Resurrection Dreams (27 page)

“I took the opportunity to clean myself up some. At the kitchen sink.”

He still had the dark smudge of a bruise on his forehead. It must’ve been coated with soot before he washed. He’d probably had some of the stuff on his hands, too, from when he pulled Charlie off her at the bottom of the river.

“How about that drink?” she asked.

“What are you having?”

She shrugged. “Why don’t we go out to the kitchen? We’ll have a look around and see what looks good.”

He stood up, holding onto the towel. When he was on his feet, he tightened the towel’s tuck at his hip. “This is a…somewhat compromising attire,” he said, a sheepish look on his face.

Vicki smiled and found herself relieved by his embarrassment. “What’s it compromising?”

“My modesty?”

“I don’t know, it covers more of you than your shorts did.”

“Doesn’t feel that way,” he said, and followed her into the kitchen.

His blue shorts were spread flat on the counter by the sink. “I’ll go ahead and throw them in the drier,” Vicki suggested.

“Aah, don’t bother.”

“You want to climb into damp pants when you’re ready to go home? It’s no trouble, really.” She pulled the moist leather belt out of the loops and picked up the shorts. Something jangled. “You’d better empty your pockets,” she said. As she swung the shorts toward Jack, his briefs dropped out of a leg hole. He ducked and made a one-handed grab for them while he clutched the towel at his waist. Missed. Then snatched them off the floor and wadded them. But not fast enough to prevent Vicki from seeing that they were bikinistyle and bright red.

Only slightly brighter red than his face.

Amused, Vicki almost said, “Snazzy.” But that would probably just fluster him more. “They’re only drawers,” she said.

“Yeah,” he muttered, and took the shorts from her. He removed a key case, checked the other pockets, and looked around as if searching for the drier.

“It’s out back,” Vicki explained.

“I’ll go with you.” He rolled his shorts up, deftly planting the briefs inside so that Vicki didn’t get another glimpse of them, and cradled the bundle against his belly.

He’s awfully self-conscious about those things, she thought as she opened the back door and stepped outside. The concrete patio felt cool under her bare feet.

I’d sure be embarrassed if mine fell on the floor in front of him.

A hot sick feeling suddenly pulsed through Vicki as she was hit by the memory of Charlie ripping her panties off.

It’s all right, she told herself. It’s over.

She felt the grass, wet and soft on the bottoms of her feet, wisps of it sliding between her toes as she crossed the lawn.

We made it out of there. We’re at Ace’s, now. I’m safe. Jack’s safe. Charlie’s far away.

She pictured him under the water, a maimed shape blacker than the river’s darkness, still searching the depths for her, still clinging to the flimsy torn rag.

Don’t think about him, she told herself. It’s over.

Over, sure.

You think you had nightmares before?

Nightmares, I can handle. It’s the real-life shit that’s getting hard to take.

She opened the laundry room door, felt the trapped heat wash over her, and flicked the light on. Jack followed her inside.

“Cozy,” he said.

“Hot as a huncher,” Vicki said, borrowing Ace’s language—and with it, some of Ace’s bravado. She walked past the enclosure of the spare toilet, past the washing machine and tubs, and pressed a button to open the door of the frontloading drier. Even before she looked inside, she remembered that she had forgotten to take her laundry out. Laughing softly, she crouched down to remove her things. “I saw yours, now you see mine.”

“Good. I’ll feel a lot better.”

Into the laundry basket at her side she tossed washcloths, towels, socks, a sundress, shorts, blouses, her bikini, a skirt, panties and bras of every color.

When the drum was empty, Jack handed his rolled shorts to her. She shook them open inside the drier, watched his briefs flop out, then shut the door, straightened up, and started the machine.

Jack picked up the basket.

“Oh, you can leave that here.”

“No problem. You just lead the way in case I lose my towel.”

In the kitchen, she took the basket from him and set it on the floor near the breakfast table. Then she opened the cupboard where the liquor was kept. “What’ll you have? The hard stuff’s in here. There’s beer and wine in the refrigerator, soft drinks…I’m having Scotch.”

“Scotch is fine,” Jack said.

As she filled the glasses, she asked, “Ice?”

“Maybe one cube. Don’t want it watered down too much.”

