orders scotch at the Pussy Cat. I knew he was fresh fish, and the scotch bit really slayed me, so I stayed on the ramp right in front of him doing my thing. I mean, I flashed it right at him. Tween turns he bought me a couple of house cocktails, you know, ginger ale calling itself champagne. He kept laughing at me, like everthinâ I said was funny. After a couple drinks of that kerosene, he began to stop laughing and looked at me funny. He offered me a couple of big ones to come back to his room. Iâm not in the business and donât usually turn tricks, but that week I needed cash for the rent, and so I went. Old Morg seemed to like the merchandise and kept coming back for more. It really turned him on to spend an hour at the bar watching me dance before we went back to his place for a quickie. He began driving up most weekends and mustaâ spent a fortune at the club, and another one paying my expenses. Thatâs when I decided to get knocked up by the bastard. I figured with a college professor da and the money that Morg said his family had, the kid would be golden.
âWhen I started showing, I got bounced. I mean, not only didnât I have a job at the Cat anymore, but Morg kissed me off. All of a sudden he doesnât even know my name. The bigger I got, the worse his memory. He donât know my address, and I think he even forgot where Boston was. Well, itâs payback time. Barney wants his divvies and I mean to see that he gets them or weâll see who does the final kissing-off.â
She yawned and plunked her empty glass on the cocktail table before stretching. The movement thrust her miraculously shaped bosom forward.
âIâm coming back tomorrow night to camp on his doorstep or running board or whatever,â she continued. âHeâs got to come out of that junk heap eventually. Can you give me a hand with my truck? Itâs a little four by four and I think even you can help me out of the ditch.â
Lyon left the yard floods on to light their way down the drive to its entrance at the highway. Her red pickup was canted into a drainage ditch. He got behind the wheel and rocked it back and forth until the traction spun the wheels off the soft shoulder. They switched places and she drove off with a wave.
A deep weight of fatigue slipped over him as he started back to the house.
Tendrils of ground fog seeped over the promontory, through the stand of pine, and flowed into low ground dips. Two spotlights backlit the widowâs walk, casting bizarre shadows across the lawn at his front. The skewered images of the walkâs rail made strut shadows appear on the ground as distorted battlements.
Lyon stopped stock still and rubbed his eyes for focus. His body was nearly at the point of exhaustion. His perceptions began to shift toward an aura of unreality. The fifty yards to the house represented an infinite distance that stretched endlessly toward a narrowing horizon. Tree shadows swayed in a macabre dance that appeared vaguely threatening. He felt trapped in a universe he did not comprehend.
Their once familiar house appeared alien. Its new identity exuded a foreboding aura.
He felt light-headed and separated from his body, as if he were floating above the trees in a weightless condition. He somehow sensed that he had to reach the safety of the house for survival.
He was never sure where it came from. It might have been ejected from the house, or propelled out of Morganâs RV, or catapulted shrieking from the dark stand of trees that bordered the lawn. He only knew that the cowled figure rushing toward him carried a raised broadsword in both hands.
Lyon immediately turned and staggered toward the tree line. The apparition behind him, its face cloaked by its hood, lumbered after him with the sword blade making narrow circles in the air.
He reached the tree line and stumbled. The sword swept through the air and bit into a tree trunk inches from his