The Final Judgment Read Free Page A

delayed image on the retina, Brett saw his face in the instant before she had placed her mouth to his. As Brett recoiled, a warm spray rose from his lips, fleek-ing her face and throat and breasts. His body shivered beneath her in a twitching spasm. His face was speckled, eyes staring at nothing. The last soft spray of blood rose from his severed windpipe. A knife stuck from his ribs. Brett made no sound. She stood, trembling, straining to comprehend. Saw the blood on her fingers. Only then did she realize that she had pulled the knife from his chest. As her shriek carried across the water, Brett the reasoning human ceased to exist. All was a nightmare collage: Her hand clutching the knife. His wallet where it had fallen as he undressed. The dark slash through his throat. She whirled, staring wildly at the woods. The wind, moaning now, was the sound of James dying. Blindly, Brett ran toward the darkness. It enveloped her. Branches beat her face and body as she flailed at the darkness with both hands, hacking the leaves from her face. Now the darkness seemed to enter her mind. The flailing became a dream, no moment distinct from the other, the glade behind her no more real than the moon she could not see. Time had no end. And then, in sudden moonlight, the outline of a Jeep appeared. Brett slowed to a walk. Emerging naked from the trees, she was uncertain of what to believe. Tentative, she rested her hand on the Jeep.
    It was real. The keys were still inside. Brett opened the door, throwing what she had carded on the passenger seat, and turned the ignition. It worked. Brett locked herself in. She did not know how long she sat there, naked, listening to the low hum of the motor. She switched on the headlights. When she spun the Jeep around, their beams cut a path between the trunks of trees. Just as before. Shifting gears, Brett began to drive.
    Brett awoke in darkness. She tasted blood in her mouth, then vomit. Her lip felt swollen. She was slumped, naked, across the steering wheel. The stench of sickness filled the Jeep. Her stomach felt hollow. Brett felt a pounding in her head. Stiff-necked, she leaned back in the seat and looked around her. A wooded roadside. She did not know where she was, how she had gotten there, how long she had been unconscious. She was not sure why she was crying. A light came toward her. Brett winced, turning her head. The light filled her windshield. Behind the flashlight was the shape of a man. The light circled the hood of her car, moving toward the driver’s side. Brett curled sideways, face pressed against the door, arms folded across her chest, eyes and mouth clamped tight. There was a tap on the window. No, she thought. Don’t hurt me. Fingers digging into her skin, Brett forced her eyes open. The tap of the flashlight stopped. A beam of light crossed her body, captured her hips, a shadow of pubic hair. As Brett gazed at her own nakedness, a tremor ran through her. “Open up,” a voice demanded.
    A young man’s voice, Brett thought. She swallowed. “Open up,” he said again. “Police.” Police. By instinct, she reached for the window crank, one arm covering her breasts, and lowered the glass between her and the voice. He was young, with short dark hair and a pale face. Though he wore the jacket of the local police, she did not know him. He looked startled, embarrassed. “What happened?” Brett shook her head. Words did not seem to come. “Sick ...” He thrust the flashlight into the car, jabbing the beam here and there. In a taut voice, he asked, “Is someone hurt?” Sudden images. Sraddling James in the night. His staring eyes. A knife in her hand. “Miss?” A nightmare. She must be stoned, the terrible pictures a dream. James was home in bed. Her voice was weak. “Please, take me home” His flashlight !it the passenger seat.
    A heap of clothes, a wallet. A bloody knife.
    ”I’m taking you in, miss.”
    A convulsive sob tipped from Brett’s throat. “Why ... ?” A moment’s pause. “For