Walking After Midnight (7 page)

6

The good news was, she wasn’t dead. The bad news was, she might soon be.

For a few seconds after the impact, the only thing Summer was aware of was the pounding of her own badly stressed heart. A moment or two passed before she realized she had been in a car accident. It occurred to her that she must have been briefly knocked unconscious. She still felt just a little dizzy and disoriented. Apparently her head had crashed into the windshield.

Grimacing, she opened her eyes. A cautious glance told her that the windshield had survived unscathed even if her head had not. It ached. Her body was slumped over the steering wheel; her fingers were locked around it. She wanted to probe her forehead to determine the extent of her injury – was she bleeding? – but she could not seem to summon the will to open her fingers. Shock seemed to have paralyzed her.

The vehicle’s motor was still running. The transmission was in drive, but they weren’t going anywhere. Of course, the vehicle was a van, and the van had hit a combine. The combine was what had stopped it, and what kept it from moving now.

The monster beside her: with a terrifying rush of memory Summer recalled him, recalled just how she had come to be in such a fix, and that’s when she had her good-news, bad-news brain wave.

Glancing sideways, she saw that he was sprawled in his seat, eyes closed, lips slack. His left arm hung limply beside him. The fingers of his left hand were open, brushing the black-carpeted floor. His right hand, when she peered over him to check, was equally empty. The scalpel was nowhere in sight. Obviously he had lost it in the crash.

As soon as the implications of that registered, Summer regained the use of her body. Hallelujah! She was going to be free at last! Scrabbling for the lock and the door handle at the same time, she wasn’t even aware that he had moved.

„Oh no you don’t,“ he growled just as the door swung open, and put a stop to her would-be freedom leap by grabbing a fistful of hair.

„Ow!“

Dragged painfully backward, Summer couldn’t take it anymore. A red fog of rage clouded her senses, leaving just one thought perfectly clear: If she was going to die tonight, at least she was going to die fighting.

„Aiiee-yaw!“ She whirled with a roar that would have done Bruce Lee proud – it should have, because it was an offshoot of an overdose of his movies – and dove at her captor. Every fiber of her being was intent on doing him serious bodily harm.

„Bitch!“ he yelped as the unexpected force of her full-body slam rammed him against the passenger-side door. He had only one hand with which to try to ward her off. His other was tangled in her hair, its length and baby-fine texture suddenly an asset as it kept his fingers trapped. At the moment of impact her nails raked his neck, her teeth sank into his shoulder, her knees sought his genitals – and the door popped open, spewing them both out into the cornfield.

„Shit!“ he yelled as they fell. He landed on his back, his legs in the air, his feet still in the van. She landed with a thud atop him. At the moment of impact she jerked her right knee upward, hard, and thought, hoped, that it went home.

That one’s for you, Mother! she thought exultantly.

He gasped, jacknifed his knees to his chest, and rolled to his side, bringing down cornstalks as he went.

Summer was thrown clear, but he still had her by the hair.

„Aiiee-yaw!“ Launching herself toward him, screeching her intimidating
Fists of Fury
battle cry, she never even saw the blow to her chin that knocked her cold.

When she came to, she was lying on her back on the ground gazing up at a skyful of stars. Closer to earth but still far above her own head, tasseled corn stalks swayed in the breeze. The hum of the cicadas was punctuated with the less than melodic rhapsodizing of what sounded like a convention of amorous bullfrogs. An owl hooted in the distance.

Her head hurt. Her jaw hurt. Beneath her back, sharp little spears of snapped-off cornstalks stabbed her spine. The left cheek of her buttocks was being slowly pierced by a large, pointy rock. In comparison, the rock’s smaller fellows, positioned at random intervals beneath her body, were no more than minor discomforts. The cicada shells she barely noticed.

Hoping to escape the gouging of the large rock, she shifted her hips. Immediately Frankenstein’s monstrous countenance loomed over her, blocking out the night sky.

Unprepared, Summer shrieked. A hand clapped down over her mouth, pinning her to the ground when she would have scrambled up and back.

„Shut up, damn it,“ growled a too horribly familiar voice. Summer recognized the dulcet tones of her captor. The face was his, too. Trapped again.

Defeated, she surrendered her fate to God and chance, closed her eyes, and lay limply in her uncomfortable bed of rocks and cornstalks and bug bodies. If he was going to kill her, let him do it now. She wasn’t moving again.

The hand over her mouth cautiously lifted.

Summer didn’t so much as bat an eyelid.

Human silence stretched moments into an eternity.

Without warning, her left breast was grabbed and squeezed.

„Get off me!“ Outraged, Summer knocked his hand away, rocketed into a sitting position, and jerked herself backward on her rump. The still-running van behind her stopped her scoot to safety. Drawing her legs up to her chin, she glared at him.

Passively waiting for death was one thing, but submitting to sexual assault was something else.

„Thought that would get you,“ her captor said. He sounded smugly male, and all at once very normal. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground not three feet away, massaging his thigh again. Summer thought she detected an amused gleam in the single misshapen slit that was all she could see of his eyes, but with his features so distorted, it was hard to be certain.

In the dark, he was not quite so fearsome-looking. Probably because she couldn’t see him all that clearly, of course. In a bright light, his face would doubtless still make her want to scream and run. Still, she wasn’t as afraid of him as she had been at first. Maybe it was his barely discernible twinkle of amusement that had done it, or maybe it was because, for a few minutes there, they’d been allies as they’d raced away from goons with guns. Of course, there was always the possibility that she’d hit her head harder than she’d thought in the crash, and this puzzling lack of terror was the result of brain damage.

Whatever, it worked for her.

