Come Out Tonight

by Richard Laymon

  Sherry thought about her pistol. Before taking her Jeep in for repairs, she always removed it and left it on the bookshelf just inside her front door.

  “If you’d like,” she whispered, “I could just walk through and open the front door for you.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  “Just trying to make things easier.”

  “Don’t bother.” He gave her rump a couple of gentle pats, then said, “Climb on in.”

  “Okay.”

  Sherry planted both hands on the windowsill, jumped, thrust herself up and caught the edge of the sill with her right knee. She brought up her other knee. Perched precariously, she raised her arms and found handholds—her left hand clutching the frame, her right hand gripping the side of the open window itself.

  As she knelt there, the curtain deflated. It drifted in, brushed against her face, then sailed off.

  Though she had climbed in this way a few times, she wasn’t exactly sure how she’d maneuvered herself from this point. It seemed that she needed to bring one leg forward and get her foot on the sill. But which leg would be better to start with?

  She flinched as Toby touched her.

  His hand was underneath her skirt, an open curve against her thigh. Slowly, it drifted upward between her legs.

  The curtain settled against her face. She turned her head aside.

  She wanted to yell. She wanted to clamp her legs together. She wanted to reach down and stop Toby’s hand.

  But any quick moves might make her fall.

  And if she tried to stop him…

  Just let him.

  Kneeling on the sill, she remained motionless except for her breathing and the quivering of her muscles as Toby’s fingers stroked her, spread her, delved.

  The curtain rubbed her cheek.

  She felt Toby’s thumb.

  The gun’s on the middle shelf, she told herself, trying not to think about what he was doing. I oughta just make a run for it. It’s all set to go. One up the chute, five or six more in the magazine. All I’ve gotta do is pull the trigger.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Toby took his hand away, but he didn’t say anything. Twisting her head around, Sherry looked down at him. He was licking his fingers. As he slid his thumb into his mouth, he noticed her watching. He slowly pulled his thumb out. “Go on in,” he said.

  Though every muscle in her body seemed to be trembling, she struggled off her knees and managed to get both feet onto the windowsill. The curtain, briefly blown inward, came silently back at her. It slipped between her thighs, brushed against her face.

  She couldn’t see. The darkness was bad enough, but the curtains blinded her completely.

  Reaching out with her left hand, she swept the curtain out of her way.

  And lost her balance.

  Left shoulder first, she started falling forward into the darkness.

  Toby grabbed her skirt. She felt a rough tug at her waist. Her fall almost stopped. But then came a pop and a rip. The skirt went loose.

  Loose but not gone, it snared her feet and kept them high as she plunged toward the floor.

  On the way down, she struck nothing. She was apparently dropping into the narrow space between her bed and the side of her desk.

  With her hands, she tried to break her fall.

  They were bashed out of the way and her head struck the floor. For a moment, she felt as if she’d been propped upside-down and crooked against the wall. Then her legs started to drop. Her rump and back followed them toward the floor.

  Shit!

  She bent her back and jerked her knees toward her chest.

  Instead of slamming down with a stunning crash, she rolled quietly to a sitting position.

  She jerked her head around.

  The blowing curtain let her see Toby as he boosted himself onto the windowsill. When his body blocked the wind, the curtain swept toward him.

  Sherry struggled to her feet. Her bedroom doorway was straight ahead, its opening darker than the walls. She staggered over to it. In the hallway, she dodged to the right and broke into a run for the living room.

  From behind her came a heavy thud—Toby hitting the floor?

  The people under us must think…

  No, they’d moved out a few days ago. There isn’t anybody under us.

  “Sherry?” Toby’s voice was a harsh whisper. “Sherry!”

  She suddenly heard his footfalls.

  Here he comes!

  After the deep darkness of the hallway, the living room seemed almost bright. The curtain across the picture window looked like a dimly glowing wall. It cast a gray luminescence over the couch and the coffee table, but it left the front door in utter blackness.

  Sherry couldn’t see the bookshelf at all.

  She raced for it, anyway, dashing past the coffee table then turning toward the door.

  Toby sounded as if he might already be in the room.

  She hurled herself against the door, reached out past its jamb and slapped the light switch. The room filled with light. She heard Toby gasping, running, but she didn’t look at him.

  Instead, she twisted away from the door and lunged for the bookshelf.

  The place near the front edge of the middle shelf, where she’d left her pistol, was empty.

  No!

  As Toby pounded toward her from behind, she raced her eyes up and down the whole bookcase.

  It has to be here!

  She suddenly remembered Duane.

  Because her Jeep was in for repairs, Duane had come here to pick her up for their evening together. But she hadn’t been quite ready to leave, so she’d left him alone for a few minutes. Coming out of the bathroom, she’d found him in front of the bookshelf with the pistol in his hand. “You really shouldn’t leave something like this out in plain sight, Sherry. You shouldn’t have one at all, but that’s beside the point. What if a kid came in and—?”

  “Kids don’t come in.”

