Body Rides Read online

  Sure am, he thought.

  Didn’t think so. Alas.

  She spit into the sink again, rinsed her brush and resumed scrubbing her teeth.

  Alas, alas, he ain’t in the lass.

  Unless he is.

  Neal noticed how the quick motions of her arm made her breasts jiggle. He felt her nipples slide against the inside of her pajama shirt. Elise didn’t seem interested in any of that.

  Of course not, Neal thought. They’re hers. She’s used to them.

  He tuned in on her thoughts again as she rinsed her brush and put it away.

  Alka-Seltzer or aspirin? How about both? Some for the ol’ hangover and some for my multiple contusions, abrasions and lacerations.

  That’s me, a cut above the rest.

  Ho ho ho.

  How could that bastard do those things to me? Godsake. Biting me.

  Neal felt a hollow chill in her groin. She pressed her thighs together, and he felt stinging sensations.

  Should I go to a doctor? Yeah, sure. Wouldn’t that be cute? What’s your problem, dear. Oh, nothing, had a little run-in with a sadistic . . .

  She took a foil pack of Alka-Seltzer out of a box in the medicine cabinet, then glanced around, looking for her glass.

  Ah, yeah. In the dishwasher. Took it there this morning. Yesterday morning. Right. Fooey-kablooey.

  In a lower part of her mind, she imagined herself dropping Alka-Seltzer tablets into water cupped in her hand. And she supposed they would make her hand tingle.

  Not quite smashed enough to pull that stunt. Some other time. Maybe. Fat chance.

  She dropped the packet into her shirt pocket. Neal felt its stiffness against her nipple.

  She took a plastic bottle of aspirin off one of the shelves, popped its lid, and shook two capsules into her palm. Then she returned the bottle to the medicine cabinet and swung the door shut.

  She walked out of the bathroom, across the soft carpet of her bedroom, and out to the hallway.

  On her way to find a drinking glass, Neal figured.

  In front of Elise, the lights were off.

  He felt a small tremor of fear slide through her.

  Since when are you afraid of the dark? Forget it, the bastard’s dead. Kaput. Finito. Gone with the wind. Toes up. His ticket cancelled, his farm bought.

  You’re wrong! Neal thought.

  And then he thought, My God, I’ve got to warn her!

  That’s why I came here, he reminded himself. Can’t take all night about it, either. My damn body’s sitting by itself in the car. No telling what might happen to it . . .

  What if I’m afraid to go out after dark?

  Elise stepped down from the hallway and walked through the den. On her way to the bar, Neal supposed. Plenty of glasses there. Closer than the kitchen.

  Pit city. What I oughta do, I oughta step out there right now, do a few laps, make a few dives.

  He could feel her excitement as she approached the sliding glass door, her eyes on the dim shape of the moonlit swimming pool.

  Not a smart move. Screw up all my bandages. Sides, might get busted for drunk diving.

  She laughed.

  Instead of reaching for the door handle, she stepped behind the bar. She flicked a light switch, and a bulb came on above the sink. As she reached high to open a cupboard door, Neal felt the adhesive strip of a bandage pull loose from the underside of her right breast.

  Shoot.

  She studied the rows of glasses, reached up and pulled down a fair-sized tumbler. She set it on the counter. Then she reached under the hanging front of her pajama shirt, determined to fix the bandage.

  Won’t stay stuck, anyway. Why in heaven’s name can’t they make bandages that stay where you put them?

  She fingered the dangling strip. Its lower end still clung to her ribcage.

  Should’ve tried putting it on sideways, not up and down like this.

  With a wordless thought process similar to what had gone on when she wondered about drinking Alka-Seltzer from the palm of her hand, Elise considered removing the bandage completely and putting it on cross-wise. But she seemed to think that the removal would do further damage to the adhesive, so she decided against it.

  Pressing the lower end to her ribcage, she used the side of her forefinger to lift the fallen part of the bandage. She touched her wound through the thin pad, and Neal felt a sting of pain. Then she rubbed the upper adhesive strip against the bottom of her breast.

  Her breast felt soft, springy.

