After Midnight by Richard Laymon
“So much for condoms,” I whispered.
I held him hard against me.
The moment he finished pumping, though, he started to struggle so I let him go. He didn’t have any mattress under his knees. As he squirmed backward, he no sooner got out of me than he slid off the edge of the bed.
Raising my head, I found Murphy on his knees. He was red and gasping, and had a dazed look in his eyes.
He still had his glasses on and they’d gotten knocked crooked.
I gave him a cheerful smile.
“That was a…lousy trick,” he said.
“I thought it was a good trick. Hell, so did you. You loved it. You went nuts.”
He shook his head, glanced between my legs, then turned his head away and straightened his glasses.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” I told him. “I didn’t give you anything—expect maybe the quickest, hottest fuck of your life.”
“I wanted to use a condom.”
“I didn’t. And you didn’t need one.”
“I sure hope not,” he said, and stood up.
He was sticking straight out as if pointing at something across the room.
“Wanta do it again?” I asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
He glanced at me, looked away, then turned to me again and stared at my sprawled, naked body.
“How about it, big fella?”
Though he frowned as if angry at me, he was rising. “You’re a real piece of work,” he said.
“Yep.” Writhing, I rubbed my breasts and licked my lips. “How about another piece?”
His smile broke out. “Don’t you think I’d better get to the bank?”
“Don’t you want to rape me again?”
“Who raped who?”
I laughed. “You loved it. And you’d love to do it again, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t you want me to get the money?”
“Yeah. Sure. I want the money, but…”
“Then I’d better go.”
“Okay. But first you have to tie me up.”
“Tie you up?”
“Of course. I’m your prisoner.”
“That’s crazy.”
“If you call the cops on me, I want them to find me naked and tied to your bed.”
“I’m not going to call the cops.”
“This’ll be my insurance. Now, go find some ropes or something, okay?”
35
TIED
“How’s that?” he asked.
Stretched out spread-eagled on his bed, I strained at the ropes. They creaked a little, but held. “Excellent,” I said.
He stood near the end of the bed and stared down at me. He was a little out of breath. And hard. “Anything else I can do for you?” he asked.
“Climb on.”
“Don’t you want the money?”
“Yeah, I want it.”
“Then you’d better let me leave, don’t you think?”
“You’d better put some clothes on first.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
I watched him go to the closet and take out a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. When he had them on, he sat at the end of the bed to put on his socks and shoes. “Any last minute instructions?” he asked.
“Small bills.”
“How small?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But that’s what the gangsters always want. Small bills.”
He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. “My gal, the crime wave.”
My gal?
He’d said it in a kidding way, but I liked it.
“Anyhow,” I said, “big stuff is hard to spend.”
“Let’s at least get most of it in hundreds and fifties,” he suggested. “Otherwise, you’ll have an awful lot of cash to lug around.”
“I guess that’ll be okay.”
He turned away and finished putting on his shoes. Then he stood up and faced me. He looked good. “Any other orders, Vito?” he asked.
“One more. You’d better gag me so I can’t cry out for help.”
“Why on earth would you want to cry out for help?”
“Because you’re holding me prisoner.”
“But I’m not holding you prisoner.”
“I know that, you know that, but the cops won’t know that, will they?”
“The cops again.”
“Just find a handkerchief or something and tie it around my mouth.”
“You might suffocate.”
“Tie it loose.”
He smirked and shook his head, then turned away and went to his dresser. I heard a drawer open. A minute later, he said, “I don’t think my handkerchiefs are big enough.”
“Well, find something.”
He left the room. I heard his quick footsteps, a drawer sliding open and shut, then more footsteps. He came back with a white dish rag.
“How’s this?” he asked.
“Perfect.”
Kneeling beside me on the mattress, he wound the towel into a thick strip. I lifted my head off the pillow and opened my mouth. He stuffed the towel in. Then he knotted it behind my neck.
“Okay?” he asked.
I said, “Uhhh,” into the rag.
Grinning, Murphy said, “I should’ve done this to you a long time ago.”
I said, “Haw haw.”
“Will you be okay like this?” he asked.
If I don’t get a stuffed-up nose.
I nodded.
“I’ll get back as fast as I can,” he said. Bending down, he kissed me on the forehead.
Then he hurried away. I heard his footsteps as he wandered around the apartment. I didn’t know what he was doing, but figured he was probably getting his keys, wallet, checkbook, that sort of thing. Then he took a leak. He flushed the toilet. He washed his hands. Finally, the front door thudded shut.
I was alone.
Tied up and gagged.
And I liked it.
The mattress felt good underneath me.
I could breathe okay through the dish towel.
The room was hot, and everything had a yellow hue because of the sunlight seeping through the curtains. A breeze was gently lifting the curtains. It smelled of flowers and mowed grass. Every so often, I felt the air sneak softly over my body.
