Chapter 8

Clete Watts had done very well; better than any of the others of the old Ludlow high school group. Backward in school during his high school days, he'd been somewhat older than the rest, but he'd made up for it later in college and was now safely launched on an important career. Still a junior so far as experience was concerned, he hadn't had to scrimp and struggle, because family money had come to his rescue enabling him to move into Kenton, one of the finer suburbs of the city.

And that was where Betty Watts answered the kitchen door bell around mid-afternoon of that day.

Betty was a tall, arresting brunette who didn't look at all domestic in the apron she was wearing. She always gave the impression that she belonged in a bathing, suit preferably a skimpy bikini on some glamorous beach.

The man who waited at the door was a stranger to her, but he had an interesting face; not ugly in any sense, but it gave Betty the impression that the skin was too tight to be comfortable

The man didn't seem to mind it, though. He smiled and removed his hat and said, "Mrs. Watts? I'm from the plant My name is Philip Henderson.'

Philip Henderson meant nothing to Betty, but the plant did. It was the sun around which she and Clete shaped their lives. Anyone from the plant had automatic access to the Watts home.

"Won't you come in. Mr. Henderson? You'll have to excuse me. I'm doing a little baking. My husband-likes apple turnovers and the frozen ones "

"I quite understand." the man said. He looked around and appeared to approve of what he saw. "You have a very nice home here."

"Thank you. It's not as pretentious as some of the others on the block, but Clete and I are quite content."

"Clete is highly thought of at the plant."

"Won't you come into the living room, Mr. Henderson? But first let me get this apron off."

"I think the apron is very becoming," the man said approvingly.

"Thank you, but it's hardly a costume for receiving guests."

They went into the living room where Betty offered him a chair. He continued to favor the place with his inspection and continued to appear pleased.

"I see you've followed a rustic motif."

"Yes. A sort of hunting lodge effect. Clete is basically an out-of-doors man."

"Loves the woods, eh?"

"Yes. We get out as much as we can."

Betty Was sure Mr. Henderson would eventually get to the reason for his visit and did not press him. She sat down on the lounge, folding her skirt tight across her knees, and waited.

Her mistake was reaching for a cigarette. As she took it from the box on the coffee table, the man was on his feet moving in with a lighter.

She wasn't quite sure what happened after that. His movements were too quick, too practiced, too decisive.

But in a matter of moments, the picture had changed sharply. He had whipped a black cloth from his pocket while extending the lighter. Then, in a flash, the cloth was around her mouth, cutting off the scream of surprise that welled up automatically.

"I'm sorry I have to do this, Mrs. Watts," the man said.

But his sorrow did not in any way temper his actions. As Betty, her eyes wide from fear and consternation, began to fight, he seized her arms and locked them behind her back.

"Don't fight. That would be useless," he said.

Betty didn't agree. Fighting was well worthwhile in her book, and she went at him with all she had. He forced her to the floor and she continued to struggle, coming up on her knees and kicking out in desperation.

But that did no good. She caught a glimpse of a bright strip of cloth, a necktie, and then, with his knee in the small of her back, the man bound her wrists together securely.

He arose, bent down, and rolled Betty over on her back. She glared up at him. Her throat worked as she screamed but only a harmless blur of sound came out.

He stepped back, the preliminary work done, and Betty raised one leg and kicked out at him. Her foot connected with nothing. She kicked out with the other leg. Safe from any injury, he contemplated his handiwork. Her skirts were high now, revealing gorgeous legs, the smooth flesh creamy and flawless Her panties, tight over their area, were very thin and concealed nothing. She kicked out again, with both feet, and the high-waisted skirt bunched up to uncover a strong, flat waist.

The man studied her thoughtfully as she lay helpless

"You have beautiful legs, Mrs. Watts. A beautiful body. I'm sure they're a great joy to your husband."

Betty struggled and kicked. She squealed behind the gag and glared at him.

"I knew another girl." he went on sadly. "'She had beautiful legs, too. A beautiful body."

Betty had inched along on her back to get closer to him. She kicked out with both feet. He stepped aside.

"That girl was a joy to your husband, too."

Then his reverie ended and his tight face turned grim. Again he reached into his pocket and brought out a coil of thin rope. He turned and went to the archway that separated the living room from what appeared to be a den and television room. He looked up and studied the open beam that arched across the top of the archway.

"It will do nicely," he murmured.

Returning to Betty, he reached down and seized her unceremoniously by the ankles. She squalled indignantly but the muffled sounds were lost on him as he dragged her toward the archway on her back.

The man did not read her reaction in her face because the dragging action spread Betty's full skirt over her head. Thus her face was hidden. Only her lush body was visible with the upper band of the skirt trying to pull over her breasts, half-revealing them.

With his victim stretched under the archway, the man looked at her and frowned.

"This isn't right," he muttered. "I tied your arms wrong. If I left them that way, they would break."

He studied her while she fought with the skirt that hid her face.

"I must, loosen your arms and tie them in front. Will you allow me to do it, or will you fight?"

Betty whipped and tumbled and. kicked, indicating that there would be ho quarter. She would fight.

