Come Out Tonight

by Richard Laymon

  How the hell did she live through all that? he wondered. She’s gotta be in awfully bad shape.

  She didn’t sound so bad on the phone.

  Keeping the flier, he left the house and headed for his car.

  It all keeps changing, he thought as he walked along. Now I know where to find Brenda. I can go straight there. Can’t be all that far away, either. But Sherry’s alive. She knows who I am. She can send the cops after me.

  Why hasn’t she?

  “Good question,” he muttered.

  Realizing he’d spoken out loud, he looked around. He was at the bottom of the driveway. He saw no one nearby, just a couple of Sikhs walking along on the other side of the street. They were paying no attention to him. He looked down at himself. The fly of his shorts was open, he had the car wash announcement in one hand and he still wore the rubber gloves.

  Not breaking stride, he clamped the paper between his teeth, pulled off the gloves and shoved them into the right rear pocket of his shorts. After glancing around again to make sure he wasn’t being watched, he pulled up his zipper.

  He checked himself again.

  “Lookin’ good,” he muttered.

  Where was I?

  Gotta decide between Brenda and Sherry.

  He sure knew who he wanted. Brenda. She was fresh and beautiful and unused.

  He’d already done everything he’d ever dreamed of with Sherry. She was used up.

  Oughta be dead.

  Needs to be dead, he told himself. That’s the thing. She knows my name. All she has to do is tell the cops who I am…

  But she hasn’t.

  Not yet, anyway. If she’d told, I’d be busted by now.

  Or dead.

  As he approached his car, the notion scurried through his mind that maybe he shouldn’t let himself be taken alive. Might be better to have a shoot-out with the cops, go down in a blaze of glory.

  It’s either that, he thought, or spend the rest of my life dying of AIDS in prison.

  Feeling a little sick, he climbed into his car. He tossed the pink sheet of paper onto the passenger seat, then started the engine. And sat there.

  Who says I’ve got AIDS? he thought. Just because Sherry has it…if she does…Who says she wasn’t lying? And even if she was telling the truth, you don’t have to necessarily catch it just because you mess around a little.

  A lot. I messed around a lot.

  He started remembering, reliving in his mind all that he’d done to her. He could see her slim, naked body under him; feel her hot slippery skin and her snug suction; taste her flesh, her juices; hear her grunts and whimpers; hear the thuds and smacks and whipping sounds of the beating; hear the wet sounds their bodies made together.

  As he dwelled in the vivid memories, his sickening fear quickly faded away. His penis pushed upward against the front of his shorts.

  Good thing I zipped up, he thought. It’d be sticking out.

  He smiled.

  Who do I want to stick it in? That’s the real question.

  “Brenda,” he said, “here I come.”

  He pulled away from the curb.

  Just forget about Sherry, he told himself. I’ve had her.

  Oh, God, yes! Best night of my life.

  Now it’s time to move on and nail her kid sister.

  Pretend I never heard that damn message.

  But I know where Sherry is! I could go over there right now, fuck her all over again, eat her up!

  The thoughts made him ache.

  I’d end up with AIDS for sure.

  Anyway, she isn’t alone. She’s got that guy with her. The one on the phone. Who the hell is he, anyway?

  A cop?

  No way. They’d have me by now.

  She said they’d have me tomorrow, though. What was that about? They wouldn’t wait till tomorrow, would they?

  She hasn’t told them who I am. Simple as that.

  What’s she trying to pull?

  Maybe nothing, he thought. Maybe it’s something really simple—like she can’t remember my name.

  Is that possible?

  Possible, maybe, but not likely. She’d sounded awfully coherent on the answering machine. Not at all like someone with a memory problem.

  But she didn’t say my name.

  “Everything but my name,” he muttered.

  She has to know it, he thought. Toby Bones? Who could forget that?

  Let’s say she does remember my name, he thought. She’s alive and okay enough to make that call. She remembers everything about last night, but she hasn’t sicced the cops on me. What does it mean?

