Thicker Than Blood - the Complete Andrew Z. Thomas Trilogy - Blake Crouch [64]
"What would you think about me doing this?" he asked.
"Ooooh."
"Yeah?"
"Uh-huh." The room fell silent for a moment, excepting the moist sucking murmurs.
"Can you guess what I have in my back pocket?" Orson said finally.
"Mmm. What?"
"You have to guess, silly."
"Is it round and crinkly?"
"Actually, it’s hard."
"Mmm." She shuddered in a good way. I could hear the alcohol thickening up her voice.
"And very sharp."
"Huh?"
"You told any of your friends about me?"
"What do you mean?"
"Does anyone know we’ve been seeing each other?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Just tell me." I caught a grain of anger in his voice, which I’m sure she didn’t register.
"Only the girls at work."
Orson sighed.
"I asked you not to tell anyone. You tell them my name?"
"Why?"
"Arlene, did you tell them my name?"
"I don’t remember." Her voice mellowed. "What do you think about this, sweetie?" A zipper started to descend.
There was sudden movement in the dark. "Don’t you touch me," he hissed.
The bed squeaked, and I wondered if she’d sat up.
"Turn on the light," she said. "Turn it on!" The light did not come on.
"Did you tell your girlfriends my name?"
"Why are you acting so weird?"
"Tell me, so I can show you what’s in my pocket."
"Yes, I told them your —"
"Goddamnit."
"What?"
"You can go now."
"Why?"
"Leave."
"What is wrong with you? I thought — I mean…I like you, and I thought —"
"I had something extraordinarily special planned for us tonight. And you just ruined it. I was going to open you up, Arlene."
"To what?"
"Get out of my house."
The bed moved again, the floor creaked, and it sounded as though clothes were being smoothed.
"I can’t believe I — you need help, David."
"Perhaps."
"You can go to —"
"I’d advise you to leave while you’re still able."
She stormed from his bedroom into the hallway, screamed "Fucking freak!" and was sobbing by the time she reached the front door.
25
ORSON sat for a while in the dark after Arlene left. For some reason, I expected him to cry, to come apart in pathetic flinders when no one was around. But this didn’t happen. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I began to make out the shapes in his room — the painting on the wall, the bookshelves, his legs stretched out on the bed. I could see barbs of light through the dormer window, on the black slopes across the valley.
After thirty minutes, I thought he’d fallen asleep, and I began to psych myself up to crawl out of the closet and do what I’d come here to do. But when I started to move, he sat up abruptly. Stiffening, I watched his arms reach down under the bed and lift what appeared to be a shoe box up onto the mattress. Orson slipped out of his loafers and kicked them in opposite directions across the room. One hurtled into the closet and nearly struck me in the head.
I heard a mechanical clicking. He settled back onto the mattress and began speaking in a low, monotonous voice: "It is…seven forty-three P.M. on Friday, November eighth. Arlene came over this evening. I told you about her. That legal assistant from Bristol. It was going to happen tonight. I thought about it all day. All week. But she’d mentioned me — my name, I mean — to some of her coworkers, so that’s the end of that. It was an exercise in self-control. I’d never used a box cutter before, so I’m more than a little disappointed that tonight didn’t work out. If I go much longer without any play, I may resort to doing something careless, like that time in Burlington. But you made the rule never to do that in this town, and it’s an intelligent rule, so don’t fuck things up." He stopped the Dictaphone, but then pushed the record button again.
"Last thing. I was on-line today, and I saw that James Keiller’s second appeal was denied. Guess that