Alarums. Part 2

She stabbed the stop b.u.t.ton.

Shut her eyes. Lowered her head. Took deep breaths as her heart slammed.

G.o.dd.a.m.n demented sicko. Good thing I wasn't home. Better fly eggs thana Pen opened her eyes. Glimpsed the blond tuft between her legs. Jerked the robe shut and pulled its belt tight. Looked at the machine.

Maybe the b.a.s.t.a.r.d quit after two calls.

She pressed the fast forward b.u.t.ton, watching the counter turn. Okay, third message. 'a come in your mouth. I want to shoot my load downa'

She shoved the eject control. The ca.s.sette flipped up. She tore it from the machine and threw it.

CHAPTER THREE.

They were heading west on Highway 10, an hour out of Phoenix, the headbeams of the VW van pushing ahead of them through the darkness and lighting more than Bodie cared to see beyond the breakdown lane.

The fencing over there had snagged a lot of tumbleweed. That seemed to be its sole purpose.

Beyond the fence was nothing.

Nada.

h.e.l.l, there's plenty out there, he thought. Plenty of rocks and sand and cacti and tarantulas and scorpions. And tumbleweed.

He remembered an old episode of Thriller or Outer Limits (hard to keep the two shows straight) where a couple got stuck in an area very much like this and the G.o.dd.a.m.n tumbleweeds got them. Surrounded them, closed in, anda A pale shape the size of a trashcan scooted into the path of his headlights. Bodie's foot jumped to the brake pedal. Before he could ram it down, the thing had already blown past his lane.

A tumbleweed, must've hopped the fence.

It looked like a giant hairball of dead sticks.

The back of his neck tingled.

'It's coming for us,' he said - quoting his favorite line from The Night of the Living Dead. He tried to smile.

Melanie turned toward him. Her face was a pale oval with dark smudges for eyes and lips. 'Just a joke,' he said. She didn't answer. 'Remember that old Thriller? Maybe it was The Outer Limits. This couple wasa Hey, would you say something?'

'I was so awful to him. I never stopped blaming him fora what happened to Mom. I know it wasn't his fault, but he was right there in the house. If he'd only heard her falla If I'd been there, instead of away at camp.'

'Who sent you to the camp?' Bodie asked.

'They did. Mom and Dad. I didn't even want to go, but they said it would be a growth experience. They felt I was too dependent and introverted, that camp would help "bring me out". I didn't have any choice about going. I know I shouldn't hold myself responsible for Mom's accident. Dad either. It wasn't his fault any more than mine. But what you know and what you feel don't always match up. So things were never right between Dad and me after that. I trieda I just couldn't forgive him, or myself. Then he went and remarried.'

'Right away?'

'No. I was a soph.o.m.ore in high school. That really broke it. I mean, here he was pushing sixty and Joyce was like twenty-six. It was disgusting. I couldn't handle it. I moved in with my sister and lived with her till I finished high school. I just couldn'ta' Her voice trembled. 'Now he's dead, and I'll nevera' She began to weep.

'You don't know for sure he's dead,' Bodie told her.

'I know. I know.'

'We'll find a gas station. There's got to be one around here someplace. I want you to call again.'

'It won't do any good.'

'You've sure got a lot of faith in that vision of yours. You might just have it all wrong.'

She sniffed and didn't answer.

'You admitted, yourself, that you weren't sure who the victim was. You thought it might be your father or your sister.'

'It was Dad.'

'Now you're sure?'

'Yes.'

'You know, maybe this is one of those things where a person sees into the future. Precognition? If it is, then maybe going there might be part of some design to prevent it from happening. Possible?'

'I don't know,' Melanie muttered.

Not a flat-out denial. Bodie felt that he had made a breakthrougha at least opened a crack in her certainty. 'When you had the vision about your mother, was it before or after her accident?'

'Right at the same time. I had it while she was drowning.'

'Okay, that's your one major experience with this kind of thing. This time could be entirely different. In fact, when you start thinking about it, the second time with anything is almost never the same as the first. Think about it. Your first drink, your first date with a guy. Look at the first time you had s.e.x. I know for a fact it was different the second time around - a whole new ball game, so to speak.'

'I'm glad you find this amusing.'

'I'm just trying to help, Mel. You're all upset about this thing, but it's possible that your vision wasn't what you think. I'm just saying that maybe your father - or whoever - is still okay. Maybe this was a warning, and you're meant to get there in time to prevent whatever you saw.'

'I guess it's possible,' she admitted. But there was no conviction in her voice.

It is possible, he told himself.

h.e.l.l, it's possible that the whole d.a.m.ned episode was a figment of her imagination. All that guilt revolving around her father, probably a subconscious wish for him to croak, G.o.d only knows what other hang-ups are ticking away in her head. An emotional time-bomb that finally blew.

He decided to keep that theory to himself.

The last thing she needed right now was Bodie suggesting she'd flipped her gourd.

