Woman (18 page)

     
"Oh,
God, please go,"
Liz pleaded, a crazed edge to her
voice.

     "But I have to
apologize to you," Ganine insisted.

     Liz kept backing away from
here.
Go,
was all she could
think.
Go.

     "I know I shouldn't
have tried to make you think I went to bed with your husband," Ganine
said. "It was a stupid thing to do but I couldn't think of anything else.
I just couldn't."

     Liz was conscious of a
terrible ambivalence in herself. On the one hand, she was being confronted by
what seemed to be a timid, cringing girl begging for forgiveness. On the other
hand, she was laden by a sense of dread beyond understanding.

     "I need your husband's
help," Ganine went on. "I'm so afraid."

     
"You're
afraid?" Liz sounded almost amused. But it was a dark,
body-harrowing amusement.

     "I
am,"
Ganine said, nodding. "And
only your husband can help me."

     "He
can't
help you," Liz said in a
hoarse voice.

     "He
can,
I
know
he can," Ganine protested.

     "No, he can't!"
Liz shouted, pressing both hands to her head as the pain throbbed in her head.

     "What's wrong?"
Ganine asked.

     Liz felt herself losing
control. "Please go," she mumbled.

     "Are you sick?"
Ganine asked in genuine concern.

     "Oh, Jesus God, please
go," Liz pleaded.

     "Maybe I can help
you," Ganine said.

     Liz's voice flared suddenly,
enraged. "God damn you, you're the one who did this to me!"

     "I didn't do
anything," Ganine said, her voice that of a child trying to appease a
parent.

     
"Damn
you, get out of here, get out of here!"
Liz
screamed.

     "If you're sick, I can
help you," Ganine told her.

     Liz began to cry helplessly
from pain and frustration. She pulled back even more as Ganine took a step
toward her, a near-demented sound wavering in her throat.

     "I helped your
husband's ankle, I can help you too," Ganine said, smiling pleasantly.

     "Oh, Jesus Christ,
please—"

     Ganine interrupted, her
voice sounding eager now, "I helped my father when he hurt his ankle. And
my mother got bad headaches all the time and I put my hand on her head and they
went away."

     She held out her hand.
"I can help you too," she said.

     Liz felt a wave of nausea in
her stomach, her cheeks puffing out as though she was about to throw up.

     "Don't," Ganine
said.

     
"What
did you do to my brother!"
Liz demanded brokenly.

     "I don't know your
brother," Ganine answered. "I don't know what you're saying."

     "For the last
time." Liz's voice was guttural and shaking.

     "I need your husband's
help," Ganine said, a pained expression on her face. "He has to help
me. He
has
to."

     Something snapped in Liz's
brain. Jerking around, she lunged across the living room with a staggering
gait.

     "What are you
doing?" Ganine asked apprehensively.

     Liz jerked out the bar
drawer and snatched out the ice pick. She turned and lumbered toward Ganine,
the ice pick brandished in her right hand. "Get out," she said, her
voice barely understandable. "Get out or I'll kill you."

     "No," Ganine said,
backing off. "Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."

     "Then get out, get out.
Right now."
Liz kept moving at
Ganine, her face a mask of deranged intent.

     "No." Ganine said,
shaking her head. "Don't hurt me. Don't you hurt me."

     "Get
out,"
Liz said through gritted
teeth.
"Get out, you little bitch."

     Ganine froze and closed her
eyes. She flung up both her fisted hands, crossing them across her face. Her
voice was shrill.
"You—can't—hurt—me!"
she cried.

     Liz went rigid as the lamps
began to flicker wildly, thenturn off and on in rapid succession, the room
alternating rapidly between darkness and light. Suddenly, the radio went on,
the sound of a Beethoven string quartet flaring up and down erratically,
deafening, then cutting off, then bursting into deafening sound again. Liz's
head snapped from side to side, causing the headache to flare and diminish like
the music. "What are you doing?" she asked in a feeble voice, knowing
that Ganine couldn't hear. "What are you
doing!"
she shouted, terrified.
"Stop
it!
Stop
it!"

