Once Upon a Halloween (5 page)

    Finding the painting, he'd tilted it forward, stepped into the triangle of space behind it, then squatted down and eased it back into place.

    "Where
arrrrre
you?" the woman called.

    
Go away!

    She
won't
go away, Hunter knew. She'll find me and kill me.

    "Come out, come out."

    She sounded closer, now. Somewhere in the hallway, not far from the bedroom door.

    Is she by herself? Hunter wondered.

    
Even if she is, so what? If I try anything, she'll cut me to pieces.

    "Where
are
you?" she sang. "Here, kitty kitty kitty."

    
Looking for a cat?
Hunter had a moment of joyful relief before realizing he had misheard her. She hadn't said "kitty."

    She chanted again, "Here, kiddy, kiddy. Where
are
you? You can't hide from me, my little sweety-pie. I'll sniff you out."

    The light came on.

    Squatted behind the painting, Hunter cringed.

    She can't see me, he told himself. I can't see her, so she can't see me. She doesn't even know I'm in this room.

    "Hmmm," she said. "What have we here?"

    
She can't see me!

    "What wonderful paintings! Oh, my! How macabre! How delightful! Ooo,
that one
gives me goosebumps. I'm prickly all over, just looking at it. All prickly and goosebumpy. Delicious."

    After saying that, she went silent.

    No voice, no sound of footsteps.

    
Maybe she left.

    Silence.

    Trying to make no sounds himself, Hunter held his breath. He heard only the pounding of his heart.

    She
is
gone, he told himself. She went to look in a different room.

    Then he heard the floor creak.

    It creaked quietly, its sound almost silenced by the carpet, but it creaked so very
close
to Hunter, where he crouched behind the painting, that he almost groaned in despair.

    "Ah." The voice came from straight above him.

    Cringing inside, Hunter tilted back his head.

    He saw the undersides of two sweaty breasts. The woman
did
have goosebumps, just as she'd said. And very large, stiff nipples. Above and between her breasts, her face smiled down at Hunter.

    "Gotcha," she whispered.

    The painting blocked his view of everything below her breasts, so he couldn't see if she had the saber.

    "I give," he said to her.

    She looked amused. "Give what?"

    "Up."

    "You give up?"

    He nodded.

    "Glad to hear it."

    As she smiled strangely down at Hunter, her right breast lifted slightly. Then both breasts lurched. The lip of the saber popped through the canvas, rammed toward Hunter and pinned his shill to his chest. He tumbled backward, escaping from the blade but only for a moment.

    It jabbed him in the chest.
"Ow!"

    A satisfied smile on her face, the woman stepped back and slashed the canvas to tatters. With the blade, she lifted the remains of the painting and hurled it out of the way. It crashed into others, knocking a few of them to the floor.

    Slumped in the corner with nothing to shield him from the woman, Hunter raised his hands in front of his face.

    "Don't," he whimpered. "Please."

    "Don't what?"

    "Kill me."

    "Why not?"

    "Please."

    "Put your hands down."

    He kept them up, ready to block the descending blade.
"Down."

    Lowering them, he glimpsed the patch of red wetness on the chest of his shirt. He crossed his forearms over it and looked up at the woman.

    She was smirking down at him, the saber in her right hand raised high as if she were all set to slash downward and finish him off. Her body glistened with sweat. She looked sleek and strong, like women Hunter had seen sometimes on TV bodybuilding shows.

    
Strong enough to cut me in two.

    She had no make-up on. No tattoos. No jewelry. She wore only a brown leather belt, loose around her hips. On the right side of the belt hung a large leather sheath with a knife in it. Below her belt buckle, she was hairless and smooth.

    "Take a good look, kid. I'm the last one you'll ever..." She flinched as if prodded in the back. Gasping,
"Yah!"
she whirled around and cocked her arm, ready to slash the intruder.

    An intruder she couldn't seem to find

    Her head jerked this way and that.

    Hunter saw no one, but the woman's naked body was blocking much of his view.

    "Screw with me," she said, "I'll chop you to ribbons."

    She was starting to breathe hard. Hunter saw her shoulders rise and fall as he scooted quietly toward her, feet first. Dribbles of sweat were running down her spine. A droplet slid down the crease between her round, solid buttocks.

    "Who's there?" she demanded.

    
"Everything okay up there?"
a man's voice called out. It sounded as if he were shouting from downstairs.

    "Fine and dandy," the woman muttered to herself.

    
"Eleanor?"

    
"No problem!"
she yelled.
"I've got the kid. I'll be right down!"

    Hunter drew back his right foot, aimed the sole of his sneaker at Eleanor's Achilles tendon, and kicked forward.

    

    

    Last year, a member of his cross-country team had accidentally gotten kicked in the Achilles tendon. The kid had let out a scream of agony. An axe to the back of his foot couldn't have done a better job taking him down. He hadn't been able to get up again. They'd carried him off the field and he'd missed the rest of the running season.

    When Hunter struck out at Eleanor's tendon, he hoped for similar results.

    He didn't get them.

    Instead of shrieking in pain, she gasped with surprise. Her right foot shot forward, flew high. She waved her arms. Her saber slashed the air. Then she fell backward onto Hunter. Sat down hard on his thighs, slammed his back against the hardwood floor. An instant later, the top of her head clipped his chin. His teeth clashed together.

    Though barely conscious, he felt Eleanor's weight on top of him and knew this was his only chance.

    Already, he could feel her trying to sit up.

    
If I let her get away...

