Mad River Road (2 page)

As if she was in any position to look down that pretty little upturned nose at anyone, he thought now, his eyes growing comfortable with the darkness, so that he was able to trace the outlines of the small sectional sofa and glass coffee table that occupied the center of the room. You had to hand it to her—she’d done a nice job with the place. What was it everybody always said about her? She had flair. Yeah, that was it. Flair. If only she’d been able to cook worth a damn, he scoffed, remembering those awful vegetarian concoctions she’d tried to pass off as dinner. Hell, even prison food was better than that god-awful crap. No wonder she’d never been able to find herself a man.

Not that he didn’t have his suspicions about that either.

He walked into the tiny dining area adjoining the living room, ran the palms of his hands across the tops of several of the high-backed, fabric-covered chairs grouped around the oval glass table. Lots of glass in this place, he noted with a smile, flexing his fingers inside his tight latex gloves. He wasn’t about to leave behind any telltale prints.

Who said he was always going off half-cocked? Who said he didn’t have a plan?

He glanced toward the kitchen on his right and thought of checking out the fridge, maybe even grabbing
a beer, if she still kept any around. Probably didn’t, now that he was no longer a regular visitor. He’d been the only one of their crowd who ever drank the stuff. The others clung stubbornly to their Chardonnay or Merlot, or whatever the hell garbage it was they insisted on drinking. It all tasted the same to him—vaguely vinegarish and metallic. It always gave him a headache. Or maybe it was the company that had given him the headaches. He shrugged, remembering the hooded looks they’d shot one another when they thought he wasn’t looking. He’s just a passing fancy, those looks said. Amusing in small doses. Full of facile charm. Grin and bear him. He won’t be around long enough for it to matter.

Except he was.

And it did.

And now I’m back, he thought, a cruel smirk tugging at the corners of his full lips.

A wayward strand of long brown hair fell across his forehead and into his left eye. He pushed it impatiently aside, tucking it behind his ear, and headed down the narrow hallway toward the bedroom at the back of the tidy bungalow. He passed the closet-size room where she practiced her yoga and meditation, catching a whiff of leftover incense that emanated from the walls like a fresh coat of paint. His smirk widened. For someone who worked so hard to stay calm, she was surprisingly high-strung, always ready to argue some obscure point, to take offense where none was intended, to jump down his throat at the slightest provocation. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed provoking her.

Her bedroom door was open, and from the hallway, he could make out the shape of her narrow hip beneath the
thin white cotton blanket. He wondered if she was naked underneath that blanket, and what he might do if she was. Not that he was at all interested in her that way. She was a little too toned, a little too brittle for his tastes, as if, with the slightest degree of pressure, she might break apart in his hands. He liked his women softer, meatier, more vulnerable. He liked something you could grab onto, something you could dig your teeth into. Still, if she was naked …

She wasn’t. He could see the blue-and-white cotton stripes of her pajama top as soon as he stepped inside the room. Wouldn’t you just know she’d be wearing men’s pajamas? he thought. Shouldn’t be surprised. She’d always dressed more like a guy than a girl.
Woman
, he heard her correct as he approached the queen-size bed. Fit for a queen, he thought, staring down at her. Except that she didn’t look so queenly now, curled into a semifetal position on her left side, her normally tanned skin pale with sleep, chin-length dark hair plastered across the side of her right cheek, and straying into her partially opened mouth.

If only she’d learned to keep that big mouth shut.

Maybe he’d be visiting someone else tonight.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have had to visit anyone at all.

The last year might never have happened.

Except, of course, it had happened, he thought, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides. And it had happened largely because old Gracie here couldn’t keep her stupid thoughts and opinions to herself. She was the instigator, the agitator, the one who’d turned everyone against him. Everything that happened had been her fault. It was only fitting that tonight she be the one to make things right again.