  “You should at least keep it somewhere out of sight.” With that, he’d reached up to the top shelf, pulled out a handful of hardbacks, placed the pistol at the rear of the shelf, then returned the books to their place. Looking pleased with himself, he’d said, “Now some stranger won’t come in and end up shooting somebody with it.”

  Not wanting to begin their evening with an argument, Sherry had nodded and smiled. “Good idea,” she’d said. She would be away from the apartment, anyway.

  Gotta make sure I take it out of there when I get back.

  The moment she remembered what Duane had done, she reached for the highest shelf with both hands. The books were in her way. She clawed at them. Seven or eight flew forward, falling, some of them hitting her face and shoulders and chest.

  Fingernails suddenly scratched the nape of her neck and she was jerked backward by the shoulders of her blouse. As she stumbled away from the shelves, Toby swung her to the right. A corner of the couch clipped her leg out from under her. She slammed down sideways on her coffee table, skidded across it and tumbled off the other side. Her back struck the floor.

  She tried to raise her head off the floor, but couldn’t work up the strength.

  What’s he doing?

  Pretty soon, the coffee table slid out of the way. Then Toby loomed over her. Standing on his left foot, he rested his bare right foot on her belly. His robe was gone. Sweat was spilling down his body as he huffed wildly for breath.

  He held the butcher knife in his left hand, Sherry’s semi-automatic pistol in his right.

  “You were…gonna kill me,” he gasped.

  Blinking sweat and panting for air, she stared up at him and didn’t try to answer.

  “I…warned ya…what’d happen.”

  “Go to hell,” she said.

  He gazed down at her and shook his head. “Now you’re…in for it.”

  “Fuck you,” Sherry said.

  “Huh-uh, fuck you.”

  He stomped on her belly.

  As her breath exploded out, her knee
s jerked up. Hugging her belly, she rolled onto her side and curled up.

  “That’s for starters,” Toby said.

  She felt as if she’d been caved in. She couldn’t breathe at all, just hugged her knees and struggled to drag air into her wide-open mouth—but couldn’t.

  Then something crashed against the side of her head.

  Her brain seemed to detonate with a brilliant flash.

  He shot me?

  Chapter Twenty-six

  What’s going on?

  Sherry’s head throbbed with fiery pain and her scalp, just above her right temple, was stiff and wet. She felt something moving under the back of her head. Under her whole back. It was flat, rubbing her, making her burn.

  The carpet?

  She realized she was being dragged by her feet.

  I’m still alive.

  She thought about trying to open her eyes, but decided against it. Without her lids down, her eyes would burst into flames.

  They won’t, she told herself.

  But they felt as if they might.

  Anyway, let him think I’m out cold.

  Maybe I am, she thought.

  Or maybe I’m dead. Dead and dreaming that he’s dragging me by my feet.

  What if I’m dead and it all keeps going on?

  Scared, she opened her eyes. They felt raw and hot, but she kept her lids open long enough to see that she was being dragged down the hallway by Toby. Apparently, the lamps were still on in the living room. They cast a dim glow on her elevated legs and on Toby. Both her feet were bare, now. Toby was clutching her ankles together out in front of him, leaning backward and towing her along like a bag of rocks.

  He seemed to be staring at her breasts.

  Sherry could tell by the feel that her blouse wasn’t just wide open, it was gone.

  She shut her eyes.

  She wondered what to do.

  What can I do?

  Go with it. Just let it happen.

  She wondered what Toby had done with the knife and pistol. He didn’t have them with him, that was for sure.

  Had he left them somewhere in the living room?

  I’ll just run right in and find them.

  Sure.

  Toby lowered her legs to the floor.

  She heard his footsteps alongside her. They moved past her head and kept going. Opening one eye slightly, she saw her bedroom windows high on the wall beyond her feet. The windows were pale in the darkness and one side of the curtains was sailing high, flapping and shaking.

  The desk lamp came on.

  Sherry shut her eyes.

  Toby walked up behind her head. He shoved his hands under her shoulders. As he lifted her into a sitting position, she let her head sway and flop. Staying limp, she felt him reach under her armpits, wrap his arms around her chest, and hoist her off the floor. In a tight hug, she was swung sideways. She landed on the mattress, Toby still clinging to her, heavy on her back.

  He loosened his hold, but didn’t climb off.

  His hands, pressed between her body and the bed, moved around until they were underneath her breasts. He began to flex his fingers. His mouth opened against the side of her neck. He kissed her there, sucked and nibbled, while his hands plied her breasts and his body began to writhe.

  He felt soft and hot and slimy on her back and buttocks. Soft except for his penis. She could feel it back there, big and rigid and sliding against her.

  He’s gonna get me this time, she thought. Nothing I can do to stop him.

  Thanks for moving my gun, Duane.

  In her mind, she heard him answer, Thanks for sending me out for the condoms, Sherry.

  It’s not Duane’s fault, she told herself. Don’t blame him.

  It’s Toby.

  All Toby.

  Gasping for air, Toby pulled his hands out from under Sherry and climbed off her. She could suddenly feel the wind rubbing against the sweaty skin of her back and buttocks.

