Authors: Richard Laymon
What does he think it’s gonna do, eat him?
Worse than that
.
What could be worse than that?
Sue wasn’t so sure that she wanted to find out.
Meanwhile, Glitt seemed to be making some sort of a U-turn with Vince’s body. A few seconds after that, the carpet stopped. A cool, smooth surface slid under his back. The smoothness was broken by strips of narrow cracks.
There was a difference in the air, too.
An empty feeling, a dankness.
We’re in the john
.
With a mixture of fear and glee, Sue figured out where Glitt was probably taking Vince.
To the bathtub.
Hey, hey, Vince ol’ boy. Guess what? Yer in for it now. He’s gonna do unto you like he done unto Elise
.
This oughta be good
.
Glitt suddenly let go. Vince’s legs dropped. The heels of his shoes pounded the tile floor.
The jolting impact saved Vince from whatever horror awaited him at the bottom of the water. He gasped, opened his eyes, and
immediately knew that he was lying on the floor of his master bathroom. The overhead lights were on. He saw Glitt looming over him, down past his feet.
What’s he doing here?
While Vince tried to piece things together, Sue studied Glitt.
This was the same guy she’d seen with Neal in the parking lot just before hell broke loose. She and Marta had figured he must be Glitt, but they hadn’t known for sure.
The top of his head was bandaged. His thick, tangled beard made him look like some sort of crazy wino or hippie.
Looks nuttier than Manson
.
He wore a long-sleeved black shirt. And black leather trousers so tight that they seemed to hug his long, bony legs. An inch or so of leather was gouged out of the left side, just below his knee. The furrow slanted downward from the front. Sue could see raw, pulpy flesh inside it.
Ya got him, Vince. A piece of him, anyhow
.
Blood ran down from the wound, coating the leg of his pants and the side of his left boot, making a small puddle on the tile floor.
For a while, he did nothing except stand there and glare at Vince.
Vince had managed to figure things out. He felt shriveled and sick with fear, but his mind worked fast, trying to figure a way out.
He’ll want his money. That’s the thing. Promise him the money – promise him anything!
Why’d he bring me in here? This is where he killed Elise
.
He just wants to scare me. He might be a sadistic maniac, but he’s not gonna throw away a chance at half a million bucks
.
‘
Wanta bet?
’ Sue asked him, though she knew he couldn’t hear her thoughts.
‘Vincent, Vincent,’ Glitt said. As he spoke, he squatted down.
‘I thought . . . you were a burglar,’ Vince said.
‘Not me. I’m a killer.’
‘I mean . . . I wouldn’t have . . . shot you.’
‘Sure,’ Glitt said. Reaching down with both hands, he picked up Vince’s left foot and pulled its shoe off.
Vince’s fear surged. ‘What’re you doing?’ he gasped.
Glitt tossed the shoe aside and dropped the foot. ‘You didn’t come up with the money, Vincent.’
‘It got stolen. Wasn’t my fault.’
‘No fooling?’ Glitt asked, but he didn’t sound interested. He picked up Vince’s other foot and removed the shoe.
‘This afternoon,’ Vince explained. ‘They robbed me. Took it all. A guy, couple of cunts.’
‘
Real nice language, buster
,’ Sue told him.
‘Look what they did? See?’ Lifting a hand, he pointed at his chin. ‘That’s from the prick’s gun. See? He hit me with it.’
‘Terrible,’ Glitt said, and lowered Vince’s bare foot to the floor.
Still squatting, he reached for the knife at his hip.
Vince whimpered.
Glitt pulled the knife out of his black leather sheath. It had a wide, shiny blade.
Vince’s bowels curdled.
‘They
robbed
me, Les! What was I
supposed
to do? The banks were closed. But I’ll get
more!
’
‘Really?’ Glitt asked, but he didn’t sound interested.
He lowered the blade of his knife between the second and third toes of Vince’s right foot. With his other hand, he clutched the ankle.
‘Leslie? Hey. I’ll get you the money. Honest! I swear to God!’
‘When?’
‘Monday!’ he blurted. ‘The minute my bank opens.’
‘Great,’ Glitt said with no enthusiasm. Then he slowly slid the blade, slicing into the tissue between Vince’s toes.
Ouch!
Sue thought.
‘
No!
’ Vince squealed in his mind. He tried to jerk his foot away, but Glitt held on. The blade kept gliding, slicing deeper. ‘No!’ Vince blurted. ‘Please!’
Glitt’s eyes were gleeful. Grinning, he inserted the blade into the crevice between Vince’s third and fourth toes. He pressed it gently against the skin at the bottom, then drew it very slowly toward himself.
Sue cringed.
Vince, squealing, flinched and shuddered.
Sue began to wonder if
she
could stand it.
Ain’t my foot
.
But she felt every bit of Vince’s pain, anyway. Every bit of his terror.
Gettin payback in spades, the bastard
.
The knife went away. Sue felt like sighing with relief.
Vince raised his head and gazed at his bloody foot. He sobbed. Then he said, ‘Don’t hurt me any more. Please!’
‘You tried to get me whacked.’
‘No! Not me!’
‘Couldn’t come up with the dough, so you hired a carload of assholes to gun me down.’
‘No! I didn’t. Are you kidding? I wouldn’t do a . . .’
‘Don’t move,’ Glitt said, and stood up.
