“I have no idea.”
“Not even a far-fetched one? Take a guess.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Drugs, do you suppose?”
“Maybe.”
“Not drugs,” he said. “I don’t use drugs. Don’t approve of them.”
“Good.”
He reached to set the pouch on top of the dashboard. “You were scared before,” he said.
“A little.”
“But not anymore.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because—”
“When you stop to think about it,” he said, “nothing’s changed. The situation’s the same as it was. You’re alone with a stranger in a dangerous place, and you don’t know anything about the man you’re with, and what could you do if I tried something? You’ve got a purse. Do you happen to have a gun in it?”
“Of course not.”
“Don’t say it that way. Lots of people have guns. But not you, evidently. How about some chemical Mace? Paralyze attackers with no loss of life. Got any of that stuff?”
“You know I don’t.”
“How would I know that? It’s not as though I searched your purse. But I’m willing to take your word for it. No gun and no Mace. What else? A nail file? Some pepper to throw in my eyes?”
“I have an emery board.”
“That’s something. You could sort of saw me in half with it, I suppose, but it’d take a long time. You’re really essentially defenseless, though, aren’t you?”
“Stop it.”
“It’s true, though, isn’t it? If I tried something—”
“What do you mean, tried something?”
“Want me to come right out and say it, huh? Okay. I could stop the car and overpower you and rape you and you couldn’t do a thing about it, could you?”
“I could put up a fight.”
“What would that get you? I’d just have to hurt you and that would take the fight right out of you. You’d be better off giving in from the start and hoping I’d take it easy on you.”
“Look,” she said, “cut it out, huh?”
“Cut what out?”
“You know damn well what you should cut out. Quit doing a number on my mind.”
“It’s getting to you, isn’t it?”
“Look, I told you—”
“I know what you told me. Maybe you ought to consider the possibility that I don’t much care what you want.”
“I don’t like this,” she said. “I just want to get out, okay? Just stop the car and let me out.”
“Are you sure you want me to stop the car?”
“I—”
“Of course it’s not a good idea to get out while we’re sailing along at fifty miles an hour, but you’re safe as long as the car’s moving, aren’t you? If I was going to do anything, I’d really have to stop the car first.”
“Why would you want to—”
“To rape you? I’m a man and you’re a woman. An attractive one, too. Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
“Is it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re not being very nice.”
“No,” he agreed, “I guess I’m not. You’re really scared now, aren’t you?”
“Stop it.”
“Why do you have so much trouble answering that question? ‘Cut it out. Stop it.’ What’s such a big deal about admitting that you’re scared?”
“I don’t know.”
“You are scared, though. Aren’t you?”
“You’re trying to scare me.”
“Uh-huh, and it seems to be working. You’re terrified, aren’t you? I guess you have a right to be. I mean, there’s a very good chance that you’re going to be raped. At least you think there is, and all on the basis of a brief conversation. You’re beginning to see just how powerless you are. I could do whatever I want with you and you couldn’t do a thing about it.”
“You’d be punished,” she said.
“They wouldn’t know who to punish.”
“I could tell them.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“You’re a student.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“I could describe you,” she said. “I could describe the car, I could give them the license number.”
“Maybe it’s stolen.”
“I bet it’s not. I could work with a police artist, I could have him make up a sketch of you. You really wouldn’t get away with it.”
“Hmmmm,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”
“So there’s no point in doing anything, and you can stop playing mind games, okay?”
“You could describe me,” he said. “I guess I’d have to kill you.”
“Don’t even say that.”
“Why not? That’s the best policy anyway, and it’s part of the fun, isn’t it? If it weren’t so much fun there wouldn’t be so many people doing it, would there?”
“Stop.”
“ ‘Stop, stop, stop.’ You don’t look very strong. I bet you’d be easy to kill.”
“Why kill me?”
“Why not?”
“The police would be after you. People don’t get away with murder.”
“Are you kidding? People get away with murder every day. And they wouldn’t have any idea who to look for.”
“You’d leave evidence behind. They have these new techniques, matching the DNA.”
“Maybe I’ll practice safe sex.”
“Even so, there’s always physical evidence.”
“They could use it to convict me after they caught me, but it wouldn’t help them catch me. And I don’t intend to be caught. They haven’t caught me so far.”
“What?”
“Did you think you were the first?”
She closed her eyes and tried to breathe evenly, regularly. Her heart was racing. Evenly she said, “All right, you’ve got me frightened. I suppose that’s what you wanted.”
“It’s part of it.”
“Are you satisfied now?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I was satisfied,” he said. “I wouldn’t use that word. I won’t be satisfied until I’ve got you raped and strangled and lying in a ditch. And incidentally there’s not a lot of physical evidence unless they find you fairly quickly, and I’m pretty good at hiding things. They may not find you for months.”
“Oh, don’t do this to me—”
“By then you’ll be nothing but a memory to me,” he said. “That’s all I’ll have of you, that and your little finger.”
“My little finger?”
“The little finger of your left hand.” He shrugged. “I’m the kind of sentimental fool who likes to take a souvenir. I won’t cut it off until afterward. You won’t feel a thing.”
“My God,” she said. “You’re crazy.”
“Do you really think so? Maybe this is just a joke.”
“It’s not a funny one.”
“We could argue the point. But if it’s not a joke, if I’m serious, does that necessarily mean I’m crazy? And what act would serve to identify me as crazy? Am I crazy if I rape you? Crazy if I kill you? Or only crazy if I cut off your finger?”
“Don’t do this.”
“I don’t see anything fundamentally wacko in wanting a souvenir. Something to remember you by. Remember the song?”
“Please. Please.”
“Now I’ll ask you a question I asked you before. What do you think’s in the pouch?”
“The pouch?”
He took it from the dashboard, held it in the palm of his hand. “Guess the contents,” he said, “and you win the prize. What’s in the bag?”
“Oh, God. I’m going to be sick.”
“Want to see for yourself?”
She shrank from it.
“Suit yourself,” he said, returning it to the dashboard. “Because of our conversation, because of a chance remark about little fingers, you’ve jumped to the conclusion that the pouch contains something grisly. It could be full of cowrie shells, or horse chestnuts, or jelly beans, but that’s not what you think, is it? I think it’s time to stop and pull off the road, don’t you think?”