Out Are the Lights (8 page)

    When they are off her face, she opens her eyes. 'Oh, thank God. I thought I'd…'

    'It's all right. Schreck's dead. You're safe, now.' Taking out a pocket knife, he begins to cut the cords.

    'Oh Ted, how did… how did you find me?'

    'I'll tell you later.' He finishes cutting her loose, and helps her up. 'Here, take this.' He removes his shirt.

    Susan puts it on.

    'Did you talk?' he asks.

    'About what?'

    'The Coven.'

    'I don't know anything about any Coven. I kept trying to tell him that, but he wouldn't listen. I don't know what's going on. How did I get here? Who is that awful man? He… oh Ted, take me out of here! Please!'

    'You didn't tell him the members of the Coven?'

    'Damn it, I don't know about a Coven! If I knew, I would've told him right away, before he… Look what he did to my hair! And those… those spiders! I'd have told him anything.'

    The man turns away from her.

    Schreck enters the room.

    'She doesn't know,' Ted tells Schreck. 'I'm sure of it.'

    Dropping to her knees, Susan grabs the revolver. She aims at Schreck and fires. The roar of the blast fills the room, but Schreck doesn't fall. Instead, he walks toward her. His lean, bony face wears a terrible smile. Susan shoots again and again.

    'Blanks, heretic.'

    She looks to Ted, who grins at her and shrugs, 'I'm afraid he's right.' Ted walks slowly from the room, leaving her alone with Schreck.

    'I have no more use for you,' Schreck says. He holds a leather switch. He flicks it, cutting the air with a sound like a whistle. 'We shall make your death slow and agonizing, as befits a foul toad such as you.'

    Whirling away, Susan rushes to a window. She hammers it with the revolver. The glass bursts. She grabs a long, jagged shard. 'Stay back! I'll kill you!'

    Schreck laughs with disdain as he approaches, 'If you're so fond of glass, perhaps you would like to eat some. I can arrange that. I can arrange many delights featuring glass.'

    With both hands, she suddenly presses the shard to her throat and tugs it sideways, ripping a deep gash across her skin.

    Schreck steps closer. Her blood sprays his face and robe, 'I had such plans for you.'

    He stomps his foot, splashing blood.

    'You spoiled them!'

    He raises the switch.

    Before he has a chance to strike, Susan drops to her knees. Schreck steps out of the way as she falls forward. Her face thuds on the floor.

    
THE END

    

    

    On Friday, Connie waited in agony for Dal to come home from work. She had wanted to tell him before, but couldn't. Now, time was running out.

    No more delays.

    God, if only there was some way out of it!

    Finally, the front door opened.

    She went to Dal. 'How was your day?' she asked.

    'Not bad, not bad.' He tossed his sport coat onto the couch and turned to her, expecting a kiss.

    She kissed him quickly.

    'How'd you do today?' he asked.

    'Not as well as I'd like.' Her writing had gone badly because of her worries. Rather than let the day go to waste, she spent most of her time typing without trying to force herself to concentrate.

    She followed Dal into the kitchen. He mixed a batch of martinis for himself. While he worked on that, Connie made a vodka gimlet. 'Want some potato chips?' she asked.

    'Sure. What's for dinner?'

    It's coming!

    She breathed deeply. She felt numb, 'I thawed out a steak for you.'

    'Yeah? What are you having?'

    'I'm… going out for dinner.'

    Dal looked confused.

    'I have a date,' she explained.

    His face went red. 'A date?'

    'I'm sorry, Dal. I meant to bring it up earlier…'

    'With a man?'

    She nodded.

    'What are you talking about?'

    'I met him Wednesday. At the library. He asked me to have dinner with him tonight.'

    'Well Jesus Christ!'

    'I'm sorry, Dal.'

    'What am I supposed to do?'

    'Have the steak.'

    'Oh, that's what I need, funny answers. You think this is funny?'

    'Not at all.'

    'Boy, I thought… Never mind. Jesus! Well, go out and have a ball. Want to bring him back here, later, for a little slap 'n tickle?'

