Leslie's Journal - Allan Stratton [49]
He starts to move around the pool table. I move too, keeping it between us. “Don’t, Jason,” I scramble. “Even if Katie’s not outside, she knows I’m here.”
“Big deal. You may be here, but I’m not. I’m up at the cottage with my folks. Ask them. Wanna bet what they’ll say?” Suddenly he leaps over the table, grabs my elbows and runs me back into the wall. He presses against me, breathes in my ear. “I could kill you now.”
“No. The cops. They’d find DNA!”
“There’ll only be blood if you’re cut.” He licks my neck. “But I can strangle you with your panties. As for hairs, they’d be expected; everyone knows you’ve been here lots. The trunk of Mom’s car could be a problem. But I’ll shave your corpse and wrap it in a plastic sheet before I toss it in, dump it in a country ditch.”
“Is that what you did to the other girls?”
“No. You’re my first. Lucky you, eh?” He nuzzles my ear. “God, you’re sweet.”
I want to knee him, bite his cheek, but then he’d kill me for sure, so instead I yell.
“Shut up!” He punches the side of my head. “No one can hear you down here, so Just ... Shut ... Up!” His voice is worse than fists. I crumple to the floor, sobbing.
“Yeah. Cry for me, baby.”
“You’re sick!”
His mouth twists. “You have no idea.” And now he backs away, breathing heavy, leans against the pool table. “Wake up, Leslie. You skip school, do drugs, act like a total ho. You’re a bottom-feeder. Nobody cares what happens to you. So here’s the story about tonight. You knew my family and I were away. You broke in. Stole money, jewelry, and hit the streets. Disappeared. A teen runaway. Happens every day.”
I’m hyperventilating. “I left Mom a note. You’ll get blamed if anything happens.”
“Oh?” He grins. “You wrote her a lie to get me in trouble?”
“She’ll call the cops. They’ll come.”
“We’ll be long gone.” He picks up a pool cue.
“They’ll know it was you.”
“They can know what they like. They’ll never prove it.” He strokes the pool cue. “Now on your feet. It’s time for your lesson.”
I get up, blubbering. Stand there while he looks me over.
“Okay, bitch,” he says. “Strip.”
I fumble my hands to the top button of my jeans. As soon as I take off my clothes, he’ll kill me. I gotta do something, but what? I turn away, hunch over, pretend to unbutton. Dear God, let me live and I promise to be perfect from now on.
“Face me,” he says.
My right hand slips into my pocket.
“I said turn around!” he barks. “Gimme a show!” He jabs me in the back with the end of the cue.
I start moving my shoulders up and down, like a stripper doing an act. Up and down, I wiggle towards him, up and down, still faced away.
“Yeah! Toss in some ass!”
Up and down, hand deep in my pocket. Up and down, hand searching. Up and down. I’ve found what I need.
“Face me, bitch!”
And I do. Fast. Hand out of my pocket. House keys clenched between my knuckles. I slash across his face full force. I rip an eyelid.
“Aaa!!!” He staggers back. “You’ll pay for that!”
The tip of the pool cue whizzes by my ear. It slices the air again and again as he swings, blood in his eyes. “You’re dead!”
I duck under the pool table as the cue smacks down. It cracks across the side pocket, snaps. I do a side-roll under the table, hop to my feet, run to the door and throw it open.
But he’s behind me. Grabs my hair. Yanks me back. I’m on the table.
“You wanna play games?” He raises the broken end of the cue.
My hand’s on a billiard ball. I pitch wild. It cracks him in the mouth. Stunned, he falls back, howls. Charges again. Stabs the jagged cue end to the table.
“Die, bitch!”
But I’ve squirmed away. I’m up the stairs. I’m out the front door. I’m screaming all the way down the street.
Thirty-Four
Does anyone hear me?
If they do, I doubt they’ll check. This is a nice,