She eased the door open, still on the chain. “Tell me again.”
“Dolarhyde. It’s me.”
She knew it was. She took off the chain.
Reba did not like surprises. “I thought you said you’d call me, D.”
“I would have. But this is an emergency, really,” he said, clapping the chloroformed cloth over her face as he stepped inside.
The street was empty. Most of the houses were dark. He carried her to the van. Ralph Mandy’s feet stuck out of the shrubbery into the yard. Dolarhyde didn’t bother with him anymore.
She woke on the ride. She was on her side, her cheek in the dusty carpet of the van, transmission whine loud in her ear.
She tried to bring her hands to her face. The movement mashed her bosom. Her forearms were stuck together.
She felt them with her face. They were bound together from her elbows to her wrists with what felt like soft strips of cloth. Her legs were tied the same way from knees to ankles. Something was across her mouth.
What . . . what . . . ? D. was at the door, and then . . . She remembered twisting her face away and the terrible strength of him. Oh Lord . . . what was it . . . ? D. was at the door and then she was choking something cold and she tried to twist her face away but there was a terrible grip on her head.
She was in D.’s van now. She recognized the resonances. The van was going. Fear ballooned in her. Her instinct said be quiet, but the fumes were in her throat, chloroform and gasoline. She retched aga
inst the gag.
D.’s voice. “It won’t be long now.”
She felt a turn and they were on gravel now, rocks pinging under the fenders and floorboard.
He’s crazy. All right. That’s it: Crazy.
“Crazy” is a fearsome word.
What was it? Ralph Mandy. He must have seen them at her house. It set him off.
Christ Jesus, get it all ready. A man had tried to slap her once at Reiker Institute. She was quiet and he couldn’t find her—he couldn’t see either. This one could fucking well see. Get it all ready. Get ready to talk. God, he could kill me with this gag in my mouth. God, he could be killing me and not understand what I was saying.
Be ready. Have it all ready and don’t say “Huh?” Tell him he can back out, no damage. I won’t tell. Be passive as long as you can. If you can’t be passive, wait until you can find his eyes.
The van stopped. The van rocked as he got out. Side door sliding open. Grass and hot tires on the air. Crickets. He came in the van.
In spite of herself she squealed into the gag and twisted her face away from him when he touched her.
Soft pats on the shoulder didn’t stop her writhing. A stinging slap across the face did.
She tried to talk into the gag. She was lifted, carried. His footsteps hollow on the ramp. She was sure where she was now. His house. Where in his house? Clock ticking to the right. Rug, then floor. The bedroom where they did it. She was sinking in his arms, felt the bed under her.
She tried to talk into the gag. He was leaving. Noise outside. Van door slammed. Here he comes. Setting something on the floor—metal cans.
She smelled gasoline.
“Reba.” D.’s voice all right, but so calm. So terribly calm and strange. “Reba, I don’t know what to . . . say to you. You felt so good, and you don’t know what I did for you. And I was wrong, Reba. You made me weak and then you hurt me.”
She tried to talk into the gag.
“If I untie you and let you sit up, will you be good? Don’t try to run. I can catch you. Will you be good?”
She twisted her head toward the voice to nod.
A touch of cold steel against her skin, whisper of a knife through cloth and her arms were free. Now her legs. Her cheeks were wet where the gag came off.