Dead Sexy by Samantha McCabe

  Chapter 9

  I sent Spense back to the robe-check to get a spare robe to throw over Marilyn. He came back with the robe and a handful of crab puffs. “These things are freaking awesome.”

  “Go make sure the coast is clear,” I told Spense, but it looked like the only thing that was more exciting to this crowd than revolutionary skin care was free booze. I hopped up on the platform where Marilyn was still lying, staring off into space. “Hey, babe. Let’s get out of here.” I paused to see if she would acknowledge me, but she didn’t do anything. My chest tightened.

  “Sweetie, it’s Rick. Do you recognize me?” Nothing. I shoved the panic about what that might mean aside and grabbed her hand. That was something I would have to deal with later. One thing at a time.

  She didn’t help, but she didn’t pull away when I threw the black robe over her white one. I hoped it would help her blend in as I tried to steer her past the stragglers at the edge of the platform.

  She was fine as long as she was going in a single direction. Her feet would slide along the polished stone floor, shuffling one foot and then the other. But once I tried to pivot her in another direction, her feet would get all twisted up.

  “Marilyn, come on,” I whispered as I tried to maneuver her around a ginormous abstract sculpture jutting away from the wall. She slumped against me, her legs twisting like taffy as I tried to keep her upright.

  “Spence,” I hissed, wrestling with Marilyn’s dead weight. “Help me.”

  From a couple feet ahead, Spence turned around. “Uh, Rick. Problem.”

  “Yeah. Problem. We’re going to have to carry her out of here.”

  “No. Another problem.” Leaning out of the way, he pointed ahead.

  Dr. Chatsworth was between us and the door, talking to the robe-check boy. The doctor was looking around, anxiously glancing out the front door and then back toward the crowd. “You’re sure you didn’t see her leave?”

  Crap. He’d noticed Marilyn’s empty pedestal.

  “Rick, that way.” Spence pointed toward a hallway. But I still hadn’t finished with my last ten-point turn to get Marilyn around the sculpture. Jogging back, Spence grasped Marilyn’s other side and between the two of us we hoisted her down the hallway.

  The chatter of the party died away and other noise began to emerge. The clink of glass on granite and water running down drains

  “Oh good, more munchies.” Spence had found the kitchen. Putting Marilyn down, he headed for the platter of crab puffs. Marilyn walked directly forward and found the steak tartare.

  I looked around, but there didn’t appear to be an exit. Just a large bank of windows, looking out over an impressive view of the LA skyline. The catering staff, presumably no one else wore black collared shirts and white aprons to swanky parties, were pulling double duty as waiters. They loaded up their trays and headed back to the party—too overworked to care that Spence and Marilyn had just turned the kitchen into their private buffet.

  “What do we do? Wait out the doctor and then head for the front door?” I asked, but no one really seemed to be paying attention. Spence was still eating. Marilyn had finished the raw steak and was looking for more nibbles.

  She wandered around the kitchen, changing direction when she bumped into the counter. She did a slow-motion ricochet that placed her directly in front of a door that I hadn’t noticed before. She grasped the handle and opened it.

  “Is that a way out?” I asked.

  Spence had the better view. “No, it looks like some kind of basement.” Leaving the puffs, he moved behind Marilyn to get a better look.

  From the dark hall came a sound. Some kind of thump. And then, “Mwwarrr.”

  Marilyn perked up. “Mmwwa”

  Spence slammed the door. “What was that?”

  Marilyn had a light in her eyes that had been gone for days. Spence tried to pull her away. But she turned—ALL BY HERSELF—and opened the door again.

  From out in the hall, I overheard, “Have you seen anyone go into the kitchen? A blonde woman. About 35, skin like a 14-year old?”

  “The doctor, quick.” I grabbed Spence by the collar of his t-shirt and pushed him toward the open door, herding Marilyn in front of the two of us.

  I grasped the door handle, shutting us into the dark. “Hush. Both of you.”

  All three of us were crowded onto the top platform that quickly descended into a set of stairs. Marilyn kept trying to walk off the platform, but I held her by the waist, angling her toward the wall. Undeterred, she kept turning herself toward the stairs.

  “Mwaaa,” she said with a bit of a whine. Her new way of saying, “What gives, Rick?”

  A rustling sound came from below, like something being slowly dragged across the floor. It stopped. I waited the length of a breath, then heard another rustle and a long eerie squeak.

  Spense jumped as something thumped at the base of the staircase.

  He pawed at my hand, trying to pry it away from the doorknob.

  “The doctor’s still in the kitchen,” I whispershouted at Spense.

  “But there’s something down there, man.”

  I pressed my ear to the door, holding Marilyn—who was still trying to walk over the edge. “She’s about 5’10’’, doesn’t say very much.” I could hear the doctor talking to the caterers through the door.

  There was a thud, but it was more than a sound. I felt the reverberation from the platform through the soles of my running shoes. “It’s crawling up the stairs!” Spense whispered hysterically. He was clawing at my shirt. And I wondered if he even knew what he was doing.

  “Mrhhaaa,” Marilyn called out and Spense stilled. I held my breath.

  “Mrrhh,” it rumbled back.

  “Wait, did you hear something?” I heard the doctor’s voice through the door.

  Spense yanked on my arm, and I tried to shoulder my friend away from the doorknob. “It’s not safe! He’s still out there.”

  “It’s not safe in here!”

  The thuds were continuing, a creepy rhythm that I could feel all the way to my bones.

  Spense jumped, the way he did when he saw a spider crawling across the floor. “Something touched me!”

  “No, I’m sure I heard something,” came the doctor's muffled voice, which was getting louder as he approached the door.

  Something icy gripped my ankle and I jumped, nearly spilling down the staircase as Marilyn pulled in that direction.

  “It’s on me. It’s on me.” Spense screamed and ripped the door handle away from me. He threw the door open and was still screaming as he pulled me and Marilyn through.

  We didn’t bother shutting the door as we ran, half dragging Marilyn, past an open-mouthed doctor and the aghast caterers. Spense continued to shriek intermittently, although by now it was probably for distraction. We made our way down the hallway to the great room and past the slightly less bored-looking but still not impressed robe-check boy.

  Behind us others began to scream. Dishes crashed and doors slammed. But we didn’t wait to find out what had been in the basement or what it was now doing to the doctor’s house.

  Marilyn struggled against our hold, thrashing in our arms and twisting violently so that she could keep the doctor’s house in sight. Her feet made a Morse code of tracks through the well-watered landscaping. She wailed and then growled, snapping at my face when I buckled her in the back of Spenser’s station wagon. I jumped into the front seat, trying not to take it personally when Marilyn wouldn’t let me sit next to her in the back. Slamming my door shut, I yelled at my buddy to drive.