It may sound strange, but I actually liked the feel of being pulled by the ropes. My whole body felt lean and taut.
I thought of Judy hanging by her wrists in the firelight, and how fine she’d looked.
Is she still there? I wondered.
Maybe she’d already managed to work her way loose. Or maybe someone had found her and set her free.
Maybe she’s still there, just the way I left her.
She’s there and I’m here. We’re both naked. We’re both tied and helpless. We have our wounds, but we’re beautiful—stretched taut and lean.
While thinking about her, I must’ve slipped off into sleep.
Soon, she came walking over to the foot of the bed. The red bandana hung loose around her neck, and that’s all she wore. She held a knife in her right hand. “Well, well, well,” she said. “Look at you.”
“I’m sure glad to see you,” I said, and wondered vaguely how I was able to talk through my gag. Then I realized that the gag was gone. “I’ve really missed you, Judy,” I said. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too,” she said.
“How did you manage to get free?”
She raised her left arm and showed me the rough, bloody stump at her wrist. “Had to gnaw my hand off,” she said.
“My God.”
She smiled sweetly and shrugged. “Ah, it wasn’t so bad. You do what you’ve gotta do. Looks like you’re in a predicament, yourself.”
“Not really.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No. This is just to look good in case Murphy gets the cops on me.”
“He won’t do that.”
“Not this one. He loves you.”
“He loves me? Do you think so?”
“Sure. He’s head over heels.”
“I don’t know.”
“Trust me,” Judy said.
“I sure hope you’re right.” I hoped so badly that she might be right. It made me feel excited and sad and warm to think that Murphy might actually love me.
It made me feel a little like crying.
“I know he loves you,” Judy assured me. “But that doesn’t mean he’ll come back and untie you.”
“Oh, he will.”
“Maybe he will and maybe he won’t. Do you want me to cut you loose, just in case?”
It didn’t seem necessary. After all, I was sure that Murphy would soon be back. But I liked having Judy in the room with me, and wanted her to come closer.
So I said, “Yeah, maybe you’d better.”
Smiling, she strolled over to the bed. She climbed onto the mattress, swung a leg over me, and sat on my belly. Then she leaned forward. Her left breast looming over my face, she started to saw at the rope around my right wrist. Her breast shook with the quick movements of her arm.
Then it stopped.
She’d quit trying to cut through the rope.
I pulled, but my arm was still tied down.
“Why are you stopping?” I asked.
“I changed my mind. I don’t think I’ll cut you loose, after all.”
“Why not?”
“Just remembered something.”
“What?” I asked, with a bad feeling starting to chill my stomach.
“You didn’t cut me down.”
“I know, but…”
“Why should I cut you down, when you left me hanging in the woods?”
“I had to,” I said.
“And I had to chew my hand off, or I’d still be there. You know what? It hurt.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You oughta be.”
“I am.”
“Prove it,” Judy said.
“How?”
“Kiss me.”
Her breast hovered low over my face, swaying slightly, looking golden in the soft sunlight coming in through the curtains. Her nipple was just above my mouth.
Opening my mouth, I raised my head off the pillow.
I flicked her nipple with my tongue.
“Not there,” she said, and thrust the gory stump of her wrist into my mouth.
“Eat it!” she yelled.
Shocked awake, I cried out—into my dish rag—and tried to sit up.
The ropes held me down.
I struggled to fill my lungs, but couldn’t get enough air. Not with the gag in my mouth. Murphy had left some slack in it, though. Rubbing my cheek against my shoulder and shoving at the rag with my tongue, I quickly got my mouth clear and took deep, quick breaths.
As I calmed down, I started thinking.
First, I’d caught a mouthful of water in the bathtub.
Now this.
Both times, I’d fallen asleep dreaming of Judy, then gotten startled awake, only to find myself suffocating.
Maybe she’s trying to tell me something.
What am I supposed to do, go back and cut her down before she has to gnaw her hand off?
Maybe she’s already done it!
Hell, she couldn’t chew her hand off even if she wanted to. It was too high above her head.
I realized that I wouldn’t be able to chew mine off, either.
What if we’re both stuck?
Don’t worry about it, I told myself. For one thing, I can probably get free if I really have to. For another, I won’t have to. Murphy should be getting back pretty soon.
How soon?
I had no idea how long he’d been gone. I’d fallen asleep almost right away, but how long had I been under? It didn’t seem like very long. Ten or twenty minutes?
He’ll be back any time now, I told myself.
How do you know?
Where’s his bank?
He hadn’t told me, but it had to be somewhere in town, probably no more than a ten-minute drive from here.
Ten minutes each way. That makes a total of twenty. And there might be a line inside the bank. So give him another ten minutes for the line.
