he said, “Okay, okay,” and pulled down the trunks. He was wearing something white and scanty.

“Is that a swimming suit, too?” Gillian asked.

“Nope. I swear.”

“Better not be. We had a deal.”

“How do I know you don’t have a suit on?”

“Just have to take my word for it.”

Turning away, he walked toward the house. He stopped at a switch plate on the wall. His arm went up. The water surrounding Gillian was suddenly illuminated by lights below the surface.

She looked down at herself. Her breasts and bra were distinct in the shimmering light, the lower areas of her body slightly blurred.

“How’s that?” Jerry called, his hand still on the switch. “Or would you prefer it dark?”

“This is nice,” she said.

He walked toward the pool. He stopped at its edge and rubbed his hands together. “How’s the water?” he asked.

“It won’t kill you.”

Balancing on one foot, he crouched a bit and dipped his toes in. The light from the pool fluttered on him. He looked lean and strong. His brief shorts hugged his hips. His penis, bulging against the thin fabric, looked as if it might thrust its way up through the waistband.

He seemed very nonchalant as he took his foot out of the water and rubbed his hands together again. Doesn’t he realize? Gillian wondered. Of course he does. And he knows I’m watching. He must want me to see, want me to know he’s turned on.

He took a deep breath, then leaped from the side in a low powerful dive that took him far out over the water before he knifed in with barely a splash. He was a pale streak below the surface for a moment. Then he came up at the wall and gripped its edge. “Not bad,” he said, “after the first shock.”

Gillian nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. It would probably come out shaking.

Jerry stayed where he was, hanging onto the edge of the pool several yards away.

Gillian stayed where she was, too.

This is silly, she thought Say something. Do something.

“Let’s see one of those fancy dives,” Jerry said.

“Oh, sure thing.” She was right. Her voice shook when she spoke. “You just want me to lose my pants again.”

“Never crossed my mind.” Jerry pushed himself away from the wall. He kicked and stroked his way slowly backward, but he headed straight for the other side instead of approaching Gillian.

Don’t just stand here like a jerk, she told herself.

Leaning forward, she left her feet. She did the breast stroke toward the deep end, keeping her face out of the water and gazing at Jerry as she glided closer to him. He had stopped short of the wall. Treading water, he watched her go by.

“That isn’t your bikini,” he said.

“That’s right.” Under the diving board, she turned around to face him. She kicked hard, reached high, and caught an edge of the board with one hand. Pulling herself up, she clutched the other side of the board. She hung there, out of the water to her waist. The air felt chilly on her wet skin.

Jerry stared at her.

She let go with one hand. Dangling under the board, she pawed her side with a floppy hand, stuck her chin out, and grunted like an ape.

Jerry didn’t crack a smile.

“You’re not amused?” Gillian asked.

“Me Tarzan,” he said, and lunged at her.

Gillian yelped. She clutched the board with her other hand, pulled herself up and raised her legs. She kicked water at Jerry. He grabbed one of her ankles. “Don’t you da—!” He tugged. She lost her hold. Dropping rump-first, she took a deep breath.

She kept her eyes open. At first, she saw only white froth. Then Jerry was above her. His eyes were open, too. His mouth was shut, but curled up at the comers in a mischievous grin.

He was above her, not touching her, just gazing down and grinning. He waved. Then he twisted around and began swimming away, still under the surface.

Gillian went after him.

She gained on him.

She grabbed his foot. A pull sent her rushing forward over the backs of his legs. She hooked the fingers of her other hand under the band of his shorts, but let go as he rolled and looked up at her.

His impish grin was gone.

He reached up to her. His hands stroked the sides of her head, slid down along her neck and caressed her shoulders. Gillian ran her hands lightly down his forearms.

Letting go of him, she swam forward. She felt his touch all the way down her body as she glided over him. The she twisted around and stood and gulped air.

Jerry came up.

They faced each other.

The water was as high as Gillian’s neck.

Jerry moved into her arms. They held each other. They were both gasping, and didn’t kiss.

“Tarzan,” she said. She looked into his eyes. His wet lashes made tiny points.

“Jane?” he asked.

“Gillian and Jerry,” she whispered.

She hugged him tightly. He was warm and smooth and hard.

Chapter Eighteen

We just need to get through tonight, Rick thought as he lay in his sleeping bag, staring up at the slanting walls of the tent.

After dinner, Bert had taken out her map. She had studied it with her flashlight while they sat around the campfire, and found a route that would lead them around the foot of the mountain, avoiding the trail up to Dead Mule Pass. “We can wait and make sure the creeps are on their way up to the pass. Then we’ll take this trail, and it’ll be the last we ever see of them.”

“Unless they come back down again when they realize what we’re doing,” Andrea said.

Bonnie got up from the log where she’d been sitting, and crouched behind Bert to look at the new route. “I don’t know,” she said. “That would take us right to the edge of the wilderness area. Look at that road. The trail runs almost over to it.”

“Afraid we’ll get hit by cars?” Andrea asked.

“It’s just a crummy little dirt road,” Bert said. “Not like we’ll be back in civilization.”

“I guess this is better than having to cope with those jerks.”

“Who are probably gonna jump us before long.”

“For godsake, Andrea.”

“She has a point,” Rick said. “It’s all well and good to make plans for tomorrow, but the main thing is getting through tonight.”

“They could be watching us right now,” Andrea said, gazing into the darkness beyond the campfire. “Just waiting for the right moment to make their move.”

“What are we going to do?” Bonnie asked. “We’ve got to turn in sooner or later.”

“We’ll just have to post guards,” Rick said. “Can you two hang in for a couple of hours?”

“Sure,” Bonnie said.

Andrea nodded.

“Stay by the fire and keep watch while Bert and I get some sleep. Then we’ll relieve you, stand watch for a couple of hours, and get you up for another turn.”

“Funzies,” Andrea muttered.

“Whatever you do,” Bert said, “stay together.”

“Right,” Rick agreed. “Nobody should go off alone for any reason.”

“Not even to pee,” Bert said. “If you have to do that, stay close to camp. Better yet, don’t even leave the clearing.”

“And let out a shout if anything starts to happen.”

Rick had considered giving the revolver to them before he and Bert turned in. He decided not to. That way, he would still have the final control over everyone’s safety. Though the tent flaps were down, they weren’t zippered shut and neither was the mosquito netting. He was fully dressed except for shoes. He could be out of the tent, gun in hand, at the first sound of trouble.

He wished he could sleep. Bert had dropped off almost at once. At first, he had been able to hear the hushed voices of the girls. Though their words were masked by distance and the rushing sound of the wind, at least the talking had assured him that everything was okay. During the past half hour or so, however, he hadn’t heard them at all.

He heard the wind. He heard the crackle and pop of the campfire. Sometimes there was a soft crunch like a footstep near the tent, which could have been a pine cone or limb hitting the ground; could have been almost anything—including a footstep.

