He swung by her ankles, his weight a torture, his momentum scraping her on the bark. Blood spilled from her, splattering his face. Gazing down, she saw a split crawl out of her pubic hair, widening as it climbed to her navel. Her sweater was gone. She was naked, and the fissure was moving toward her chest. She felt the thickness of the branch tearing her insides, driving into her like a wedge. Her rib cage broke open. And still he swung beneath her…
In horror, she saw her breasts on each side of the branch. When it reaches my neck, my head will pop off. “Please stop!” she shrieked, and woke up gasping.
Deana was in bed, in her own room. Wiping sweat from her eyes, she looked at the alarm clock. Almost three o’clock in the morning. She was tangled in sweaty sheets.
She unwrapped herself and sat up. Her sodden nightgown clung to her body. She peeled it off and tossed it to the floor. The air felt good on her hot skin.
Crossing her legs, she held on to her knees and took deep breaths. Her heart began to slow down. She remembered the nightmare vividly. A strange nightmare—such a horrible, distorted version of what happened that night.
If only the reality, too, had turned out to be a nightmare.
Allan.
In her mind, she saw the car carrying him through the night, smashing him against the tree. She shivered at the memory and wrapped her arms across her chest.
According to the police, Allan had died almost immediately from the massive injuries. But Deana hadn’t known that until later, while she was waiting in the police station.
Fleeing through the woods, she had ached to return to him, get him into the car and rush him to a hospital. But the other was back there, pursuing her. So she raced on, then hid for a long time high in a tree, and later made her way down to a road where a teenaged couple on their way back from Stinson Beach gave her a lift to Mill Valley. She didn’t even ask them to take her back to the theater parking area.
For all she knew, then, Allan might still be alive. But the man might be there, waiting, and Deana couldn’t ask these strangers to risk their lives. She was afraid for herself, too. She had escaped, and the thought of returning filled her with terror.
It wouldn’t have done any good, going back. She knew that now, but the guilt remained and would probably be with her for a long time. The fear, too.
Sleep had been a refuge. She’d slept through most of the day after getting home, and gone to bed early last night. She wished she could go back to sleep now, but she felt wide awake and she was afraid of the dream. What if it came back?
What if it returned every night?
And maybe that other nightmare she’d had, had been a portent of things to come. It was too spooky to think about.
Swinging her legs off the bed, she reached up and turned on a lamp. She crossed her room to the dresser, took out a jersey nightgown, and put it on. The clinging fabric felt good against her chilled skin. She left her room and made her way down the dark hallway to the bathroom. After using the toilet, she returned.
With pillows behind her back, she sat in bed and opened a book. As she started to read, a quiet sound from the hallway made her stiffen. She darted her eyes to the door. A moment later, her mother appeared.
“How are you doing?” Mom asked.
She shrugged.
“Want to talk?”
“Sure.”
Mom sat near the end of the bed, turning sideways to face Deana, a leg drawn up beneath her nightgown. “Trouble sleeping?” she asked.
“I had this lousy rotten nightmare.”
“Rough, huh?”
“It wasn’t fun. He caught me. Split me right up the middle.” Trying to smile, she drew a finger up the front of her nightshirt. “The mind plays funny tricks.”
“Hilarious tricks,” Mom said.
“Does it get any better?”
Mom shrugged.
“How did you… cope with it when my father was killed?”
“I guess you helped pull me out of it. When I found out I was pregnant, it gave me something new to worry about, so I stopped dwelling on the past.”
“Maybe I should run out and get pregnant.”
“I don’t recommend it.” Lowering her eyes, Mom frowned. “There was something else, too. Your father… It’s hard to think of him as your father… The young man who got me pregnant…”
“Charlie Payne,” Deana said.
“I didn’t know him very well. I didn’t actually love him. That must’ve made a difference. I took Charlie’s death pretty hard. I mean, I was there and it was partly my fault, so I had plenty of guilt to deal with, but I know it would’ve been a lot worse if I’d actually loved him.”
“What is there, a family curse or something? Look at us. Both of us lost boyfriends—lovers. You were eighteen, I’m eighteen. It’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”
“There isn’t any curse.” Something about the tone of Mom’s voice made Deana wonder.
“Just bad luck?”
“We were both taking chances, honey. Going where maybe we shouldn’t have been. It doesn’t take a curse.” Mom patted Deana’s leg through the blankets and stood up. “The important thing is not to blame yourself for what happened.”
“Not so easy.”
“I know. Don’t I know.” Bending over, she kissed Deana. “See you in the morning, honey.”
As she headed for the door, Deana said, “You’ll come with me to the funeral, won’t you?”
“Of course. We’ll go out tomorrow and buy you something appropriate.”
SIX
The mother’s face was hidden behind a black veil, but she felt the eyes on her, watching her, hating her. The preacher, standing beside the grave, spoke calmly of the sure and certain hope of resurrection. The mother, voiceless, damned her.
It’s not my fault. Please.
“And so,” the preacher said, “as the coffin sinks slowly into the ground, we bid a fond farewell…”
The mother started to move. She walked around the end of the grave, slowly.
Stay back.
No, don’t point at me. Oh, my God!
She took a step backward as the mother approached, but bumped into someone behind her.
“You! You did this to him. You filthy whore!” The pointing hand opened and darted, smacking her face. “You murdered him with your lust, you whore! Monster!” To the others, she shouted, “Look at her! Look at the monster! This is what murdered my boy!” The hands clawed at her, ripped her blouse open, tore it from her shoulders, grabbed her naked breasts.
Crying out in agony, she squirmed and tried to pry the fingers loose.
“You should be dead, not him! Not my boy!”
“No! Let go!”
“You killed him, whore!”
She was dragged forward by her breasts, whimpering. Then the mother twisted and flung her. She hit the edge of the grave with her knees. Wildly flailing her arms, she caught her balance. But a shove from behind sent her down.
“That’s where you belong!”
She fell and fell.
She wanted to scream out her terror, but she couldn’t get a breath.
Why is it so deep?
It always is.
She’d been here before. She realized that now. Familiar territory, this bottomless grave.
Only, it’s not bottomless.
She knew that. And she remembered what was below. Choking out a whimper, she flapped her arms and kicked, desperate to stop, to take flight, to get the hell out of here.
Pitch dark. Grave dark.
But she could see in the dark.
The coffin didn’t have a lid. There had been a lid when it was lowered, but not anymore. He wore a necktie and brown suit. His feet were bare. His face, as pale as chalk, glowed beneath her.