In the distance, a bright yellow light beckoned them and as they drew closer the land flattened out and the track became wider and even. Stefan swung the car so the headlights played across the ground ahead, highlighting the dark shape of a homestead against the night sky.
At the sound of the car’s engine another light inside the house flicked on. Then a door opened and the silhouette of a man appeared. Stefan parked the car beside the gnarled trunk of an old tree.
“Here we are – and there he is,” Stefan said. “Let’s get inside and say hello.”
Tink was trembling with nervous apprehension. She followed Stefan up three stairs onto a porch. Stefan shook hands with the man and then the man held the door open and ushered Stefan and Tink inside.
They entered a large country-styled kitchen. The floors were slate, the cupboards and fittings all finished in polished timber and in the corner of the room there was a timber table with four chairs. The aroma of roasted beef drifted throughout the home.
Tink stood in position by the doorway and bowed her head.
Stefan and Master Peter spoke like old friends. Stefan sat down at the table and Peter crossed to Tink and held out his hand.
It was the first thing Tink saw; a strong, smooth hand with long fingers. The skin was sun-browned. She looked up tentatively into the face of a man in his mid thirties.
He was gorgeous!
Master Peter had a wide friendly smile and warm eyes as blue as the ocean. His hair was black, curling down around the collar and the rugged planes of his face were tanned and blued by the stubble of new beard. He was wearing denim jeans and a white shirt, with the top two buttons unfastened so that Tink could see whorls of chest hair, and the sleeves were rolled up over muscled forearms.
“Hi. I’m Master Peter.”
“Tink,” she said softly.
His hand was warm and dry and strong. He guided her to the table and she sat next to Stefan.
“Coffee?”
“Please,” Stefan sighed. He had seen the look on Tink’s face and he knew the girl well enough to know that Peter had made quite a first impression.
“Tink?”
“Yes. Please,” she said.
Peter turned to the kitchen counter and fetched mugs, coffee and sugar.
“Didn’t think you would make it, Stefan,” Peter said over his shoulder. “The storm has flattened trees, flooded bridges and taken down power lines. I didn’t think you would be able to get through.”
Stefan hesitated. “We left before the storm…” he said slowly, but there was a trace of concern in his voice.
“Well from what they’re saying on the radio it was a good thing,” Peter came to the table with mugs of coffee. “You got out just in time.”
“Is it that bad?” his thoughts went to Renee still in the house.
“Worst storm in a decade,” Peter said. “Power’s out all the way from the old Gully line right through to Bishop’s Bridge.”
Stefan thought of Renee alone in a dark house. There was a flashlight in the kitchen cupboard, but did Renee know that?
Stefan frowned. He glanced at his watch. The drive to Peter’s farm had taken just over an hour.
Peter turned to Tink and shook his head in wonder, admiring the softness of her skin, her slim physique and the tantalizing press of her breasts against the shimmering fabric of her dress. “You’re quite beautiful,” he said frankly. “From everything I’d been told about you, I expected you to be a one-legged shrew with straggly hair and three eyes.”
Stefan looked up sharply. “I never said anything like that.”
Peter laughed. “Not you! I’m talking about all the horrible things Larry Madden told me.”
At the mention of that name, Stefan suddenly went very, very still. The blood in his veins turned to ice. He stared at Peter unable to speak with the shock of it. Carefully, he set his coffee cup down on the table.
“When did you talk to Madden?”
“Today,” Peter shrugged. “He turned up here in an old Toyota pickup a few days ago looking for a place to stay. He doesn’t look too good. He said he was in a car crash months ago. Lost a lot of his teeth and broke his nose. I told him you were bringing Tink out to meet me tonight. I thought he might want to wait around to catch up and talk about the old days, but he left suddenly this morning.”
Stefan remembered smashing his fist into Larry Madden’s face on the road to Bishop’s Bridge the night he tried to rape Renee.
Now there was urgency in his voice and his eyes were dark and afraid. “Where?” he asked. “Where did he go?”
Peter stared at Stefan’s grim, pale face in confusion. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “He stayed here for a few days chopping firewood, then left this morning. All he said was he wanted to call in and see an old friend down your way. I thought it might have been you.”
Stefan pushed himself away from the table urgently. “Tink, stay here.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No! You’re not. Stay with Peter until I come back for you.”
Peter was frowning, Stefan’s fear infectious. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
Stefan ignored him. “Keep calling Renee,” he told Tink. “Tell her to get out of the house. Tell her that Larry Madden is coming for her. Tell her she has got to get out of the house!”
Stefan ran to the car. Tink spun around looking for a phone. Peter strode to the open door, his face suddenly fearful. “Stefan, be careful,” he shouted into the rising wind. “The bastard took my axe!”
* *
Stefan threw the car into a series of skids, plunging and bumping over the dirt track as fast as he dared until the intersection to the highway loomed out of the dark. He spun the wheel hard, slamming his foot down on the accelerator pedal at the same instant, and the car slewed onto the road in a billow of blue smoke and screeching tyres.
