No Sanctuary

by Richard Laymon

  Andrea nodded her agreement. “I don’t want to wake up and find a strange cock in my—”

  “Cut it out,” Bonnie said.

  “That’s the first thing I’d do.”

  Bonnie shot her a sour look and Rick grinned. “Anyway, I’ll keep watch. So you won’t have to worry about that.”

  “Are you just going to let Bert sleep?” Andrea asked.

  “Might as well.”

  “I’ll stay for a while then.”

  “What about your frozen ass?” Bonnie asked.

  “I think somebody should stay out with Rick, don’t you? If he’s alone, he can’t cover his back.”

  “Whatever you want,” Bonnie said. “I’m turning in. And if you’re asking, I’d advise you to do the same, Andrea.”

  “Yeah, sure. See you soon, Bonnie.”

  After Bonnie was inside her tent, Andrea got up from her rock. She turned her back to the fire and bent over. Her jeans were tight and faded, their rear pockets frayed. There was a butterfly patch over her left buttock. “Pardon the view,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Rick.

  “View’s not bad.”

  She rubbed her seat with both hands. Then she stood up straight and turned around. “It’s true about the rivets, you know. They heat up really fast. I’ve probably got little red burn spots on my butt.” She sat down again and pushed her hands into the pockets of her puffy down vest.

  “Don’t your arms get cold?” Rick asked. They were covered only by the sleeves of her plaid shirt.

  “They’re all right. How long have you and Bert been going together?”

  “A few months.”

  “Live together?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s the holdout?”

  “She’s not ready to give up her independence.”

  “Where’ve I heard that before?” Andrea smiled. She looked beautiful, her eyes shining, her face burnished in the trembling glow of the firelight, glossy curls hanging across her forehead from under the edge of her stocking cap. “How come you let her talk you into this torture-fest they call backpacking?”

  “She had her heart set on it. I didn’t want to disappoint her.”

  “That’s about the way I got into this. Bonnie got the goddamn call of the wild, and talked me into coming along. Too bad we all didn’t run into each other a lot earlier. Those two sourdoughs could’ve kept each other company and left us out of it.”

  Rick smiled. “Those are the breaks.”

  “What would you like to be doing right now, if you weren’t stuck out here in the armpit of the universe?”

  “Ideally. Maybe sitting at home with a drink, watching a good movie on the VCR.”

  “Yeah. All right. What kind of movies do you like?”

  “All kinds. Thrillers, mostly.”

  “I knew a guy who lived off campus and had a VCR. All he ever played on it were sex movies. The idea was, I was supposed to get turned on and go crazy.”

  “Did it work?”

  She smiled. “Maybe. How about Bert? Does she like to watch that kind of stuff?”

  “She’d rather do it than watch.”

  “Well, lucky you. Does she see ... other guys?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m not into guys.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Rick’s heart quickened. Good Christ, he thought. Don’t jump to conclusions, maybe she’s just curious. “I haven’t,” he said. “It ... hasn’t come up.”

  “It has now,” Andrea said.

  “She might wake up.” His voice came out hoarse.

  “That’s a chance we’d have to take. We could go off into the trees.”

  “What about our three friends? Not to mention maybe mountain lions on the prowl?”

  Still smiling, Andrea stood and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “I can see you’re not ready for this. But it’s gonna be a long night. If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.” She nodded toward her tent.

  “Bonnie’s in there.”

  “She won’t tell. In fact, I’m sure she’d be happy to keep watch later on. We could use the tent.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it,” she said. Then she turned away. She strolled across the camp, bent down, and crawled into her tent.

  For a long time, Rick sat motionless.

  He stared at Andrea’s tent.

  Then he got up. He went to his pack and took out the bottle. When he returned to the fire, he sat on the rock where Andrea had been. That way, her tent was behind him so he wouldn’t have to look at it.

  He opened his parka, took out the revolver, and rested it on his lap. Then he unscrewed the cap of his bottle and drank. The bourbon heated a path down his throat, spread warmth through his stomach.

