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, licking 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 wantedto, 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 wouldyou,” 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.”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, my love.” She crawled onto him. She straddled him, upright on her knees, her light cotton skirt draping him and keeping out the morning chill. The heat of their bodies seemed to mingle in the air beneath it. Larry knew, somehow, that she wore no panties. He ached for her to sink down, to impale herself, to let him plunge high up into her slick, hugging warmth.

But she didn’t. Not yet.

Smiling down at him, she drew her sweater up. He watched it rise slowly, unveiling her sleek belly, the rise of her ribcage, her breasts. They were twin, creamy mounds with pink nipples standing erect. They lifted slightly as she pulled the sweater up past her face. Keeping her arms high, she slipped out of the sleeves. She tossed the sweater to the floor.

Larry raised his hands to her breasts. Lightly, he caressed them. He thought that he had never touched anything so fine.

Smiling down at him, Bonnie guided one of his hands to the smooth valley between her breasts. She moved it up and down, stroking herself with his fingertips. “Not even a scar,” she whispered.

He remembered the stake.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s right.”

“I’m as good as new. And I’m yours. I’m yours forever.”

She began to ease herself down.

Larry groaned.

This is wrong, he thought. I can’t do this. Even if Jean never finds out...

But Bonnie was moving slowly lower, lower. He squeezed her breasts. Lower. He felt as if his penis were being sucked toward her dark, waiting center.