  Oh, man, Neal thought.

  She rubbed her finger up the bandage again.

  Now stay stuck.

  Somebody seemed to be aroused.

  Didn’t seem to be Elise.

  How can I be? Neal wondered. I’m just a . . . a nothing. I can’t be getting turned on.

  Sure felt that way, though.

  He wished Elise’s finger would slide upward past the top of the bandage so he could feel her bare skin. But her hand lowered, came out from under the shirt, and took hold of the drinking glass.

  With the hand that held the aspirin, she turned the water on. She filled her glass halfway, popped the two capsules into her mouth, then raised the glass to her mouth and drank. The capsules went down with her first swallow.

  Drinking no more, she checked the water level inside the glass. A few inches remained.

  Ought to be enough.

  She set down the glass.

  Okay, Neal thought. I’d better get on with it. Didn’t come here for a good time. Gotta tell her about Rasputin – even if he isn’t here.

  Right. How?

  Must be a way.

  ‘Elise!’ he shouted in his mind. ‘Elise!’

  He shouted into her head, ‘It’s Neal! I’m in! The guy’s not dead! Do you hear me? He’s not dead! He might be coming after you!’

  He focused on her thoughts.

  Probably have to get up and pee in the middle of the night. Who am I kidding – it’s already the middle of the night.

  Damn!

  There must be a way to communicate!

  With her right hand, Elise reached into the pocket of her pajama shirt. She pinched the top edge of the Alka-Seltzer packet and lifted it out.

  Looking at it, she found herself staring at Neal’s business card.

  She’d pinched it together with the Alka-Seltzer.

  ‘Ah,’ she said.

  Hope he made it home all right. He only had a couple. Why don’t I give him a call? No no no. Might wake him up. Anyway, he’s got that Marta. Don’t want him to think I’m trying to butt in.

  She slipped the card back into her pocket, then tore the foil pouch, spread it, upended it and dumped the two white tablets into her water glass. They started to fizz.

  Maybe I can make her do something, Neal thought. If I could force her hand to move . . . might get her to write a warning.

  As Elise watched the water in her glass grow white and fuzzy with bubbles from the dissolving tablets, her hands were busy folding the empty foil packet, making it into a tiny hard square.

  Neal put all his energy into her right hand.

  Make it let go, he thought.

  It tossed the tiny square onto the counter, and picked up the glass.

  This one’s busy, he thought. Try her left hand; it isn’t doing anything.

  Make it tap on the counter.

  It hung by her side and lightly stroked her thigh while she gulped down the fizzing water.

  This isn’t working, Neal thought.

  He suddenly felt as if he were being smothered. He struggled to breathe. Couldn’t. His lungs ached.

  What the . . .?

  Elise came up for air.

  Thank God, he thought.

  After a few quick breaths, she resumed drinking. Not much left now. A few more swallows, no problems, and the glass was empty except for a white, powdery residue.

  Elise rinsed the glass and set it down by the sink. Then she took a deep, deep breath. The air felt great,
filling her lungs. But her expanding chest popped the same bandage loose.

  Phooey. Ah, well, least the others are holding.

  She flicked the light off, then walked around the end of the bar and headed for the hallway.

  Neal was aware of a decision, below word level, not to fool again with the bandage, leave it as-is until morning.

  The decision seemed to trouble her, though.

  Don’t want to bleed on my jammies. Take them off? Good idea, then I’ll bleed on my sheets.

  I’m probably done bleeding, all nicely coagulated . . .

  Don’t count on it. Bound to be some dribbling ooze of some sort, this many wounds.

  Walking up the hallway toward her lighted bedroom, she considered changing the bandage, after all.

  Just take a minute or two.

  What am I going to do? Neal wondered. I came here to warn her, but . . . What the hell was I thinking, anyway? Did I think I could change the rules just because I wanted to? She can’t pick up my thoughts. Doesn’t have a clue I’m even in her. I can’t make her lift a damn finger . . .

  He realized that he’d made a big mistake.

  He’d gotten here fast, all right. But so what? He might as well have stayed in his car.

