Free Malice by Robert Cote Page A

entertain. With great reluctance, Lysander let it go, and fell into a restless sleep.

Chapter 14
     
     
    Timp, timp, timp, timp .
    Samantha flicked on the lamp by her nightstand: a twisted skeletal hand that rose up from a grave, its bony fingers gripping the bulb. Against the far wall, two large candles burned, their flame’s unwavering in the stillness of the room. She could have sworn she heard a sound. Sam rested her head on the pillow and tried to relax. All this McMurphy stuff was getting to her.
    Timp, timp, timp .
    She sat bolt upright. Someone or something was tapping at her window.
    “Whoever you are, get the hell out of here!” she screamed. “I’ve got a gun! I’ll blow your head off!”
    Timp, timp, timp .
    She eyed the curtains for a while and then slowly swung her legs over the bed and backed away toward the bedroom door—her eyes glued to the velvet curtains.
    The window. Had she remembered to lock it? Had she even remembered to close it properly? Her hand groped blindly around her for some protection. Finally it clasped around a thin wooden cane.
    Timp, timp, timp, timp .
    The noise was stronger now. Angrier. Something was pushing against the glass. Trying to get in. A thought popped out at her: It was McMurphy. She wanted to turn and run, but invisible hands were holding her tight.
    Fear? No, not fear. Something else. A morbid curiosity, maybe.
    She forced herself toward the window.
    Timp, timp, timp.
    Yank the curtain open , she told herself, the way you yank the shower curtain late at night checking for serial killers. But instead her feet turned and brought her back to her bedroom door. She fumbled with the knob, turning it frantically, forgetting that she had locked it. She looked up and saw the bolt.
    Behind her, a sliding noise. The window was being opened.
    She had always thought she would react bravely to danger. But now that it was happening, she realized she had been wrong. Her body was a tight ball of fear. She felt trapped. A rustling sound started behind her. Gathering every ounce of willpower, she turned her head. Something was in the room with her. It had slid in through the window and was fumbling behind the curtain now.
    Her nose wrinkled, struck by the foul, pungent odor.
    A corpse .
    She could taste it in her mouth. A breeze from the open window blew the candles out, leaving her in gloomy darkness. A thin glow came from a streetlight outside.
    The velvet curtains parted, revealing a dark silhouette. Samantha screamed and the figure backed away fearfully, banging its head on the window.
    “Samantha?”
    She paused, uncertain. She knew that voice …
    “Who—”
    “Keep your voice down,” the voice whispered. “You trying to get me killed?”
    She reached over and flicked the light on.
    Derek stood there. His hair looked like he hadn’t combed it in days.
    “Jesus, Derek, I thought you were someone else.” Her chest was heaving up and down.
    “Shit, you reek.”
    Derek frowned. “Where exactly do you expect me to shower?”
    “We’re gonna have to clean you up. I’m gonna be sick if you stay like that.”
    Samantha relit the candles and burned incense while Derek smelled at his armpits self-consciously. He sat on her bed, wearing a funny expression.
    “The last time you had a look like that,” she said, “you were heading off to juvie for three months.”
    “I’m leaving, Sam. Came by to tell you.”
    Samantha’s face filled with surprise and dismay. “Leaving?”
    “I can’t live in that house anymore, they know I was there, and plus,” Derek went on, “I’m tired of living off of cold cuts.”
    Samantha tried to smile. Could she really blame him? Cooped up in that house was no way for anyone to live.
    “Where you gonna go?”
    “South. Florida. Maybe California. Gonna sniff out some work as a mechanic till I have enough cash to open my own place.” Derek rubbed his hands together, trying to shake the feeling that he was deluding himself. Sometimes,