Authors: Richard Laymon
She realised she ought to feel guilty. Maybe she would, if she’d known him. But Elsie was right: he had no business being there. It was his own damn fault. Nobody to blame but himself.
Must’ve used a key from his father. That’s why the back door wasn’t locked.
Linda hoped the girl wasn’t anyone she knew.
At the corner, she slipped the paperback out of its bag. She crumpled the bag and receipt, and tossed them into a trash bin marked KEEP CLAYMORE BEAUTIFUL.
Walking along, she creased the book’s cover. She opened it to the middle and flexed the halves backwards. Turning to other sections, she bent the book again and again. By the time she reached the corner, the spine was streaked with white veins as if the book had been read more than once.
For good measure, she turned down a point of the cover. Then she slipped the book into her purse.
She turned at Craven Street. Passing Hal’s house, she kept her eyes on the sidewalk.
If he’d shown up at the library that night . . .
But she couldn’t blame him. He had no way to know she was waiting for him, wanting him.
A door banged shut and she halted, her heart racing. He’d seen her pass by!
I’ve wanted you so long, Linda
. His embrace would wash her clean and take away all the pain and she would be as she was before the Freeman house.
‘Hi Linda.’
She whirled around. Hal’s smile pierced her. He was tanned and handsome in his T-shirt and faded cut-offs, a lock of golden hair falling across his forehead. ‘Hi Hal,’ she said.
‘How’s the leg?’
‘Fine, thank you.’
With a wink, he turned away. He hurried around the front of his Z car, and climbed in.
Linda’s smile fell off.
The car lunged away from the curb. At the end of the block, it turned left and vanished.
Linda took a deep, shaky breath. She gritted her teeth to stop the trembling of her chin. The sidewalk blurred. She wiped the tears out of her eyes, but new ones came.
‘Who needs him,’ she muttered. She’d hardly given him a thought since the accident. If she hadn’t been stupid enough to walk by his house . . .
He could’ve stopped all this.
He doesn’t know. He’ll never know.
Linda wiped her eyes dry and put on her sunglasses.
Two blocks later, she reached Tony’s house. She turned up its walkway. A cat hopped onto the porch glider, setting it into creaky motion. From the back yard came the chatter of a lawn mower.
She walked in the shade between the side of the house and its garage. The air smelled of cut grass. She plucked her clinging blouse away from her back, but it stuck again. She wiped a hand on her skirt, then took the paperback from her purse.
From the rear corner, she saw a young man striding behind a mower. He appeared to be about twenty. He was taller than Tony, lean but not emaciated. His bare torso was glossy with sweat. His jeans hung below the band of his white underwear, and looked as if they might drop off.
Turning the mower for another sweep, he briefly faced Linda. His frown changed to a look of vague curiosity. He finished the turn and started away, his head swiveling to keep an eye on her.
Linda waved the book. ‘Hey!’
He shut off the lawn mower, but didn’t let go of it. He squinted at Linda over his shoulder.
‘I’m looking for Tony,’ she called.
‘He ain’t here.’ Turning away, he bent down and grabbed the starter cord.
‘Wait,’ Linda said.
With a shrug, he straightened up. He watched Linda
approach
as if she were an odd species he couldn’t quite identify. Before she got too close, he sidestepped to put the lawn mower between them.
‘You’re Tony’s brother, aren’t you?’
He nodded. His gaze lowered to the front of her blouse.
‘I’m Beth Emory.’
He continued to stare.
‘Tony let me borrow this book of his,’ she said. ‘I’d like to see that he gets it back.’
‘He ain’t here.’
‘I know. I heard he left town right after graduation.’
‘Hasn’t come back.’
‘Do you know where he went?’
The man’s tongue darted out, lapped speckles of sweat from over his lip. ‘Huh-uh.’
‘If I had his address, I’d mail it to him.’
‘Don’t know where he went to.’
‘Does your mother know?’
‘Huh-uh.’
‘Is she home now?’
His head shook slowly from side to side, his gaze remaining on Linda’s breasts. ‘Mom, she’s been dead ten years this August.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘You wanta leave that book, it’s all right. Maybe he’ll come back. You don’t never know, with Tony.’
‘I have to know where he is,’ Linda said. She felt a sickening tightness in her chest, but didn’t let it stop her. With trembling fingers, she flicked open the top button of her blouse. ‘You can tell me.’
His shallow chest rose and fell. A hand went up to wipe his mouth.
Linda opened the next button. ‘You know where he is, don’t you?’
‘Go ’way,’ he whispered.
‘Tell me.’
‘I don’t . . .’ He shook his head sharply.
Linda opened the button at her belly, and spread the blouse wide. She squeezed the stiff cups of her bra. ‘Tell me. Tell me and you can see.’
‘He . . . he’s in California.’
‘Where?’
‘Hollywood.’
‘What’s his address?’
‘Don’t know.’
She unhooked the front of the bra and lifted it away. ‘Tell me. Tell me, and you can feel.’
He stared. He licked his lips. ‘I don’t knooow.’
‘Yes you do.’ She caressed her breasts, squeezed them.
‘I . . . oh,
oh
! Go away!’ Doubling over, he turned away and fell to his knees. He grabbed his groin. His forehead pounded the grass.
Linda stared, astonished and disgusted.
Clutching her blouse shut, she ran.
D
ANI ADDED
a splash of milk, and set the pot back onto the barbeque grill. She stirred the creamy potatoes with a wooden spoon. After a few strokes, the heat became too much. She backed away, rubbing the hot skin of her belly.