Mr. Shadow Man?

The girls are fine, he told himself. They just ran out of things to talk about.

They’ll come along pretty soon to wake us up for our turn. Rick pulled his arm out of the sleeping bag and checked his wristwatch. Ten forty-five. Their turn at standing guard wasn’t supposed to start until eleven-thirty. He returned his arm to the warmth of the bag.

Maybe the girls fell asleep, he thought. Sure. Bonnie’s sitting on a log, Andrea on a rock. They might drowse a little, but they aren’t going to conk out.

What if the cougar shows up? Nosing around for a late-night snack ...

Why don’t you just crawl out of your bag and take a quick look?

What if they’re not there?

He pictured them sitting close to the fire while Jase, Luke and Wally crept up behind them. Arms hooked the girls across the throats and jerked them backward off their seats. Choked, unable to shout for help, they were dragged away from the camp. Taken far off into the trees.

They’re right outside the tent, Rick told himself quickly before he could start imagining more. Nothing’s happened. It’s all in your mind.

He slipped the revolver out of the boot near his head and sat up. The fluttering light of the fire was faintly visible through the translucent tent flaps.

He squirmed out of his sleeping bag, picked up his rolled parka, and crawled to the front of the tent. There, he parted the flaps a bit and peered out through the gap.

Bonnie and Andrea were sitting by the fire, Andrea leaning forward to add a stick to the blaze.

I knew it was all in my mind, he thought.

You didn’t know any such thing.

Rick put on his parka. The warmth felt good. He slipped into his jogging shoes and tied their laces. He put the revolver inside his coat and clamped it against his side. Then he crawled out.

Bonnie saw him coming and looked at her watch. “You’re early,” she said.

“Couldn’t sleep, anyway. How’s it going?”

“No problem,” Bonnie said.

Andrea grimaced. “No problem if you don’t count freezing your ass numb.”

“Stick it in the fire,” Rick suggested.

“Then she complains about the rivets in her jeans burning holes in her butt,” Bonnie said, smiling.

“You can’t win,” Andrea said.

“Well, I’ll take over the watch. You two can go ahead and sack out. That should thaw you out,” he told Andrea.

“What about Bert?” she asked.

“I’ll let her sleep for a while.” He sat down on a flat rock, leaned forward, and held his hands out over the fire “No point in both of us suffering.”

“I’m not sure there’s a point to any of this,” Bonnie said. “They haven’t tried anything yet. Maybe we’ve just blown this whole thing out of proportion. You know? I mean, who’s going to look the other way if he’s seen a couple of gals in bikinis. And, when you think about it, that’s really all they did, isn’t it?”

“They didn’t come all the way down the mountain,” Andrea said, “just for a closer look.”

“They claimed they were never up there.”

“They lied.”

“It’s very possible they won’t try anything,” Rick said, trying to sound as reasonable as Bonnie. “But we should be prepared in case they do. All it’ll cost us is a little discomfort. I think that’s preferable to letting our guard down and hoping for the best.”

Andrea nodded her agreement. “I don’t want to wake up and find a strange cock in my—”

“Cut it out,” Bonnie said.

“That’s the first thing I’d do.”

Bonnie shot her a sour look and Rick grinned. “Anyway, I’ll keep watch. So you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Are you just going to let Bert sleep?” Andrea asked.

“Might as well.”

“I’ll stay for a while then.”

“What about your frozen ass?” Bonnie asked.

“I think somebody should stay out with Rick, don’t you? If he’s alone, he can’t cover his back.”

“Whatever you want,” Bonnie said. “I’m turning in. And if you’re asking, I’d advise you to do the same, Andrea.”

“Yeah, sure. See you soon, Bonnie.”

After Bonnie was inside her tent, Andrea got up from her rock. She turned her back to the fire and bent over. Her jeans were tight and faded, their rear pockets frayed. There was a butterfly patch over her left buttock. “Pardon the view,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Rick.

“View’s not bad.”

She rubbed her seat with both hands. Then she stood up straight and turned around. “It’s true about the rivets, you know. They heat up really fast. I’ve probably got little red burn spots on my butt.” She sat down again and pushed her hands into the pockets of her puffy down vest.

“Don’t your arms get cold?” Rick asked. They were covered only by the sleeves of her plaid shirt.

“They’re all right. How long have you and Bert been going together?”

“A few months.”

“Live together?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s the holdout?”

“She’s not ready to give up her independence.”

“Where’ve I heard that before?” Andrea smiled. She looked beautiful, her eyes shining, her face burnished in the trembling glow of the firelight, glossy curls hanging across her forehead from under the edge of her stocking cap. “How come you let her talk you into this torture-fest they call backpacking?”

“She had her heart set on it. I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

“That’s about the way I got into this. Bonnie got the goddamn call of the wild, and talked me into coming along. Too bad we all didn’t run into each other a lot earlier. Those two sourdoughs could’ve kept each other company and left us out of it.”

Rick smiled. “Those are the breaks.”

“What would you like to be doing right now, if you weren’t stuck out here in the armpit of the universe?”

“Ideally. Maybe sitting at home with a drink, watching a good movie on the VCR.”

“Yeah. All right. What kind of movies do you like?”

“All kinds. Thrillers, mostly.”

“I knew a guy who lived off campus and had a VCR. All he ever played on it were sex movies. The idea was, I was supposed to get turned on and go crazy.”

“Did it work?”

She smiled. “Maybe. How about Bert? Does she like to watch that kind of stuff?”

“She’d rather do it than watch.”

“Well, lucky you. Does she see ... other guys?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not into guys.”

“You know what I mean.”

Rick’s heart quickened. Good Christ, he thought. Don’t jump to conclusions, maybe she’s just curious. “I haven’t,” he said. “It ... hasn’t come up.”

“It has now,” Andrea said.

“She might wake up.” His voice came out hoarse.

“That’s a chance we’d have to take. We could go off into the trees.”

“What about our three friends? Not to mention maybe mountain lions on the prowl?”

Still smiling, Andrea stood and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “I can see you’re not ready for this. But it’s gonna be a long night. If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.” She nodded toward her tent.

“Bonnie’s in there.”

“She won’t tell. In fact, I’m sure she’d be happy to keep watch later on. We could use the tent.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” she said. Then she turned away. She strolled across the camp, bent down, and crawled into her tent.

For a long time, Rick sat motionless.

He stared at Andrea’s tent.

Then he got up. He went to his pack and took out the bottle. When he returned to the fire, he sat on the rock where Andrea had been. That way, her tent was behind him so he wouldn’t have to look at it.

He opened his parka, took out the revolver, and rested it on his lap. Then he unscrewed the cap of his bottle and drank. The bourbon heated a path down his throat, spread warmth through his stomach.

You’re going to stop thinking about Andrea, he told himself.