  I did stay in my car, he thought.

  And what I’d better do now is get back to it. Drive to the nearest phone and call her. Which is what I should’ve done in the first place, if I’d had an ounce of sense.

  Thank God it was a false alarm, he thought.

  Just as he was about to will himself back to his own body, Elise walked past the doorway to the guest bathroom and a dark shape leaped at her out of the darkness.

  Eleven

  Elise glimpsed the quick dark motion. She gasped, ‘Ah!’

  Oh God, who is it? No!

  Hit hard from the side, she was hurled across the hallway. Her shoulder crashed against the wall.

  Shit! No! Oh, God! Who is it? What’s going on?

  Him? Is it him?

  He slammed her back to the wall.

  Wild hair and beard.

  Him, all right. Neal hadn’t doubted it for an instant.

  No! You’re dead! Why aren’t you dead!

  Gotta do something! Neal thought. Gotta help her!

  If I scream . . .!

  The attacker suddenly pistoned fists into her belly, blasting her air out. She folded with the pain and dropped to her knees.

  Inside, she felt as if her stomach had caved in, as if her lungs had been squeezed empty.

  Neal was suffocating. Like with the Alka-Seltzer, but ten times worse.

  Oh God, he’s gonna kill me. Can’t be happening. How am I gonna get out of this? Has to be a way!

  I have to help her, Neal thought. Leave now? Get to my car and race back over here and blow this fucking bastard’s head off.

  Never make it in time.

  Why the hell didn’t I drive back in the first place? I might be here by now!

  It’ll all be over by the time I can get back!

  Maybe not, maybe not.

  Elise was getting some breath now. She was on her knees, hunched over, hugging her belly, head down as she wheezed. She kept thinking, What’m I gonna do? Gotta stop him. He’s gonna kill me. What’m I gonna do? Has to be a way. Can’t let him kill me. Can’t.

  Below those thoughts, she seemed certain that she wouldn’t survive. And she wondered how much pain there would be. And she wondered what she would miss the most, being dead. And she was glad her parents weren’t alive to find out that their daughter had been murdered.

  Hope on the surface, despair below.

  I can’t save her if I stay! Neal shouted at himself.

  But he hated to abandon her.

  But he couldn’t stand to stay, either, and go through any more of this.

  ‘Get up, bitch.’

  Neal thought, I’ll be back, Elise. Hold on. Please!

  But he knew she couldn’t hear him. She had no idea he was even inside her, much less trying to communicate.

  The attacker grabbed Elise by the hair on top of her head, and pulled. She gasped with pain. Neal felt the burning hurt of her scalp as she tried to stand up.

  Gotta fight him. It’s the only way. He’s shot up. Isn’t he? Has to be. Can’t be all that strong.

  Below, she knew he was still strong enough to overpower her. Knew she didn’t stand much chance.

  At least I’ll go down fighting.

  I’m out of here!

  And he was.

  The moment Neal willed himself to leave, he was torn out of Elise’s body and flung up through the roof of her house. He had no control. As he shot through the treetops and gained speed, he felt as if he were being sucked through the night by the gravity of his own body.

  Not falling to earth, but hurtling across the miles to the place where he’d left himself.

  The city beneath him raced by in a blur. The streetlights were long, jagged streaks.

  Suddenly, he found himself inside his own body. Even before he opened his eyes, he realized that he was a wreck: gasping for air, sobbing, tears running down his face.

  He opened his eyes. Knuckled the tears away. Then reached out and twisted the ignition key. As the engine kicked to life, he put on the headlights. He shifted and hit the gas. The car took off.

  Oh God, he thought, let me be quick enough. Let the bastard take his time.

  Work on her slowly.

  Let her be alive!

  Neal drove faster than he’d ever driven before on city streets. He didn’t stop for traffic signals. He swerved past slower cars. His tires screamed on the turns. He had a hard time breathing. The steering wheel was slick in his hands, but he held on tight – except when he had to let go, one hand at a time, to wipe the tears from his eyes.

  I’ll never make it in time, he thought.

  Please, God, save her. Don’t let him kill her. Please!