‘That hungry?’ Jack asked.
‘That burnt.’
He swung himself off the lounger, stepped up beside her, and sipped his vodka and tonic as he peered into the pot. ‘Looking good,’ he said.
‘They’re a real calorie bomb, but what the hell? We deserve it, right?’ A few bubbles plopped to the surface. Dani reached out and stirred, the heat curling against the underside of her arm. ‘I think we’re about ready for the steaks.’
‘I’m more than ready.’
‘You want to keep an eye on this? Just stir it a bit.’
With a nod, he took the spoon in his free hand.
‘Refill while I’m in?’
‘Sure, thanks.’ He tilted his glass back. The cubes broke loose from the bottom and dropped against his
face
, splashing him. He gasped with surprise. ‘It fights back,’ he said. He backhanded a drip off the tip of his nose, rubbed his wet mustache and beard.
‘What poise,’ Dani said.
‘My specialty.’
She took his glass, picked hers up from the tray, and slid open the screen door to the living room. The carpet felt good after the rough concrete. The house was cool, almost chilly against her sun-heated skin.
She slid the glasses to the other side of the bar counter and wiped her wet hands across her belly, leaving dark trails on her skin. Rarely had she felt so fine: light and compact, glowing with the sun and two vodkas and her new closeness with Jack.
She stretched, sighing at the luxury of her aching muscles. They were tight and vibrant from so much swimming and from the long love-making earlier in the afternoon. The feel of Jack was still inside her.
Makes a lasting impression, she thought, and smiled.
Then she stepped around the counter to fill the drinks. She was carrying ice cubes when the telephone rang. She dumped the cubes into the glasses, flinched as she wiped her cold hands on her sides, and hurried to the end of the bar. She grabbed the phone.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Danielle.’ The voice sounded young and ugly and almost familiar.
It made her stomach tighten. ‘Yes?’
‘Do you know who
this
is?’
‘Not offhand,’ she said, wondering if he were an
acquaintance
trying to be funny. ‘Want to give me a clue?’
‘Last night,’ he whispered. In the pause, she heard him breathing. ‘The restaurant. The death buggy.’
A cramp seized her stomach, and her legs went weak. She hunched over the counter, elbows bracing her. ‘Who . . . who are you?’
‘The Chill Master.’
‘Huh?’
‘I frighten people.’ He spoke slowly, as if savoring the menace in his voice. ‘I give them goosebumps. I make them wet their pants. I make them scream in terror.’
‘You make them hang up,’ Dani said, and hung up. She sagged off the bar top and crouched down, hugging her belly. The peal of the telephone jolted her. It rang again and again. She covered her ears. ‘Stop,’ she whispered.
And then she saw herself as if from a distance, huddled down and cowering.
Just what the Chill Master ordered.
She suddenly felt abused. Anger shoved her fear aside. She stood up straight and picked up the phone. ‘Hello,’ she snapped.
‘Hello, Danielle.’
‘What do you want?’
‘Have I frightened you?’
‘Yes. Happy?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Good. How about getting out of my life?’
‘But that’s the whole point, Danielle. I want
into
your life. How did you like my surprise?’
‘I don’t like anything about you.’
‘That’s not nice.’
‘I don’t like being attacked at dinner, and I don’t like being followed, and I don’t like being spied on . . .’
‘You’re beautiful naked.’
‘And you’re gonna be in big trouble if you don’t stop messing with me.’
‘You shouldn’t be mad, Danielle. You should be flattered that I chose you.’
‘I’m not.’
‘I could’ve chosen from so many others, you know. But I chose
you
.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m going to be your apprentice.’
It all suddenly fell into place. ‘Last night . . . everything . . . it was your idea of an audition?’
‘Yes, yes,
yes
! My way of introduction to the queen of horror makeup effects. Wasn’t I brilliant?’
‘Terrific,’ she muttered.
‘When do I start?’
‘Start what?’
‘Working with you. We’ll be wonderful together. We’ll set the world aflame!’
‘I already have an assistant.’
‘Fire him.’
‘Not hardly.’
‘But you admitted I scared you,’ he said, his voice rising.
‘That’s not the point.’
‘It
is
the point! I’m a genius! Nobody can frighten people like I can. I’m the Chill Master. You’ll be famous for discovering me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You don’t think I’m
good enough
?’
‘I don’t need an assistant,’ she said.
‘You didn’t like my head?’
‘It was fine.’
‘It was great!’
‘Look, I have to go. I’m sorry I can’t help you.’
‘I want it back.’
‘Okay. Give me your address and I’ll mail it.’
‘I’ll come for it. Tonight.’
‘No!’
‘Scared?’ he asked. Then he hung up.
Dani finished mixing the drinks, and carried them outside. The sight of Jack stirring the potatoes was comforting. He turned to accept his drink, and frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘The telephone.’
‘I heard it ring.’
She took a swallow of her vodka and tonic. ‘It was our friend from last night. He’s apparently a horror freak who wants to apprentice under me.’
‘Oh boy,’ Jack muttered.
‘Didn’t know I was that famous. He called me “the queen of horror makeup effects.” ’
‘He probably read the
Fangoria
article.’
‘You’re right. I hadn’t . . . that’d explain how he recognised me, too.’
Jack shook his head, scowling into his drink. ‘So, he followed us here so he could deliver a sample of his work . . .’
‘And to prove how scary he is.’