He thought about how she had looked sitting across from him in the firelight. He remembered the way she had rubbed the seat of her jeans and he could almost feel her buttocks through the warm denim. He had half expected her to show him the marks that she suspected the hot rivets had put on her rump. If the rivets felt so hot, were they pressing her bare skin? Wasn’t she wearing panties? He wondered if she had taken off her jeans before getting into her sleeping bag. Maybe she had taken off everything, and was lying awake, naked in the snug warmth, waiting for him.

If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.

I’m not going to change my mind. Not the right place. Not the right time. There’s Bert. And you never know when those three scumbags might come sneaking out of the trees.

Rick looked quickly over his shoulder. He scanned the darkness behind him. Then his gaze lingered on Andrea’s tent.

When their time for watch comes up, he thought, she’ll probably stay inside, expecting me. How am I going to handle that?

Maybe I won’t tell them when it’s time. Maybe I’ll just stay here all night.

He turned again to the fire. He took another drink and looked toward the dark bushes. A rustle. Then the crack of breaking twigs. His head snapped forward, eyes riveted to the bushes. His breath came in shallow gulps.

Christ. My nerves are shot.

Another swig.

And another rustle. More of a flurry this time.

Birds?

Not in the dark.

The Thugateers? Jase, Luke—but not Wally, the scrote’d be asleep.

Who then?

Rick held still for a while.

No more rustles.

Silence.

Thank God.

Then, “Drink is the devil’s curse! ’Tis Satan’s brew to be sure. It poisoneth the soul!

“Repent, sinner, and mend thy ways afore it’s too late ... ”

The words hissed loudly in Rick’s left ear.

It was that close.

He twisted away and rolled off the rock. Hit the ground and lay there. Gasping for breath. Panting with fear. Choking on the pall of fetid breath that still warmed his cheek. It was wet with spittle. Uhhh ... He rolled over, heaving and grunting with disgust. Slashing at his face with both hands.

“God almighty!”

Outlined in the darkness, a man dressed in animal skins stood astride Rick’s body, his bony arms akimbo on his hips. Atop his head was the head of a coyote, flaps of gray fur hanging and winging about his shoulders. The coyote’s mouth hung open, showing teeth and a lolling tongue. There were dark holes where its eyes had been.

The weird headgear swung back and forth as its owner shook with rage. Rage? Rick couldn’t distinguish. Laughter? Yeah. The bastard was laughing. High-pitched squeals of glee.

A sweaty, hormonal animal odor swept up Rick’s nostrils as the creature side-stepped away from his body and skipped backward.

“What ... who in hell are you?” demanded Rick. The goddamn bastard was right about the Devil’s brew. I am seeing things—I gotta be!

“Angus is the name. Dearly beloved son of the Right Rev. John Brown McTavish! I was brought to this wilderness fifty years ago to preach the good Lord’s word. Aye. Praise be to the Lord. A-men!”

With a manic cackle the creature lifted a scrawny arm above his head, crooked the other at his hip, did a quick jig and then vanished, cackling, into the night.

The bottle was three-quarters empty. Rick held it toward the fire and shook it, watching the amber fluid swirl.

So that’s what it was. Stalking us. A bastard preacher-man gone ape. My God... The fuckin’ cotton-pickin’ lunatic ... Aawgghh ...

Better cut it out or I won’t have any left for tomorrow night.

He stood up. The revolver slid off his lap and dropped, its muzzle pounding his left foot. He winced at the sudden hurt, then bent over and picked up the weapon. He carried it in one hand, the bottle in the other. Bending over his pack, he put away the bottle.

He stood up straight. He breathed deeply. The chill night air smelled of pine. Just like a Christmas tree lot. He was a kid, and he’d gone with Dad and Julie to the Lopez Ranch to pick out a tree. They wandered through a maze of spruce and pine. Their breath made white plumes. Julie wore a down vest. Her jeans had a butterfly patch on the seat. Her jeans were cut off so high that the bottoms of her rear pockets hung out. Odd that she would wear such pants on a night like this. Odd, but nice.

Julie slipped in sideways between two trees, and vanished. Rick stayed with his father. Together, they inspected a silver spruce to see if it had any bare spots. It looked good. “Go find your mother,” Dad said. “We’d better get her approval.”

Rick squeezed his way through the trees, smelling their rich scent, feeling their limbs run like soft, cool brushes against his body. He came out the other side.

And almost tripped over Julie’s leg. She was sprawled on the ground of an aisle between the rows of Christmas trees, naked except for a single knee sock. Bert lay nearby, the handle of a knife standing upright in the center of her chest Reeling, Rick staggered sideways. His bare foot (why was he naked?) came down on Bonnie’s belly, slipped into a gash and sank deep into her warm guts. With a gasp, he pulled his foot free and stumbled to the other side of her body before falling. He landed on his hands and knees between Andrea’s spread legs.

Jase and Luke were on each side of him, holding Andrea by the ankles. Wally was sitting on her face.

“Go to it,” Jase urged him.

“You killed her! You killed them all!”

“You did,” Luke said.

“All your fault,” Wally said, and bounced on Andrea’s face, his blubber shaking.

“No!” But Rick looked down at himself. His body was slick with blood, his penis erect.

“What are you waiting for?” Jase asked. “Go to it, pal.”

“Don’t worry about Bert,” Luke said. “She’ll never know.” He chuckled.

NO!

Rick was on his knees, doubled over, his forehead pressed against the cool damp mat of the forest floor. He pushed himself up. The revolver was clamped between his thighs. He wrapped his hand around its grips, and stood up. His legs had pins and needles, and he was barely able to keep himself up.

The campfire had burnt down to a heap of glowing embers. He looked at Bert’s tent, then at the girls’ tent. Then he scanned the dark trees surrounding the camp.

He wondered how long he’d been out of it.

Must’ve been a long time, or his legs wouldn’t have fallen asleep like that.

What if Jase and Luke and Wally had come while he was ... was what?

What the hell was all that, anyway? he wondered.

An hallucination? A nightmare? A premonition?

And Angus, the mad preacher. A fantasy? Or the real thing?

His heart started thudding hard. He licked his dry lips.

He walked to the remains of the fire, crouched there and tossed sticks onto the embers. White smoke rose off the sticks like thick steam. The wind shredded the smoke and cast it away.

With a sudden whup, flames erupted.

Firelight shimmered on the front of the girls’ tent.

Rick stood up, trembling. He switched the revolver to his left hand and wiped his right hand dry on the leg of his pants. He fingered the handle of the knife sheathed at his hip.

He glanced at Bert’s tent and half hoped to see the flaps bulge and Bert crawl out, ready to join him on the watch—and in time to stop him.

He turned toward the other tent.

Were they both asleep in there? Or was Andrea still awake, waiting for him?

He pictured the way they had looked on the ground in the Christmas tree lot, all three of them, and Juiie—naked and dead. Go for it, Jase whispered.

