Outside the car, she took a quick look around. Nobody nearby.
She ripped the cardboard flap off a book of matches. Striking a match, she touched it to the exposed heads. They flared. She tossed the flaming pack onto the front seat.
Slowly, the fire spread.
She shut the door and walked away, sipping her beer.
***
Red lights flashed in Dal's rearview mirror. A siren screamed.
No, please!
Jesus, a ticket. That's just what he needed. They write down the date and time. If Connie sees it, she'll know he wasn't at the movies.
Then he saw that the lights belonged to a fire truck.
Thank God.
He pulled over and let it pass. Still shaking, he drove several more blocks. He parked on a side street, and walked to the Haunted Palace.
'Nightcrawlers just started,' said the girl in the ticket window. She looked awful. It took a moment for Dal to realize she was supposed to look that way.
He gave his ticket to a fat man in bloody clothes. The man's face was twisted horribly under a nylon stocking.
'You missed tonight's Schreck,' said the man.
Dal shrugged, 'I'll catch it another time.'
At the candy counter, he bought a pack of Good 'n Plenty.
CHAPTER SIX
Connie was in bed when Dal got home. She breathed slowly and heavily, pretending to be asleep. She didn't want to tell him what she had done.
She didn't want to tell anyone, ever.
She felt rotten about hurting the kids. Maybe they deserved it, but what if she'd injured them permanently? Or killed one? That guy she'd kicked in the head…
What if a fireman got hurt trying to put out the Mustang? If the tank blew up…
Dal climbed into bed. He lightly kissed her cheek. She moaned as if disturbed in her sleep. Dal rolled away.
Connie lay awake for a long time. She shifted to her stomach, to her back, to her side. Her pillow was sweaty so she turned it over. She flung the top sheet aside, pulled off her damp nightgown, and stared at the ceiling.
***
When she awoke in the sunlight of morning, she was vaguely surprised to realize she had fallen asleep.
She eased herself carefully out of bed, hoping to avoid waking Dal. She found her nightgown on the floor. A gift from him.
A 'moving in present' he'd called it. The gown reflected his taste: it was short, low-cut, and transparent. She couldn't step outside in it, not even for a moment to grab the newspaper. She put it on, anyway. Before leaving the room, she took her robe from the closet.
As she slipped into the robe, she saw a box of Good 'n Plenty on the dining-room table.
Dal hadn't forgotten.
She felt a warm rush of affection for him. It only lasted a moment. Then, her anxiety came back. She hurried to the front door, and opened it.
The newspaper lay on the Welcome mat. She quickly picked it up. She rushed inside, tugging the plastic band off the paper.
Dropping to her knees, she spread the paper on the carpet. She leaned over it, her eyes moving swiftly over the front page.
Nothing there.
Nothing about the two kids.
Nothing about the burning Mustang.
She turned the page. Another and another. She searched the first and second sections. Section three was sports and financial. She skipped that. Wouldn't be in the entertainment section, either. Only the classified remained. Feeling light with relief, she put the paper together and flung it onto the couch.
No mention of what she had done.
The kids had probably kept the incident to themselves. If they went to a hospital-which they must've done-they gave a false story to explain their injuries.
The Mustang fire must've been too routine to report. No injuries there. It hadn't blown up in someone's face, after all.
Off the hook.
With a sigh, she got to her feet. She went into the kitchen, and began to prepare a pot of coffee.
Off the hook unless she ran into those kids again.
She took the open can of Yuban from the refrigerator, and peeled off its plastic cover. Carrying it to the counter, she raised it close to her nose and sniffed. Such a wonderful odor.
She'd always loved that smell. It reminded her of being a child, of lying in bed early in the morning listening to the rhythmic slurp of coffee perking in the kitchen. She wished she could hear that sound again. Nobody hears it now. Nobody uses a percolator. Drip machines are so much quicker, more efficient. Progress.
At least coffee still smells like coffee.
She scooped it into a paper filter.
A hand patted her fanny. She jumped, spilling grounds.
'Dal!'
He grinned. 'Morning.' He pulled her into his arms, and kissed her.
'How were the movies?' she asked.
'Not bad. I've seen better, but they were okay. What'd you do last night?'
Connie shrugged. 'Washed my hair, and read.'
'Doesn't sound very exciting.'
She shrugged. 'Well, my old friend Joe dropped by and banged me a few times.'
'Oh really?' Dal asked. Though grinning, deep red filled his face.
'Hey, only kidding!'
'I know, I know.' He turned away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Freya pushed the button of the remote control box, and watched the television screen flash from channel to channel.
Nothing on but shit.
Daffy Duck, Scooby and Scrappy-Doo, an ancient rerun of The Lone Ranger.
Roller Derby , for Christsake.
She lifted her teacup off the TV Guide, took a sip, and checked the listings. Okay, not bad. Ten more minutes of crap, and something called Monster Walks comes on. A 1932 thriller. Rex Lease, Vera Reynolds, and Sheldon Lewis.
Might be good.
