TO WAKE THE DEAD Page 9

  She sighed. “It doesn’t happen every day, but from time to time we—”

  “Hey!”

  The suddenness of the lights going out caught Ed by surprise. In the darkness he heard the woman catch her breath. From behind him Marco spoke. “Whatever’s going to happens going to happen now, buddy. Prepare yourself.”

  Ed Lake shivered as he crouched there. The darkness suddenly seemed cold against his skin. Drafts stirred through his hair. He looked around with wide eyes.

  Saw nothing.

  The darkness was total.

  Air played over his skin again. Shivers ran down his back. His whole body seemed to shrivel inside.

  What was happening?

  More importantly, what would happen to him?

  Not to be able to see. Hell, he didn’t like this.

  There could be anyone out there in the room. Guys with guns. Guys with knives. Or maybe a noose to slip around his neck.

  The drafts came again. A sense of movement from above. Door opening. But still no light.

  Door closing.

  Footsteps.

  Footsteps descending stairs.

  His own breathing grew loud. Jerky. Frightened gasps. His heart hammered loud in his chest.

  Holy Christ. What’s gonna happen? What they gonna do to me?

  Rustling sounds. The sound of clothes?

  He didn’t know. But it seemed close.

  Maybe they’d open the door of his cage. Could he strike out, then run?

  But where? This darkness. He couldn’t see a thing. But how could the person who entered the room see where they were going? Nightscope goggles maybe.

  They’d see Ed crouching there, looking right and left, up and down, his eyes gleaming silver disks in the infrared light, his lips a black slash across his face. Using nightscope goggles, they’d see him all right. But he couldn’t see them.

  He hugged his knees close into his chest. His muscles ached with the tension. His teeth chattered.

  Then he heard a whispering voice. He was sure it wasn’t the girl or Marco. No… wait… he tried to make out if… no, he couldn’t even tell if it was male or female.

  The whisper continued. It seemed to be giving instructions to someone.

  Maybe to him.

  But he couldn’t make out the words. The whisperer was very low, hoarse-sounding.

  Wait. He heard the girl speak.

  “Yes.” At least that’s what he thought he heard her say, but her voice was low too. There was something intimate about the conversation between the two. They talked as if to keep it private from Marco and himself.

  Maybe he should speak up?

  No.

  Don’t do that.

  Keep out of it, otherwise it might bring the whisperer to you. And there was something about the whisperer that made his skin crawl.

  This was bad. Baaa-aaad.

  The whispered voice was terrifying. It whispered instructions. Orders. Commands.

  Something had to be obeyed.

  The…

  Silence.

  All he could hear was his own respiration.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out…

  And his heartbeat. Pounding.

  He struggled to slow his breathing. Struggled to listen.

  Had the whisperer gone? There was no movement. No sounds.

  Certainly no more whispered commands.

  Maybe he should speak now? Ask the other two what had happened. The whisperer had vanished. They were alone now.

  The sudden shriek rocked him backwards.

  It came again. He covered his ears. Tried to shut it out.

  Silence.

  Then another scream. A sighing one that started high, then descended into a low moan.

  He turned to the source of the sound. But there was only velvet darkness pressing against his eyes.

  Jesus, sweet Jesus, what’s happening?

  A cry. Then three more in quick succession. Ah! Ah! Ah!

  That was the green-eyed girl. Had to be. He recognized the voice.

  Then: “Please!”

  Sure, it had to be her.

  “Please!”

  Then another cry.

  Was she in pain?

  Or was someone screwing her?

  Because he heard her breathy moans. Heard a loud intake of breath, then another cry followed by a quivering. “Oh, God, please… please!”

  He sat in the darkness listening. But not sure what it was that he was hearing. OK, it could be pain.

  But it sounded like sex. He remembered Janey’s panting cries when he thrust into her. Those moans of pleasure when he worked his tongue around her nipples; her breathless: Please when she begged for more. She’d pull his head to her breasts panting, “Please… such harder.”

