Strangers (36 page)

That was Jan Pretre’s promise.

With his left hand, he seized the back of Beth’s neck. She didn’t struggle. Slowly, he scraped the black sandwich back and forth across her mouth, then her cheeks. It sounded like a worn-out razor blade on a two-day growth of unlathered whiskers. He said, “That doesn’t taste very good, does it? It’s too well done.”

She was rigid and quivering, eyes squeezing shut. He dropped the sandwich on the floor. Her face looked
sun-burned
, dotted with tiny specks of black.

He paced in front of her like a drill sergeant chewing out a slouch of a recruit. “You were bad to burn the food, Beth,” he said. “Bad girl! That’s why I had to punish you. And now I have to punish you for running away from home.”

Pivoting, he swung, arm at waist level. He didn’t put all his force into the blow, but there was power and speed behind the fist that slammed into her stomach.

Beth clasped her arms over her belly and doubled over, whuffing for air and then wretching with a dry, hacking noise. Okay!
he
thought. That got through to her! One in the old labonza!

“Don’t throw up, Beth,” he warned. “You throw up, I’ll wipe your face in it.”

He yanked the hair at the top of her head and forced her to stand erect, jerking her up on
tip-toe
. With a tone of “reasonable explanation,” he said. “You had to be punished, Beth, because you were a bad girl. I’m sure you understand that.”

He cranked her head up and down in a “Yes” gesture.

“So now you’ve had your punishment and I can forgive you, but first, and this is the catch, baby, you have to tell me you’re sorry for being such a bad girl.”

Her eyes were huge and glazed, the whites shot through with streaks of red. Her mouth was open, tongue stabbing between her teeth as she panted. She did not answer.

“Say ‘I am sorry,’ bitch,” he ordered, punctuating each word by jerking her head.

Her taut throat worked. In a dry, whispered scream, she said it.

“That’s better,” Michael said. He turned her hair loose. He thought she might collapse but she remained on her feet. “You know,” he said, “I hate these little arguments we get into, Beth. I don’t like to get upset with you, sweetheart. I love you so very much.”

Then, grinning
—Smile at the birdbrain—
he said, “And I know you love me, too. Tell me, snookums. Let me hear you say, ‘I love you.’”

He was—ready for a spark of defiance to snap at him. He hoped for it, for the chance to extinguish it.

Sounding like a tape on a telephone answering machine with worn-down batteries, Beth said, “I…love you.”

All right, pack up the pieces of that game and break out a new board and cards and dice! Fun, fun, fun!

“Aw, that’s great to hear. That’s wonderful! Shit, hearing those magic words gets me right where I live.” He tipped his head to the side. “You’ve got me all romantic, you irresistible sex goddess you!”

He gripped her nose between his first and second fingers, a “Three Stooges” come-along. “We’re going to make love, cuddles.”

The peeping “ooh” she whimpered every step of the way pleased him immensely. In the living room, he drew the picture window’s drapes. “Don’t want to give the neighbors a cheap thrill,” he said.

“Now let’s get into the holiday mood!” He plugged in the lights of the aluminum Christmas tree in the corner. An artificial tree… He’d never yielded to Beth’s wanting the genuine article. He too much liked the secret irony: an artificial tree for his artificial celebration of the holiday. Beneath the tree were decoratively wrapped gifts.

Of course! Michael Louden, father, and Michael Louden, husband, wouldn’t neglect any of the members of his dear family. He was one generous guy!

“Now, Beth,” he said
,—
1 know you’re itching for it. After all, you haven’t had it for a long time”—
Not since that Kevin asshole
gave it to you. And wasn’t he the “last of the red hot lovers?”—“
but
I’m no blue-collared redneck who doesn’t give a shit about his lady’s pleasure. We’ve got to have some foreplay!

With both hands, he grabbed the collar of her housecoat and ‘ripped her clothing off her.

“So much for foreplay,” he said. He threw her on the couch and with the heel of his hand on her forehead, shoved her down on her back. He unbuckled his belt, opened his button and fly, and pushed his slacks and shorts down to his calves.

He stroked himself quickly,
then
dropped upon her. He forced himself into her, thrusting hard, making sure every lunge hurt. “Let’s get some action going,” he demanded. “Necrophilia isn’t my speed.”

Beth gasped each time he drove his hips down. That was the only sound she made. Her movements were not his own, merely her body’s involuntary mirroring of his actions.

He hit his climax, hit it as hard as he could, and stiff-armed, frozen above her, clenched his teeth and then slowly exhaled.

He got off her, pulling up his clothing. “Well, was it good for you, honey?” he said.

Beth’s eyes did not shift toward him; she looked at the ceiling. Only the rise and fall of her breasts showed that she lived.

“I mean
,
did you feel the earth move? Did you have the ‘Big 0’?”

Beth said nothing, did
nothing.

Michael walked to the Christmas tree, stopped, and picked up the small package marked “Beth.” “You know, after a wonderful moment like that, I can’t help myself. I just have to give you an early Christmas gift.”

