Authors: Richard Laymon
But no black tresses, no heavy black eyebrows, no thicket below her navel. Where all that hair had been – in Rasputin’s fantasy – this woman had bare, scorched skin.
Neal knew, at once, that it had been no fantasy.
Not a fantasy, a memory.
She lifted her head and her eyes opened.
Neal shrieked.
GOTTA GET OUTA
. . .
NO! I DIDN’T MEAN IT!
Too late.
He was plucked out – instantly free from Rasputin’s trembling, tense body and foul mind. Gone was the feel of his bullet wounds, his trembling excitement, the hot and slimy lick of his leather trousers, the hard ache of his erection. Gone was the jumble of his memories, fantasies, contrivances and commentary.
Neal was suddenly himself again.
Like a hooked fish, he was flung up through the garage beams and roof and into the clear night sky.
He looked down, but already he’d been hurled high and far away from the house. Below him was a rushing blur of moonlit roofs, treetops, gray streets, bright puddles of light, parked cars . . .
He tried to slow down, but couldn’t.
The bracelet was reeling him in fast, as if an angler feared he might slip the hook and escape.
It swung him down from the heights and flipped him through the front window of Marta’s apartment. A lamp was on. He glimpsed Sue. She was crouching beside his chair, her blue blanket hanging down her back. Her head was in the way. He struck it with his hip, but it felt like air. A moment later, he landed inside his own body.
His heart pounded hard and quick. He was gasping for breath. His hair was soaked with sweat and his clothes stuck to him.
Opening his eyes, he met Sue’s gaze.
She looked jittery. ‘Yer back,’ she said.
‘Thank God,’ he said.
She looked so fine.
So alive and safe.
So sweet and beautiful.
Her hair was mussed, tangled, golden in the lamplight. Her shoulders were wrapped by the blanket.
‘I reckon ya went on a bracelet ride,’ she said.
‘Yeah.’
‘Musta been hell on wheels.’ Her right arm came out from under the blanket. It lifted the blanket away from her breast and side as she reached up and caressed Neal’s face. ‘Are ya okay now?’
‘Getting better.’
‘Ya screamed yer head off a couple times. Scared the squirmin jaspers outa me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Neal said.
‘Nothin to be sorry for,’ she said, her voice gentle, a gentle look in her eyes, her hand stroking the side of his head as if she were trying to calm a spooked puppy.
‘I guess I woke you up, huh?’
‘That’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’m just glad yer back.’
His eyes followed her outstretched arm to where it met her blanket-hooded shoulder, then drifted down to her breast. It seemed casually, innocently exposed by the disarray of the blanket. It was hazy bronze in the lamp shadow. It moved slightly with the motions of her arm.
‘I was real tempted to pull ya back,’ she said. ‘Take yer bracelet off. That woulda done the trick, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Thought so.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Figured it oughta be
yer
call, when to come back. Didn’t seem right for me to interfere.’
‘So you . . . stayed by my side and watched?’
She nodded. ‘I wanted to keep an eye out, case somethin mighta gone
really
haywire. Anyhow, I like watchin you. Only it was sorta painful, ’cause I could see ya were havin a bad time.’
‘Putting it mildly.’
‘Shoulda gone in me,’ she told him.
Neal met her eyes. ‘How do you know that I
didn’t?
’
‘Only about fifteen ways. For one, ya didn’t have a smile on yer face.’
‘I found him.’
Sue’s hand dropped to Neal’s shoulder. ‘Him? Rasputin?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Holy smoke.’ Her eyes were wide, her head shaking slightly back and forth.
‘But his name isn’t Rasputin, it’s Leslie Glitt.’
She made a face. ‘What?’
‘Leslie Glitt.’
‘That’s a girl’s name, Leslie.’
‘Leslie Howard, he was a guy.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘He was great.
The Petrified Forest?
With Bogart?’
Sue shook her head.
‘And he played Ashley Wilkes in
Gone With the Wind
.’
‘I seen that one,’ Sue said. ‘So what happened, anyhow?’
‘His plane was shot down in World War Two.’
‘Not that other Leslie,
this
Leslie.
What’d
ya say his last name is?’
‘Glitt.’
‘Sounds dirty.’
Neal shook his head.
‘So, what happened?’ Sue asked. ‘Did ya ride
him
?’
‘Yeah, I sure did.’
‘No wonder ya kept screamin.’
‘It was only twice, wasn’t it?’
‘Well . . . maybe. I got woke up by one of ’em, maybe a half-hour ago. Figured ya were havin a nightmare, there at first. But ya kept on squirmin and gaspin . . .’
‘Did I say anything?’ he asked.
‘Ya sorta mumbled some stuff, only I couldn’t make out what. Mostly, ya just gasped and whimpered. Anyhow, I got up and came over to see what was goin on. When I turned on the lamp, that’s when I saw the bracelet and figured ya’d gone on a trip.’
‘I had to get out of here,’ Neal explained. ‘I couldn’t sleep. I was going nuts.’
A smile lifted the ends of Sue’s lips. ‘Hope it weren’t . . . wasn’t . . . my fault.’
‘It was mostly your fault.’
‘How come?’
‘I wanted to go to you.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘But we’d decided against it.’
‘That was drivin ya nuts, huh?’
‘Yup.’
‘Wish ya’d come on over to
me
with the bracelet.’