She'd rather be at the beach on a fantastic, sunny Saturday like this. So many of the mornings had been overcast, lately. Typical June weather for Pacifica Coast. But business is business. She'd be spending plenty more weekends inside if she didn't get lucky and find a new roommate.
It wasn't that easy, summer in a university town.
A glut of vacancies.
And of those gals who'd inquired during the past three weeks, so many had been unsuitable.
The doorbell rang.
Christ, you'd think they'd have the decency to phone, first.
She got up from the couch. Walking to the door, she tugged at her tight, binding shorts and adjusted her slipping tube-top. She forced a smile onto her face, and pulled the door open.
'Greetings!' the girl said. She had carrot-red hair, and freckles to match. She wore thick, wire-rimmed glasses. Her blotchy cheeks bulged as if each carried an uneaten plum. She had a figure like a potato, and wore clothes to emphasize it: tight jeans and a T-shirt. The T-shirt was decorated with a leering vulture. It read, 'Patience my ass-I'm going out and kill something.' Incredibly, she wore no bra. Her breasts hung inside the T-shirt like bulging water balloons.
'Can I help you?' Freya asked.
'I'm here about the apartment. Are you the one looking for a roommate?'
'No,' said Freya. 'I'm the new roommate.'
'But this morning's paper…'
'I took the place last night. She didn't have time to get the ad pulled.'
The girl shrugged. 'Those are the breaks, I guess.'
'Yep. Sorry. You should've got here sooner.' Freya closed the door.
She stared at the television. Slim Claymore was on. Stetson tipped back, grinning like a moron, if you're in the market for a used car, come on down to Slim's Chevrolet, where you'll get courteous service and the best deal
The telephone clamored. Freya hurried into the kitchen and picked it up. 'Hello?'
'Hello.' A young woman's voice, 'is Tina there?'
'No, she's not. Would you like to leave her a message?'
'When do you expect her back?'
'Who is this, please?'
/> 'I'm Brit Anderson. I'm a friend of Tina's. We were roomies at PCU-'
'Oh yes, she's spoken of you.'
'I guess you must be her present roommate, huh?'
'We've been sharing this apartment for the past couple months.'
'Well… Do you have any idea when she might get back?'
'She's probably gone for the weekend.'
'Oh, that figures.' Brit laughed. 'Tina was always off somewhere.'
'Do you want me to have her call you when she gets back?'
'Please. I'd appreciate it.' She gave Freya her phone number.
Freya copied it down. 'That's Brit what?'
' Anderson.'
'Okay. I'll be sure to give her the message. Nice talking to you.'
'Thanks. Good-bye, now.'
'Good-bye.'
Freya hung up. She hurried into the living-room. Monster Walks had already started. 'Damn,' she muttered, and dropped to the couch. The screen went blank for a moment.
'Howdy friends! Slim Claymore here to invite you to come on down to…' She changed the channel. '… here to invite you to come on down…' Same commercial, slightly different timing.
She switched again, this time to Bugs Bunny. Bugs was preferable to Slim. She watched the hare outsmart Elmer, then she turned back to the movie station.
'… where prices are so low you'll have a slim chance of finding a better deal.'
The movie came on.
***
It was nearly over, an hour later, when the telephone rang again.
'Hello?' she asked.
'Hello. I'm calling about the apartment. I saw the ad. this morning, and I'm wondering if you're still in the market for a roommate.'
'I sure am,' Freya said. 'Would you like to stop by and have a look around?'
'I'd love to. When would be a convenient time for you?'
'The sooner, the better.'
'Fine. I'll be there in about fifteen minutes. My name's Nancy.'
'Very good. See you then.'
***
Exactly fifteen minutes passed before the doorbell rang. Freya opened the door.
'Hi, I'm Nancy.'
Nancy wore sunglasses on top of her head, resting lightly in a tuft of blonde curls. Her eyes were bright, her skin clear, her nose slightly upturned.
A cute girl, Freya thought.
She wore a short sleeved jumpsuit of pale blue. Its zipper, open several inches, showed a long V of pale throat and chest, 'I'm Freya. Come on in.'
'Thank you.'
'Are you new to Pacifica Coast?'
'I've been here a few days. I'm staying at the Travel Inn till I find a more permanent place.'
'Well, maybe this is it.'
'Maybe so.'
She showed Nancy the living-room, then the kitchen. 'Are you a student?' she asked.
'I feel like I've always been a student.'
'What field?'
'Psych.'
'Gonna be a shrink, huh?'
Nancy laughed. 'I hope so.'
'You seem… too mature for a freshman.'
'Oh, I'm transferring from Santa Monica College. I have to pick up three credits this summer, and I'll start as a junior.'
'Is this your first time away from home, Nancy?'
'Oh, I've gone off to camp, and stuff. You know. But I've never lived on my own before, if that's what you mean.'
'You lived with your parents in Santa Monica?'
She nodded.
'This would be your bedroom, here.' They entered the sunlit room, 'it comes furnished, as you can see.'
Nancy wandered the room, looking into the closet, pushing down on the mattress, glancing out the windows. 'This is very nice.'
'So are you,' Freya said in a low voice. 'You're… very nice.' She reached out for the tab of Nancy 's zipper.
