Chapter 8

Emma McCall glanced at her wrist-watch and noticed it was past one o'clock. There seemed to be a vast emptiness in her stomach and with it a hunger that made her almost nauseated. Something was wrong. She knew something was wrong.

The man named Scott usually had Ellen prepare their breakfast around seven o'clock in the morning and he usually had Ellen prepare their lunch around noon. Today they'd had neither breakfast or lunch. The others were worried, too. She could tell they were worried although they didn't talk about it.

Something had to be wrong. Could it be that Scott had decided to let them starve to death? The thought made her dizzy with fear.

She closed her eyes, waited for the dizziness to pass. She listened to the music and tried to concentrate on it. Janie sat with her ear almost against the radio. Before-in the morning-Janie had turned it on so loud she'd asked Janie to turn down the volume and now she wished she hadn't complained.

Ellen and Irene were playing cards. They seemed to play cards endlessly. A strange pair. It was easy to see they didn't like each other. Maybe they hated each other. But still they played cards hour after hour. It was a way of passing time. She had tried to play cards with them but they had become irritated because she was so slow. She couldn't concentrate on the cards-she had found herself sitting and staring at them without really seeing them. It was hard not to think about Franklin and how worried he would be. It was hard not to think about how Scott had taken her panties.

She hadn't noticed it at first. She had fainted and regained consciousness on the bed. It had been almost an hour before she felt the strangeness beneath her skirt and-by carefully pressing the tips of her fingers against herself-was absolutely certain that Scott had removed her panties. Her first thought was that he had raped her but then, by careful analysis of how she felt, she knew he hadn't raped her.

She had been afraid to mention it to the other girls. It would have been awkward. She could have said, He took my parities. And then what? The other girls would have been puzzled, as puzzled as herself. It felt awkward being without the undergarment. She felt unclothed and vaguely indecent.

It was impossible to understand why he'd taken her panties. Unless he'd molested her while she was unconscious. Unless his mind was somehow warped and he enjoyed that kind of thing. Last night he'd made Irene give him her panties. Maybe that proved his mind was warped. Why else would he want women's undergarments?

She tried to stop thinking about the panties and tried to think about Franklin. They had a good marriage. And without a lot of sex, too. She let Franklin have a sexual relationship with her at least once a week. Four times a month. Other than that-whenever he wanted to do it, she managed to elude him somehow.

The bit about having a headache-people always joked about a woman saying she had a headache when she didn't want to do it-but it was an effective way of putting a damper on things. Saying you had a headache or complaining about not feeling too well. There was that certain period of the month that always stopped it, too.

Then she had developed a technique of discussing an unpleasant subject after they were in bed-on those nights when she could tell from the look in his eye that he wanted her. She hated to do that-but then, she hated to let him do it to her more than once a week.

During their courtship, there had been no talk of sex. There had been kisses, of course. There had to be kisses during a courtship, but other than that there had been no sex or talk of sex.

Franklin had never got familiar with his hands, had never said anything at all off-color.

During their first months of marriage, she had tried to explain to Franklin her concept of sex. She had told him she felt that sex was a necessary evil-a way of maintaining and increasing the human race. A way of relieving physical tensions. Perhaps even a thing to be enjoyed-in the sense that it relieved physical tensions.

She had tried to explain what Mamma had taught her-that the body was a Temple and that sex could be a way of destroying the Temple. If sexual relationships became too important-enjoyed too often and too much-then sex became an evil. If it was held to a definite pattern such as once a week, then it wasn't an evil, then it was relieving a physical need, the way the pattern of eating three times a day relieved the physical need for food.

Franklin didn't quite agree with her. And she could understand why he didn't. She had trouble with her appetite! Food was her demon. She could understand how a thing like sex could be another person's demon.

Franklin didn't quite agree with her views, but over the years she had won the battle. At times he seemed unsatisfied with their "sex life" but mostly he had reconciled himself to it and seemed happy otherwise.

He had his hobbies. She had gone back to work to earn extra money so they could afford the Florida vacation every year. Maybe hobbies and a Florida vacation weren't a perfect substitute, but they were the only ones available and in every way other than sex, she had always given in to his wishes. She tried to be a good wife.

She rolled on the bed until her face was against the pillow, pressed the palm of a hand against her stomach.

Hungry.

