Out Are the Lights Page 2

  Altina Road was halfway up a wooded hillside of the Highland Estates, a plush area north of town, an area way out of his financial range.

  Not necessarily out of Connie's, though. She could easily afford one now. If her next steamy historical romance ('rape epics', she called them) sold like the others, she'd start looking in this vicinity.

  Dal had planned to stick with her-marry her, if necessary.

  Until today.

  Until Elizabeth.

  Lovely Elizabeth. For her, he would gladly give up Connie. God, what wouldn't he give up, for her?

  For even one night with her.

  For even one hour!

  He found the address, and swung into a long, circular driveway. As he drove toward the lighted veranda, he gazed at the house. It looked like a southern plantation house-scaled down a bit, but nonetheless elegant. A fitting home for a woman like Elizabeth.

  He parked. He climbed from his car. He walked toward the door. He reached toward the lighted doorbell button.

  And stopped.

  Bet she doesn't live here, he thought. Gave me the address as a joke. Get the guy worked up, toy with him, lots of laughs.

  Damn her! If she did a shitty thing like that…!

  He jabbed the doorbell.

  It rang.

  God, this probably is her house!

  He rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants legs.

  She'll probably laugh at me.

  Christ, why didn't I bring her something? Flowers, wine…

  'Cause I'm a klutz.

  Oh shit, why didn't I…?

  The door opened and she stood in the dimly lighted foyer, her bare feet on the marble floor, her body draped in a white chiffon dress that hung on her like a wispy veil, the mild breezes shifting it against her skin. Her lips were moist and slightly open, her eyes intense, almost fierce.

  'Kiss me,' she said.

  I'm dreaming, Dal thought, and stepped across the threshold.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The line in front of the Haunted Palace moved swiftly once the box office opened. Pete Harvey shuffled forward. Brit stuck close, a hand inside the back pocket of his jeans, a breast pushing softly against his arm.

  She was a bit clingy for Pete's taste, but he let her. If a gal clings, she has a reason. She's just more afraid, than some, of getting left behind.

  At the ticket window, he bought two tickets from a teenaged girl with straight black hair and white make-up. Supposed to look like a vampire, he supposed. She wore a black T-shirt with the logo, BEWARE OF SCHRECK.

  'Your hairdresser?' Pete asked.

  The girl laughed. 'It's a wig, and itchy as hell.'

  Pete moved along. He gave the tickets to a fat man in red-stained pants and undershirt, a nylon stocking over his head. His face, pale and weirdly mashed, looked grotesque enough to make Pete uneasy.

  'Isn't he a charmer?' Brit whispered, 'I think he's overdoing it.' She hugged Pete's arm. 'Scared you, didn't he?'

  'He looks like someone I used to know.'

  'Oh?'

  Pete nodded, and wished he hadn't brought it up. 'How about some popcorn, or Bon Bons, or something?'

  'Do you think I dare?'

  'You're skin and bones.'

  She leaned against him, nudging him again with that breast. 'Do you prefer your women plump?'

  'Plump and juicy. I'm having popcorn and a Pepsi, how about you?'

  'I'll have a hot dog.'

  Pete laughed. 'Are you serious?'

  'A plump, juicy hot dog.' She licked her lips. 'I can almost taste it now.'

  He bought the snacks from another pale girl in a Schreck T-shirt.

  ***

  The auditorium was dimly lit.

  'Hey, it looks like a castle,' Brit said.

  'The Haunted Palace.'

  'Pretty neat.'

  'Where do you want to sit?' Pete asked.

  'A little closer, I think.'

  'An aisle seat all right? I like to stretch out my legs.' He switched to his W. C. Fields voice. 'Trip the little bastards as they toddle by.'

  'Oh, you're terrible!'

  'It's better than my Bogart.'

  'That's not…' Laughing, she shook him by the arm.

  'Don't rip it off.'

  'Come on.' She pulled him toward a seat.

  He went along with her, amused but irritated. If he saw more of her, after tonight, he would have to straighten her out on a few items. For now, though, he wouldn't try to criticize her unless she got unbearable. Dragging him like a leashed dog nearly qualified, but he held off.