  She doesn’t want the cops picking me up?

  Why?

  Makes no sense at all.

  Maybe it has something to do with where she is now—and the guy on the other end of the phone.

  Maybe he won’t let her call the cops!

  Toby let out a laugh.

  Wouldn’t that be rich? It’s a miracle I didn’t kill her—me or the fall—and somehow she lives through it all and ends up in the hands of another guy just like me.

  Laughing again, Toby shook his head.

  “Far out,” he muttered.

  Such things did happen. He’d heard stories of gals making narrow escapes—and fleeing straight into the arms of strangers who end up raping them.

  The more Toby thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

  Somebody found her. A guy, obviously. There she is, naked and helpless—maybe even out cold. He gives her a good looking over, sees she’s a great-looking babe under all the blood and stuff. Maybe he fucks her right on the spot. Or else he holds off till he can take her someplace safe.

  Like his house on Chandler Court.

  “Ah, yes,” Toby said.

  Where he cleans her up, patches her up and keeps her for some fun and games.

  “My kinda guy,” Toby said.

  It would explain everything.

  Whoa. Maybe not everything. What about the call she made to her parents?

  That’s easy, Toby thought. He let her do it as part of a deal.

  The sneaky bitch probably talked him into it.

  He could just hear her. “Let me call my parents so I can warn them about Toby, and I’ll cooperate with you. Okay? Just let me make the call and I’ll do anything you want.”

  That’s gotta be how it went down, Toby thought.

  This is great!

  If Sherry’s being held prisoner, she won’t be making any calls to the police. Not in the near future, anyway. Probably never, because the guy almost has to finish her off eventually.

  If I don’t get to her first.

  But there’s no big hurry, Toby told himself. The guy might keep her alive for days, maybe even weeks.

  I can take all the time I want with Brenda, then go on over to Chandler Court.

  And rescue Sherry.

  At first glance, he didn’t see Brenda. But there were eight or ten people gathered in the parking lot at the far end of the school. Some didn’t seem to be wearing much. Most were surrounding a couple of cars. He glimpsed buckets, rags, and a hose shooting a long flashing stream of water at a car.

  This has to be it.

  Eyes on the car wash, Toby hadn’t caught the name of the school. But how many schools on Fairview Boulevard would be having car washes today?

  He slowed almost to a stop before turning. As he drove into the parking lot, he reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed the pink flier. He glanced at the inked-in remark, “Too cute!” Smiling, he crumpled the paper and stuffed it into the right front pocket of his shorts.

  Chapter Fifty-one

  “Their car isn’t here,” Sherry said, and steered into the driveway.

  “I bet they aren’t home,” Jeff said from the back seat.

  I sure hope you’re right, Pete thought. If they are home, they’re probably dead.

  Sherry stopped the car and shut off its engine.

  “Why don’t you wait here?” Pete suggested. “J
eff and I can run in and make sure everything’s okay.”

  She turned her head toward him, wincing as if the movement hurt her neck. “I’ve gotta go in.”

  “But he might be inside.”

  “All the more reason to stay together.”

  “She’s right,” Jeff said. “We can’t just leave her sitting alone out here. Toby might sneak out…”

  “We could leave her the gun.”

  “She might use it on us.”

  “Cut it out,” Sherry said.

  “See?”

  “I don’t care about your stupid little lie right now, okay? Forget about it. Let’s just pretend it never happened.”

  Looking at Sherry, Pete said, “Why don’t you stay here and we’ll leave the gun with you?”

  “I’m going in,” Sherry said. She handed the keys to Pete, then opened her door.

  Pete pocketed the keys. Bending down, he reached under his seat and pulled his revolver out of a towel. He set it on his lap while he opened his door. Then he reached inside his half-unbuttoned shirt. Holding the weapon out of sight against his ribcage, he climbed from the car.

  Jeff shut the door for him.

  Pete looked around. He saw nobody nearby.