    'Dal, please.'

    'It's a little short notice for an eviction, don't you think?'

    'You don't have to go.'

    'But it'd be nice if I would.'

    'I didn't say that.'

    'Well just exactly what are you saying?'

    'I don't know. It's just a date, Dal.'

    'Yeah, my ass.' He turned away.

    'Dal!'

    Ignoring her, he picked up the martini pitcher and left the kitchen. She followed him into the living-room. He opened the front door.

    'Dal, don't run off.'

    He glanced back at her. 'Have a ball,' he said.

    'Where are you going? Dal!'

    He stepped outside, and jerked the door shut.

    Connie felt the impact of its slam.

    

    

    The door opened. Elizabeth looked up at him with deep, green eyes, and smiled.

    'Martinis, anyone?' asked Dal.

    She pulled the glass pitcher down to her lips, and sipped.

    'Mmmm. We must have olives, though. Come along. Herbert's out by the pool. Why don't you join him? I'll get glasses and olives.'

    He watched her walk toward the kitchen. Her feet were bare. He could see through the thin, white fabric of her caftan. She wore nothing under it. For a moment, he considered following her into the kitchen, raising the caftan above her waist, and stroking the firm smooth curves of her buttocks.

    But she had asked him to join Herbert at the pool. Best do as she asked. Plenty of time, later on, for the other.

    He went out to the pool. Herbert's wheelchair faced the table, almost as if it hadn't been moved since Wednesday. He wore a different shirt, though. A bright red. flowered shirt. It made him look like a Hawaii vacationer.

    A withered, paralyzed tourist. More corpse than man.

    Dal turned away from the staring eyes. The pool was still in sunlight. He thought back to Wednesday, and the slick feel of Elizabeth 's skin as they grappled under water.

    'Having a nice chat?' she asked, coming out with a tray. On the tray were two long-stemmed glasses, a jar of green olives, and a cheese board with Brie and crackers. Her breasts jiggled slightly as she walked. Their tips were dark through the fabric. She sat down beside Herbert.

    'So,' she said, 'how did you slip away from Connie?'

    'We had a little quarrel.'

    'How clever. You picked a fight, and walked off in a huff.'

    'Something like that.'

    'Nothing too drastic, I hope. You didn't tell her about us?'

    'No.'

    'That's fortunate. You wouldn't want to spoil such a fine opportunity.' She plucked olives from the jar, and dropped them into the empty glasses.

    Dal poured the martinis.

    They picked up the glasses.

    'To you and Connie,' said Elizabeth.

    'Why should we drink to that?'

    'Because you're going to marry her, of course.'

    'I am?'

    'Certainly.'

    'You're joking.'

    'My dear, I have expensive tastes, you would be completely incapable of satisfying on the meager salary of a sales clerk. If you're interested in pursuing this relationship, you simply must be able to afford me.'

    'But you're rich.'

    'Herbert is. I'll be rich when, alas, he passes on. That, however, doesn't relieve you from the necessity of seeing to my needs, once we're together.'

    'But marrying Connie… Her money wouldn't be mine.'

    'Half of it would, I believe. Think it over.' She again raised her glass. 'To you and Connie, and wealth.'

    'I don't know…'

    'You want me, don't you?'

    'More than anything.'

    'In that case, your decision shouldn't be difficult.'

    Dal hesitated, then clicked his glass against Elizabeth 's. They drank.

    

    

    'So, how did you get to be a private eye?' Connie asked.

    'I started out with the L.A.P.D.'

    'I should've guessed.'

    'How's that?' Pete, across the table from her at Victoria Station, grinned as he sliced into his prime rib.

    'Oh, you all have that clean-cut, Steve Garvey look.'

    'Just like Reed and Molloy.' He took a bite of beef. 'When did you leave the force?'

    He chewed for a moment, and started to answer.

    'I can't hear you,' Connie said. 'If you talk and chew at the same time, it comes out gobble-dee-gook.'

