Chapter 11
The depravities of the twenty-odd hours Terri and her abductor spent in that forest-hidden cabin in Tujunga Canyon all seemed to blend into one perpetual miasma of reeking pestilence and pain and humiliation. The endless inventory of perversion was blurred in her brain, she remembered only a few of the individual quirks the monster forced her to perform.
He did tie her to the cabin bed and experiment. He did take her naked into the woods, tie her to a gnarled, stunted pine, assault her anew. Once she remembered being tied by her wrists, being hung suspended from the cabin rafter for a half hour or so. While Jarecki, wild for variation, had tortured her nonstop.
But mostly she was grateful to forget. For after all, when a person's flesh is consumed in a gasoline fire, when he is numb with pain and hopelessness, who is to quibble over whether it is an arm or a charged ear that agonizes the most?
And Terri's soul was truly charred. The very fact that she was sane, that she could still formulate coherent words and thoughts was miracle in itself. Someday, should she live, she might be able to recall the gruesome interlude, she might be able to inventory degradation.
Jarecki saw to her toilette himself that Sunday morning. When Terri, unable to respond, couldn't even wash her face, comb her hair. Becoming impatient, he slapped her, shook her, made her apply skimpy makeup.
At 10:35, they were ready to leave Tujunga Canyon. A new irresponsibility and arrogance born within the man, positive he'd crushed Terri's spirit once and for all, he didn't tie her, fling her in the back as he'd done with the others. Instead, he was determined to have her ride beside him in the car, he wanted to flaunt her, his barbaric crimes before an unseeing, indifferent world. He wanted to further torment Terri, give her a last, fleeting look at a world which soon would be torn from her.
Threatening her severely, the revolver lying in his lap as he drove, they started down the mountain.
They reached La Canada by 11:30. They were rapidly immersed in the noisy, blurring welter of humanity once more. Pasadena was behind them. They took the Pasadena Freeway, joined the Hollywood. The Santa Ana was ahead. Today it didn't matter if he took the long way around. Let the kid enjoy herself. There was a shortcut he knew of at Bueno Park.
Terri stared sully, straight ahead, saw none of the cities, none of the human glut through which they cleaved. There was a wall of resignation that couldn't be breached, a lassitude that obliterated the least inkling of rebellion, of last ditch escape. She was going to die, there was no questioning the fact. It had been ordained by a power greater than her poor mentality could comprehend.
But gradually, as they drove, as Terri saw the cars beside and ahead of her, as she saw buildings and houses, people dressed in Sunday finery walking on the streets adjunct to the freeway, a change came over her.
It was as if this re-identity with the world had fanned a puny spark of resistance, triggered a new will to live.
Looking to the right, her eyes listless, Terri saw a compact auto, the husband driving, the wife beside him. While in the back seat, a giant picnic basket between them, two adorable girls of five and six, bounded expectantly on the seat.
An even greater pain blistered Terri's heart. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be going on a picnic? With your husband, with children, testament to the enduring love marriage must bring? She felt a fiery pang in her throat. She would never know what it was like. Not now.
Strangely she thought of Matt. Would he have made a good husband? Would he have been gentle and kind and loving?
It was something she'd never know.
The spark was fanned to flame. The rebellion grew.
And when Jarecki turned to her, hissed another taunting oath at her, she decided. He was supremely confident, positive she was totally cowed. Almost as if daring her to grab for the gun so carelessly balanced in his lap, waiting for her to attempt an escape.
The lust to live, to gain some modicum of revenge upon the monster became stronger. The hate made her heart race, caused the sweat to begin on her forehead, down her back. What do I have to lose? she evaluated. I'm going to die anyway.
But she was so afraid. She was only a woman; she was weak. Yet the hatred burgeoned, became more crucifying. Until her body ached from wanting to vent that hatred somehow. And thus, still feigning resignation and brutalized lethargy, she began watching for her chance. If, some place soon, they hit a traffic snarl, if the man would be distracted for the slightest moment-
Her heart pounded unmercifully, it seemed she couldn't hear, couldn't think.
"Getting anxious, huh, baby?" Jarecki taunted. "Can't wait to go picking desert flowers, can you?"
Terri didn't answer, she only stared straight ahead, fought to keep the secret determination from flaring in her eyes. Then, not more than five minutes later, a Thunderbird heedlessly changed lanes, almost hooked bumpers with Jarecki's Buick.
She heard him curse, heard the squeal of brakes, saw him jerk the wheel hard to avoid a collision. The pistol slid halfway off his leg. Terror and desperation coating her brain with roaring flame, she lurched for the weapon, grasped it, pulled away from Jarecki. threw herself away, against her door. Instantly her finger found the trigger. The confused Jarecki turned, stared into the ugly muzzle of the gun, saw the crazed expression in the girl's eyes.
"Stop! Stop this car," Terri breathed, her voice snagging, betraying her damnable weakness and uncertainty. "I'm warning you, do as I say, or I'll kill you where you sit. I'll kill us both."
Grinning like a momentarily foiled fox, Jarecki worked his way into the right lane. And then, Norwalk coming up next, he found a turnoff. "There," Terri hissed. "Stop in there."