    He hooked his left arm across her throat and squeezed, trying to choke her. But something was in the way. Her chin? Then one of her hands was pulling at his arm while her other hand tried to bring the saber into play. He hammered his right fist down against her face again and again and again. She grunted and whimpered. She bucked. She thrashed and writhed, but she couldn't free herself from his squeezing forearm and clubbing fist. Though she jerked the saber this way and that, she couldn't get at him with it. Then she let it fall and caught hold of his wrist.

    "Stop!" she gasped. "Stop. I give."

    He stopped pounding her face, stopped trying to choke her.

    She released his arms, then lay limp on top of him, panting for air.

    After a few seconds, she said, "Let me up."

    "Don't move." Keeping his left arm across her throat, Hunter reached out with his other hand and grabbed the saber. He raised it over Eleanor's face to let her see that he had it.

    "Put your arms out," he said.

    "Huh?"

    "Like wings."

    She stretched out her arms.

    "Keep them that way and sit up. If you do anything, I'll chop you."

    With her arms out straight to the right and left, she sat up. Hunter winced at the weight on his thighs.

    "Now stand up," he said. "But keep your arms like that."

    She drew her knees in close to her chest and leaned forward. As she rose to her feet, Hunter sat up and shoved himself off the floor.

    Standing behind her, he pressed the edge of the blade against the side of her neck.

    "Now take off your belt. Unbuckle it and let it drop. Keep your hand away from the knife."

    She lowered her arms and head.

    Hunter could only see the backs of her arms down to her elbows. From elbows to hands, they were in front of her... unfastening the belt buckle by the sounds he heard.

    He watched the sheathed knife by her right hip. A couple of times, his eyes strayed over to her buttocks. He tried not to stare at them, though.

    Soon, the belt, sheath and knife fell to the floor.

    "Okay," Hunter said.

    "Okay what?"

    "That was good."

    "Right."

    "Okay." He took the sword away from her neck. "Now put your hands on top of your head."

    "Gonna book me?"

    "Just do it, okay?"

    She did it, then turned around, fingers interlaced on top of hoi head, a smirk on her face. Her cheeks were ruddy from the punch. One eye was puffy. Blood ran from her nostrils, coated her lips and dripped off her chin.

    Hunter felt a little sick, realizing he had done this to her. he fore the pounding, she'd had a pretty face... if you didn't count its smirk and meanness.

    She had it coming, he told himself. For godsake, don't feel sorry for her. Feel sorry for Connie. And Laura and Shannon.

    
Crap, she almost killed ME.

    Hunter touched the point of the sword to her belly.

    "I know you're the guy with the blade," she said. "And you can skewer me if that's what you want."

    "I don't
want to,
but..."

    "All you
really
want to do is get out of this alive, right?"

    He shrugged. "Maybe."

    "That's what I want, too." She glanced down the saber, then looked Hunter in the eyes. "Live and let live, okay?"

    "Maybe."

    "Here's what we'll do. First, tell your friend to come out."

    
What
friend? he wondered. Connie had run the other way back at the graveyard. By now, she had probably been cut down or captured by the creeps who'd gone chasing after her.

    "Then let me have my weapons back and I'll take you both downstairs as my prisoners."

    "Oh, that sounds perfect."

    "Bryce and Simone'll go along with it. We need captives for the midnight ceremony back at the graveyard. On the way there, I'll let you and your friend get away."

    "Sure you will."

    "I promise."

    Hunter shook his head. The plan might work if Eleanor played it straight.

    
She won't. It's just a trick.

    "I'm not that stupid," he said.

    "You might be too smart for your own..."

    
"Eleanor!"
called a man's voice.

    Hunter gave the saber a tiny push.

    She winced and sucked in her tummy. A dribble of blood started sliding down her skin.

    Sounding impatient, she shouted,
"What do you want, Bryce? "

    
"How much longer're you gonna take with that kid? "

    
"Long as I want!"

    A woman, apparently Simone, called,
"No problem. Want us to wait for you? Or we can start back..."

    
"Good idea, "
Eleanor yelled.
"Why don't you go on ahead? I'll come along after I'm done up here. Shouldn't be too much longer. "

    
"No hurry, "
Simone responded.

    
"Just don't be late for the ceremony, "
Bryce warned.

    
"Have fun up there, "
Simone called.

    
"lam. See you later."

    For a few seconds, Eleanor stared into Hunter's eyes. Then she stepped away from the sword, walked to the bedroom door and eased it shut. Facing him again, she leaned back against the door and crossed her feet at the ankles.

    "That worked out," she said.

    "Why'd you do it?"

    "Live and let live." Lowering her head, she stared down at the shiny red line of blood from her cut. It ran into the round dip of her navel, spilled out and slid down and down until it painted her thighs red. "See what you've already done to me?"

    "You got me worse," he said.

    She smirked toward the front of his shirt. "You'll live." Then she pushed herself away from the door and came toward him with long, slow strides.

    As she neared the sword, he raised it.

    She stepped up close to him. Not saying a word, she unbuttoned his shirt. When she opened it, the blood-soaked fabric peeled away from his skin.

    He looked down.

    His wound, about an inch in length, was just above and to the right of his left nipple. Blood was still leaking out of it, trickling down his chest. The thin red stream ran all the way down to the waistband of his jeans.

    Eleanor bent forward and kissed his cut. Then, smiling up at him with blood on her lips, she said, "Kiss mine?"

    The offer shocked him. "No thanks."

    She smiled. "Don't you want to be my friend?"

    "Huh-uh."

    "Lover?"

    
Is she kidding?

    Hunter's mouth went suddenly dry and his heart pounded harder. "No," he said.

    "Why not?"

    "Just don't wanta. You're a... I don't know, a killer or something "

    "I'm not
pure
enough for you?"