Bonne Femme

Chapter 22

Isolated

6:30 PM, At Marta's

        After laying out her nightgown Marta went to begin filling the tub.  When she was satisfied with temperature of the water, she drizzled in scented bath oil for a leisurely soak that she hoped would smooth the way to an early and dreamless sleep.  She undressed by the bed, and then took the phone and her robe and went to the bathroom, thinking that she would call Alberto from the tub.  On the way she breathed what had become her nightly mantra. 

Otro buen dia.  No me llamó.

        Until she was home, she would continue to define a good day as one passed without contact from Mic.

        She tested the water and found it too hot, so she adjusted the tap and sat on the edge of the tub watching idly as bubbles multiplied to cover the surface.  Steam began to fog the mirror, so she cracked the door.  Testing the water again, she found it had cooled perfectly.  She turned off the taps, dropped her robe, and slipped in beneath the scented foam.  Resting her towel-wrapped head on the rounded edge of the tub, she closed her eyes, luxuriating in the lulling feel and aroma.  Minutes later, the relaxing warmth carried her into that twilight precursor of sleep where sounds break through but not their meaning.

        Suddenly she came awake with a gasp.  Disoriented and frightened without knowing why, she listened intently and craned her neck to peek into what she could see of the darkened bedroom.  Neither hearing nor seeing anything, she finally decided that she must have been dreaming.  Then the bedroom curtain billowed.

He is in the house! she thought in panic.

 

370.

       Cold air licked at her bare shoulders.  Her heart pounded.  In mounting terror she huddled in the tub, thinking incongruously that she would be somehow safer if she could only get to the clothes she had left on the bed.  The tile walls amplified the sound of her breathing.

He hears me!  He is by the door!

        It seemed vital that she at least put on her robe so that he wouldn't see her naked.  She stood slowly, trying not to make noise, but water dripped from her into the tub betraying her naked vulnerability.  Her skin tautened into goose flesh as her thoughts constricted to one dread certainty.

He is here!

        She stepped from the tub to the cool tile floor and snatched up the robe.  Clutching it closed with trembling hands, she tiptoed to peer through the door.

        She flipped off the light, hoping he would think it was empty.  The bedroom curtain billowed rhythmically, but she heard nothing and saw nothing else.  She knew that he was hiding near the door and wished uselessly that the bathroom door had a lock.  When the breeze died a moment, she saw that the curtain didn't reach all the way to the bottom of the window.

He watched me undress myself.

        If he was inside, he had to know where she was.  If he wasn't maybe it was not too late to close and lock the window.  In her panic, she hadn't even considered why the security system hadn't sounded.  Steeling herself, she carefully pulled the door inward.  Breathing thanks that it made no noise, she gathered her courage and stuck her head out to peer with wide eyes toward the living room.  Seeing nothing, she released a quivering sigh.

Why did the alarm not work? she wondered finally. 

The curtain billowed again.  Cold air brushed her bare feet and legs.

He hides.  Waits for me to come out so that he can . . .

        She cut off the thought as she suddenly remembered the phone.  She retreated and pulled the bathroom door shut.  Then she punched up the directory, flinching at the beep and wrapping the phone in her robe to muffle it as much as possible before and punching the first number.  She held it to her ear, biting her lip in fear.  Finally it rang once, twice, three times.

Please answer!  Please answer! she begged silently.

 

371.

Finally, she heard a click.

"Someone is here," she gasped in a harsh whisper without waiting.

"Ayudame!  He is inside!"

The phone suddenly went dead.

        Cold dread made her slump to the floor.  She sat with her back to the door, realizing that she was alone and trapped.  She tried to think of something she could do.

 

10:02, At Richard's

       Richard sat reading until his turn to shower.  Suddenly the bathroom door slammed against the wall.

       "Richard!" shouted Jill, running in clutching her robe closed with one hand and holding the phone in the other.  "Mic just broke into Marta's house!"

He bolted up as she rushed toward him.

"Is she still on the phone?"

She shook her head violently.

"She was cut off.  Hurry, Richard!  We have to help her!"

