“Know what?” he whispered. “This is the best night I ever had.”
She didn’t say anything.
She could hardly even think; she felt too hurt and tired and defeated.
She closed her eyes. Tears slid out and trickled down toward her ears.
“I never…never even had a girlfriend before. Never did any of this stuff. Good news, huh? I mean, you’re probably worried, me not using a rubber. AIDS and stuff. But I haven’t got it. I’m a hundred percent healthy.”
“I’ve already got it,” she heard herself mutter.
Now you’ve got it, she wanted to add, but the words didn’t come out.
Had she really spoken the first part?
Must’ve. And Toby must’ve heard it, too, because his hand was no longer fiddling with her breast.
She hadn’t planned to say such a thing, hadn’t given it any thought at all—it had just grumbled out. Apparently, her mind wasn’t totally wrecked, after all.
Good going, she told herself.
Give him something to think about.
“You do not,” he said. “Duane had to go out and buy rubbers. I bet it was you who made him…”
“Didn’t want…him…to catch it.”
“Bullshit.”
“You…should’ve left me…alone. Now you’re…gonna die.”
“Fuck you.”
“You did. And…bit me.”
He shoved himself back. Braced up on an elbow, he stared down at her.
“Got blood in your mouth. My blood. You got AIDS now.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yeah.”
“Lying bitch.”
“Sorry.”
“Take it back.”
“Not sorry.”
“Say it’s a lie.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re dead,” he muttered.
“You, too.”
His right fist shot out and bashed the side of her face, knocking her head sideways and throwing spit from her mouth.
Then he climbed onto her.
“Say it’s a lie,” he said.
She couldn’t say anything.
But she soon found that she could scream.
By the time Toby tore the scream out of Sherry, she had a pillow over her face.
Chapter Twenty-seven
An hour before dawn, Toby stopped the van on an empty stretch of Mulholland Drive. He could see the orange glow of the Malibu fires in the distance. But the glow was very far away. The fires would probably be stopped long before they got this far.
But if they came here tomorrow or the next day, so much the better.
There were trees on one side of the road, a drop-off on the other.
No cars were in sight.
He opened the rear doors of the van, leaned in, and dragged the rolled blanket toward him with both hands.
He wrestled it onto his shoulder.
Staggering under the weight, he made his way to the side of the road and stepped up to the guard rail.
In front of him, Los Angeles was a distant vista of bright lights.
Leaning over the guard rail, he let go of the blanket.
It dropped.
He leaned over some more. The blanket was slightly darker than the earth and bushes of the hillside. He thought he could see it falling, then bouncing.
It was only a vague black blur down there.
As he watched, its shape seemed to change.
The blanket seemed to be growing.
It’s coming unrolled, he realized.
And then Sherry emerged from the blackness.
Her wonderful, pale body left the blanket behind as she dived and tumbled on her wild journey to the bottom.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Sid. Sid, wake up.” Dawn was shaking him by the shoulder.
He rolled onto his back, turned his head and blinked at her. She looked worried.
“Somebody’s at the door.”
“Huh?”
“He keeps ringing the doorbell.”
“He? Who?”
“I don’t know. Somebody. He keeps ringing it.”
The doorbell rang.
“See?”
“Shit,” Sid muttered. He turned his head the other way and saw the clock on the nightstand.
6:50.
“Shit,” he said again.
The doorbell rang once more.
“Aren’t you gonna see who it is?” Dawn asked.
“I’m gonna see who it is, all right.” He swept the top sheet away from his body and sprang out of bed. His father’s blue silk robe lay in a pile on the carpet. He snatched it up and put it on.
The doorbell rang again.
“Do you think something’s wrong?” Dawn asked.
“Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”
“Should I like…hide?”
He swiveled around, scowling. But he lost the scowl when he saw the way Dawn was braced up on her elbows, naked down to where the sheet draped her lap, her skin tawny against the white of the sheets. Smiling, he shook his head. “What do you wanta hide for?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
He suddenly felt a small, squirmy chill deep inside. “No reason I can think of. But you’re welcome to hide if you—” Knuckles knocked hard against the door. Flinching, Sid gasped out, “Shit!” Then he said, “Okay, I’m gonna go kick some ass.”
“Be careful.”
“Sure.” He hurried out of the room. On his way to the door, he closed his robe. The front edges barely met. As