He looked toward the window on the other side of the bedroom, saw the sliver of moon winking at him from between the slats of the white California shutters. Outside, the wind was painting the night with a surreal brush, combining disparate colors and surfaces; inside all was still and serene. He wondered for an instant whether he should leave without disturbing her. Probably he could find what he was looking for without having to wake her. Most likely the information he sought was secreted in one of the side drawers of the antique oak desk that was squeezed into the corner between the window and the dresser. Or maybe it was stored safely inside her laptop computer. Either way, he knew everything he wanted was within easy grasp. All he had to do was reach out and take it, then disappear into the night without anyone being the wiser.

But what fun would there be in that?

He slipped his right hand inside the pocket of his jeans, felt the hardness of the knife’s handle against his fingers. For now the blade was tucked safely inside its wood casing. He’d release it when the time was right. But first, there was much to do. Might as well get this show on the road, he decided, lowering himself gingerly to the bed, his hip grazing hers as the mattress slumped to accommodate him. Instinctively, her body rotated slightly to the left, her head lolling toward him. “Hey, Gracie,” he cooed, his voice as soft as fur. “Time to wake up, Gracie-girl.”

A low groan escaped her throat, but she didn’t move.

“Gracie,” he said again, louder this time.

“Mmn,” she mumbled, her eyes remaining stubbornly closed.

She knows I’m here, he thought. She’s just playing with me. “Gracie,” he barked.

Her eyes shot open.

And then everything seemed to happen at once. She was awake and screaming as she struggled to sit up, the horrible catlike wail assaulting his ears, then racing wildly around the room. Instinctively, his hand reached out to silence her, his fingers wrapping tightly around her neck, her screams turning to whimpers beneath the growing pressure on her larynx. She gasped for air as he lifted her effortlessly with one arm and pinned her to the wall behind the bed.

“Shut up,” he ordered as her toes struggled to maintain contact with the bed, her hands scratching at his gloves in a fruitless effort to free herself from his stubborn grasp. “Are you going to shut up?”

Her eyes widened.

“What was that?”

He felt her trying to croak out a response, but all she could manage was a ruptured cry.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, slowly releasing his grip, and watching her slide down the wall and back onto her pillow. He chuckled as she collapsed in a crumpled heap, struggling to gulp air back into her lungs. The top of her pajamas had ridden halfway up her back, and he could make out the individual vertebrae of her spine. It would be so easy to just snap that spine in two, he thought, savoring the image as he reached over to grab a handful of her hair, then yanking her head around so that she had no choice but to look at him. “Hello, Gracie,” he said, watching for the disdainful twitch of her nose. “What’s the matter? Did I wake you in the middle of a good dream?”

She said nothing, simply stared at him through eyes clouded with fear and disbelief.

“Surprised to see me, are you?”

Her eyes darted toward the bedroom door.

“I think I’d get that thought right out of my head,” he said calmly. “Unless, of course, you want to make me really angry.” He paused. “You remember what I’m like when I’m really angry. Don’t you, Gracie?”

She lowered her eyes.

“Look at me.” Again he tugged at her hair, so that her head was stretched back against the top of her spine and her Adam’s apple pushed against her throat like a fist.

“What do you want?” Her voice emerged as a hoarse whisper.

His response was to pull even harder on her hair. “Did I say you could speak? Did I?”

She tried shaking her head, but his grip on her hair was too tight.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He let go of her hair and her head fell to her chest, as if she’d been guillotined. She was crying now, which surprised him. He hadn’t expected tears. At least not yet. “So, how’s everything been?” he asked, as if this was the most normal of questions. “You can answer,” he said when she failed to respond.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said after a long pause.

“I asked you how everything’s been,” he repeated. “You gotta know the answer to that one.”

“Everything’s been fine.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Please. I can’t.…”

“Sure you can. It’s called conversation, Gracie. It goes something like this: I say something and then you say something. If I ask you a question, you answer it. If you
don’t answer it to my satisfaction, well, then, I’m going to have to hurt you.”

An involuntary cry escaped her throat.