He sighed. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

Up to this point, he had been more careless with her than brutal, but now, when he untied her arms, he jerked them around ruthlessly until they were over her head. Betty cried out from the pain and while it occupied her mind, he retied her wrists over her head.

"That's better," he said almost cheerfully. "Now we can finish the thing."

The thing he referred to consisted of swinging Betty from the overhead beam by her wrists. He was careful, actually considerate, during the operation and when he had her feet a few inches off the floor, he anchored the rope and stepped back as though relieved that the hanging operation was completed.

Then he went about stripping Betty. He laid her clothes neatly aside and stood watching as she kicked in wild abandon.

"If you relax, this will be easier," he said.

Betty gabbled at him through the gag. He responded with an expression of sorrow. "Please believe me. I regret this more than I can say. I also regret what I have to do now. I'll be as quick as possible."

When he'd finished with the last phase of the operation, he glanced at his watch.

"I timed this as accurately as possible," he said. "Your husband should be home within ten minutes. You will not have to suffer long."

He paused in the doorway to the rear of the house. He turned. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Watts," he murmured. "Very sorry...."

Clete didn't get much work done that afternoon. The phone call from Payne threw a wrench into the thinking required for his job.

It was disturbing to get a call like that with no warning. Why couldn't those characters forget about the past, as he had? He'd admitted his guilt long ago. And he'd suitable penance during long dark nights of struggle with his conscience and his guilt complex.

But that was over and done with. The crazy prank of a group of crazy juveniles. They could let the incident ruin their lives if they wanted to, but not Clete.

What, he wondered, did they have in mind now? There was no danger. There couldn't be. The statute of limitations had run out on the thing even if the police had stumbled onto something, which was highly improbable. The girl was in a nut house. Carl was dead. And no one had heard of Lee Windsor for years. He'd probably forgotten the incident, also.

Thus, the old ghost spooked around in his head and he was glad when five o'clock came. That meant home and Betty and the Scotch and soda after work that was one of the highpoints of his day.

It was less than ten minutes on the road and he took the last corner a little too fast. But the risk was worth it. He eased into the driveway and went in through the patio door at the side of the house.

Then he looked at the sight that was there to greet him. His muscles locked. Sickness hit the pit of his stomach.

"My God!" he muttered. "My God!"

Betty's wracking sobs had ceased. Her body had stopped trembling. She had successfully blocked Clete's urge to call in a doctor:

"What can we tell him?" she'd pleaded. "That a man came in and hung me naked in the archway and laid a strap across my bottom? I'd rather die! I'd rather die!"

So Clete administered to her bruised wrists and the three red weals across her beautiful buttocks. He'd given her a tranquilizer, and now she was comparatively quiet.

But she wasn't drowsy. Her mind was working alertly and she was no longer in need of cuddling and sympathy.

"He was weird-crazy! It's--it's unbelievable I went through everything and I still doubt that he was even here."

"We'll get the police on his trail," Clete said.

Betty paused before replying. "Are you sure you want the police in on this. Clete?"

His indignation at the question seemed genuine "Good lord' That's a hell of a thing to say! What have I said that could make you think ? " What he said."

"He was obviously crazy. A madman!"

'Of course he was. But there are different kinds of madness. I got the feeling his came from brooding over something. Desire wasn't the motivation. He didn't attack me."

"Let's not talk about that now."

"But I want to. Later I might not be able to. And I'd always wonder. Do you mind if we have our discussion now?"

"Of course not, if you wish. But what's there to discuss?"

"Let me tell you what he said. There were several strange statements. For one thing, he complimented me on my legs and body. That was when he had me on the floor practically naked."

"Betty! Please! Let's drop this for the time being."

"But I don't want to. He said my legs and body were probably a great joy to you. Then he said he'd known another girl that she'd been a great joy to you, too. What did he mean, Clete? What girl was he referring to?"

"How on earth do I know, Betty? You're trying to get sense out of the mouthing of a maniac!"

"Maybe. Maybe not. He kept apologizing for what he said he had to do to me as though I were a hapless pawn in a game that involved others. And everything he did, every move he. made, seemed premeditated."

"That's crazy. An insane mind usual works by whim."

"No. Not with him. He seemed to be recreating a scene. Something that had happened before."

"Or maybe something he imagined had happened."

"Somehow I don't think so. Clete, is there something in your past you haven't told me?"

"No. Now I want you to close your eyes and "

"Something terrible?"

"No, Betty. Now stop it. I know you're emotionally upset, but you're only hurting yourself more."

Betty hunted for words, but they wouldn't form.

"Maybe you're right. I guess we ought to discuss this later, after I've had some sleep."

"That's a fine idea."

"I'm very sleepy."

"Good. Now don't fight the sleep. Close your eyes and empty your mind."

"All right."

Betty's eyes closed. Clete watched her for five minutes. When she was breathing evenly, he got up from the edge of the bed and went to the phone. He dialed and when an answer came he spoke softly.

"Jim, I've been thinking. Maybe there is something the old group should talk about. Count me in on the get-together."