Doctor Who_ Wonderland - Mark Chadbourn [17]
Then a strange thing happened. For some reason I became aware of the clothing in my hand and realised it was Denny's shirt. Unmistakable, down to the customised peace sign I'd scrawled on the back the night we met. And it was covered in blood.
The Goblin read the question in my face. 'Your Denny's dead, baby.' He made a gesture of something blowing away, then laughed. 'Gone, like dust.'
There was some note in his voice that told me this time he wasn't lying. A cold wave washed through me, driving out the fear. I felt sick.
The Goblin advanced, his trousers gaping, the switchblade held to one side. 'Do it,' I said, lying back. 'I don't care any more.'
He chuckled, dropping his trousers to his thighs as he got himself into position between my legs. In the same instant that he went to his knees, I rammed my feet hard into his groin. His squeal of pain sounded like some pathetic animal. I threw myself off the bed and scrambled to my feet, my breath burning in my throat.
By the time I reached the locked door, I could hear his furious ranting behind me; he sounded like a wild animal. I threw back the bolt and wrenched the door open, not even thinking about the ghost-thing that had been outside. But, even with his unzipped trousers hampering his pursuit, the Goblin was too close. I didn't stand a chance of reaching the street.
Two people suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. I cried out in shock before I realised it was Ben and Polly. Ben sized up the situation in an instant. He grabbed my wrist and dragged me past him where I fell into Polly's arms; she pulled me away from the door. Approaching madly, cursing and spitting, the Goblin was taken unawares. I saw the startled expression on his face as he attempted to stop his mad-dash, but he couldn't quite manage it.
Ben swung his arm back and hit him hard in the middle of his face as he skidded over the threshold. He tumbled backwards, blood pumping out of his split lip. The switchblade flipped out of his hand, but it was still close enough to grab.
'Come on, Ben!' Polly yelled. She was already hauling me down the stairs.
We'd gone down one flight when the Goblin appeared over the stair rail above. His bloody face was filled with fury. 'I'll remember you, chickie!' he roared. 'And you two! I'll be coming for you! You better get out of town, because I'm coming!'
I don't remember anything else until we were out on the street.
For five days I was lost to despair. Even now, after so many years of suffering that emotion, it still holds its power. Perhaps because it was the first time. You never forget your first time.
This house is cold; winter's not far away. And sometimes it feels like I've been cold all my life, a chill that's been made worse by the memory of those sun-drenched days when I first arrived in San Francisco.
It's still quiet out there in the New England countryside. No cars driving up the long lane to my isolated hideaway. But he'll be coming soon. And then it'll all be over, one long nightmare of running and hiding, of hopelessness and misery, giving way to another. Will I die? I think I probably will.
That encounter with the Goblin was a turning point for so many
reasons, but it could have been so much worse; then, anyway. If Ben and Polly hadn't been worried enough about me to seek me out, I'd probably have been wherever the Goblin dumped all the other bodies.
He was representative of the shadow that moved alongside those bright times, inextricably linked. For the first time in our society women had some empowerment. And at the same time the Haight was filled with so many getting raped and abused under the guise of free love. While we preached equality, the weak still got crushed by the strong, the innocent swamped by the old, ever-present corruption. Cynical? No, realistic. But I got the impression the Goblin