She shook her head. "I have to get home. My folks are waiting."

"Ten minutes? That won't throw off your trip by much. Tell them you had to stay after class."

I did have to stay after class, she thought. It wouldn't be a lie.

"Is your mother home?"

Jim answered by swinging a thumb over his shoulder, pointing out the Mazda in the driveway.

"Okay," Lane said. "Ten minutes. No longer, though."

She took her hand away from his neck and climbed out. Jim stayed in the lead as she walked up the flagstones to the front stoop. He unlocked the door and held it open for her.

The air was cool.

The house was silent except for the hum of the air-conditioning system.

Jim didn't call out to announce that he was home.

"Are you sure she's here?" Lane asked.

"Might be sleeping. Or taking a bath. Who knows?"

They entered the kitchen. Lane leaned against a counter while Jim took a couple of cans from the refrigerator. The air smelled fresh. It was almost too cold on her skin. It chilled the damp back of her blouse.

Jim found glasses, dropped ice cubes into them, and filled them with soda.

A glass in each hand, he stepped in front of Lane. She reached for her drink. Instead of giving it to her, he stretched both arms past her sides and set the glasses on the counter. His arms closed around her, pulled her gently forward until their bodies met.

"What if your mother walks in?" Lane whispered close to his mouth.

"I don't think she will." He tugged the tail of her blouse out of her skirt and slid his hands underneath.

Lane let herself sink against him. She kissed him.

Shouldn't be doing this, she thought.

But she'd intended to kiss him good-bye, anyway. And his hands felt good roaming the bare skin of her back. And she liked the feel of his chest tight against her breasts. She could feel his breathing and his heartbeat.

He started to fumble with the catches of her bra.

She pulled her mouth away. "Oh no you don't."

"It's all right."

"No, it isn't."

He unfastened the bra anyway. She felt it go loose.

She grabbed Jim's arms and pushed them down to his sides. "I said no, and I meant it."

"Come on, what's the harm?"

"For one thing, your mother."

"She might be in town at the beauty parlor," he said, smiling as if he expected Lane to appreciate the news.

"The car..."

"She usually goes with Mary from next door. Right about three on Fridays."

"You knew she wasn't here?"

Still smiling, Jim shrugged.

"You lied to me."

"Just a little fib." "Terrific," she muttered, reaching up under the back of her blouse to fasten the bra.

"Come on, don't do that." He lifted his hands to her breasts.

"Cut it out."

"Come on, you like it."

"I told you..." She got one of the hooks fastened. He was squeezing, rubbing. She did like it. "Damn it, Jim." Not bothering with the other hook, she swung her hands around and pushed him away. "I have to leave."

"No you don't. Hey, come on."

"This is what I get for trusting you, huh?"

"Look, I'm sorry I lied about Mom being here. Okay?" He looked into her eyes and gently held her shoulders. "I just figured you wouldn't come in, and... we haven't been together for weeks. I get crazy wanting to be with you. Sometimes, all I can think about is kissing you and how it feels to hold you. Especially after last time."

"That was nice," Lane said, remembering.

She had been under orders to be home by eleven, so they'd skipped the second feature at the movies and parked in the desert outside town. She'd refused Jim's suggestion to get into the backseat. Staying in the front, they twisted themselves awkwardly to embrace and kiss.

But it was wonderful. She felt daring and romantic and sexy in the moonlit car. Her blouse came off early. She managed to keep her bra on, though. In spite of Jim's begging and his attempts to remove it. In spite of her own desire to rid herself of the garment and feel his touch without a stiff layer of cloth in the way. Finally she'd told him, "It's almost time to leave." He didn't protest, simply nodded and murmured, "I guess so." Reaching behind her back, Lane unhooked her bra. She took it off. His mouth fell open and he stared for a long time before touching. When he did touch her breasts, his hands were trembling.

Softened by the memories of that night, she stepped forward and put her arms around Jim. She kissed him gently on the mouth. "Apology accepted," she whispered. "But I really do have to leave now."