She dropped one ice cube into each drink, and gave a glass to Jack. They went into the living room. Vicki realized that she was no longer concerned by the fact that he wore nothing but a towel. She sat down beside him in the middle of the couch and turned sideways, sliding one knee onto the cushion. The robe fell away from her thigh. She glanced down. The blue satin of her nightgown was glossy in the lamplight. It was short enough to show a lot of leg. She thought, Looks okay to this kid, and didn’t bother to adjust the robe.

“Here’s mud in your eye,” Jack said.

Vicki leaned toward him and clinked her glass against his. Easing back, she took a drink. The Scotch went down, spreading heat, making her eyes water. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Hits the spot,” Jack said. “Burns the spot.”

“Ugh, don’t mention burning.” She said it half-joking, and wished she hadn’t.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“I’m feeling better all the time.” She took another drink. “How about you? That’s a mean lump on your forehead. Do you want some ice for it, or something?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Do you have a headache?”

“That’s a leading question.” He smiled. “How about you?”

“My head’s about the only thing that doesn’t ache. I probably won’t be able to move, tomorrow.”

“Hate to tell you, it is tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna be wasted.” I’ll have to take Charlie’s appointments and mine, she realized. Maybe Thelma can cancel some of them. She looked at the digital clock on the VCR. Four-seventeen. “Geez.”

“I’d better drink up and go, or you won’t get any sleep at all.”

“Gonna go home in your towel?”

“My pants should be dry pretty soon.”

“There’s no hurry,” Vicki said. “I mean, I don’t want to keep you up. Have you got court or something?”

He shook his head. “Just a deposition at two. I can sleep in.”

“Lucky duck.”

“You must be exhausted, though.”

“I’m not really eager to be alone just now.”

“Neither am I,” Jack admitted. He set down his glass and held his hand out toward Vicki. His fingers were trembling. “Look at that. I never shake like that.”

Vicki took hold of his hand and squeezed it gently. She brought it down and rested the back of her hand on her thigh. She took another drink while he reached out with his other hand and picked up his glass. He moved closer to her. She felt the softness of the towel push against her knee.

“I’m sorry I got us into that,” she said. “They told me to stay out of it. I should’ve listened.”

“There was nothing wrong with searching for him.”

“It nearly got us both killed.”

“Nobody could’ve foreseen that he’d attack anyone.”

“There’s been so much weirdness lately. Pollock, now this. And I keep getting into it.”

“You mean the guy who was murdered by that nurse? How were you involved in that?”

“Ace and I were at the Riverfront on Saturday night. Pollock came to our table and caused some trouble. This guy we were with, Melvin, threatened to kill him. Later that night, Pollock was killed. We figured Melvin might’ve had something to do with it, so we talked to a policeman the next day. I guess he thought we should mind our own business, and he told Chief Raines about us, and that’s how come I got such a lousy reception at the bridge tonight.” She took a sip of her Scotch, and sighed. “I guess they don’t appreciate civilian interference.”

“Raines likes to do things his own way,” Jack said. “I’ve had some run-ins with him, myself. On behalf of my clients,” he added. “It’s been my experience that he’s stubborn, narrow-minded and stupid.”

“But otherwise a wonderful guy,” Vicki said.

“From what I’ve heard, Dexter Pollock wasn’t much better.”

“In addition to all the above, he was a tyrant and a lech.”

“Otherwise wonderful?”

“About the best thing that can be said for Pollock is that he’s dead.” Vicki grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, I’m sorry he’s dead.”

“But not very.”

“Hardly at all.” She changed position, swinging her bent leg down, turning forward, resting her feet on the coffee table and settling into the cushion behind her. Jack scooted closer. He lifted his arm. She eased forward to let him lower it across her shoulders. He didn’t touch her wounded right shoulder. Instead, his hand slipped behind it and curled around her upper arm.

“At the Riverfront,” she continued. “Pollock started sniffing me. Said I must have an odor that attracts crazy people. I dumped my beer in his lap.”

Jack shook his head. “You are a tough broad.”

“You should’ve heard what he called me.”

Jack caressed her arm. “That’s the incident that led to the threat?”

“Oh, he retaliated and flung his beer at me. Right in my face.”

“Good thing he’s already dead, the bastard.”

