After Midnight (17 page)
Judy didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. She was a beautiful, fine, sweet girl, and I liked her. I never saw her as my enemy. Only as my problem.
She could “finger” me.
So she had to go.
But not like this?
I hated it to be like this.
But in part of my mind, I knew it was perfect! This was like a best-case scenario.
I
wouldn’t be murdering her at all. And therefore, nobody could ever pin it on me. They’d nail
this
bastard for it, or nobody. And they’d likely figure he’s the one who chopped Tony into little pieces, too.
Because of this guy, whoever he might be, suspicion would never fall on me. I ought to be cheering him on.
But I couldn’t.
I didn’t
want
him to rape her, kill her, touch her.
Weird, huh?
I’m not sure how to explain it. Maybe I’m not even sure
why
I felt that way. It wasn’t that I wanted to save her, or spare her the pain, or anything like that.
I mean, I did and I didn’t.
I would’ve
loved
to spare her, but she had to go.
The thing is, I had to be the one to do it.
Not this guy, whoever he might be.
Not this stranger, this interloper, this
thief
.
She was mine, not his.
Opening her eyes, Judy stared straight at me. I caught my breath. My heart pounded faster.
Can she see me?
I didn’t think so. I was well hidden in the bushes.
If I can see her, she can see me.
Maybe so, I thought. But I still doubted that she’d spotted me. She didn’t react, just stood there the same as before, stretched tall, her skin agleam in the firelight.
I raised the pistol and took aim.
Judy still didn’t react, so she was obviously unaware of me and the gun.
I aimed for her heart.
She was about twenty-five or thirty feet away. That’s farther than it sounds, when it comes to hitting a target with such a small handgun.
I could certainly hit her. But
where
wasn’t certain at all.
Shooting for her heart, I might just as easily hit her in the neck or shoulder or breast or stomach. I might only nick her in one side or the other.
The chances of killing her with the first shot were slim.
It might take three or four rounds to do the job.
Then what would I have left for the guy who’d brought her here?
And where the hell was he, anyway?
Asleep in the tent? Maybe. Or maybe wandering the woods to gather firewood.
Or sneaking up on me.
When that little idea popped into my head, I got goosebumps again. They went scurrying everywhere. I brought the gun back close to my body and dropped onto one knee. Twisting from side to side, I checked behind me.
Nothing but darkness.
And I couldn’t even see the darkness very well. The campfire had ruined my night vision.
My hearing was okay, though. I heard nobody trying to sneak up on me.
Doesn’t mean he isn’t.
I turned forward again and studied the campsite. Judy’s head was now bowed and her eyes seemed to be shut. Maybe she’d fallen asleep or passed out.
Other than that, everything looked the same.
I stared at the tent. It was about as high as my chest (if I’d been standing up) and maybe seven or eight feet long. Big enough for one or two guys sleeping lengthwise. No light seemed to be on inside it. With that kind of material—nylon, I guess—the light would’ve seeped right through. From where I stood, I couldn’t see whether or not the front was open.
The longer I watched the tent, the more certain I felt that Judy’s attacker must be inside. Cozy in his sleeping bag, and fast asleep. After all, he’d had a long and busy night. And that’s what guys do after they’ve screwed you—they sleep.
If he
was
asleep in the tent, I could do whatever I pleased.
But what
should
I do?
1. Kill them both?
2. Kill him and rescue Judy?
3. Avoid him and rescue Judy?
4. Avoid him and kill Judy?
5. Avoid them both, go home, and hope for the best?
Other possibilities entered my mind. Most of them involved trying to capture the guy, and what I might do with him afterward. Or what Judy and I might do to him. Or what the three of us might do together.
That stuff didn’t seem practical, though.
Too risky.
Basically, I had only the five realistic choices. I gave them a lot of thought. Each had merits and disadvantages. After a while, though, I managed to rule out the plans that involved killing the man.
You don’t want to kill your fall guy.
That whittled the choices down to three. Should I kill Judy, rescue her, or go home?
If I went home, the guy would still have her as a prisoner to torture, rape and murder as he wished. From a purely logical standpoint, I couldn’t ask for anything better. But I hated the idea. He had no right to her. She was mine, not his.
Which didn’t seem like a very good argument.
I mean, this was supposed to be about my survival. If the guy kills her, I’m home free. I’d be a fool to interfere just because of some bizarre emotional thing about Judy.
The logic nearly convinced me to leave her.
But then I found a fairly good argument against it.
What if he doesn’t kill her?
It seemed ridiculous, at first. A guy in his position
had
to finish Judy off. You can’t let a girl live after this sort of thing. She’ll tell on you.
But something might go wrong.
Maybe he doesn’t have what it takes to finish her off. Or what if she escapes? Or maybe somebody comes along and scares him away or arrests him or…who knows? I could think up plenty of scenarios.
Hell, I’d gotten away a few times myself. I’d gotten out of tougher jams than this one Judy was in.
If I could do it, she could, too. She might not be as tough as me, but she was likely smarter.
Anyway, I just couldn’t count on the guy killing her. And that gave me the excuse I’d been looking for. The option of walking away was no good.
That left me with two choices. Do I kill her or rescue her?
Judy obviously needed to be killed. And I should do it quietly, with a rock. But should I do it here, or “rescue” her and take her somewhere else to do it?
If I did it here, the guy would still have her body. I didn’t like certain aspects of that, but I
really
liked the aspect that he might get caught with it.
On the other hand, if I “rescued” her, we could go somewhere else and have plenty of privacy. I liked the idea of that. I liked it a lot. But disliked the possibility that she might escape from
me
.
Whereas she wouldn’t stand a chance of escape if I walked over and bashed her head in while she dangled there.
It was a hard decision.