Taking the revolver into his right hand again, Rick stepped around the fire and walked away from its heat.

Chapter Nineteen

Monday June 23

Jerry had said, “Why don’t you stay here tonight? We’ll get your stuff out of your uncle’s place and bring it over.”

“Right now?” Gillian had asked.

“Maybe not right now.”

They were both naked in bed. He was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, looking at her body in the candlelight while his other hand rested open on her hip, fingertips moving ever so slightly in the curls of her pubic hair. Gillian was on her back, hands folded beneath her head. She felt worn out and wonderful.

“In a little while,” Jerry said.

“I might not be able to walk,” she told him.

He laughed softly.

“I’m serious. You ruined me. I might need a wheelchair.”

Gillian wished, now, that she had taken him up on the offer. She didn’t want to leave her suitcase in Fredrick Holden’s house overnight, and now Jerry was asleep.

But she had been lying there, peaceful and weary, his fingers toying with her hair, feeling too good, too full, too ruined to move—even the short distance toward his side of the bed so she could get away from the cool, wet place on the sheet.

We should go over now, she had thought. Get it over with. Then I’ll never have to set foot in that maniac’s house again.

She had been about to tell Jerry, but his hand moved. His fingertips slid and her breath snagged.

“Are you really ruined?” he whispered.

She took a hand out from under her head. She touched him. Then she rolled toward him, smiling, shaking her head, nudging him onto his back. Straddling him, she held his shoulders and eased herself slowly down. His warm thickness spread her, slid in deeper and deeper, filled her. She sighed and shut her eyes. She felt his hands close gently over her breasts.

All thoughts of going next door for her suitcase were gone.

When the thoughts came back, she was lying on top of Jerry. Her cheek was against his shoulder. She felt spittle at the corner of her mouth. Lifting her head, she wiped her mouth and saw a shiny area glimmering in the candlelight where she had drooled on his shoulder in her sleep. She rubbed it off gently with the heel of her hand. He didn’t wake up.

He’ll probably wake up when I climb off, she thought.

His arms had been around Gillian just before she’d fallen asleep, but now they were out to the sides, as if they had simply dropped onto the mattress when he’d conked out.

His legs were still straight together between her legs.

His penis had been inside her, and she could feel that it was still inside her, but not very far.

Pushing at the mattress with her hands and knees, she carefully raised herself.

She felt a pulling sensation.

Permanently stuck, Gillian thought, and smiled.

Though it still took a slight pull that stung Gillian and must’ve hurt Jerry as well, she freed herself without waking him.

Maybe I should wake him up, she thought. He said he’d go over with me.

Working her way slowly backward, she stopped when his penis was just below her face.

I could wake him up in a way he wouldn’t mind at all, she thought.

Just let him sleep. I can take care of this myself.

She kept backing up until her knees found the end of the bed. Then she climbed off.

Only stubs were left of the candles on the dresser and on the nightstands to either side of the bed. Gillian tiptoed from candle to candle, and puffed out each flame.

She entered the lighted hallway and followed it to the kitchen. A clock on the kitchen wall showed 2:38.

Lord, Gillian thought. How did it get so late?

She slid open the back door. The pool still shimmered pale blue in the darkness.

How did it get so late, indeed?

We must’ve been in the pool more than an hour after the Tarzan Jane business.

Gillian walked to the far side of the pool. Squatting there, she picked up her bra and panties, Jerry’s briefs. They were still wet.

She remembered how the garments had hit the concrete deck with sodden splats when they were tossed from the pool. And the feel of Jerry when she first embraced him naked in the water. And the sudden urgency, and how he had entered her and she had wrapped her legs around him and he had walked her to a corner of the shallow end and she had stretched out her arms and hung onto the edges of the pool until it ended fast with a quaking inside that made her cry out.

The memory of it left her a little breathless, a little aroused.

She stood up with the undergarments in her hands. Wringing them out, she walked to the pool comer where he had taken her, where he had held her for so long afterward and where she had finally said, “Now what’ll we do for fun?”Jerry suggested playing Marco Polo, a water version of hide-and-seek.

So they had played that game for a while, taking turns as the blind searcher, as the quarry. The hiding reminded Gillian of how it had been when she was a kid, but this time she looked forward to being found. The kisses. The touching. Which grew more intense as the game progressed until finally they climbed from the pool, rubbed each other with towels as they shivered in night air that had seemed terribly cold, and went inside to the bedroom.

The air now seemed warm. It’s because you’re not soaking wet, Gillian thought.

She went to the table. She draped the undergarments on the back of Jerry’s chair.

Her bandage was still on top of her piled clothes. She had nearly forgotten about the scrapes. The worst of the two had caused her a few pains during the night when Jerry touched it by accident or when it rubbed too hard against the sheet, but those had been only minor irritations, whispers in the noisy crowd of competing sensations.

She fingered the bad scrape. It felt dry, a little stiff, as if all that time in the water had leached out the wound’s moisture. So she left the bandage off. She stepped into her white shorts, fastened them at her waist, and put her blouse on. Buttoning it with one hand, she took the bandage into the kitchen and tossed it in the waste container.

She went to the bedroom. In the faint light from the hallway, she could see Jerry stretched out on the bed. He looked as if he hadn’t moved a muscle.

I could just leave the suitcase, she thought. We could go over in the morning. Jerry had said he would take a floating holiday—no pun intended.

I don’t want it hanging over my head, she decided. We’ll have better things to do when we wake up.

She walked back down the hall, moved carefully through the dark living room, and opened Jerry’s front door. She unlocked it so she could get back inside. Then she stepped out and quickly pulled it shut.

The grass was dewy under her bare feet as she crossed the lawn. She stayed close to the front of Jerry’s house. Fredrick’s driveway was empty.

What did you expect? Gillian asked herself. Did you think he’d come home while you were at Jerry’s?

It was a possibility. She knew that she would’ve heard his car pull into the driveway if he’d returned while she was in the pool. But Jerry’s bedroom was on the other side of the house. From there, she couldn’t have heard it. And she’d hardly been listening for it. And she’d been asleep part of the time.

But the car wasn’t there.

Fredrick Holden was still on his trip—maybe on one of his killing sprees.

Which will come to a quick stop, Gillian thought, once I’ve sent his scrapbook and a little anonymous note to the police.

She stepped onto his driveway. Its pavement felt warmer than the grass.

She glanced quickly up and down the block. Most of the houses were dark except for a few porch lights. She saw no one, and no cars moved on the street.

She came to the walkway that led to the front door. Its painted surface would be slick under wet bare feet, so she moved carefully even though the dew on her feet had mostly been blotted off while she crossed the driveway.

That would be just the thing, she thought. Take a slide and bust your keester.

No more than one crash and burn per day, please.

She climbed the stairs to the stoop.