  You’re going to stop thinking about Andrea, he told himself.

  He thought about how she had looked sitting across from him in the firelight. He remembered the way she had rubbed the seat of her jeans and he could almost feel her buttocks through the warm denim. He had half expected her to show him the marks that she suspected the hot rivets had put on her rump. If the rivets felt so hot, were they pressing her bare skin? Wasn’t she wearing panties? He wondered if she had taken off her jeans before getting into her sleeping bag. Maybe she had taken off everything, and was lying awake, naked in the snug warmth, waiting for him.

  If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.

  I’m not going to change my mind. Not the right place. Not the right time. There’s Bert. And you never know when those three scumbags might come sneaking out of the trees.

  Rick looked quickly over his shoulder. He scanned the darkness behind him. Then his gaze lingered on Andrea’s tent.

  When their time for watch comes up, he thought, she’ll probably stay inside, expecting me. How am I going to handle that?

  Maybe I won’t tell them when it’s time. Maybe I’ll just stay here all night.

  He turned again to the fire. He took another drink and looked toward the dark bushes. A rustle. Then the crack of breaking twigs. His head snapped forward, eyes riveted to the bushes. His breath came in shallow gulps.

  Christ. My nerves are shot.

  Another swig.

  And another rustle. More of a flurry this time.

  Birds?

  Not in the dark.

  The Thugateers? Jase, Luke—but not Wally, the scrote’d be asleep.

  Who then?

  Rick held still for a while.

  No more rustles.

  Silence.

  Thank God.

  Then, “Drink is the devil’s curse! ’Tis Satan’s brew to be sure. It poisoneth the soul!

  “Repent, sinner, and mend thy ways afore it’s too late ... ”

  The words hissed loudly in Rick’s left ear.

  It was that close.

  He twisted away and rolled off the rock. Hit the ground and lay there. Gasping for breath. Panting with fear. Choking on the pall of fetid breath that still warmed his cheek. It was wet with spittle. Uhhh ... He rolled over, heaving and grunting with disgust. Slashing at his face with both hands.

  “God almighty!”

  Outlined in the darkness, a man dressed in animal skins stood astride Rick’s body, his bony arms akimbo on his hips. Atop his head was the head of a coyote, flaps of gray fur hanging and winging about his shoulders. The coyote’s mouth hung open, showing teeth and a lolling tongue. There were dark holes where its eyes had been.

  The weird headgear swung back and forth as its owner shook with rage. Rage? Rick couldn’t distinguish. Laughter? Yeah. The bastard was laughing. High-pitched squeals of glee.

  A sweaty, hormonal animal odor swept up Rick’s nostrils as the creature side-stepped away from his body and skipped backward.

  “What ... who in hell are you?” demanded Rick. The goddamn bastard was right about the Devil’s brew. I am seeing things—I
gotta be!

  “Angus is the name. Dearly beloved son of the Right Rev. John Brown McTavish! I was brought to this wilderness fifty years ago to preach the good Lord’s word. Aye. Praise be to the Lord. A-men!”

  With a manic cackle the creature lifted a scrawny arm above his head, crooked the other at his hip, did a quick jig and then vanished, cackling, into the night.

  The bottle was three-quarters empty. Rick held it toward the fire and shook it, watching the amber fluid swirl.

  So that’s what it was. Stalking us. A bastard preacher-man gone ape. My God... The fuckin’ cotton-pickin’ lunatic ... Aawgghh ...

  Better cut it out or I won’t have any left for tomorrow night.

  He stood up. The revolver slid off his lap and dropped, its muzzle pounding his left foot. He winced at the sudden hurt, then bent over and picked up the weapon. He carried it in one hand, the bottle in the other. Bending over his pack, he put away the bottle.