Where is Stanley Scott?

She wondered if Scott would rape her. He had raped Ellen. Two or three times Ellen had returned to the room with her clothes wrinkled, her lipstick smeared, her hair disarrayed. Irene had asked Ellen if Scott had raped her, Ellen had hesitated and then, almost defiantly, answered Yes.

But-strangely-Ellen didn't seem to be disturbed at being raped. In fact, sometimes, when she returned to the cellar and thought no one was looking, you could see a sort of half-smile on her lips as if she enjoyed being raped. Maybe she did. But if she enjoyed it, then it wasn't rape.

Maybe Ellen did enjoy it. Emma hoped Ellen did. Maybe that would lessen the chances of Scott raping her.

It didn't seem-likely Scott would want to rape her. Not since he had Ellen ... and Irene. Irene was prettier than Ellen or herself or Janie. And Scott had Janie, too. Janie was a cute little girl....

She twisted on the bed and tried to repress a moan. With a sudden hot starkness she had visualized how it would feel if Scott raped her-in one vivid moment felt imaginary male flesh pressed tight against her....

She sobbed and tried to cover the sound by pretending to cough. She buried her face deeper into the pillow and tried to blank all thoughts from her mind. Impossible!

What would she do if Scott tried to attack her?

She would probably faint. She knew she wouldn't fight him-she would be too frightened to fight. He was too strong and could beat her or kill her if he wanted.

What would she do after Scott attacked her?

With a coldness in her heart she realized she would probably kill herself. The horror of it would be too much to live with. She had kept the Temple of her body clean in every way. She had been a virgin when Franklin married her and during all their married life she had never touched another man.

At times, she admitted, she had thought of making love to other men, especially when some of the really handsome men in the office stood so close to her desk. Sometimes, too, when they looked at her in that special way, sometimes when they brushed against her in the crowded elevators.

But thoughts could not always be stopped. Mamma had said that thoughts like that were the devil speaking to you and trying to get you to defile the Temple of your body. There was no disgrace in the devil tempting you. The disgrace came when you gave in to temptation.

If Scott raped her, she would probably kill herself. It would be too much, too horrible. It would be impossible to live with the knowledge that a man other than Franklin had possessed her.

It would be a stain, a stain that could never be washed away.

She heard the thud. She turned and saw Janie lifting the radio from the floor, holding it gently as if it were a fragile treasure. She turned the dials, held it to her ear, shook it gently. Her eyes were moist.

"I dropped it," she said. "It's broken!"

Emma turned toward the wall again and in a few minutes she heard Janie sobbing-sobbing as if the radio were the most important thing in the world....

Ellen had prepared a lunch and together they had carried it to the cellar for Irene, Emma and Janie. He ate his lunch in the kitchen with Ellen. Strangely, he wanted to be near her, wanted to talk to her, see her.

"Janie has volunteered to wash the dishes," Ellen said when she finished her lunch and had sipped her coffee. "Since I'm cooking the meals, she feels she should do something. I think Emma will cook some of the meals later. She mentioned it. I suggested we could take turns cooking them. One day she could cook them, the next day I could cook them. But she isn't ready yet."

"How do you mean 'ready?' "

Ellen sipped her coffee again and, holding the cup near her mouth, grinned at him. "She's afraid to be alone with you ... afraid you'll rape her."

Stan grunted. Emma had good reason to be afraid he'd rape her. He intended to rape her-and Irene and Janie.

"Has Irene volunteered to do anything ... anything like helping with the meals or the dishes?"

Ellen shrugged. "No. She wouldn't volunteer to do anything. She's upset right now-because you made her give you her panties."

She set her cup on the table, folded her arms across her chest and looked at him steadily. "Now ... just why did you want her panties?"

"The police searched Sellers' Park this morning. I had parked the car near there and they were looking for bodies or some sort of evidence. I left Irene's panties and her keys in Sellers' Park. If somebody finds them, it'll draw the attention away from this area."

Ellen nodded. "Clever. I'll have to explain that to Irene." She laughed. "I wish I could have been there when you made her take them off. I'd like to have seen that!" She laughed again, a deep throaty laugh.

He offered her a cigarette, lit it for her. She inhaled deeply, turned in her chair and crossed her legs. "Stan, I know we're in no position to ask for anything ... We're prisoners, but ...

