SERIAL UNCUT (5 page)

The man's eyes sparkled. "I remember mine
like it was yesterday. I'd give anything to go back and do it again
for the first time." He reached his hand out. "I'm Orson."

She shook it.

He looked around the room. "So our friend in
the shower. Who is he?"

"
A writer."

"
Oh, shit. What's his name?"
"Mark Darling."

"
Never heard of him."

She pointed to the box of books. "Those are
his books over there."

Orson went over to the box and lifted a
book, flipped through it, glanced at the back. "This is his first
novel. That's good."

"
Why?"

"
No one here probably knows who he is,
so he won't be missed. Come on, where's your stuff?"

"
Over there. Why?"

"
Pack it up. You're coming with
me."

"
No."

"
You can't stay in here,
Lucy."

"
I'm not leaving with you."

"
Listen. Did you have fun cutting
Mark's throat, rolling around in his blood?"

"
Yeah."

"
You want to have the opportunity to
do it again?"

"
Yeah."

"
Then you better listen to me. If you
get caught in this hotel room with that dead man, they're going to
lock you up."

"
But I'm not even
eighteen."

Orson walked over to the side of the bed and
sat down next to Lucy. "Look at me." She stared up at him. "I've
been doing this a lot longer than you. If you were smart, you'd do
what I say, maybe even learn a little something."

"
How many people have you
killed?"

"
Enough to know we need to get out of
this room right now."

She followed Orson down the hallway to the
first room past the ice machine.

"
It's a two-room suite," he said as he
opened the door and let her in. "My friend's next door sleeping, so
let's not disturb him. I think this sofa folds out into a
bed."

She dropped her guitar case on the floor and
helped Orson unfold the sofa sleeper. Orson swiped a blanket from
his bed and tossed it to Lucy.

"
Now I have to be honest," he said.
"I'm a little worried you might want to cut my throat while I'm
sleeping."

"
I won't," she said.

"
Why don't you give me your straight
razor just to be on the safe side."

"
You don't believe me?"

"
I don't know you, Lucy."

She lay awake for a long time thinking how
tomorrow was the last day of the conference, and in some ways, the
first day of the rest of her life. She wasn't going home. She knew
that. After Darling, how could she go back to geometry and biology
and being a teenage girl in a suburban home? She could feel this
stunning blackness flooding into her. It was filling her up so fast
she could barely sleep, barely keep her eyes closed. She needed to
see more blood. And soon.

She never slept. When the light began to
push through the curtains, she sat up on the sofa and looked over
at Orson on the bed, watching the man's chest rise and fall,
thinking how he'd been smart to take the razor from her. Nothing
would've made her happier than to slide the blade across his neck,
maybe even taste his blood, let it run down her throat. She
should've tasted Darling's. She imagined it would be so rich and
even better than the wine her mother sometimes let her sip. Oh,
well. Next time.

She rode down in the elevator with Orson and
his friend, Luther, a tall, pale-faced man with long, black hair
who was seriously creeping her out. He kept watching her with his
big black eyes that held such an intensity she wasn't sure she ever
wanted to see them alone.

They ate breakfast downstairs, the three of
them sitting at a table in a corner, and the fourth time she caught
him staring at her, Lucy couldn't help herself.

"
Take a picture, dude. It'll last
longer."

Orson looked up from his bacon and eggs.
"What's wrong?"

"
Why does your friend keep staring at
me like that? It's weird."

Orson grinned and glanced at Luther, then
back at Lucy. He leaned toward her and whispered. "He wants to kill
you, Lucy."

She felt a coldness spill inside her
gut.

"
Why?"

"
It's what he does. He can't help
himself. He's sitting there imagining draining you in our bathtub.
But don't worry. I've told him you're off-limits. Told him you
might even be one of us."

She glared at Luther. "You don't scare
me."

He said. "You look like you're scared,
little girl."

"
Oh, you can read my thoughts? Well,
if you could, you'd know I'm thinking how pretty your dark blood
would look running out of your snow-white neck."

Orson laughed out loud. "Isn't she
great?"

Lucy hadn't averted her eyes from Luther,
soaking in the psychotic malevolence.

"
All right, listen," Orson said. "I
think we're all a little hard-up for some fun. I had an idea while
I was falling asleep last night. Darling's room is already a wreck.
Why don't we all,
together
,
find someone to take there this afternoon?"

Lucy's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"
Yeah, we'll go right after Andrew
Thomas's speech." Orson smiled. "I wouldn't want to miss that." He
looked at Luther. "What do you think? You brought your toolbox,
right?"

Luther smiled, and it was the scariest thing
Lucy had ever seen.

For some reason, Orson didn't want to sit on
the front row for Andrew Thomas's speech, so Lucy sat by herself,
her heart pumping as the man walked up onto the stage.

She stood with the rest of the crowd and
applauded the guest of honor, then sat with rapt attention as
Andrew read an excerpt from a work in progress, one of the most
gruesome and awesome things Lucy had ever heard.

The book was called
The Passenger
, a horror novel about
an unnamed, psychopathic hitchhiker who travels around the country
getting free rides from people, then robbing and killing them most
horribly. In the section Andrew read, the Passenger ties a man to
the back of his own car and drags him down the highway for five
miles.

The signing line stretched all the way
around the bookroom. The eight books in Lucy's arms were heavy, and
by the time she got close to the table, her muscles were beginning
to cramp.