She realized that she was gritting her teeth and trembling. The night was warm and she wasn’t even wet. So knock off the shakes, she told herself. What are you, scared or something? What’s to be scared of? Oh, nothing much.

Shit, no.

She gripped the door handle. Her thumb depressed the leaf-shaped metal tab and she heard the latch draw back. But she didn’t open the door.

She licked her lips.

Do it, she told herself. Get your damned suitcase and get the hell out of here. Grab it, you’ll be back in Jerry’s house in about fifteen seconds, maybe eight if you put on the old spring.

She took a deep breath.

Maybe I should wait for Jerry, she thought.

Damn it, the suitcase is right at the door. All I have to do is reach in. Maybe one step into the house, that’s all. Then I’m home free.

She swung open the door.

The house was dark. It was supposed to be. Fredrick’s timer was set to shut off the lamp at eleven.

Her suitcase was a dim shape on the floor, just far enough inside so the opening door wouldn’t knock against it.

Exactly where she’d left it.

No sweat.

Glad I didn’t wake Jerry up for this.

She stepped over the threshold, took one more step, bent forward and reached for the suitcase handle.

A pale hand shot past the edge of the door, snatched Gillian’s wrist, and swung her stumbling forward into the dark. The suitcase tripped her. She knocked it over and fell across it.

The hand on her wrist was gone.

The front door thudded shut.

She scurried forward, knees on the suitcase, then on the carpet. She started to push herself up, but someone landed on her back, smashing her down flat. Her breath blasted out. She turned her head in time to prevent the front of her face from pounding the floor, and pain flashed through her cheek-bone and jaw. Then something—a fist?—struck the other side of her face.

She wondered vaguely what was happening. Somebody’s been waiting behind the door?

Not...

She couldn’t think of the name. The owner. Not him. Not him! A burglar? She’d left the door unlocked.

Another punch smashed the side of her face.

The weight left her body. Fingers dug into her armpits and she was lifted. Her knees rested on the floor for a moment. Then she was hoisted higher, jerked backward against a body, swung around and pulled, heels dragging along the carpet. Out of the living room. Into the hall. Through a doorway.

The hands thrust her away and let go. She flapped her arms, grabbing at the darkness for a moment before she hit the floor flat on her back. A dim figure leaped past her sprawled body.

She squinted when light stabbed her eyes.

Through a tingling in her ears, she heard a man’s voice. “Oh, you’re a beauty, a real first-rate beauty.”

She raised her head. A man was standing near her feet, smiling down at her. He looked younger than thirty. He looked clean-cut with his short brown hair, white knit shirt and blue slacks. There was glee in his smile and eyes.

It’s him, Gillian thought. Oh Jesus.

“I’m glad you dropped in,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you. Knew you’d be back.”

He unbuckled his belt and slid it out of the loops of his slacks. He doubled it.

“Does anybody know you’re here?”

Gillian shook her head. She raised her knees.

“Answer me.”

“No,” she gasped. “Nobody knows.”

“Where were you tonight?”

“No place.”

“Not what I wanted to hear,” he said, and rushed forward, swinging the belt.

Gillian flung up her arms. The belt snapped against her, lashed her arms and belly and legs as the man danced around her, bending and whipping. She rolled over and covered her head. The belt smacked her back and buttocks. She shivered with the stinging pain. She heard herself whimpering, making sharp sucking sounds each time the belt hit her.

He’s not going to stop, she thought. He’s ... enjoying himself.

When he pranced past her head, she reached out and grabbed his ankles. She tugged, but he stayed up and lashed her harder than before, the belt whistling and slapping her sides and rump. Lurching forward, she tried to bite his ankle. He tore himself free and leaped backward in time to avoid her teeth.

“Ooee! A fighter! I’m gonna have fun with you.”

Dropping to his knees in front of Gillian, he grabbed her hair. She yelped and felt as if her scalp were being ripped as she was jerked up.

They were both on their knees, facing each other.

His fists were tight against the sides of her head, clenching her hair.

His face was blurry through Gillian’s tears, but she saw that he was still smiling. He had slobber on his chin.

His hands shot down. They snatched the neck of her blouse and yanked. The front flew open and he peeled the blouse off her shoulders, tugging it halfway down so it pinned her arms at her sides.

He stared at her breasts. His eyes were so wide they seemed lidless.

“Where were you tonight?” he asked.

“I ... went ... for a walk.”

“Bad lie.” He pinched her nipples and twisted them. As pain streaked through her, she realized vaguely that he had let go, and then she saw a fist floating up from his side. It seemed to be coming at her very slowly and she thought that she should have no trouble at all ducking it, and then it crashed into her face.

The telephone was ringing. Gillian felt a rush of terror.

I won’t answer it, she thought. If I don’t pick it up, Mom and Dad will be all right. Just ignore it. It’ll stop.

It didn’t stop.

She sat up in bed.

The handset was in its cradle. Blood streamed from both ends. Puddles of blood were spreading over the top of the nightstand.

“No!” she cried out. “Stop!”

The phone kept ringing. The blood began to dribble off the nightstand’s edges.

Then the handset leaped from the cradle and flew at her. It sprayed her face with blood. It wrapped the cord around her neck. She started to choke. She pulled at the cord, but it tangled her hands, bound them.

The mouthpiece pressed against her mouth, spouting blood down her throat as the cord strangled her.

Then the receiver mashed her ear. “Your turn,” whispered the voice of the phone. “Your turn now.”

Gillian jerked awake.

But the nightmare didn’t stop. She was being choked. Her hands were bound. She struggled in the darkness, trying not to panic. The cord at her throat kept tightening. But when she straightened her arms, it loosened. She sucked air into her burning lungs.

A surge of motion tipped Gillian.

Something was vibrating under her. She could hear an engine sound and the hiss of wheels spinning on a road.

I’m in a car.

Her eyes saw only black. She blinked them to make sure they were open.

On a car floor. The back seat floor? she wondered. But no light. None at all. And no driveshaft bump under my side.

Gillian’s legs were bent. She began to straighten them, very slowly in case the movement should tighten the rope across her throat. Though she could feel that her ankles were tied, there didn’t seem to be any line connecting them to her neck. She unbent her knees a little more. A wire snagged one of her feet.

A tail light wire? A brake light wire? One or the other.

Gillian knew where she was.

In the trunk of Fredrick Holden’s car.

Her heart started slamming, pumping pain into her head, making her battered face burn.

Oooh, I’m gonna have fun with you.

Chapter Twenty

Rick wished, once again, that he had brought the bottle with him. He was shivering. His neck was stiff, and the rigid muscles seemed to go right up into the back of his skull, squeezing pain into his head. The bourbon might have helped. On the other hand, he would have polished it off a long time ago, probably during the first hour of his vigil, and he would’ve ended up totally plastered; it might’ve even been enough to knock him out.

I’d be no good to anyone, he thought, zonked out of my gourd.