His hands slid down her back and caressed her rump. "What about your Pepsi?"

"Time's all up. You can walk me to the car, though."

He squeezed her against him and kissed her hard, then stepped away. "Guess I'll just have to wait for next Friday, huh?"

"It'll get here."

"Not soon enough."

"I'll miss you," she said.

"I'll miss you more."

"No you won't."

"Yes I will." "Wanta fight about it?"

"Yeah," he said. "Let's wrestle."

"Oh, you'd like that."

"So would you."

"Maybe."

Holding hands, they walked to the door.

Thirteen

Larry stood at the end of the driveway, waving good-bye to Jean and Lane as the car headed off down the road. It seemed strange, being left behind.

He knew he would miss them. Hell, he already missed them.

On the other hand, he rather liked the prospect of being on his own for the weekend. He could do whatever he pleased, and not have to answer to anyone.

Freedom.

He felt like a kid being left home without parents or baby-sitter.

The car vanished around the corner. Larry turned toward the house, then raised a hand in greeting as Barbara trotted down the steps next door. A handbag swung at her hip. Larry supposed she was leaving on an errand.

"So, they took off without you."

"Sure did."

"Jean told me about that manuscript." She stopped beside her car in the driveway. "Sounds like the pits to me."

"Gives me a good excuse to stay behind," he said, smiling.

"If you're not too busy, why don't you come over for dinner? We'll throw some steaks on the barbecue."

"Sounds great."

"Good. Drop in around five, then, all right?"

"I'll be there."

She climbed into her car, and Larry headed for the house.

Things are perking up already, he thought.

In his office he glanced at the savaged manuscript and realized he was in no mood to struggle with it. He'd already fought his way through more than a hundred pages today, scratching out the copyeditor's misguided corrections and replacing them with scribbles to match the printed lines as they'd originally been written. That was plenty for one day's work.

He settled down in the living room with a beer and the Shaun Hutson novel he'd started reading that morning. Though his eyes traveled over the words, his mind kept slipping out of the story. He found himself imagining what Jean's folks might say when they realized he'd stayed home, wondering what he should wear over to Pete and Barbara's, thinking about how much he would like to spend all day tomorrow working on ideas for The Box.

Then he was speculating about the jukebox in the ditch. He wondered how much it weighed. Could two men lift it? In his book they would have to carry it to the van. Would that be possible?

Have the women lend a hand with it. My main guy isn't married.

Might have a girlfriend with him, though. Still occupied with his thoughts, Larry set the book aside. He drained the last of his beer, wandered into the bedroom and took off his clothes.

Have one of the gals fall while they're lugging the jukebox up the slope. Good. Foreshadowing that the box is going to cause trouble.

In the bathroom he turned on the shower and stepped under its beating spray.

She tumbles down the embankment, he thought as he began to soap himself. Gets banged up pretty much like Barbara did in the hotel.

He remembered the way Barbara had looked, standing in the doorway afterward. How her legs and belly were scraped. How her blouse hung open.

The images stirred a pleasant heat in his groin.

Which turned cold when he suddenly saw himself kneeling under the staircase, gazing at the shriveled corpse.

God, he wished he'd never seen that thing!

It always seemed to be with him. Waiting. Like some kind of spook lurking in a dark closet of his mind, every now and then throwing open the door to give him another look.

So damn grisly and repulsive.

But fascinating, too.

As Larry washed his hair, his mind ran through the familiar questions. Who was she? Who drove the stake into her chest? Was her presence under the stairway known to the person who put the brand new lock on the hotel doors? Could she really be a vampire? What might happen if someone pulled out the stake?

He had no answers.

He told himself, as always, that he didn't want to know the answers. He only wanted to forget about the thing.

Which wasn't about to happen.

Maybe we should've reported it, he thought. He'd been against that at the time. Now, however, he saw how it might've been for the best.