  'Are these all right?' she asked, once they were seated.

  'Fine.'

  She unwrapped her hot dog. 'Now, tell me. Who did the fat man remind you of?'

  'He reminded me of the bird. The black bird, and a beautiful dame, and-'

  'Right, your Bogart stinks.'

  The lights dimmed, saving Pete from a reply.

  On the screen, he saw a fog-shrouded forest. A terrible scream brought silence to the theater. Something moved among the trees. Slowly, the dim figure of a man appeared. He limped forward through the fog.

  The fat man who'd taken the tickets.

  He wore the same tan slacks, the same sleeveless T-shirt. They streamed with blood. In his right hand, he held a hatchet dripping gore. A nylon stocking distorted his face.

  'Good evening,' he said. 'Welcome to the Haunted Palace.'

  'Freaky,' Brit whispered.

  'I am your host, Bruno Blood.'

  Laughter in the audience.

  'Each night, I shall bring you a feast of hideous delights, tales of horror to make you cringe and scream. You'll see all the best in grisly entertainment. Not only the latest gems of satanic morbidity, but also the great classics of the past. In weeks to come, I shall bring you such fare as Halloween, Freaks, The Hills Have Eyes, Rabid, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, and The Night of the Living Dead.'

  Whistles and applause greeted his announcement. He held up his bloody hatchet for silence, as if he foresaw the audience reaction.

  'Plus!' he bellowed. In a soft and menacing voice, he continued. 'Plus a special treat available only at the Haunted Palace. Each night, in addition to the regular features, you'll witness the evil, delicious exploits of Otto Schreck, the madman-a new depravity each and every week.'

  The audience roared with yells, whistles, and applause. A lot of regulars, Pete figured.

  'Schreck must be quite a guy,' Brit whispered in his ear.

  Pete shrugged.

  'And now,' Bruno said, 'prepare yourself for tonight's show. Sit back, take hold of a friendly hand, and…' He grinned. 'Don't look to see who is sitting behind you.'

  The audience went wild as Bruno turned, and slowly limped away until he vanished in the fog.

  The screen went dark.

  'Is Schreck first?' asked a girl behind Pete.

  'It's after the feature,' a boy whispered. 'Heads, You Lose first, then Schreck, then Nightcrawlers.'

  'Three?'

  'Schreck's a short. Ten, fifteen minutes. Just wait, though. It'll be fabulous.'

  The first movie started. Brit tossed her hot dog wrapper to the floor, grinned at Pete, and squeezed his thigh.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Taking Dal's hand, Elizabeth led him down the hallway to a bedroom. She pushed the door shut.

  The room was dark except for lights from the pool in back.

  'Isn't it lovely?' she said. 'We'll go swimming later, if you like.'

  He watched her walk across the carpet and open the sliding glass door. A breeze entered the room, stirring her gown. The lights from the pool passed through it, making the material nearly transparent. Breathless, Dal gazed at the dark, slender shape of her legs and buttocks.

  'You're beautiful,' he whispered.

  She looked over her shoulder, turning slightly, her breasts visible through the veil of fabric. 'Come here,' she said.

  He stepped toward her.

  She turned to him. 'Don
't move,' she said. Slowly, her fingers opened the buttons of his shirt. Her hands slipped inside, and lightly caressed his chest.

  She drew the shirt off him. Her mouth brushed his chest, kissing, licking his nipples, as her hands unfastened his pants. When they were loose, she reached inside.

  Dal moaned at the cool touch.

  'You're so big.' Elizabeth murmured. 'So big and hard.' She knelt, sliding the pants down his legs. Her tongue stroked the underside of his shaft. Its touch nearly set him off.

  He stepped back.

  'What's wrong?'

  'Nothing,' he gasped. 'Nothing. It's just… too much. I don't want to… not so fast.'

  'There'll be more,' she said. Reaching out, she clutched his buttocks. She pulled him forward, and licked, and sucked him deeply into her mouth.

  ***

  Connie, alone in her apartment, felt restless. After bathing, she washed her hair and put it in curlers. That took little more than an hour.