On straight road the car leaped forward, and he drove with his grip tight on the wheel and the weight of his guilt and fear heavy on his shoulders.
Suddenly everything telescoped into perspective in his mind. He saw clearly how wrong he had been. It came to him with startling clarity, and the pettiness of his pride was like the bitter taste of poison in his mouth.
He pressed the accelerator until it was flat against the floor, then had to brake hard and change down through the gears as a blind curve leaped out of the night. His feet danced between accelerator and clutch as the car drifted onto the wrong side of the road and he wrenched the wheel to drag the car back into the lane. Then he was descending down into a valley, driving into a solid grey wall of rain that sluiced mud across the road and hammered against the windscreen.
“Please, God,” he prayed. “Please let me be in time.”
Nineteen.
Larry Madden parked the pickup at the end of the street and shut the engine off. He smiled to himself.
He reached up and adjusted the rear-view mirror so that he could clearly see the driveway, and then he settled down to wait.
“Patience,” he told himself, and his breathing was a nasal whistle through the shattered cartilage and bone of his nose. “You’ve waited months. You can wait a few hours.” He sucked and chewed at his bottom lip, then ran his tongue inside his mouth. Three of his teeth were missing and another was just a sharp jagged stump. His tongue found the gaps and he remembered.
He remembered the smell of the woman. He remembered the feel of her underneath him, begging him to pleasure her. Begging for it! He remembered how she had screamed her desire into his face as he lay on top of her.
He smiled. His tongue darted out quickly between his lips and he chuckled.
Then he remembered the car crash; the vehicle skidding off the road and the huge tree-trunk flashing in front of the windscreen. He remembered being thrown so hard against the dashboard that the bruise had stayed with him for weeks.
He remembered staggering out of the car. Then he remembered him – the man.
The bastar
d!
He had charged at Larry when he was too weak to defend himself. He remembered the man hitting him. As he recalled, the man had used a tyre lever…. or maybe it was a hammer.
The bastard!
And although Larry had fought the man off, completely unarmed, and beaten him within an inch of his life, the man had landed one lucky blow with a baseball bat. Yes, that was it. The man had attacked him with a baseball bat and a tyre lever. It was no wonder Larry’s teeth had been snapped off and his nose broken. No unarmed, defenseless man could have done more.
He remembered.
And he believed it.
In the afternoon, Larry sipped beer. Not much. Not enough to get drunk – just enough to slake his thirst.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.
He swished the beer around in his mouth and gargled noisily. His mouth felt thick and filled with wool. There was a foul taste on his tongue. He jabbed a big calloused finger into his mouth and picked at something caught between his teeth.
The sky was darkening. He could see clouds boiling above the tree tops. They were storm clouds, dark and heavy with rain. Then he felt the first puff of wind through the driver’s side window, followed by a stronger gust that rocked the pickup on its tired suspension.
He chuckled.
As dark was approaching he finally saw a car in the driveway. It had reversed out of the garage. He studied the scene intently, not surprised to discover that he was aroused. He saw the little bitch wearing a red dress run down the porch steps and get into the passenger seat. Then the car reversed out onto the road and sped off into the approaching gloom.
The man had been driving.
Larry unfastened his jeans and absently stroked the hardness between his legs.
Soon. Very soon now…
The storm spread across the sky like a cancer, black clouds hovering low overhead, tearing apart as they crested the mountain and then re-forming and dropping lower into the valley. The wind came with a wild shriek. A branch fell from a tree overhead and crashed onto the road. Larry laughed, and then lifted his head and howled like an animal, the sound snatched away by the wind.
He was just about to get out of the truck when he saw another car pull up in the driveway. His eyes narrowed.
It was a little red sports car. He twisted his head and looked back between the seats, staring at the house. An attractive woman was getting out of the car, and then he saw her, standing in the doorway, waiting.
Her!
“My little baby bunting…” he said in a whisper, recalling the children’s lullaby.
She ran down the steps and met the lady in the driveway. They dashed to the porch and Larry watched.
Then they ran back to the car. The woman got something from the boot and then drove away again.
Larry sighed his relief.
He turned the rear-view mirror back so he could see his face reflected. He regarded himself carefully. There was a tuft of hair sticking out behind his ear. He licked the palm of his hand and smoothed the errant strands down flat against his head.
It was time.
Larry got out of the truck and slammed the door shut. He reached into the back tray and his fingers wrapped around the smooth handle of the axe. He hefted it over his shoulder and strode purposefully towards the house.
“My little baby bunting…” he said again. “Larry’s come a hunting!”
Twenty.
Renee crouched by the back door, suddenly afraid. The darkness was absolute, and it took all of her remaining self control to stop herself from crying out.
For long seconds she waited, praying the power would be restored, and allowing her eyes to adjust to the blackness. Lighting ripped through the night sky, and it was just enough for Renee to get her bearings. She reached out tentatively and felt the door behind her. Then the wall to her left. On hands and knees, she began to crawl.
