Title:No Sanctuary
Author(s): Richard Laymon
Publisher(s): Leisure Books
Pages: 352
Year: 2003
Format: EPUB
Language: English
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Rick shook his head sharply to dislodge the thoughts, and winced. His head had a dull ache, thanks to the bourbon. He got to his feet, looked around, and walked across the campsite.
She’ll be down by the stream, he thought. When I get to the top of the embankment, I’ll see her. She’s fine.
God oh God, why had he let himself remember all that last night? Over the years he’d become talented at turning his mind away from the memories whenever they started. But lying there in the dark tent, he’d dwelled on them, wallowed in them. He hadn’t even tried to fight the memories.
He suspected that he knew the reason why—because he had a need to remember what happened last time. He was out here again. Probably a hundred miles from the place where Julie was murdered, but here, in the mountains, in the wilderness. He needed to relive the horror. He needed it fresh in his mind. A cautionary tale. Watch out, be ready, it could happen again.
Shaken by the memories, he had crawled from the tent last night, stirred the smoldering fire to life, gone to his pack and taken out the bottle and revolver. The pocket of his parka was deep enough to hold the revolver. Its weight felt good. He sat on a stump close to the fire and drank. The heat of the bourbon swept through him. He wished he had brought two bottles, not just the one. He had six more nights to go. He needed to hold back, to drink no more than a seventh of the bourbon, or he might run out.
But a seventh of a quart wasn’t much at all.
There were bound to be nights when he wouldn’t need to drink, nights when he would sleep through till morning.
Now is when I need it, he thought.
When a quarter of the bottle was gone, he forced himself to quit. Hoping that would be enough to help him sleep, he put the bottle away and returned to the tent. He rolled his parka into a pillow. In spite of its thickness, he could feel the revolver under his head. He didn’t mind.
Nobody gonna fuck with us this time, he thought vaguely, just before falling asleep.
Rick reached the edge of the embankment. For a moment, he didn’t see Bert and something clamped tight in his chest. Then he spotted her. She was off to the right, sitting cross-legged on a rock near the middle of the stream.
“Morning,” he called, climbing down the slope.
She looked over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Afternoon,” she said.
“Oh, it’s not that late.”
She got to her feet, hopped across the stream, and stepped into her sneakers. She was wearing baggy tan shorts and a white T-shirt. She looked fresh and wonderful. She came to Rick. He put his arms around her. She pressed herself against him.
“How come you didn’t invite me to your party?” she asked.
She knew. Of course she knew.
“You were asleep,” Rick said.
He felt her shrug.
“You didn’t miss much. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. So I knocked back a few. They helped.”
“The first night out can be tough,” she said. “It’ll get better.”
“God, I hope so.”
“Good thing I didn’t light a match this morning, the tent would’ve blown up.”
Rick laughed softly. “Sorry.”
Her hands slipped inside the seat of his sweatpants. They were warm on his buttocks. “If you have trouble sleeping again, how about waking me up? I don’t want you to suffer alone.”
“All bright.”
She patted his rump, then stepped away. “Let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”
Back at the camp, Rick heated water on the fire for instant coffee. Bert dumped powdered eggs into her pan, stirred in water, and used her sheath knife to scrape chunks of meat off a bacon bar. She cooked the meal over the burner of her small propane stove.
Rick normally abhorred instant coffee. This morning, however, it seemed to taste great. He drank it eagerly while he lingered over the scrambled eggs with bacon.
And he watched Bert sitting on a log across from him, eating from the pan. Her hair gleamed like gold over one ear where the sunlight fell on it. Her white T-shirt, so bright that it almost hurt his eyes to look at it, hung loosely over her breasts. Her nipples made it jut and he could see a hint of their darkness through the fabric. The pan was on her lap. Her legs, long and sleek, were stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
Finishing first, Rick got up and went to his pack. He took out his Polaroid camera.
“Come on,” Bert said, “my hair’s a mess.”
“You look great. Just keep eating.”
She shrugged and rolled her eyes upward. Rick took a shot as she lifted the fork to her mouth. With a buzz, the camera ejected the photo.
Rick crouched beside Bert and they watched the picture appear, faint at first, growing sharp, finally showing every detail in rich clarity. “I told you my hair was a mess.”
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