  Lower in his mind, he figured that God probably didn’t have much to do with it.

  Maybe, he thought. You never know.

  I already saved her once, tonight. What are the odds I can do it again? It’d be a miracle.

  Let’s have a miracle! Please!

  The real miracles, he realized, seemed to be working for the other side. That was the same guy. He had been shot at least twice – once in the head. But he’d still been able to get up and drive over to Elise’s house and jump her.

  No bullet-proof vest, either. That’s movie stuff. That’s cop stuff. Maybe some nut-cases do wear vests, but not this guy. Neal had noticed, way back at the start, how he’d been able to see the shape of the guy’s cadaverous torso through the skin-tight shirt.

  I hit the bastard, Neal thought. Hit him good.

  Not good enough.

  Maybe he’s close to the end of his rope.

  But those punches Elise caught in the guts hadn’t felt like they’d come from a guy on the verge of collapse. They’d been damn hard. And the way he’d picked her up by the hair . . .

  But who knows?

  He can’t keep going and going forever.

  Maybe she’ll be able to take him. Hurt him enough to get away. Or enough to slow him down.

  Neal had the green at Olympic Boulevard. Not that it mattered. Red, amber or green, he wouldn’t have stopped. He’d been blowing through intersections against the red all down Venice Boulevard, Centinela, and now Bundy. Hoping not to end the race with a crash. Hoping a cop might see him and give chase.

  Tonight, the cops must be somewhere else.

  Soon, he shot across Santa Monica Boulevard.

  Almost there, he thought. A few more minutes.

  Fight him, Elise! Hang on.

  What if they’re gone?

  Last time, the bastard hadn’t worked on her in the house; he’d driven her away.

  Maybe he’ll do that again, carry her out to the van and head for somewhere else.

  Maybe he’s too hurt to carry her.

  Find out soon.


  At the corner of Bundy and San Vicente, the traffic light was red. The intersection looked clear. Knowing he would probably flip over if he took the turn at full speed, he slowed down slightly. He swung left. He skidded, tires squealing. Came out of the skid, and stepped on the gas.

  Greenhaven coming up.

  Nothing in the rearview.

  Bearing down on Greenhaven, he hit the brakes. Slowed abruptly and almost came to a stop before making his turn onto the narrow lane.

  As he raced the final stretch to Elise’s house, he knew he’d made good time.

  Must’ve averaged sixty.

  Doubted he could’ve gone faster.

  But the guy’d had at least ten minutes with Elise. More like fifteen.

  No sign of the van.

  Was it just around the bend? Or gone? Gone with Elise inside?

  As Neal swung into her driveway, his headlights reached past the open iron gate and lit the rear of a black van parked in front of Elise’s garage.

  The sight of the van struck him like a kick to the heart.

  Still here, he thought. Oh, God.

  He killed his lights, shut off the engine, pulled the ignition key and switched the key case to his left hand. With his right, he flipped open the console and dug for the bottom.

  Come on, come on, where is it!

  He found the spare ammo magazine.

  Snatched it up.

  Flung open his door and leaped out.

  Running toward the van, he pocketed the keys. He clamped the steel magazine between his teeth, reached deep into his right pocket and drew out the pistol.

  The van was dark and quiet.

  Engine not running.

  Not yet.

  You’re not going anywhere, bastard, he thought.

  Ducking as he rushed past the rear, he shoved his pistol toward the tire and fired. The blast stunned his ears. The gun bucked in his hand. He didn’t stop to check the effect, but hurried on to the front right tire and shot it, too.

  Then he glanced through the side window.

  Nobody in the front seats.

  He thought about making a quick search of the van. He doubted anyone was in it, though. And he didn’t want to waste time opening the door and climbing in.

  A few lost seconds might make all the difference to Elise.

  So he kept on running.

  As he raced toward the corner of the house, he changed magazines and jacked a fresh round into the chamber. On his way through the grove at the side, he dropped his used magazine into a pocket. He dodged his way through the fruit trees, ducking under low limbs. Suddenly, the trees ended. He rushed out onto the concrete apron of the pool.