‘I’ll get you the money.’
‘Really,’ Glitt said, and moved over to the side. He climbed down a few steps into something, walked out of sight, then returned and climbed up to floor level – with a thick bar of soap in his hand.
‘What’s that for?’ Vince asked. But he knew what it was for.
‘You’re gonna be screaming your head off, Vince. We can’t have the neighbors hearing you. Bad enough you shot your fucking gun.’
The mention of the gunshot raised Vince’s hopes for a moment. His hopes sank, however, when he remembered that he’d shut all the windows and doors to keep Glitt out.
How did he get in?
he wondered.
‘
Like it matters
,’ Sue remarked. ‘
He’s in and yer up Shit Creek
.’
Vince also realized that his nearest neighbors were on a cruise down the Mississippi.
A good chance that
nobody
had heard the gunshot.
Glitt straddled Vince’s chest, crouched, and held out the soap. ‘Open up wide and say “ahhh.” ’
Vince started crying.
He didn’t
want
to open his mouth, but Glitt would hurt him if he didn’t.
He opened wide.
He didn’t bother saying ‘Ahhh.’
Glitt pushed the soap in.
It felt
huge
inside his mouth. Waxy against the edges of his teeth. Slick against his tongue.
Real nice
, Sue thought.
The feel and taste reminded Sue of when she was a kid. A few
times, she’d let a bad word slip out within hearing range of her parents – or a tattletale. And then her father would take her into the bathroom and jam a bar of soap into her mouth.
No matter what color, no matter what scent, they all tasted pretty much alike.
Vince had never gotten the soap treatment, but he was aware that Glitt had done this to Elise. He’d heard about it on the news, read about it in the paper. And he’d admired Glitt for coming up with such a handy, effective gag. A washcloth would’ve sufficed, but a bar of soap showed
style
.
Now, he wished he’d never had such thoughts. They’d tempted Fate. This was payback for
enjoying
the soap gag when it had been used on Elise.
Because of the soap, Vince could hardly breathe. He was sucking air in through his nostrils.
Sue feared she might be suffocating.
I can hang on if he can. Just gotta remember to bail out if he starts to crump
.
She wondered if she should get out now.
No, no, no! It’s just startin to get good!
Glitt, still squatting over Vince, waddled backward. As he retreated, he pulled down the zipper of Vince’s warmup jacket.
Vince didn’t like it.
What’s he doing that for?
Then Glitt pulled down Vince’s warmup pants.
No! What’s he doing? Oh, God, no!
Vince grunted into the bar of soap and shook his head emphatically.
The tile floor felt cool under his back and buttocks.
He still wore something; Sue could feel straps and a snug pouch.
‘You never impressed me as being a jock,’ Glitt said. Reaching out, he hooked his fingers under the elastic band around Vince’s waist. He tugged it upward, made a couple of slashes with his knife, then tossed Vince’s jockstrap aside.
‘Guess you’re not real glad to see me,’ Glitt said, grinning through his beard.
He fingered Vince’s penis.
In his mind, Vince shouted, ‘
Leave me alone, you dirty bastard!
’
But he said nothing. He wept.
He’s trying to make me hard, the dirty
. . .
The hand went away.
‘Let’s get you into the tub,’ Glitt said, ‘before we make any more messes.’
Sue writhed in the passenger seat. Her head thrashed about. She panted for breath. A couple of times, she laughed. Every so often, she flinched and cried out.
Marta kept glancing at her.
Nothing to worry about. She’s safe here. She isn’t getting hurt
.
But the thoughts didn’t reassure Marta. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard that they ached. She had a tight knot in her stomach. Every muscle in her body seemed to be rigid.
She can come back whenever she wants to. Obviously, she doesn’t want to. Not yet
.
What if she can’t? Maybe something’s wrong and she wants to come back but . . .?
With a sudden shriek, Sue lurched in her seat as if trying to throw herself backward.
Marta jumped and gasped, ‘Christ!’
Then she looked around. No other cars were nearby.
Sue was flinching, jerking, panting for air.
Marta reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Take it easy,’ she said. ‘You’re all right.’
‘Ahhh!’
What’s going on?
Sue bucked and gasped, ‘No!’
‘Sue?’ Marta shook her shoulder.
‘NO!’ A moment later, her body convulsed and she let out a scream that sent ice up Marta’s spine.
‘That’s it!’ Marta said. Bundy Drive looked clear behind her, so she hit the brakes and stopped. With her right hand still on Sue’s shoulder, she leaned sideways and reached for the bracelet. She found it high on Sue’s right arm.
She started to slide it down.
But stopped when she noticed that Sue seemed calm. The
torments had apparently ended. Sue was still breathing heavily, but she no longer shuddered or flinched or cried out.
‘Okay,’ Marta muttered.
She raised the bracelet until it was again snug around Sue’s upper arm, then settled back into her seat.
‘You all right?’ she asked.
She got no response. Expecting none, she stepped on the gas pedal.
Sue turned her head. Eyes wide, mouth drooping open, she looked stunned.
‘You’re back?’ Marta asked.
‘Couldn’t take no more,’ Sue gasped. ‘Judas Priest.’ She turned toward the windshield. ‘Where are we?’
‘On Bundy, coming up on San Vicente.’
‘So . . . a couple more minutes?’