Endurance - Jack Kilborn [56]
Florence would think I’m a real chicken. She was in a war zone for four years, and I can’t even read a silly journal.
Letti turned the page, feeling her breath catch.
Letti sprang out of bed, backpedalling to the opposite side of the room, her eyes glued to the closet.
There’s no one in there.
But how do they know my name?
Letti wondered if Kelly somehow had fabricated this, had put the journal in her room. She loved scary movies.
But Kelly hasn’t been in this room.
Could she have snuck in while I was talking to Florence?
That seemed a lot more plausible than someone named Grover hiding in the closet.
And if Grover really is in the closet, why would he tell me?
Letti set her jaw.
It’s a joke. Stop being a baby.
She marched over to the closet, grabbed the knob, and with no hesitation pulled the door open, staring up at the tall, deformed man with the bloodshot eyes and the crazy smile on his face.
“You’re pretty,” Grover said in a high voice. “Like Kelly.”
Letti froze in shock. As the scream welled up in her throat, Grover grabbed Letti around the back of the head with one huge hand and pressed a wet towel to her face with another.
Letti got over her surprise quickly, and her body went on autopilot, executing the self-defense moves Florence drilled into her head years ago. First came a fist to the throat, followed by a heel grind to the instep.
She hit fast and hard, holding her breath, waiting for him to stagger back.
Grover didn’t stagger. The punch to his neck missed his Adam’s apple, because it wasn’t where it should have been. Her hand sunk into doughy neck fat, and bounced off harmlessly. Letti’s kick was similarly ineffective. Her bare heel bounced off what seemed like steel-toed boots.
She quickly followed up with a knee to the groin, putting her weight behind it.
Her knee connected with… nothing.
Along with his other defects, Grover didn’t seem to have genitals.
Letti didn’t give up yet. Still refusing to breathe in, she cupped her hands and slapped them against Grover’s ears, trying to burst his eardrums.
This time Grover did react. He stuck his lower lip out and started to cry, the tears running down his misshapen face. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled Letti tight to his body. She continued to punch and kick, but she didn’t have any room to swing, and her blows did little damage.
Finally, no longer having a choice, Letti inhaled.
The liquid soaking the towel burned her nose and throat when she sucked it in, and for a moment Letti felt like everything was okay, that she was completely safe, and it was perfectly reasonable to fall asleep right now.
A bit of panic-fueled realization got through—I’m being drugged—and she lashed out one more time, reaching for Grover’s eyes, smearing the tears on his cheeks.
But before she could gouge them out, the darkness took her.
Mal Deiter stared into the garbage can at the severed head. He debated picking it up, showing it to Deb, but rightfully decided that wasn’t in good taste.
“What did I just eat, Mal?” Deb asked, an edge to her voice.
“It wasn’t pheasant,” Mal replied, eyeing the small beak. “It was partridge.”
“You mean like in a pear tree?”
“His pear tree days are over.”
Mal discarded the remnants of their snack, then closed the lid. He faced Deb and saw she wasn’t amused.
Too bad. Deb was an attractive woman, but when she smiled, she was dazzling. So far, Mal hadn’t been able to make her smile more than a few times, even though he was trying his damnedest. Deb was too guarded which was a shame. If she relaxed a bit, Mal knew he could really fall for her. But he doubted Deb would let him get close enough for that to happen.
For the time being, he tried to reign in his feelings and keep things professional. Even guarded, Deb was an interesting person, and he liked being around her. He was already trying to think up some good excuse to call her after the interview ended.
“So what’s your impression of our hostess?” Mal said, taking his seat. “I’m thinking about calling The Addams Family, seeing if one of them