She couldn't take her eyes off of Andrew as
he signed books and made small talk with the fans. When it was
finally her turn, she set her stack of books on the table and
smiled and reached out her hand.

"
Mr. Thomas, I am your biggest fan.
I've read everything you ever wrote. I'm Lucy. I love what you read
today. Will you sign my books?"

He shook her hand and smiled. "Of
course."

"
Um, I'm sorry, Mr. Thomas can only
sign three books." Lucy looked at the woman standing behind the
writer, a large woman in a horrific dress who looked like a
librarian.

"
But I want all of them
signed."

The woman pursed her lips. "If everyone
brought eight books, we'd be here until Christmas."

"
But everyone didn't bring eight
books. Most only brought one."

"
Pick three. You're holding up the
line."

Lucy glanced down at Andrew, flashed her
puppy dog eyes.

"
Margie, I think it's okay to make one
exception," he said, grabbing the top book on Lucy's pile and
opening it to the cover page. As he looked down to sign, Lucy stuck
her tongue out at Margie.

"
So are you in high school, Lucy?" he
asked as he went through the books.

"
I'm in
10
^th
grade."

"
Excellent. I think you might be the
youngest person here."

"
When is
The
Passenger
coming out?" she asked.

"
Probably next year."

"
I can't wait to read it." As he
signed the last book, she said, "Look, would you maybe like to get
a cup of coffee after this? I'd just love to talk with you a little
more."

He smiled and pushed her stack of books
toward her. "I'd love to Lucy, but I'm actually flying back to
North Carolina in about two hours."

"
Oh."

"
It was great to meet you."

Lucy lifted her stack of books and headed
out of the book room. She might have cried if she didn't have
something else to look forward to.

"
What about her?" Lucy
said.

"
No, I know who that is," Orson said.
"She's a pretty well-known cozy writer. She'd never go for
it."

Lucy was sitting between Orson and Luther on
a sofa at the edge of the hotel bar, the conference booklet open
across her lap. Every writer in attendance was pictured in the
booklet, along with a brief bio. It made the hunting so much
easier.

"
I see a possibility," Luther
said.

"
Where?"

"
Guy standing alone at the corner of
the bar, looking around, talking to nobody."

"
Gotcha. Can you read his
nametag?"

"
No. Too far." Luther stood up and
pushed his way through the crowd, passing within several feet of
the mark. He circled back around and sat down on the couch again,
said, "Richard Bryson."

Lucy flipped through the booklet and
found the man's picture and bio. She read it aloud: "Richard Bryson
is not only the author of
Against the
Law
, a thriller about a corrupt police force, but the
publisher as well. He is currently working on a new
book."

"
Perfect," Orson said. "Luther, head
on up. We'll be there in ten."

Orson sat with Lucy after Luther had left,
watching Bryson drink his beer alone.

"
All right, Lucy, tell me how you'd
get this man we've never met up to our hotel room."

"
Um, I'd tell him we have a party
going on and invite him to come."

"
Okay. If some person you'd never met
invited you up to their hotel room, would you go?"

"
I don't know."

"
The answer is no. You wouldn't.
Listen, look at me. You're small and young, you have no physical
strength, so if you want to do this, over and over and over again,
without getting caught or killed, you have to be smart."

She rolled her eyes. He was sounding a
little like her mother.

"
Oh, am I boring you? Get the fuck out
of here then, you little brat."

"
You're not. I'm sorry."

"
I'm trying to help you. So tell me.
How would you get Bryson up to our hotel room?"

"
I don't know."

"
You ready to learn
something?"

"
Yes."

"
Vanity. Know what that
is?"

She nodded. "When you're in love with
yourself."

"
Exactly. We're all in love with
ourselves. It's our weakness. Our main failing. If you can play on
that, if you can appeal to someone's vanity without them knowing
you're doing it, you can get them to do anything you
want."

"
I don't understand."

Orson stood up. "Follow me. Keep your mouth
shut. And watch and learn."

She followed Orson through the throng of
people, stood behind him as he leaned his elbows on the bar and
waited for the bartender to notice him.

After a minute, Orson began to look around,
and when his eyes fell upon Richard Bryson standing right beside
him, Lucy saw a huge smile break across Orson's face.

He said, "Oh my God, you're Richard
Bryson!"

As the man glanced over at Orson, Lucy got
her first decent look at him. He seemed old as shit to her, at
least fifty. His coarse blond hair was long and wavy and on the
verge of turning gray, and he had what she thought was a gross
mustache.

The man gave a skeptical smile that belied
insecurity and said, "Um, yeah, who are you?"

"
Well, for starters, I'm a huge fan
of
Against the Law
. I thought
it was the best book I've read this year."

"
Oh, well thank you. You know, I just
made it available as an ebook."

"
A what?"

"
An electronic book. I put it up on my
website as a free download."

"
Oh, neat."

Oh stupid
,
Lucy thought.
Like people would ever want
to read books on an electronic screen.

"
Ebooks are going to be the future of
publishing. I'm sure of it."

"
Are you working on a new book?" Orson
asked.

"
Yeah, I am actually." Orson was
right. Lucy saw Bryson beginning to come alive as he talked about
himself.

"
Can you tell me anything about it?"
Orson asked.

"
Well, it's a sequel to
Against the Law
."

"
Oh, fantastic."

"
You know how Rodriguez died at the
end?"

"
Yeah, sure. That was so
heartbreaking."