Once Upon a Halloween (6 page)

    He shrugged.

    Eleanor laughed. "My, what a good boy you are."

    He glared at her.

    "A virgin."

    "None of your business."

    "I'd be glad to
make
it my business." Reaching down, she squeezed him gently through the front of his jeans.

    He smacked her hand away.

    She chuckled. "Was that a nice thing to do?"

    "Just keep your hands off."

    "That isn't what you
really
want. What you really want..." Going silent, she started to unbuckle his belt.

    "Stop it," he said.

    She undid the button at the waist of his jeans.

    "Don't. I'm warning you."

    "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

    As she fumbled with the tab of his zipper, he made a fist of his left hand and slammed it into the side of her face. Her head snapped sideways, spit flying. She staggered back a few steps, then crashed to the floor.

    The impact jolted Eleanor's entire body and seemed to shake the room.

    
What if Bryce and Simone heard that?

    

    

    Hunter heard no sounds from downstairs.

    Doesn't mean they're gone, he thought. Maybe they're sneaking up the stairs right now.

    He looked at Eleanor. She was sprawled on her back, her eyes shut, face puffy and bloody from her earlier beating, her chest slowly rising and falling as if she were asleep. He supposed she was out cold.

    Not bad for a left hook, he thought. Wait'll I tell Dad.

    Won't be telling him anything if I don't get out of this alive.

    He didn't think Eleanor was faking it. But how long would she be out? In the movies and on television shows, the villains seemed to stay knocked out for quite a while. But he'd seen televised boxing matches, too. Guys who got K.O.ed in the ring usually woke up in a matter of seconds.

    He still held the sword in his right hand.

    
I could kill her right now - before she comes to.

    Many times, when talking to his friends about movies, he'd complained about characters who refused to finish off the villain in situations exactly like this. Sooner or later, the creep they'd spared would come after them again. No gratitude, nothing, And they always ended up killing him anyway.

    Dumb movie crap.

    Eleanor moaned. She turned her head slightly.

    
Finish her off?

    He stood there, staring down at her, the sword high and ready to strike.

    Do it, he told himself. You're always whining they should do it in scenes like this. So
do
it!

    He hesitated.

    If I do it, he thought, she'll really be dead.

    She's unconscious. She's unarmed.

    
Unarmed? Hell, she's naked!

    And beautiful.

    You can't just finish off a beautiful naked woman who's out cold on the floor, no matter what she might've done or tried to do. No matter how "smart" it might be.

    
If she makes a try for me...

    She moaned and moved a little more, like someone half awake but not yet ready to open her eyes and struggle out of bed.

    Hunter ran from the room. He leaned out over the railing and looked down the stairway. Nobody there.

    
They're gone. They won't be coming up.

    Probably took Shannon and Laura with them - for that ceremony - or left them dead in the house.

    He suddenly realized that the bottom of the stairs was only a few strides away from the front door. If Bryce and Simone were actually gone, Hunter himself could be out the door in a matter of seconds.

    Or maybe take a few seconds longer, he thought, and check around for Shannon and Laura. Make sure they're gone... or don't need an ambulance.

    
But what about Eleanor?

    He turned and looked into the room. She was still on the floor.

    
Not a chance in hell she'll catch me if I run right now.

    His getaway would be a sure thing, bill so would hers.

    Before I do
anything,
he thought, I've gotta take her out of the game.

    So he turned away from the railing and hurried back into the room.

    Eleanor no longer seemed to be stirring at all. She lay on her back, arms and legs outstretched, eyes shut, breathing slowly as if asleep.

    
Now
maybe she's faking it, Hunter thought.

    "If you try anything," he said, "I'll cut your head off."

    She didn't react at all.

    Maybe she
isn't
faking.

    He knelt in front of her feet, gently set the sword on the floor, then reached out with both hands and took hold of her ankles.

    
Don't look at her there.

    Why not? She's out cold. Nobody'll ever know.

    
It isn't right.

    He shifted his eyes aside, pulled at her ankles and slid her legs together. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her belt on the floor. Its leather sheath, its knife.

    It wasn't near enough to reach from where he was kneeling, so he pulled his own belt out of its loops and used it to bind Eleanor's ankles together. When they were tightly wrapped, he fastened the buckle.

    She still seemed to be unconscious.

    And about half the threat she'd been before, now that her feet were strapped together.

    Hunter crawled over to Eleanor's belt. On his knees, he swung it around his waist. It was long enough. With the big, sheathed knife at his right hip, he fastened the buckle.

    Then he looked around for something he might use to bind her hands.

    Dozens of weird paintings throughout the room, a couple of easels with canvases on them, a stool, a box of paint on a small table... several lamps.

    How about a lamp cord?

    As a kid, he'd sometimes been tied up with electrical cords. He and his friends, playing games that often included being taken captive, had used whatever they could find: belts, cords, rags, tape, twine, ropes. Clothesline worked best. Tape could be pretty good, too, if you had the right kind and plenty of it. Most electrical cords weren't very good - too stiff. It was nearly impossible to pull the knots tight enough to hold someone. To get loose, all you usually had to do was shove the cords inward toward the knot.

    Hunter seemed to recall noticing a lot of rope recently. But where?

    Downstairs.

    When he'd first seen Eleanor charging across the living room like a demented savage, a big coil of rope had been hanging around her neck, flopping against her chest.

    She didn't have it now. Must've left it downstairs before coming up to search for him.

    Is it down there now?

    Maybe. Or maybe the others had used it to tie Shannon and Laura before taking them away for the ceremony.

