Chapter 7

The soft pad of footsteps was coming back up the basement stairs. Janey swallowed down the great lump swelling in her throat. She moistened her lips and swallowed again. The hinge whined softly and she heard the muted click of the catch as the door closed. Her legs were frozen, gripped in an awful paralysis as the blackness crept tighter and closer around her, suffocating her in its relentless cold invisibility. She drew herself sharply up and clenched her fists. "No! I'm crazy! There's no one there. I'm just hearing things. The power's gone off. All over town. The power's gone off!"

She jerked her head around toward her room and stiffened rigidly again. The power was not off. She could see the faint greenish glow change to red; sifting from the street through the closed slats of the Venetian blind at the front window. Her mouth and throat turned very dry again as she turned quickly back, her eyes straining down into the inky blackness of the stairwell. Perhaps it was just their power that had gone off. Then she heard the loose board in the pantry in front of the dining room door. Something heavy had touched-something heavier than she was and lighter than Gus. There wasn't a board or step in the house that creaked or a door that opened that she didn't know and couldn't recognize. It was part of the enchanted game she'd played, when Gus had been out at night and she was happily curled up in bed warm and waiting, clocking his progress into the house and through it until he got to the top of the steps and suddenly remembered and started tiptoeing until he got into their darkened room, invariably hitting the foot of his bed, swearing softly until she broke into a laugh. He was always so funny. But this was not funny. The swinging door from the pantry into the dining room was opening. She could hear the soft swish as it scraped its semicircular pattern across the end of the rug. Her eyes strained wide over the rail, staring down, not sure at first, then horribly sure, with a desperate panic clutching at her heart.

It was a light. A faint nebulous glow came seeping, foggy and indistinct, until it focused, brightening, taking form, creeping out of the dining room across the floor of the hall, moving out, onto the rug, rising slowly, like baleful water, up the white baseboard, the nebulous glow sifting between the banister posts, throwing them into wide, shadowy bars against the white walls, moving bars as the ball of light moved deliberately forward, deliberate and purposive. It was someone. Someone with a reason. Someone who knew she was there alone. The telephone call. The disguised voice. It flashed into her paralyzed mind with the speed of light, and with the purpose of light, illuminating and clarifying it.

She jerked her body erect, her hands steady and her knees firm and strong. She opened her mouth to scream, to scream and run to the window to scream again. Then she flashed her hand to her mouth and swung around to the door of little Jane's room. She couldn't scream. If she screamed she'd frighten little Jane. Her mind clicked sharply into place as she reached quickly down to the rickety gate, tried it to see it was latched, and turned and ran along the dark passage to her room. If they'd turned off the lights they might have torn out the telephone, too-but that she could see, and then, if she had to, she could open the window in front and scream out into the street. She ran around the foot of Gus's bed. Nobody could frighten little Jane. Nobody could come into her house at night and creep around and frighten her child. It was the sort of thing a child might never get over. Her cheeks flushed with sudden anger that burned out all trace of fear. The hand she thrust out reached the telephone accurately. As the dial tone buzzed in her ear her finger flashed around the slots to the last one. Operator. She whirled the dial around and waited, her breath coming quickly.

There was one ring, two rings. She flashed around, looking out into the hall. The soft glow of the light reflected up the narrow shaft of the stairs was brighter. The dark shadow of the rail along the hall was moving, coming closer into focus as the glow reflecting it brightened and came nearer. Janey listened, holding her breath. The corner step where the crooked stairs turned to the second floor had not squeaked. That she would have heard. Then as she did hear it, her heart tightening, the operator's calm voice was in her other ear.

"May I help you?"

"Call the police, 42 Locust Street. Emergency."

Her voice was crisp and very clear.

"There's someone in the house. The lights are cut off. My child and I are here alone. And call me back quickly. Locust 4298."

"42 Locust Street. Locust 4298. Right."

The operator cut the connection. The dial tone buzzed again in Janey's ear. She slipped the phone quietly back into the cradle, her hand resting on it to pick it up again, her body straight and taut on the side of the bed, her small, pointed jaw tight, her hot blue eyes fixed on the foggy glow of light out in the hall. It had stopped. The shadow of the stair rail had stopped moving. It was stationary on the wall. The center board in the hall on the second floor hadn't creaked. But they were close. Too close.

