No Sanctuary by Richard Laymon

By Richard Laymon

Rick could do whatever for his female friend Bert. He'd even spend his holiday within the wasteland, strolling the paths round Fern Lake. After what occurred final time, it is the one position on the planet he'd want to not pass. yet Bert is a girl with a keenness for the outdoors—and a keenness for different issues too. Rick might keep on with her to hell and back—which is what he is approximately to do. Gillian is off on holiday too, purely her suggestion of a vacation is a bit bizarre. She likes breaking into people's houses whereas they're away and dwelling there. Pity that this time she possibilities at the domestic of a serial-killer. the type of man who loves to take his lady sufferers out into the desolate tract for his enjoyable. Rick and Bert aren't the one ones heading to Fern Lake...

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Also, it went against the logic of her cover, a niece coming to house-sit would hardly ring the doorbell. Setting down her suitcase, Gillian opened the mailbox. It was empty except for a flier. She quietly lowered the lid. The porch was an L-shaped concrete slab with a waist-high wall, and extended around the corner of the house. Its front was concealed from the street by a pair of geraniums. The house windows that looked onto the porch were dark. Gillian carried her suitcase and purse around the comer and set them down.

Gillian shut her door. She went into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. She would miss Odie and Grace. She had managed the twenty-unit apartment complex herself for almost a year before they showed up in their lopsided pickup truck. Odie was unemployed, but Grace had already lined up a book-keeping job that would bring in enough money to cover the rent and little else. Gillian not only liked the two at once, she trusted them. She gave them an apartment rent-free and hired Odie, overjoyed to be released from the burden of running the place.

After paying for the gas, Rick moved the car to the end of the lot. They went inside the store and used the restrooms. Before leaving, they bought a bag of potato chips and two bottles of cream soda. He drove with the bottle of soda clamped between his legs. It was cold through his trousers. The open sack of chips rested on the seat. He took turns with Bert reaching into it. Sometimes, when he was concentrating on the road, his hand collided with hers. Soon after the chips and sodas were gone, the road narrowed.

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