Fun and Games - Duane Swierczynski [38]
Just a few minutes ago, Lane had heard them outside the door, tapping it, pushing against it. They don’t know, she told herself. They don’t know.
They didn’t know.
Then they went away.
Lane decided to sit here for as long as it took. She knew the human body could go without food for close to a week, and water for a couple of days. Maybe Andrew would be back in a few days, and they’d be forced to withdraw and move on. It was a ridiculous thought—Charlie the House Sitter had said Andrew was in Russia… but still, maybe he wasn’t supposed to be gone too long. Maybe he’d know and come back for her and make everything okay.
Then she heard Charlie yell Fuck! and she realized that maybe this nightmare was over, maybe she wouldn’t have to wait.
Hardie stood over her unconscious body and prayed he hadn’t killed her. There would be some horrible irony there, duking it out with three crazy strangers to save a fourth, only to end up accidentally killing her. He might have a tough time explaining that one.
Lane coughed, then moaned.
“Oh, thank God,” Hardie said.
He carried her semiconscious body to the middle of the floor. Blood had spurted out of her nose, and one eye was already puffy. She was in shock. You would be, too, if someone punched you in the face.
Hardie followed the shock playlist: elevated her legs (on a stack of music composition books he found in the studio); made sure she was breathing; checked her pulse to make sure it wasn’t racing.
“Lane.”
“What…?”
“Lane, you’re okay. Just relax and breathe, everything’s going to be okay.”
That was important with shock victims. They were like five-year-olds waking up in the middle of the night after a bad dream. You had to reassure them. Let them know you were in control of the situation, and that you weren’t going to let anything bad happen to them. Well, again.
“What… happened to me?”
“I seem to have punched you in the face.”
“You… wh-what?”
“I thought you were one of Them.”
Despite the blood and the shock, Lane smiled.
“You said Them. I guess you believe me now.”
“I guess I do.”
Hardie went to the bathroom, wet a rag with cold water, then used it to wipe away some of the blood from her face. Her eye was even more swollen now. Which was not good. He went back to the bathroom, rinsed out the rag, then folded it into quarters, which he put over Lane’s eye. Guess it was all about stabbing and eye injuries up here in the Hollywood Hills today.
Her lone eye stared up at him. It was a beautiful eye.
“I thought they got you,” she said.
“I’ve been told I’m stubborn. Guess I didn’t want to die yet.”
“Are they still here?”
“They’re definitely still outside, and I’d imagine they’re pretty pissed off. One of them was out back, sunbathing, watching the house. I think it was the same one who shot you up on the highway, because her left eye was bandaged up.”
“A blonde? Kind of severe-looking?”
“Yeah. Only she’s going to be even more severe-looking, because I punched her in the face, too.”
“What is it with you and punching women in the face? Is that your signature move or something?”
“It’s quickly becoming a specialty.”
“What about the others?”
“I threw one of them, who looked kind of young, off the back deck balcony. Oh, and that was after I made him puke. And then there was a third guy. Older, bigger. I had no idea what I did to him, but he crawled away like I’d hurt him bad.”
“Those sound like the guys who were chasing me from the one oh one.”
Hardie didn’t want to pressure her or anything—she’d been through a lot and was probably still in shock. But he had to know.
“Where the hell were you?”
Lane’s one pretty eye looked up at him.
“I found a secret closet.”
Those five words sounded funny, even to her.
Sounded like complete and utter horseshit, actually.
But what was she going to do? Say, Oh yeah, by the way, I knew about the secret closet because this house actually belongs to my secret boyfriend? Lane couldn’t involve Andrew any more than she already had.
She should never have come to his house.
When she started