He knew he would miss them. Hell, he alreadymissed them.
On the other hand, he rather liked the prospect of being on his own for the weekend. He could do whatever he pleased, and not have to answer to anyone.
Freedom.
He felt like a kid being left home without parents or baby-sitter.
The car vanished around the corner. Larry turned toward the house, then raised a hand in greeting as Barbara trotted down the steps next door. A handbag swung at her hip. Larry supposed she was leaving on an errand.
So, they took off without you.
Sure did.
Jean told me about that manuscript. She stopped beside her car in the driveway. Sounds like the pits to me.
Gives me a good excuse to stay behind, he said, smiling.
If youre not too busy, why dont you come over for dinner? Well throw some steaks on the barbecue.
Sounds great.
Good. Drop in around five, then, all right?
Ill be there.
She climbed into her car, and Larry headed for the house.
Things are perking up already, he thought.
In his office he glanced at the savaged manuscript and realized he was in no mood to struggle with it. Hed already fought his way through more than a hundred pages today, scratching out the copyeditors misguided corrections and replacing them with scribbles to match the printed lines as theyd originally been written. That was plenty for one days work.
He settled down in the living room with a beer and the Shaun Hutson novel hed started reading that morning. Though his eyes traveled over the words, his mind kept slipping out of the story. He found himself imagining what Jeans folks might say when they realized hed stayed home, wondering what he should wear over to Pete and Barbaras, thinking about how much he would like to spend all day tomorrow working on ideas for The Box.
Then he was speculating about the jukebox in the ditch. He wondered how much it weighed. Could two men lift it? In his book they would have to carry it to the van. Would that be possible?
Have the women lend a hand with it. My main guy isnt married. Might have a girlfriend with him, though.
Still occupied with his thoughts, Larry set the book aside. He drained the last of his beer, wandered into the bedroom and took off his clothes.
Have one of the gals fall while theyre lugging the jukebox up the slope. Good. Foreshadowing that the box is going to cause trouble.
In the bathroom he turned on the shower and stepped under its beating spray.
She tumbles down the embankment, he thought as he began to soap himself. Gets banged up pretty much like Barbara did in the hotel.
He remembered the way Barbara had looked, standing in the doorway afterward. How her legs and belly were scraped. How her blouse hung open.
The images stirred a pleasant heat in his groin.
Which turned cold when he suddenly saw himself kneeling under the staircase, gazing at the shriveled corpse.
God, he wished hed never seen that thing!
It always seemed to be with him. Waiting. Like some kind of spook lurking in a dark closet of his mind, every now and then throwing open the door to give him another look.
So damn grisly and repulsive.
But fascinating, too.
As Larry washed his hair, his mind ran through the familiar questions. Who was she? Who drove the stake into her chest? Was her presence under the stairway known to the person who put the brand new lock on the hotel doors? Could she really be a vampire? What might happen if someone pulled out the stake?
He had no answers.
He told himself, as always, that he didnt wantto know the answers. He only wanted to forget about the thing.
Which wasnt about to happen.
Maybe we shouldve reported it, he thought. Hed been against that at the time. Now, however, he saw how it mightve been for the best. A call to cops wouldve relieved them of responsibility. Like passing the baton.
We did our part, now its your turn.
Part of the problem, he realized, was carrying the burden of knowledge.
Were the only ones who know its there.
But we didnt do anything about it.
So the damn corpse is more than just a grisly memory, its unfinished business.
According to the shrinks, thats what messes up your head more than anything unfinished business.
Maybe we need to deal with it, Larry told himself. Take some kind of action to get the thing out of our systems.
Lets drive out and get it, Pete said.
Larry felt as if his breath had been knocked out. Youre kidding, he said.
Youre out of your gourd, Barbara said.
Hey, if hes going to write a book about that jukebox, he ought to haveit. Or better yet, Iought to have it. Larry can keep track of my progress repairing the thing so he gets the details right. You know? Theres nothing like firsthand experience to give a book...
Verisimilitude, Larry put in.
Yeah, thats it.
I dont know, Larry said.
He took a sip of his vodka tonic and shook his head. He wished he hadnt mentioned The Box. Normally, he didnt discuss story ideas with anyone. But Pete and Barbara were part of this one. Theyd discovered the jukebox. Petes desire to take it home had really been the inspiration. So the story had rolled out.
Shouldve kept my mouth shut.
The last thing I want to do is go driving out to Sagebrush Flat.
Pete got up from his lawn chair and checked the barbecue. The flames had died away, but Larry could tell from where he sat that the briquettes were burning. The air over the grill shimmered with heat waves. Be another ten, fifteen minutes, Pete said. He turned to Barbara, arched a dark eyebrow. Dont you need to go inside and do something?
Trying to get rid of me?
Just trying to be helpful. Were going to have those sauteed mushrooms, well want them withour steaks.
They only take a few minutes, she said. Ill do them up when you put the meat on.
Good, Larry thought. He wasnt eager for her to leave. Not only was she the best defense against Petes crazy urge to fetch the jukebox, but it felt good to look at her.
She sat on a lounge in front of him, bare legs stretched out on its cushion. Her long, slim legs looked wonderful in spite of the scabbed areas. She wore red shorts and a plain white T-shirt. The shorts were very short. The T-shirt lay softly against her flat belly and the rises of her breasts. Its fabric was thin enough to show a faint pink hue of the skin underneath, the dark crust of the scabs above Barbaras waist, the white of her bra.
He watched the way her muscles moved as she sat up straight to take a drink of her cocktail and settled back again and rested the glass on the moist disk it had left just below the hip of her shorts.
You dont want to go back there, do you? she asked Larry.
Not a whole lot.
I didnt think so.
Its probably too heavy for the two of us to carry, anyway, he told Pete.
Barbara will come along and lend a hand. Wont you, hon?
Not on your life.
Shes just scared of the vampire.
You know it. Besides, we dont need that piece of junk cluttering up the garage.
Itd be great for Larrys book. He can come over and check it out whenever he needs some inspiration. Looking at Larry, he added, And we can take pictures of it. You know? A photo of the actual jukebox, all shot up the way it is, thatll be terrific on your cover.
That would be pretty neat, he admitted.
Jeez, dont encourage him.
Larry smiled at her. I have no intention of going back to that place.
Youre scared of the vampire, too, huh? Pete said. Hey, it cant hurt you. Not as long as its got that stake in its heart.