  He stood up straight. He breathed deeply. The chill night air smelled of pine. Just like a Christmas tree lot. He was a kid, and he’d gone with Dad and Julie to the Lopez Ranch to pick out a tree. They wandered through a maze of spruce and pine. Their breath made white plumes. Julie wore a down vest. Her jeans had a butterfly patch on the seat. Her jeans were cut off so high that the bottoms of her rear pockets hung out. Odd that she would wear such pants on a night like this. Odd, but nice.

  Julie slipped in sideways between two trees, and vanished. Rick stayed with his father. Together, they inspected a silver spruce to see if it had any bare spots. It looked good. “Go find your mother,” Dad said. “We’d better get her approval.”

  Rick squeezed his way through the trees, smelling their rich scent, feeling their limbs run like soft, cool brushes against his body. He came out the other side.

  And almost tripped over Julie’s leg. She was sprawled on the ground of an aisle between the rows of Christmas trees, naked except for a single knee sock. Bert lay nearby, the handle of a knife standing upright in the center of her chest Reeling, Rick staggered sideways. His bare foot (why was he naked?) came down on Bonnie’s belly, slipped into a gash and sank deep into her warm guts. With a gasp, he pulled his foot free and stumbled to the other side of her body before falling. He landed on his hands and knees between Andrea’s spread legs.

  Jase and Luke were on each side of him, holding Andrea by the ankles. Wally was sitting on her face.

  “Go to it,” Jase urged him.

  “You killed her! You killed them all!”

  “You did,” Luke said.

  “All your fault,” Wally said, and bounced on Andrea’s face, his blubber shaking.

  “No!” But Rick looked down at himself. His body was slick with blood, his penis erect.

  “What are you waiting for?” Jase asked. “Go to it, pal.”

  “Don’t worry about Bert,” Luke said. “She’ll never know.” He chuckled.

  NO!

  Rick was on his knees, doubled over, his forehead pressed against the cool damp mat of the forest floor. He pushed himself up. The revolver was clamped between his thighs. He wrapped his hand around its grips, and stood up. His legs had pins and needles, and he was barely able to keep himself up.

  The campfire had burnt down to a heap of glowing embers. He looked at Bert’s tent, then at the girls’ tent. Then he scanned the dark trees surrounding the camp.

  He wondered how long he’d been out of it.

  Must’ve been a long time, or his legs wouldn’t have fallen asleep like that.

  What if Jase and Luke and Wally had come while he was ... was what?

  What the hell was all that, anyway? he wondered.

  An hallucination? A nightmare? A premonition?

  And Angus, the mad preacher. A fantasy? Or the real thing?

  His heart started thudding hard. He licked his dry lips.

  He walked to the remains of the fire, crouched there and tossed sticks onto the embers. White smoke rose off the sticks like thick steam. The wind shredded the smoke and cast it away.

  With a sudden whup, flames erupted.

  Firelight shimmered on the front of the girls’ tent.

  Rick stood up, trembling. He switched the revolver to his left hand and wiped his right hand dry on the leg of his pants. He fingered the handle of the knife sheathed at his hip.

  He glanced at Bert’s tent and half hoped to see the flaps bulge and Bert crawl out, ready to join him on the watch—and in time to stop him.

  He turned toward the other tent.

  Were they both asleep in there? Or was Andrea still awake, waiting for him?

  He pictured the way they had looked on the ground in the Christmas tree lot, all three of them, and Juiie—naked and dead. Go for it, Jase whispered.

  Taking the revolver into his right hand again, Rick stepped around the fire and walked away from its heat.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Monday June 23

  Jerry had said, “Why don’t you stay here tonight? We’ll get your stuff out of your uncle’s place and bring it over.”

  “Right now?” Gillian had asked.

  “Maybe not right now.”

  They were both naked in bed. He was lying on his side, propped up on an elbow, looking at her body in the candlelight while his other hand rested open on her hip, fingertips moving ever so slightly in the curls of her pubic hair. Gillian was on her back, hands folded beneath her head. She felt worn out and wonderful.

  “In a little while,” Jerry said.