  “Oh… oh… I—I please!”

  This please came, he imagined, through gritted teeth. A please pushed out as sensation overwhelmed.

  God, yes, this sounded like sex.

  His heart beat faster. For a different reason now.

  A warm flush spread through him. He felt himself hardening.

  He couldn’t believe his reaction. Felt betrayed by it. Embarrassed.

  But the beautiful woman with the erotic green eyes had aroused him when her blanket slid down to expose part of her bare breast.

  Now that he heard her experiencing a white-knuckle ride of sex in the raw, this was something else. With her every pant, every cry, he felt himself harden to the point where he needed to do something about it.

  He imagined her full white breast quivering. Her hair lashing as her head whipped from side to side in the throes of ecstasy.

  Jesus…

  Oh, Jesus.

  Sweet, sweet Jesus.

  If she didn’t stop making those sounds soon he’d explode.

  Panting, moaning, gasping cries, shrill squeals. It made him tingle all over. He wanted—

  Christ, he wanted—

  Then it was suddenly over.

  Silence.

  For moments nothing, but the sound of his heart seemed to come right back at him from the walls.

  A moment after that the lights came on.

  Ed blinked.

  Straightaway, his eyes went to the cage that contained the woman.

  And there she was.

  He looked, unable to stop his eyes darting all over her, taking in every tiny detail. He leaned forward until his face pressed against the bars, staring at her, trying to process and understand what he now saw in front of him.

  His eyes traveled down her from head to toe. Her back was to him. She knelt on the floor, her face to the bars.

  She was naked apart from a pair of denim cutoffs. These were cut high, revealing the swelling mounds of her buttocks. The back pocket had been torn almost off and dangled down, reaching the back of her leg. Her legs were long and shapely. Even from this angle he could tell that. With white skin. Milk white.

  He found his eyes traveling up from the bare soles of her feet with toes that rested against the floor, up her thighs, up over the smooth curve of her buttocks, tightly clad by pale denim. Then to her bare back. The toned skin that looked so smooth and flawless. A little farther up it disappeared beneath a swathe of copper hair.

  She did not move. She didn’t make a sound; she just knelt there, face forward against the bars of the cage. Her two slender arms were raised above her head. Her fingers curled about the rounded shaft of the bars. There was something erotic about the grip. Gently encircling. He shivered with pleasure.

  Unable to take his eyes from her, he watched.

  This went on for whole moments.

  Then she moved.

  Turning, she faced him, still in that kneeling position. She looked exhausted.

  His eyes traveled up from her cutoff jeans. The fastening button was gone. The zipper had slipped down a little in a V of soft blue material, exposing creamy skin. His gaze caressed her flat stomach. Then he was seeing her breasts.r />
  No!

  He looked at her in shock… for a moment he didn’t believe what he saw.

  But then he did see.

  And only too clearly.

  They’d cut her breasts. Thin slits radiated from the nipples. It was like a child’s picture of the sun in blood. The roundness of the nipple. Then the sunburst effect of cuts from a sharp blade.

  As he watched in horror, he saw blood swell from the cuts, bead, then trickle downward. A drip from the tip of a puckered nipple.

  She folded her arms in such a way that they cradled her breasts from beneath, supporting.

  She looked up at him. Her green eyes were rimmed red. Her lips were full and moist, she was breathing deeply. She gazed into his eyes. For a while she stayed like that, allowing her heavy respiration to settle and quieten.

  He didn’t know what to say… what he could say that would be of help. Even though the cuts in the skin looked superficial, her breasts must have been excruciatingly painful.

  As he watched, she licked the tip of her middle finger, then tenderly wiped the blood from a cut. She did this again and again. Licking her finger. Stroking a cut in the skin. Soon her lips were slicked red with blood.

  From time to time she glanced up at Ed as she worked. Her eyes were large now.

  When she’d finished, she said in a calm, strong voice. “Don’t worry yourself on my account.” Her lips twitched to form a ghost of a smile. “You see, I’m tougher than I look.”

