Chapter 15
"Stan." The voice came from a great distance away, through a layer of velvet. Beneath the layer of velvet there had been peacefulness ... he had no wish to climb above. "Stan."
The voice was gentle. Something touched him. He said, "Go away," but the something moved closer and he felt rounded hard-pointed softnesses press against his chest. Something played through his hair, something brushed his lips.
He had been asleep, he realized slowly, a deep, deep sleep. He could vaguely remember the night, a strange night filled with twistings and turnings, and unfamiliar sensations, but still a pleasant night and then, finally, somewhere during the night, he had drifted into the deep, deep sleep.
He smelled perfume and he remembered Ellen. He opened his eyes and saw her face haloed by sunlight. She didn't look beautiful-not without makeup, not with her hair flying in every direction, her eyes puffed and half-closed ... but there was beauty in the way she smiled at him.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, Ellen."
"Did you sleep all right?"
"Uh huh."
She wrinkled her nose. "I didn't. You flap your arms when you sleep. You flap your arms like a big bird. You hit me in the face, you almost broke my nose. You hit me in the stomach-Wham!"
She smiled again and leaned forward until her lips were almost touching his. He moved a fraction of an inch to kiss her. There was no lust in the kiss, no arousal, no preliminary to desire and satisfaction.
"Now," she said. "Unlock these damned handcuffs. My arm is numb, I have to go to the bathroom and then I'll have to fix breakfast. We slept late."
After he unlocked the handcuff that had bound her to the bed during the night, she scurried to the bathroom. He heard her moving around the house, first in the bathroom and then in the kitchen. The sound of her feet was strangely satisfying, a sound that should have been in the house years ago.
He should have married someone years ago.
He was crazy.
If he'd married someone he wouldn't have gone crazy with boredom, he wouldn't have kidnapped Emma, Irene, Ellen and Janie.
Sleeping with Ellen and waking to find her there with him in the morning was only a small taste of what marriage would have been like. A good taste....
The day seemed to drift by without effort, without destination. He repaired the crack in the hall ceiling, chiseling it until it was wide enough to fill with plaster, then smoothing the plaster with a trowel. When the plaster had dried enough, he painted the entire hall ceiling.
He rearranged the storage room to make it neater, repaired the squeaking floorboard in the living-room floor, put a new washer in the leaking kitchen faucet and cleaned the bathroom. He noticed the toilet paper was almost gone and realized he hadn't bought any on his last shopping trip. He used the vacuum cleaner in the living room but halfway through the job he found a book under one of the chairs, a book he had been reading. He began to read again at the point where he had stopped, all cleaning forgotten.
At lunch-time, when he unlocked the cellar so Ellen could prepare the meal, she seemed cheerful, humming to herself as she cooked and making casual conversation about the news she'd heard over the radio. They had not made love during the night. He had felt exhausted and drained and had fallen asleep shortly after handcuffing one of her wrists to the bed. But he would make love with her during the coming night.
He formed a plan, decided to be very casual, gentle. He would kiss her good-night. But he wouldn't stop there. He would kiss her again and then, slowly, very, very slowly, he would arouse her. It would be different from any of the other times he'd made love with her, perhaps different from any other time in his life, perhaps the way a man might make love to his wife.
After lunch he finished cleaning the living room and returned the vacuum cleaner to the closet. He realized no one had volunteered to do any cleaning. Ellen had volunteered to prepare the meals, Janie had volunteered to wash the dishes. No one had volunteered to clean.
He finished reading the book and saw it was still hours until the evening meal when he would have to unlock the cellar again. He wandered aimlessly around the house and finally, in desperation for something to do, put on his coat and went outside to shovel the snow from the flagstone paths and the driveway.
The temperature had dropped again and his breath burst in frosty puffs as he worked. When he finished the shoveling, his back ached, his arms ached, his legs ached, every muscle in his body ached, but inwardly he felt as if the hard work had washed away all tension and fatigue. For the first day in weeks he felt totally relaxed.
After Janie had begun to wash the dishes, he sat at the kitchen table and drank a bottle of beer. He couldn't stop yawning. His eyes wanted to slide shut. He wished Janie would hurry through the dishwashing so he could return her to the cellar, so he could take Ellen to the bedroom, so they could make love in exactly the way he'd planned ... and thus end the day.
But Janie wouldn't hurry. She moved slowly-agonizingly slowly.
When she finished, she walked to the chair where he sat, looking down at him.
"Stan ... I've been thinking about what you said."
"What do you mean?" He rose from the chair. Whatever it was she wanted to tell him, he wished she'd tell him as they walked to the cellar. But as he nodded toward the cellar, she ignored the gesture.
"I've been thinking about what you said. I think you're right."
"Oh!" He remembered some of their conversation. He couldn't remember all of it-perhaps because he'd been drinking-but he could remember some of the phrases. He'd said, It's a game for children. When are you going to grow up? Don't you want to be a real woman?
