He inhaled deeply to get his pants snapped and that’s when the room started to spin. He stumbled back and fell across the hassock and felt his stomach begin to roll. You’re gonna puke, he assured himself, unless you pass out first. Which is it gonna be?

Bean hated to puke. So he relaxed and let himself black out and never realized that, by doing so, he’d saved a second life tonight. His own.

At least for a little while.

Rusty Sanders turned up Hank Williams, Jr. on the squad car’s radio as he veered onto the Nevermore’s main drive. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview and had to laugh at the stupid grin of expectation he found. “Tonight’s the night, bucko,” he said, slicking his hair with a little spit on the palm. He was off duty tonight and dressed to the teeth, with his snakeskin cowboy boots and his tightest jeans and the thick trucker’s wallet in his back pocket, its chain dangling from his belt. His Aqua Velva was strong and his breath sang of Lavoris. What a killer, he thought. Was she lucky or what?

He drove all the way to the back as usual, past the rest of the darkened trailers, past Mrs. Conder’s Hollypark where the front door stood wide open to a dread and lifeless silence. He didn’t notice the shadowy figures in the glow of the dim security lights, scurrying from yard to yard. He was too preoccupied. He pulled the cruiser into the ruts worn alongside Georgetta’s mobile home. “Here we are,” he sighed, unable to keep the giggle from his voice.

He reached for his gear bag which lay open on the passenger seat, picked up the paddle from amid his paraphernalia, and swatted his palm with gusto. “You’ve been a bad little girl,” he rehearsed with expectant glee, his mind filled with visions of frilly cotton and lace and patent leather shoes and sheer undies. “Daddy doesn’t like to spank you, but it’s for your own good.” He giggled again. “This is gonna be great.”

He got out and went to the dilapidated old trailer. The key was just where it always was, beneath a well-traveled mat, and he let himself in.

The sound of the television greeted him, and the interior was awash with its solitary light. He had to shield his eyes against it to find Georgetta sitting with her back to him. Her attention was fixed on the channel four late movie.

“Whaddayasay, honey bunch,” Rusty purred, taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. “Did you miss me?”

She looked back over her shoulder and smiled. “Of course I missed you, Russy honey.”

“How’s the eye?”

She reached up and touched her face. “It’s fine.”