  With that she lay down on the foam mattress and covered herself with the blanket.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Imad pushed the button of the control box on his dashboard, and watched the gate swing open. He drove slowly through, one hand caressing Hydra’s bare shoulder.

  She leaned against him.

  He parked, and walked her to the front door. In the moonlight her evening gown looked as sleek as the surface of a lake. It was a low-cut, backless dress. He’d bought it for her that afternoon at La Mers.

  “I’ll take you out for a wonderful dinner tonight,” he’d said earlier.

  “In my T-shirt?”

  “No, of course not. We’ll go to Beverly Hills and buy you something appropriate—an evening gown fit for a princess.”

  “Princess, huh?” She smirked and shook her head.

  She looked marvelous in the dress. During dinner at Henri’s, he’d hardly been able to keep his hands off her. Now there was no longer a need to.

  He opened the door. Led her into the foyer, locked the door, pulled her into his arms.

  “You’re so gorgeous,” he murmured.

  He kissed her, tongue pushing into the moist warmth of her mouth. She sucked it down more deeply into her. His hands slid down the curves of her back. They glided over her buttocks, feeling their small, firm mounds through the expensive fabric of the dress. She had no underwear on; he had bought her none. He found the dress’s slit that had kept him breathless all evening with glimpses of bare flesh. Inserting a hand, he caressed the back of her leg, the slope of her rump. He slipped his hand to the front and stroked upward, pressed the crisp thatch of hair, the wetness between her legs. She writhed, moaning, as his fingers went into her. Sliding, moving, caressing, rubbing.

  He was hard and aching.

  She rubbed the front of his pants. Opened them. Freed his engorged organ. Slid her hand along the thick shaft.

  Lowering herself to the marble floor, she pulled him down on her.

  With one hand, Imad managed to untie the strap behind her neck. He swept the flimsy bodice away from her breasts. He gnawed the turgid nipples. Clutching her shoulder, he held her in place while he rammed.

  He suddenly jumped in pain. Reaching back, he touched his stinging buttock and winced.

  Blaze crouched behind him. A cigarette in one hand. A .22-caliber pistol in the other.

  “Hurt?” Blaze asked with a leer. He sucked on his cigarette, tapped off the ash, and jabbed the red tip into Imad’s other buttock. Again, it burned like a hornet sting. “Get up, camel-humper.”

  Imad stood. Pulled up his pants. As he zipped them he looked at Hydra. She lay on her back, knees up, crotch slick. Her eyes were shut. “Bitch,” he said.

  Her lips curled with a smile.

  “Take me to your safe,” Blaze ordered.

  “Safe? I have no safe.”

  “Don’t shit me, man. Just take me to it, and open it up. The sooner I’ve got what I want, the sooner I’ll get out of here.”

  “But I cannot take you to a safe if there is none, can I?”

  “A house like this always has a safe. I can find it myself if I have to.”

  “It’s in the bedroom closet,” Hydra said. Imad looked at her stunned. She grinned and sat up. “So I’m a snoop,” she said. “Sue the pants off me, why don’t you?”

  “There’s nothing in it,” Imad protested.

  “Sure,” Blaze breathed.

  “I speak the truth.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “It is the truth.”

  “Let’s go up and see.”

  “Hang on.” Hydra tied the dress behind her neck. The beautiful dress Imad had bought for her. He wanted to tear it from the ungrateful bitch, rip it to pieces; let her wear the soiled rags that matched her filthy soul.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let’s roll.”

  They followed Imad up the stairway and into the master bedroom.

  “Right in there,” Hydra intoned, pointing at the closet.

  Imad opened the door. Turned on the closet light and pushed aside his hanging clothes, revealing the face of the wall safe.

  “Open it,” Blaze hissed, eyes gleaming.

  “I assure you—”

  “Shut the fuck up! Open the safe! Now!”

  He spun the dial. It whirred quietly under the touch of his trembling fingers. When he finished the combination, he turned the handle and pulled open the door.