       "Wait.  Wait.  Let's think.  The alarm had to notify the company.  They'll call first, and if they don't get an answer they'll notify the police.  If anything's wrong I'm sure the police have already sent a car."

"What if the alarm didn't work?  We have to go over there!  We have to!"

"Right.  I'll go over right now," he said snatching his keys and wallet from the table.

"I'm coming too."

"No.  You stay here and call the police to make sure they get there."

 

372.

"I'll call on the way."

        "No.  Stay here," he said as he threw on his coat.  "Lock the door and get the pistol.  Don't let anyone in until I get back."

"Richard, I---"

       "We're wasting time, Jill.  If something is happening, the last thing I need is to have you there too.  You couldn't help.  You make sure the police get there---and then---then call JR and have him come over."

"To Marta's?"

       "No.  Here," he said rushing for the door.  "Be angry if you want, but we don't have time to argue.  Throw the dead bolt right now.  Then get the .45 and make the calls.  Whatever happens, don't leave the house.  If Mic happens to show up and tries to get in shoot at him."

"Wait!  You must take the gun with you."

"No!  You have to have it."

And he was gone. 

        Almost in shock, she stood rooted where she was until she heard the Cougar roar off.  She went to dead bolt the door and then punched the first number on the phone's directory.

"Cartier Police Department," a harsh voice said at the second ring.  The man coughed.

        "I want to report a . . . break-in at the home of Marta Florez.  The address is . . . let's see, twenty-one thirty-five Birch Street.  You must hurry.  I think the intruder is still there."

        "Yes ma'am," rasped the man, sounding as if his voice were about to dissolve into a coughing attack at any second.  "Who am I speaking to?"

        "I am Jill Belbenoit, a friend of hers---of Marta Florez.  She just called me.  Please hurry.  My fiancé is going over there right now."

"We're right on it ma'am.  A car should be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you."

 

373.

"It's our job ma'am."

The line went dead.

That was quick, she thought on her way to the bedroom to get the pistol.

        The cool efficiency of the police was reassuring as was the weight of the .45 in her hand.  She wished Richard had taken it with him.  With nothing to do but wait and worry, she carried the automatic with her into the kitchen to make coffee.  She paced while it brewed, deliberately avoiding a look at the clock.  When it was done she poured a cup, added cream, and sipped while pacing the kitchen floor.  No longer able to resist it, she glanced at the clock.

Only ten minutes.

        She tried to replay Marta's words, but could remember nothing but the words "He is inside."

She was so frightened that she called me instead of the police.

        She frowned.  Something about her own call to the police bothered her.  Then she had it.  The man had been politely reassuring, but had asked only for her name.  He had asked nothing else about the details of the incident.

Perhaps he did not take me seriously.

        She decided it would do no harm to call again, but when she did she got only a busy signal.

They have only one line?

        She punched in Marta's number again but got nothing.  Another call to the police only elicited the busy signal.  She punched off the phone in frustration and put it back in its cradle.

Oh no!  she said as she snatched it up again.   How could I forget?

 

374.

At Marta's

        Richard had flown through town hoping the police would try to pull him over for speeding.  He'd decided to lead them to Marta's and deal with the ticket later, but he arrived without an escort.  The house was totally dark and the neighborhood preternaturally quiet.  He cursed himself for postponing the purchase of a second pistol as he reached beneath the seat for what would have to do as weapon, the six-battery flashlight he'd bought while working with the sheriff's department.  Unconsciously falling into deputy more, he left the car running and the lights on as if he were making a traffic stop.

        Please, God, don't let me be too late! he thought as he ran across the small lawn and pounded loudly on the door, knowing the noise would at least make Mic pause in whatever he was doing.

"Marta!  Open up!  It's me, Richard."

        He held his breath and listened.  A long, dread-intensifying moment later, he heard the latch click, the door opened slowly.  Marta's eyes appeared huge as she peeked above the still fastened security chain.

"Dios mio!  Dios mio!" she gasped, fumbling with the clasp.

