Laura considered telling her about the Eel. But what if Miss Keist waited to catch the Eel as he crept into her room, and what if he didn’t show? Laura would never be able to accuse the Eel again because she’d have a history of accusing him; no one would take her seriously. Then even if Sheener raped her, he’d get away with it.
“No, nothing’s wrong,” she said.
Miss Keist said, ‘ Thelma’s too sure of herself for a girl her age, full of false sophistication. If you’re foolish enough to break the rules again just to have an all-night gabfest, develop some friends worth taking the risk for.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Laura said just to get rid of her, sorry that she had even considered responding to the woman’s moment of concern.
After Miss Keist left, Laura did not get out of bed and flee. She lay in darkness, certain there would be another bed check in half an hour. Surely the Eel would not slither around until midnight, and it was only ten, so between Miss Keist’s next visit and the Eel’s arrival, she’d have plenty of time to get to a safe place.
Far, far away in the night, thunder grumbled. She sat up in bed. Her guardian! She threw back the covers and ran to the window. She saw no lightning. The distant rumble faded. Perhaps it had not been thunder after all. She waited ten minutes or more, but nothing else happened. Disappointed, she returned to bed.
Shortly after ten-thirty the doorknob creaked. Laura closed her eyes, let her mouth fall open, and feigned sleep.
Someone stepped quietly across the room, stood beside the bed.
Laura breathed slowly, evenly, deeply, but her heart was racing.
It was Sheener. She knew it was him. Oh, God, she had forgotten he was insane, that he was unpredictable, and now he was here earlier than she’d expected, and he was preparing the hypodermic. He’d jam her into a burlap sack and carry her away as if he was a brain-damaged Santa Claus come to steal children rather than leave
gifts.
The clock ticked. The cool breeze rustled the curtains.
At last the person beside the bed retreated. The door closed.
It had been Miss Keist, after all.
Trembling violently, Laura got out of bed and pulled on her robe. She folded the blanket over her arm and left the room without slippers because she would make less noise if she was barefoot.
She could not return to the Ackersons’ room. Instead she went to the north stairs, cautiously opened the door, and stepped onto the dimly lit landing. She listened for the sound of the Eel’s footsteps below. She descended warily, expecting to encounter Sheener, but she reached the ground floor safely.
Shivering as the cool tile floor imparted its chill to her bare feet, she took refuge in the game room. She didn’t turn on the lights but relied on the ghostly glow of the streetlamps that penetrated the windows and silvered the edges of the furniture. She eased past chairs and game tables, bedding down on her folded blanket behind
the sofa.
She dozed fitfully, waking repeatedly from nightmares. The old mansion was filled with stealthy sounds in the night: the creaking of floorboards overhead, the hollow popping of ancient plumbing.
Stefan turned out all the lights and waited in the bedroom that was furnished for a child. At three-thirty in the morning, he heard Sheener returning. Stefan moved silently behind the bedroom door. A few minutes later Willy Sheener entered, switched on the light, and started toward the mattress. He made a queer sound as he crossed the room, partly a sigh and partly the whimper of an animal escaping from a hostile world into its burrow.
Stefan closed the door, and Sheener spun around at the sound of movement, shocked that his nest had been invaded. “Who . . . who are you? What the hell are you doing here?”
From a Chevy parked in the shadows across the street, Kokoschka watched Stefan depart Willy Sheener’s house. He waited ten minutes, got out of the car, walked around to the back of the bungalow, found the door ajar, and cautiously went inside.