Lila was not home when he returned. Nor was his father. Grateful he had been spared an encounter, he went to bed early, hoping to sink into oblivion. He was deep asleep when the door slammed open and the light went on. Lila's face was white stone. The clock radio said 12:06. His heart instantly slammed against the walls of his chest. "Wha-what?"

She moved closer and he could smell the sugary haze of the Shalimar. Also the dark fumes of scotch. "So, you're not seeing her." Her voice was like broken glass.

"We just went to a movie."

She stepped closer. "Is that right-just went to a movie?"

"Yeah, no big deal."

Something was in her hand behind her. "No big deal, huh? You're seeing her," she hissed.

"What do you mean?"

"You're seeing her. You're dating her. You're boyfriend-girlfriend."

"No, we're not. Wh-what're you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? I'm talking about this."

Her hand snapped up with a photo of Becky. She turned it over. "With love forever, Becky."

"Where did you get that?" Before she could respond, he said, "That's old."

"Is that right?" She turned it over. "Then why's it dated two weeks ago? Every photograph's got a date printed."

He felt the blood seep out of his head. "You took that from my lockbox. You had no right."

Her breasts swelled like armor. "Don't you tell me what I have a right to. Everything in this house I have a right to. It belongs to me, Buster. Everything, this room, your furniture, your precious lockbox. Everything, including you."

"We're just friends."

"Just friends?"

"Yes," he pleaded. She looked positively insane.

"Yeah, then how do you explain this?" In the other hand was a wrapped Trojan condom.

He nearly threw up when he recognized it.

"You've fucked her."

"N-no. I swear."

She closed in on him. "You're lying."

"N-no, I'm not." And it was true. He and Becky had made out, even explored each other's bodies with their hands. But he had not had sexual intercourse with her. But how could he convince Lila? He wished he could transport the truth from his mind into hers so she'd believe him, so she'd be normal again.

Her teeth flashed at him. "Admit it. Admit it!" She was at the edge of his bed.

She looked demonic. "I didn't," he whimpered. He started to get up, but she swatted the air in front of his face, and he didn't know if she missed on purpose. "I didn't. I swear to God." He put his hands before his face.

"Then you were planning to. Tell me the truth."

"She made me."

"What?"

"She made me get it. She made me go to Bobby d'Onofrio and get one."

"How could a cheap little slut who doesn't weigh a hundred pounds make you get it? Did she twist your arm? Put a gun to your head? Threaten to beat you up?"

"N-no. She said just in case."

"Just in case you fucked the little bitch, right?"

He nodded.

"No. You got it on your own because you were planning to make dirty with her." Lila began to unbutton her blouse. "You want to make dirty? Is that right?"

He shook his head as she removed her blouse and tossed it on the floor. She was wearing her lacy black bra. "Mom, please no."

"Becky Tolland is a little tart. You hear me?"

"Yes."

"A little cheap tart." With one hand she whipped off her bra and tossed it on the floor.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor.

Underneath she wore panties and black lace-top stockings. Through the material he could see the thicket of red hair.

"I'm going to show you the error of your ways." She peeled off her panties. Then she slipped off one stocking and tossed it on the pile. The other stocking she held on to. He made a move to get off the bed. "Oh, no," she said. "You're not going anywhere."

He tried not to glare at the tuft of red hair just inches from his face.

"Take off your pajamas." Her voice was a harsh whisper.

"No, please."

"Yes, because I'm going to show you what real dirty is, not some teenybopper slut thing."

"Do I have to?"

And in a mimicking voice she whined, "Yes, you have to."

Her hot googly eyes bore down on him, making his hand slide up his front to undo his top. She did not take her eyes off his as he removed it. "And your pants."

"Please no." His voice was barely audible. He could feel the force of her will scorch dead his own. He removed his bottoms and brought his hands in front of him.

When he was naked, she said, "Now lie back."