        She finally slipped the chain and rushed out onto the cold stoop barefooted.  She clutched her robe about her and peered wearily back into the house as Richard pulled away from the door.

"Did you see him?" she whispered.

"No," he said as he examined the shadows near the house wondering what was keeping the police.

"Did he turn off the lights, Marta?"

        "No.  I turn them off so I can hide.  I hide behind the chair by the door.  I listen a long time, but I do not hear nothing.  He is not in the house, Richard.  It is why I do not answer when you knock."

Her breath came in gasps.  "Thank you."

        "Maybe we should leave," he said.  "No, we can't.  The police will want to talk to you.  They should be here any time now."

        "Why are they not here, Richard?  I call them when I see that the window is open---but then the phone stops before I finish."

        He realized that she didn't know that she called Jill rather than the police.  That would explain why they weren't already there.

 

375.

Something spooked her and she got hysterical, he thought with relief.

"Let's turn on the lights and check out the house."

"No!" she said clutching his arm tightly.  "He may be inside."

"Come on, it'll be all right.  Even if he's here he won't do anything now that I'm here."

Marta followed him inside only because she was afraid of being alone.

"We need the lights back on," he said.

        "The switch for the electricity is the closet," she said, pointing to a door barely visible in the light coming in from the street.

        Before going in further, Richard raised his flashlight to ear level, clicked it on, and played it around the room to make sure that no one hid in the shadows.  He went to the closet and switched the main breaker.  The bedroom and bathroom lights came on.

"Smart of you to think of turning off the lights like that," he said.

        He did a quick walkthrough with Marta holding tightly to his arm.  Other than slightly open bedroom window, he saw no sign that anyone had been in the house.  Just as he was satisfied that Marta had succumbed to imagination, he saw half of a window latch on the floor beneath the open window.  Frowning, he raised the curtain and saw that the screws had been removed from the latch.  Then he saw the snipped alarm wire and the bypass.

"Where's the phone?" he asked.

"Behind the chair where I hide," she said.

        They went to the living room where he saw that the base was plugged in.  When she retrieved the phone, he turned it on and listened.  It was dead.  He went back to the bedroom, raised the window, and leaned out.  When he shined the flashlight onto the telephone entrance outside wall he saw a loose wire protruding from the open box.

Why didn't you cut the line first? he wondered. 

"You called the police and then Jill, right?"

"No.  I only called the police."

 

376.

"Oh My God!" he gasped, grabbing her wrist.  "We've got to go."

"My clothes---"

"There's no time!  He's going after Jill!"

        He ran out into the dark, Marta following, still barefooted.  His car's lights were on, but it wasn't running.  He yanked at the door, but it was locked.  Shining the flashlight at the ignition he saw what he feared.

"He took my keys!"

He tried to chase away his dread so that he could think.

"Okay.  Marta, run back to the kitchen and get me a sharp knife."

"I don't want to go back---"

The sound of his elbow shattering the driver's side window cut her short.

"We have to get to Jill.  Now get me a knife, okay?"

        Marta nodded and ran back toward the house.  He opened the door, got down to shine the flashlight up under the dash, and began sorting through wires.

        Please don't let anything happen to her.  She's smart. She won't let him in.  I'll do anything you want if you just keep him out of the house.

As he pulled down two wires his hands trembled. 

"One thing at a time, Richard," he said.  "Concentrate."

 At the Apartment

        Jill paced nervously, the weight of the .45 in her hand a constant reminder of her fear.  She wished Richard would call.  Then she realized that she had forgotten to call JR, and quickly punched in the number for the sheriff's department.

        "This is Jill Belbenoit," she said as soon as the dispatcher answered.  "I need to talk to JR."

"Is this official department business?" came the reply.

 

377.

         She thought a moment.  Marta was the one in danger, not her, despite Richard's concern."

"It may be," she said.  "But perhaps not.  Can you put me through to him?"

She heard the dispatcher sigh.  "He's on patrol, but I'll relay a message."

        "Tell him that the police are responding to a call at Marta's and that Richard has gone there also.  He wanted JR to come here, but if he is on duty it is not necessary."

