If She Should Die (15 page)

Oh well, the indignity was long past, Christine thought. Besides, she’d had the satisfaction of running into Sam when he was twenty-two and still five-foot-six with an extra thirty pounds packed around his waist and his wavy hair already thinning. “There really is justice in the world,” she murmured to herself before padding back into the exercise room in heavy-soled aerobic shoes.

She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and cringed. Some women came to the gym looking like they were ready to tape an aerobics video with perfect hair, careful makeup jobs, and colorful scanty Lycra outfits. Christine always opted for gray sweatpants and shirt. She was here to work out, not look glamorous, and the loose clothes allowed for more comfortable movement. Still, on a day when she already looked tired and colorless, the drab outfit did nothing to help. She hoped she could finish before anyone else came in.

Danny, a firm believer that everyone exercised better to music, preferably songs of the eighties, had turned on the sound system. Wang Chung’s “Everybody Have Fun Tonight” boomed through the large exercise room. As Christine did her warm-up yoga, she found herself bouncing along to the music in spite of her best efforts to hold her stances without motion. Dispensing with the yoga, she moved on to livelier activity.

She mounted one of the stationary bikes, pedaling rapidly to Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love.” The bikes faced the large front windows. She looked out at the nearly empty parking lot where a few dead leaves, an orange Frisbee, and a yellow-and-red disposable cup blew wildly in the rising wind. Across the street a small deserted park lay dotted with puddles. A rusty swing set sported swings whipping violently back and forth as if possessed by riotous ghostly children. Among the play equipment, trees lifted skeletal limbs to the darkening sky. Another storm was coming.

When she’d broken a sweat on the bike, Christine turned to the treadmill. As she walked briskly on the rotating rubber, thoughts of her certainty of being watched last night crowded into her mind.

The question was whether she’d been the victim of a random Peeping Tom, or if the watcher had a specific purpose
for observing her. True, citizens had been complaining for a couple of months about a group of teens who’d been both spying into people’s houses as well as creating “malicious mischief.” Christine could have been the victim of these vexatious young people who could find nothing better to do with their time than cause trouble.

But what if the person had been outside for some time watching her and Streak pore over Dara’s diary? Watching two people read couldn’t hold an audience for long, she thought. Not unless what they were reading had some significance for the watcher. If that was true, it probably meant that she, Streak, and Jeremy had been under scrutiny not only at home, but also at Crescent Creek when she’d had the uneasy feeling of being watched. Or had the watcher been around even before Streak and Christine arrived? Had someone watched as Jeremy cried and threw his pitiful silk flowers into the swollen waters, babbling about the creek being the place where Dara had vanished? The thought set Christine’s hands trembling and her heart racing.

Christine quickly abandoned the treadmill, sat down to draw a few calming breaths, then headed toward the weights as “Relax” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood began echoing loudly through the room. She placed twenty-pound weights on either side of the rod, lay down, and lifted. Lowered. Lifted. She worked out regularly and felt little strain in her upper arms. This won’t do at all, she thought, remembering her Great-aunt Helga, whose flesh had dangled at least three inches below the triceps muscles on her arms. Such a fate would not await Christine, she vowed. She stood up and added another weight to each end of the rod, then lay down again, this time pressing a total of sixty pounds.

Danny would have a fit if he saw her, she thought. Bench-pressing was definitely not a good idea without someone to spot her. There was always the chance she
would drop the rod and the entire sixty pounds would come crashing down on her chest. But no one was around and she didn’t want to disturb Danny or Marti. Actually, she didn’t want to make conversation. Besides, she wouldn’t be at this particular exercise for long.

Christine had raised the bar for the fourth time when a slight chill rushed over her. She was not alone in the room. She drew a deep breath and told herself to calm down. This was a public exercise room. Someone else had finally arrived.

Five lifts, six lifts. Suddenly her heart seemed to jump in her chest. Someone was near. Too near. She heard the intake of breath, felt the tingle of a gaze traveling up and down her body. Panic racing through her, she started to reach back in order to place the rod on the rests when something heavy and wet dropped over her nose and eyes.

