JACK KILBORN ~ ENDURANCE (22 page)

Deb hit the release valves on her prosthetics, breaking the suction. She eased them off and set the Cheetahs on the floor, next to the bed. Then she rolled down the gel sock
, sheathing the vestige of her left calf. A day’s worth of accumulated sweat dripped onto the floor. Deb wiped the sheath with the towel and gave it a tentative sniff.

Not too funky. I can get another wear out of it.

She pulled the silicone end pad out of the bottom, dried it off, and repeated the process with the other side, setting the sheaths on the night stand. Then Deb finally looked at her legs.

The amputations were transtibial; below the knee. Her left leg was three inches longer than her right, and both came to tapered ends. Deb hated that they were uneven—it made her feel even more deformed. To make the complete package reach
eleven
on the hideous scale, each leg had raised, ugly scars, from her surgery, and from her cougar injuries. On top of all that, she needed to shave.

Yuck,
Deb thought.
I’m a monster.

She always thought that when she looked at her stumps.

Her skin below each knee was pruned and red. The gel sheet provided cushioning, but Deb sweat so much she got heat rash. The alternative was to wear stump socks, which would wick away sweat just like regular socks did. Unfortunately, the suction of the prosthetics weren’t as tight when she wore socks, and Deb didn’t want to risk having a leg fall off while in motion. Still, she’d eventually have to come up with some sort of compromise. Even the strongest antiperspirants didn’t do much to help.

She draped the towel over her legs, then began to dry her stumps, massaging the muscles.

For half a second she pictured someone else doing the massage.
Mal.

The fantasy ended with Mal gagging and running away.

You’re... grotesque.

Yes. Yes I am. And it’s my own stupid fault.

Deb considered jumping into the self-pity pool and wallowing around, but she was presently too tired to hate herself. Instead she yawned, then flicked off the light switch next to the bed. The room went dark, and Deb buried her face in the Roosevelt pillowcase, letting her mind blank out.

Less than a minute later, she heard something creak.

Like someone is walking toward the bed.

Deb’s eyelids snapped open, and she fumbled for the light switch.

The room was empty.

She waited, riding out the adrenaline, her heart dancing a rhumba. But there were no more noises. No one around.

Okay. Old houses creak. No need to get paranoid about it. The door is locked. I’m alone. I need to go back to sleep.

She hit the switch, adjusted the pillow, and rested her head.

Creak, creak, creak.

Closer this time.

The l
ight on once again, Deb sat up in bed. No one was in the room. She wondered if there was some reasonable explanation for this. Maybe the creaks were coming from the floor below. Or next door. Or maybe she was hearing something else that she mistook for footsteps.

But it didn’t sound
nearby
. It sounded like it was coming from in the room.

She waited longer this time. Waited for the creaking to come back.

There was only silence.

Deb put her head back down, but she left the light on. If there was another creaking noise, she wanted to be able to see what was causing it.

Is someone messing with me?

Who? I’m alone in here.

After another long minute, she closed her eyes. She let her mind wander, and it found its way back to Mal. Cute guy. Obviously interested. All Deb needed to do was get out of her own way, and let things develop. If she stopped second-guessing everything, stopped thinking ten steps ahead, maybe she could actually—

Creak.

Deb opened her eyes, wide.

The creak came from right under my bed.

Moving slowly, she peeked over the edge, half-expecting to see some masked psychopath lying on the floor, waiting to spring.

She saw nothing. And that scared the living hell out of her.

My prosthetics are gone.

Deb left them alongside the bed. She was sure of it. She checked the nightstand, saw the gel sheaths were still there.

Maybe I’m brain dead. Maybe I put them on the other side.

Rolling over, Deb peered over the other end of the mattress.

All she saw was bare floor.

Someone took my legs.

Then the bed moved. Just a bit, but enough for Deb to realize what was happening.

The person who took my legs is under the bed.

Deb stared at the closet. She had her cosmetic legs in her case. If she could get to them, strap them on, she’d at least have a chance at getting away.

But how? Ease onto the floor and crawl there? That’s at least five yards away. I’ll never get there in time.

The bed jerked again. Harder this time. Whoever was under there lifted up the box spring and let it drop.

Then she heard him chuckle. Soft and low.

The fear that overtook Deb was the worst thing she ever felt. Worse than when she was falling off the mountain. Worse than when she was being stalked by the cougar.

This i
sn’t a mistake. This isn’t mother nature.

This i
s a human being deliberately intending to do me harm.

Her mind flashed back to the blowout. Maybe Mal had been right. Maybe someone had shot out the tire, to make sure they couldn’t get away.

And maybe that someone was under her bed right now.

What am I supposed to do? Any other person would be able to run away.

Maybe I can talk to him

Deb’s voice was shaking when she said, “Who’s there?”

After a terrible silence, a voice directly beneath Deb said,
“I’m Teddy.”

It hit Deb like a slap to the face. She was so frightened she began to shiver. He was
right
beneath her.

“
What... what do you want, Teddy?”

No answer.

“
Teddy...?”

“
I wanna watch you bleed, girl.”

Deb put her fist in her mouth, biting on her knuckles so she didn’t scream. She cast a frantic glance around the room, looking for some kind of weapon. There was nothing. And she’d left her fanny pack—and her knife—on the bathroom sink.

