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She started to just dump the bags—the contents no longer interested her, in fact, made her feel guilty and ashamed. She’d been out, shopping for things she didn’t really need, indulging in manicures and facials, laughing, drinking wine at lunch—and all the while Mr. and Mrs. Reinhold were dead.
She wanted to talk to her mother, she realized. She wanted to talk to her mom and dad—and that’s what she’d do. But first she’d do what they’d raised her to do.
What came next.
She’d put her things away, then she’d call the police.
She moved through her small, colorful space to the alcove of her bedroom. She’d separated it from the living area with its single bold blue sofa and padded crates she’d painted lipstick red by a curtain formed from stringed beads.
Maybe a
convertible sofa would’ve made more sense, but she just refused to sleep in her living space.
By next year, she could upgrade to a one-bedroom, hopefully in the same building. That was her next goal, anyway, which had taken a hit when Jerry had taken the rent money and her tip savings and blown it in Vegas. She needed to make it up now, and make up the spree she’d just had.
But she’d so needed to just get out, cut loose for one day. And it had made her feel better, and more like herself. Kasey had been right. She’d brooded over her Big Mistake, aka Jerry, for long enough.
Time to jump back in the pool, she thought as she took the pretty turquoise sweater she’d scooped up on sale out of a shopping bag.
She should take Kasey’s advice on attitude, too, she decided. She should think about how lucky she was. If Jerry had done what they said—and she still couldn’t really believe it—she’d had a lucky escape breaking it off with him. All it had cost her, really, was time, some heartache, a couple of slaps, and money.
It could’ve been worse.
She didn’t hear him step behind her. The dull crack of the bat against her skull pitched her forward so she hit the bed, bounced, then slid bonelessly to the floor.
Standing over her, Jerry smiled, tapped the bat against her leg.
“Batter up.”
He hadn’t hit her very hard. Not as hard as the old man, that’s for sure. He didn’t want to kill her—yet. They had some issues to discuss first.
But he was well aware of the crap soundproofing on her dump of an apartment, so the discussion had to be a quiet one.
“Stupid bitch.” He gave her a good thwack with the bat on her hip. “Did you think you could just say, ‘Get out’? That I wouldn’t make copies of the keys? And where the hell have you been all damn day? I’ve been waiting for you.”
He poked at the shopping bags, bared his teeth.
He’d done some shopping of his own the last couple days. Time to put his purchases to good use.
He switched the music on—not too loud, don’t want the neighbors to complain—just loud enough.
He retrieved his own shopping bag from the bathroom where he’d hidden when he heard the elevator clunk—and listened to her conversation with the nosy old hag across the hall.
A shame the nosy old hag hadn’t come inside with Lori. He could’ve made it another twofer.
For now, and just for now, he’d settle for Lori.
He hauled her unconscious body onto the bed, and for the first time noticed the new hair color. Bitch probably changed it to try to land some other sucker. That’s all he’d been to her, just some guy to fuck and fuck with.
Now she’d be the one getting fucked.
Not sexually, he thought—even the thought of doing her made him sick. But he undressed her. That was to humiliate and intimidate. He’d given this a great deal of thought.
He bound her wrists, her ankles—tight, really tight so the cord bit into flesh. She deserved some pain.
He slapped tape over her mouth, which was too bad as he’d have enjoyed hearing her scream.
Humming along with the music, he propped her up, plumping the pillows behind her before wrapping two more lengths of cord over her torso, around and under the bed. That he secured with a clip lock so it held nice and snug.