“What—” she got out before terry cloth was jammed into her mouth, nearly choking her. She tried to scream around the material, but nothing emerged except a few faint garbled squeals. Blind and mute, she knew she was too disoriented to replace the bar in the holds. She slanted her arms to the right, trying to drop the rod so that it missed her head, but strong hands grasped her elbows, forcing them into extension directly above her chest. She was trying to rise at the waist when someone sat down heavily on her thighs directly below her pelvis. She squirmed beneath the hot body, barely able to move. Her attacker had firmly pinned her lower body against the vinyl-covered bench, while forcing her to hold the sixty pounds of weights directly above her chest.

Saliva poured into Christine’s mouth only to be absorbed by the cloth. She jerked her head to the side. The heavy, wet mass of material over the top of her face shifted slightly but not enough to give her a view of her attacker. Music pulsed through the room. The throbbing
bass seemed to shake the floor. “Relax, don’t do it,” the singer commanded to the beat. “Relax . . . relax . . .”

Christine knew everyone’s weakness with the weights came during the time of lifting and lowering. Once the lifter had gotten the rod aloft, she’d achieved a position of strength. Under normal circumstances, Christine had the capacity to hold the bar directly above her chest for at least ten minutes. Probably more. But now her hands perspired treacherously. If they slipped . . .

The music pounded on, then stopped while the sound of spewing water thundered through the room. Then the singer let out a shout before the beat began again. Oh God, where is everyone? Christine’s mind screamed.

Her attacker blew a stream of cool breath over her sweaty arms. Up to the hot skin of her throat it crept, tickling, teasing, almost caressing. Revulsion filled Christine and her arms had begun to tremble under the heavy weight she’d so foolishly added to the rod. Whenever she tried to kick, the bulk of a body ground painfully against her thighs, twisting and pinching the delicate skin.

“Please stop. Please,” she tried to say around her gag, but nothing emerged except meaningless gibberish. Above her someone sighed with sickening satisfaction.

If I drop these weights, they’ll break my ribs, Christine thought frantically. The ribs could puncture my lungs. Dear God, where is Danny?

The weight, but mostly the fear, suddenly sent violent tremors through her arms. She gagged. She felt as if she were going to throw up. If she did, the vomit could roll back down her throat, choking her. And she was probably about to be raped. Hot tears gathered in her closed eyes. She had never been so terrified in her life.

Then the seemingly unbelievable happened. Her attacker lifted the rod bearing the weights and placed it back on its rests. With one weakened, shaking hand
Christine made a futile swipe for the heavy, sopping material covering her face. With the other arm she struck outward, connecting only briefly with flesh before a shattering blow to the temple sent her into darkness.

“My God, Christine!” The words floated to her from far away. Daddy, she thought. Daddy’s come to save me. “Marti, call the paramedics! Christine, babe, wake up! It’s Danny!”

A mouth covered hers and she panicked, bucking with tremendous force and cracking her forehead against the one above hers. “Ouch! Damn it, Chris!”

Slowly Danny’s pained young face came into focus. Christine drew a deep breath and collapsed backward. “Sorry,” she gasped. “I thought it was him.”

Danny rubbed the reddening spot on his unlined forehead. “I was trying to give you mouth-to-mouth. I didn’t mean to scare you. What happened?”

“Someone made me hold the weights.” Her mind felt fuzzy, her thoughts a tangle of disconnected images. “Sat on me. Hit me.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know.” She tried to raise her head, but Danny gently pushed it down. “Threw something over my face . . .”

“A wet terry cloth robe.”

“Stuffed something in my mouth.”

“A washcloth. Didn’t you see
anything
? Not even a body part?”

“Nothing. It all happened so fast.” Her thoughts began to coalesce into a meaningful pattern and she touched her temple. “Danny, I have one hell of a headache.”

“No wonder. There’s a bloody weight lying beside you.”

“He hit me. There’s blood?”

“All over the place. Scalp wounds bleed profusely. It may not be as bad as it looks, although you’re a mess.”

“You’re such a comfort.”

Danny didn’t smile, but his perpetually tanned fine-boned face lost some of its anxiety. “At least you’re being as sarcastic as usual.”