Yeah. But what good is this, anyway?

This is doing a lot of good, he told himself. It’s the one sure way to keep those bastards from sneaking out of the woods and jumping us. And it got me away from Andrea, away from temptation.

Rick was seated on the ground with his back against a tree trunk, the revolver resting on his lap.

He thought about his visit from the preacher-man.

Jeez, what a performance!

The bastard was mad as a coot but most probably harmless. Christ, he’d been out in the wilderness for fifty years or more. Enough to turn anybody crazy ...

Through a gap in the bushes ahead, he could see Jase, Luke and Wally in their sleeping bags. If the boys had a tent, they’d decided not to use it. They’d sacked out around the fire.

The fire had still been flickering when Rick arrived. Later, nothing remained except a red glow, though sometimes a flame had climbed out of the rubble like a fatally wounded survivor, quivered in the darkness for a little while, and died. Even the glow had faded out, finally. For the past hour or so, the fire had been dark and smokeless.

Rick needed no firelight. He could see the shapes on the ground better without it. The night was cloudless and pale. Where direct moonlight made it through the trees (and a patch of it fell on his left knee), Rick thought it was almost bright enough to read by. It layered everything it touched with a milky hue. And it touched the sleeping figures of Jase, Luke and Wally. They were mottled with patches of dingy white. And totally black everywhere else, as if they didn’t exist at all except where the moon found them.

All three had seemed to be asleep when Rick arrived, and they hadn’t moved since, except to alter their positions slightly. One of the bags would bulge when a body curled up or rolled under its surface, would jut when a knee pushed it up.

From the size of the mound, Rick knew which bag held Wally. Jase and Luke were in the other two, but he didn’t know which was which. Even when the fire had been going, he hadn’t been able to tell them apart. One wore a hooded sweatshirt, the other a dark stocking cap, and their faces had been turned away or half buried in their sleeping bags.

Though he couldn’t tell which body was Jase, which Luke, all three of the creeps were accounted for. They were right here, asleep, and they wouldn’t be sneaking over to the other camp as long as Rick kept watch.

The watch, he had realized long ago, was probably unnecessary.

Several times, he’d almost convinced himself to quit and return to camp.

But maybe, just maybe, their plan was to get up in the dim hours before dawn and attack when they could be certain to catch everyone fast asleep.

They’d overpower us before we knew what was happening.

You don’t have to quit, Rick told himself now. You could just hurry over to the camp and take some aspirin (and grab the bottle?) and come back.

This headache’s going to kill me if I don’t do something about it.

Rick lifted the revolver off his lap. Slowly, he drew in his legs. He got his feet beneath him, pushed himself away from the tree trunk, and started to rise.

A sleeping bag flipped open.

Rick dropped to a squat.

Peering through the gap in the bushes, he saw moonlit bits and pieces of a person sitting up. It was the kid in the hooded sweatshirt. He couldn’t make out whether it was Jase or Luke.

His heart hammered, pounding spikes of pain into his head.

Thank God I didn’t leave, he thought. This is it. This is when they make their move.

The kid pulled his legs out of the bag. He seemed to be wearing gray sweatpants. He twisted around, picked up a pair of boots that had been left near his head, and started to put them on.

Though Rick heard only the wind, something must’ve disturbed Wally’s sleep. Maybe the other kid had spoken, or maybe it was just the sound of his movements. The big mound shifted and Wally raised his head.

There were voices too soft to understand.

Wally started getting out of his bag.

“DON’T MOVE!” Rick shouted.

Both heads snapped toward him and the person in the third sleeping bag sat up fast, the bag still around his shoulders. Rick lunged forward through the bushes, arm stretched out, revolver jerking from side to side as he aimed from target to target.

Wally squealed and threw his arms around his head.

“Holy fuckin’ shit!” Jase’s voice, sharp with alarm. He was the one in the sweatsuit.

Luke sat motionless, all but his head enclosed in the bag.

Rick halted about two yards from Wally. He stood with his feet apart, knees slightly bent. He clutched the wrist of his gunhand.

“Christ, don’t shoot!” Wally bellowed.

“Just nobody move. Nobody move a muscle.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jase blurted. “You nuts? What is this?”

In a calm voice, Luke said, “I believe this is what is known as a pre-emptive strike.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Burgher?”

“This poor deluded son of a bitch believes that we have designs on his harem.”

“Aw jeez,” Wally said. “Aw jeez, I knew we were gonna get it. We shouldn‘ta looked at ’em. Jeez.”

“We didn’t do nothing, mister,” Jase said. “I don’t know what your trouble is. So we looked at them. What’s the big deal?”

“It wouldn’t have stopped with looking,” Rick said. “And you know it.”

“See a shrink, pal.”

“Stop it, Jase,” Wally whined. “He’s gotta gun!”

“So what’re you gonna do, mister, shoot us?” There was bluster in Jase’s voice, and there was fear.

“All depends,” Rick said.

“If we wanted to violate your ladies,” Luke said, “why haven’t we done it? You’ll note that we were peacefully sleeping until a few moments ago when you barged in.”

“Your two friends were already up.”

“I was gonna take a fuckin’ leak,” Jase said.

“Me too. I just woke up ’cause Jase was messing around, and I had to go.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Rick said. “I know what you were going to do.”

“You’re nuts, man.” Jase wrapped his arms around his chest. “It’s cold. Who’d want to slip it to those babes when it’s this cold? You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“I wouldn’t rape a person even if it was hot out,” Wally said in a small voice. “You’d go to prison. And besides, I just wouldn’t do it.”

“On top of which,” Luke added, “I left my condoms at home. I most certainly wouldn’t jeopardize my health by using a bare tool on strangers.”

“Yeah,” Wally said. “Me too. God, you could get AIDS or something. You could die.”

“That’s right,” Jase said. “Whatever those babes got, we don’t want it. They’re all yours. So go on back and ream ’em out.”

Rick aimed the revolver at him. “Shut up,” he said.

“You aren’t gonna shoot.”

“Don’t say that!” Wally blurted.

“I think you’d better leave now,” Luke said.

“If you’re not,” Jase said, “I’m gonna have a smoke.”

“You’ve broken the law,” Luke went on while Jase got to his knees, turned away and crawled over his ground cloth toward his pack. “You’ve come into our camp and threatened us with a gun. I think, if we were to tell a ranger about this incident ...”

“Don’t say that!” Wally shook his head. “We aren’t gonna tell, mister. Honest. We’ll keep our mouths shut.”

Jase, hunched over his pack, looked over his shoulder. “That’s for sure,” he said. “We talk to the cops, it’ll probably be us that gets jammed up. Who’re they gonna believe, you or us?”

“Right,” Wally said. “We won’t tell. No way.”

Jase poked a cigarette into his mouth. He stood up, turning his back to Rick. “So what’re you gonna do? Gun us down? Shoot our dicks off ... ?”