"But what?"

"We've spent two nights in that cellar. There's only the one bed there and only two of us can sleep on it at one time. The first night none of us did much sleeping. We were too scared to sleep. But last night Irene and Emma took the bed and Janie and I had to sleep on the floor."

"I hadn't thought about it. There's a cot in the living room. I could move it in there." He realized the cot wasn't needed in the living room. He had moved it near the window in the living room because, during the weeks without a job, it had been an ideal place to lie and read or nap.

"That would help. But one of us would still have to sleep on the floor. The cot isn't big enough for two."

"I have a sleeping bag. Do you think that would be all right?"

"If it's all you have, it'll have to be all right. It'll be better than sleeping on the floor."

They were in a strange situation. The girls were his prisoners, entirely at his mercy, but there was no reason why he shouldn't try to make them as comfortable as possible. He was lucky Ellen had volunteered to cook the meals, and now, Janie had volunteered to wash the dishes.

He was damned lucky. A lot of women, held prisoner at the point of a gun and locked in a one-room cell, wouldn't have volunteered to do anything. In that case, he would have been forced to prepare meals every day for five people.

"There's one more thing...."

"What's that?"

"Janie dropped her radio and broke it." She paused, reached into her skirt pocket. "I brought it with me so you can look at it. Do you think you can fix it?"

The radio was a bright orange-colored plastic, half the size of a pack of cigarettes. On the front there was a small emblem of a golden dragon, the word Royal and beneath that the smaller words, Nine Transistors. On the back plate he read

Made in Japan and used his thumbnail to pry the plate away. He studied the miniaturized components and then snapped the plate in place again.

"I can't fix it. It has a printed circuit board. It's broken. It would take someone with experience to fix it."

"Could you take it somewhere and have it repaired? It means a lot to Janie. She listens to it all the time."

"How much did she pay for it?"

"I asked her because I'd been thinking about buying one myself and I'd been wondering how much they cost. Ten dollars."

"It would cost more than ten dollars to have it repaired."

"Oh. Well, there are a few more things I'd like to ask about. Do you have a small table or something that could be moved into the cellar? Irene and I have been playing cards but...."

"I have a folding card table you can have."

"Good! And ... just one more thing. I told the others about all the books you have in your bedroom. Irene and Janie seemed interested in taking some of the books to read. Would that be all right?"

He nodded. She took the small radio and placed it in her skirt pocket.

He remembered that Ellen had started to tell him something the previous night. They had been interrupted when Bob Jarrell knocked on the door.

"Ellen, what was it you started to tell me last night? You said something about telling me the 'truth.' "

"It wasn't important."

"Okay, it wasn't important. But what was it?"

She rose abruptly. "I started to tell you something because I'd been drinking. I'm sober now ... and I don't think I have the nerve to tell you. Shall we get the cot and the sleeping bag and the card table and take them to the cellar? Then you can let Janie out for awhile and she'll wash the dishes."

After he had locked Ellen in the cellar with Irene and Emma, he sat in the kitchen while Janie washed and dried the dishes. Janie did not speak to him and, watching her, he decided she was nervous about being alone with him. Probably like Emma, she was afraid he would rape her.

After Janie had washed the dishes and he had locked her in the cellar again, he drove to Ken-nett Square. It was a long drive, but he wanted a town where no one knew him. In a supermarket he bought what he estimated would be enough food for the four women and himself for at least a week.

He had always bought food only once every two weeks but now, he realized, he'd have to buy food at least weekly. The refrigerator could only hold so much. He'd have to buy heavy on canned foods, heavier than ever before. The cans could be kept in the storage room.

There would come a time when the money ran out. That would be a problem-a big problem. That meant he'd have to find a job. A job would mean he'd have to leave the women alone in the house, locked in the cellar, for more than eight hours a day for at least five days a week. It would be hard on them.

What kind of job could he find? Almost any job he found wouldn't pay enough to feed four women and himself. If he did manage to feed all of them somehow, there wouldn't be much money left for anything else.

He found an electrical appliance store, bought an automatic coffee percolator and an AM-FM transistor radio. He used some of the money he had taken from the pocketbooks, and tried to think of something else he could buy to make their imprisonment more comfortable.

As he drove toward his house, he noticed the day had warmed considerably, the snow had started to melt.