  Sherry waited in front of the car, her loose shirt fluttering and flapping in the wind. It was a Hawaiian shirt that Pete’s parents had brought back to him from Maui last year. He’d hardly ever worn it. Though he liked the slick, lightweight feel of it, it was just too gaudy for him. Bright red. All those flowers.

  It sure looked great on Sherry.

  You couldn’t tell she was wearing anything under it. Only when the wind picked it up could you glimpse her bikini pants.

  “Jeff,” she said, “why don’t you run up and check the front door? Just see if it’s locked. Then come back. Don’t go in.”

  “You got it,” he said and hurried off.

  “I have a feeling they aren’t home,” she told Pete.

  I sure hope they aren’t, he thought. He said, “Me, too.”

  “They almost always do go someplace on Saturday afternoons. Mom and Dad have this real thing about sitting around the house.” She grimaced. “Only thing is, Brenda likes to stay home.”

  Jeff came hurrying back. “Door’s locked,” he said.

  She seemed glad to hear it. Nodding slightly, she said, “Let’s go around back.”

  They followed her to the driveway gate. There, she started to reach for the latch. Before her arm was halfway up, she let out a groan of pain.

  “I’ll get it,” Pete said.

  “I’m fine.” She strained, writhing slightly, and reached the latch.

  They followed her through the gate. Jeff eased it shut. Then they walked slowly up the driveway, Sherry in the lead.

  To their left was a redwood fence. Music came from the neighbor’s house. It sounded like Enya, but might’ve been the Titanic soundtrack. No sounds came from the house of Sherry’s family.

  God, what if they’re all dead inside?

  They’re probably not even home, Pete told himself.

  Then he imagined finding them dead, Sherry bursting into tears and throwing herself into his arms. He held her gently as she cried. Her face was hot and wet against the side of his neck. Spasms wracked her body, shaking her shoulders and back, making her breasts move against his chest.

  Terrific, he thought. Have Toby butcher her family so I can hug her.

  He shook his head.

  “What?” Jeff whispered.

  “Nothing.”

  What if wishing makes it happen?

  Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. I could wish till hell freezes over and it wouldn’t…

  I don’t want it to happen. Do not. That was not a request. If anybody’s listening out there, I’m not wishing them dead. Got it?

  What if they don’t let you take it back? he wondered.

  Bullshit.

  “Uh-oh,” Jeff said.

  Pete turned his head, saw the back door of the house and realized that its window was broken. He felt as if a hand had suddenly clutched his heart.

  What’s the big shock? We knew he got inside. This is how. Calm down.

  Sherry hobbled toward the door.

  What if he’s still inside?

  “Wait,” Pete said, his whisper loud.

  She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “I’ll go first.”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll guard the rear,” Jeff whispered.

  Pete pulled the revolver out of his shirt. It was one of his most prized possessions. Though it still legally belonged to his father, it had been presented it to him on his thirteenth birthday. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Dad had told him. This is yours now. Keep it near your bed in case of intruders. Just make sure you don’t shoot the wrong person—like me or Mom.”

  The handgun was a Ruger Single-Six, a Western style single-action .22 with six rounds in the cylinder. Not much stopping power compared to Sherry’s .380—which Toby was probably carrying. Before leaving home, however, Pete had switched cylinders. Now it was equipped with the magnum cylinder and loaded with the extra-powerful .22 rounds.

  He’ll still have me outgunned, Pete thought. I’d damn well better shoot first and nail him good.

  God. I hope he’s not here.

  Holding the Ruger behind his back, he stepped up to the door. With his left hand, he tried the knob. It turned. As he pulled the door open, he pressed his thumb against the hammer of his revolver, ready to cock and fire.

  Broken glass on the kitchen floor.

  He saw nobody.

  He stepped in, bits of glass crunching under his shoes.

  No one seemed to be in the kitchen.

  Sherry came in, careful to avoid the glass with her bare feet. Then Jeff entered and shut the door.