“Jase! Don’t say that!”

What am I going to do with them? Rick wondered. Have them tie each other up? That’d be stupid. They could work themselves free in a while, no matter how well they might be tied. Then they’d be more dangerous than ever. Maybe just make them pack up and hike out of here. I could stay with them partway up the trail. But what’s to keep them from turning around and coming back? Maybe just knowing that I’ve got a gun. Wally, for sure, wouldn’t dare come back. But the others might. Maybe I should just keep them covered until morning. When Bert and the girls wake up and find out I’m gone, they’ll come looking. They’ll come armed. Then there’ll be four of us, and ...

Jase whirled around. His arm flew up. Something in his hand flashed in the moonlight, and he threw it. A knife shot at Rick, flipping end over end.

He started to duck.

Pain crashed through his head. His vision exploded with lights. He staggered and fell. His back hit the ground.

Someone was on him, sitting on his chest, wrenching the gun from his hand. “Okay fucker.” Jase’s voice. A harsh whisper. Rick’s vision cleared and he saw Jase raise the revolver, ready to whip it across his face.

Wally grabbed Jase’s wrist. “Hey, don’t. We got him.”

“Let go my hand.”

Wally released it.

Jase stood up, straddling Rick. He was gasping for breath. He aimed the revolver at Rick’s face and thumbed back the hammer.

“No!” Wally cried out.

“Jesus!” Luke yelled.

“He’s got it coming,” Jase said, and fired.

The explosion slammed Rick’s ears. The bullet kicked a spray of forest scrap against his cheek.

“Come on out,” Jase called.

Rick was on a rock near the campfire, sitting where they had placed him only a few minutes ago. Luke had already started the fire. It blazed brightly now, and Rick felt its warmth on his face.

Wally was standing on one side of him, Jase on the other.

Jase raised the gun overhead. “Come on,” he called again. “We can hear you gals sneaking around out there. We’ve had enough fun ’n games, so stop fucking around.”

“Get out of here!” Rick yelled.

“You shut up,” Jase told him.

“I’m coming in.” Bert’s voice.

“Don’t!”

A shape slipped out from behind a tree beyond the clearing. It moved forward, footsteps quietly crunching on the forest floor. It was Bert. She came into the firelight and stopped on the other side of Wally’s empty sleeping bag.

She wore the pale blue warm-up suit and wool socks she had slept in. She wore no shoes. A knife in her right hand hung at her side.

“Call in the other two,” Jase said.

“There’s no need for them.”

Luke tossed more twigs onto the fire, then rose from his crouch and faced her. “Bert, right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Bert, we’ve got the gun. That means we’re in control. We can do whatever we want. So when Jase tells you to call in the other girls, the prudent move on your part is to follow instructions.”

“They haven’t done anything to you,” she said. Her voice was low and steady.

So damn brave, Rick thought. He could see the fear in her eyes, but she wasn’t giving in. She had walked right into their camp and now she was standing up to them. He wished he could go to her and put his arms around her. He wished he could make all of this stop.

I had my chance. I blew it.

Now Bert will be the one to pay.

“Call the girls in,” Jase told her again.

“No way. Let’s go, Rick.”

Wally damped a hand on his shoulder.

“Nobody goes anywhere,” Jase said.

Bert scraped her lower lips across the edges of her teeth. “What do you want?”

“Three fuckin’ guesses.”

“We want to discuss the situation,” Luke said, “with everyone present. We don’t enjoy the idea of having those two jungle warriors creeping around out there.”

“You just want to ‘discuss the situation,’ ” Bert said. “Sure thing. Have your discussion with me.” The knife came up from her side. She held it in front of her belly, blade straight out. “Who wants first try?”

Jase didn’t say a word. He left Rick’s side and stepped around the fire.

“Run!” Rick cried.

She spread her feet slightly. The knife in her fist circled as Jase approached her.

“Jeez,” Wally said.

“I wouldn’t,” Luke warned.

Jase stopped in front of Bert. “You’re a dope,” Jase told her. “But you’ve got balls.” He reversed the revolver. Holding it by the barrel, he offered it to her.

Looking perplexed, Bert took the gun from him.

“Your fuckin’ boyfriend here paid us a visit with this thing. He shouldn’t be allowed to play with guns. Now how about you call off your troops, take this dork out of our face, and go back to your own camp so we can get some fuckin’ sleep around here?”

Bert nodded.

Wally let go of Rick’s arm. Rick stood up, stepped around the campfire, and followed Bert out of the clearing. They reached the shoreline path.

Bert suddenly hurled the revolver.

“No!”

It was too late. The handgun tumbled against the pale moonlit sky and dropped with a heavy splash into the lake.

She turned to Rick. “We’re better off without it,” she said. “I’ll buy you a new one when we get home.”

“It’s all right,” he muttered, and took her into his arms. He held her gently against him. She was warm. He felt her fingers stroking his hair.

“I was so scared when I heard that shot,” she said.

“I didn’t fire it. They took it away from me.”

“That’s when you got the lump on your forehead?”

“Jase threw a knife. Just the handle got me, I guess. But they took the gun from me.”

“Well, I love you anyway.”

He kissed her, and they were still kissing when sounds of footfalls approached. They eased apart. Bonnie and Andrea came out of the trees.

Bonnie had a hatchet in her hand. Andrea had a knife. Apparently, neither girl had wasted time getting dressed. Bonnie was in her socks and a pale body stocking that clung to her like skin and made her look naked. Andrea wore her down vest and skimpy dark panties. She was barefoot.

They were in a sour mood. Cross, as if they’d had an argument that had almost, but not quite, simmered down. They were still fired up. The atmosphere around them bristled with tension and they looked just about ready to use their weapons on anybody who said a wrong word.

Rick glanced from one to the other and realized that Andrea had indeed expected him to join her. She’d lain in her sleeping bag, naked or just in her panties, and waited for him.

Bonnie had known this, and had probably kicked up about it.

Flattering. But he’d managed to stay away. And he was glad. He had Bert. Bert was all he ever really wanted, better than he deserved. He’d been stupid even to consider ...

“They just let you go?” Andrea asked.

“We were watching,” Bonnie said. “But we couldn’t hear what was going on.”

“They never meant us any harm,” Bert explained.

“What were you doing there?” Andrea asked Rick. “My Christ, we heard a shot and ...”

“Let’s get back to camp,” Rick said. “I’ll explain everything.”

“Yeah, let’s,” Andrea said. “I’m colder than the left tit of an Arctic witch.” She turned away. She started to run ahead of them, and Rick didn’t bother watching.

He took hold of Bert’s hand. “There’s something,” he said, “that needs to be told.”

Rick built the campfire to a high blaze while the others were in their tents. They came out one at a time after dressing for the early morning chill, and sat down around the fire.

Bert sat on the log beside Rick. She put an arm around his back.