    I hope they
are
tied with it, Hunter thought. If they're tied up, they aren't dead.

    Regardless of where Eleanor's rope might be, it wasn't where he needed it. The electrical cords, however, were right here in the room with him.

    Apparently, Laura used several different types of lamps to illuminate her canvases or subjects. All the lamps were dark at the moment, the room lighted by an overhead fixture.

    Hunter puked up the sword and rose to his feel.

    Eleanor still seemed to be unconscious.

    He walked toward the nearest lamp, crouched beside it and jerked its plug out of the wall. The cord was about six feet long. Long enough. With the sword, he cut off the cord at the base of the lamp.

    He would need both hands free for tying Eleanor, so he set the sword down on the floor. Better to leave it over here, well out of her reach, than to keep it near him.

    Besides, he thought, I've got her knife.

    He returned to Eleanor's side and stared down at her. She still looked like someone asleep.

    How am I supposed to tie her hands together, he wondered, with her arms stretched out like this?

    Have to bring them together.

    
Without waking her up?

    He gave some thought to the matter, then squatted by Eleanor's right arm. He made a slip-knot near an end of the cord. With one hand, he lifted Eleanor's wrist. With the other, he put the loop around it. As he pushed at the loose, stiff knot, tightening the loop around Eleanor's wrist, the doorbell rang.

    
No!

    Eleanor moaned softly.

    Faint, muffled voices called, "Trick or treat!"

    Eleanor's head turned slowly to her right.

    The doorbell rang again and again and again and Eleanor opened her eyes.

    Hunter shoved the slip-knot tight against her wrist.

    "Don't...!" he blurted.

    She jerked her arm away from him. Hunter held on to the cord, but she sat up very fast and reached for the belt around her ankles.

    Hunter tugged the cord. Her right arm flew toward him, but her left hand continued to pluck at the belt buckle.

    Still on his knees, he hauled back on the cord with both hands and all his weight, pulling Eleanor's trapped hand toward him. Her free hand lost its hold on the belt and her whole body came sideways in his direction.

    Shuffling backward, he would've fallen but the cord kept him up like a tow line. Finding his balance, he got to his feet, pulling on the cord, keeping it taut, keeping Eleanor's arm stretched toward him.

    She hurled herself at him - awkward with her feet bound together - but Hunter rushed backward, tugging the cord, and she fell hard onto her right side.

    "Quit it," he gasped. "Give it up."

    She made another lunge at him. Again, he dodged her and pulled the cord and she fell and landed hard.

    Then she lay there, curled on her side, sweaty, panting for air, fresh blood spilling from her nostrils and the cut on her belly.

    "I just wanta... tie you up," Hunter gasped. "Just... let me tie you. Or I'll have to... hurt you worse."

    She nodded slightly. Then her left arm moved slowly over the carpet. She lifted it and eased it down, resting it on top of her right arm, wrist to bound wrist.

    "Thanks," Hunter said.

    On his knees, he quickly wrapped the cord around both her wrists, wound it around them and between them until most of the cord was used up, then tucked its plug into the bundle to keep it all from coming apart.

    "Okay," he said.

    Eleanor rolled onto her back, arms overhead, legs straight out and tight together. She was flushed and sweaty. Her short blond hair lay wet and curly against her head and face. She breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath.

    Hunter stood up. He was out of breath, himself. Sweat was trickling down his face and the back of his neck. His open shirt was sticking to his back. His undershirts were soaked and clinging. Raising, an arm, he wiped his face with a sleeve of his shirt.

    Then he walked over to the sword and picked it up. He took it over to where Eleanor was stretched on her back. Looking down at her, he said, "Stay put. I'll be right back."

    Blinking her wet red eyes, she nodded.

    Hunter left the room. He took a few strides down the hall, then stopped. After counting slowly to twenty, he hurried back to I he doorway.

    Eleanor looked as if she hadn't moved.

    She stared into his eyes.

    "Just checking," he said.

    "Yeah."

    "Right back," he told her.

    When he left this time, he headed for the stairs.

    

    

    They stopped at an intersection. Jeff looked to the right and left. In both directions, houses lined the street. Fewer groups of trick ‹›i treaters were roaming about. "Too early to go home?" he asked.

    "Maybe not for an old coot like you," Phyllis said.

    Jeff laughed. Just once, he would like to hurt her. "Or we can keep on going," he suggested.

    "Keep going," Mandy said. "It's way too early to quit."

    Phyllis smirked at him. "If
you
want to quit, we can go on without you."

    "Cannot," said Bret.

    
"My
kids don't go trick or treating without adult supervision," Jeff explained. "Of course,
you're
free to do as you wish."

    Mandy scowled.
"Daaad."

    "Or feel free to stay with us. We're certainly glad to have you along."

    
"Some
of us, maybe," Bret said.

    "Bite me," Phyllis suggested.

    Bret laughed.

    She gave him the linger. "Spin on it."

    Mandy simply rolled her eyes and shook her head, her pony tail swinging from side to side.

    "Okay," Jeff said. "Let's get this show on the road. Which way do we want to go, right or left? Makes no difference to me."

    The bickering stopped and the three kids turned, inspecting both directions.

    "More lighted houses that way," Mandy said, pointing to the right. With a nod to the left, she said, "Look at all those dark ones over there. They'll be a waste of time. Nobody's going to answer the door at
any
of 'em."

    "You never know," Phyllis protested. "Maybe they're just trying to look spooky."

    "Nah. Nobody's home. Or they're home but hate kids."

    "They just hate Phyllis," Bret piped in.

    Jeff managed not to laugh.