The phone rang sharply. The shadow of the rail jerked and moved crazily up and down for an instant and was fixed and still again. Janey caught the phone up and raised her voice as she said, "Hello," turning so it would carry out into the hall and down to the listening ears below. The light moved abruptly and disappeared-into Gus's den. She knew that even before she heard the faint click as the telephone down there was raised and she could hear the sharp breathing of someone else there on the line.

"The police are on their way, Mrs. Blake," the operator's crisp voice said. "The patrol car's at Fifth and Fetter. It ought to be there in less than a minute. I'll call you again. Or why don't I call the people across the street? Who-"

Janey moistened her lips. The downstairs phone had gone quietly back into place. The quickly drawn breath was no longer there in her ear. The light was in the hall again. The shadow of the rail flew up to the white wall and was blotted out as the light below faded and disappeared as silently as it had come.

"No," she said. "Don't bother. I-I think he's gone. But you'd better call again."

She put the phone down. The police were coming. Maybe Gus would come with them, she thought. It flashed into her mind that that was silly. Gus was with the county police. It was the city police coming here to her. County and city police weren't the same at all. She went quickly over to the window and drew up the blinds. There was a little light outside, light in relation to the pitch blackness inside the house. She crept back quickly into the hall and stood leaning over the rail, looking down. There was no sound, nothing. Then abruptly she heard a sound. It was the oil burner. She heard it switch on and heard the familiar tap-tap-tap, like little ghosts playing hopscotch up and down the hot-water pipes as it started to work. She stood there listening. After a long moment she let her breath out and drew it in again slowly. It meant that a door or window had been opened and cold air was coming into the house. The thermostat was set at 60. She listened still. The oil burner was still going. Then there was another tap-tap-tap louder than that the little ghosts make in the pipes. She turned and ran to the front window and threw it up. She leaned out. A car with lights dimmed was at the curb. A dark uniformed figure was at the end of the walk, another at the front door, knocking on it.

'I'll come down," she called.

"You stay there, ma'am, till we get in. We've got the house surrounded."

It did not sound stilted or absurd to Janey. It sounded wonderful.

"Okay. I think it must be the back door. The switch is in the basement."

She closed the window and went back into the hall. In a moment she heard heavy honest feet on the first floor and saw bobbing lights with a nebulous glow that held no terror. She unlatched the gate and tied her robe more securely around her as she felt her way down the stairs. She was halfway down to the first floor when the lights flashed on. The policeman standing by the front door stared at her. He thrust his gun back into the holster.

"You could 'a got shot easy, lady," he said irritably. "I told you to stay up there."

Janey came on down the stairs. She drew herself up with dignity. "I don't want my little girl waked up," she said stiffly. "I don't want people tramping all over the house waking her up."

The policeman stared at her. "Look, lady. You don't seem to realize-" He stopped. "Okay, Mrs. Blake. I guess you scared him away. The back door's open. I'll have a look all around upstairs. You go in there and sit down. I won't wake your girl up."

Janey went into the dining room, switched the lights on, and sat down. She was sitting there, the sapphire sparks still shooting from her wide blue eyes, when he came back again.

"All okay upstairs, Mrs. Blake. Are you all right?"

Janey nodded.

"If you're alone here, I'll leave a man-"

"You don't have to do that," Janey said quickly. "I'm sure he won't come back. My husband will be home pretty soon. We'll be perfectly all right. I'm not scared. I-I was at first, but then I-I was just mad, I guess." He hesitated, looking at her sitting there.

You wouldn't think she had that much of what it takes. Mosquito weight, plenty of punch.

"All right, Mrs. Blake. You'll be all right. You go to bed and go to sleep. We'll keep an eye out. Will you leave a note for your maid not to touch anything down there around the fuse box, and tomorrow we'll dust that switch for fingerprints." '

"I don't have a maid," Janey said.

