Illusion of Luck 24

Larry opened the door to Room 110 and flipped the light switch. “Not too bad.”

Yeah, thought Cynthia, if you’re a roach.

Larry checked his watch. “It’s almost 9:00. Come over here.”

He led her to the king size bed and turned on the lamp.

“Lay down on the bed,” he said as he took the handcuffs out of his jacket pocket.

“Are those really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so, Honey. Until I think I can trust you.”

He had planned to cuff her to the bedrail, but saw a hole in the box springs and decided to hook onto a spring instead. He removed the Bible, telephone book, and complimentary note­pad from the nightstand drawer and put them on the floor where she couldn’t reach them. Then he unplugged the phone and put it in a chair across the room.

He opened the door that led to the adjoining room—109, and said, “Just relax and keep quiet.” Then he turned off the overhead light and went outside. He unlocked the door to Room 109, went in.

Larry stuck his head in Cynthia’s room and said, “I hope you know it’s really you I want. But I have needs. I just hope this won’t make you too jealous.” He grinned.

He left both doors open just a crack to be sure his lovely redhead could hear him having sex in the next room. Soon, she’d want to join them.

There was a knock at Door 109.

Larry opened the door. “You must be Chaucey.”

“And you’re Barry?”

“Yes. Come on in.” Larry could already feel the blood gush­ing to his crotch. She was dressed like a hooker—the most beautiful hooker he’d ever seen.

“I just love your writing. You’re so talented.”

“Thank you. You’re pretty good at turning a phrase your­self.”

“I try. My mother is a literature professor, so I guess it comes sort of naturally. She even named me after Chaucer.”

“I wondered about that when you kept quoting Chaucer in your comments.”

“But how lame is that? For a mother to give her daughter a British man’s name?”

“Very lame, if you’re name was Chaucer. But Chaucey is a beautiful name.”

She decided to leave it at that. He didn’t need to know that her real name was Geoffrey Chaucer Reed. “Thank you.” She smiled. “In your email you said something about wine.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry, but I didn’t have time to pick up any.”

“Well, that’s okay—as long as you read some poetry. I’m really looking forward to that.”

He took her hands in his. “And up he rist, and by the wenche he crepte.” (And he rose and sneaked up on the girl).

Chaucey immediately recognized it as a quote from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales: The Reeves Tale.

He drew her closer. “This wenche lay uprighte, and faste slepte.” (This girl lay across the bed, fast asleep.)

His voice both soothed and excited her.

“Til he so ny was, er she myghte espie.” (Until he was so close before she saw him.) He put his left arm around her and began to unbutton her blouse.

She began to feel uneasy. What was she doing here? She had envisioned a tasteful recitation of lovely poetry, sipping fine wine from a chalice, falling into her poet’s arms in pas­sionate love. But this was not love. This was dirty and tawdry.

“That it had been to late for to crie.” (That it was too late for her to cry out for help.) He opened her blouse and began to run his fingers across the top of her lacy, low-cut bra.

“Wait. I don’t know if I—“

“—and shortly for to seyn, they were aton.” (And soon they were one.)

“I’m sorry, Barry. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“It’s okay, Baby. I’ll be gentle.”

“No. I really don’t want to do this.” She tried to push him away.

“Barry,” yelled Cynthia from the other room. “I want you, Baby.”

Chaucey was startled. “You’ve got another woman here?”

“If you’re trying to make me jealous, it’s working,” said Cynthia. “Come on, Honey. I got naked for you and I’m ready to go.”

Larry released Chaucey. “Hang on. I’ll be right back.”

Larry opened the doors and went into the other room. He shut the second door behind him so Chaucey wouldn’t hear the conversation. Then he realized Cynthia had turned off the lamp. He was standing in the dark. “I know you’re lying. So, just shut up and let me have my fun.”

“I’m not lying. I really am naked. Come feel for yourself.”