“First,” Rick said, “I want to thank all of you for rushing to my rescue. It took a lot of guts, and ... I really appreciate it. The thing is, apparently no rescue was necessary. There never was any danger from Jase or Luke or Wally. That was all in our heads. In my head.”

“They did spy on the girls,” Bert reminded him.

“But like they said, who wouldn’t? You take any normal guy, and he’s not going to turn the other way if he has a . chance to look at some attractive females—especially if they’re not wearing much. It wasn’t any crime.”

“They came all the way down the mountain,” Andrea said.

“They denied that,” Bonnie reminded her.

“If they did come down,” Rick said, “we don’t know for sure that it had anything to do with us. But I thought they planned to rape and ... when I collapsed on the trail, I was having some kind of dream or vision that they’d killed all three of you. And I had another dream like that tonight while I was on watch. I was afraid it might be a premonition or something, a warning—so I could stop them sneaking in here.”

“You start telling us you’re psychic,” Andrea said, “I’m gonna shit right here and now.”

“I’ve never been psychic.”

“Thank God. ’Cause if those were premonitions ...”

“He said they weren’t,” Bonnie told her.

“No, all he said was that he’d never been psychic. That doesn’t mean you can discount the possibly that those visions of his—”

“Andrea also believes in extra-terrestrial life forms, ghosts, astrology and Ouija boards.” Bonnie shook her head and grinned. “Not to mention Tarot cards—and don’t believe her when she says she isn’t psychic. She is.” She looked meaningfully at Andrea.

“Remember the time you said that dummy Marion Dahl was gonna be off sick and wouldn’t be in class the next day and she was? Sick, I mean.”

“I keep an open mind, that’s all. I don’t disbelieve shit just ’cause people tell me it’s supernatural nonsense.”

“I don’t think there was anything supernatural about the tricks my imagination was playing,” Rick said.

“I sure the hell hope not,” Andrea said.

“I mean, it’s pretty obvious at this point that Jase and the others never meant us any harm.”

“You were worried all along,” Bert said, “about making this trip. Even before we ran into those three guys, you were a nervous wreck. Then, when they showed up, it all seemed to focus on them. You were convinced they were trouble long before you ever had those—hallucinations, or whatever.”

“Yeah. I guess I expected history to repeat itself.” He saw confusion in Bert’s eyes. “I didn’t tell you everything,” he said, “about what happened on that other camping trip.”He looked at Andrea and Bonnie. “The last time I went camping was when I was fourteen. I’ve already told Bert about it. How I broke my leg and my father left me to go for help. What I didn’t tell her before was that my stepmother was with us. Julie. She stayed with me. And a couple of guys came into the camp. They knocked me out. They raped and killed Julie. They did it while I was unconscious. When I came to, the two guys were gone. Julie was naked on the ground and she was dead.”

“Jesus,” Bert muttered. “I wish you’d told me.”

“I’ve never told anyone.”

Bert shook her head. Her eyes glimmered wet in the firelight. Her hand moved up Rick’s back and curled around the nape of his neck. “It must’ve been so awful for you. I’m so sorry.”

“Anyway, that’s why I brought the gun along. I got Julie killed, but I wasn’t going to let it happen to you. Then when we met you two,” he said, glancing at Andrea and Bonnie, “it was all part of the same thing.”

“You couldn’t save Julie,” Andrea said, “so it’s like you wanted to save all of us—to make up for it.”

“Something like that, I guess.”

“Heavy,” Andrea said.

“If I’d known what happened before,” Bert said, “I never would’ve talked you into this.”

“You were so eager. I didn’t want to spoil it for you. Besides, I had no idea I’d suddenly turn into a total paranoid. That other was a long time ago. I figured I’d be able to handle being in the mountains again. But when we got here, it all came back fresh as if the years in between just folded up. Then Jase and his pals walked into the camp. That’s what the others did, just walked into camp and the next thing I knew Julie was dead. The way I saw it, it was all starting over again. But this time I was ready and I had a gun and nobody was going to get hurt except the guys.”

“And I threw away the gun,” Bert muttered.

“You what?” Andrea blurted.

“I threw it in the lake.”

“Holy limping Jesus.”

“It’s all right,” Rick said. “We’re better off without it. I could’ve ... I came pretty close to shooting those guys tonight. And they were innocent.”

“Innocent my ass.”

“They’re creeps,” Bert said, “but they’re not rapists or killers.”

“That remains to be seen,” Andrea said.

“They had my gun,” Rick told her. “They could’ve done whatever they wanted. All they did was hand it over to Beet.”

“We really misjudged those guys,” Bonnie said.

“I sure did,” Rick said, “and I think the rest of you caught it from me. It was contagious. I was so obsessed with this thing.”

“For good reason,” Bert told him.

“If I’d just ... really thought about it rationally. I mean, the odds against something like that happening twice ... It almost couldn’t happen again with odds like that.”

“You hear about the guy who got caught trying to take a bomb with him on an airline flight?” Andrea asked. “They said to him, ‘Are you nuts? You could’ve killed yourself and everyone else on the flight.’ He told them it didn’t have a detonator, so they said, ‘Then what’s the bomb for?’ He said it was a safety precaution. He said, ‘You ever hear of two bombs on a plane?’ ”

Nobody laughed.

“Cute,” Bonnie muttered.

“The odds.”

“We get it,” Bonnie said.

Bert rubbed the back of Rick’s neck. “Are you about ready to turn in?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Does this mean we’re not going to stand watch anymore?” Andrea asked.

“What’s the point,” Bonnie said.

“I guess I’ll stay up for a while, then. Make sure nobody sneaks up on us and ...” She stopped herself. She shrugged. “I’m not very tired anyway.”

“Suit yourself,” Bonnie told her. “But there’s really no point.”

“Maybe not. But it can’t hurt to be careful. Rick did have those visions.”

“Just the daydreams of a disordered mind,” he said, smiling a bit.

“Besides,” Bert said, “the odds.”

“Yeah, the odds. Did you know it’s a common misconception that lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice? It does hit the same place twice. Frequently.”

“On that cheerful note,” Bert said, “goodnight.” Rick told the girls goodnight, and followed her into the tent.

As they lay close together in the darkness, Rick said, “Yeah. ‘Nother thing. I met Angus, our friendly neighborhood preacher-man, earlier. Says he’s lived out here fifty years. Caught me drinking the ‘devil’s brew’ and told me to repent of my wicked ways, or else. He’s out of his gourd. A real freak.”

“Angus?”

“Yes. The bastard that’s been following us around—never mentioned him before. All I’d seen was his shadow. Thought it was part of my general paranoia. But he sure scared the shit outa me tonight. Jumping out like that. Turns out he’s just your average harmless maniac. I guess.”

He started to tell Bert the whole story but she rolled over and put a finger to his lips.

“Tell me about Angus tomorrow,” she said.