     The lamps went out, the room
was dark. A sudden wave of cold enveloped Liz; it felt as though she'd been
submerged in Artic waters. A stricken cry of dread pulsed upward in her throat;
she couldn't hear it. Then, instantly, it felt to her as though an icy hand had
clutched her savagely. She screamed.

     It was a shriek of blinding
horror.

6:47  p.m.

David was surprisedto see the living room in total
darkness as he entered the apartment. Reaching over to the wall switch, he
flicked it up. Nothing happened. "Hell," he muttered, starting to
feel his way across the room. He hissed, grimacing, as his shins collided with
the coffee table. "Liz?" he called.

     There was no answer.
Cautiously, he made his way to the lamp beside the sofa and turned its knob.
The lamp remained dark. "Oh, Christ, is it burned out?" he wondered,
frowning. "Liz are you in the bedroom?" he called after reaching down
to feel at the sofa.

     The apartment remained
still. David's expression grew concerned. "
Liz
?" he called loudly. There was no response. "What's going
on?" he muttered. He shuddered. Was it possible that Ganine
had
come back while he was out? The
thought caused cold alarm in his body.

     He felt his way carefully to
another lamp and tried to turn it on. There was no result, the room remained in
total darkness.

     "What the hell is going
on?"
he said. He tried not to let
apprehension take control of him. Moving slowly to the kitchen, he flicked up
the wall light switch. Nothing happened. "This is bad," he heard
himself say. "Liz, where
are
you?!" he shouted.

     There was no reply.
"Dear God," he murmured, a frightened expression starting on his
face.

     Feeling his way to one of
the kitchen drawers, he opened it and felt inside. His fingers touched the
flashlight and he lifted it out, pressing forward its switch. He made a sound
of relief as the beam of light appeared.

     Hastily, he moved the beam
around the living room. Liz wasn't there. Quickly, he moved to the guest
bathroom and looked inside. It was empty.

     "Oh, God," he
mumbled, fear rising steadily in his mind. He moved to the bedroom doorway and
cast the flashlight beam around the room, anxious to see Liz on the bed or in
the bathroom.

     The bathroom was empty and
Liz was not in the bedroom. David swallowed dryly. Now I'm really worried, he
thought. He felt a chilling tightness in his chest and stomach.
"Liz?!" he called again, knowing that she wasn't there but unable to
accept it totally. "Liz,
are you here?!"

     The apartment was deathly
still. All right, he tried to reason with himself. She must have gone back to
the hospital. Or Val called and she'd gone to see him. It was very unlikely, he
knew. She'd been in such intense pain. She couldn't have left so soon. He
wasn't gone that long.

     Now what? he thought. Call
Val, the hospital? He blew out a harried breath. He had no other choice. She'd
gone
somewhere,
that was obvious.

     When he went back into the
living room, he saw her purse on the table by the door. The sight of it
terrified him. She wouldn't leave without her purse.

     Then he saw her jacket
tossed across one of the chairs.

     Moving swiftly to the telephone,
he lifted the receiver and with a trembling finger, pressed out a number, 911.

SATURDAY

9:02  A.M.

Outside it wasovercast and drizzling.

     David hadn't slept all
night. He still had on clothes he'd worn the day before. His face was drawn,
unshaven. He'd been on the telephone so many times during the night that he'd
lost count. Val—no answer after seven tries. The hospital—she wasn't there. Max
and Barbara—no answer after seven attempts. The production office—far-fetched
possibility; they were closed. Finally, the police. The Bureau of Missing
Persons. Even Liz's mother in Ohio; a wasted, frustrating conversation, her
mother losing emotional control and crying helplessly throughout the call.

     He was talking to the police
again, knowing that he was annoying them, that they were doing everything they
could but forced to keep on checking repeatedly. Just in case, he kept telling
himself. Maybe something more had developed.

     "I understand," he
said to the detective. "You
will
let me know if you hear anything." He was well aware that he
was wasting the detective's time but couldn't help it. "Anything at
all." He listened to the detective's voice. The man was remarkably patient
considering how many times David had called.

     After hanging up, he thought
again about leaving the apartment and searching through the neighborhood. It
was probably a pointless notion. Still. . .if it was possible that Liz had left
the apartment for some reason, frightened about the possibility of Ganine
returning, someone in the neighborhood might have seen her.