Going back to her, he tore off the wrappings. He took out the one ounce, cut glass
flacon.
“I know you’ll be wild about this,” he said, “Oscar
de
La Renta. This shit is so classy
it’s not perfume
,
it’s
parfum
.
Cost an arm and a leg.”

He opened the bottle. He poured the perfume on Beth’s face.

The rich scent stung his eyes and made him cough.

Beth did not even blink.

With a casual toss, he threw the bottle on the carpet.

“You know something, Beth?” he said. “You’re no fun anymore.”

— | — | —

TWENTY

“RISE AND shine! Up and at ’em!” Michael hit the light switch. “Hey, hey! Things to do and people to see!”

Only her head showing, Beth lay unmoving beneath a mound of blankets. He had not slept in the same bed with her since Wednesday night. He couldn’t tolerate her sick-crazy smell. He did not mind sleeping on the sofa or in a chair; he no longer required much rest or even food. He was running on frenetic energy, racing through the minutes of the day, knowing that each instant’s passing brought him closer to the new year and Jan Pretre’s implicit promise—The Time of The Strangers.

Besides, the bedroom belonged to Beth and Michael Louden—to
them,
not him.

He shook Beth.

She groaned. “No. Sleep.”

He heaved the covers from her, pulled her up to a sitting position. “Company’s coming,” he said. “You want to look and feel
your
very best for our visitors, I’m sure.”

Her head lolled to the left. Her mouth was crooked. “Company… What’s today, Michael?”

“Michael?”

“Saturday,” he said. “Tonight’s Christmas Eve. Very festive occasion, you know.
A time to celebrate.
Too bad your mother won’t be with us this year but she’s busy being dead.”

Michael said, “The Engelkings are bringing the kids back home in an hour or so.”

Beth swayed from side to side. “No,” she said tonelessly. “Shouldn’t come here… Don’t want them here.”

“That’s a fine thing for a mother to say!” Michael laughed.

Late that morning, Laura Engelking had telephoned. Was Beth up to having the children? If so, they’d come by in the afternoon. Oh, certainly the girls could stay with Vern and her, but they missed their parents—Marcy especially, such a sensitive child—and it was the “togetherness” season…

Why sure, Laura, you’re absolutely right! In fact, he was just about to call you with the same idea and here you went and took the words right out of his mouth! Maybe he’d set the self-timer on the
Canon Sure-Shot
and tonight they’d all gather around the Christmas tree for a family portrait. Beth might not show up in it, though; he didn’t have the right film to photograph a ghost!

Michael hauled Beth out of bed. She was unsteady. “You shower and get dressed. Pronto!”

“Michael?” she said. She unexpectedly smiled. For a split-second, he thought she had regained her senses. Then the smile became what it was meant to be, a
lip-quivering
helpless pout, and she childishly murmured, “Don’t hurt anyone, okay? Don’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Come on!” He sank his fingers into her upper arm and quick-marched her down the hall to the bathroom. She managed to shower on her own. He had to help her get dressed—he chose a blue velour jumper and an ivory blouse—and brush her hair.

“Just as pretty as can be,” he said, when he had her seated on the living room sofa. Next to her on the end table was the remaining crystal lamp. What if he snatched it up and hurled it to the floor at her feet, smashing it as he had the other?

No, that wouldn’t affect her. Beth was G-O-N-E. All that electroshock, a bushel basket of tranqs, whatever other mind-scramblers that had been pumped into her, and of course that heavy hit of LSD that he’d given her to first zap her off to la-la land, and
voila!
A waxwork figure, one that had not yet had the paint applied to its face.

“Now remember,” he said, wagging his finger, “behave yourself. Don’t say the wrong thing to our guests. We don’t want them to worry. You don’t want me to punish you for being bad.”

He wondered if he were getting through to her. There was something else that might get the idea across. “The kids are coming home, Beth. It sure would be a shame if something bad happened to them. I’m sure nothing will, if you act right.” Maybe that was still—too subtle. Raising his voice, he added, “You do anything out of line, anything at all, and I’ll break both their necks.”

She nodded almost imperceptibly. Message received, he decided.

When the children and Laura and Vern arrived at three o’clock, Beth, hollow-voiced, said “Hello” to everyone. “Hello” and that was it. Then as she was kissed on the cheek by Marcy—“Oh, Mom, I’m so happy you’re home and that we’re all home and everything!”—
and
Kim, who needed a push, hanging back, obviously confused and shocked by what she saw, hugged and kissed by both Vern and Laura, Michael saw the desperate, begging glance she gave him:
Am I being good? Please don’t hurt them!

He nodded approval. He sat by her on the sofa and sent the kids up to their room to unpack. Laura took a seat and Vern said, “Whoops! Almost forgot!” He didn’t bother to retrieve his coat from the hall closet. He dashed outside and, a moment later, returned with gift-wrapped boxes under both arms.

“Indeed, good friends, it’s not the thought, it’s the gift that counts!” He cocked his head and smiled broadly. “Hmm, perchance I’ve not got that particular platitude quite right!”

Michael chuckled and Laura erupted into laughter.
You’re going overboard on the hilarity, Laura,
Michael thought. She was straining for cheerfulness, but she hadn’t once taken her eyes off Beth.