  “Step back, asshole.”

  Imad backed out of the closet. Blaze stepped in. Greedy face eager.

  “Damn!”

  “I told you—”

  Blaze came out, shaking a thin notebook. He flipped it open. “A fuckin’ diary.” He flung it to the floor. He aimed the pistol at Imad’s face. “Okay. You’ve got five seconds. Where’s your money?”

  “In the bank.”

  “Don’t shit me, A-rab.” He cocked the pistol.

  “Don’t, please. I will tell you.”

  “Spit it out.”

  “There’s a secret compartment in the safe. I keep my valuables there. It’s at the back. You simply push the upper left-hand corner of the rear panel.”

  “Okay, that’s more like it.” Blaze stepped into the closet. He turned to the safe.

  Lunging forward, Imad swung the closet door shut.

  Hydra reached for it, trying to tug it open. He jabbed his elbow into her stomach, grabbed her, flung her backward against the door. He pressed her against it.

  The door jerked, but held.

  “Open up!” Blaze yelled. “Okay. Okay, you asked for it, asshole!”

  Hydra called out in panic. “Blaze, no. Don’t shoot. He’s holding me against the—”

  Three gunshots made quick flat bangs. Hydra screamed in pain, her body twitching with each shot; her face twisted, flushed bright red, then drained to a waxy white color.

  “Shit!” Blaze cried out.

  The door jumped, but Imad held it shut, pressing himself against Hydra’s convulsing body. He glanced to the side. Four feet away stood a straight-backed chair. If he could get to it…

  Another shot cracked. Hydra’s head dropped forward onto Imad’s shoulder. Behind it, the door was punctured by a tiny, splintered hole.

  “See what you’ve done?” Imad yelled.

  Clutching Hydra with one arm, he pulled her aside. He threw open the door, shoved her at the startled man, and slammed the door. Spinning away, he grabbed the chair. Thrust its back under the knob.

  With a crash the door
shook but held.

  “Let me outta here, shit-face!”

  The gun popped two new holes through the wood; bullets cracked the air near Imad’s head.

  From its place behind the bedroom door. He took Callahan’s .12-gauge Browning shotgun. He pumped a cartridge into the breach, stepped toward the closet. Aimed.

  Fired. The gun jumped, slamming pain through his shoulder. It knocked a four-inch hole in the closet door. He pumped and fired again.

  Through the door’s gaping hole, he saw Blaze and Hydra on the floor. Blaze’s chest was a sheet of flowing blood. The left side of Hydra’s face was gone as if a beast had bitten it off, bones and all.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  April Vallsarra moved through the house easily. She didn’t bump into furniture or knock against walls. She knew every inch of the building. Anyone who didn’t know her would have sworn that she wasn’t blind.

  She glided from the kitchen to the lounge with a glass of milk in her hand. With an unerring sense of direction she made for the armchair in the center of the room, sat down, lightly touched a remote control, and music filled the room.

  This was her father’s music. She listened to it often. On good days it was as reassuring as him actually being there. Bad days it made her cry. She’d think about the thugs that took his life away.

  Tonight the music helped comfort her. She’d been so lonely today she’d felt a physical ache in her bones. Thirty-three years old and living alone in a big house out in this remote canyon.

  Her home was her entire world. There was no world beyond this one. Two floors, five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a kitchen, a lounge, a dining room, a roof terrace, a vast studio basement.

  That was it. April Vallsarra’s universe.

  She wished she could find someone to love to share it.

  Someone who loved her.

  Thirty-three years old. Single.

  Alone.

  Aching for a loving companion.

  Why had life dealt her this blow?

  She wished she had a lover tonight.

  She sipped the milk as she listened to the music that her father had created single-handed. Years ago he’d worked alone in the basement studio. First he recorded the bass guitar line. A rhythm that was solid enough to anchor the other instruments. Then painstakingly he had over-dubbed the electric guitar and keyboard parts. Track by track. Layer by layer. Then he’d mixed the sound on the vast mixing desk there.