A bell was ringing.

Someone at the door!

It blared again.

The telephone?

She hurled herself off the bed and rushed across her room, afraid the caller might hang up before she could reach the phone - afraid he might not.

Who?

She hoped it was Bodie. It could be anyone.

The obscene caller. Harrison or Joyce. The hospital.

My G.o.d, don't let it be bad news!

Maybe a wrong number, a salesman.

The phone rang again.

The hallway was faintly lighted from the living room lamp she hadn't bothered to turn off.

She slapped a hand against the kitchen doorframe to stop herself, reached around the corner and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone. 'h.e.l.lo?'

'This is you, isn't it?'

She knew the voice. Her skin seemed to shrink. She felt it tighten and p.r.i.c.kle.

'Not a recording, this time?'

'No.'

'Do you know who I am?'

'What do you want?' she asked, her voice trembling.

'I want to talk. I've missed you. Have you been away?'

Hang up, she thought. Sure. If I do, he'll just call again.

Or come over. He knows I'm here.

Pen remembered the shotgun. She'd left it in the living room, propped against the wall near the door, hidden behind the curtains.

Let him come over. Give him a big surprise.

'Or were you just afraid to pick up the phone? You're not scared of me, honey, are you?'

'Why should I be scared?' she asked, trying to steady her voice.

He laughed. It was a quiet, dry laugh that made a cold place in her stomach.

'I've been hoping you'd call again,' she told him.

'Really?'

'Those things you saida I've listened to the tape so many times. I love it.'

'Makes you hot?'

'It sure does. I'm getting hot right now.'

'What are you wearing?' he asked.

Not a st.i.tch. Pen wished she'd grabbed her robe on the way to the phone.

He can't see me.

'Jeans. And a sweater.'

'A bra.s.siere?' he hissed.

She almost said yes. She wanted to be wearing one. She wanted to be dressed in tight, heavy clothes. She had never felt so exposed and vulnerable.

Don't back out now, she told herself.

Shivering, she said, 'No.'

'Ah, fabulous. A sweater and no bra.s.siere. I can see it. Yes. Oh, my c.o.c.k is getting big and hot. Do you know what I'd like to do? I'd like to lift your sweater and suck your t.i.ts.'

'Would you like me to take it off?' she asked.

'Oh, yes.'

What the h.e.l.l am I doing? she wondered. Am I mad?

'There,' she said, 'it's off.'

He sighed. 'Are your nipples hard?'

She looked down. They were hard. But not because of desire. 'They sure are,' she said.

'I'd like to rub my c.o.c.k on them. Would you like that?'

'I sure would.'

'Oh, I know it, I know it. Wouldn't you like to take off your pants?'

'Sure. Just a second.'

'And your underpants, too. I want you naked.'

She heard his raspy breathing. As she listened, she leaned against the doorframe. She rubbed her cold legs together. Looking down, she saw that her thighs were spickled with gooseb.u.mps.

'Okay,' she said. 'I'm naked. Are you?'

'Of course. And oh, my c.o.c.k is huge. He wants you.'

'He?'

'Spike.'

Almost funny, she thought. The creep's got a name for his p.e.n.i.s. A dog's name, Spike. But also a term for a very large nail.

'I bet Spike's big and powerful,' she said. 'I wish I could feel him.' She heard the words. This isn't me. This is a character in one of my stories, talking to a madman.

'What would you do with him?'

'I'd pet him. He likes to be petted, I bet.'

'Oh, yes.'

'Then I'd suck on him.'

'Oh, honey!'

'I'd suck on Spike till he throbbed in my mouth and I'd swallow every delicious drop and then I'd lick him clean.'

I'm as mad as he is.

Method in my madness, tra-la, tra-la.

'Would you like that?' she asked in a husky voice.

'Oh, yes, yes. Then what?'

'Wouldn't you like to know?'

'Tell me.'

'Why don't you come over and find out?'

'Tell me first.'

'I'd rub you all over with honey. And then you'd rub me all over with more, so we're all slick and sticky. Then we'd lick it off each other and when it's all gone, I'd spread my legs anda'

'Yes yes!'

'Oh G.o.d I'm hot! Let's not talk about it.'

'Please.'

'I want you to f.u.c.k me. I want Spike in my c.u.n.t. You want that, don't you?'

'YES!'.

'Come over.'

'What?'

'Now.'

There was silence except for his harsh breathing.

'Or are you just one of those guys who likes to talk about it? All words and no action?'

He laughed, that same dry chuckle like rustling paper. 'You'll find out. I'll ream you, honey. I'll f.u.c.k your brains out!'

'So get over here and do it. No more talk.'

More breathing.

G.o.d, am I really going to blow his head off?

You d.a.m.n betcha.

Magnum loads.

I can't do it.

Oh, no? Oh, no?

'Come on, lover,' she whispered. 'I'm hot I want you! I've gotta have you! Get over here!'

'Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Just tell me where you live.'

What?

'You know where I live.'

'I will once you tell me.'

'My address is right in the phone book.'

'So what's your name, you sweet stuff?'

'You don't know my name!'