And then I heard one of them coming in after me, not softly because that was impossible, but steadily, and stopping every now and then to listen. By now the man, whichever it was, must realize from the silence that I had gone to ground. If he knew anything about tracking, he would soon find where the broken branches and scuffed earth stopped. Then it would only be a question of time. I softly squirmed round to the back of the tree, away from him, and watched the lights from the car hold steady in the glistening wet branches above my head.
The feet and the snapping twigs were coming nearer. Now I could hear the heavy breathing. Sluggsy’s voice, very near, said softly, ‘Come on out, baby. Or poppa spank real hard. Da game of tag is over. Time to come home to poppa.’
The small eye of a flashlight began searching under the trees, carefully, tree by tree. He knew I was only a few yards away. Then the light stopped and held steady under my tree. Sluggsy said softly, delightedly, ‘Coo-ee, baby! Poppa find!’
Had he? I lay still, hardly breathing.
There came the roar and flame of a single shot, and the bullet smacked into the tree-trunk behind my head. ‘That’s just a hastener, baby. Next time it takes your little footsie off.’
So that was what showed! I said, weary with fright, ‘All right. I’ll come. But don’t shoot!’ And I scrambled out on all-fours, thinking hysterically, ‘This is a fine way to go to your execution, Viv!’
The man stood there, his pale head fretted with yellow light and black shadows. His gun was pointed at my stomach. He waved it sideways. ‘Okay. Get ahead of me. An’ if you don’t keep moving, you’ll get a root in that sweet little keister of yours.’
I stumbled ignominiously through the trees towards the distant, glaring eyes of the car. Hopelessness had me by the throat, and an ache of self-pity. What had I done to deserve this? Why had God picked on me as a victim for these two unknown men? Now they would be really angry. They would hurt me and later almost certainly kill me. But the police would dig the bullets out of me! What evil crime were they engaged on that made them indifferent to the evidence of my dead body? Whatever the crime was, they must be quite confident that there would be no evidence. Because there would be no me! They would bury me, drop me in the lake with a stone round my neck!
I came out through the fringe of the trees. The thin man leant out of the car and called to Sluggsy. ‘Okay. Take her back. Don’t treat her rough. That’s for me.’ He put the car into reverse.
Sluggsy came up beside me and his free hand fondled me lasciviously. I just said, ‘Don’t.’ I had no will left to resist.
He said softly, ‘You’re in trouble, bimbo. Horror’s a mean guy. He’ll hurt you bad. Now you say “Yes” to me for tonight, and promise to act sweet, and mebbe I can get the heat taken off. Howsabout it, baby?’
I summoned a last ounce of fight. ‘I’d rather die than have you touch me.’
‘Okay, sweetheart. So you won’t give, so I take for myself. I reckon you’ve earned yourself a rough night. Get me?’ He pinched me viciously so that I cried out. Sluggsy laughed delightedly. ‘That’s right. Sing, baby! Might as well get into practice.’
He pushed me in through the open back door of the lobby block and shut and locked it behind him. The room looked just the same – the lights blazing, the radio hammering out some gay dance tune, everything winking and glittering and polished under the light. I thought of how happy I had been in that room only a few hours before, of the memories I had had in that armchair, some of them sweet, some of them sad. How small now my childish troubles seemed! How ridiculous to talk of broken hearts and lost youth when, just around the corner of my life, these men were coming at me out of the darkness. The cinema in Windsor? It was a small act in a play, almost a farce. Zürich? It was paradise. The true jungle of the world, with its real monsters, only rarely shows itself in the life of a man, a girl, in the street. But it is always there. You take a wrong step, play the wrong card in Fate’s game, and you are in it and lost – lost in a world you had never imagined, against which you have no knowledge and no weapons. No compass.
The man called Horror stood in the middle of the room, idle, relaxed, his hands at his sides. He watched me with those incurious eyes. Then he lifted his right hand and crooked a finger. My cold, bruised feet walked towards him. When I was only a few steps away from him I came out of the trance. I suddenly remembered, and my hand came up to the soaking waistband of my pants and I felt the head of the ice-pick under the apron. It was going to be difficult to get it out, to get at the handle. I stopped in front of him. Still holding my eyes, his right hand came up like a snake striking and slapped me, biff-baff, right and left across my face. The tears started from my eyes, but I remembered, and ducked down as if to escape another blow. At the same time, concealed in the movement, I got my right hand down inside the band of my pants, and when I came up I threw myself at him, hitting wildly towards his head. The pick connected, but it was only a glancing blow, and suddenly my arms were gripped from behind and I was pulled back.
Blood was oozing from a cut above the temple of the grey face. As I watched, it trickled down towards the chin. But the face was unmoved. It showed no pain, only a terrifying intensity of purpose, and there was a fleck of red deep inside the black eyes. The thin man stepped up to me. My hand opened and the pick fell to the floor with a clang. It was a reflex action – the child dropping the weapon. I give up! I surrender! Pax!
And then slowly, almost caressingly, he began to hit me, now with his open hand, now with the fist, choosing his targets with refined, erotic cruelty. At first I twisted and bent and kicked, and then I began to scream, while the grey face with the blood-streak and the black holes for eyes watched, and the hands sprang and sprang.
I came to in the shower of my cabin. I was lying naked on the tiles, the tattered, filthy remains of my pretty clothes beside me. Sluggsy, chewing at a wooden toothpick, leaned up against the wall with his hand on the cold tap. His eyes were glistening slits. He turned off the water and I somehow got to my knees. I knew I was going to be sick. I didn’t care. I was a tamed, whimpering animal ready to die. I retched.
Sluggsy laughed. He leant over and patted my behind. ‘Go ahead, baby. First thing after a beat-up, everyone vomits. Then clean yourself up nice and put on a nice new outfit and come on over. Those eggs got spoiled with you running off like that. No tricks! Though I guess you ain’t got stomach for any more. I’ll be watching the cabin from the back door. Now don’t take on, baby. No blood. Hardly a bruise. Horror’s got a nice touch with the dames. You’re sure lucky. He’s a hippy guy. If he’d of been real mad, we’d be digging a hole for you right now. Count your blessings, baby. Be seein’ ya.’