        After she hung up, she called Marta's again.  Getting no answer, she wanted to call the police again, but hesitated.  Then she decided that it would hurt nothing and called again, receiving another busy signal.  

There has to be more than one line.

        Sipping at her coffee, her glance fell on the computer monitor.  She went over, put the pistol on the stand, and sat to send an e-mail to Marta's apartment.  There was no response.  Dangling the pistol at her side, she went back to the kitchen for more coffee, not because she wanted it, but because she couldn't sit still.

        "Why does he not call?" she muttered.  "He knows I am worried.  Something has happened to him."

        Her pacing took her to the kitchen, chewing her lip and staring at the floor.  Hearing something, she looked up.  The cup slipped from her fingers to the floor, spattering her bare legs feet with hot coffee, but the pain barely registered.

Mic stood in the utility room doorway.

        Staggering backward as if she'd been punched, she brought up the .45, shaking so badly that she had to use both hands to steady it.

"Going to shoot me, Baby?"

His eyes shone.  A leer curved his lips into the semblance of a smile.

"Where is Richard?"

"Maybe we can talk about that," he said, taking a step toward her.

"Stop!"

It came out like the voice of a frightened child.

 

378.

"Put the gun down and I'll tell you all about it," he said continuing to advance.

        Jill backed away, and he followed, not narrowing the distance, but moving slightly to the left.  Realizing that he was herding her toward the bedroom, she moved quickly past the hallway into the living room before spreading her legs in a shooter's stance.

"Well don't you look cute," he chuckled.

"I will shoot," she said quaveringly.

        "Now, Baby.  I didn't come here to hurt you.  I came here for . . . let's say mutual satisfaction.  Now that Old Ricky's out of the picture, I figure we can---"

"What have you done to him?" she gasped.

"I left him with Marta," he said softly.  "I don't think they're gonna come between us anymore."

"No!" she screamed.

"Oh yeah.  I think maybe they pulled one those murder-suicide things."

Grinning, he feigned a lunge at her.

        Staggering away, she pulled the trigger, flinching in anticipation of the recoil.  The pistol only clicked.

"Oh no!"

        Remembering that Richard had removed a round, she worked the slide to chamber another, but instead of snapping home, the slide stuck open.  The clip was empty.

        Mic had been watching the play of expressions on her face.  When her mouth dropped open, he erupted in a high-pitched titter.

       "Aw.  No bullets," he mocked.  "Some bad man got in and unloaded your pistol, Baby.  Don't you hate just it when that happens?"

 

379.

She backed away, shaking her head in denial of what was happening to her.

        "Richard left you here alone.  How smart was that?" he said, resuming his advance.  "I mean, what if some really bad man got in here and . . . got you under his control?  He could do anything he wanted to you.  There's no telling what a guy like that would do."

His face had hardened in intense mirthless smile.

        He snatched the useless pistol from her and hurled it across the room.  It tore through the wallboard and disappeared into the wall.

"You were gonna shoot me?  I can't let you get away with that."

"You've got away with too much all ready.  It's time you got what's coming to you."

Her mind reeled

Richard and Marta are dead.  I am dead too!

Somehow sudden clarity came to her.

        He loves to make people suffer.  Maybe he has not killed them.

        She took hold of it.  Richard was alive and he was coming.

        He is alive.  I know it.  He will save me.  Time!  I need time!

        Whatever Mic was gong to do to her she had to prolong it. 

"The police already know about you," she said evenly.

Her abrupt change shocked him.  He had expected pleading, promises.

"They don't know anything," he said uneasily.

"Yes.  They know about the people in Walker and West Virginia."

        "Oh that? he said dismissively.  "Baby, they think I did it, but they can't prove anything," he said quickly closing the distance.

 

380.

"I called JR," she said as she backed away.

He kept coming as if he hadn't heard her.

"He will be here soon."

"I don't think so."

Mic continued to advance slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. 

        "You picked the wrong guy.  You want someone to force you to give it up, but Old Ricky can't make anyone do anything.  Not even himself."

