Carolina Moon

after school they’ll go out and run around together, or he’ll throw Mongo tennis balls. Fuzzy yellow balls that get all wet and messy. It’s fun to sit on the patio and watch them. Jerry has to go in, his mother called him in to do his chores before supper. Mongo’s just plain worn out, so he’ll sleep out on the patio. You want the music on, loud as you can without bothering Mr. Rice, because you’re feeling so happy. So hopeful. A glass of wine. White wine. Not really good wine, but you can’t afford better. Still it’s nice enough and you can sip and listen to the music and plan.”
    She walked to the patio doors, looked out. Instead of dark she saw early twilight. The big dog spread out on the concrete like a shaggy welcome mat and snoring lightly.
    “Lots to think about, so many plans. So much to do. You feel so good about things and just can’t wait to get started. You want to have a party, have the rooms crowded with people, and flirt with that gorgeous vet, and that slick-looking Cade Lavelle. My, my, they sure grow them handsome in Progress. But now you should make a meal. You have to feed the dog. Maybe another glass of wine while you’re putting it together.”
    She strolled into the kitchen, humming the tune she heard in her head. Sheryl Crow. “A salad. A nice big salad, with extra carrots because Mongo likes them. You’ll mix them in with his kibble.” She reached down, brushed her fingers over the handle of the cupboard, then let out a gasp, stumbled back.
    Instinctively Cade moved toward her, but Carl D. gripped his arm. “Don’t.” He spoke in a whisper, as though in church. “Let her be.”
    “He was there. Just there.” Tory’s breathing came in quick, short bursts now. She had both hands fisted at her throat. “You didn’t hear him. You can’t see him. There’s a knife. He has a knife. Oh God, oh God, oh God. His hand’s over your mouth, squeezing. The knife’s at your throat. You’re so scared. So scared. You won’t scream. You won’t. You’ll do anything if he doesn’t hurt you.
    “His voice is at your ear, soft, quiet. What did he do with Mongo? Did he hurt him? It’s all tumbling in your head. It’s not real. It can’t be real. But the knife’s so sharp. He pushes you and you’re afraid you’ll stumble and the knife …”
    She shuffled out of the kitchen, braced a hand on the wall when she swayed. “The blinds are drawn. No one can see. No one can help. He wants you in the bedroom, and you know what he’s going to do. If you could only get away, away from the knife.”
    Tory froze at the door to the bedroom. Nausea rolled into her in short, choppy waves. “I can’t. I can’t.” She turned her face to the wall, struggling to find herself through all the fear and violence. “I don’t want to see this. He killed her here, why do I have to see it?”
    “That’s enough.” Cade shoved away Carl D.’s restraining hand. “Goddamn it, that’s enough.”
    But when he reached for Tory, she stumbled away. “It’s in my head. I’ll never get it out of my head. Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch me.”
    She pressed her hands to her face, trapping her own breath, and let it claw back inside her.
    “Oh. Oh. He pushes you on the bed, facedown. And he’s on top of you. He’s already hard, and feeling him, feeling him pressing against you, you struggle. The fear’s wild inside you. Huge, choking. There’s a heat to it. Fear burns.”
    She moaned, went down to her knees beside the bed. “He hits you. Hard. The back of the neck. The pain’s so sharp, it rushes through you, stuns you. He hits you again, the side of your face explodes with it. You taste blood. Your own blood. Blood tastes the same as terror. The same. He yanks your arms behind your back, and the pain of that’s just another layer.”
    Tentacles of that pain slithered and groped inside her, tangled with a horror so huge it seemed the mass of it all would burst out of her brain. She pressed her face to the side of the mattress, dug her fingers into it.
    “It’s dark. The room’s dark, and the music’s playing and you can’t think over the pain. You’re crying. You try to plead with him, but he’s tied a cloth over your mouth. He hits you again and you start sliding away somewhere. Half conscious, you hardly feel it when he cuts your clothes away. The knife nicks you, but it’s worse, so much worse when he uses his hands on you.”
    Tory doubled over, wrapped her arms around her