‘Me, too. My God, if I’d had any idea . . . It was like . . . crawling through a sewer. Being in him.’
‘Wanta tell me all about it?’ she asked.
‘There’s a lot to tell.’
‘Ya got an appointment?’
‘Yeah. In Samarra.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Huh?’
‘Nothing. A bad joke. A
literary
bad joke.’
She narrowed her eyes and went, ‘Hmmmp.’ Then she pulled her arm back. As she stood up, she drew the blanket shut. ‘Why don’t you get on outa that chair? Nobody’s gonna sleep for a while, anyhow. C’mon over here.’ She turned away and glided toward the sofa.
Neal climbed out of the chair. The blanket he’d used earlier was rumpled on the floor. He picked it up and tossed it onto the chair.
Sue, wrapped from her shoulders to her ankles in the other blanket, sank down onto the sofa, leaned back and rested her bare feet on the coffee table.
Neal stretched and groaned.
As he walked toward Sue, she crossed ankles and said, ‘Y’oughta give me some books to read. I’ll read ’em all, and then I’ll know what yer talkin about when ya go and get literary on me.’
‘All right.’ He sat down beside her.
‘We can even read to each other.’
‘I’d love to have you read
True Grit
to me.’
‘Juss grab me a copy, and I’ll do it. Now, tell me all ’bout what went on tonight with you and . . . Leslie Glitt.’
Neal slipped an arm around the back of her shoulders. The blanket felt soft and nice. He supposed it must feel very good for her to have it wrapped around her body.
She leaned against him. ‘Don’t leave nothin out,’ she said.
‘Anything,’ he corrected her.
‘Don’t leave anything out,’ she said. ‘Or better yet, how about if I get in yer head for the story? Like in the car yesterday.’
Yesterday? Was it only yesterday that he’d let Sue kiss the bracelet and get inside him?
To prove I didn’t kill Elise
.
It seemed like so much longer ago.
It was the day I met Sue. Right after she kissed the bracelet and got in me by accident. Yesterday? On our way to the Fort
. . .
Tuesday. That was Tuesday. We only spent one night there, left the next day . . . Wednesday. Arrived at my place, then came over here. This is Wednesday night
.
More like Thursday morning
.
He looked at the bright red numbers of the clock on Marta’s video player.
3:56 a.m.
Thursday morning, all right
.
‘Maybe you should just listen,’ Neal said.
‘Please?’
‘I’m not sure you want to be in there. It gets awfully bad.’
‘I can take it. Come on.’
With a sigh, Neal took his arm back.
As he slipped the bracelet off his wrist, Sue said, ‘But tell it to me, anyhow. The story. Don’t just think it. Tell it to me like ya did in the car.’
‘I’m not sure about this.’
‘I am. It’ll be the best way.’ The front of her blanket bulged and parted, and her right arm came out. It pushed against the side of her breast as she reached across herself and offered her hand to Neal.
He slipped the bracelet onto her wrist.
‘You’re sure about this?’ Neal asked.
‘Sure I’m sure.’
‘If it gets too rough, just bail out.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ she said, then raised her hand to her mouth and kissed the head of the serpent.
She went limp. As her arm fell, it shoved the blanket aside. The back of her hand slapped against her bare thigh.
Neal saw that the entire right side of her body was naked except for a flap of blue blanket that still covered her right leg from the knee to the ankle.
Oh, beautiful. Look at that. ‘Hi, Sue. Lovely. But how am I supposed to concentrate on . . .?
’
I could cover her
.
He didn’t want to cover her. He wanted to stare. And touch.
Didn’t we do enough of that earlier?
You can never do enough of that
.
He sighed. Then he reached over Sue’s body, lifted the blanket, and covered her.
‘I’m such a gentleman,’ he said. ‘Anyway, here’s what happened. I was feeling really restless in the chair. Sleep was out of the question. So I kissed the bracelet and took off.’
Neal was shocked awake by the
snick-clack
of the deadbolt.
Oh, no
.
Brilliant daylight hit his eyes as the front door swung open. Marta stepped in and shut the door. The room stayed bright, but was no longer blinding.
Marta walked quietly as if she didn’t want to disturb her guests. She wore her uniform. A large leather purse hung from her shoulder. Stopping at the other side of the coffee table, she lowered her purse to the floor. Then she turned and stood motionless, staring at Neal and Sue.
Neal mouthed the word, ‘Hi,’ and tried to look innocent.
Sue continued to sleep.
They were both seated on the sofa, leaning against each other, their legs stretched out, their feet on the coffee table.
Neal had planned to return to his chair before falling asleep. He had planned to set an alarm clock so that he and Sue would wake up in plenty of time to be ready for Marta.
He had fully intended to make sure that Sue was properly dressed.
He looked at her.
Some of the blue blanket was pinned between her arm and Neal’s. None of it covered her. All she wore was the bracelet around her right wrist.
Neal grimaced.
Facing Marta, he shook his head and shrugged and tried to look perplexed.
She stared at him. Her eyes seemed a little glazed. Her mouth hung open.
She seemed surprised, confused, wary . . .
Her eyes went to Sue.
Studied her.
Checking out the competition? Neal wondered. Seeing how she stacks up?
Thinking,
I lost him to this skinny kid?
This bitch? I’m twice as pretty as she is! My figure’s ten times better!
But she must be ten years younger
.
The dirty bastard traded me in for a new model
.