'Hey!' Nancy knocked her hand away. 'No thanks. Jeez!' She shook her head, 'I'm not into that kind of stuff.'
'Ever try it?'
Blushing, Nancy shook her head.
Freya drew down her tube-top. Her breasts popped free.
'No!'
'Come on, darling, touch.'
'No!' Nancy rushed past her.
The front door slammed.
The last of Nancy.
Freya pulled up her top, returned to the living-room, and picked up the TV Guide.
She sighed.
Christ, she was getting tired of this.
If it's not one thing, it's another.
Sooner or later, though, the right girl would show up. A girl perfect in every way. A girl with no close family. A girl like Tina.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brit phoned Pete and got a recording.
'Pete Harvey, Private Investigations. I'm speaking to you, but I'm not here. If you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. At the sound of the tone, have at it.'
The tone beeped.
'Forget it,' Brit said, and hung up.
She didn't want to wait around for him to call back. She wanted him now. She had no idea where he might be, though. So forget it. She would go alone.
Might be better, that way. If she asked Pete to go along, he might think she was getting too serious about him. He seemed a bit wary about getting involved.
With her, anyway.
Three dates already, and he hadn't slept with her yet. Well, some guys like to take it slow.
She threw a few things into her suitcase, and went down to the car.
***
As she drove up the coast, she had second thoughts about going without Pete. He'd be a good man to have around, if she ran into trouble. Something definitely fishy about Tina and the movie. And the roommate.
The farther she drove, the more nervous she grew. Finally, she stopped at a Denny's, and used a pay phone. Pete's recording answered.
'Damn it!'
She banged the phone down.
The hell with him.
She shoved through the door and rushed across the lot to her car. She started the engine. For a moment, she considered heading back home.
That'd be chickenshit.
Besides, she was almost to Pacifica Coast. In half an hour, she'd be there.
God, she'd spent four years in that little town. Nothing to be afraid of.
Probably wasn't even Tina, in that movie. And if it was her, so what? It was just a movie.
They're supposed to look real, for Godsake. Look at The Exorcist, how they made Linda Blair's head spin around. That looked real. Look at The Omen, how that sheet of glass chopped off David Warner's head. That looked real too. Just as real as Tina's blood spurting all over the place.
She'd seen Linda Blair in plenty of films after The Exorcist. Same with David Warner. She knew, for a fact, they'd lived through those shots. Hell, it's only special effects.
Tina was different.
Only because I know her.
Brit left the parking lot, and headed for Pacifica Coast.
Only because I know Tina, she thought. And because the theater was creepy. And because the film had an amateur, grainy look that made it all seem rather cheap and sleazy like some of those porno films she used to see with Willy.
Weird Willy.
Liked to practice what he saw on the screen. She went along with it. too. until he got too rough. The whip was the last straw.
Weird Willy. His great ambition in life was to see a 'snuff movie'.
God have mercy on his girlfriend, if he ever saw one of…
Snuff movies?
The thought hit her like a punch in the stomach.
'Ridiculous,' she said aloud.
But she realised that the idea had been in her mind for a long time, lurking there, whispering its warning. That's why she phoned Tina, this morning.
That's why the voice of the roommate, Freya, had given her a chill of dread. Because, even on the telephone, she'd recognized the voice.
The voice of Mary in the film.
Tina's voice.
***
&nb
sp; Brit drove through downtown Pacifica Coast, and parked in front of the police station.
Her stomach churned.
What will I tell them?
I saw my friend killed in a movie, and I think it might've been real. Oh, why's that? Because they didn't use her real name in the credits, and it wasn't her voice. Are you sure it was, indeed, your friend? I'm almost positive. She's missing, and… (Freya said she'd gone off with a boyfriend-but Freya must be in on it.) Can't we check?
And the police would drive her out to Tina's apartment, and Tina would open the door.
She'd better make sure.
She left the car, and walked to a service station on the next block. She dropped a dime into the public telephone, and dialed.
Her heart raced. The black phone was slippery in her hand.
'Hello?'
'Hello, Freya.'
'Who is this, please?'
'Brit Anderson. I called this morning.'
'Oh yes.'
'Is Tina there?'
'Yes, she is. Just a moment, please.'
Brit shut her eyes and sighed. She wiped her trembling hands on her slacks.
Thank God.
The whole thing had been a figment of her imagination. It was someone else in the movie. Not Tina, at all. A look-alike with a voice like Freya.
'Hello?' Freya's voice.
'Yes?'
'Tina's in the shower, just now. Could she call you when she's out?'
'Well… I'm calling from a public phone. I'm here in town, though. Maybe I could just drop over in about ten minutes.'
'Fine. I'll tell her.'
***
Brit parked across the street from the apartment house. She climbed from the car. The afternoon sun was hot on her face, but she felt a cool breeze from the ocean.
She walked across the street on weak legs. God, what a day! She felt exhausted, emotionally drained, but elated.
She'd felt like this, all day, after the quake of '72.
Disaster over. Friends, loved ones, and self miraculously intact.
Out Are the Lights Page 4