We'll find out soon enough, he thought. If it turns out that her father got his ticket canceled tonighta Bodie saw an oasis ahead. Lights, buildings, a Sh.e.l.l sign high atop a pole. Coming up fast.

He eased his van onto the exit ramp, a single lane curving away toward the Sh.e.l.l station, a second station across from it with a lighted wooden sign announcing 'Bargain Gas', a Denny's restaurant, and a squat adobe building decorated with blinking blue neon that read, 'Bingo's Bar and Grill'.

Melanie leaned across the seat for a look at the gas gauge. 'You've got half a tank,' she said.

'Better safe than sorry.'

'I guess I might as well call while we're stopped,' she said. She didn't sound eager.

Bodie stopped beside the self-service pumps at the Sh.e.l.l station. Straight ahead, at the edge of the lot, stood a pair of public telephones. 'Do you want to call while I fill her up?'

'I have to use the john.'

They both climbed out of the van. Bodie stepped to the pump, unhooked the nozzle and shoved down the start lever. He watched Melanie. She was walking with her head down, looking depressed and vulnerable. Not much different from the way she usually looked, a way that made Bodie want to hold and comfort her. He found his eyes lingering on the seat of her corduroys, loose-fitting pants that almost but not quite hid the moving curves of her b.u.t.tocks. He imagined slipping his hands down the waistband. The cool smoothness. He wondered if she was wearing panties.

She's probably wearing them tonight, he thought. s.e.x would've been the furthest thing from her mind when she'd changed clothes for the trip.

She vanished around a corner of the building. Bodie took off the gas cap and thrust the spout into the neck of his tank.

It's these balmy Arizona nights, he thought. A guy can't help getting a little h.o.r.n.y.

If she phones and everyone is fine, maybe he would pull off the highwaya Cut it out.

It's always terrific in the back of the van. A certain risk of exposure that adds to the wholea The nozzle shut off. He hooked it back onto the pump, capped his tank, and headed for the office. He was nearly there when Melanie appeared, striding past the corner of the building, rubbing her hands on her cords.

'No towels?' he asked.

'One of those stupid blower machines.'

'I'll move the van over by the phones.'

She nodded, and kept on walking. Bodie continued to the office. He paid for the gas, and came out.

Melanie was standing at one of the phones, searching inside her purse.

The filling station was deserted except for Bodie's van. He decided not to move it, after all, and headed for Melanie. She looked up at him. 'Problem?' he called.

'I've only got a quarter.'

He took out his wallet. 'Make it a card call,' he told her. 'Mine's here somewhere.' By the time he reached her, he had found his calling card.

'Thanks,' she said.

He explained how to use it.

Melanie turned away and dropped her quarter into the slot. As she dialed, Bodie stepped close against her back. He held her shoulders gently. 'It'll be all right,' he said. She nodded, her hair caressing his chin and mouth. She read off the card numbers to the operator.

He felt her body tighten.

'It's ringing,' she said.

He rubbed her shoulders, felt the bra straps under the crisp fabric of her blouse.

'n.o.body's answering,' she said.

'Give it some time.' Bodie pressed his lips to the back of her head. Her hair had a faint, pleasant aroma of lemons.

'It's no use. n.o.body's home.'

She hung up. A quarter clanked and skidded into the coin return. She fingered it out, turned around, and looked up at Bodie with her wide, hurt eyes.

'I wish I could make everything all right,' he said.

'I know.'

'Look, maybe there's someone else you could call. A neighbor?'

She bit down on her lower lip, frowned.

And suddenly started digging in her purse. Her hand came out with a small, red booklet.

Pen's eyes moved across the page, following the lines of words. She thought she was reading the paperback novel. Her eyes traced over its sentences, and she wasn't aware that none of their meaning reached her mind.

Sorry you're away, I wanted to talk to you.

What if he calls again?

My big hard c.o.c.ka your hot juicy c.u.n.t.

He's out there somewhere, a sicko, and he's thinking about me.

Maybe right now reaching for his phone.

Pen turned a page of the book. Her eyes followed the words and she listened, expecting to hear the distant jangle of her telephone. All she heard was a slow drip of water near her feet.

He might never call again.

Oh, he will. He will.

Four calls already tonight.

Probably four, though she'd only listened to three of them.

He likes the sound of my voice.

Four times, she had talked to him. 'h.e.l.lo. I'm sorry, but I'm unable to answer your call at this time. If you'd like to leave me your name anda' Four times, her voice had traveled the wires and come out close to his ear like an intimate whisper. She saw him alone in a room with her voice. The lights were off so he could pretend that more than her voice was there - that his hand was Pen's hand stroking him in the darkness, or Pen's mouth sucking him, ora That's it for the answering machine.

He won't get another chance to use my voice.

Give it away. Give it to Dad. 'I don't want the d.a.m.n thing,' he would say. 'Do the world a favor and deep-six it.' Good joke, though. Gift-wrap it and watch his face when he tears open the package. Pen smiled as she imagined his reaction.