There was a flashlight in the kitchen and Renee used the wicked electric explosions of lightning to pick out obstacles and maintain her direction. The crack and roar of the storm boomed loud overhead, rattling the house. She began to sob. The wind howled, seeming to rise in strength until she thought the house would collapse. And then, just as suddenly, it faded to the sound like a far-off rushing; like a mournful sigh.
Then the rain came.
The heavens opened in a solid, deafening torrent that drummed and roared against the windows and the roof. Renee covered her ears and shouted, and still the rain grew in intensity. She cowered against the wall and her hands were trembling and her face slickened with frightened tears.
The noise was deafening; like a solid evil thing that beat against her and tore at her nerves until she felt them fray.
She stumbled to her feet and began to run, her arms outstretched like a blind person, groping for walls. She felt her shoulder brush against a corner and then a moment later she staggered into the sofa. Her legs went from under her and she screamed.
She had come too far! Somehow she had missed the kitchen, and yet she felt a little calmer. The sofa was a familiar marker. She stayed on her hands and knees and began to crawl. She bumped against Stefan’s bar.
Yes! The kitchen was just around the corner.
From behind Renee came a sound so loud, so shattering that she cried out in startled fright. It was the sound of smashing glass. Her head snapped around. The huge bay window had exploded. She stared in stunned disbelief as the wind whistled and the rain poured in.
A flash of lightning hummed in the air and then cracked, striking a tree somewhere across the road. It lit the sky white-blue for a split-second, and the shape of a man appeared outside the shattered window, ethereal and blurred by the torrential curtain of grey rain.
Renee screamed again; a sound loud and piercing and filled with terror. Then the blackness of night crushed down and the man was gone.
She heard more glass shattering, and then the shuffle of heavy footsteps.
Inside the house!
Renee froze. Fear stabbed at her heart and choked in her throat.
There was the sound of a heavy thud, like a cleaver being driven into meat. She screwed her eyes shut and it forced her to concentrate on the sounds, knowing it was her only defense in the darkness. She was trembling uncontrollably. There was another crash of noise, this time closer, and she jammed her fist into her mouth to strangle the scream in her throat.
Then she heard the man, his voice loud and menacing and unmistakable, and the dread of it draped itself over her like a shroud.
“Don’t hide darling!” the man roared. “Come and give old Larry a kiss!”
Madden!
The man’s voice was a nightmare come to life. A clammy sweat of revulsion broke out across her forehead.
The strength of her fear galvanized Renee, and she suddenly broke from the cover of the bar, turning and running down the hallway. She cannoned off a wall, moaning in pain, and then spinning in the darkness until her hand somehow found the knob to her bedroom door. She flung the door open, slammed it behind her.
* *
Larry Madden used the axe to clear away jagged shards of glass and then the climbed in through the bay window.
It was so dark!
The house was as black as pitch. He hadn’t counted on that. He hadn’t figured on chasing the woman. He frowned and hefted the axe. He knew the sofa was somewhere ahead of him. He swung the axe in the air and felt it bite deep into something firm and yet yielding. He smiled.
The rain was like a thousand drums, pounding against the roof and windows so that he had to shout to make himself heard above the storm.
“Don’t hide darling!” he shouted. “Come and give old Larry a kiss!”
He stood perfectly still and waited. His eyes darted around the room, trying to penetrate the heavy black veil. He was breathing hard, and the blood sang in his ears. Around them the rain was easing, but still it was too loud to hear soft sounds. He squinted, sensing a darker shape ahead of him and closer to t
he front door. He took three quick steps and kicked out with his foot, shattering a small corner table. He screamed his frustration.
Then to his right – a shape! He was sure of it. He heard a sound like the groan of someone in pain, carried clear and unmistakable. He grinned. Then he heard a door slam.
A bedroom!
Using the head of the axe like a blind man’s walking cane, swinging it and smashing everything in his path, Larry groped his way forward. When he felt the press of walls close on either side he knew he was in the hall. Now it was simply a matter of choosing a door.
His hand touched the cold brass knob of the door to the spare bedroom that he had shared with Tink. He turned the knob, pushing the door wide open and standing for a moment, listening for any tell-tale sounds.
The rain was easing. The wind moaned through nearby trees, shaking loose a patter of droplets. Madden screwed his eyes shut and concentrated.
He heard the softest of noises; a faint shuffle – and then the unmistakable sound of a whimper. He waited, holding his breath, straining. The whimper came again, this time a little louder. His head turned instinctively to the direction of the bed.
Madden dropped to his knees and leaned the axe against the open door. Then, like an animal stalking its unsuspecting prey, he crawled quietly across the room.
He knew she was under the bed, but he resisted the temptation to crawl directly towards the sound. Instead, he circled around, crawling over fallen books and small bottles, sensing the shape of bed until he was laying flat on his stomach and his hand was crawling silent as a spider under the fringe of the bedspread.
Nothing.
He frowned. His fingers crawled further. He heard something shuffle, and his hand snatched out like a snake, latching onto something warm and alive.
Jeffery yelped, a heartbreaking sound of pain and terror, as Larry Madden dragged the puppy from under the bed, holding it by the scruff of its little neck.
Her Master's Kiss Page 21
