“Jesus,” Bert muttered. “I wish you’d told me.”
“I’ve never told anyone.”
Bert shook her head. Her eyes glimmered wet in the firelight. Her hand moved up Rick’s back and curled around the nape of his neck. “It must’ve been so awful for you. I’m so sorry.”
“Anyway, that’s why I brought the gun along. I got Julie killed, but I wasn’t going to let it happen to you. Then when we met you two,” he said, glancing at Andrea and Bonnie, “it was all part of the same thing.”
“You couldn’t save Julie,” Andrea said, “so it’s like you wanted to save all of us—to make up for it.”
“Something like that, I guess.”
“Heavy,” Andrea said.
“If I’d known what happened before,” Bert said, “I never would’ve talked you into this.”
“You were so eager. I didn’t want to spoil it for you. Besides, I had no idea I’d suddenly turn into a total paranoid. That other was a long time ago. I figured I’d be able to handle being in the mountains again. But when we got here, it all came back fresh as if the years in between just folded up. Then Jase and his pals walked into the camp. That’s what the others did, just walked into camp and the next thing I knew Julie was dead. The way I saw it, it was all starting over again. But this time I was ready and I had a gun and nobody was going to get hurt except the guys.”
“And I threw away the gun,” Bert muttered.
“You what?” Andrea blurted.
“I threw it in the lake.”
“Holy limping Jesus.”
“It’s all right,” Rick said. “We’re better off without it. I could’ve ... I came pretty close to shooting those guys tonight. And they were innocent.”
“Innocent my ass.”
“They’re creeps,” Bert said, “but they’re not rapists or killers.”
“That remains to be seen,” Andrea said.
“They had my gun,” Rick told her. “They could’ve done whatever they wanted. All they did was hand it over to Beet.”
“We really misjudged those guys,” Bonnie said.
“I sure did,” Rick said, “and I think the rest of you caught it from me. It was contagious. I was so obsessed with this thing.”
“For good reason,” Bert told him.
“If I’d just ... really thought about it rationally. I mean, the odds against something like that happening twice ... It almost couldn’t happen again with odds like that.”
“You hear about the guy who got caught trying to take a bomb with him on an airline flight?” Andrea asked. “They said to him, ‘Are you nuts? You could’ve killed yourself and everyone else on the flight.’ He told them it didn’t have a detonator, so they said, ‘Then what’s the bomb for?’ He said it was a safety precaution. He said, ‘You ever hear of two bombs on a plane?’ ”
Nobody laughed.
“Cute,” Bonnie muttered.
“The odds.”
“We get it,” Bonnie said.
Bert rubbed the back of Rick’s neck. “Are you about ready to turn in?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Does this mean we’re not going to stand watch anymore?” Andrea asked.
“What’s the point,” Bonnie said.
“I guess I’ll stay up for a while, then. Make sure nobody sneaks up on us and ...” She stopped herself. She shrugged. “I’m not very tired anyway.”
“Suit yourself,” Bonnie told her. “But there’s really no point.”
“Maybe not. But it can’t hurt to be careful. Rick did have those visions.”
“Just the daydreams of a disordered mind,” he said, smiling a bit.
“Besides,” Bert said, “the odds.”
“Yeah, the odds. Did you know it’s a common misconception that lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice? It does hit the same place twice. Frequently.”
“On that cheerful note,” Bert said, “goodnight.” Rick told the girls goodnight, and followed her into the tent.
As they lay close together in the darkness, Rick said, “Yeah. ‘Nother thing. I met Angus, our friendly neighborhood preacher-man, earlier. Says he’s lived out here fifty years. Caught me drinking the ‘devil’s brew’ and told me to repent of my wicked ways, or else. He’s out of his gourd. A real freak.”
“Angus?”
“Yes. The bastard that’s been following us around—never mentioned him before. All I’d seen was his shadow. Thought it was part of my general paranoia. But he sure scared the shit outa me tonight. Jumping out like that. Turns out he’s just your average harmless maniac. I guess.”
He started to tell Bert the whole story but she rolled over and put a finger to his lips.
“Tell me about Angus tomorrow,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-one
Gillian had thought it wouldn’t last long. Half an hour, maybe. Just long enough for Holden to take her up into the hills, probably somewhere along Mulholland, where he’d find a secluded area and open the trunk and do what he had in mind.
This can’t be happening.
It’s happened to a lot of others. It happens all the time. This time, it’s my turn. I’ll be dead. After he’s done with me. It’s impossible.
Gillian knew it was possible.
Not inevitable, though, she told herself. It’s not over yet. It doesn’t have to turn out that way. Maybe he’ll get a flat, or the cops will stop him, or ...
The wires at her feet.
She explored them with the toes of her right foot—the foot on the bottom. There seemed to be a central cable stretched along the front of the trunk. Small clusters of wires ran off it. These, she thought, must be attached to the car’s right rear lights.
Cops will stop a car with dead lights.
Though her feet were bound together tightly at the ankles, she was able to spread them open as if they were hinged at the heels. She damped the main cable between them. She pulled at it, trying to work the wiring loose without a struggle that might make the rope across her throat go tight.
You’ll never break the connection this way, she realized.
Stop screwing around, this is your life!
She ripped at the cable. Newspapers whispered and crackled beneath her as she slid. Her knees pounded the front of the trunk. The rope dug into her throat. She jammed her hands down to give herself slack, bent forward slightly, felt the rope rub between her legs and buttocks, felt the pressure ease across her throat, and kicked back with both feet. The cable gave. It didn’t flop loose, but Gillian was certain that some of the small wires running off to the lights must’ve popped free. She pictured the car moving along the road, the lights dead on its right rear side.
Now if we just get pulled over, she thought.
They didn’t get pulled over.
And Holden didn’t stop in a secluded place in the Hollywood Hills to finish with her.
They would’ve been there by now.
Hours had seemed to go by after Gillian’s struggle with the wiring.
Lying on her side had become unbearable after a while, so she had experimented with moving and found to her surprise that she could lie on her back. By angling herself across the trunk, she was actually able to stretch her legs out. The rope at her throat seemed more like a nuisance than a threat. She had figured out that it would not choke her so long as she kept her back straight and her arms stretched down. But the rope made it impossible for her to reach the knots and work on them. That’s what it’s for, she knew.
In bits and pieces over the hours, during short periods of time when she could focus her mind, Gillian had assembled the puzzle of what Holden must’ve done after she lost consciousness in his house.