    Pete laughed. After swallowing, he said, 'How's this?'

    'Just fine. I'll eat while you talk.'

    'Thanks!'

    'So, how come you left the police?'

    'We had a disagreement. Well, no, not really. My beef wasn't with the department. More with the public. We'd been under a lot of pressure about officer-involved shootings. This was a couple of years ago. I was cruising along Sunset, one fine night, and saw this black woman running up the middle of the street with a knife. She was chasing a kid. My first thought was that the kid had snatched her purse, or something. But he came right to my car, yelling for help. I got out, and the kid sort of ducked behind me. "She crazy, man," he says. And the gal is yelling too, about cutting off the kid's private parts. I'm between the gal and the kid, though, and she keeps coming. She doesn't obey my command to stop. It's this wicked-looking hunting knife, you see. So I draw down on her, and she ignores it and keeps coming, and I'm thinking about all the heavy times I'll get from the bleeding hearts if 1 drop this gal. I mean, she's black, she's female, and she's unarmed except for a harmless little knife. So I hold off firing. And in the meantime, she throws the knife. I dodge it, and it kills the kid. The kid, it turns out, is her homosexual son.'

    'You're the one,' Connie said.

    'I'm him.'

    'You cuffed the gal to the body-'

    'Yeah.' He grinned. 'I cuffed both her hands to both the dead guy's hands, and walked away.'

    'I wondered what kind of a man would do that.'

    'Now you know. Here he is, Dirty Pete in the flesh.'

    'Pleased to meet you, Dirty Pete.' She reached a hand over the table and shook his. 'Better eat, now, before your dinner gets cold.'

    'Okay. I'll eat and you do the talking. How did you get to be an author?'

    'It all began with a rotten social life.'

    

    

    'It's quite simple, really,' said Elizabeth. 'Haven't you ever proposed before?'

    'No.'

    'That surprises me, I must say. You seem so impulsive. Be a dear, and push me off.'

    Her air mattress had drifted, foot first, against a side of the pool.

    Dal, sitting on the end of the diving board, got to. his feet. He turned around carefully, and walked, the board springy under his feet. He climbed down. The concrete was still warm, though the sun no longer hit it. He liked the feel of the breeze.

    And he liked what it did to Elizabeth. It was the breeze, he assumed, that made her nipples stand rigid.

    He glanced at the martini glass she balanced on her belly. 'Would you like a refill, while you're beached?'

    'I would adore one.' She lifted the glass, tipped it to her mouth, and sucked in the olive.

    Dal pulled her mattress alongside the wall, and took the glass from her. He retrieved his glass from the end of the diving board, and carried them to the table. 'Fix you one, Herbie?' he asked.

    He smiled, realizing that the man's silent presence no longer unnerved him.

    'Herbie,' he said, 'you're a good fellow.'

    'He was never that,' Elizabeth called.

    Dal finished pouring the drinks. He returned to the pool. He climbed down the tile steps at the shallow end, and waded out to Elizabeth.

    He placed the glass on her belly. 'Thank you, dear,' she said. 'Think little of it.'

    'Now. pretend I'm Connie.'

    'Why'd I do that?'

    'You're going to propose to me.'

    'Huh?'

    'You said you've never proposed before. Here's your chance.'

    'Oh, I don't know.'

    Elizabeth raised her head slightly off the inflated pillow, sipped her martini without spilling, and rested the glass on her belly. 'You start by taking her to a nice restaurant. Have a few drinks.'

    'Ply her with liquor.'

    'Precisely. Have a marvelous meal. Lobster, perhaps.'

    'I can't eat seafood.'

    'Then steak.
Chateaubriant
would do nicely. When you're done, order after-dinner drinks. Cognac- '

    'Connie likes Irish Coffee.'

    'Fine. Have that. And now, it's time. You're both full, slightly high, and happy.'

    'Okay.'

    'I'm Connie.'

    She started to drift away. Dal caught her by the foot, and pulled her back to him. 'Connie, I want to marry you.'