Pretending defeat, he killed the engine, turned halfway toward her, his hands even with his shoulders. "C'mon now, Terri," he wheedled. "You didn't really believe I was gonna kill you, did you? I was only kidding, I was only going to scare you a little. Give me that gun now...."
Terri hit the door handle, felt a draft as the door swung open. Cautiously, never taking her eyes off Jarecki, she began sliding out of the car. If she could just put distance between them, keep him at bay until she'd hailed a car, any car-one of the highway patrol vehicles especially.
Her skirt tangled in the door handle. She glanced away for the briefest second. Instantly Jarecki was upon her, he had his hand on the pistol, was squeezing her fingers unmercifully, twisting her wrist. She couldn't pull the trigger. And she screamed hideously, expended a last ounce of strength, got halfway out of the car.
Still she held the gun, grunted as she jerked one last time, pulled the man off balance. Until she was in the hot sun, the gun still in her hand, Jarecki's hand still clamped over her fingers, twisting her wrist. Then Jarecki fell halfway out of the car, balanced himself on the pavement with one hand.
Terri continued to scream, kept pulling, her terror lending her superhuman strength. Somehow she dragged Jarecki from behind the car. And there, in full view of hundreds of cars, the vicious struggle went on. Those who looked could see the horror-stricken girl, they could see the sun glistening on the nickel plated pistol, they could see the life-and-death struggle. Even over the whine and roar of traffic they could hear her ear-splitting screams.
And yet, though the cars slowed down, not a single one made a move to veer into the emergency apron, not a single car stopped to aid Terri.
The struggle seemed to last for an eternity, Jarecki having control now, holding the gun high over their heads, his arm around Terri's neck, choking. She felt herself blacking out, gave a final, savage, last wrench.
The gun came down, the man lost his grip, and her fingers scrabbled for the trigger. There was a deafening roar, and she felt a searing pain in her right leg, and knew she'd only managed to wound herself.
She realized that this meant the end, if no one, in the whole world was willing to help her.
Her head spun crazily, red and silver lights twinkled behind her eyes. She was falling, she was so weak.
And she realized that Jarecki was pulling her back toward the car.
She heard a horrendous squeal of breaks, coming from somewhere out in outer space.
Then the darkness closed down. She remembered no more.
"The horn!" Matt roared at Pam, not taking his eyes off the mad scene to the right for an instant. "Lean on it for all you're worth. Don't stop! I'm going over!"
Then, cutting sharply, bluffing out a man driving a Caddy, he veered into a hundred feet opening to his right, braked hard. The Caddy braked behind him. He heard a crash in the distance, a tinkle of glass. Then, the horn still braying, Pam frozen to her appointed chore, he cut right once more, made a Dodge squeal its brakes. Horns were blowing everywhere.
He made a desperate, last chance swing toward the emergency area, felt a crunching shudder as the Dodge plowed into the side of his Chrysler. He jammed the accelerator, cursed to find the engine dead. It seemed the air was alive with squawking, shrieking geese. Until he realized the sound was that of frantically applied brakes behind. As cars for a mile back came to an emergency stop. More crunching thuds sounded.
The Dodge driver was cursing him. But Matt paid him no mind. "Down, Pam!" he roared as he broke from the car, saw the rusty-haired man turn, aim the shiny pistol.
Enraged, not thinking, seeing only Terri's blonde hair where she'd fallen to the blacktop, moving on reflexive energy lust alone, Matt ran full tilt toward the astonished, off-guard Jarecki. Twice the pistol roared, and Matt heard a whistle, sensed a rush of air inches from his body. Irate drivers behind him hit the ground as if all pulled on the same string.
The gun bucked once more, the fourth bullet going wild. And Jarecki, whirled, tried to run.
Schaffner caught him from behind, leveled him with an expert tackle. The revolver went flying, skittered into the grass. "Don't...." the smaller man screamed.
As Matt picked him up, whirled him, drove a ham-sized fist into his face, the fury of the blow simply obliterating his nose. "Scum...." Matt groaned, in a lunatic trance now, as he swung again, demolished that ratty face still further. Now, as Jarecki fell forward, screaming, his hands to his face, Matt brought up his knee, buried it against the psycho.
Jarecki went down, he screamed and clawed at the unyielding pavement. Matt hoisted him to his feet once more, began hammering at that bloody mask. And as blow followed blow, as Schaffner felt the jolting shots all the way up into his shoulders, into the base of his skull, he came as close to going berserk as he ever wanted to again.
Pam came running then, saw the bloody blob of meat that had once been a face, began screaming at the top of her lungs. "Stop him...." she wailed.
But when no bystander moved toward Matt, she whirled, picked up the pistol, hysterically fired the remaining two shots into the air.
Then she flung the gun away, and moving in near trance herself, ran to help the still unconscious Terri.
At that moment two highway patrolmen, their squad car trapped a quarter mile back down the freeway, broke through the crowd, charged Matt, caught his arms, dragged him off the hapless Jarecki.
"Kill!" Matt choked, almost sobbing, "let me kill the slimy scum!"
The police held him until he was calmer. "There ain't much left there to kill anyway," one of them grunted.