Part 6 (1/2)

Must be, I'm doing it.

She realized that she didn't want to leave the night-stand knife in plain sight. She took a copy of Publishers Weekly from her magazine stand and spread it open on top of the weapon.

Okay, you're in good shape now.

You're in good shape, all right, if paranoia's good shape. You're acting totally bonkers.

Yeah? Better safe thana her mind flashed a picture of the coroner's slide, the naked woman face-down on the autopsy table, b.u.t.tocks purple. World's worst hie key.

One more knife, she decided, and returned to the kitchen for it. She placed this knife on the floor beneath the other side of the bed.

Back in the living room, she unplugged her stereo and removed its extension cord. Kneeling in her bedroom entry way, she ran an end of the cord through the gap between the door and the frame, over the top of the lower hinge. She brought the plug back through under the hinge, made a knot, and yanked. The cord held firm. She drew it across the doorway and tied its other end around the rear leg of her dresser.

Standing, she admired her work.

'Have a nice trip,' she said.

What else might shea?

Isn't this enough? I'm certifiable.

This is enough, she decided.

She turned off the bedroom lights.

Other lights in her apartment were still on. She had-intended to leave them on. But the dark line of her trip cord was plainly visible across the bottom of the doorway.

It won't do much good if he can see it.

Pen stepped over the cord and made her way through the apartment.

She wished she could leave all the rooms bright. But darkness would work against him in more ways than just hiding the cord.

You really are expecting him to show up?

No, not really. All right, yes. Yes, I think he'll show up. Maybe.

She'd been raped once. She didn't intend to let it ever happen again.

Maybe I should get the h.e.l.l out of here.

She stepped over the cord. She sat on the edge of her bed.

I could drive over to Dad's house and spend the night there. Or go over to a friend's. Abby or Jane or Loretta - any one of them would be glad to let me stay. I can't just barge in, though. I'd have to call first. Plug in a phone, call, get dressed, go out in the rain.

What'll that solve? she asked herself.

It'll get me through the night.

But what about tomorrow night and the night after that?

'f.u.c.k it,' she muttered.

If he's going to come, let him come.

She got up and turned off the lights. She took off her robe, draped it over a chair, slipped out of her moccasins, and climbed into bed. The cool, smooth sheets felt wonderful. The heat of her body warmed them. Snuggling, she buried her face in her pillow.

You're really planning to sleep in the raw?

I always do.

This isn't always. You want to be starkers when he jumps you?

If. Ifa Pen felt cozy. She didn't want to leave the comfort of the bed. But she forced herself to sit up, turn on the bedside lamp, and swing her feet to the floor.

There was a naked woman in the mirror, walking toward Pen. Her face made a mocking snarl, a lip curling up, baring teeth.

'Yeah, I know, it's all your fault.'

The rotten b.a.s.t.a.r.d doesn't even know what I look like, she thought. He probably picked my name at random. I could be a refugee from the ugly farm, he'd still be giving me grief.

I'm a woman, that's all he cares about.

A pair of b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a v.a.g.i.n.a.

I want to talk to youa A chill squirmed up her body.

She bent and tugged open a drawer. She pulled out a pair of powder blue silk pajamas. She put them on, the cool fabric sliding over her skin like oil. Clinging, revealing.

Better than her nightgowns, though.

A lot better than nothing at all.

She rubbed her arms, feeling the gooseb.u.mps through the slick fabric.

The woman in the mirror sneered at her, obviously disgusted with the whole situation.

Pen took off the pajamas and put them back into the drawer. She opened the top drawer, saw that she was down to her last four pairs of good panties, and searched near the back of the drawer until she found some old ones. They were ragged and the elastic was limp. Perfect.

She found an old, frayed bra and put it on. Then a pair of jeans. Calvins. The tightest jeans she owned.

So tight they peeled the bandage off her thigh.

She fastened them.

The woman in the mirror rolled her eyes upward. You're a clown.

Okay, I'm a clown.

She put on a baggy blue sweats.h.i.+rt.