I kept going back and forth.
I couldn’t make up my mind.
So finally I decided not to decide. I would play it by ear.
In the clearing, Judy still hung with her head down and her eyes shut. But the campfire had dwindled. Her skin no longer shimmered so brightly with the golden light. She looked darker now, and less distinct.
If I waited a while longer, the fire might dwindle down to nothing and I would have darkness on my side.
Then again, I might be running out of night.
I’d lost track of time, but figured it had to be after three o’clock in the morning. Maybe even after four. Waiting any longer would be foolish.
Carefully, I stood up. My body felt stiff and sore, but I managed to rise without groaning or making any other sound. With the pistol in my right hand, I crept away from the clearing. Then I slowly circled around to the other side, staying in the darkness. Finally, I approached the campsite from behind Judy.
The fire had dwindled even lower. Judy was little more than a dark shape hanging below the limb, a silhouette against the fire’s dim glow.
There was still no sign of the man who had put her there.
From my new position, I could see the front of the tent. Its flaps were shut. I figured he must be inside.
Fast asleep.
Standing motionless for a while, I watched and listened. Then I moved in with slow, gentle steps. Though I tried to be silent, a little noise couldn’t be helped. The ground was covered with old leaves and twigs. The leaves sounded like wads of paper crinkling and crunching under my shoes. Some twigs broke like toothpicks. Others snapped like pencils.
I kept my eyes on Judy. She never flinched or raised her head, never reacted in any way to the sounds of my approach.
When I was only a few strides away from her, I realized that I didn’t have a rock yet.
Stopping, I squatted and studied the ground. There were old, dead branches scattered around, but no rocks. None nearby, anyway.
Too bad I didn’t have the one from the creek.
It’s not that there were no rocks in sight. I saw a whole bunch of them. But they were out in the middle of the campsite. Three or four boulders, large enough to sit on, were arranged near the fire. I couldn’t really use one of those. But dozens of smaller rocks, stacked about a foot high, formed a low wall around the fire.
Most of them looked to be the right size for pounding out Judy’s brains.
Most of them would probably be hot, too. But there had to be some that wouldn’t burn my fingers, and I only needed one.
To get it, of course, I would need to abandon the darkness and enter the clearing. Stride out past Judy. Search for my rock out in the open, directly in front of the tent.
Why not?
Judy’s head was down and the tent flaps were shut.
Besides, her mouth was gagged. Even if she saw me, she couldn’t cry out.
Also, I had the pistol. If things went sour, I could start shooting people.
Before going anywhere, I made sure the safety was off.
The gun shook like crazy in my hand. I was plenty scared. But this wasn’t the creepy sort of fear that gives you goosebumps. This was the kind that makes your heart pound like a club, makes you shake like a lunatic and sweat like a glass full of ice in a heat wave. It makes your legs feel so weak you think they’ve decided, on their own, to keep you from walking into trouble.
But I
made
mine walk.
There’s this thing about me. Maybe you’ve already noticed it. I’m the sort of gal who gets things done. I’ll do almost anything, no matter how dangerous or messy or awful it might be, if I figure it’s a thing that needs doing.
I wanted a rock, so I made myself go for it.
Staying about five feet away from Judy’s left side, I walked softly past her. She just stood there, arms high, head down. Except for her breathing, she didn’t seem to move at all.
When I was in front of her, I looked back. I’d expected a better view, but the flames had sunk very low. She was bathed in a murky glow that trembled with shadows as if I were looking at her under water.
I couldn’t even tell whether her eyes were shut.
But she didn’t act as if she saw me.
I kept walking.
I glanced at the tent, scanned the clearing ahead of me, checked over each shoulder, eyed the tent again, and several times twisted around for a brief look at Judy.
And wished I could see her better.
Darkness was good for sneaking around, and I should’ve been grateful for it. But I’d expected more firelight. I wanted to be able to see what I was doing—and see Judy.
So when I reached the fire, I crept around to the other side, crouched down by a small pile of wood, and started adding sticks to the shaky remains of the flames.
Within a few seconds, the fire grew brighter. I added more sticks, and larger ones. They crackled and snapped, crawling with flames.
As I built up the fire, I kept watch on the front of the tent. It stayed shut. No light or sounds came from inside.
I added larger sticks and chunks of branches.
It seemed crazy, even to me. Had I lost my mind? Did I want to get caught?
Who knows?
I kept telling myself that nobody wakes up just because a fire outside the tent is getting larger.
But it was getting louder, too. A lot more snapping and crackling. And every so often, a burning stick would go off with a
bam
!
I refused to stop adding wood, though, until the fire was large and bright.
Bright enough for its light to spread over Judy.
When her skin gleamed like molten gold, I stood up. I started to step around the fire, then realized I’d forgotten to grab a rock.
Bending over, I patted a few of the rocks along the top of the fire circle. They all felt hot enough to scorch my fingers.
Neat play.
If I’d been taking care of business, I would’ve found one
before
building up the fire.
Too late, now.
But the far side of the wall wasn’t being lapped by flames, so I hurried over there. Sure enough, several of the rocks were only mildly warm.
After switching the pistol to my left hand, I used my right to pick up one I liked. It was shaped like a large wedge of pie, and must’ve weighed three or four pounds. Perfect.
On my way over to Judy, I turned around completely a couple of times. The clearing, now alive with firelight, looked deserted. Nobody seemed to be peering out at us from the woods. The tent was dark, its flaps still shut.
Judy’s head still hung down. She didn’t seem to know I was there.
I slipped the pistol into my pocket, held the rock behind my rump so she wouldn’t be able to see it, and walked up to her.
Where my shadow fell on Judy, her shine vanished. I stepped sideways enough to let the firelight reach her.