He lay back. Lila stood with her legs slightly spread and a single nylon stocking in her hand.

"Put your hands behind your head." Her voice had softened.

"What?"

"Put your hands behind your head. It's a little game."

He wanted to protest, but couldn't. He put his hands behind his head, aware of his exposure.

"You keep them there because I'm going to give you something you won't get from little Miss Becky Tolland."

He braced for her to hit him, but instead she draped the nylon across his legs and dragged it across his feet back and forth so that it tickled. Then she trailed it up one leg to his thigh then down the other leg to his feet then back up the other leg. He had no idea what she was doing, but the tickling sensation was not unpleasant. He felt himself begin to relax.

"Does that feel good?"

He nodded.

"Good," she cooed and dragged the stocking across his belly then down his thigh and across to the other thigh then back. She did that a few times, and with each the circle got smaller and smaller. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

Her eyes had that askew cast, but they did not look wild. He nodded.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes, very pretty."

"Prettier than her?" The stocking crossed just below his genitals and he flinched in reflex.

"Yes. Beautiful." His body was beginning to hum.

"Good. Close your eyes."

He closed his eyes and felt the stocking brush his penis like a feathery snake. He opened them a slit and watched it crawl down his legs then up again, and he spread his legs a bit to let it pass. He felt himself grow erect and brought his hands down to cover himself.

"No. Hands back where they were. And no eyes."

He closed his eyes as she continued teasing him with the stocking.

"Did Miss Becky ever do this to you?"

"No."

"Or this?"

He groaned in pleasure as she curled the stocking around him like fingers. "No."

"You going to see her again?"

"No. I promise. I swear..."

"Good."

As she continued to move the stocking up and down his body, curling around him, he arched and squirmed to catch it, trying to anticipate its passes and teasing curls, trying to lure it to wrap itself around his shaft and bring him to full pleasure. For several long liquid moments as he undulated in place, all he concentrated on was that stocking. That black shiny lace-top stocking. He wanted it. He wanted it. No, he wanted Lila.

He opened his eyes. "Please," he begged. "Please."

She leaned over and planted her mouth on his and gave him a long tongue-twining kiss. "What, my little Beauty Boy?" she whispered, pulling up.

He looked at her wide deep gorgeous eyes, her breasts, and the red pubic mesh that crawled toward him like a crab. He thrust himself high into the air and groaned.

"Would you like to make love to me?"

"Yes. Yes."

God! If she dragged that stocking across him one more time he'd explode. "Pleaaaaaaase."

She pulled the stocking across the head of his penis, then coiled it around the shaft. His breath caught in his throat as he felt himself about to come. And at just the moment he erupted, she pulled the stocking into a stranglehold.

He let out a cry of agony as if something inside had ruptured.

Lila stood over him, her face again the demon. "Dirty girl," she said, and shot out of the room and slammed the door behind her.

51.

Steve had that dream again.

There was no buildup, no foreplay. He was straddling the woman as she lay naked on her bed, her red hair spread under her like brushfire. Digging into his palms were the opposite ends of a black nylon that he pulled with all his might, causing the loop to cut into her neck, making her face swell grotesquely under him, her nose seeming to inflate toward his, her eyes bulging to the popping point, her mouth emitting a high, shrill, jingling sound.

The PDA ringing from his night table shocked him awake.

And he said a silent prayer that he was awake. He had begun to hate the thought of going to bed, of risking having that dream again. It made him fear for his own sanity-fear that he was the person in those nightmares. Fear that those dreams weren't imaginings but memory.

Through the dark he could make out that the digital clock said 4:24, and his first thought was Dana: something was wrong. He was instantly alert.

"Hey, Steve," Captain Reardon said. "Sorry to wake you at this hour, but I've got some bad news. Pendergast's dead."

"What?"

"Committed suicide. The guards found him about an hour ago. He tore off the sleeve of his shirt and wrapped it around his neck and the bed frame."