That adds up to half an hour.
But maybe the line is really long.
Or they give him trouble about making such a large withdrawal.
Or he decides to take care of another errand or two before coming back.
Or his car breaks down.
Or he has an accident.
Or the bank gets robbed while he’s there.
And the bank robbers take him hostage.
Or shoot him.
Or he drops dead of a heart attack.
Or an aneurism.
HE’S NOT DEAD, DAMN IT! HE CAN’T BE! HE LOVES ME!
Calm down, I told myself. For one thing, he’s not dead. For another, he doesn’t love me. That was Judy saying that. In a dream. Has nothing to do with reality.
Like I said before, dreams stink. They’re no good for anything. They only exist to torture you any way they can.
He doesn’t love me, I told myself.
But he will be back.
The bank didn’t get robbed while he was there. That’s nonsense. Paranoia.
He’ll be back any minute.
Sure he will.
But maybe with cops in tow.
Maybe he’s been lying to me from the start and right now he’s telling the cops all about me.
No, he wouldn’t dare.
No matter what story he might tell the cops, he’d be in a world of trouble the moment they found me tied to the bed. A naked woman, roped down, with numerous minor injuries and his semen inside.
Before you know it, they’ll be thinking he killed Tony and abducted Judy and me.
For a while, I tried to come up with a good story to explain how it all worked. Maybe the four of us went to the park together on a double-date. I was Tony’s date and Judy was Murphy’s date. But then Murphy decided he wanted both of us, so he killed Tony, chopped him up and put him in the trunk…
How does Milo the Killer Slob fit in?
Maybe Judy escaped from Murphy, only to be grabbed by Milo—a thrill-killer lurking around in the woods in search of victims. He jumps her and takes her to his camp…
Awfully far-fetched.
Keep it nice and simple.
I could just say Judy ran off into the woods and I don’t know what happened to her after that.
But what about Tony’s car? I’d have to explain how it ended up back at Judy’s apartment building—with his body in it.
That’d be a good trick.
It’s probably not the only problem, either.
What about the tape from Tony’s answering machine? If the cops showed up and cut me free, they would be sure to find it under the pillow.
Murphy put it there.
Simple.
But how could I possibly come up with a sensible story that explained everything?
Claim amnesia.
Good idea.
Tell the cops I don’t know how anything happened. Last I remember, I was walking back to my garage after watching the television in Serena and Charlie’s den.
That should work.
At least until Judy spills the beans.
If she talks, I’m screwed.
I should’ve killed her when I had the chance.
Maybe it’s not too late.
I suddenly had an urge to get free, run out to Judy’s car and speed over to Miller’s Woods, find the camp and finish her off.
Do it now. Get out of here before Murphy comes back.
But the ropes held me down.
I strained at them with my arms and legs. They were nothing but pieces of old clothesline, and seemed to stretch as I pulled. They also tightened around my wrists and ankles. I kept pulling, anyway. For
They held, but I didn’t give up.
I pulled, jerked, kicked, squirmed and bucked. Soon, I was out of breath and pouring sweat.
I quit struggling, and rested.
The ropes had tightened so much that they’d cut off my circulation. My hands and feet were numb. The pillow case and sheet underneath me felt soaked.
Gasping for air, I blinked sweat out of my eyes.
And thought, Maybe I can’t get loose.
I can! I will!
Just give me a minute to catch my breath.
While I was waiting to make my next try, someone rang the doorbell.
36
INVADER
At any time of the day or night, I hate the sound of a doorbell. It almost always means someone has shown up uninvited.
An intruder is barging into your life.
Invading.
No matter what, it’s annoying and a little scary.
But just try having the doorbell ring when you’re naked in the bedroom of a guy you hardly know, you’re tied down, and your legs are spread apart about as far as they’ll go.
When I heard that doorbell, I felt as if someone had shot a hose full of ice water up my bowels.
I froze.
The bell rang again.
Nobody’s home! Go away!
What if it’s the cops?
So what if it is? I told myself. Cops can’t come into a place without being invited. Not unless they have a search warrant.
They can’t possibly have a search warrant.
Can they?
The bell rang again.
GO AWAY!
Calm down, I told myself. Whoever it is, they can’t get in. Sooner or later, they’ll give up and go away.
Again, the bell rang.
Persistent…
What if it’s burglars?
They do that. They pick a place that looks deserted. But before they break in, they ring the doorbell to make sure nobody is home. If someone comes to the door, they have a little story to tell. “Is Doug there? No? Oh, I must have the wrong address.” But if nobody answers the doorbell, they figure the place is empty and safe to rob.
In they come…
And find me like this.
Should I call out?
And say what? I’m here, but I can’t come to the door right now! Like I’m on the john, or something. Could you come back in a few minutes?