“So, my first question to you was ‘How’s everything been?’ and I believe your answer was a rather unimaginative ‘Fine,’ and then I said, ‘How so?’ And now, it’s your turn.” He lowered himself to the bed, leaned in toward her. “Dazzle me.” She was staring at him, as if he’d taken complete leave of his senses. He’d seen that look many times before. It never failed to make him angry.

“I don’t know what to say.”

He detected a hint of defiance creeping into the corners of her voice but decided to ignore it for the time being. “Well, okay. Let’s start with work. How’s that going?”

“It’s okay.”

“Just okay? I thought you loved teaching.”

“I’m on a sabbatical this year.”

“A sabbatical? No kidding. Bet you think I don’t know what that means.”

“I never thought you were stupid, Ralph.”

“No? Could have fooled me.”

“What are you doing here?”

He smiled, then slapped her with such force she fell back against her pillow. “Did I say it was your turn to ask questions? No, I don’t believe I did. Sit up,” he shouted as she buried her face in her hands. “Did you hear me? Don’t make me tell you again, Gracie.”

She pushed herself back into a sitting position, her fingers trembling in front of her now red cheek, any trace of her earlier defiance erased by the palm of his hand.

“Oh, and don’t call me Ralph. Never did like that name. I changed it as soon as I got out of prison.”

“They let you out?” she muttered, then winced and pulled back, as if trying to shield herself from further blows.

“Had to. Can’t begin to tell you how many of my rights it turns out had been violated.” He smiled, remembering. “My lawyer called what happened to me a real travesty of justice, and those judges he appealed to, well, they had no choice but to agree with him. Now, where were we? Oh, yeah. Your sabbatical. That’s pretty boring. I guess I don’t need to hear any more about that. What about your love life?”

She shook her head.

“What does that mean? You don’t have a love life, or you don’t want to tell me about it?”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re not seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

She said nothing, glanced toward the window.

“Storm’s coming,” he said. “Nobody else is though.” He smiled the boyish grin he used to practice for hours in front of the mirror, the one that had always been guaranteed to get him into the pants of any girl he wanted. No matter how much they protested, they just couldn’t resist that smile for very long. Of course Gracie had always been impervious to his charms. He’d smile at her, and she’d just stare right through him, as if he didn’t even exist. “When was the last time you got laid, Gracie-girl?”

Immediately, her body tensed, recoiled.

“I mean, you’re a reasonably attractive woman. And you’re young. Although you’re not getting any younger, are you? How old are you anyway, Gracie-girl?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Is that right? You’re older than me? I never knew that.” He shook his head in mock wonderment. “Bet there’s lots about you I don’t know.” He reached over, unbuttoned the top button of her pajamas.

“Don’t,” she said without moving.

He opened the second button. “Don’t what?” Not even a
please
, he thought. Typical.

“You don’t want to do this.”

“What’s the matter, Gracie? Don’t think I’m good enough for you?” He ripped off the remaining buttons with an almost effortless tug, then pulled her toward him by both halves of her collar. “You know what I think, Gracie? I think you don’t think any man is good enough for you. I think I need to show you the error of your ways.”

“No, look, this is crazy. You’ll go back to jail. You don’t want that. You’ve been given a second chance. You’re a free man. Why would you want to jeopardize that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you look so darn cute in those little dyke pajamas.”

“Please. It’s not too late. You can still walk out of here.…”

“Or maybe because if it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have spent the last twelve months of my life in jail.”

“You can’t blame me for what happened.…”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because I had nothing to do with it.”

“Really? You didn’t poison anyone’s mind against me?”

“I didn’t have to.”

“No, you didn’t
have
to. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? And look what happened. I lost everything. My job. My family. My freedom.”

“And you had nothing to do with any of that,” she stated bitterly, that pesky note of defiance once again creeping into her voice.

“Oh, I’m not saying I’m altogether blameless. I have a temper. I’ll admit that. Sometimes it can get a little out of hand.”

“You beat her, Ralph. Day in, day out. Every time I saw her, she was covered in fresh bruises.”