“I’m liking you more and more,” Vicki said. She patted his leg. Leaving her hand on the towel, she took another drink. Her cheeks, she realized, were beginning to feel a little numb.

“So who’s this Melvin? Is he just a casual acquaintance, or is he someone I need to worry about?”

“Don’t worry about him. That’s my job.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s apparently smitten with me, and he’s crazy as hell.” She fingered the nap of the towel. “That’s partly what Pollock meant about me attracting weirdos. Melvin’s as weird as they come. He gave me a car.”

“That doesn’t sound so weird.”

“Wouldn’t be weird if we were engaged or something. We’ve never even gone out together.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“He just likes to do things for me. Maybe even things like killing Pollock to pay him back for what he did at the bar. Wouldn’t surprise me. He doesn’t have loose screws, he’s missing screws.”

“He can’t be all that crazy if he’s smitten with you.”

“Oh no?” Vicki asked, looking at Jack.

He leaned forward, turning himself, setting his glass on the table as his arm eased Vicki away from the cushion. When she faced him, their eyes locked. She felt him take her glass. He bent away from her, putting it down. Then both his hands were on Vicki’s back, guiding her closer. She held his sides, brushed her lips against his, then felt the soft pressure of his mouth. She closed her eyes as they kissed. Her mind seemed to spin slowly—the Scotch and the deep weariness—and she felt herself sinking into the dark, peaceful place where there was only the comfort of knowing Jack was with her, kissing her, and everything was right.

She was on the diving raft with Jack, standing in the darkness, holding him, the raft rocking gently under her feet as they kissed. He lifted her nightgown. She stepped back and raised her arms. As he drew the gown over her head, she closed her eyes. She stood there, trembling, the warm breeze sliding over her skin, and waited for his touch. He kissed her breast. The mouth on her nipple felt crusted and greasy.

NO!

She clutched the charred head and thrust it away from her and staggered backward as Charlie, black and eyeless and wearing a beach towel around his waist lurched toward her, reaching out. She teetered on the edge of the raft. Windmilled her arms. Then tumbled backward.

Flinched as she fell, and jerked awake.

She was in bed. Daylight filled the room. Gasping for breath, she sat up. Her heart was thudding. Sweat trickled down her face. Beneath her robe, her nightgown felt glued to her skin. She pulled the robe open as she scooted off the bed. The movement awakened a hot ache in her shoulder, lesser aches in the stiff muscles all over her body. Standing, she shook the robe off. She peeled the damp, clinging nightgown over her head. With a shaky hand, she lifted a corner of the sheet and used it to dry her face.

The clock on the nightstand showed 7:58.

At least I didn’t oversleep, she thought.

An hour before she had to be at the clinic.

Charlie.

A chill swept over her body as memories of last night’s attack rushed through her mind. She rubbed the gooseflesh that pebbled her arms, and jumped as the alarm clock blared. She lurched to the nightstand and silenced it.

She didn’t remember setting the alarm.

Maybe Jack did it.

The last thing she could remember was kissing him. Had she actually fallen asleep while they kissed? What did he do then, carry her into the bedroom and set the alarm so she wouldn’t be late for work?

She heard the distant ringing of the telephone. It rang only twice. She went to the dresser. As she pulled a football jersey over her head, she heard footfalls in the hallway. A knock on her door, then the door opened. Ace looked in, grinning. “Told you he’d call,” she said. “Bet he’s been up all night, kicking himself.”

“You’re half right,” Vicki said. She brushed past Ace and hurried to get the phone.

“Dr. Chandler’s with a patient right now,” Thelma said. Though she looked composed, her eyes were red as if she’d been crying recently. “She’s very busy this morning, Melvin. May I schedule an appointment for you?” She glanced down at something on her desk. “There’s an opening next Wednesday at…”

“I just want to talk to her for a minute,” Melvin said. “About this.” he held up the bandaged hand.

“As I explained, she’s very busy. Dr. Gaines…we lost him last night.”

“Lost him?”

“There was a terrible accident up on River Road. He’s still missing and…we don’t hold out much hope for him.”

“I’m sorry. Gosh.”

“So I hope you can appreciate that this is a very difficult time, just now. I’ve been on the phone all morning, rescheduling appointments to ease the burden for Dr. Chandler. So if you’ll be patient and give us a few days to sort things out…”