  “Wait,” Sherry whispered. She limped over to the counter and pulled two large carving knives out of a wooden holder. She handed one to Jeff. “Okay. Let’s go. But let’s go fast. I can’t stand this.”

  Pete looked her in the eyes.

  Bloodshot eyes, the surrounding tissues swollen and discolored. But Pete saw in them the dread that her family had been slaughtered.

  Though his own heart was slamming with fear, he knew how hers must be aching.

  What if it was my parents…?

  “I tell you what,” he whispered. “Stay here.” To Jeff, he said, “You, too.”

  They both looked ready to argue, but Pete didn’t wait for it. He swung the revolver out from behind his back, whirled around and ran from the kitchen.

  “Come on,” he heard Sherry say. “We’ve gotta cover his back.”

  They’ll have to catch me first.

  He raced through the dining room, across the foyer and into the living room, looking for bloody corpses or Toby but finding no one, alive or dead. Sherry and Jeff were just coming out of the dining room when he reached the foot of the stairway. “Okay so far,” he gasped. Then he charged up the stairs, taking three at a time.

  Nobody at the top of the stairs.

  He rushed from room to room, checking behind furniture, dropping to his knees to glance under beds, throwing open closet doors. In the two bathrooms, he threw aside the shower curtains and looked in the tubs.

  No bodies. No blood. No Toby.

  No sign of Toby, either. If he’d been up here at all, he’d left behind no obvious traces.

  Huffing for breath, Pete returned to the top of the stairway. Sherry and Jeff stared up at him. “It’s clear,” he called, then started to descend. On his way down, he lowered his revolver. It still wasn’t cocked. He switched it to his left hand, wiped his sweaty right hand on his jeans and looked at his thumb. The pad of it had a red, corrugated dent from being pressed so hard against the hammer spur.

  “Nobody’s here?” Sherry asked.

  “Doesn’t…look like it.”

  “Any sign of Toby?” Jeff asked.

  “Huh-uh.”

/>   “Might be hiding.”

  “Possible. Go up and look around if you want.”

  Jeff shook his head. “That’s okay.”

  As Pete stepped off the bottom stair, Sherry turned away. He and Jeff followed her into the living room. She stopped beside a lamp table. “Here’s where he must’ve played my message,” she said.

  The new message light wasn’t blinking.

  Sherry bent over and lowered a finger toward the rewind button.

  “Wait,” Pete said. “You’d better not touch it in case he left fingerprints.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “There won’t be a trial.” She pushed the button, but nothing happened. “That’s…” She opened the top of the answering machine. It raised like the hood of a car.

  Pete expected to see a tape cassette inside.

  Apparently, so did Sherry. “Shit,” she muttered. “He took it.”

  “Why would he do that?” Jeff asked.

  “Just to make sure nobody gets to hear what I said about him.” She pushed the lid down. Then she looked at Pete. “He probably took off the minute you gave him that address.”

  “He’d be there by now,” Jeff said.

  Sherry nodded. “Maybe we can still catch him. If he hangs around for a while…”

  “You wanta leave a note for your parents?” Pete asked her.

  “Toby won’t be coming back here. Let’s just get going.”

  “You could stay here,” Pete said.

  Jeff glared at him.

  “You’ll be a lot safer here. Your parents’ll probably be home pretty soon, and…”

  “No way,” she said. “I don’t care to be safe. Let’s use the front door. It’ll be quicker.”

  As they headed for the door, Jeff asked, “Do you wanta grab your father’s gun?”

  “What’ll he use?”

  “If Toby’s not coming back, anyway…”

  “Not gonna take my dad’s gun. He might need it. You never know.”

  With his left hand, Pete opened the door. After Sherry and Jeff were outside, he hid his own revolver under the front of his shirt. Holding it against his chest, he left the house and pulled the door shut.

  “Besides,” Sherry said, “We’ve already got a gun.” She smiled at Pete. “That’s all we oughta need.”

  Chapter Fifty-two