"Phone call," he mumbles, trying to look awayhis eyes keep drifting back toward me.
"Uh-huh. Who from?" He folds me in the towel as if I'm a delicate treasure he's trying not to touch. I shiver and try to ignore it.
"From Fer. He and El, they've heard something bad from Mick, and they're talking about sorting it out."
"Bad." I try to concentrate. The water on my skin is suddenly cold. "What kind of bad?"
"It's Cass, I think." I tense up inside. "Mick gave them some crazy story about hearing from Fiore. Said the Priest told him that one of the rules in here is, what was it, be fruitful and exponentiate.' That you can get a gigantic score bonus for having children."
"That's not good," I say carefully, "but it might just be Mick acting in character."
"Well, yes, that's what Fer said, but then Mick told El he was going to get that bonus whether or not Cass wanted it." He sounds apprehensive. "El wasn't sure what that meant."
My mind races. "Cass wasn't at Church yesterday, Sam. Last time I saw her she wouldn't talkshe seemed afraid." I have a nasty feeling that I know what's going on. I really don't want it to be true.
"Yes, well, Fer called me when El told him Mick had made some kind of joke about stopping Cass trying to escape for good. He wasn't sure just what it was but said it didn't sound right. Reeve, what's going on? What are we going to do if it turns out he's been tying Cass up while he's been at work, or using physical force, or something?"
For someone living in a dark ages sim, Sam can be heartbreakingly naive at times. "Sam, do you know what the word rape' means?"
"I've heard it," he says guardedly. "I thought it had to involve strangers, and usually killing. Do you think"
I turn round. "We've got to find out what's going on, and we've got to get her out of there if it's true. I don't think we can count on the police zombies, or Fiore for that matter, to help. Fiore's messed up in the head anyway, even Yourdon thinks so." I pause. "This is very bad."
The thought of what Cass might be going through horrifies me, especially as I can guess how some of our cohort will react if we try to rescue her. Before last Sunday I might have been more hopeful, but now I know better than to expect anything but gruesome savagery from our neighbors if they think their precious points are at risk. "I think Janis would help, but she's ill. Alice, maybe. Angel is scared but will probably follow if we approach her right. JenI don't want Jen around. What about you guys?"
"Fer agrees," Sam says simply. "He doesn't like the idea either. El, maybe not. I think if I ask, I can get Greg and Martin and Alf involved. A team." He looks at me oddly.
"No killing," I say, warningly.
He shudders. "No! Never. But"
"Someone's got to go find out if it's true, or if it was just Mick making a joke in bad taste. Right?"
He nods. "Right. Who?"
"I'll do it," I say flatly. "Tonight. I'm going to get dressed. You get on the phone to people. Get them round here. I want to sort out what we're doing before I go in, that way there won't be any nasty surprises. All right?"
He nods then looks at me, an odd expression in his face. "Anything else?"
"Yes." I lean forward and kiss him quickly on the lips. "Get moving."
THREE hours later, we're holed up in a vacant house on a quiet residential side street across the road from what we now know is Cass and Mick's home, thanks to an obliging zombie taxi driver. This street is still three-quarters unoccupied. We pile out of our three taxis at five-minute intervals and go to ground. Fer was among the first to arrive. He got us into the empty house with a crowbar. There's not a lot of furniture, and everything is dustynot to mention dark, because we don't want to turn on the lights and risk alerting Mickbut it's better than trying to hide in the front garden for a couple of hours.
There are only five of usme, Sam, Fer, Greg, and Greg's spouse, Tammy. Tammy is determined and very quietly furiousI think it's because she didn't realize how bad things really were until Sam phoned Greg. It's nearly midnight, and we're all tired, but I run through the plan once again.
"Okay, one more time. I'm going to go across the road and ring the doorbell. I'll ask to see Cass. Depending how Mick reacts, Sam and Fer, you'll rush him or hang back. I've got the whistle. One whistle means come in and get me, I need help. Two means get Mick." I stop. "Greg, Tammy, you take the stockings, pull them over your heads. We don't want him to recognize you if you have to take Cass and look after her."
"I hope you're wrong about this," Tammy says grimly.
"So do I, believe me. So do I." I glance sidelong at Fer.
"Mick's not been right in the head since I've known him," Fer mutters.
"Anything else before we go?" I ask, standing up.
"Yes," says Fer. "If you don't whistle, and you don't come out within ten minutes, I'm going in anyway." He grips his crowbar.
"I should hope so." I nod, then get up and head across the road.
Mick's garden is overgrown with weeds, and the grass is long. There are no lights in the windows, but that doesn't mean anything. Like our house, there's a conservatory at the front. The door stands open. I step inside and look at the front door. There's a new lock drilled into it, big and chunky-looking. I ring the doorbell. Nothing happens. I ring it again, and a light comes on in the hall. I tense up, ready for it as I hear a key turn in the lock, then another key, and the door opens.
"You." It's Mick. He belches at me, and I smell sour wine on his breath. He's wearing a dirty T-shirt and boxers, and he's clutching ametal canister with an open top. "What do you want?" He leers at me. "Din't I tellya not to bug me?"
"I want to see Cass," I say evenly. There's stuff piled in the hall. Looks like empty food cartons, rubbish. It smells sickly sweet. "She wasn't at Church on Sunday."
"Yeah?" He raises the can and takes a drink from it, then looks at me slyly. "Come in."
I step over the threshold as he backs into the house. It looks like it started out as a mirror image of the one Sam and I live in, but it's been trashed. The hall is stacked with ripped boxes of ready meals and bits of decaying food. Something upstairs has leaked, and there's a smelly stain spreading down one wall. "She's upstairs, resting," he says, gesturing at the staircase. "Whyn't you go up an' see her?"
I stare at him. "If you think she won't mind."
"She won't."
As I set foot on the staircase he sidles round below and closes the door, then twists both keys in the locks. "Go on," he tells me, "nothin' to worry about." He giggles.
That does it. I've got the whistle on a cord round my neck, hidden under the jumper I'm wearing. I pull it out and blow two sharp blasts as I take the steps two at a time. Mick winces, then turns to look up at me, his face a picture of confusion slowly turning into anger. "Whatyuh do that for?" he shouts. Then there's a loud thump from behind him as someone hits the door.
I make the top step and glance round quickly. The master bedroom is on the left, just like in my own house. There are piles of filthy clothing mounded up along one wall, and I take in the sick-but-sweet stench of blocked drains overlying something else, something less identifiable. I dart into the bedroom, and my hand goes to the light switch. Something squeals.
There's a splintering crash downstairs and a bellow of inarticulate rage, but I'm too busy staring at the bed to pay attention. Most of the furniture in the room has been trashed, like someone threw it about or took an axe to it. The bed is the sole exception, but it's been stripped down to the mattress. It stinks of excrement and stale urine, there are flies buzzing about, and it's occupied: Cass is lying on it naked. Her arms are tied to the headboard, and her legs to either corner of the bottom of the bed. She's filthy and there are bruises on her thighs and her face looks like she's been repeatedly punched. That's where the squealing noise is coming from. I think he's broken her jaw.