Scare Tactics by John Farris Read Free Book Online Page B

like a shot, running a weaving course through the stuck-up pipe posts, just missing a couple of them, knowing she must not slow down to look back but more afraid of not knowing who might be after her, how close he was: so she risked it, glanced wildly over one shoulder and saw—Taryn stumbled to a stop, leaned against a decapitated post, and was choked with laughter, even as her heart continued trying to jump into her throat. She tingled all over.
    The cur dog she had disturbed was still standing a few feet outside the doorway, looking at her, probably as scared as she had been. At a glance she realized he was too thin and pathetic to be any kind of threat to her—but there went her idea of spending an hour or so in the projection booth, not after that dog had been hanging around. More than likely the booth would be a flea circus, and flea bites were worse than mosquito bites anytime.
    It crossed her mind then that there must be a hole in the fence somewhere. After four years, maybe several good-sized crawl holes. And she’d gone to all that trouble, breaking in through the gates ...
    Her heart was calming down and she wasn’t breathing so hard. Taryn looked up at the screen and imagined Stallone bare to his waist, gazing down on her, the eyes of a man who knows he has what it takes, choice pectorals gleaming with sweat, God: where was Sly now that she needed him? Funny how after a big enough scare you could start feeling horny, just like that, and she mildly regretted that she and Nealy hadn’t had the chance to get it on before Gaynell showed up. Never had any use for Gaynell, Taryn reflected. Nobody else in the family did either, really: “the bitch from Grinder’s Switch,” they called her, poking fun at her backcountry origins.
    Taryn was still gazing at the movie screen when a sudden sharp yelp caused her to jump a foot. She looked around but couldn’t locate the cur dog in the darkness beyond the projection booth. The door was still partly open; had he gone back inside? Then what was it made him yelp that way?
    Silence, now; a silence she didn’t particularly care for.
    Taryn shuddered, crossing her arms, fingers digging into her forearms. From a long way off she heard the diesel horn of a train near the Carverstown yard of the Chessie Railroad. She needed to pee. But she felt embarrassed, for no good reason. It was just an unnerving thing to do, as if she could picture herself squatting and then suddenly the whole drive-in would be filled with cars, like the old days, headlights focused on her and everybody laughing, There’s Taryn with her pants down! She could even hear Stallone chuckling, huh-huh, up there on the—
    Blank, empty theatre screen.
    What an imagination! No bout a’ doubt it, she was purely wasting her time with counter jobs. Ought to be out there in Hollywood right now, giving them the benefit of her good looks and talent.
    Make up a movie, just to pass the time. Go ahead. What kind of movie would you like to be in, Miss Melwood honey?
    Well, let me see. There’s this champion stock car driver, only he’s no good anymore after a bad wreck, lost his confidence or whatever. And, uh, then there’s this rich girl, that’s me, she’s got so much money, but her life doesn’t have any meaning. Uh, the stock car driver, who looks a lot like Bill Elliott, is down on his luck, and she needs a chauffeur, or maybe a bodyguard, because there’s this real crazy guy who’s been calling her up on the phone—
    “Don’t move. If you turn around I’ll kill you.”
    The jolt of fear at the nape of Taryn’s neck was powerful enough to pop her mouth open. She hadn’t heard a sound. But he’d sneaked up so close behind her she could smell him—and his odor was instantly, powerfully familiar.
    “Oh, come on!” she said, exasperated. “It’s me! Don’t give me a hard time, because I’ve already had—”
    As she started to look around, a blow to the back of her head staggered her.
    “ Shit!