Larry followed the wall to the night stand and felt for the lamp. When he turned it on, he barely had time to see that she was not naked before something flew at his face. It was Cyn­thia’s shoe—and her foot was in it. There was no time to react.

The heel made direct contact with his nose and kicked his head sideways. His body followed, but not quickly enough. It was like a failed hanging attempt—the sudden jerk to the neck, stretching it a bit longer than nature intended before the faulty rope gave way.

“You’re gonna be sorry you did that.”

She thought he was about to beat her to death.

But instead, he turned and walked back through the doors to the other room.

Maybe he’s going after his gun…or the watch bomb remote.

He was even angrier when he came back. “She’s gone!”

Good, thought Cynthia. She didn’t know what had attracted Chaucey to him, but it had quickly become clear that she regretted it. Cynthia had heard her tell him ‘No,’ but Larry would not have stopped. He would have raped her. And then killed her. Maybe Cynthia couldn’t save herself, but at least she had saved Chaucey.

Then Larry did something unexpected. He went out the door and locked it without saying another word. She heard him get into his car and drive away.

Would it be wrong for her to pray for his death? She pic­tured him driving down a two-lane road. He would be smoking his pipe, thinking about how lucky he was when he dropped the pipe and it fell to the floorboard. After reaching down to get it, he would look up to realize he had drifted into the other lane, put­ting his car directly in the path of a dump truck.

He would only driving 55 mph, but so would the trucker. He would pull the steering wheel hard to the right, causing the Jaguar to skid down the road sideways for a split second before the truck slammed into the driver’s side of the car. It would be like hitting a battleship at 110 mph—if the Jaguar had been sea­worthy. But either way, he’d be sunk.

It didn’t seem likely Larry would get himself killed before returning. But thinking about the various ways he could die helped her ignore the squeaky springs in the room above her.

**********

Greg, Sandy, and Rebecca were on their way to Sugar Land in the Bonneville.

“By the way,” said Sandy, “have you talked to Cynthia’s mother?”

“No,” said Greg. “She called my cell earlier while I was checking parking lots for Larry’s car, but I didn’t answer.”

“So, she doesn’t even know her daughter has been abducted?” said Sandy.

“No. But I’m sure she thinks we just left our phones in our hotel room, and that we’re having a ball at Disney World. Her cruise ship took off from Galveston this afternoon.”

“Well, don’t you think she has a right to know?” said Rebecca.

“Yeah, I do. And I feel bad about not telling her. But she would have skipped the cruise. And there’s not a thing she can do to help right now.”

**********

Crow enjoyed reading the newspaper. His reading ability had improved dramatically since high school because of his paper reading habit. He always tried to read every word in every section—even stuff he wasn’t interested in, like the obituaries.

He picked up his paperback dictionary from the coffee table and looked up the word substantive. He was pretty sure he knew the meaning. Yeah, he thought. It’s almost the same as substantial. Why do lawyers always say substantive when they could say substantial, like everybody else?

The page fell out and glided to the floor. He picked it up and put it back in its place. He would buy a new dictionary soon. They had a nice one at the store.

His concentration was weaker than usual tonight because he was worried about Chaucey. He had upset her and she had gone somewhere. He couldn’t imagine where she went dressed that way. She rarely ever went out at all—especially at night.

Maybe he’d been wrong to tell her how he felt. But he was only telling the truth. Now it seemed like she didn’t want to know the truth. Before he had told her, everything had been fine. They had spent time together almost every day.

He should have just left well enough alone. But he really wanted to hold her in his arms. He wanted to marry her and make love to her. Not that he knew how. He was a virgin. But he was sure he could figure it out. And she would help him. Chau­cey always helped him with stuff. She was always patient with him. It was just one of the many things he loved about her.

The wall clock said 9:29. He hoped she would get back soon.

Then he heard her door opening. She was being so quiet that he almost missed it. She probably didn’t want him to know she was back because she thought he would bother her. But he wouldn’t. He would give her time to think. Time to realize that she loved him too.