"No."

"Thinking about warning her."

"No. I wouldn't. Why should I care what you do to her? I don't even like the bitch."

He flipped the blade and cut her. A quick, curling slash. It didn't hurt much, but she flinched rigid and sucked in her belly. A red S appeared above her navel. Its curving line thickened. Dribbles spread out from it like tendrils. They blurred as tears filled Jessica's eyes. Her sobbing made them shimmer and wiggle.

"Please!" she gasped.

"Shouldn't have called Lane a bitch."

"I'm sorry!"

Kramer hunched down. Braced on his elbows, rump high, he lapped up the spreading blood. With the tip of his tongue he probed the shallow cut. Jessica shuddered as his tongue spread the raw edges.

She crashed her cast against the side of his head, crying out as pain lanced up her arm.

The blow knocked his head sideways.

Twisting, she rammed a knee into his hip.

He toppled, and the edge of the bed wasn't there to catch him. He dropped out of sight, slammed the floor.

Jessica rolled, grabbed the side of the mattress and looked down at him. He was flat on his back, an upraised knee resting against the box springs, his other leg straight out, one arm against his side, the other flung out limp against the carpet, its hand open, the razor a few inches beyond his fingertips. His jaw drooped. His open eyes were rolled upward as if gazing at something beneath his upper lids.

He's out, she thought.

She knew out when she saw it; she'd seen enough boxing matches with Riley.

Gasping for air, trembling and nauseous, she swung her legs down.

She rose from the bed and stepped over him. With one foot she pinned his right wrist to the carpet. She crouched and picked up the razor.

Once she had it, she ground her heel against his wrist.

He groaned.

Coming to! Jessica's heart lurched. Her stomach seemed to shrink and go cold.

She stepped off his wrist, turned around and looked down at him.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth bared. She had to do something fast!

She took a deep breath, about to cry out "Dad!" But she stopped herself.

Kramer would talk. If he lived, he'd talk. Everyone would find out she'd been sleeping with him. Everyone. Her folks, all the kids at school, Riley.

Can't let him talk.

A chill swept up Jessica's body. Her skin prickled with goose bumps.

Nobody'll blame me. It's self-defense. He broke into the house and attacked me.

She looked down at her wound. Blood still spilled from the S-shaped slice. The skin below it was slicked with shiny red. Her pubic hair was matted and drops trickled down her thighs.

That's my proof, she thought. He cut me. He came to rape and murder me. I had to defend myself.

Kramer opened his eyes.

Jessica rushed to his side and rammed her foot down, driving her heel into his belly. Breath whooshed out of him. His eyes bugged. He half sat up. She dropped onto him, knees landing on his chest and stomach. As his back struck the floor, she swept the razor down at his throat.

His left arm shot up faster than she could imagine. It met her descending forearm just above the wrist. Pain streaked to her shoulder.

The razor flew from her tingling fingers.

Kramer's other hand punched her in the spine. As she jerked rigid, he grabbed her hair. He yanked it and bucked beneath her knees, hurling Jessica backward. She crashed against the floor. The impact jolted her, knocked her breathless.

Kramer had one of her legs. He raised it, dragged her by it, propped it high.

Jessica lifted her head and saw her right leg stretched upward, heel on the edge of her mattress. Before she could move, Kramer stomped her knee. As if her leg were a branch. She heard the sharp crack, watched her leg cave in beneath his foot, felt an explosion of agony that turned her vision bright red, then black.

When she woke up, she was on her bed. Kramer was on top of her, in her, grunting and thrusting. Her right leg felt as if it were burning from the inside, as if her bones were ablaze. The pain was so fierce that Kramer's ramming penis seemed incidental. She just wished he would get it over with and stop bouncing on her leg.

When she tried to move her outstretched arms, she realized they were tied at the wrists. Probably to her bed posts.

No chance of fighting him.

At last Kramer finished.

But she knew he wasn't done.

It didn't seem to matter much. She knew it ought to matter, she ought to care. But her mind was fuzzy, couldn't seem to focus on anything except the pain.

The pain couldn't get any worse.

But it did.

It got a lot worse when he started with the razor. So bad that she screamed, and wondered why she hadn't screamed earlier. Dad would hear it. Dad would save her.

Kramer stuffed a rag into her mouth.

He kept on cutting.

Where's Dad?

She passed out.

When she came to, Kramer was hunched over her, lick-ing and sucking on her wounds. He raised his face and gazed at her. Except for his eyes, his face was smeared with blood. Even his teeth were red.

He pulled the rag from Jessica's mouth. He tossed it aside, dropped flat and squirmed up her body. His penis pushed into her. His tongue filled her mouth. He rode her hard as if trying to pound her through the mattress.

Later she saw him standing beside the bed. He was clean. He was dressed. He had a bundle of newspapers under one arm. He crouched out of sight.

She heard the crackle of papers being crumpled.

She heard the snick of a match.

Kramer stood over her.

"Sleep tight," he said. "Don't let the bedbugs bite."

On his way out, he turned off the light.

But the room wasn't dark for long.

Twenty-six

Bonnie came to him. She stepped silently toward his bed. She looked lovely, glorious, her blond hair floating around her face. She wore the pleated blue skirt and golden sweater of her songleader costume, but her feet were bare.

Stopping beside Larry's bed, she gazed at him with solemn eyes.

"I've been waiting for you," she said, her voice as soft as a caress.

"Why haven't you come to me?"

"I... I don't know. I've wanted to, but..."

"Don't you know that I love you?"

Her words quickened Larry's heart.

"You do?" he asked.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Why would you," he asked. "We don't even know each other."

A sweet smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "We know each other with our hearts. I love you so much, Larry. And you love me, don't you?"

"Yes," he said, and felt a hot rush of joy. "Yes, I love you."

Then a thought came to him that seemed to crush his heart.

"But you're dead, Bonnie."

Her laugh was a quiet rush of breath. "Don't be silly. Do I look dead?"

"You look... so beautiful."

Bonnie stepped closer. She bent over him, her hair drifting down until its tresses brushed against Larry's cheeks. Then her lips met his.

They were soft, warm, moist. They parted, and he felt her breath enter his mouth.

He lifted his arms out from under the covers. He placed his hands on Bonnie's sides, caressed her through the sweater, felt the heat of her flesh, the gentle curves of her ribs.

She eased her lips away. "Do I feel dead?"

"You sure don't," he murmured through the tightness in his throat.

"You feel wonderful."

"I've longed so much for you, Larry."

"I've longed for you, too."

He slipped his hands under the bottom of her sweater. A tremor swept through him as he touched the velvety skin above her hips.

Then he remembered something else, and again his joy sank into anguish. Though he ached for her, he pulled his hands out from under the sweater and let them drop to the mattress. "I'm married, Bonnie."

"Do you love her?"

He wanted to say no. But he couldn't. "Yes," he said. "I'm sorry.

God, I'm sorry. I love Jean, but I love you, too."

"That's all right," she whispered, her warm breath touching his lips. "You can have us both."

"I don't think Jean would like that."

"She'll never know. I promise. It'll be our secret."

Larry felt the covers glide down his body, felt the cool morning air chill his skin. Bonnie kissed the side of his neck. She kissed his shoulder, his chest.

"No," he whispered.

"You don't mean that, darling." Her soft lips pressed his nipple.

He moaned with an agony of desire and loss.

"It wouldn't be right," he said.

"Love is always right."