  Toby lifted her legs onto the bed. Then he turned her over. Shoving and pulling, he arranged her body so that she lay flat on her back with her arms down straight against her sides and her legs spread wide.

  The wind blew down on her.

  It felt good.

  But she knew things were about to get very bad.

  Here we go.

  Keeping her eyes shut, she felt the mattress shift. Then there were hands on her thighs. She could feel them trembling as they slid upward. When they reached her groin, she heard Toby moan. Then she felt his mouth, his tongue.

  His teeth.

  Though she tried to remain limp, her body flinched with the sharp, sudden pain. Though she tried to stay silent, a quiet squeak escaped from her throat.

  “Told you I’d eat you,” Toby said.

  She raised her head off the mattress.

  Toby raised his head and smiled at her. He had blood on his lips.

  He went down again and thrust in his tongue, then took it out and began licking his way up her body. As his tongue lapped and probed, his hands glided up to her breasts. They squeezed her, pinched and pulled. Then his hands moved up to her shoulders and held her down while his mouth latched on to her right breast, pulled at her nipple, opened wide and sucked hard. She felt as if her whole breast were being drawn into his mouth.

  She felt the edges of his teeth.

  No!

  Just when she was sure he would bite, he pulled his head back. Her breast popped out of his mouth with a sucking, slurpy sound and he planted his wet lips against her mouth and thrust in his tongue.

  She thought about biting it.

  But he could’ve chomped off half my breast and maybe he will if I bite his tongue.

  She decided not to do it.

  A moment later, Toby rammed his penis up deep into her and his mouth caught her outcry of pain and despair.

  He turned off the lamp, then came back to the bed. He lay down beside Sherry. She hadn’t changed her position, still lay sprawled on her back, arms at her side, legs spread. She supposed she could move, but she wasn’t sure of it. She knew, however, that she didn’t want to. She hurt everywhere. And if she moved, Toby might do something to make it worse.

  He rolled toward her. His belly pushed against her side. Reaching across her chest, he curled a hand over her left breast. He eased his upper leg forward and rested it on the top of her right thigh. Then he squirmed, rubbing his penis against her hip. It felt soft and sticky.

  “You know what?” he whispered.

  Sherry didn’t answer.

  Toby stopped squirming, but she felt one of his fingertips slowly circling her nipple. “You’re the greatest.” He went silent. He hardly moved at all except for his belly pushing at her as he breathed, his fingers drifting lazily over her breast. She had goosebumps and her nipple was sticking up straight and rigid. Toby’s fingers kept returning to it. “Know what?” he whispered. “This is the best night I ever had.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  She could hardly even think; she felt too hurt and tired and defeated.

  She closed her eyes. Tears slid out and trickled down toward her ears.

  “I never…never even had a girlfriend before. Never did any of this stuff. Good news, huh? I mean, you’re probably worried, me not using a rubber. AIDS and stuff. But I haven’t got it. I’m a hundred percent healthy.”

  “I’ve already got it,” she heard herself mutter.

  Now you’ve got it, she wanted to add, but the words didn’t come out.

  Had she really spoken the first part?

  Must’ve. And Toby must’ve heard it, too, because his hand was no longer fiddling with her breast.

  She hadn’t planned to say such a thing, hadn’t given it any thought at all—it had just grumbled out. Apparently, her mind wasn’t totally wrecked, after all.

  Good going, she told herself.

  Give him something to think about.

  “You do not,” he said. “Duane had to go out and buy rubbers. I bet it was you who made him
…”

  “Didn’t want…him…to catch it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You…should’ve left me…alone. Now you’re…gonna die.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “You did. And…bit me.”

  He shoved himself back. Braced up on an elbow, he stared down at her.

  “Got blood in your mouth. My blood. You got AIDS now.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Lying bitch.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Take it back.”

  “Not sorry.”

  “Say it’s a lie.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You’re dead,” he muttered.

  “You, too.”

  His right fist shot out and bashed the side of her face, knocking her head sideways and throwing spit from her mouth.

  Then he climbed onto her.

  “Say it’s a lie,” he said.

  She couldn’t say anything.

  But she soon found that she could scream.

  By the time Toby tore the scream out of Sherry, she had a pillow over her face.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  An hour before dawn, Toby stopped the van on an empty stretch of Mulholland Drive. He could see the orange glow of the Malibu fires in the distance. But the glow was very far away. The fires would probably be stopped long before they got this far.

  But if they came here tomorrow or the next day, so much the better.

  There were trees on one side of the road, a drop-off on the other.

  No cars were in sight.

  He opened the rear doors of the van, leaned in, and dragged the rolled blanket toward him with both hands.

  He wrestled it onto his shoulder.

  Staggering under the weight, he made his way to the side of the road and stepped up to the guard rail.

  In front of him, Los Angeles was a distant vista of bright lights.

  Leaning over the guard rail, he let go of the blanket.

  It dropped.

  He leaned over some more. The blanket was slightly darker than the earth and bushes of the hillside. He thought he could see it falling, then bouncing.

  It was only a vague black blur down there.

  As he watched, its shape seemed to change.