It lit the steeply slanted roof, thick support beams, the broken-faced mannequin of Officer Dan Jenson...
The kid didn’t run into any beast, just caught a glimpse of poor Dan!
Mystery solved.
Though Sandy felt her tension start melting away, she continued to move her light across the attic. It revealed old steamer trunks and suitcases, cardboard boxes, dummies of the two Zieglers, framed paintings stacked against a wall, a few rolled rugs, an ancient wheelchair, a tattered sofa, a rocking chair, a pedestal table and other odds and ends of old furniture.
Then her flashlight illuminated a hunched, furry creature with wild eyes and teeth bared in a mad snarl.
Vincent, the stuffed monkey. A Nineteenth Century umbrella stand, it used to reside in the foyer.
Sandy smiled, recalling how it often freaked out the kids.
Maybe that’s why Janice stored it away.
Though Sandy had been in the attic several times, on her own and with the Midnight Tour, she hadn’t seen Vincent in years. Not since her old days as a guide.
She smiled at the hideous monkey. “How you doing, Vincent old pal?” She stepped closer to him and squatted down—grimacing as her buttocks and crotch pushed against the sweaty denim of her jeans. “You’re looking a bit the worse for wear,” she said.
His short brown fur looked a lot more ratty and filthy than she remembered. If she dared to pat him on top of the head, a cloud of dust would probably rise.
He seemed to be glaring into her eyes.
In the old days, to test her courage, Sandy used to dare herself to insert her forefinger into his open mouth. She’d always been sure that Vincent, though dead and stuffed, wouldn’t miss the opportunity to bite her finger off. She’d also known that he couldn’t. He was dead and stuffed. If he tried to bite her finger, his jaw would probably break off.
Still, she’d never been able to do it.
Sandy hadn’t feared the fangs of living beasts, but the teeth of poor old Vincent always terrified her.
“You don’t scare me now,” she whispered.
She set her pistol on the floor.
“You wouldn’t bite your old friend, would you?”
Vincent glared at her.
“You better not,” she warned him.
Then she eased her forefinger into his mouth.
And gasped out a yelp of fright as she was clutched from behind by her crotch and neck and jerked high. The flashlight flew from her hand. Her head pounded against a roof heam. As the light blinked out, she felt herself slam against the attic floor.
Chapter Forty-five
RUDE AWAKENING
Dana woke up feeling chilly. She was curled on her side, covered only by the top sheet. She supposed she must’ve thrown off the blanket.
The bedroom was gray with early morning light.
She glanced at the clock.
6:20
Mmm Great. I can go back to sleep. If I can just get warm.
Straightening her left leg, she tried to feel the blankest.
There seemed to be nothing down there except the lightweight sheet.
Her blanket must’ve fallen off the end of the bed.
Only one way to retrieve it—by getting up.
Dana groaned.
She didn’t want to move. Even though the sheet that covered her to the shoulders felt unpleasantly cool, the mattress underneath her body was cozy and warm.
She imagined Warren being in the bed, too. Asleep on the other side of it.
If only, she thought.
His side of the bed would be nice and warm. She would roll toward him and squirm closer until she could feel his heat. Then she would rest her face on his shoulder, curl an arm across chest, swing a leg over his thighs. She would stay on him like that, and fall asleep.
What’s he wearing? she wondered.
Soft, flannel pajamas.
In the morning, she would wake up fust. And watch him sleep for a while. Then she would sneak her hand into the open fly of his pajamma bottoms...
Moaning, Dana rolled toward the other side of the bed
It was empty.
Of course.
Warren’s probably fast asleep in his own bed right now.
Maybe he’s lying awake, the same as me. Wishing he could turn over and take me in his arms.
If I don’t go on the tour, she thought, we can be together tonight.
The tour’ll be fun.
Anyway, I promised Tuck.
Would she really mind if I missed it? Dana wondered. She’ll still have Eve with her. It’s not like she has to have an entourage.Why don’t I just tell her that I’d like to see Warren tonight, but I’ll go on the tour with her next Saturday?
Not a bad idea, she thought.
She imagined herself stepping up to the window of the snack stand, Warren smiling out at her. He would say, “You look wonderful this morning, Dana.”
And she would say, “Guess what! I can see you tonight, after all. I decided to bag the Midnight Tour.”
“Great!”
Excited by her plan, she no longer felt drowsy or chilly.
But this was too early for starting the day.
I’ll take a pee, she thought. Then I’ll get nice and cozy and try to grab a couple more hours of sleep.
Flopping onto her back, she swept the top sheet away and sat up.
Then gazed down at herself.
She’d gone to bed last night wearing a white cotton nightshirt.
She still wore it.
But now it hung from her shoulders, ripped wide open down the front.
“Uh-oh,” she muttered.
What the hell’s going on?
She stared at her nightshirt’s ragged edges.
I didn’t do it, did I?
If didn’t, who did?
She recalled the strange sound she’d heard yesterday just after waking up—a door sliding shut as if an overnight intruder were sneaking out of the house.
She suddenly felt crawly.
Goosebumps prickled her skin.
Take it easy, she told herself. Maybe I did it in my sleep.
Not likely, but possible
And maybe not quite as farfetched as the idea that a prowler was in here and ripped it open.
If be ripped it oven, what else did he do?
What if he messed with me?
Climbing off the bed, Dana felt her soreness.
That’s from Warren, she told herself.
Is it?
She wanted to turn on a light. She wanted to take off the split nightshirt and study herself in a mirror.
But two strides away from the bed, her bare left foot kicked something heavy and hard.
She cried out in pain.
The kicked object spun across the floor and vanished behind a corner of the dresser.
Hurt foot up, Dana hopped backward on her good foot and dropped onto the edge of the bed. She sat there, face contorted, throat tight, toes throbbing. Very quickly, however, the pain subsided.
Then she scooted sideways on the mattress, reached out and turned on the lamp. Three of her toes looked red. So did a dozen or so scratches on her legs and belly and breasts. And several mouth-shaped blotches.
The toes got that way from smashing against that thing on the floor.
The scratches all came from roaming the bushes behind Tuck’s pool last night. Probably.
The blotches all came from Warren’s mouth. Probably.
Warren really wracked me up, she thought. I won’t be the same for a week.
Neither will be.
Smiling slighty, she decided nobody else had been tampering with her body.
Probably.