Big Driver Read Online Free Page B

ticking sign, but she could hear running water. Not much, not a gush, only a trickle. He knelt down. A soft grunt escaped him.
    Now he’ll kill me for sure. And at least I won’t have to listen to any more of his awful singing. It’s the beauty part, Ramona Norville would say .
    â€œHey girl,” he said in a kindly voice.
    She didn’t reply, but she could see him bending over her, looking into her half-lidded eyes. She took great care to keep them still. If he saw them move, even a little . . . or a gleam of tears . . .
    â€œHey.” He popped the flat of his hand against her cheek. She let her head roll to the side.
    â€œHey!” This time he outright slapped her, but on the other cheek. Tess let her head roll back the other way.
    He pinched her nipple, but he hadn’t bothered to take off her blouse and bra and it didn’t hurt too badly. She lay limp.
    â€œI’m sorry I called you a bitch,” he said, still using the kindly voice. “You was a good fuck. And I like em a little older.”
    Tess realized he really might think she was dead. It was amazing, but could be true. And all at once she wanted very badly to live.
    He picked her up again. The mansweat smell was suddenly overwhelming. Beard bristles tickled the side of her face, and it was all she could do not to twitch away from them. He kissed the corner of her mouth.
    â€œSorry I was a little rough.”
    Then he was moving her again. The sound of the running water got louder. The moonlight was blotted out. There was a smell—no, a stench—of rotting leaves. He put her down in four or five inches of water. It was very cold, and she almost cried out. He pushed on her feet and she let her knees go up. Boneless, she thought. Have to stay boneless. They didn’t go far before bumping against a corrugated metal surface.
    â€œFuck,” he said, speaking in a reflective tone. Then he shoved her.
    Tess remained limp even when something—abranch—scrawled a line of hurt down the center of her back. Her knees bumped along the corrugations above her. Her buttocks pushed a spongy mass, and the smell of rotting vegetable matter intensified. It was as thick as meat. She felt a terrible urge to cough the smell away. She could feel a mat of wet leaves gathering in the small of her back, like a throw-pillow soaked with water.
    If he figures it out now, I’ll fight him. I’ll kick him and kick him and kick him—
    But nothing happened. For a long time she was afraid to open her eyes any wider or move them in the slightest. She imagined him crouching there, looking into the pipe where he’d stashed her, head to one side, tilting a question, waiting for just such a move. How could he not know she was alive? Surely he’d felt the thump of her heart. And what good would kicking be against the giant from the pickup? He’d grab her bare feet in one hand, haul her out, and recommence choking her. Only this time he wouldn’t stop.
    She lay in the rotting leaves and sluggish water, looking up at nothing from her half-lidded eyes, concentrating on playing dead. She passed into a gray fugue that was not quite unconsciousness, and there she stayed for a length of time that felt long but probably wasn’t. When she heard a motor—his truck, surely his truck—Tess thought: I’m imagining that sound. Or dreaming it. He’s still here.
    But the irregular thump of the motor first swelled, then faded off down Stagg Road.
    It’s a trick .
    That was almost certainly hysteria. Even if it wasn’t, she couldn’t stay here all night. And when she raised her head (wincing at the stab of pain in her abused throat) and looked toward the mouth of the pipe, she saw only an unimpeded silver circle of moonlight. Tess started wriggling toward it, then stopped.
    It’s a trick. I don’t care what you heard, he’s still here.
    This time the idea was more powerful. Seeing nothing