Free Serial by John Lutz Page B

wave one calf helplessly in the air. She heard one of her rubber thongs land near her left ear.
    His free hand was between her legs, his fingers oily. A later examination would reveal that oil was used as a lubricant for the rape. Valvoline thirty-weight.
    He was on her again. In her! Piercing deep and hard, moving back and forth inside her. He quickly built up a desperate, driving rhythm. She knew it wasn’t going to last long, but it hurt so much. She had her teeth clenched and realized she was breathing again, slightly, through her nose. Because he was letting her.
    This can’t be happening! Not to me!
    She became someone else, moving off to the side, an onlooker who, thank God, couldn’t see through the darkness of the night.
    She hid from what was happening. Hid in the darkness until it was finally over.
    Huffing and puffing noisily, the man partially raised his weight from her. Then he patted her on her bare side, as if she’d done a good job. Was he thanking her for keeping quiet? Weren’t you supposed to scream as loud as you could if you were being raped? Beth had read that somewhere or heard it on TV, but she didn’t want to imagine what might happen to her if she did manage to scream.
    He placed one hand on her head, and the other on her right thigh, using her to brace himself as he stood up. Suddenly his weight was off her entirely. She felt her shirt yanked up to cover her head.
    She lay curled and quiet on her side, not attempting to stand.
    The woods were silent.
    It seemed as if forever passed.
    Beth tried a scream and merely choked. Tried again.
    This time she emitted a loud screech.
    Then several more.
    A great roar startled her and she drew her body into a ball.
    Another roar. She recognized this one as a motorcycle engine.
    The cycle gave two loud, abrupt snarls, as if issuing a final warning to Beth, and then roared intermittently and unsteadily as it made its way along the narrow path. Beth heard the Harley clear its throat like a triumphant beast as it broke from the woods. A few seconds later it emitted a steady yowl as it reached the state road.
    Beth screamed some more, and then fell silent.
    She continued to lie on her side, motionless. She didn’t want to rejoin the world outside the woods anytime soon. The darkness that had been her enemy had now become her ally and protector. Time moved for her, but slowly and in a disjointed manner.
     
    Willis, at the convenience store, heard the scream when he stepped outside to bring in his LIVE BAIT folding sign.
    He was sure it wasn’t an animal.

15
    New York, the present
    Mishkin and Vitali phoned Quinn on their way to the Nora Noon crime scene and arrived before anyone other than the two uniforms who’d taken the call in their radio car. One of the uniforms, a guy named Sorkin, had worked before with the two detectives and nodded to them. Sorkin had a long, lean face dotted with moles. His features were pale, making the moles more prominent, and he was perspiring. Vitali knew it would take a lot to bring about that kind of physical reaction in the veteran cop.
    They were in the hall outside an open apartment door.
    “We got a dead woman in the bedroom,” the other uniform said. A black man with a small, neat mustache and sad eyes with a lot of white showing beneath the dark irises. Sorkin nodded as if to show that he agreed with his partner.
    Before entering the apartment, Vitali glanced over at a graceful, astonishingly attractive woman with black hair and high cheekbones. Alongside her was her physical opposite, a sweaty, chubby guy in dark green work clothes. They were down the hall about twenty feet, pretty much out of earshot.
    “Those two are the building super and a friend of the vic,” Sorkin said.
    “Which one’s the super?” Vitali asked in his gravel-pan voice.
    “Not the time to joke, Sal,” Mishkin admonished him. He looked at Sorkin with his mild blue eyes. “Go on with what you were saying.”
    Sorkin bobbed his head.