  “I might not be able to walk,” she told him.

  He laughed softly.

  “I’m serious. You ruined me. I might need a wheelchair.”

  Gillian wished, now, that she had taken him up on the offer. She didn’t want to leave her suitcase in Fredrick Holden’s house overnight, and now Jerry was asleep.

  But she had been lying there, peaceful and weary, his fingers toying with her hair, feeling too good, too full, too ruined to move—even the short distance toward his side of the bed so she could get away from the cool, wet place on the sheet.

  We should go over now, she had thought. Get it over with. Then I’ll never have to set foot in that maniac’s house again.

  She had been about to tell Jerry, but his hand moved. His fingertips slid and her breath snagged.

  “Are you really ruined?” he whispered.

  She took a hand out from under her head. She touched him. Then she rolled toward him, smiling, shaking her head, nudging him onto his back. Straddling him, she held his shoulders and eased herself slowly down. His warm thickness spread her, slid in deeper and deeper, filled her. She sighed and shut her eyes. She felt his hands close gently over her breasts.

  All thoughts of going next door for her suitcase were gone.

  When the thoughts came back, she was lying on top of Jerry. Her cheek was against his shoulder. She felt spittle at the corner of her mouth. Lifting her head, she wiped her mouth and saw a shiny area glimmering in the candlelight where she had drooled on his shoulder in her sleep. She rubbed it off gently with the heel of her hand. He didn’t wake up.

  He’ll probably wake up when I climb off, she thought.

  His arms had been around Gillian just before she’d fallen asleep, but now they were out to the sides, as if they had simply dropped onto the mattress when he’d conked out.

  His legs were still straight together between her legs.

  His penis had been inside her, and she could feel that it was still inside her, but not very far.

  Pushing at the mattress with her hands and knees, she carefully raised herself.

  She felt a pulling sensation.

  Permanently stuck, Gillian thought, and smiled.

  Though it still took a slight pull that stung Gillian and must’ve hurt Jerry as well, she freed herself without waking him.

  Maybe I should wake him up, she thought. He said he’d go over with me.

  Working her way slowly backward, she stopped when his penis was just below her fac
e.

  I could wake him up in a way he wouldn’t mind at all, she thought.

  Just let him sleep. I can take care of this myself.

  She kept backing up until her knees found the end of the bed. Then she climbed off.

  Only stubs were left of the candles on the dresser and on the nightstands to either side of the bed. Gillian tiptoed from candle to candle, and puffed out each flame.

  She entered the lighted hallway and followed it to the kitchen. A clock on the kitchen wall showed 2:38.

  Lord, Gillian thought. How did it get so late?

  She slid open the back door. The pool still shimmered pale blue in the darkness.

  How did it get so late, indeed?

  We must’ve been in the pool more than an hour after the Tarzan Jane business.

  Gillian walked to the far side of the pool. Squatting there, she picked up her bra and panties, Jerry’s briefs. They were still wet.

  She remembered how the garments had hit the concrete deck with sodden splats when they were tossed from the pool. And the feel of Jerry when she first embraced him naked in the water. And the sudden urgency, and how he had entered her and she had wrapped her legs around him and he had walked her to a corner of the shallow end and she had stretched out her arms and hung onto the edges of the pool until it ended fast with a quaking inside that made her cry out.

  The memory of it left her a little breathless, a little aroused.

  She stood up with the undergarments in her hands. Wringing them out, she walked to the pool comer where he had taken her, where he had held her for so long afterward and where she had finally said, “Now what’ll we do for fun?”Jerry suggested playing Marco Polo, a water version of hide-and-seek.

  So they had played that game for a while, taking turns as the blind searcher, as the quarry. The hiding reminded Gillian of how it had been when she was a kid, but this time she looked forward to being found. The kisses. The touching. Which grew more intense as the game progressed until finally they climbed from the pool, rubbed each other with towels as they shivered in night air that had seemed terribly cold, and went inside to the bedroom.