He remembered how thoughtful she'd seemed afterwards. She'd thought about it. She'd decided he was right. Good! He was right. But what could he say now? I'm glad you agree. I'm glad you think I was right.
He almost yawned. He had to fight the yawn and his eyes were so heavy-lidded it took a conscious effort to keep them Open. Again he nodded toward the cellar. He thought she understood, but when they passed through the hallway, she turned into the bedroom instead of continuing on toward the cellar.
For a moment he didn't understand what she intended to do. For a moment he stood in the hallway and watched her. He walked to the bedroom doorway, saw her unbuttoning her blouse and then he understood.
She had decided he was right. It's a game for children. When are you going to grow up? Don't you want to be a real woman? She had decided he was right. She had decided to stop playing the children's game. She had decided to grow up. She had decided to become a real woman-in exactly the way he'd meant.
There was no lamp in the bedroom. Light filtered into the room from the bulb in the hallway ceiling and illuminated the room in tones of gray. He could see Janie-clearly but not as clearly as if she were standing in a well-lit room. He could see every detail of her body-stray wisps of hair across her forehead, wide brown eyes, small pixy nose....
She removed her blouse and bent forward slightly as she tried to unhook the white bra. She glanced at him occasionally and he saw there was no boldness about her decision. She wouldn't strip and fling herself before him with the wantonness of a tramp. She wasn't a tramp. She was half-frightened, half-reluctant. She removed the bra and he stared at her breasts-small large-nippled immature breasts.
"Janie, you shouldn't ... "
He walked toward her. As he moved closer, he could see the way her breasts rose and fell rapidly. Her large brown eyes were wide.
He stood a foot away from her. He wanted to reach out and make her stop. He didn't want her. He wanted Ellen. His mind chanted, I don't want you. I want Ellen, I don't want you. I want Ellen....
She removed her skirt and in another moment she had removed her panties. She stood entirely naked before him, her shoulders slightly hunched. She leaned against him and tilted her head upward, eyes closed.
"Janie...."
Her lips were parted, waiting to be kissed. A virgin waiting to be taken....
Passion exploded in his loins. He leaned down to kiss her, tasting the small wet sweetness of her mouth and his hands moved to her back, sliding down to her buttocks, cupping them briefly and then sliding on to her thighs. He explored the soft naked perfection of her body from her thighs to the large nipples of her breasts. Her nipples hardened against the palms of his hands as she swayed against him.
At the final moment when their naked bodies were locked together-at the final moment before mutual discovery when she seemed to raise upward from the bed-he felt as if a slice had been removed from time. He could remember nothing from the kiss to this moment, he could not remember undressing, he could not remember walking to the bed, he could not remember moving above her.
She had spread her legs, her small breasts heaving excitedly. One of her arms laid at her side and she held her other arm upraised, the hand curled at the back of his neck. He took one last look at the flawless virginal body and thrust downward. Her cry of pain ripped through the air.
As he felt the warm flatness of her stomach against his own stomach, the cry faded and she stiffened, her legs bending convulsively until her heels were almost against her buttocks. She moaned and her hands moved against his shoulders to push him away but there was no strength in her arms.
He couldn't stop. He moved through her moans of pain, through a tight warm sliding softness of an unbearable intensity he had never known before until at last, at the end of the journey, as if he had passed through a long dark tunnel, he reached a blinding nova of light and release.
The moans of pain became soft sobs. He held her in his arms and tried to comfort her. She wouldn't stop sobbing ... but her sobs abated slowly until he knew her pain had almost ended.
It only hurts that bad the first time, he thought. You must know that, Janie. You're old enough to know that, and if you know that, why are you crying?
He stifled a yawn.
His eyes slid to darkness.
He opened his eyes.
His eyes slid tight again, heavier.
Before he could open them he shivered and reached for the blankets. He wasn't under the blankets.
His heart hammered and he rolled off the bed. He'd fallen asleep!
He raced to the bedroom doorway and turned back again to dress hurriedly. The Luger still lay by the bed and he grabbed it, running into the hallway barefoot.
The front door was open. Wind had piled snow inside the doorway. He raced from room to room shouting, "Janie? Janie?" He went to the front door and stared out into the dark. He tried to close the door, his teeth chattering from the cold, but the snow had piled too high. With numbing hands he scraped the snow aside until he could close the door. Then he ran to the cellar.
As soon as he unlocked the door, he turned on the light.
Irene looked up from the bed, staring at him.
Ellen sat on the cot, her face white. She stared at him without speaking and he wondered if she had sat there most of the night waiting for him to come and take her to the bedroom as they had planned. What time was it now? He looked at his wristwatch and saw it was past midnight.
He'd been asleep for more than three hours!
Janie had escaped.
He slammed the door and locked it.
He turned and ran.