"Okay, then, Mrs. Blake. I'll lock up in back for you and go out the front door. Tomorrow morning Lieutenant Williams'll want to talk to Mr. Blake about this. Can you see he's here round nine-fifteen? And you ought to get him to put a bolt on your kitchen door. Any dime store key'll open it."

He was back in an instant. "Good night, Mrs. Blake."

"Good night."

She waited for him to close the door, still very calm. The closing of the door shattered all her control as instantly as if it had been a rainbow bubble hitting the floor, bursting into a million pinpoints of soapy water.

"Oh, no!" She gripped the edge of the table. She could hear heavy steps coming from the side of the house. They were all going, leaving her alone again. She ran to the front door, her heart in her throat, and stopped, the tears pricking like hot grease along her eyelids.

They were gone. She walked back to the living room and sank in an easy chair, waves of excitement alternating with bouts of nausea.

What was going on?

She drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the lights on, the room silent. She felt assured that she was safe for the night. He would not dare return.

She dreamed of her experience.

She heard him coming up the stairs. Janey ran to her child's room, but was surprised to see that her daughter wasn't there. Then she remembered that her daughter was spending the night with her grandmother.

In her dream, Janey heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn't nearly so terrifying with the child out of the house. Janey felt that she could look after herself.

She ran back to her room, aware that he was rounding the bend in the stairway. Soon he would be upstairs.

She could see his shadow against the wall.

Janey slammed the door behind her and heard his footsteps quicken. Then he was pounding on the door, and as she watched, she saw the hinges give.

Then the door fell into the room and he stood there, tall and strong and grinning at her. "Don't make it hard on yourself," he said to Janey. "Don't make me hurt you. I will, you know. But I don't want to. All I want from you is some fun."

Janey backed up to the bed and then fell backward across it-and in her dream she felt faintly ridiculous. He was on her quickly, pulling off her nightgown, then marveling at her perfectly formed body.

He ran a tongue over his dry lips and quickly unfastened his belt. Janey's heart was pounding, yet she couldn't take her eyes off her attacker.

He was a handsome young man, fit and attractive. His large blue eyes were curiously innocent, and his short blond hair was cut exactly the way in which she liked men to wear it.

Then he dropped his trousers and advanced toward her.

It couldn't be happening. She had read of scenes like this, but certainly it would never happen in Smithville! But yet here he was, a wide grin on his face, his hand stroking his massive member, his eyes locked onto the nest between her thighs.

Janey closed her legs and tried to scramble off the bed but his strong hand gripped her shoulder and flung her backward. She screamed but she knew that no one could hear it. Then he forced his torso between her legs, adjusted himself once, and then she felt the burning, stretching sensation of total, quick penetration.

She gasped with pain and tried to beat her fists in his face but he laughed and grabbed each wrist in a powerful hand and immobilized her. She strained, but each movement only eased his penetration until he was finally locked into her, deep and hard.

Janey knew that at least her daughter wasn't there to see her shame, and maybe Gus would return in time to fight the rapist.

She moaned as he shoved in harder, and then she thought of her husband, out with Lois Maynard, and she was filled with a sudden hot anger that she had never known before.

Janey felt her legs opening as the anger swelled within her. Gus was probably doing the same thing to Lois, she thought furiously. An evil grin parted her lips and she caught her attacker's eye. "Is that all you can do?" she whispered to him.

He reared back and stroked long and hard as Janey groaned under his new assault-only now it felt wonderful, filling her with a savage joy that assuaged her anger.

If Gus can do it, so can I, she thought passionately. If this is what it's all about, then give me my share too. She groaned as the rapist pulled out completely and then rammed home again, and her legs were spread apart as much as possible and still she wanted to make herself more available to him. She wanted to do everything that she could to erase the thought of her husband making love to Lois Maynard.

And then she felt the rapist slowing down, easing in and out, and she sighed in orgasmic relief as her climax swept over her and then she felt the sudden violent trembling that seized him and he was pouring all of his energy into her, hot and wet, and she smiled and close her eyes and pulled him down close to her.

And then she awoke, shaken and excited, unable to sleep. But now in some way she was prepared to take up her vigil in the quiet night again.