Death of an Immortal by Duncan McGeary Read Free Book Online

so be it. It was important that they all be home.
    He still wasn’t sure what he would say. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps he’d simply hand over the check and walk away. That’s what he should do. Anything else wasn’t safe, either for him or for them.
    But as he sat in his car, staring at the house, he knew he wouldn’t leave without talking to Sylvie.
     
     

 
    Chapter 9
     
    Vicky waited for the paperboy. He was late, as usual.
    She would pretend to be impatient, but secretly she was delighted. The last time, she had seen how Mr. Horsham had looked her over, as if trying to see how she looked with her clothes off. She had just been waiting for another excuse to be alone with him.
    She had read everything about him there was to read, had followed him to nightclubs, and had even snuck into a few of them, watching from a distance as he handed out tip money like it was water. He liked the girls, that was for certain. Tall, willowy blondes. Such as herself. Well, such as herself after going to the salon every two weeks to keep the blonde hue in her hair.
    She checked herself out in the mirror of her compact. The Horsham estate had almost no mirrors––actually, none that she’d ever seen. She had a few too many dark roots to be perfect, but not bad: blonde and beautiful and young.
    Mr. Horsham was older than his official biography, she’d decided. Not that he showed it. No, he had one of those tall, lean bodies that never got flabby, and dark, lustrous hair that never greyed or grew thin.
    But the news stories went too far back for him to be only forty years old or so.
    He had to be lonely, possibly even depressed. He never left the house until after dark, and he slept all day. It was time he had a woman take care of him full time.
    The paperboy––actually a middle-aged man––finally showed up.
    “The truck was late,” he muttered, and she believed him because he’d obviously been running, sweat dripping off his fat face.
    “It best not happen again if you want your bonus,” she snapped. Mr. Horsham paid bonuses that were bigger than a month’s wages if you pleased him. She planned to please him very much indeed.
    He wasn’t up when she got to the kitchen. His meal was laid out, but there was no light coming from under the bedroom door. Vicky looked around at the curtains. Wouldn’t it be nice if they were open when he got up, catching the last vestiges of the day’s light? she thought. She went to the window, but she couldn’t see anything that would open the curtains. They seemed almost permanently attached. How strange.
    “What are you doing?” The voice was guttural, unlike the smooth tone she was used to hearing from Mr. Horsham.
    He was in the shadows, wearing a bathrobe. He seemed to have an erection. She flushed. Vicky had thought she was prepared for anything, but now that the moment had come, she felt uncertain. His silhouette wasn’t quite right, as if he was wearing something on his face, something that protruded.
    Nevertheless, she pirouetted prettily, a move she’d practiced a hundred times in the mirror at home. She had a great body, and she knew it.
    “You have the perfect body.”
    She couldn’t believe he’d said it. She’d dreamed of him saying that, but not like this.
    “Why thank you, sir. It is at your service.” There. She’d said it. A little more bluntly and crudely than she’d planned, but then again, she hadn’t expected her boss to be already aroused.
    He stepped into the light. He was wearing a mask, a fright mask of some kind. Not funny at all. He seemed to be running toward her; why would he be doing that? She tried to plaster a smile on her face and opened her arms.
    As he got within a few feet, Vicky saw that he wasn’t wearing a mask after all. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t scream. She felt herself being slammed against the dining table and falling to the floor.
    Then he was on top of her, ripping her clothes off. Violating her. She had dreamed of this,