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Authors: Richard Laymon
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would sure take longer.
She wanted to reach the cops fast and get back to Andy fast.
So she had decided to charge straight up the hillside.
Maybe not charge. Sneak.
Sneak so Andy doesn’t wake up; sneak so the bastard waiting at the top, hunkered down with his back against the wall, won’t hear me coming.
If he’s even there.
Maybe nobody had stayed behind at all. Maybe they’d all raced off in their cars after setting Andy’s house on fire.
If one of them had stayed, he might be anywhere.
The climb wasn’t easy. Several times, Jody’s feet slipped out from under her and she landed on her knees. In places, the hillside was so steep that she had to crawl. Here and there, she was forced to grab weeds or bushes or tree roots to keep herself from skidding backward.
After an uphill struggle that seemed endless, she made her way past a tree, got above it, and leaned back against its trunk. The way the tree slanted out from the slope, it took much of the weight off her feet.
She gasped for breath. Her heart thumped madly. Her skin felt very hot, and she seemed to be sweating everywhere. She wiped her eyes with a moist, slick arm. She blinked.
Almost there.
And then she saw thick piles of smoke clotting the night beyond the top of the wall. The smoke shimmered with a red glow.
It’s the Youngman house, she realized. That’s the one they set on fire. Not Andy’s place, after all.
Unless maybe both.
Probably both.
No wonder all the sirens.
The ruddy light did nothing at all to illuminate Jody’s side of the wall. The top of the wall was a straight edge, the night glowing above it, nothing but blackness below.
Nobody’s there, she told herself.
Yeah, right.
He could be standing with his back to the wall, straight above her, staring down at her right now.
But the wall, Jody guessed, was probably at least a hundred feet long. He could be waiting anywhere along it. (Or be long gone.) If he hadn’t spotted her yet, and if he was a fair distance away to one side or the other, and if she was very quiet and very quick ...
She bent her knees. She started to scoot down the trunk, but its bark scratched her back and snagged I er nightshirt, so she had to push away from it. Squatting, she scanned the slope and wall.
Probably no one’s even there, she told herself.
She leaned forward. On hands and feet, she crept higher.
Really ironic if I get myself killed at this stage of things. Made it through so much, only to get nailed when I’m almost to the cops.
She had learned about irony in her English class last year. Her English teacher, Mr. Platt, had explained that it was the flipside of poetic justice.
She believed in God.
She wasn’t too sure about His merciful side, but one thing was very clear: God delighted in irony.
It would probably tickle him, she thought, to see me catch an ax just when I get to the wall, just when I think I’m home free.
Please, don’t. Okay? It’d kill my dad. You already got Mom in one of your irony binges, so just try to control yourself this time, okay? Please? Amen.
The prayer had no sooner taken flight from Jody’s mind than she thought, Oh, great way to talk to God. Now I’ve probably pissed Him off and He’ll kill me for sure.
She stopped.
Poised on her knuckles and the balls of her feet, she stared straight ahead at the black wall. It was probably no more than two yards away, though she couldn’t be sure. Too dark to be sure of anything.
She glanced both ways, but saw nothing.
Might as well get it over with.
The way her muscles were jumping and jiggling, she wondered if she would have enough strength to make it over the wall.
I’ll make it, she told herself.
On the count of three.
One.
Two.
Three!
She sprangp and forward like a sprinter leaving the blocks, churned up the final piece of hillside, hurled herself toward the wall and leaped.
Even as her hands clamped the top, she heard quick footfalls rushing at her from the left.
Part Two
Simon
She wanted to reach the cops fast and get back to Andy fast.
So she had decided to charge straight up the hillside.
Maybe not charge. Sneak.
Sneak so Andy doesn’t wake up; sneak so the bastard waiting at the top, hunkered down with his back against the wall, won’t hear me coming.
If he’s even there.
Maybe nobody had stayed behind at all. Maybe they’d all raced off in their cars after setting Andy’s house on fire.
If one of them had stayed, he might be anywhere.
The climb wasn’t easy. Several times, Jody’s feet slipped out from under her and she landed on her knees. In places, the hillside was so steep that she had to crawl. Here and there, she was forced to grab weeds or bushes or tree roots to keep herself from skidding backward.
After an uphill struggle that seemed endless, she made her way past a tree, got above it, and leaned back against its trunk. The way the tree slanted out from the slope, it took much of the weight off her feet.
She gasped for breath. Her heart thumped madly. Her skin felt very hot, and she seemed to be sweating everywhere. She wiped her eyes with a moist, slick arm. She blinked.
Almost there.
And then she saw thick piles of smoke clotting the night beyond the top of the wall. The smoke shimmered with a red glow.
It’s the Youngman house, she realized. That’s the one they set on fire. Not Andy’s place, after all.
Unless maybe both.
Probably both.
No wonder all the sirens.
The ruddy light did nothing at all to illuminate Jody’s side of the wall. The top of the wall was a straight edge, the night glowing above it, nothing but blackness below.
Nobody’s there, she told herself.
Yeah, right.
He could be standing with his back to the wall, straight above her, staring down at her right now.
But the wall, Jody guessed, was probably at least a hundred feet long. He could be waiting anywhere along it. (Or be long gone.) If he hadn’t spotted her yet, and if he was a fair distance away to one side or the other, and if she was very quiet and very quick ...
She bent her knees. She started to scoot down the trunk, but its bark scratched her back and snagged I er nightshirt, so she had to push away from it. Squatting, she scanned the slope and wall.
Probably no one’s even there, she told herself.
She leaned forward. On hands and feet, she crept higher.
Really ironic if I get myself killed at this stage of things. Made it through so much, only to get nailed when I’m almost to the cops.
She had learned about irony in her English class last year. Her English teacher, Mr. Platt, had explained that it was the flipside of poetic justice.
She believed in God.
She wasn’t too sure about His merciful side, but one thing was very clear: God delighted in irony.
It would probably tickle him, she thought, to see me catch an ax just when I get to the wall, just when I think I’m home free.
Please, don’t. Okay? It’d kill my dad. You already got Mom in one of your irony binges, so just try to control yourself this time, okay? Please? Amen.
The prayer had no sooner taken flight from Jody’s mind than she thought, Oh, great way to talk to God. Now I’ve probably pissed Him off and He’ll kill me for sure.
She stopped.
Poised on her knuckles and the balls of her feet, she stared straight ahead at the black wall. It was probably no more than two yards away, though she couldn’t be sure. Too dark to be sure of anything.
She glanced both ways, but saw nothing.
Might as well get it over with.
The way her muscles were jumping and jiggling, she wondered if she would have enough strength to make it over the wall.
I’ll make it, she told herself.
On the count of three.
One.
Two.
Three!
She sprangp and forward like a sprinter leaving the blocks, churned up the final piece of hillside, hurled herself toward the wall and leaped.
Even as her hands clamped the top, she heard quick footfalls rushing at her from the left.
Part Two
Simon
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