you’re in a relaxed mood. So you know what would be nice now? You know what
would make this a terrific day, prettiness? A really special day? What we’ll do
is get in my car, go back to your place, up to your yellow room, get in that
four-poster bed—”
He’d been in her bedroom! He must have done it yesterday. When he was supposed
to have been in the living room fixing the TV, he must have sneaked upstairs,
the bastard, prowling through her most private place, invading her sanctuary,
poking through her belongings.
“—that big old bed, and I’m going to strip you down, honey, strip you down and
fuck you—”
Nora would never be able to decide whether her sudden courage arose from the
horrible realization that he’d violated her sanctuary, whether it was that he
had spoken an obscenity in her presence for the first time, or whether both, but
she snapped her head up and glared at him and spat the wad of uneaten cookie in
his face. Flecks of spittle and damp spatters of food stuck on his right cheek,
right eye, and on the side of his nose. Bits of oatmeal Clung in his hair and
speckled his forehead. When she saw anger flash into Streck’s eyes and contort
his face, Nora felt a surge of terror at what she’d done: But she was also
elated that she had been able to break the bonds of emotional paralysis that had
immobilized her, even if her actions brought her grief, even if Streck
retaliated.
And he did retaliate swiftly, brutally. He still held her left hand, and she
was unable to wrench free. He squeezed hard, as he had done before, grinding her
bones. It hurt, Jesus, it hurt. But she did not want to give him the
satisfaction of seeing her cry, and she was determined not to whimper or beg, so
she clenched her teeth and endured. Sweat prickled her scalp, and she thought
she might pass out. But the pain was not the worst of it; the worst was looking
into Streck’s disturbing ice-blue eyes. As he crushed her fingers, he held her
not merely with his hand but with his gaze, which was cold and infinitely
strange. He was trying to intimidate and cow her, and it was working— by God, it
was—because she saw in him a madness with which she would never be able to cope.
When he saw her despair, which evidently pleased him more than a cry of pain
could have done, he stopped grinding her hand, but he did not let go. He said,
“You’ll pay for that, for spitting in my face. And you’ll enjoy paying for it.”
Without conviction, she said, “I’ll complain to your boss, and you’ll lose your
job.”
Streck only smiled. Nora wondered why he did not bother to wipe the bits of
oatmeal cookie from his face, but even as she wondered about it she knew the
reason: he was going to make her do it for him. First, he said, “Lose my job?
Oh, I already quit working for Wadlow TV. Walked out yesterday afternoon. So I’d
have time for you, Nora.”
She lowered her eyes. She could not conceal her fear, was shaken by it until she
thought her teeth would chatter.
“I never do stay too long in a job. Man like me, full of so much energy, gets
bored easy. I need to move around. Besides, life’s too short to waste all of it
working, don’t you think? So I keep a job for a while, till I’ve got some money
saved, then I coast as long as I can. And once in a while I run into a lady like
you, someone who has a powerful need for me, someone who’s just crying out for a
man like me, and so I help her along.”
Kick him, bite him, go for his eyes, she told herself.
She did nothing.
Her hand ached dully. She remembered how hot and intense the pain had been.
His voice changed, became softer, soothing, reassuring, but that frightened her
even more. “And I’m going to help you, Nora. I’ll be moving in for a while. It’s