“I try. Danny, I need a couple of aspirins.”

“Not until you get to the hospital.”

“I may be dead by then.”

“No way. You’re tough as nails.”

“Again with the silver tongue.” Christine kept talking because she was afraid if she didn’t, she would lose consciousness. “I’m going to look fabulous tomorrow.”

Marti rushed in and threw a white blanket over Christine. “Paramedics will be here any minute.” Her cute pixie features had turned so pale her freckles looked the color of chocolate. “Chris, I’m so sorry we let this happen to you, but I don’t know
how
it happened. A buzzer goes off in the refreshment room where we were when the front door opens. We didn’t hear a buzzer. And both back doors are locked.”

“Locked?” Danny echoed. “They can’t be.”

“Well, they are.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Marti returned, hotly defensive. “I guess I can tell if a door is locked or not.”

“Maybe a window’s unlocked, but I’m sure I checked them.” Danny stood up. “I have to look for him. He might still be hiding in here.”

“You will do no such thing!” Marti shrilled. “He could kill you, or worse.” Christine wondered what was worse. “I called the police. They’ll be here in a few minutes. Let
them
look for him!”

Christine was vaguely aware of someone coming into the exercise room and, after a moment, crying, “What on earth’s happened?”

Tess Cimino, Reynaldo’s wife. Christine would have recognized her loud, husky voice anywhere. “It’s just me, Tess!” she called. “I’ve had a slight mishap.”

Tess rushed to her side and looked down at her with frightened blue eyes. “Chris, you’re bleeding!”

“So I’m told.”

“Did something fall on you?”

“Yes. A great big man I think wanted to rape me.”

“What?”
Tess blared.

“Mrs. Cimino, please,” Danny said in a quietly pained voice. “We’re not exactly sure what happened, but Christine seems to be holding her own. The paramedics are on their way and the less excitement we have, the better it will be for Chris.”

“I’m not doing anything to hurt her!” Tess blasted.

“Actually, you are,” Christine replied with what she hoped was a sweet smile. “Could you lower your voice? My head is killing me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tess abruptly whispered. She reached forward and brushed Christine’s hair back from her forehead. Her fingers were long and cool. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Danny said firmly. “Nothing until the doctors say it’s all right.”

“I want to stand up.” Christine rose slightly. “I feel stupid lying here with everyone gathered around me.”

Danny gently pushed her back. “No. Not yet.”

“You’re a tyrant,” Christine muttered. Actually, just lifting herself a few inches off the board had brought on a wave of dizziness, although she wouldn’t admit it. “Is my
sense of time skewed, or is it taking the EMS van a hell of a long time to get here?”

“They’re pulling into the parking lot now!” Marti called from where she stood near a front window.

“It’ll be all right soon,” Tess said, still whispering. She’d pulled her brown hair back in a ponytail, and like Christine, she wore sweatpants. Without makeup she looked washed out, and even in her groggy state Christine noticed the new fine lines and shadows around Tess’s eyes, the slight puffiness of her face. At thirty-five, she was seven years older than her handsome husband, Reynaldo, and worried obsessively about the age difference, always certain he was admiring younger, beautiful women.

“He’s not, you know,” Christine said as fog seemed to close in.

“Who’s not what?” Danny asked.

“Rey loves you.”

Danny’s eyebrows raised. “I’m thrilled. Chris, I think you’re passing out again.”

And she did.

Christine didn’t remember the ride to the hospital. Awareness returned only as she was wheeled down a hall with what seemed like a hundred faces peering down at her. She shut her eyes. She hadn’t been in a hospital since her parents died, but she wasn’t worried about herself now. She only feared someone would tell Jeremy what had happened and bring him here. This was not a scene for him.

“My brother,” she murmured. “Can’t tell my brother.”

“We’ll let your brother know as soon as possible,” a sweet-faced nurse told her. “Just give us his name.”

“
No
. I don’t want him here. Where’s Tess? Did Tess come?”

“I’m here!” Tess called. “They’re trying to make me to sit in the waiting room, but I won’t leave you!”

The sweet-faced nurse looked annoyed. “You
must
wait in the other room, miss.”