  She heated up coffee, carried it into the living-room, and tried to read. Though her eyes moved over the words, her mind kept wandering.

  To Dal.

  She felt cheated, being left alone this way. Especially on a Friday night.

  Ever since high school, Friday nights had been a time for dating and fun, a time for football games, dances in the gym, parties, bowling, movies, or just bumming around with her friends on the lookout for a good time. Friday nights brought a terrible urgency for freedom after a week of confinement, a need to get out and do something.

  Here I am, she thought.

  Alone, at home, hair in curlers-stuck here on Friday night with nothing to do but bemoan my outcast fate.

  She would never allow Sandra Dane such a miserable situation. Sandra Dane, the beautiful raven-haired mistress of White Oak plantation, wouldn't sit here grumbling. She'd rush out to the stables, and mount her stallion, and ride wildly through the moonlit countryside, the wind in her face.

  She wouldn't go out in curlers, though.

  Connie got up from the couch. Taking off her robe, she went into the bedroom.

  Where'll I go? she wondered. Since I don't have a stallion…

  A nice, long walk.

  She opened a dresser drawer, and pulled out her blue warm-up suit.

  Seven-Eleven's open all night.

  She stepped into her pants. They felt soft and snug.

  It's pretty far away, she thought, but right on Pico. A heavily travelled boulevard like Pico shouldn't be very dangerous, even at night.

  She put on the jacket of her warm-up suit, zipped it halfway up, and regarded herself in the mirror.

  That's how Sandra Dane would wear it, she thought.

  Sandra, of course, is rape-prone.

  Rape-prone. Shit. Not funny at all.

  Bending down to tie her shoes, she saw her jacket bulge open, revealing her entire left breast.

  No way.

  She zipped it to her throat, and headed for the door. With her handbag slung over her shoulder, she stepped outside.

  From the balcony, she saw that someone on the ground floor was having a party. All the other apartments, she imagined, were deserted.

  People out enjoying themselves.

  As she trotted down the stairs, she pulled up the hood of her jacket to hide her curlers.

  Fine way to spend a Friday night, she thought.

  I should've gone with Dal, whether he wanted me or not.

  ***

  Elizabeth bent over the bed, and pulled back the covers. She lay down on the white sheet, her arms and legs outstretched.

  'This time,' she said, 'I want to look at you.'

  One of her arms curled toward the headboard. Directly over the bed, a light came on-a low-hanging light like those Dal had seen over pool tables. Though it left the rest of the room in shadow, it cast soft light on the bed, and on Elizabeth.

  Dal climbed onto the end of the bed. He crawled slowly, sliding his hands up the smoothness of her spread legs as he looked at her. At her solemn, intense eyes, at the painful beauty of her face. At her slim neck, and the hollows above the bows of her collar bones. At breasts, so full when she was upright, now low against her chest, pulled by gravity and her arms stretched overhead. The nipples looked almost brown. He fingered the firm, rumpled skin. Elizabeth squirmed. He moved his fingers down the softness of her breasts and along her ribs, and over a pale ridge of skin.

  A scar.

  Six inches long, running diagonally down her belly.

  Dal drew his finger gently along it.

  'Operation?' he asked.

  'Without the benefit of a surgeon,' she said.

  'What do you mean?'

  'My husband, bless his heart, opened me up with a carving knife.'

  'My God,' Dal muttered.

  'He thought I'd been unfaithful.' She folded her hands behind her head, and frowned toward the ceiling. 'He was such a jealous man. He was far older than me, and incredibly wealthy, so he concluded that I'd only married him for his money. Which wasn't true at all. I loved him, I truly did, even when he made my life unbearable.

  'The harder I tried to convince him of that, though, the more certain he grew of my infidelity. He followed me, he eavesdropped. He saw proof everywhere, in everything I did. At one point, he hired a private investigator, then accused the investigator of having an affair with me.'

  'It must've been horrible,' Dal said.

  'It wasn't pleasant. He beat me constantly. With fists, with his belt. His favourite whip was an extension cord.'

  'Why didn't you leave him?'

  'I loved him. I always believed that someday, somehow, he would finally come to realize he had no reason for his jealousy. But it didn't work out that way.'