„Go to hell,“ she said with loathing. His swollen mouth quirked in what might – or might not, given the state of his face it was hard to tell – have been a fleeting, surprised smile. Her terror receded even farther.

„I’ve been, thanks. Now I’m back. Too many sewer-mouthed women there for me,“ he said. Summer didn’t reply, just eyed him evilly.

After a moment he spoke again. „Your friends back there didn’t seem too concerned about hitting you when they were shooting at me. Maybe you’d better think about that. At this point, a smart gal might consider switching sides. Come clean with me, and I’ll see what I can do for you.“

„I don’t know what in blazes you’re talking about.“
In blazes
was a phrase she frequendy used. She was certainly not moderating her language because of something
he
had said. Sewer-mouthed, indeed! Who cared what a monstrous-looking homicidal maniac thought?

„Sure you don’t.“

„Those men are not my friends.“

„Sure they’re not.“

„I never saw them before in my life.“

„Sure you haven’t.“

„Damn it, I’m telling the truth!“ See there? So much for moderating her language.

„Sure you are.“

„Who the hell are you, anyway?“ If she felt like swearing, she would.

He gave her a long look. „A cop. Kind of.“

„A
cop} Kind of?
What the hell is a kind of cop?“ Summer almost hooted in derision.

„A kind of cop is somebody that it’s bad news to mess with, lady. When you got involved with this bunch, you fell in with the wrong crowd. Know what happens to cop killers – or would-be cop killers – in the great state of Tennessee? One way or another, they wake up one morning dead.“

„Do you think that I – “ She broke off, rapidly reviewed the evidence, and concluded that maybe he was deranged and maybe he wasn’t, but there definitely had been three men shooting at him – no, at them. Something unsavory was going on, and, cop or not, he needed to know she was not a part of it. „I am not a cop killer. I am not a would-be cop killer. I am not even a would-be killer of a kind of cop. I am a janitor.“

„A
janitor?“

„Yes, a
janitor.
You know, somebody who cleans up after everybody else? A janitor. That’s me.“

There was a pause. „Bullshit.“

„It’s the truth. I own Daisy Fresh Janitorial Services, and I was just finishing up cleaning Harmon Brothers’ funeral home when I ran into you.“

„Bullshit.“

„I’m telling the truth,“ Summer insisted. „I haven’t the slightest idea what’s going on here – and I don’t think I want to know. Whatever you’re involved in, you can just include me out.“

„I asked you where the rest of the gang was and you knew just exactly what I was talking about. You even told me where they were. If you’re not involved in this, how’d you know they were out back?“

„It was a lucky guess.“

„Yeah, right.“

„It was. I swear it was. You scared me, and I told you what I thought you. wan ted to hear. I didn’t even know there
were
any men. I thought you were deranged. I was
humoring
you.“ Summer took a deep, calming breath. „Look at me. This is a janitor’s uniform, can’t you tell? My God, do you think any self-respecting woman would voluntarily run around town in a pair of black polyester pants and a white nylon blouse with a daisy embroidered on the pocket?“

There was a pause. „Let me see some I.D.“

„I don’t have any I.D. I left my purse – “

„At the funeral home. Locked inside. With your car keys. Yeah, I believe it. I’ll give you this, though: You think fast on your feet.“

„You can look me up in any phone book in town. My name’s in there, the name of my janitorial service is in there, and my voice is even on the answering machine if you want to call.“

„Good idea. I’ll just whip the old cellular out of my pocket and – oh, pardon me, these aren’t my pants. I left mine back at the funeral home, along with my phone. Locked inside the building. Just like your purse. And keys. Guess I can’t call and check out your story. What a shame.“

„There are dozens of pay phones in Murfreesboro. All you have to do is drive into town, stop at one, and put in a quarter.“

„Next time I feel real stupid, I might.“

„You could do it right now. The van’s right here.“

„
If
it still moves, which it may or may not, and
if
I wanted to chance starting the chase up again, I could do that. But I don’t have any intention of leaving here for a while yet. They didn’t see us run off the road.“

„How do you know?“

„Because if they had, your friends would be all over us by now.“

„They’re not my friends. I keep telling you that.“

„And I keep not believing you. Guess I’m not a very trusting sort by nature.“

„If you’re a cop, you’re not going to kill me.“ Summer was thinking aloud. The knowledge burst in her brain like a rocket on the Fourth of July. She felt almost giddy as relief sent her spirits soaring skyward. „I’m out of here.“

She stood up, then was forced to lean against the van as the sudden movement made her dizzy.

„Oh no you’re not.“ His hand shot out, fastening around her ankle like a shackle. „You’re under arrest.“

„What?“

„You heard me: You’re under arrest.“

„I’m under
arrest?
You can’t arrest me!“

„I just did.“

„You can’t! I haven’t done anything! Besides, you’re just a kind of cop, if you’re even telling the truth about that, which I doubt, and I don’t think being a kind of cop, whatever that means, gives you the power to arrest anybody. What is a kind of cop, anyway? Sort of like a rent-a-cop? They have those at K mart at Christmas. To direct traffic. Or is a kind of cop more like a security guard? They can’t arrest people, either.“

„Jesus, are you finished? I’m a cop, okay? Just a cop. And you’re under arrest.“

„I don’t believe you.“ She scowled down at him. „Show me some I.D.“

„Funny.“ They both knew the answer to that one.

„I don’t believe you’re a cop at all.“

„I don’t believe you’re a janitor, so we’re even.“

„Let go of my leg!“

„Make me.“

Summer took a deep breath. „If you’re a cop, I’m going to file a complaint. You held a scalpel to my throat. You punched me in the face. You grabbed my breast. You scared the daylights out of me. You’ll be in so much trouble you’ll never get out of it.“