“
I got yer legs.”
Teddy said.
“You can’t get away.”

The fear was overwhelming. What could she do, other than wait there, unable to escape, while this crazy man crept up the side of the bed and climbed on top of her? She might as well have been tied up. Or paralyzed.

How do I run from someone when I can’t even stand up?

Mal,
Deb thought.
He’s right next door.

“
Mal!” she screamed, banging on the wall behind her. “Mal, help!”

“
Help me, Mal!”
Teddy joined in, using a falsetto.
“Please help me!”

Deb filled her lungs and yelled as loud as she could. “MAAAAAAL!”

Mal didn’t answer.

“
Your little boyfriend ain’t gonna help you, Debbie. Harry
already took care a’ him.”

Teddy pushed the mattress up, so hard
and violent that Deb almost rolled off.

“
Ready
‘er not, here I come.”

She heard a palm slap the wood floor.
Summoning up some dregs of courage, Deb peeked over the edge and saw Teddy’s hand, sticking out from under the bed. It was large and grimy, the fingernails long and yellowed. Teddy’s thumb was actually two thumbs; at the knuckle it split into a Y shape.

Deb thought about reaching down, grabbing it, trying to break a finger, but she was too scared to move.

Another hand came appeared, also with a bifurcated thumb. Then Teddy slowly eased himself out. His hair was brown, matted, a bird’s nest of tangles. He turned and stared up at Deb. His face was just as ugly as his hands. Bushy eyebrows. A scraggly beard. One eye bigger than the other, the lens gray with a cataract, the other so deeply bloodshot it looked like a maraschino cherry. Teddy smiled, showing stained, rotten teeth, and Deb caught his pungent odor—stale sweat and sour milk.

“
Ain’t you a pretty one. Ol’ Teddy may get hisself a taste ‘fore we get to bleedin’ you.”

Then Teddy pulled himself the rest of the way out from under the bed, and Deb got another shock.

He doesn’t have legs.

No, wait. He does.

His overalls ended just below the buttocks, and jutting out of them were two tiny, underdeveloped feet. Like those of a baby.

I have a chance.

I can get away.

Fear gave way to action, and Deb rolled to the opposite side of the bed. She slid off the end, face-first, landing on her hands and knees. Then she peeked under the dust ruffle to see where Teddy was—

—
and stared
directly into his gray eye, only inches away.

Teddy’s hand shot out, grabbing Deb by her hair before she had a chance to flinch. Deb made her fingers stiff and poked at his good eye, jabbing hard. Teddy howled, releasing her, and Deb crawled like crazy around the bed.

Hall or closet?
Hall or closet?

Closet.
I can’t get away without my legs.

Deb beelined for the closet, her bare knees beating a painful staccato against the hardwood floor. Teddy slid out from under the bed, pushing himself along on his belly, cutting off her rout
e. Then he headed for her, efficiently dragging himself forward in a serpentine manner, like a fish swimming on land.

Deb spun around, scurrying past as his hand reached out. His fingers brushed her thigh, but he couldn’t grab on. She frantically tried to figure out where to go next. The closet was blocked. So was the hallway. And Teddy was slithering toward her at a quick clip, a grotesque, hairy snake.

The bathroom? Go for the knife?

No. I’d be trapped in there.

So what the hell can I do?

My Cheetahs. He took them.

Maybe they’re under the bed.

She grabbed the post, sliding under the bed, immediately seeing the displaced boa
rds and the hole in the floor. Teddy was reaching for her again, fingers grazing her stump. She caught a quick glimpse of his wide, brown grin, and then Deb pulled herself, face-first, through the trap-door.

Then she was falling—a sick, familiar feeling that was worse than any pain in the world. Her fear was short-lived, and she quickly banged her arms and head into a recessed floor, only a few feet lower than the one she’d just fallen from. Trying to catch her breath, Deb squinted at her surroundings.

I’m in a
crawlspace between the first and second levels.

A few yards away was a dim, flickering light.

A candle.

Deb felt around, finding one of her Cheetahs, then the other, and then Teddy was dropping through the trap-door, landing next to Deb with a
huge
thump.

She swung her prosthetic like a scythe, hard as she could, trying to catch Teddy’s face with the blade edge. The blow hit home, the leg vibrating in Deb’s hands. Teddy howled, covering up his head. She followed up with two more strikes, trying to pound his face into hamburger. But the Cheetahs were lightweight, not much heft to them, causing only superficial injuries.

Tucking the legs under her arm, Deb crawled toward the candle. It was awkward, and she had to switch from crawling to a sideways shuffle. She sucked in dust and cobwebs, trying to avoid banging her head on various support posts.

Teddy began to chuckle. “Oooo, y’all gonna pay for hittin’ me, little girl. Y’all gonna pay dearly.”

Deb reached the candle and smacked her palm on top, snuffing out the flame. The blackness was stifling, and the enormity of her situation hit her like a sledgehammer.

I’m trapped in a dark crawlspace with a psychotic freak.

She began to hyperventilate, unable to get enough oxygen. That led to wheezing.

I’m too loud. He’ll find me.