  She propped herself up on her elbows, and stared into the darkness.

  'One night, he tried to kill me. It was our sixth anniversary. I'd given the housekeeper the day off, so we could be alone. I expected him home at seven. He was a lawyer, and very successful, as you can see from all this. I realized, sometime around six, that we had no champagne. So I threw on some old clothes and drove over to Vendome. On the way, I saw an ambulance in my rearview mirror. I pulled off the road to let it pass. The shoulder was rough and littered with debris, and I think that's where I picked up the nail. I drove on to Vendome, and bought the champagne. But when I returned to the parking lot, my front right tire was flat. One of the clerks changed it for me. By the time I got here, though, Herbert was already waiting in a rage.

  'Here it was, our anniversary, and I only went out to do something nice for him, and he had the gall to accuse me of adultery. "Who were you fucking?"

  'I'd had it. I threw down the champagne bottles so they shattered all over the foyer. Herbert slapped me, and kept yelling, "Who? Who were you fucking!" '

  ' "I didn't catch his name," I said. "But he was young and handsome and hung like a horse."

  'Herbert turned away. I knew I'd hurt him, and I was glad. He'd finally gone too far. Then I heard him crying. He was in the kitchen, sobbing like his heart was broken. I went to him. His back was toward me. I put my hands on his shoulders. Before I could say a word, he turned around and slashed me with a knife.'

  Dal saw her eyes lower to the scar on her belly. She stared at it as she continued.

  'I ran. He chased me upstairs with that knife, but we had pictures on the wall. Framed portraits. At the top, I jerked one down and swung it at him. The comer of the frame hit him in the face, and he fell down the stairs.

  'I went to him, but he didn't move. He just lay there, staring up at me. The fall-it broke his neck.'

  'Did he die?' Dal asked.

  Reaching out, she took Dal's hand. She guided it to the slick wetness between her legs. 'Don't talk. Fuck me. Fuck me, now. Put your cock in me, and fuck me till I scream.'

  ***

  Connie enjoyed the long walk to the Seven-Eleven. It felt good to be out in the night air, walking briskly, sometimes slowing down to look at the window display of
a closed store. At times, she forgot about Dal, forgot that he had abandoned her for a couple of horror movies.

  In the Seven-Eleven store, she stepped over to the rack of paperback books. She spun it, glancing at covers, until she found Barbary Rage, 'a lusty tale of passion on the high seas'. She flipped the front book forward, and saw only one behind it. Two left. Last week, there'd been four.

  Not bad, not bad.

  Someone tapped her shoulder. She swung around.

  'Oh, I'm sorry,' the young man said. He had a friendly smile and a pale, almost invisible moustache.

  'It's all right,' Connie said.

  'I thought you were somebody else.'

  'No, I'm just me.'

  He laughed. 'From the back you looked… well, I thought you were an old girlfriend.'

  'Sorry,' Connie said.

  The boy shrugged.

  She turned again to the book rack, and studied paperbacks for a minute. When she looked around, the boy was standing at the end of a long line, a six-pack of Michelob at his side.

  Must be older than he looks, she thought.

  He was still in line when she left the store. She crossed the street, and looked back. A girl in shorts and a halter top came out, a small sack in her hand.

  Connie walked away.

  Had the boy, she wondered, been trying to pick her up? If so, he hadn't been very persistent.

  Should've tried harder, pal.

  Tonight, I might have been willing. Serve Dal right.

  She kept walking. Farther and farther from the apartment. With no destination in mind until she remembered the liquor store next to Safeway. She might as well stop in there, see if they'd got her book in yet.

  She walked for blocks. Finally, she reached the liquor store. Hut she didn't go in. She stood on the sidewalk, staring across the intersection and down the next block at the lighted marquee of a movie theater.

  The Haunted Palace.

  ***

  Dal thrust and thrust, driving into her. She was wild under him, gasping, shoving up to meet his thrusts, fingers digging into his back. Their sweaty bodies slapped together.

  They rolled, and she was on top. He clutched her breasts, squeezed and mauled them. Her face was sweaty and contorted