        Jill's back touched the wall.  Silently, Mic herded her left until he had her trapped in the corner.

"Alone again at last," he said in an emotionless voice.

        With eyes never leaving hers, he slipped the knot and slowly pulled the belt from the loops of her robe.

"Don't," she said weakly.

He leaned in to smell her as he stuffed the belt into his back pocket.

"Tell me not to hurt you," he said in a strangely dead voice.

"Please don't," she whimpered, not having to act.

        All animation faded from his face.  He slipped a hand to her bare waist.  Jill gasped and flinched at his touch.

"Yeah," he said as he slid it down over her hip possessively.

"Tell me you'll do anything I want."

He was a bad actor, delivering memorized lines.

"I'll do anything you want, Mic."

        Jill tried to clear her head.  A vague desperate plan began to take shape.  The last thing Mic would expect from her was an attack.

        When he leans in again, I will butt my head into his nose.  Then I will hit him with my knee.  I will run out and scream until someone comes to help.

 

381.

         She composed herself, and was on the verge of giving him a seductive look in order to draw him closer.

No!  He wants me terrified.  Only that arouses him.

Mic moved his hand upward, and she recoiled.

He squeezed her breast painfully.

"Like that, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, trying not to grimace as he dug his fingers into her.

He cocked his head, studying her.  And then he leaned in to kiss her.

She lunged---and missed!

        "You think you're the first to try that?" he said disdainfully as he wound his fingers into her hair.

"I can read you all."  He bounced her head against the wall.

"Tell me you're sorry," he growled.

"I am sorry---I am."

        "Oh, I know you are," he crooned.  "Relax and enjoy it, Baby.  I can make you do anything I want."

Suddenly her mind retrieved a memory:  "Old Ricky can't make anyone do anything."

He is alive! she thought desperately. He is coming.

        But first Mic would hurt her.  She knew that Richard would not come in time to stop him.

"You want me to enjoy myself, don't you?" said Mic, sliding the robe off her shoulder.

        "I will do what you want," she said tremblingly, as tears formed in her eyes.  "I promise.  Just don't hurt me."

        He pulled her forward by her hair, grasped her neck with his other hand and firmly shoved her against the wall.  Having demonstrated his mastery, he released her and stepped back.

        "I only broke up with you because I was angry with you," she said desperately.  "But I always liked you.  Remember when we first---"

 

382.

         "I remember everything you did," he said distractedly as he pulled the belt from his pocket. "Now shut up before you make me mad."

He looped the belt over her head and cinched it tight.

        "Let's get this over with," he said as he tugged her forward.  "All that stuff Richard told you about me killing people is nonsense.  There's only one thing I'm interested in.  Once I've got it from you . . . and when Ricky understands that you gave it to me, then I'm out of here."

Although she tried to hide it, he saw her disbelief.

"I promise," he said mockingly.

She tried to think of a way to keep him talking.

"You will leave if I . . . let you make love to me?"

"Of course.  That's all I ever wanted from you, but you froze up on me."

She had to find some way to delay him.

"You will also prove that you are better than Richard, no?" she said.

        "I don't need to prove anything!" he said, yanking her forward.  "I'm tired of talking.  Come on and do the one thing you're good at."

        Physical resistance was useless, but she couldn't let him take her to the bedroom. 

"Wait," she said.

        "No!" he said, pulling her forward.  "Your days of putting guys off are over!  No more empty promises.  Now you deliver."

"But you must give me time or . . . or I won't be . . . I won't be able to . . . please you."

"You want to please me?" he said sarcastically.

"I want . . . I want it to be as pleasant as possible . . . for both of us."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Oh really," he said, releasing her and stepping back.  "Then lose the robe."

If my clothes are off he will begin!

        Her eyes flitted to the nearby table, searching for something she could use as a weapon.  There was nothing.  No hope.  And no more time.

She bolted for the door, but he cut her off.

Shrinking away, she backed toward the corner, shaking her head in denial.

This cannot be happening! she thought.